Babies, Babies, Babies!

One of the reasons I didn’t want to homestead is I thought it would be lonely…or at least too lonely and quiet for this ambivert. I should have known better, I don’t think we’ve had a quiet week since we got here. In February the Tallmans came to pick up Karsten and got stuck here in the ice age apocalypse for almost two weeks. I’ve told friends, it was a bit like reenacting a Game Of Thrones version of Noah’s Ark. 6 kids, 2 cats, 1 puppy, and 4 adults in a tiny house taking turns keeping the wood burning stove going around the clock so the pipes wouldn’t freeze and burst. On the plus side, no one was cold, rather it was like living in a Native American sweat house. Most of the kids wore shorts and no shirt. You couldn’t go outside though, even to play much because it was so bitterly cold and we didn’t have the gear to last more than a few minutes without danger of frostbite. In the middle of it all, my pre-ordered box of 25 baby chicks arrived. I don’t know what I was thinking. My research online had said it was perfectly ok to start chicks indoors in February here, but clearly they hadn’t accounted for half the country being taken out by a record breaking storm. Our little “Noah’s Ark” thus grew by 26 extra mouths to feed…albeit tiny cute little chick beak mouths. The only problem was, the ones that survived the U.S. post office promptly all tried to die on my watch (thank you to the unnamed person who put them in a heated truck for me, that helped give me a leg up). We quickly turned the wood burning stove area into a chick NICU, keeping them warm and force feeding them drops of diluted ACV, whipped yolk and molasses. We lost a handful, but thankfully most of them survived. Keeping the cat and the puppy from viewing them as squeaky, tasty snacks was a little more challenging. Looking back, I don’t know how we survived that week, but not only did we have fun, we ate like kings since we had to get creative with the pantry and food stores.

It’s not gotten any calmer since then. My parents arrived to help build our barn, we’ve got some friends parking their RV here while they look for property, and Jim’s dad will be here in a few hours to also help with the barn raising fun. I’m not sure where he’s going to sleep, but he’s of Finnish blood so I’m sure he’ll find a hollow log or bear cave to sleep somewhere (only partly kidding).

We’ve also added some more farm babies to the mix. Another friend hatched some ducklings for us, and a friend of a friend gave us a Great Pyrenees puppy. We apparently do things backwards around here, because usually the livestock begets the need for a Livestock Guardian Dog, but in our case, the LGD necessitated the need for livestock. So now we have 2 sheep and hopefully some incoming lambs.

We’re all in love with Thorbin (our GP puppy) and there’s a large contingency of us who want to bring him in the house and treat him like a royal puffball princess. However, he is happier outside doing his job and we’re grateful at how awesome he’s acclimating to the sheep. We had been told that GP dogs are notorious for being escape artists, but we didn’t realize just how true that is. They were bred that way on purpose because in the old world, they’d be with a shepherd, off in the hills, constantly scouting around and looking for high ground from which to protect the flock. In this modern world of fences and neighbors, that’s somewhat frowned upon so keeping them contained is like going up against a chess master of ancient origins. We thought we had check mated Thorbin only to hear him yelling at us in the middle of the night that he’d gotten stuck again….and then again. Jim and I finally gave up sleeping and worked through the middle of the night, reinforcing the fence and making it safe for the baby furball in training. I didn’t have boots that could handle mud and large amounts of water (I know…I know), but it’s been fine because I am largely impervious to cold and prefer to scamper around barefoot. But spending the night in the freezing drizzle with numb toes and fingers as I twisted wire fencing together went past my idea of a good time. Although Jim and I did get some good laughs in and came up with our own rendition of “What a Wonderful Night”, I kept accidentally stepping in giant mushy piles of dog poop that squeezed up between my toes. Nope to the nope. I now have rubber boots.

All in all I feel like we’re learning a lot and accomplishing a lot. I’m sure we have a lot of ups and down in front of us. I feel like I’m living that Castle Leoch scene in Outlander, where Mrs. Fitzgibbons is dashing around cleaning and cooking and patching everyone up.

Good thing I like cooking and patching…I could do without the cleaning.

BHO is tu is Buachiaill thar an treuid
Iomain fein shin do chleidh ’s do chaimir,
Seun sinn fo do bhrot riomhach reidh;
A Sgeith dhidinn, dion ri ’r mairionn.

{As Thou art the Shepherd over the flock
Tend Thou us to the cot and the fold,
Sain us beneath Thine own glorious mantle;
Thou Shield of protection, guard us for ever,}

Things I love and don't love about moving to Missouri

Well, we’ve been here a little over two months, and no regrets yet. Granted, I sometimes wonder how crazy we were/are to move from our city suburb home in San Diego to squashed between two Amish Farms on a piece of wooded, undeveloped land in the middle of the Missouri Ozarks. Our entire San Diego neighborhood is smaller than my backyard. Sometimes I feel like I’m living in the novel Christy, and sometimes I feel like I’m a millionaire who owns their own Central Park. I can literally go for a run and never leave my own property. Excuse me while I pinch myself over here.

I joke that we live in the “Little House in The Big Woods” because we have six people and a puppy living in a small, slightly decrepit, eleven hundred square ft house, and there’s nothing around us but woods. When the weather is nice, it’s fine. When it’s not I spend my days mopping up mud tracked everywhere and dodging snowballs. I particularly love that my washer and dryer are within tossing distance from the kitchen. If I look at Pinterest, I start to get discouraged, but when I think about my ancestors living in dirt huts or little log cabins, I perk up a bit. Honestly, I wasn’t happy in San Diego, so it’s much easier to have a good perspective. So let the record reflect (for future perusal) things I love and things I don’t love about living here (in no particular order).

Negatives:

1. We inherited two cats. The sellers never mentioned them, but apparently they came with the house. We are not cat people, but we’re learning. The kids have named them Lightning and Tiger. They’re very fat and happy cats, so I assume they’re living their best life as rodent sheriffs.

2. Our back porch is rotting. You have to pretend you’re in an Indiana Jones movie and step on the correct planks otherwise you risk dropping through to the septic tank…which also needs cleaning out and relocating.

3. There is random trash everywhere. The property was maybe a little too well loved and self identified as a garbage dump. The sellers cleaned up most of it, but there’s still a fine dusting of Dorito bags and miller lite sprinkled around. We’re working on it.

4. There is no Thai food here…or sushi.

5. You have to drive between a half hour to an hour to get anywhere. (This doesn’t actually bother me yet because the roads and countryside are so beautiful, but I’m assuming I’ll have to come to terms with it eventually)

6. Our California family and friends aren’t here and we miss them. We console ourselves with lures of visits, and my parents are coming out in a few weeks so there’s that carrot hanging out in front of us. (if you’re reading this, feel free to visit anytime! We offer great accommodations of tent camping and pond baths.)

Affirmatives:

1. We inherited two cats! Which means we have zero problems with mice. (knock on wood) They seem to have developed a vague league with a possum and armadillo. Not sure if this is concerning or not, but they all hang out on the back porch/yard with a bunch of bluebirds and cardinals, making the kids think we live in a real life Disney movie.

2. I learned how to use my wood burning stove! The thing is a behemoth, and after I finally cleaned the chimney, I still couldn’t figure out how to get it lit. I did grow up with a wood burning stove, so this was somewhat embarrassing. A couple from church learned of my dilemma and came over. They gave me a lesson, (my problem was there are FIVE dampers, and I only had the two I knew of open) and they brought us a truckload of fire wood…and eggs…and meat…and donuts, which leads me to my third thing…

3. People are unbelievably nice here. Far nicer than I was expecting since we wear the cone of California shame. So far I’ve been given bacon grease, quilts, farm fresh food and a whole host of other small things, like help with banks, explanations of how things work here, offers of loaner vehicles, tools and chimney equipment etc. I start to tear up if I think about it too much. We haven’t however met our neighbors yet (Amish or otherwise) so there’s that sword of Damocles hanging over my head.

4. Everything is inexpensive here (except for produce). You can take the whole family out to eat for less than $40. The kids are taking Jiu-jitsu which also comes with a gym membership for Jim, Jamie and me for less than a quarter of the price it costs in California. For the first time in my life, I can lay in a tanning bed or sit in a sauna while my children are being taught how to immobilize bad guys. I definitely call it a win win.

5. Our property is gorgeous. I don’t know if it’s one of those things where I just bonded and imprinted on it so I’m biased, or if it actually is that amazing. When we came out in September to look at properties and houses, I always slipped off my shoes and escaped away from the realtors to see if I could really picture myself there…like sense the bones of the place (hey, I know it sound’s super woowoo). This place was just magical. I would be fine if I never had to go anywhere… which really helps with long drives thing. Ahem.

6. Life is (mostly) normal here, like it’s still 2019. Even though 2020 was a great year for us, I didn’t realize how much we missed all of the little things that give us humanity. Crossing fingers that it stays that way, but if not, there’s always the possum and armadillo to talk to. (not counting the woods full of deer and wild turkeys).

The boys are settling in… they thought the armadillo was a bear at first, and they still run around barefoot and half dressed (even in the snow), so nothing’s changed there. Jim’s replaced and rewired a new electrical panel, and we’re working on the baseboards this weekend. All that’s left to do is remodel two bathrooms, build a garage, chicken coop, and well house, move the septic, put in leach lines, plant a garden, put up a fence, tear down an old shed and clear the road going through the woods.

At least we’ve got the fruit trees planted?

Saying Goodbye, Being Homeless, Starting New Things and Doing Old Things

We were doing good until we went to zero feet above sea level to say goodbye to that old thing called the Pacific Ocean. We met some friends at the brewery/restaurant that was home to me this summer (not because I took up a Homer Simpson lifestyle, but because I got a good old fashioned job as a server/flinger of brews…but that’s another blog entry for another time). Charlie and I, who have managed to keep calm for weeks now, found ourselves unable to keep a stiff upper lip when faced with the vastness that is the largest ocean on Earth (and a place where my boy cub family has spent thousands of hours over the last 15 years). It wasn’t a sad goodbye per say, nor a regretful one… but more of an understanding one, like getting a nod of blessing from an old king.

We’re now in the stage of moving where we are nomads who belong nowhere, depending instead on the charity of friends and family to house us. We’ve officially turned over the keys and driven out of our San Diego neighborhood for the last time, but escrow hasn’t closed yet on our house in Missouri. Apparently half the country has decided to play musical chairs and change living abodes, but the purchase of our little plot of wilderness plods steadily onward.

One thing that has helped me keep my sanity is writing. Even though I’ve been sadly negligent here on this blog, I’ve been steadily chipping away at writing a homeschooling curriculum for kids with learning challenges. I thought the hardest part was going to be actually writing the curriculum, but since that has been burning in my fingertips for years, the hardest part has actually been trying to figure out how to build a website and get a tax ID. I have a whole new respect for youtube stars, instagram influencers and the like. I guess if it were easy, more people would be doing it successfully.

It’s November 1st today, which is one of my favorite days of the year. Not because I love the fall season (I am summer’s child), but because it’s the first day of Nanowrimo. I wasn’t going to do Nanowrimo this year due to how crazy and upheaved life is, but I’ve done it for so many years my brain refuses to stop mulling over a new story, so I’m going to attempt it anyway. This may be my year as a nano rebel however, as my wordcount goal is not going to be in the neighborhood of a full length 50k+ word novel.

Some years I share my story, and some years I don’t ( depending on how much therapizing is going on…ahem), but this year my plan is to put it here on my blog as I finish each chapter (for those who don’t mind reading rough drafts). I’m plotting out a sci-fi/fantasy type short story that’s heavy on the romance and light on the “science” with plenty of airships, and magic to make research a non-necessity. Right now it’s sort of a Scarlet Pimpernel meets Ocean’s Eleven in my head, but we’ll see how it actually comes out.

This is the last picture we took, seconds before pulling out of our driveway for the last time and one thing is for certain… this year’s Nanowrimo and my erstwhile homeschooling course/website will probably be accomplished on the road or squeezed between boxes (which is where I am currently writing this).

(Onward?) Onward!

Moving in T-minus One Week

There's some strong denial going on over here. We have to be out of our San Diego home by the 30th of October, but have the Uhaul showing up in a week so we can spend the last week tying up any loose ends. I have a giant list of people to say goodbye to, last foods to eat and a proper mental "thank-you" to this Harmony home that's brought us so much peace and joy after the rough few years before it.

I also suck at packing and cleaning. It is definitely not in my God-given skill set, and yet I carry on because one can only put one foot in front of the other. All in all, this move is so much easier than getting kicked out of your home and dealing with a pedophile. This move is a blessed piece of cake in comparison, but omw, how did we accumulate so much stuff? I feel like my house is like a giant Mary Poppins bag. Each closet produces more stuff than is mathematically possible to fit in that square footage.

In our new homestead (we're in escrow on a place in the Missouri Ozarks...so crossing fingers and praying it all goes through), I plan on being a minimalist who only buys beautiful long lasting things. (It's always good to have unattainable goals, right?)

Until then, it's all mattresses on the floor and pizza on napkins over here.

Coffee, slugs and a homestead

When you have all boys (or girls too...I have no idea), you can play a game in the morning where you pour your coffee and then try to dodge all of the flailing limbs, hugs, fights, parkouring and what-not with your coffee intact. It could be a slightly dangerous game if the coffee were hot, but “mom coffee” is never hot because it takes 3 hours to drink. It’s a perfectly safe game if perhaps a little hazardous for decorative pillows and carpets.

I listened to a podcast today that was talking about how we often outsource things to avoid the pain of dealing with it ourselves, and I think that’s part of what I’m dealing with when it comes to gardening. I don’t want to grow my own food, I want it to magically show up in the supermarket. Now that I can’t stand going to the grocery store, I’m more tempted to face the drama of growing my own food (even if it’s 1/23848 of what we eat… it’s the principle of the matter). It’s not easy though, something was eating my garden, so I dug out the diatomaceous earth from the bowels of the pantry and went outside to sprinkle it around my plants. To my horror, the flashlight revealed a scene akin to something from Stranger Things. My precious plants were covered in hundreds and hundreds of slugs all twisted around each branch and stem leaving slime, death and destruction.  Jim, Jamie and I picked them all off by hand and drowned them with salt. I think the experience may win as the grossest thing I’ve ever done. Only a few plants survived, but thankfully, I have a growing addiction to buying seeds off of home gardeners on Ebay so I’ve got lots of backup plants in various stages of development (sitting in things like milk and egg cartons because I refuse to go to the store). I just need to figure out what to do about the problem lest I allow the small slimy sociopaths to destroy more of my sweet baby plants. The DE seems to help a little, but not enough to deter them completely. Maybe as it gets warmer and drier here it won’t be a problem? 

We started out this whole Coronu thing with one pet turtle. Now our urban farm has expanded to include chickens, a pet boa, a beta fish, and a foster dog. So far everything except the snake contributes in some way. The fish fertilizes an aquaponics garden, and even the turtle water goes into the compost bin. In fact, if you count super tiny farm animals, we’re also the proud owners of a kombucha SCOBY, sourdough starter and a worm farm (although honestly, I feel more attached to the pepper plants that finally decided to sprout). 

Now I really never get to drink my coffee in the morning. 

Surviving the flood and the great chicken escapade

I’ve wanted chickens for a long time, but didn’t see any way to make it happen.

But necessity is the mother of invention, and there’s nothing like four growing boys and a limit on eggs at the grocery store (if there are any on the shelves at all) to force one to throw their shoe over the fence and figure it out. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who was thinking in this direction, because baby chicks were sold out everywhere I called. Mail order chicks from reputable places were back ordered until May and I didn’t think the chicken dream was going to happen until a friend found a mail order place that had some.

I am not one for fancy chicken breeds, I’ve tried to be the chicken whisperer in the past, but I don’t do well trying to keep up with Silkies or Polish breeds. I’ve played wet nurse, vet and undertaker to more “fancy” chickens over the years than I care to recollect, so I just wanted plain hardy Rhode Island Reds. …During this coronapocalypse I might as well have wished for the moon. 

We learned the hard way that California doesn’t allow mail order chickens in the state, and  it looked like all was lost. While I was trying to figure out a way to smuggle them across the Arizona border, my network of chicken spies alerted me that the local ranch & feed store received a new shipment of 200 New Hampshire chicks...first come first serve. I jumped in the car faster than you could say “but where will we put them” and high tailed it down there and came home like a rain boot wearing, spring version of Santa Claus, shouting “Merry Easter everyone, I’ve got presents!” and dumping out a cardboard box full of cheeping yellow fluff.  Thankfully we’ve got a giant snake terrarium (empty!) that’s been appropriated and turned into a chick brooder...which is kind of funny in a circle of life kinda way. 

The kids couldn’t be more thrilled, and it’s like having our own YouTube channel running 24/7.  Being quarantined with chicks, children and a worm farm while it rains for 40 days and 40 nights has got me feeling like a modern day Noah. Do you think he grew microgreens? Surely they didn’t live off of dried goods the whole time? Maybe he had a green house somewhere in the ark.

I was listening to a gardening podcast that talked about how seeds learn from the climate and soil they’re put in and then pass on that information genetically to their offspring. So if you have heirloom seeds that don’t do well the first year, gather the seeds and try again anyway because they probably “learned” to deal with whatever curveball you’re throwing at it. I feel like my plants this year though are getting a false sense of reality. I keep telling them not to expect rain like this next year and not to tell their children or grandchildren about it because it doesn’t happen very often. 

And yes, I am now talking to my plants. I haven’t quite succumbed to playing classical music for them yet or laying hands on them, so clearly I have retained some of my sanity. ...maybe. 

Grocery shopping, Ducking at the yards arme and The Waltons

It’s been so long since I left the house, that when I had to drop the car off at the shop, Jim asked if I still remembered how to drive. We’ve been doing the social distancing maybe a little too successfully around here, because I had no idea how bad it was out there. Had to venture out to Costco today because I stocked up for two months in January and it was time to fatten the coffers or start hunting gophers and possums. Costco had a line down one side of the building and across a little street, but they were super organized and everyone was quiet and efficient. Walmart was a bit more like the jungle. San Diego passed a new ordinance requiring/strongly suggesting masks and so with all of the home-rigged masks there was a strong Mad Max vibe going on. At one point I backed up to let a man pass, and a lady started yelling at me because I’d violated her six foot space. I don’t handle yelling well so I’m happy to be back at home and have no plans to venture back out anytime soon. Pro tip though: If you’re having a hard time getting enough food for your large family with all of the “limit 1” restrictions, try a Business Costco. They don’t have any toys, or clothes or anything because they cater to restaurants, but your regular Costco membership still works and you can get things like a 50lb bag of flour for $17, a 40lb box of chicken for $38 and 50lbs of potatoes for $10 (you can also buy peanut butter, yogurt and pickles by the bucket, but I’m not to that level yet.) Bonus, no one will judge you for your full cart.

Over here in Chateau Ramsey, spring has come, the birds are chirping, kids are happy, healthy and sleeping better than they have in months. San Diego is experiencing it’s .2 seconds of lush greenness. I’ve been loving this slower pace of life so much, I spent a day consciously videoing little snippets so I could remember this stage of life. (although I can’t even remember which day it was…Tuesday? or maybe Wednesday? I’m not sure.) The kids and I made it into a Walton’s-style montage (see video at the bottom). Man-made calendars have ceased to exist for me, but I do know we’re due for a super moon (pink edition) in four days and that it’s supposed to rain two inches next week. Give me another month of quarantine and I will be wearing homemade clothes, dancing in the moonlight and canceling our internet service.

I’m spending my extra time at home editing my nanowrimo novel and writing a book for my middle boys. They love Diary of a Wimpy Kid, so I’m trying my hand at a historical version of it in hopes it will lure them into reading more. I’m starting with Columbus since that’s what CC will be starting with next year for Cycle 3. In reading through some original documents I found this list of punishments listed by the Santa Maria’s Marshall:

“The Marshall is to punish offenders and to see justice executed according to directions; as ducking at the yards arme, haling under the keel, bound to the capsterne or maine mast with a bucket of shot about his neck, or setting in the bilbowes.” 

It took me awhile to figure out that “ducking at the yards arme” meant “tying you to the front of the ship and letting you get dunked as the ship goes up and down through the waves”. And that was a mild punishment compared to the “haling" under the keel”.

So there’s your random trivia for the day. I’m off to feed my pet sourdough (we named it “Sandy”) and contemplate how grateful I am public officials haven’t implemented 15th century punishments for corona-violations.

Garden villains and the reluctant baker

Embracing the whole Little House On The ̶P̶r̶a̶i̶r̶i̶e̶ City thing is not going quite as well as I hoped.

Something is eating my garden. The internet says to place surveillance to identify the villain. What did they do 500 years ago? Sit up all night watching their garden? It’s a miracle to me that humankind has managed to win the struggle against pests for thousands of years. What did they have that I don’t? I feel like I need to build an entire fortress around, under and over my garden (and I don’t even have deer or normal wildlife to contend with…just rats, gophers, squirrels, raccoons, rabbits…Ok, so maybe we do have quite a few.) Bah. I keep trying to think of what I have on hand that can be used to create a barrier. I have a ton of yarn in a bin somewhere…maybe I can knit a net or something.

I bought a 50lb bag of organic, high quality, non-GMO flour as a Christmas present to myself which turned out to be a rather fortuitous Christmas present. Between avoiding the grocery store, and the grocery store being bare most of the time I’ve had to put aside my dislike of baking. (I know, flour is an odd choice in self-care Christmas presents for someone who doesn’t like to bake… don’t judge, I honestly don’t know what I was thinking). Baked goods are one of the only things keeping my children full these days… paleo or Whole30 eating went right out the window. It’s now a la pancakes for breakfast and cookies for lunch. I’ve decided to really throw caution to the wind and attempt sourdough bread making. I asked my sister why all of the recipes are in grams and she gave me a look that said “oh honey, how innocent and ignorant you are”. So now she’s loaning me a food scale which I’ve also successfully avoided my whole life. Apparently accuracy is excessively important when making sourdough bread. This does not bode well. We will not survive the winter.

I’m glad the shelves aren’t too bare though, because it’s clearly going to take a lot more work before I come close to being successful at the Ma Ingalls things. At least I’m having fun?

Amusing Links, plus the weirdest and stupidest thing I did today

Usually Mondays around here are busy and stressful, but since we’re in Neverland or Wonderland or maybe Stranger Thing’s Upside Down world, I tried to infuse some stress back into it by filling the house with the fresh scent of rotten meat and Chinese fringeberries.

I’m on day 3 of a migraine and I’m pretty sure Jim feels like he’s married to Professor Trelawney . Since word coming out of France and Spain is to avoid ibuprofen at all cost right now, I decided it would also be a good idea to avoid my alien powered, high octane migraine prescription as well. I call it yoga for the trigeminal-autonomic reflex pathway…. I’m trying to work with the pain, listen to my body, and not just medicate and power through at 100 mph like I normally do. It’s not going well. So far my “don’t hyperventilate and work with the migraine” plan caused me to make 4 lbs of rotten meatballs. This is not normal for me, I have poor eyesight but a highly tuned olfactory system. The fact that it took me a few hours to identify the weird smell as rotten meat cooking in my oven is something that never happens in this household. I indigently thrust a freshly cooked rancid meatball under Jim’s nose while he was trying to do his job on the front line of the current healthcare crisis, and demanded he smell it and taste it. He said it tasted fine, but he’s also known to eat moldy things and uncooked chicken, so he was no help. Thankfully I caught it before I ruined the entire batch of sauce… the sauce… as in the sauce that Jim’s late Italian grandmother taught me to make in order to be married to her grandson. The one that heals all woes and is the perfect quarantine relief food (and I almost screwed it up).

That was the stupidest thing I did, the weirdest thing I did was toss a bunch of Chinese fringe berries and dandelions into the vitamix. The kids are like Pavlov’s dog when they hear the vitamix’s jet engine ramp up in the kitchen. William looked at the gray sludge and asked dubiously what kind of smoothie it was. Robbie was the only one who cheerfully volunteered to try the fringeberry dandelion concoction, but it wasn’t for human consumption. I listened to a gardening podcast about not being irritated with pests, weeds, etc but instead work with nature instead of fighting it (noticing a trend here?). Our neighbor has a Chinese Fringe tree that dumps these olive berry looking things all over our flower bed and sidewalk. I googled it and they don’t compost very quickly, but they’re full of great nutrients, so I decided to work with nature and toss them into my vitamix and then compost bin. The dandelions were just innocent bystanders that got swept up with the tide.

My compost now smells very good. Apparently you can also pickle these berries like olives and eat them (which I’m adding to my list of possibilities if the grocery store stays empty).

I love lists of links, and in case you do too, here is my current list ( know they don’t look like links, because I can’t figure out how to format my squarespace skin, but I promise they’re all clickable)

1. 13 edible plants you can find in urban environments.

2. I wish our church would do something like this creative Russian Orthodox priest. Or at least keep the doors unlocked like the Catholic and Episcopalian churches.

3. A free book on rational thinking.

4. The most powerful fire engine in the world

5. A book review about President Hoover that is almost better than the book itself.

6. An ex Pickup Artist’s thoughts on how to pray.

7. And last but not least: The aforementioned Sauce recipe that heals all woes (or at least it does for everyone in my husband’s family)

I’ll just be over here enjoying pepper tree tea with some sauteed dandelion and pickled fringeberries. My liver has never been happier even if my head is not. The only thing I have left to do is install a bidet.

Stuck at home? My top 3 favorite toys (or rather, my kids' top 3 favorite toys)

Since impending d̶o̶o̶m̶ home time may be in all of our futures, here are my top three time-passers that are a much better use of your money than Costco’s toilet paper. Whenever it rains in Southern California (which doesn’t happen a lot), Jim foregoes the motorcycle commute and takes my suburban. (Note, it’s mine even though he technically paid for it..ahem.) My only other option is taking him to work at 5am and then picking him back up in the afternoon. While I wouldn’t want to complain about stumbling into some clothes and staggering into the car like an intoxicated teddy bear who stuck their finger into an electrical outlet (I’m not a morning person), if possible I opt to stay at home and let Jim take the car.

It was a pretty happy, peaceful, chill day around here, but that was probably because rain has an almost sedative affect on native Californians. So take this list with a large grain of salt.

1. These brain flake things. A friend brought them for William to play with and they were an instant hit. I picked up a few containers for Christmas and they’ve been the most used toy since then. Even the older kids make all kinds of weird ironman armor and laser wrist things. I don’t ask questions, I just duck when I’m told

2. Kinetic Sand. We have lots of different kinetic sand in the house, but this one is the favorite. I don’t think it has anything to do with the sparkles (which are sadly overrated and exaggerated in the picture) but because it’s the softest. Once you start playing with it, you can’t stop. Even adults have been known to pause in front of the sensory bin and then not move until forced.

3. The card game Rat-A-Tat-Cat. This is one of the few card games that even small children can play and it isn’t a form of slow torture for parents and older kids. Death by candy princesses and sneaky squirrels is one of the leading causes of parental demise. Also, if you have a kid who’s missing speech therapy, you can also turn this game into an impromptu session where you endlessly discuss the cool cats and nasty rats (the illustrations are hilarious). It’s won all sorts of awards, including a Mensa one, but I haven’t noticed it making my kids any smarter… granted, I haven’t checked and we may not be the best target audience. Still, anyone can play this no matter where they are on the IQ spectrum. We’re on our third deck.

Not that I’m hoping we’ll all get quarantined by the Coronu, but at least we’re prepared

…and there are plenty of leaves in the backyard if the toilet paper runs out.