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A Pet Possum

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I think we have all established my hatred for opossums.

I have written about them in the Praise and Coffee Magazine.  (You can read that article HERE.)  This story remains a favorite for a lot of readers and even more friends.

If you “search” my blog, you can read one of my VERY first blog posts EVER (back when I thought we weren’t an interesting enough family to ever blog…imagine that.)  Click HERE to see a portion of what I have written over the years.

So when the boys caught this commercial on tv, they roared with laughter.  They greatly enjoy tormenting me with opossum’s.

You can see the commercial here….

We had errands to run today and the boys were still chattering away about the commercial, having now watched it for the upteenth time thanks to youtube.

S4 chirped from the back, “Daddy, can you get us a pet possum?”

“Sure”, my husband whole heartedly agreed.

“No!” I yelled.

S4 giggled.  ”I think he would be so cuddly.”

“He would eat you alive!” I cried.

“I could trap one, wouldn’t cost us a thing,” S1 offered.

“No, absolutely not!” I declared.

“That possum wouldn’t eat him alive,” my husband offered, “Elly May had one and it never ate her.”

“Yah, it was nice!” S4 agreed.  ”Hey, we should name it.  How about PP?”

“No possum of mine is going to be called PP,” S1 stated.

“I forbid it!” I yelled above them throwing names out.

“What does ‘forbid’ mean?” asked S4.

“That she can’t wait for the pet possum,” his Daddy tossed back at him, just as quick as could be.

The boys cheered.  S1 was nearly dying laughing.  They had the thing named before we made it much further down the road.

“I still forbid it!” I stated again.

“Hey, Daddy, I have a GREAT idea,” the brilliant S4 began excitedly.  ”When Mama goes to Praise and Coffee on Thursday, lets have you catch one for us and then we can surprise her with it when she gets home.”

All males agreed this was brilliant.

The lone female did not.

The post A Pet Possum appeared first on Life With Four Boys.


Beaver Habitat’s, Snakes and So Forth

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As I was about to write a blog to you all, S2 shouted he found a snake.

Right outside my window.

In my favorite spot to sit…the front porch.

You can see how I would find that distracting.

Especially when he did not catch it…but caught ANOTHER one across the driveway by the bunnies.

I have no words.  And I live here.

I wanted to just drop in to give you an update on our summer goings on.  We have been busy.  So busy.  It happens when you have boys who are building Beaver Habitat’s (never mind that we have no beaver’s in this area.  If, by chance, they decide to move here the boys will be ready for them), catching snakes and frogs and turtles, feeding them (oh. my. goodness.), planning Hubs and I first ever trip ALONE, planning a trip to see Becca’s Crazy Boys (follow her on twitter here, be warned, we may get annoying in our excitement) and enjoying a very eventful visit with Rebecca Gates.  Believe me, that is a post you are NOT going to want to miss.

And working, farming, living….

But I miss blogging.

Tomorrow we are excited to be hosting Buck Howdy at our town library.  Thrilled we are!  And we are listening to all his music today. :)

I leave you with this.  Because really, my words would never do this justice.

The post Beaver Habitat’s, Snakes and So Forth appeared first on Life With Four Boys.

Can NOT Wait For Monday

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Those who know me well know that I do not like Monday’s at all.  Not. At. All.

Those who know me really well know I do not like Sunday’s much either.  Not much at all.

But this week?

I can not wait for Monday.

Saturday was our last football game.  S2 stormed onto the field, played the game and lost.

It was tough.

It was also as windy as could be.  We have battled rain, enjoyed sunshine, had our eyeballs frozen and everything in between.  But now it is over.

That won’t seem real until I am not driving to school every evening for practice.

I couldn’t wait for Saturday night.  I had dinner on the grill all planned.  A movie to curl up with my honey over.  I could see popcorn in my near future.  A “hooray! we can slow down now that football is over” night if ever there was one.  I had been looking forward to this night for about eight weeks or so.

As it was, my husband made plans without consulting me.  Our good friends we haven’t gotten together with in forever and ever called to see if we wanted to see a movie their church was playing. A movie we have already watched called Monumental. It’s a great movie, I was happy to watch it again, just not THAT night, not THAT far from my snug little farmhouse.  Jake told me we had not watched the movie before until I reiterated to him the entire movie, what we were doing before we went to the movie, where we watched the movie at (our church) and mentioned the fact that S4 had been covered in dirt and barefoot that night we watched Monumental at our church during the summer.

He could hardly remember this and so he had made the plans and didn’t want to back out of them.

And I, being the mature person I am, did something out of character.  Something low.  I looked at my husband and said to him, “How is it I married you?  I would be happily snug at home tonight as my introvert self but oh no, I had to marry YOU, Mr. Social!!!”

He gave me a loud kiss.  ”I’m good for you.”

He is.

But not on this day.

We hurried through dinner.  I suffered the pain that MSU lost their game agains U of M and S2 cheered – how as a mother have a raised a son who cannot cheer the great MSU team?  It’s like a mom failure or something – and went to the unfamiliar church to watch a movie my husband than remembered and then joined them for ice cream.

We arrived home exhausted and still my husband needed to give the boys haircuts.

I curled up into bed and fell asleep.  Oh, sleep, how I miss you!

Sunday I awoke to the smell of coffee.  Fresh brewed coffee is such a wonderful smell when you didn’t brew it yourself.  My husband had picked up these amazing cinnamon rolls at Weicks the day before and I could hear him opening the package and warming up a roll.

I smiled in complete blissful love.  My darling husband was making me breakfast in bed.

How was I ever so blessed to marry such a wonderful guy?

I didn’t want to ruin the surprise so I snuggled in bed and closed my eyes when I heard him headed my way.  He entered the bedroom, that love of my life.  It was so difficult to act asleep when all I wanted to do was grin or throw my arms around him and tell him how wonderful he is.  But if I did either of those things I would startle him and he would spill my coffee and we cannot spill coffee.

My husband walked around the bed and…grabbed his phone.

Grabbed his phone and walked away to the dining room where I heard the fork hit the plate of his warmed up cinnamon roll.

I figured he was just being sweet and didn’t want to wake me up, just let me sleep in.  I mean, I didn’t even know I wanted breakfast in bed until I was apparently not getting any.  I couldn’t resist texting him though.  ”You would rather spend your morning with youtube than with me?”

He ended up bringing me coffee to bed.

When we got up all we did was run.  We ran to church where we rushed out as soon as our pastor said “You are dismissed.”  We drove like the wind to arrive home and quickly grab some clothes to change into that somehow we forgot as we ran back out the door.  Time home?  Five minutes.

We pushed a little past the speed limit to arrive at my husband’s mom’s home where we had one hour to eat dinner and then make ourselves look great because we were getting family photos taken.  We have never ever had family photos taken and the photographer was great and cheery so we really can’t wait to see how the photos turned out.

We had half an hour after pictures to visit before we had to run to Jake’s office, grab his paperwork, hurry to the dollar store to pick something up we had forgotten we needed for church and then hurry home where I had fifteen minutes.

In fifteen minutes I made a pot of coffee and loaded the dishwasher.  As i was headed out the door, I spilled my entire cup of coffee all over the stove.

We jumped in the suburban and hurried off to church.  Jake had left with S1 to make sure he got him to youth group on time.  It was then I realized we had forgotten a child.

Yes, you read that correctly.

We hadn’t even made it a mile down the road when my call to double check with my husband that he did in fact have S2 with him only to hear he did not.  S2?  He heard me holler.  He heard me leave.  He knew I would be back for him.

Grrrr.  What a stinker.

We arrived to church where we had our Dave Ramsey class while the boys battled a real live bat.

Yes, you read that correctly too.

They thought it was so cool.  They hope the bat continues to live in the church.

My husband stayed at church for a meeting.  I took four boys boys home, three of which were so exhausted they were fighting and crying.

The smell of a dead mouse hidden somewhere in the house greeted me as I walked in the door at eight fifteen at night.

Monday the boys get to sit at school.  I get to sit at work.

Monday night we get to stay home all night for the first time in about eight weeks with no practice to run to.

i can’t wait for Monday.

 

The post Can NOT Wait For Monday appeared first on Life With Four Boys.

I Was Nearly Attacked by a Venomous Shrew

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I believe I should get some sort of award for not screeching into the phone today and then letting it fall to the floor with a clatter while I was talking to my husband.

I mean, there should totally be a reward for such control of the situation.

What happened?

Oh, I was just nearly attacked by a venomous shrew.

It happened like this…

All week I have had a terrible head cold. The worst part of this cold is the horrific headaches I have been having.  Earlier in the morning my husband had called to check on me and I, being all strong and stoic, began to cry because even my cheek bones hurt.

I am so tough like that.

Anyhow, I had dropped two of the four boys off at school because one is home sick and the other, you recall, is now home-schooled.  I had arrived home and taken the hottest shower I could stand, not carrying how dry my skin would be afterwards, and then I brewed myself a strong pot of coffee.  I had skipped the MucinexD medicine today for some migraine medicine I had recently picked up but really have never thought of buying.

It worked miracles.

I decided I had better call my husband to let him know I was alive and feeling somewhat human again because I could, in fact, not feel my cheekbones any longer and if you can’t feel them then you must be feeling better.

I was stirring my coffee and chattering away to him when I heard a rustle, scratch and commotion.  I looked toward the sound but the dog was not lying there scratching herself.

I wandered into the dining room to see where the dog was lying.  She was lying outside on the porch.

I figured something must have fallen out of the full trash (I’ve been sick, people, my house is a disaster), and continued chatting with hubs.

Until I heard the sound again.

I cautiously walked toward the trash can and there, on my husband’s chainsaw blade, was a shrew.

Oh wait, you say, chainsaw blade?  In the kitchen?  Welcome to my life….

“Eeeeeek!” I tried not to scream but I may have screeched, “There is a shrew!  A shrew is in the kitchen!”

“A what?” my husband asked, bracing himself for my all out panic.

“A SHREW,” I said slowly and clearly.  ”I have to let you go.  I’ll call you later.”  I may have mumbled out that “LoveYouBye” word but I honestly don’t recall.

I ran to the upstairs steps and screamed called for S1 to come down.  I heard his chair drop to the ground as he hustled to get to me.  My sick S3 did not even glance my way as he sat in the chair, glad to have the living room and tv all to himself, totally oblivious to his mother’s hysterical cries for his brother.

It’s as if hysterics have become common place to him.  Hmmmmmm.

“What?  What is it?” my eldest son asked, ready to come to my defense.  I love that boy.

“In the kitchen!” I cried and then I creeped back into the kitchen to show him where to look.  He was already undoing his leatherman that is always strapped to his side.  ”I don’t want to look,” I said and walked away.  I joined S3 in the living room to watch Bolt with him.

He let me know when the coast was now clear and safe of all shrews.

Because I just couldn’t resist, and because they sorta do look kinda cute, I googled Shrews.  This is what I found……

It’s like all my worst nightmares.
Venomous shrews attacking, a snake, and all found in the GARDEN…did you notice the asparagus?  Guess what I’ll be looking for this spring?
I had no idea shrew’s were venomous.  No idea they attacked.  No idea they have to eat EVERY hour.
This is one more reason why it is so handy to be homeschooling S1.
And upon reading this harrowing account, don’t you think I deserve an award?
Oh wait, I have a gourmet cupcake with peanut butter in it from Garden Gate Cafe…I think I have just been awarded for my bravery and coolness under attack.

Also, it should be noted that although I sent my husband a text informing him that we were now safe, he never called me back.  Don’t you find that odd?  Shouldn’t he have checked on me? I mean, venomous shrew in my kitchen???  

The post I Was Nearly Attacked by a Venomous Shrew appeared first on Life With Four Boys.

We Had Squirrel For Dinner

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Recently, we had squirrel for dinner. 
Not a nice large, fat, friendly, squirrel; a nasty, little, evil, red squirrel. 
Here’s how it happened (because I know you are all wondering how on earth this came about)… 
We have an abundance of walnut trees here.  Perhaps you have read about our walnut escapades.  But we have these nasty red squirrels (click the link to learn about them – I like how they call them a “chainsaw with paws”).  S1 decided he had had enough of them and set a trap for one in a tree near his shop.  He baited it with on of our abundant walnuts. 
I had been at work all day and work days are boy pick up days from school so they were all in the suburban with me when we pulled in the driveway.  ”Look,” S2 pointed, “It’s your hawk!” 
S1 has a hawk.  It’s a little friendly red tailed hawk.  The problem is, hawk’s aren’t really pets.  And they eat chickens.  And, we found out, squirrels.  But this hawk seems to like S1 and sorta hangs around his shop and follows him out then he goes hunting. 
The hawk caught S1′s attention and it suddenly dawned on him that he had, in fact, caught himself an evil red squirrel. 
And the hawk, being so friendly and all, had been helping himself to a squirrel leg. 
Really.
Anyhow, the boys got the squirrel down and were just as thrilled as could be about it, missing hawk eaten leg and all.
As we happen to be hugeDuck Dynastyfans, they really really really wanted to eat the squirrel. 
S2 was especially interested in eating the squirrel brain because Miss Kay says they are the best.  And, apparently, squirrel brains make you smart – so says Miss Kay. 
Really, there was no reason why I couldn’t make the squirrel so I said, “Sure, why not?” 
(After typing that sentence I am a little worried about myself.)
The boys cheered. 
S1 made short work out of skinning the squirrel.  I walked into the kitchen to find this….
I had already made up a chicken stuffing bake (not knowing the boys would be catching dinner) and since there was so little squirrel meat – especially since it was an evil little tiny red squirrel missing a leg that the hawk had helped itself to – I gave up my piece of meat for the boys to eat. 
They were appreciative. 
 
This is the teeny tiny four pieces of squirrel meat cooked in a pan with a small can of cream of mushroom soup.
Daddy seemed to suddenly have an issue with eating squirrel brains so those we did not cook up those.
I only wished I had gotten a photo of the boys eating these ridiculously small pieces of meat.  But seriously, the pride in their eyes because they had put “meat on the table” was adorable.
Later that evening, I had to listen to this conversation….
“We learned on YouTube a better way to skin a squirrel today.” Then they told Daddy all the different ways you can skin a squirrel (and other varmints). Daddy then said, “Learning a lot in home school today?” S1′s response, “If I know how to do all the math problems in the world but don’t know how to properly skin a squirrel, what kind of man would I be?”
It concerns me greatly that this is now hanging on our (only) bathroom wall….
In case you don’t believe me that this is now hanging on the wall (it was first cut out and placed on our John Deere stepping stool (where I took this photo) but now it is properly displayed above the hand towel holder), here is a link for the article from Field and Stream. They really wrote an article on how to tan a hide in the bathtub.
Send help. Please. Coffee may not be enough to get me through this one.

The post We Had Squirrel For Dinner appeared first on Life With Four Boys.

We Are Eating Road Kill for Dinner

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Groan.

I am actually writing this.

The only reason I am even sharing this story is because tomorrow the boys are going to school and sharing it with everyone so I might as well do damage control now.

Yes, tonight we are having road kill for dinner.
This was on the Today show a year or so ago and it made me laugh.  Didn’t think it would come true.
Here is how it happened.
S1 and I were returning home from a run to the little town next to us for feed and a few groceries.  As we were pulling into the driveway, I commented on the squirrel that had been hit and was now dead in the road by our mailbox.
S1 has been wanting another squirrel tail and I told him — can you believe I said such a thing? – “It’s fresh so go grab it.”
So I am in the house cooking the chili I plan on having for dinner when S1 comes to the door, big limp squirrel in hand.
“Mama, I know this sounds really redneck and I know it would be a blog post and all that, but, well, this squirrel is really fresh.  Like still warm.  And it only got hit in the head here.  It’s a big one and it sure would be good for dinner.  I know it would be road kill,” he shrugs, “but it’s good road kill.”
So what did I do?
I got out the crock pot.
When his brothers arrived home from school, the thought we were joking when we said road kill was for dinner.  And when they finally believed us, they went whooping and hollering through the house.
They are truly ecstatic.
I, for one, was not going to share this story with the world.  But looking at these four boys drooling over the cooking squirrel in the crock pot, I figure I had better get it out there now.
I am literally hanging my head in my hands not believing I will be publishing “publish”.
Also, I will be having chili for dinner.  Made from store bought meat.

 

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We Did NOT Eat Opossum for Dinner

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Dear Readers,

This post could also be titled I Need A Girls Day!

Big sigh…and so the story begins….

We have been working hard to remodel our living room.  We painted the walls and tore out the carpet and now it resembles a cabin.  A man cave.  The walls have photos of hunting and football hanging on them. It really does look great.

The floor was uneven so my husband to take the snap in place floors up, sand the floor down a little and add some floor concrete something or another to make it more even.

The sanding caused the house to be covered in dust.  As in, nasty, thick icky awful dust.  The. Entire, House.

But the living room looks amazing.

And, yes, I took photos to document it being clean.
So, I am standing on a stool, washing a boar’s head and I suddenly stop to think, “This is the weirdest thing I never imagined myself doing.”

It was about to get crazier.

The Cabela‘s catalog arrived in the mail.  Suddenly, I find myself debating over whether we would get a camouflage toilet seat and a bone collector shower curtain – in our only bathroom.

And I think, “How does this happen?” because it looks like it just MIGHT happen.

As the conversation after dinner dwindled on this subject,  S1 grabbed the pot of chicken scraps and headed out to the chicken coop for our four chickens that have survived the raccoon massacre last summer.  Jake and I were chatting when the door burst open and slammed against the cabinet I hold all my glass things on – nothing dropped.

“PossumInTheChickenCoopGetThe22,” he rushed in one breath.

S1 and Jake quickly loaded up their guns and ran outside.  Here is how S1 tells the story….

“It started when I was carrying out a pot of chicken scraps and I had this weird feeling something was in there so I kept my flashlight away from the window to not care what might be in there so I get ready to dump out the chicken scraps when I thought I would shine my light around in the corner was an opossum.  So I put down the pot, run to the house and grab gun.  Dad came with me and I shot it in the neck “all done” I think to myself when Dad asked me if there are any more.  I thought tat was crazy at first then turning, I see another one.  I quickly reload and shot it in the head.  I make a thorough search of the chicken coop after shooting that one.  We walked up to the house and got pictures taken and I finally took out the chicken scraps again, checking that I missed no other opossums to surprise me.”

 

I would not let the opossums come into the house.  They left the nasty, sharp teethed varmints in the snow beside the kitchen door.  The next morning, the other boys had to check them out.  S3 tentatively was checking to see if they were dead and S4 hissed, making S3 jump back and the other brothers double over in laughter.

The boys asked if we could have the possums for dinner that night.

“No!” I shuddered.

“Oh come on, we ate roadkill!”

“This is nastier.  No,” I answered.

At work, Jake called and teased we should have some for dinner. “No!” I answered determinedly.

Friends stopped in and asked me seriously, SERIOUSLY, if I was going to cook them up for supper.

“No!” I shrieked.

My husband arrived home from work,  ”Hey!” he bellowed through the house, “How are we supposed to eat those possums if they ain’t skinned yet?”

The boys rolled their eyes at me and sighed dejectedly.  ”Mama won’t let us,” the moaned.

What a mean Mama I am.

I posted this on facebook….

I keep finding myself saying this today – “No! No, I am NOT cooking opossum for dinner! No, it is not coming into the house! Yes, we ate roadkill but NO opossum!”

These are words I never thought I would say.

It got quite the response.  My brother in law said, “Just eat the dang thing. You know you want to.”

No.  No, I do not want to.

Someone, someone save me!!! You all keep me here and I keep posting these stories for you but really, I could use tea at Downton Abbey and all that formality to help balance this all out.

Sincerely,
Your blogging friend who refuses to eat opossum

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Our Home Was Vandalized

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I stood in the middle of our dining room, itching all over and refusing to sit anywhere.

Something in our house was “off”.

The yardstick we had above a door walkway lay on the ground.

A vase with dried roses was trampled on the floor.

The Wild Boar’s head still grinned at us, but his sombrero had been knocked off.  (The Boar was feeling festive recently.)

When I went into the kitchen I realized the window ledge had been cleared of all the little glass treasures I have collected and they lay smashed to pieces in the sink below.

The day before, S1 had gone upstairs to do his school work and immediately came back down.  ”Would you believe me if I said a bird was in my bedroom?”

I looked at his face.  ”I am going to have to say, yah, I do.”

The bird had flown into a window when we were trying to catch it and it killed itself.

All I could figure is that another bird must be in the house as well.

How?  I blame the littlest two but really, we have no idea how.

I worked on cleaning the broken glass as I thought of how insane our dog must have been acting as the bird had flown around the house trying to get out.  We searched high and low and found…nothing.

Today I had the day off and I was determined to find this vicious vandalizing bird.  My favorite drinking glass was broken, my little figurine from my Great Grandma’s was smashed and my antique bud vase in darkest cobalt blue had its neck snapped off.

I sat on a stool in my kitchen, eating my cream of wheat, straining to hear any sound.

It sorta felt like I was stuck in a horror movie and I needed music to let me know if something bad was about to happen.

I sent a text to my friend, Alicia.  ”Remind me NOT to watch Alfred Hitchcock’s movie The Birds.”

The fluttering sound as she reaches the door? EXACT same sound behind my basement door.

I heard a fluttering and it sounded like it was in my laundry room so I literally tore the laundry room apart.  In doing so, I found I may have hoarding tendencies.  I had armloads of empty boxes in there.  But you just never know when you may need a box!  And if you need a small one, hey, I have one for you.

Even vacuuming behind the washer and dryer didn’t turn up any clues.  I sat on the, dejected.  I was jumping at any fluttering I would see from the corner of my eye and straining to hear any odd noise.

I was hoping my dog would be on high alert as well.  She was snoring but I fully expected her to come to my rescue.

Looking down into my scary basement and hoping nothing was down there, I heard a fluttering so close to my ear it knocked me over.

Where is that soundtrack music to life I keep asking for?

Behind our authentic 1900 basement door there was banging and fluttering.  The door is always open and kept open by a small bookshelf in front of it.  There was a small area behind the door and in that small area, there was a vandalizing bird.

I began moving the bookshelf filled with containers we use for leftover food from dinner (there hardly ever is any use for them), cake carriers and thermos’ for games and beach days.  Calling S1 down to help me, he eased the door open (or shut, if are me standing in the laundry room).

In S1′s hands was a large net.  He could have caught the tension in the air.

The grackle bird darted out and flew drunkenly around the kitchen.  It knocked things off my clean window sill – ironically my little sign that reads “In Everything Give Thanks” had survived the assault of the day before as well as the assault today – and the bird stopped at the window to catch plan it’s next attack.

Being blogging mindful, I squeaked out to S1 who was about to drop the net on the bird, “Wait! Let me get a picture!”

You’re welcome. I knew you would want to see this photo.

The bird was caught, the house is now safe and rid of birds, my laundry room and basement walkway have not been this clean since I was nesting with S4 and my nerves have been sedated by the immense amount of cinnamon rolls I then made to recover from this trauma.  The dog snored through it all, missing the excitement and the sombrero is atop the wild boar’s head again.

Never ever ever a dull moment here.

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Woodchuck for Dinner

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Our oldest son had been noticing some woodchuck damage and decided to do something about it.  Last year we had such an infestation of various rodents so he wanted to make sure he had an early start.

He caught one on the first day after setting his auction buy trap.

I knew then that I would have to “adjust” our weekly menu.

 

All the boys have been waiting to eat woodchuck (or groundhog – but the word groundhog makes me bitter because he said that it would be an early spring and it is supposed to SNOW this weekend.).  Friends I shall leave unmentioned (but drive a blue bus because their family is so large – 16 kiddos from one mama and one daddy and only one set of twins) had assured our boys it was tasty.

As they are known as being tricksters, I was slightly leery.

The school called as S1 was headed back to the house withe the rodent and I had to run in to get S2, who was feeling sickly.  I was so in shock over the fact that I was actually going to be making woodchuck for dinner that I had to share this information with the school secretary.  Oddly, she didn’t seem shocked.  I think this should concern me.

 

S2 arrived home to watch S1 cut up the meat.  I was quite thankful that crock pot liners have been invented because they were surely being used on this meal.

We had been told that cream of mushroom soup would make the meat more tender, so we added that as well.

It wasn’t looking very tasty.

However, every single time I get a chicken ready to bake I swear I am not eating one because I think they look so disgusting but I keep making them for dinner and we keep eating them.  So I wasn’t so quick to judge.

The longer it cooked, well, it didn’t smell very good either.  We kept waiting for a good cooking scent, but it never happened.

When I drove into our little hometown to pick up yet another sick boy (it’s been a rough week, but we can’t blame the woodchuck, it hadn’t been eaten yet), I stopped to talk to Alicia at my amazing work place, the heart of our town, the library.

“There’s a woodchuck in my crock pot,” I told her.

“What?” she spit out.

I repeated what I said.  ”That’s what I thought you said but I didn’t want to believe you,” she answered, shaking her head.

When I arrived home, the woodchuck wasn’t smelling any better.

I started frying bacon.  Bacon always smells wonderful. Waffles and bacon had never sounded so delicious for dinner.

 

The meat cooked up dark, nearly black.  My husband began to get a little hopeful. “Bear meat is black and it is some good eating,” he told us.  He began dreaming up plans if it tasted as good as prime rib and how we would raise the woodchucks, becoming a woodchuck farm, hitting the jackpot on an untaped market and the recipes I could sell and the money we could make.

All the boys started asking for me to make them a waffle.

But S1, bless his heart, cut up pieces for everyone and was sure that with Sweet Baby Ray’s, anything can be tasty.

He was mistaken.

“All this hard work for it to taste this bad!” he moaned dejectedly.

And it was bad bad.  So bad that when they cleared the table, they wouldn’t even give the leftovers to the chickens.  That is bad, folks.

I was ever so thankful for that crock pot liner!

S1 emailed the Visser’s the people who told us it would taste good, and they told us you have to boil woodchuck first and then cook it.

It’s going to take a little while to get over this, but I am pretty sure that we are going to be trying this meal again.

Lucky us.

I would like to add that days later, they are still bemoaning the fact the woodchuck tasted so tough and terrible.  My husband still laments, “If it only it had tasted good, think of the money we could have made!”

This, people, is my life.

I cannot make it up.

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The Giant Blue Racer that Climbed a Tree

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While sitting at Wicked in wedges and a new dress, I was sent this photo….

That is a snake.

A blue racer.

And it’s still alive.

Apparently, as they were walking across the field (at my parents, thank goodness, and not here) (Sorry, Mom!) the caught sight of a snake.  Avery large snake.  And when they all screamed shouted snake, they ran for it.

Where it slithered…..

Up

A

Tree

Is there no safe place?

None at all?

Snakes in trees?

The boys let the blue racer go.  They are hoping to catch it again later this summer.

So now I have THAT to look forward to!

Good grief.

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Squirrel Tail Antenna

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Why do I tell you these stories?

Last week, as we pulled into the driveway, the boys spotted a big gray squirrel dead in them middle of the road.  I noticed immediately that it was smashed and not going to be any good to eat.  I breathed a sigh of relief.

Google Image

Roadkill Cafe

The boys, however, were all kinds of excited.  ”Can we go pick it up?” they asked, bouncing up and down in their seats.

This is where I realized how far I have come as their mother.  ”Sure”, I shrugged, “Why not?”

They cheered.

I had no idea what they had planned for me.

They began immediately to check out the squirrel’s tail.  I heard them excitedly exclaim that it should work.  They dropped their back packs outside of the house and got to to work.

“What are you going to do?’ I asked, knowing that the squirrel itself was too smashed to be in the crock pot this time.

“We are going to take the tail and put it on your suburban antenna,” S1 explained to me, as if I should have caught on by now.

What?

Oh, yah, that is exactly what they were up to.

I was so dumbstruck by this that I didn’t have a word to say.  ”It’s going to be so cool,” they explained to me, “Everyone is going to know it’s our suburban now!”

I wanted to mention that they already did know this because of the John Deere decorative plate in front of the suburban but apparently that wasn’t cutting it anymore.

Some time later, they sadly came to me to inform me that the tail had been too badly damaged and unable to be used.

I had no words to let them know exactly how I felt on the subject, so I just said nothing at all.

There are probably some of you out there who are so wishing the boys evil plan had come to be.  To you I say…you will probably get your wish.  They are determined this will make the suburban the coolest family vehicle and everyone will find us the coolest.

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Iron Mountain And Bats

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The Cabin and the Outhouse and Us on the day we left.

The Cabin and the Outhouse and Us on the day we left.

In an odd turn of events, we ended up visiting the mine I had told you about earlier

The boys were all “hello, we have trees at home we could walk around in” when we were finding beautiful places to hike around in.

It was when they said this that I immediately sent my parents a postcard apologizing for not appreciating all the hard work and money that goes into a family vacation.  If ever I was ungrateful, please forgive me.  And know that now my children are…

Anyhow, my husband said, “Hey, how about we go to Iron Mountain?”

And our boys loved the idea.  They also happen to like Buck Howdy’s version of Big John and Big John greets you at the mine so it was a double bonus.

BigJohn

Something to keep in mind if you visit Iron Mountain Iron Mine Tour – the mine is a balmy 43 degrees so dress warm.

I honestly did not think this is where we had gone for our anniversary until it started coming back to me in pieces.  As soon as we were in the mine, a hundred fun memories flooded me…so I had the boys take a photo.

IronMntUs

We had never gotten a photo when we were there 16 years ago so it just seemed right.  That Jake is even looking at the camera is a shocker, because he was warning the boys and I to keep a sharp eye out for bats. 

We did see a few bats and over all the boys had a really great time.

There is just no great photo taking opportunities in a mine.

There is just no great photo taking opportunities in a mine.

What was funny, or not so much, is that my husband felt we had come out of the mine really well in not seeing too many bats and they all stayed away from us.  The lady at the counter at the gift shop gave the boys two posters to take home of Michigan’s bats.

It proved beneficial on our trip.

The next day we visited Fayette Village. As we were wondering around (it’s a wonderful place to visit and S1 is quite sure he saw a bald eagle there), we noticed a seagull acting oddly.

It was attacking a bat in the middle of the day. We all watched it for a bit, it seemed so out of place and peculiar.

That night we returned to the cabin to sleep.  We had made hotdogs and one of the boys hadn’t finished it so they had tossed it out the door.  Early in the morning, when it was still dark, I heard a scratching sound so I awakened Jake to go investigate.

He got up because he heard it too and was walking toward the window when suddenly a bat swooped down.

I have never seen my husband run for bed so fast in my life.

He jumped in the bed and threw the blanket over his bald head.  ”There’s a bat!” he screeched.

I couldn’t resist.  I began poking him in the back, “Aren’t you suppose to get up and protect us by catching the bat?” I giggled.

The boys were ready.  They wanted to find a net somewhere in the cabin – they were sure there was one in the rafters – but eventually it flew away.

My husband tells me now that he had jumped into bed with me to keep me safe and his plan to protect me obviously worked because the bat went away.

The next morning, we were still talking about the bat.  We all slept late that morning.  Jake was making breakfast and I was sick of not seeing anything so I decided to put my contacts in.  As I was washing my hands to put my contacts in

The

Bat

Flew

Right

In

Front

of

My

Face

I screamed and dropped.  I’ll admit it.

I had felt the bat’s wings beating wind into my face.

Being me, I then attempting to get video but all i did was shoot some terrible blurry photos with my phone that you can’t see anything on.  Apparently that happens when you are dunking and waving a phone around and keeping an eye out for a bat.

The boys squealed in joy and really would have liked to have caught it but it flew up in a corner and hid. I point out that corner in the Cabin video.

My husband thinks the bat seemed to know it’s way around the cabin very well, as if we are disturbing his home.

The rest of the trip, at some point in the night, we could hear the bat’s wings “swoop swoop swoop” across the room but we never saw it again.

We were all fine with that.

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Mouse In My Shoes

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mouseinmyshoes

I am going to admit right now that I used this photo because it is so ridiculous to me that I had to use it.  Who would do this?  Also, they are stripper shoes. I found this out later when I am trying to figure out why “stripper” comes up in my documents used today.

All that to tell you this terrible story because for whatever reason I share my terrible stories with all of you.

My husband, bless him, never really knows what he is going to get with me.

Take yesterday for example.

It was my day home that I had been looking forward to since my last day home last week.  I know that sounds silly but seriously, I was so excited to be home that I had my clothes laid out on my unmade bed just waiting for me to have my day of wearing yoga pants, my sweatshirt from the #CabinAdventure and my L.L. Bean moccasin slippers (I live in these slippers).

I love days home.

This the point in the story when I remind you that we have adorable kittens, Waylon and Hank.  They moved in to our home at the beginning of summer and they have throughly taken over this house.  These two brothers run us and we don’t mind a bit because we love them so.

All summer they have been attacking each other and house flies.  My husband has been giddy as winter approaches.  ”They will be great for mice,” he says with a gleam in his eye.

And here is where I admit another truth.  We get mice.  Every year.  This old farmhouse is like a beacon of warmth and safety to every field mouse in every field surrounding us.  They invade us as soon as it gets cold.  I keep things packaged and covered all the time but they still come.

Waylon and Hank feel that mice are their new favorite play things.

This is so embarrassing to admit.

What Waylon also did this week - this week.  This is an upstairs window.  Please note I no longer have a screen.  These kittens rule this house.  The end.

What Waylon also did this week – this week. This is an upstairs window. Please note I no longer have a screen. These kittens rule this house. The end.

 

They have been catching one mouse a day lately.  They leave it where they know we will walk when they have come to the conclusion that the mouse just isn’t playing with them anymore.  Thankfully, they do not feel the need to leave the mouse on, say, my pillow.

I was writing on my computer when I heard Hank growl.  Hank doesn’t growl.  Ever.

Waylon crouched down in the doorway of the bathroom where I heard the growling.  What on earth? I wondered as I turned to watch, slightly fearful.

Then I heard a squeak and I knew.

I quickly sent a text off to my husband.  ”Hank has a mouse.”

He felt the need to call me.  It’s like he must be there for my most embarrassing and traumatic moments just so he can laugh at me.  He is sweet like that.

He also likes to talk so there is that too.

I am trying to ignore the fact that kittens are playing with a mouse until it is dead and I am very glad that the mouse is going to die before it eats all my food in the pantry – what if it were to find my one lone box of girl scout cookies that I have in case we are snowed in for days on end and I am out of all treats? .

I noticed the kittens acting oddly, as though fetching me to get me to follow them so with Jake on the phone with me, I followed them to the bathroom where they were pacing and…

…moving my shoe around.

Earlier today I had put on two pairs of pants, three shirts, a jacket, wool socks and insulated shoes to walk the track for an hour (well, less than that because Jake, again, was talking to me on the phone for like 15 minutes).  Anyhow, I had kicked those shoes off when I got home to take a shower and there were my shoes still…and Hank was looking at the shoe and looking at me and looking at the shoe.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” I began screeching into the phone, “I think, I think, I think, oh! oh! oh!”

“WHAT?!?!” says husband, all alarmed now.

“My shoe! Oh! Oh! Oh!  It’s. In. My. Shoe.”

His laughter did not help.

I carefully picked up my shoe and flipped it over.

Nothing.

I shook it, flipped it over.  A dead mouse plopped to the ground.

I shrieked.

My husband, with nothing to do but sit in a parking lot waiting for someone to unload his delivery, was dying with laughter.

“I’m so glad we have those kittens,” he said again.

I don’t think I can wear those shoes ever again.

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That’s How I Got Showered In Hamburger Juice

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Years and years ago when my children were knee high to grasshoppers and not six inches taller than me, my parents asked me if we wanted their deep freezer.

“We never use it now that you are all gone and so if you want it, it’s yours.”  It was at the moment that I realized I had become my parents with four kids and they had become some childless couple that could buy one of those frozen Schwan’s meals that would feed them and leave them with leftovers.

I was ecstatic to get the freezer.  Because when you have four boys you are trying to feed, another place to store food is celebration worthy.

My husband and I have a list of things we want to accomplish every month of the year this year.  Jake says he doesn’t remember agreeing to this but I have promised him he did indeed agree and doing so would make our lives (in theory) run a bit more smoothly.  On the list he had added, “Clean out deep freezer.”

Cleaning out the deep freezer means eating the food that is in there so we can then defrost it and refill it with lots of fresh food.

Over the years, it has collected a lot of various unknowns.  The boys go to a game ranch, return with “free meat” and add it to the deep freezer.  My husband takes the boys to clean up leaves and the home owner realizes we have four boys so they send us home with a bag of frozen meat from, one can only assume, their deep freezer.

I have added the “buy one get one free” loaves of bread, the great sale on veggies, blueberries picked in summer heat, chunks and bags of cheese, coffee in case I absolutely run out.

But the deep freezer is no longer a place I “shop” anymore.  I more or less know what’s in there and send one of the boys to go fetch something for me from it’s frozenness.  (And then I hear my mom’s voice in my head sending me to get something from that same deep freezer as a little girl and her adding, “And don’t you tell me you can’t find it because if I go down and find it….” she trailed off while giving me “the look”. We made sure to find what was in the freezer, even if our hands become frostbitten.)

And knowing what’s in there is what keeps me from going to get anything from the deep freezer.  In the deepness of that frozen box are hides and dead things.

Nothing freaks you out more than digging for that box of girl scout cookies and your hand rubs against the soft hair of a deer hide.

Or, say, you go to grab a loaf of zucchini bread and a squirrel is staring up at you.  This happens to me, people.

They have plans to tan the hide of the deer AND the goat that are in there…but it I won’t let them use our one shower and home to do it so there the hides sit in the freezer.

And just so you know, Tanning a Deer Hide in the Bathtub is a real thing and the article is push-pinned in our bathroom just above the towel holder for drying our hands near the sink.  It could happen.  I live in fear that one rare day I’ll be gone all by myself for coffee and return home to all the boys in the bathroom tanning a hide.  It could happen.

They didn’t have time to gut the squirrel so the freeze it so they can at least use it to try out their taxidermy skills. And then I find it’s beady eyes staring up at me from under the zucchini bread.

So I have to send the boys out there to find things for me.  Today they found me a package of unknown meat from a highly reputable meat processing place.  But when I picked up the package from where it was thawing in the sink, it began to shoot hamburger “juice” out at me.

There was no stopping it.  I just picked it up and it began squirting at me as though it wanted to be put back into the deep freezer!

The deep freezer is dangerous to me, people.  And not having a set menu plan and instead just a “what can we find in there and what can you do to make it taste good” dinner plan we are doing is tough on my nerves.  I am not a miracle maker of meals.

There is one bright side to all this.  The Schwan’s man got my order wrong the other night and so Friday night is PIzza night – that I know is good and since the pizza is right on top of the deep freezer, it should be really safe for me to retrieve it.

No being attacked by frozen hamburger on that meal!

PS My mom is absolutely delightful and my siblings and I never sustained frostbite.  We just thought we were and that our mom was being mean to us…until we had kids ourselves and find ourselves saying the same thing to our children.  One day I hope the boys look back at me with fondness when it comes to the deep freezer instead of torture.  Love you, Mom, you know I do!!! 

 

 

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Eating Snake

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I love our library.

This summer we have a Teen Theme of Survival at the Library and we are teaching the kids survival skills.  A local resident, Mr. K., is retired Navy and currently a substitute teacher at the school.  He is the boys favorite.  This guy demands respect and the kids all seem to give it to him.  He also can tell a story like few people can.

So when he offered to come in and talk to the teens about how to survive out in the elements if needed, Alicia and I cheered.

It was a talk I wanted to sit in on, but the room was so filled (and I was drowning in books to package) so I didn’t.  I had full confidence the boys would give me an over view.

When the visitors had left, Alicia and I asked out six sons how the presentation had gone and this is what they said…

“It was great!  He told us that snake is really good eating!  Soon we’re going to be eating snake for supper!”

You know, I did always used to like that Mr. K.  Not I am not so sure.

People laugh when they hear this.  They laugh as an adult who thinks this will never happen.  I am their Mama.  I know this will happen.  I have never hoped to not see snakes so much in my life…and I never ever want to see snakes!

Perhaps you think I am over reacting (I tend to be a wee bit dramatic).  To that I give you this story.  It is not for the faint of heart.

 

S3 and I were sitting on the couch talking about some deep thing.  What it was, I cannot now recall and when you hear this story you will realize why that part seems a bit of a blur.  But it was a great mother son moment when all of the sudden he sat straight up and whipped around to look out the large picture window behind the couch. 

“Rabbit!” he uttered, his body tense with excitement.  “I’m going to shoot it!”  He ran to get his pellet gun and the screen door slammed behind him as ran out the door.

“He’ll never get it,” S2 laughed, hurrying in after hearing S3 call out.

“Maybe we should try to catch it for a pet,” S4 added, jumping on the couch and looking out the window.

But he did shoot it.  We were all sort of in shock by that.  He then dressed it out and got in my desk drawer to haul out all my push pins where he push pinned the hide onto a crate I use as a table on the front porch.  Then he used up all the table salt to salt the hide so he could keep it always.

therabbithide.jpg

But the meat?  Well, the meat he washed in the kitchen sink and his mama (that would be me) put it in a pot and baked it for a long long long long long time.  I wanted to make sure it was really really really dead.

When S3 was hungry for supper, he asked me how his rabbit was and I knew it was well cooked.  In an act of overwhelming generosity, S3 offered to share the meal with his little brother.

I scooped out the pitifully small rabbit and placed it on a plate for S2 to divide up between he and his brother.  They got out the Sweet Baby Ray’s (the only way they eat meat) and sat down to eat.

Excitement was high between them until S3 used his fork to pull away some meat and his fork pulled away (brace yourself…) rabbit poo.

“Oh, I guess I didn’t get it quite cleaned out.”

S1 happened to be walking by right then.  “Oh, it’s fine.  It’s been cooked.  I wouldn’t eat it but it’s fine.”

My smile was a wane one as I told him what a great hunter he was and how cool he made his own dinner as I grabbed the phone and hurried to my closet – the safest place to have a can’t be overheard conversation.

I dialed the phone and did the whole “please be home please be home please be home” chant when I got my parent’s voice mail.  But just hearing my mom’s voice had me confessing this awful horror on her voice mail.

But my mom must have sensed I needed her so she was calling me and I answered the call waiting to rush this story out.  “He shot a rabbit, I cooked it a long time but there is poop in it.  Is it safe to eat?  Or poisonous?  I don’t know!  How do I call the pediatric office with this one?  How would they know?”

My mom answered firmly, “You need your father for this one.”

My Dad, bless him, does not find my frantic calls unusual and does not get flustered by them.  He assured me that they would be fine.  But mom said his face said this was as gross as we knew it to be.

I hung up quickly and went out to the dining room where the boys were finishing up.  I knew they ate fast and there wasn’t much meat there, but this was super fast!

“It was really bony,” S3 explained.  “It tasted fine but it was too bony to eat.”

Thank goodness.

 

I tell you you all that to tell you this…

These boys know their mama will cook them anything.  ANYthing.  And if their hero substitute teacher assures them that snake is “darn good eating”, that means this mama will be cooking snake this summer.

Survival Adventures at the Library just became Survival Adventures here on our farm.  Because this mama just isn’t sure how she’ll survive that moment.

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Preparing for Hunter’s Safety

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I am sneaking away to write this to you.  If the boys find out…oy.

The boys and I are preparing to take hunter’s safety this weekend.  It’s a two day course.  Since I have never taken it I thought it might be wise for me to take it with them.

When we picked up the Hunter’s Safety book there was a note inside each one that said, “Read entire book and answer all chapter questions before class on Friday.”

I wish I had picked the book up earlier.

Wednesday afternoon was the first day I was finally able to crack open the book and see what it had to say.  I have been making the boys do study groups at the library the last three days so that an older boy reads to the younger boys and explains what they just read so they can answer the questions.

Note: saying “the boys did study group” sounds so idyllic and all but there was a lot of “how much longer?” and “where are we?” and “why do we have to do this?” and “are we done yet?”  

S1 took Hunter’s Safety years ago with my dad.  I have been looking for two years for a hunter’s safety class for the boys and this is the first one I have found.  They are rather tricky classes to get into because they are so sparse.  I told S1 he had to retake the class just to help with his brothers.  He is fine with this because he is really into guns and is someone who is super safety conscious.   S2 and S3 are old enough to take the class and while there is no age limit on the class I do think S4 is a little young for all the information.  But it’s still good knowledge for him to have.  I figure we’ll just do a refresher course again in a few years for especially S2, S3 and S4.

I know very very little about Hunter’s Safety.  I know very little about guns.  I have no desire to go hunting.  If a raccoon or an opossum are in the chicken coop, I have a passel of ready to shoot them and protect chickens and be all manly for mama boys (including my husband).

But I want to have a basic knowledge of this class for my boys’ sake.  And so I am taking this class.

I talked to another mom I know who is taking this exact class with her son.  “What if we don’t pass?” she asked, worriedly.

And that thought has been nagging at me.

I opened the book and the first chapter, breeze through it.  S1 is not quite hovering over me but keeping close enough tabs on me to know how far I am getting in the book and continually saying, “Just ask me if you need to know anything.”

Second chapter is all kinds of guns and ammunition.  My brain is staring to have a hard time computing it all.  It gets worse.  I don’t understand choke.  I don’t know how to sight it in or how to study shot patterns.  This is way more information on guns than I was bargaining for.

And yet my boys understand every word of it.

Somewhere in the middle of chapter three, my brain gave up and I fell asleep.

S1 emailed me while I was asleep…

here’s your inspiration for hunter safety

and sent me this video.

Sheesh, no pressure there.

So today they are determined to get me to finish this book.  They plan to take me shooting on Friday and who knows what else.  And then on Friday night, Hunter’s Safety class for the five of us.

Please oh please oh please oh please do not let me fail!

Hopefully updates to come throughout the weekend…..

 

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First Deer

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Today I am turning the blog over to S2 who harvested his first deer EVER today.  It’s opening day of Gun Season over here and I asked him to write the story of how the hunt went.  Here we go, in a 12 year old’s own words… 

Today I shot my first deer.  It was a buck.

My Uncle Jeff let me use his land, blind and gun (.30-06).  Dad, (S3) and me left the house at 5:00am.  We got up at 4:00am.  It was a long hour and half but we go there.  I sat in the box blind about 15-20 feet off the ground.

Ok, I was really nervous.  I got in the blind at 6:53 am.  Shooting hours stared at 7:03am.  I sat there and at 7:09am a doe ran in front of me.  I was mad I didn’t shoot it but 10 minutes later a deer came in with a limp.  I sat and watched.  It’s head was behind a tree.  It walked.  It was five yards away from the bait pile when I saw it, it was a Buck.  I brought the .30-06 up and shot him right in the heart.  He jumped up and kicked and fell down.  I took the safety off fire and yelled “YEAAA, I SHOT A BUCK!”  Dad and (S3) were about happier than me.  It turns out the Buck got hit by a car a few days/weeks ago.  I was so happy.  I brought it to my uncles and showed it to him.  He was proud of me.  I am very happy of what I got on November 15, 2014.

IMG_5670

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The Rest of the Story

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Remember Paul Harvey?  Remember how he always had those great “The Rest of the Story” stories?

Well, here is mine.

S2 just wrote all about his First Deer the other day.

We are just so super excited for him, don’t get me wrong.  But to understand the whole of his story, we must go back to this summer.  Back when it was so hot we didn’t mind sitting in air conditioning.  Back when I took all four boys to Hunter’s Safety where I scored 100 percent on my test.  And in that class I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would never ever go hunting.

It happened when they started talking about gutting animals.  I had just reached down to grab my gourmet blueberry muffin when the talk of “field dressing an animal” came up as topic.  Field Dressing is not actually putting a dress on an animal, just so you know.  It’s taking the guts out.  All my boys were enthralled.  I was trying not to loudly gag.  And it was hours before I could eat that muffin.

Once upon a time I used to think that I could be a pioneer.  The older I get, the more I realize I am pretty sure I don’t have what it would take to be a pioneer.  I am all for harvesting your own garden and meat, I am all for teaching the boys where their food comes from.  But the actual act of hunting?  Um, I don’t think I have it in me.

Melanie Shankle has me beat on that.  But I did think of her as the boys washed all in their no scent shampoo and as I type this I am staring at a tote filled with clothes washed in the scent of dirt – that is a real thing – and left outside in the tote to take on the outdoor scent to make hunting better.  I think of her perfume samples and laugh. (You can read about that scene in her book.)

S4 was not going to go hunting so we decided we would go see Big Hero 6.  He and I worked on planning our day and were looking forward to doing non hunting things when Jake informed me I wouldn’t have a vehicle.

“Wait, what?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“I’m taking the suburban tomorrow,” he told me.

“Wait, what?” was all I could ask again because WHAT?!?!

“You could drive the truck,” he offered.  The truck is his pride and joy.  And it barely runs.  He would argue it runs great because it has so much Dodge power but I would argue against that.  You can hear this truck long before you see it, the windows don’t work and all we really use it for is hauling wood.  I had to tread carefully here.

“Does it even have gas in it?’

“You should have plenty to get to the gas station,” he assured me.  Except I wasn’t assured.

“Just don’t put the deer IN the suburban.  She wouldn’t like that.”  Because my suburban is AWESOME and I love her dearly and I knew she would go to bat for me so I had to for her.

“Oh, it’ll be fine.  You’ll never even know we put a deer in there.”

So when I got the text message of S2’s amazingly happy grin at harvesting his first deer while I was still in bed dreaming happy dreams, I am ashamed to say my text messages sent back were in this rapid order….

“NO WAY!!!!!! Awesome!!!!”

“Do NOT put it IN the suburban.”

“His grin is great.” :)

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Yes, dear readers, I said “do not put in the suburban” before “his grin is great”.

So then my husband sent me this photo….
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And said, “Makeup sales and deer extermination.  How can you beat that?” because he is clever like that.  And I saw all my Mary Kay sales going down the drain because in that moment I knew exactly what my next photos would be…

Yup.

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Dead deer in the back of the suburban.

And here is where I have more to admit.  My faithful wonderful suburban is home all these hours and I do not have the heart to even go out to check on her.  It’s as if we are both trying to make believe this awfulness did not happen to us so we are avoiding each other completely.  Jake even ran to get milk for me so I didn’t have to drive her yet.

But the boys were home and safe and cutting up deer meat and I pulled out the crock pot for our fresh meat dinner, congratulating S2 on putting meat on the table for this evenings meal.  I cut up potatoes that we had grown ourselves and added them to the roast.  And later I put my hands into the dough of made from scratch rolls to go with our meal.  We were making a big deal out of this for S2, as we should.

Except at meal time it wasn’t so great.

As we remarked at how amazingly tender the roast we were eating was, S4 suddenly let out a cry from the next room and began to puke in a bucket.  Not because of the dinner, no, because he was hit with a flu bug this afternoon.  And with that S2 began to gag on his food at the table and that pretty much ruined our moment.  Our moment that was going pretty awesome because it was just the three of us at the table (I don’t know if that has ever happened) because S1 was hunting with friends at their farm, S3 was zonked out asleep for a few hours at this point and S4 was on the couch watching the Jungle Book.  Well, watching until he began to puke.

On a bright note, S2 has a LOT of leftovers to make an great brag worthy lunch for school on Monday.

And that, dear friends, is the rest of the story.

The post The Rest of the Story appeared first on Life With Four Boys.

First Deer

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A day after S2 went out and harvested his first deer, S3 went out with my brother and harvested his first deer.  I have asked S3 to tell us his hunting story.  Without further ado, I give you S3….

My name is S3 and I killed a deer.  A buck/spike.  Uncle D said to hold still for the last hour but my toes were freezing.  Thirty minutes later Uncle D said “Hold Still”.  I froze.  Then he said, “Pick up the gun slowly”.  So I did.  I put it toward the lung and BANG!!!  I saw it drop and then get back up again we tracked him most of the night for about 10 or 15 minutes.  Then Uncle D said to come here and give me hand.  It was a spike buck.

 

IMG_5700Note:

When S3 shot set up to get a shot on this deer, they thought it was a doe.  When my brother called him over to where the deer was, apparently S3 went tearing through the woods.  My husband said he could have broken a leg and wouldn’t have known he was that excited.  “Do you have my deer? Do you have my deer?” he was asking and then he shouted, “It’s a BUCK!”  

S2 and S3 are not letting S1 forget he has yet to get a deer.

The post First Deer appeared first on Life With Four Boys.

Because Friends Don’t Let Friends Smell Like Skunk

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She looked me dead on, seriousness etched all over her face, took a deep breath and asked me “Denise, as my friend, tell me the God’s honest truth.  Do I (pause)…do I smell like skunk?”

Because REAL friends don’t let their friends they love smell like skunk, as we all know.

This is when I knew that I was about to get A STORY and as the days passed and I kept repeating it and laughing hysterically every time I thought of it, I asked my friend if I could share her story.  She has agreed and your day is about to get memorable because this is a story one cannot soon forget.  I have changed the names of my friends to offer them some privacy.

One sunny HOT (and hot is key to this story) Tuesday, I was thankful it wasn’t as hot as it had been the day before and was getting myself ready for work at the library.  It was an odd day where every one of my boys was gone save one, who happened to be sound asleep still in his bed.

It was an odd day as I was completely ready for work early and was attempting to not move too much to not sweat too much before heading to work.  I had just picked up a new kind of coffee from Mugshots (Summer Sunrise) and my tea kettle had just whistled when I received a text from my friend Jazzy.  “Are you home?”

I replied that I was and as I had about 20 minutes before work, she arrived soon after where I she commented on how she loved my vintage yellow dress and I poured her coffee in my two fiesta mugs.

This is when she took a deep breath, looked me dead on and asked, “Denise, as my friend, tell me the God’s honest truth.  Do I smell like skunk?”

This question took me by surprise and I am pretty sure it showed.  But Jazzy is my dear friend so I took a big deep sniff.  “No.  I don’t smell a skunk.”  Really, that is love because what if I HAD smelled skunk and choked and tears had sprung from my eyes.  Truly, I do love that Jazzy.  “Whhhhhhyyyyyy?”

“Well, we caught skunk.  Well, I suppose I should start at the beginning.  We have a woodchuck.”

Woodchucks are notorious for tearing apart gardens and wrecking havoc in yards.  So Jazzy and her nearing a century old father, Elmer, have been attempting to trap said woodchuck for quite some time.  Elmer believes in the old school way of doing things and so has been using conibear traps for all of time because that’s the trap that works.  But Jazzy just couldn’t take the conibear trap anymore and finally convinced her father to purchase a live trap.  Because when you must kill a varmint eating your garden, you want to do it humanely.  Anyhow, Elmer succumbed to his daughter’s pleading and against his better judgement, they purchased one.

Jazzy asked her big time farming friend what was her best plan of action for catching the fat woodchuck that was eating all their garden and she followed his instructions completely.  It was her idea to purchase the live trap and so she would do the work for it.  She felt it was only fair.

On Monday, Jazzy set the live trap right in the path (basically a woodchuck main highway) that it had into her garden and she baited it as instructed and went to sleep dreaming of catching that nasty varmint.

The next morning she could see from the window that he had in fact caught a big one.  For a brief moment she thought she spied white but then knew it was just the light and it was the big brown woodchuck.  But when she went out with her dad to get check the trap, they stopped far from the trap.  Because there, staring evilly, was a skunk.

Skunks are evil.

Elmer thought up the plan to throw a nearby tarp over the trap.  This should – should being the key word – keep the skunk from spraying them.  So, nearing a century old Elmer on one end and Jazzy on the other, they slowly and carefully moved to throw the tarp onto the skunk.   But at the very last moment, Jazzy chickened  out and the tarp didn’t cover the skunk on her end.

Elmer knew he had better shoot fast and he took aim to shoot the skunk in the live trap but as the day seemed to have it out for them, he missed.

All of this made the skunk very very very very mad and it sprayed a very very very very much amount of skunk spray.

Through the stink bomb, Jazzy said, “Well, now what do we do?”

And Elmer, tears streaming from his eyes from the terrible stench, answered with “Throw another tarp on the skunk!”

So they threw another tarp on the skunk and the thought was surely the skunk would not survive the 90 plus degree day.  Tomorrow the skunk would be dead and the skunk problem would be solved.

All day they stayed away from the live trap and Jazzy spent a restless evening thinking about how awful this all was through the lingering stench of the sprayed skunk.  So, early in the morning she gave herself a pep talk.  “Jazzy, you were the brilliant one who thought of a live trap.  You got us into this problem, now you get us out of it!”

At 5:30 in the morning, when it was just light, she went out to check on the skunk and the terrible evil thing was still looking evilly at her.  And she just didn’t know what to do next.  It was supposed to dead.  She was started by a banging on the inside of the house window.  Elmer, who was never awake at 5:30 in the morning, was banging on the window and hollering “Hold on!”

He stumbled outdoors with his gun and this time he shot that thing.

They stood there as the scent became overpowering again.

“Well, now what do we do?” Jazzy asked.  Because while she had given herself a pep talk, the pep talk did not include touching  the now very nasty live trap.

“We’ll take it to Sam’s farm,” Elmer said decisively.

Sam is Jazzy’s brother and he owns quite a large spread very near where they lived so Elmer tossed the live trap holding the dead skunk into the trunk of his car and they took off.

The ride wasn’t long but it wasn’t even half way there when Elmer said, “Boy, Jazzy, I knew I stunk but do I smell that bad?”

And Jazzy had to admit the smell was overpoweringly horrific.

Then Elmer said what Jazzy had been thinking but was afraid to voice.  “I hope I killed that skunk and it’s not just back there alive still.”

Because can you even imagine?

You are now so I’ll let you think on that nightmare.

They arrived at Sam’s farm and Elmer tossed that live trap and the yes it was truly fully dead skunk as far away behind the barn as he possible could.  Good riddance nasty skunk!

Except when the skunk landed they realized that they had yet another issue.

The farm is a working farm and there is a large pig pen out there.  And that pig pen was overflowing with water.

Sam was already gone to work and Jazzy, having the morning she was having, had forgotten her phone.  Elmer was about to wade into the pen but Jazzy, who had gotten them in this mess anyhow, waded into the pig slop and manure to get to the faucet that was broken and spewing water.

“We’ll have to shut it off at the well!” Elmer declared decisively and headed in that direction.

Jazzy, wading her way out of the pig slop, had all she could do to stop her nearing a century old father from “just gonna jump into that well and shut it off” as he planned.  Thankfully, they couldn’t find the well in an overgrown part of the field and so they decided the best thing they could do was return home.

So, back into the car that smelled of skunk sat Jazzy and Elmer who were both smelling of pig manure as well as the skunk smell and drove silently home where they then had this conversation on the phone.

“Hello, Sam?  It’s Jazzy.  Dad and I were out for a little drive this morning and we happened to drive by the farm and noticed that the pig pen looked flooded.  It was.  We looked for the well, you know how Dad is, but didn’t find it so you’ll want to get that taken care of sooner than later.  Oh, no problem.  And, oh by the way, there is a dead skunk in a live trap behind the barn. You have a good day now!”

Jazzy sipped her coffee.  “All this, Denise, before 6:30 in the morning.”

I had been spellbound by the story but started laughing so hard.  “Thank you!  Thank you for telling me this hilarious story!  This is just what I needed to hear today!”

Jazzy shrugged.  Like it was the least she could do for a friend.

I laughed to myself all that day.

But the story didn’t end there.

The next day I unexpectedly found myself at my parents home.  Long story.  We visited for about half an hour in which time I had to retell this hilarious story to them.  We were all laughing when my dad randomly said, “I don’t mind the smell of skunk so much.”

My dad also feeds turkey buzzards and they hang around my parents home.  But that’s another story.

The very next morning, my mom who had FIVE people staying over at her home for a tractor show, texted me to say that they had caught a skunk in the live trap last night.  That it has sprayed everywhere.  That the smell was awful and Dad even had to dig up the dirt to get the smell to tone down and Dad takes back what he said about the smell of skunk.  It must have been awful.  He didn’t even feed the skunk to the turkey buzzards.

I was laughing over my mom’s text when Myrna, Alicia’s mom, stopped into the library to tell us she was setting a live trap that night to catch a raccoon that was terrorizing her.  “Don’t do it!” we cried, “All anyone is catching this week is skunks!”

Because one thing Jazzy has taught us well this week…friends don’t let friends smell like skunk.

The post Because Friends Don’t Let Friends Smell Like Skunk appeared first on Life With Four Boys.

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