Bug Has Found His Happy Place


Our first cold day today. The fire didn’t really need to go on, but for these three reasons:
1) Lucy wanted it
2) Bug needed it
3) It’s not a bad idea to start warming up the stone walls for winter


Game of Pwn


I’ve created a new game. A game that compiles all of the game pieces from all the games you own. Okay, maybe Zélie made the game. I call it “Games Without Frontiers” ( or Jeux Sans Frontières in French ). It has no rules and if  war ensues, it will be without tears. Okay, maybe Peter Gabriel named the game. But it’s a very popular game in our household. Monopoly money is King and the little cannons from Diplomacy are surreptitiously strewn around the house.

At first, I know, I feel you getting a little uncomfortable with all the pieces all together in perfect disharmony. It’s a nail-scratch-on-the-chalkboard feeling that can only be resolved with order, reconciliation and a strong hook-and-eye securely fastened to the door.  In this game, with all those pieces, there are no predetermined rules.  Kids hate games with rules.  They much prefer to create the rules as they go along ( usually slanted in their favor ).  Spend two minutes playing CandyLand with a four-year-old and this message will shout at you loud and clear.  The first rule of CandyLand is : there is no strategy in CandyLand.  Your fate unfolds as the pre-shuffled deck orders the next move to which you follow without question.  No choices required.  Sit back, follow directions and Hey! LOOK!  Gumdrops!

She’s so popular, our Zélie, opening up all the games to make one game to rule them all.  The games the kids play with all the pieces is endless.  Really, the only limitation is yourself.


Here’s Some Random


This is Minty’s sausage.

Z has discovered, through a few tears, that magical moment of locked and loaded Duplo.

M gave me this stiff breadmouse. The kids ask me weekly why we cannot eat it.

A little breakfast fresh from the chicken’s bum.


Tosca enjoys the benefits of being a dog living the life on a grassfed beef farm.


M sets up his next blog post while also fitting in his daily squat routine.


Celine Dion captures the French pop chart.
The wind blows at a shutteringly closing speed.

Dinner is Cooking


Sweet toddler is harvesting tiny green tomatoes.


Otto is swinging high on his carefully designed rope swing.


GreyCute is working hard on his winter coat. It takes a lot of focus and naps and focused naps to grow thick, studdly fur of grey.


Brent moved the herd.


Then, he gave Z a cuddle.


M and G enjoyed the sunset.


Muscles got a snug. But, hey, don’t go spreading that around. He likes to keep his sensitive side private.

Our Little Lunchtime Friend


Otto brought his preying mantis in during our dessert course. Miss Mantis was well behaved and waited patiently for a cricket or grasshopper or small bird to munch on.

It’s the season for these elegant creatures as they head into fall ready to deposit an ootheca ( I feel a band name coming on ) that is a little egg sack tough enough to snuggle in for the winter. In the spring it will hatch and clear our garden of many pests.

A Child of the Eighties


No nap from baby, a full day of Sunday cooking, cleaning and a reboot in preparation for Monday paves the way clear for a little DirectStar Le Top 80. These gems are heard from the other room while I braise beef cheeks and hum familiar tunes from my ever recent past.


Two notes into it, a little Nagal tear was shed as I recalled those crazy times of feather bangs, pegged 501’s and perfecting that paper fold of notes passed between classes filled with deep expression of the trying times being a tween in the eighties. Time after Time.

Also exciting was watching Brent shake his booty to the hip new sounds of The Jackson Five, “Can You Feel It.”

The music of the eighties shows no mercy. With each fleeting electronic synth note/beat/sound you are happy, sad and somewhat embarrassed that this … This was my time.