Last Wednesday, we traveled to the outskirts of Driftwood to fetch the rest of the free Karakuls. Each of the beasties had to be wrestled and carried/dragged into the trailer, as there was no fail-safe setup to allow them to simply be funneled into their transport. While I was waiting to be useful, I made friends (or so I thought) with Hercules the Guard Donkey. He seemed to appreciate scratches and pats upon his person, and he followed me around as I went to fetch rope, and then the crook from the car.
By the time we were halfway through the sheep extraction, Hercules was acting like my best buddy, and started lipping my hand. DumbCityGirl me thought he was being sweet and affectionate, when he was really just gearing up for eating me alive, starting with my left thumb. The first stage of chomping was not too bad--not painful, but definitely impossible to break free. My efforts to keep the panic away weren't enough, as Hercules quickly accelerated to stage two of chomping--pain and disfigurement, but no broken skin.
At this point my brain is grappling with a matter of farm etiquette: how to make the pain stop while not offending the donkey's owner. Would she be OK with me punching and kicking at Hercules, or is that verboten? DearHusband, unfortunately, could be of no help, as he had his hands full of sheep, and wasn't willing to lose what ground he'd managed to cover, even if it meant rescue and gratefulness later. Hercules eventually decided that he didn't want to be attached to a screaming, bouncing spaz of a woman, and he let go.
First, I watched my hand plump back up and lose the tooth indentations. Then, it was red and a little swollen at the site of
attack. The next morning, I expected it to be heavily bruised, but there was little indication of what I'd been through. My hand was definitely sore for a few days, but not so much that I couldn't perform what's needed around here.
So, the next three things we need to do with the sheep are:
--shear the 4 new arrivals
--see about buying a ram
--breed the females
--look into buying a guard llama
DearHusband has set up snares for whatever got the sheep we'd lost a few weeks ago. He's also gotten into the habit of taking Boudreaux for a walk around the perimeter at the end of the day in the hopes that the scent will deter unwanted intruders.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Sunday, September 10, 2006
My husband's take on our homestead
The farmstead is multipurpose but is also a manifestation of my hermit tendencies, a desire to reclude, to be at least somewhat self-sufficient, to build my fortress of solitude from the savage garden, to control my surroundings, to provide for my long-term happiness, a home, a place to be creative, a place which we will create and change, to provide a place for my family to live and enjoy life and provide a place for me to work. I'm also keeping the following in mind (though the amount of influence on the implementation is ad hoc): positioning for an agricultural tax exemption, better control over our food's origins and processing, sustainability in the event of war or economic, government or society collapse, occasionally sleeping under the stars or reading a book leaning back against an old warped oak tree, watching in horror as our son makes it to the top limbs of that oak tree, and devising a plan to remove fireants from his sand box (to be created).
As a child, I loved the idea of animals, but animals often did not cooperate with ideas. I repaired a lot of fencing. Fed and watered a lot of animals. Got a few beatings when I didn't. I did a lot of leading our small heard of cows across town with a lead rope and a feed bucket between the lot in town, and the ranch. Yes, across town. I enjoyed horseback riding but did not get to do it as often as I'd like. I loved the process, the paraphenalia, the gear. I was decent at it. I remember one of my teachers, Monic Brant, a schoolmate, was both beautiful and mysterious. She and my other trainer complimented me on my abilities. I never competed or won any awards, though. I never learned to rope a calf, which I think would be fun.
When I and my sister left my parents' household, the horses, and probaly most of the animals, got neglected. I went back after years to find my favorite horse, Jameel, an Arabian stallion, suffering from some sort of skin cancer which produced barby or prickly spine-like growths, like very thick sharp hairs, on his lips, nose, genitals and around his eyes. It tore me up. Such a proud horse, and now, sitting on his rear to get a good enough angle to contort to nuzzle his groin, the same position a cat might. My parents had spent years hammering "responsible care of the animals" into us as kids while we were the labor on their projects. Confirmation of the sentiment that we were the majority of the labor and that things would fall apart when we left the household had no joy. I collaborated with my sister to bring an ultimatum on the care of Jameel. My mother had the vet put him down. I remember crying on the phone to a friend, bawling like a big baby. I drove down that night, with my sister. It was misty, slightly cool. When we hit the speed limit change outside of our hometown, I stepped in the clutch and rolled down the windows. The effect reminded me of lowering landing gear and cold wet wind whipped through the cab as we decended into the valley. When we got out to the ranch, the gate was locked so we walked to the back with flashlights in the fog, like Scully and Molder, and found the grave in the dark by spotting the back-hoe tracks. I still have some of the clay dirt in the garage. I've been meaning to sculpt a little horse out of it, put it next to Kimmy [Marina: my cat, who died in 2004] and let the rain wash it away. I do not wish to put our son through something like this.
Without the labor provided by their children, my parents, specificly my mother, was/were not willing to put in the labor to maintain a farm/ranch. She still has some of her collection of birds. Usually my dad feeds and waters them. It comes up in discussion with my sister. We come back to the fact that we cannot live our parents' lives for them. We hope my father will enjoy his retirement at some point. We just have to let it go. We can't control.
I enjoyed visiting my grandfather's farm as a child, and somehow chores there were not as 'choresome' as taking care of my mother's managerie. The chicken butchering incident was frustrating and macbre, but is one of my favorite stories, now that it's over. "GranD" (my mother's father) was very proud of his birds and his chickens, ducks, geese won the occasional award at the county fair. He also had a few cows, some of which he would milk. He and Grandma R even churned cream to butter. One cow kicked him good when he was milking and he hit it over the head with a 2x4 and fell over. Never kicked him again. Even though he got old, he put a lot of work into the little farmstead until he got cancer. It is similar in size to ours, but had better soil. One of my most cherished memories is him looking out the sliding glass door as his sons helped steady him, at his grandkids who had collected pears from his orchard, and were ramming them into the potato cannon with the long handle of an edger, loading the breech with hair spray, and firing the pears over his poultry and barn, all with slightly more efficiency and less argument (slightly, mind you) than a committee. I think he died the next day or so.
I'm hesistant to just start grabbing animals. I try to look to being able to maintain whatever we bring on board. It's hard because I'm only able to apply a few hours per week day max, and often not that much, and I don't want to sign the wife up for more work. I am also undisciplined and lazy.
Marina found these sheep on the internet for free to a good home as long as we don't eat them, so I don't get to eat these. However, lamb is tasty. The grass has recovered here enough for the sheep, but we'll have to manage their grazing so they don't kill it back bare. The sheep will be raised for wool (at least these particular sheep). I doubt we'll do any of the spinning ourselves, though we'll probably clean and card the wool. As a child, I used to have a loom and I still have the recorder cover that my mother made from the first piece of cloth I wove. These sheep make very strong wool, but a little coarse for sweaters. I am told the wool is expensive and is typically used for rugs. This breed has a bulbous tail that serves the same function as a camel hump, storing nutrients and water. They are very hardy. They appear to me to be smarter and sneakier than other breeds of sheep.
The land prices and sprawl outpace my income. There have been some significant lost opportunities for me, things I didn't know or realize. Had I known my world was small enough if I had put the clues together I could be where I only dream about being now. The loss of some of the old ranches and lost communities out here makes me sad when I stop to think about it. I occasionally will round a turn in life, and run into someone or some information, and find out there was an opportunity missed due to serendipity's cruel doppleganger. I don't like to talk about that part much; I am not pretty and the topic is not convenient.
I know I am doing better than most. Rather than dwell, I try to fill my days with progress on the dream, and keep watch for opportunity.
As a child, I loved the idea of animals, but animals often did not cooperate with ideas. I repaired a lot of fencing. Fed and watered a lot of animals. Got a few beatings when I didn't. I did a lot of leading our small heard of cows across town with a lead rope and a feed bucket between the lot in town, and the ranch. Yes, across town. I enjoyed horseback riding but did not get to do it as often as I'd like. I loved the process, the paraphenalia, the gear. I was decent at it. I remember one of my teachers, Monic Brant, a schoolmate, was both beautiful and mysterious. She and my other trainer complimented me on my abilities. I never competed or won any awards, though. I never learned to rope a calf, which I think would be fun.
When I and my sister left my parents' household, the horses, and probaly most of the animals, got neglected. I went back after years to find my favorite horse, Jameel, an Arabian stallion, suffering from some sort of skin cancer which produced barby or prickly spine-like growths, like very thick sharp hairs, on his lips, nose, genitals and around his eyes. It tore me up. Such a proud horse, and now, sitting on his rear to get a good enough angle to contort to nuzzle his groin, the same position a cat might. My parents had spent years hammering "responsible care of the animals" into us as kids while we were the labor on their projects. Confirmation of the sentiment that we were the majority of the labor and that things would fall apart when we left the household had no joy. I collaborated with my sister to bring an ultimatum on the care of Jameel. My mother had the vet put him down. I remember crying on the phone to a friend, bawling like a big baby. I drove down that night, with my sister. It was misty, slightly cool. When we hit the speed limit change outside of our hometown, I stepped in the clutch and rolled down the windows. The effect reminded me of lowering landing gear and cold wet wind whipped through the cab as we decended into the valley. When we got out to the ranch, the gate was locked so we walked to the back with flashlights in the fog, like Scully and Molder, and found the grave in the dark by spotting the back-hoe tracks. I still have some of the clay dirt in the garage. I've been meaning to sculpt a little horse out of it, put it next to Kimmy [Marina: my cat, who died in 2004] and let the rain wash it away. I do not wish to put our son through something like this.
Without the labor provided by their children, my parents, specificly my mother, was/were not willing to put in the labor to maintain a farm/ranch. She still has some of her collection of birds. Usually my dad feeds and waters them. It comes up in discussion with my sister. We come back to the fact that we cannot live our parents' lives for them. We hope my father will enjoy his retirement at some point. We just have to let it go. We can't control.
I enjoyed visiting my grandfather's farm as a child, and somehow chores there were not as 'choresome' as taking care of my mother's managerie. The chicken butchering incident was frustrating and macbre, but is one of my favorite stories, now that it's over. "GranD" (my mother's father) was very proud of his birds and his chickens, ducks, geese won the occasional award at the county fair. He also had a few cows, some of which he would milk. He and Grandma R even churned cream to butter. One cow kicked him good when he was milking and he hit it over the head with a 2x4 and fell over. Never kicked him again. Even though he got old, he put a lot of work into the little farmstead until he got cancer. It is similar in size to ours, but had better soil. One of my most cherished memories is him looking out the sliding glass door as his sons helped steady him, at his grandkids who had collected pears from his orchard, and were ramming them into the potato cannon with the long handle of an edger, loading the breech with hair spray, and firing the pears over his poultry and barn, all with slightly more efficiency and less argument (slightly, mind you) than a committee. I think he died the next day or so.
I'm hesistant to just start grabbing animals. I try to look to being able to maintain whatever we bring on board. It's hard because I'm only able to apply a few hours per week day max, and often not that much, and I don't want to sign the wife up for more work. I am also undisciplined and lazy.
Marina found these sheep on the internet for free to a good home as long as we don't eat them, so I don't get to eat these. However, lamb is tasty. The grass has recovered here enough for the sheep, but we'll have to manage their grazing so they don't kill it back bare. The sheep will be raised for wool (at least these particular sheep). I doubt we'll do any of the spinning ourselves, though we'll probably clean and card the wool. As a child, I used to have a loom and I still have the recorder cover that my mother made from the first piece of cloth I wove. These sheep make very strong wool, but a little coarse for sweaters. I am told the wool is expensive and is typically used for rugs. This breed has a bulbous tail that serves the same function as a camel hump, storing nutrients and water. They are very hardy. They appear to me to be smarter and sneakier than other breeds of sheep.
The land prices and sprawl outpace my income. There have been some significant lost opportunities for me, things I didn't know or realize. Had I known my world was small enough if I had put the clues together I could be where I only dream about being now. The loss of some of the old ranches and lost communities out here makes me sad when I stop to think about it. I occasionally will round a turn in life, and run into someone or some information, and find out there was an opportunity missed due to serendipity's cruel doppleganger. I don't like to talk about that part much; I am not pretty and the topic is not convenient.
I know I am doing better than most. Rather than dwell, I try to fill my days with progress on the dream, and keep watch for opportunity.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Why we're here--an unfocused melody
Well, my friend has asked me to be her guest blogger for Sunday. Why she thinks I've made as much progress on my farm as she has with hers, I don't know. I don't feel like I've mastered anything, except maybe research. In my blog introduction, I state: "I'm not a farm girl, but I'll be playing one for the forseeable future." I've had two careers (teacher and library assistant), both of which became too soul-killing to continue professionally. So, here I am, on 11+ acres, with chickens, sheep, and a small raised bed, trying to figure out how to:
-turn the rest of this place into a working farm
-remodel our house to be efficient and comfortable
-care for, house, and utilize the animals we have
-find the best way to add animals to the fold
-keeping up with changes in relevant laws that govern our homestead and our lifestyle
et cetera, ad nauseum, yadda yadda blah blah
So, how am I making the transition from small-town Material Girl to rural Mistress of my Domain? It seems like a slow and painful process at times, but some aspects are easier than others. I've been familiar with, and have practiced Voluntary Simplicity. That paradigm has enabled me to find ways of stretching our dollars and prioritizing our efforts. My love of books has me seeking out resources old and new regarding country skills, food preservation, organic practices, animal husbandry, and building design. Although I am not a people person, I am pushing myself to build relationships and find mentors whom I can consult when books and my computer fail me. I am still challenged by the physical aspects of this new career. I have issues with several of my lumbar discs, so I have to be careful about how hard I push myself. I am also, unfortunately, a bit too girly when it comes to mucking around in dirt (aside from basic gardening) and crawling through brush. Don't even get me started about spider webs. [whole-body shudder]
My husband and I started this (ad)venture with an abundance of dreams (some of them conflicting), but without much of a plan. We were simply focused on getting out of the big city and onto the biggest piece of workable land we could afford. This place had the greatest potential, even with all of its flaws (the overabundance of juniper, the contaminated well, the painful dance we've had with internet access, the wallpaper). We realize that we need a timeline, a budget, and some details on the grand vision, but we can't seem to find/make the time to get off the treadmill of mundane maintenance and hammer those things out. Right now, we are just working off of lists and dealing with whatever situation is screaming loudest for attention. I know that this strategy is good only for creating stress and stretching out the realization of our goals, but, as I said before, that treadmill is a hard one to negotiate. We're also trying to find the balance between the high-tech reality (what we have to work with) and saving the old, tested wisdom.
In a sense, we are getting back to our roots (original for my husband, ancestral for me). DH grew up on a farm outside of San Antonio, while I merely remember stories about my mother going mushroom-hunting and battling her mother's rooster. Mom didn't stay on the farm, and I didn't get to grow up learning how to work with the land (although I do remember visiting my nonni during chicken slaughtering time--the large bowl of chicken hearts was pretty cool-looking). We want very much to make this work, to do our part in stewardship for this tract for which we've taken legal responsibility. We want to provide opportunities for our friends to enjoy farm-fresh produce and meat. We want to teach the children in our circle how to work with and respect the energies of the land and the products that come from it.
-turn the rest of this place into a working farm
-remodel our house to be efficient and comfortable
-care for, house, and utilize the animals we have
-find the best way to add animals to the fold
-keeping up with changes in relevant laws that govern our homestead and our lifestyle
et cetera, ad nauseum, yadda yadda blah blah
So, how am I making the transition from small-town Material Girl to rural Mistress of my Domain? It seems like a slow and painful process at times, but some aspects are easier than others. I've been familiar with, and have practiced Voluntary Simplicity. That paradigm has enabled me to find ways of stretching our dollars and prioritizing our efforts. My love of books has me seeking out resources old and new regarding country skills, food preservation, organic practices, animal husbandry, and building design. Although I am not a people person, I am pushing myself to build relationships and find mentors whom I can consult when books and my computer fail me. I am still challenged by the physical aspects of this new career. I have issues with several of my lumbar discs, so I have to be careful about how hard I push myself. I am also, unfortunately, a bit too girly when it comes to mucking around in dirt (aside from basic gardening) and crawling through brush. Don't even get me started about spider webs. [whole-body shudder]
My husband and I started this (ad)venture with an abundance of dreams (some of them conflicting), but without much of a plan. We were simply focused on getting out of the big city and onto the biggest piece of workable land we could afford. This place had the greatest potential, even with all of its flaws (the overabundance of juniper, the contaminated well, the painful dance we've had with internet access, the wallpaper). We realize that we need a timeline, a budget, and some details on the grand vision, but we can't seem to find/make the time to get off the treadmill of mundane maintenance and hammer those things out. Right now, we are just working off of lists and dealing with whatever situation is screaming loudest for attention. I know that this strategy is good only for creating stress and stretching out the realization of our goals, but, as I said before, that treadmill is a hard one to negotiate. We're also trying to find the balance between the high-tech reality (what we have to work with) and saving the old, tested wisdom.
In a sense, we are getting back to our roots (original for my husband, ancestral for me). DH grew up on a farm outside of San Antonio, while I merely remember stories about my mother going mushroom-hunting and battling her mother's rooster. Mom didn't stay on the farm, and I didn't get to grow up learning how to work with the land (although I do remember visiting my nonni during chicken slaughtering time--the large bowl of chicken hearts was pretty cool-looking). We want very much to make this work, to do our part in stewardship for this tract for which we've taken legal responsibility. We want to provide opportunities for our friends to enjoy farm-fresh produce and meat. We want to teach the children in our circle how to work with and respect the energies of the land and the products that come from it.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Rain!
The forecast hadn't called for it, but as soon as I heard Persephone (our Husky mix) yelp and climb up the front door, I knew that there was thunder brewing.I brought her inside to hang out in her Happy Place (the crate we originally bought for our Pyr), and proceeded to gather litter containers to collect what I could of the oncoming downpour.
In my opinion, many suburbanites take little notice of drought conditions until the color of their lawn is at risk. As ranchers sell to the developers,not only does there become an increased burden on the aquifer (or tower, in some cases), but the collective voice of the farmer becomes that much dimmer. When I drive into town, I see once-nurturing creeks that have dried to bone-white. About a month ago, one of the larger ranches (300+ acres) came up for sale--"perfect for development." If another rancher doesn't buy it, two things will happen: land assessments will go way up, raising overall property taxes (in Texas, the rates have been cut by taking the school finance chunk out--we'll see the results over the next few tax years), and we will not be taking that route into town anymore. I don't mean to offend--I don't begrudge people's choice of how to spend their money or where they want to live--but the sight of cookie-cutter houses replacing that of trees and cattle makes me sad.
Well, back to our personal battle against the effects of the drought...
A real rainwater collection system is in the overall homestead development plan. We've only gotten so far as to install gutters on the house and the front half of the garage/shop/office, however, so all we have to store the water is a large barn-bucket and my son's wading pool. We feed those two containers via reused buckets of cat litter. Oh, and the liner to one of those step garbage cans (which broke after one step too many). To collect the maximum amout of rainwater possible, I have to empty the litter buckets into the two large containers for as long as it is raining (or until I've filled both containers and all buckets). Not only do I get 2 or 3 days worth of garden water, I get a free shower to boot! The other reason for the hurry in terms of getting the buckets in place is the speed, size, and duration of the cell. The one we got on Monday was one of those small pop-ups that could have just as easily missed us, instead of gifting us the 1/10" that sustained our corn, squash, tomatoes, carrots, herbs, and roses for three more days without dipping into our well.
One problem in this temporary solution of water transport is that I'm unable to be properly armed against our rooster. I used to keep him at bay with and old broom the cats had saturated (it was a nice double insult, I thought). That eventually fell apart, and I commandeered the pitchfork for disciplining the rooster. So, on Monday when the rooster saw that I was unarmed, he came after me with those 2" spurs and his bad attitude. I ran for the pitchfork and gave it to him hard enough that he lost his tailfeathers and took off running the other way (rare for him, usually we just come to a standoff). I'm told that rooster gonads are bigger than their brains, but I would still think that this idiot would have enough self-preservation about him to cease with the ground war.
In my opinion, many suburbanites take little notice of drought conditions until the color of their lawn is at risk. As ranchers sell to the developers,not only does there become an increased burden on the aquifer (or tower, in some cases), but the collective voice of the farmer becomes that much dimmer. When I drive into town, I see once-nurturing creeks that have dried to bone-white. About a month ago, one of the larger ranches (300+ acres) came up for sale--"perfect for development." If another rancher doesn't buy it, two things will happen: land assessments will go way up, raising overall property taxes (in Texas, the rates have been cut by taking the school finance chunk out--we'll see the results over the next few tax years), and we will not be taking that route into town anymore. I don't mean to offend--I don't begrudge people's choice of how to spend their money or where they want to live--but the sight of cookie-cutter houses replacing that of trees and cattle makes me sad.
Well, back to our personal battle against the effects of the drought...
A real rainwater collection system is in the overall homestead development plan. We've only gotten so far as to install gutters on the house and the front half of the garage/shop/office, however, so all we have to store the water is a large barn-bucket and my son's wading pool. We feed those two containers via reused buckets of cat litter. Oh, and the liner to one of those step garbage cans (which broke after one step too many). To collect the maximum amout of rainwater possible, I have to empty the litter buckets into the two large containers for as long as it is raining (or until I've filled both containers and all buckets). Not only do I get 2 or 3 days worth of garden water, I get a free shower to boot! The other reason for the hurry in terms of getting the buckets in place is the speed, size, and duration of the cell. The one we got on Monday was one of those small pop-ups that could have just as easily missed us, instead of gifting us the 1/10" that sustained our corn, squash, tomatoes, carrots, herbs, and roses for three more days without dipping into our well.
One problem in this temporary solution of water transport is that I'm unable to be properly armed against our rooster. I used to keep him at bay with and old broom the cats had saturated (it was a nice double insult, I thought). That eventually fell apart, and I commandeered the pitchfork for disciplining the rooster. So, on Monday when the rooster saw that I was unarmed, he came after me with those 2" spurs and his bad attitude. I ran for the pitchfork and gave it to him hard enough that he lost his tailfeathers and took off running the other way (rare for him, usually we just come to a standoff). I'm told that rooster gonads are bigger than their brains, but I would still think that this idiot would have enough self-preservation about him to cease with the ground war.
Monday, July 31, 2006
My point...and I do have one...
Yesterday, my husband brought out his keyboard (yes, the musical kind, no, he was never in an 80's cover band) to practice some music and to introduce our son to another instrument (so far, he's seen us play a recorder, drums, guitar, and harmonica). A [my son] loved the experience to the point where he was on top of the keyboard, on all fours, shaking his head back and forth, bouncing to the rhythm he'd summoned, and screaming (BTW, he'll be 1 year old on the 18th of next month).
My husband said something about channeling Jim Morrison (which of course scared the heck out of me, as I really don't want to be driven crazy with Doors-inspired music 15 years from now). He is also convinced that we should send a video clip of his performance (we'd have to re-create it--I don't think that will be difficult) to one of those home video shows.
So, what has this to do with farm life?
We are probably less isolated than many other people who farm for a living (we are about 7 minutes from "civilization"), but it will still be a bigger effort for us (than most) to provide "extras" for our son that suburbanites take for granted (sports, music lessons, scouting, etc.). We want to give him a wide variety of opportunities to develop his physical and social skills, but the time factor is...a factor.
I suppose it's silly to have brought this to the front of my thoughts when implementation is still 5 years away, but I guess it's all part of being a mom. Five years from now, I'll probably be agonizing over what he'll be doing behind the wheel.
My husband said something about channeling Jim Morrison (which of course scared the heck out of me, as I really don't want to be driven crazy with Doors-inspired music 15 years from now). He is also convinced that we should send a video clip of his performance (we'd have to re-create it--I don't think that will be difficult) to one of those home video shows.
So, what has this to do with farm life?
We are probably less isolated than many other people who farm for a living (we are about 7 minutes from "civilization"), but it will still be a bigger effort for us (than most) to provide "extras" for our son that suburbanites take for granted (sports, music lessons, scouting, etc.). We want to give him a wide variety of opportunities to develop his physical and social skills, but the time factor is...a factor.
I suppose it's silly to have brought this to the front of my thoughts when implementation is still 5 years away, but I guess it's all part of being a mom. Five years from now, I'll probably be agonizing over what he'll be doing behind the wheel.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Well, here I am...
It's past 11 AM and I haven't started the morning chores.
DearHusband let me sleep in a bit while he wrangled the boychild, but I paid for the luxury with a bad dream and a stiff back.
*sigh*
My friend T is coming over tonight with her baby and partner (they're working on the getting married thing), so I really need to pry myself from this computer and get moving with cleaning the house. Well, after I go cheer on my friend from KS, who is participating in the blogathon.
DearHusband let me sleep in a bit while he wrangled the boychild, but I paid for the luxury with a bad dream and a stiff back.
*sigh*
My friend T is coming over tonight with her baby and partner (they're working on the getting married thing), so I really need to pry myself from this computer and get moving with cleaning the house. Well, after I go cheer on my friend from KS, who is participating in the blogathon.
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