Hubby Stew

“Who’s feeling brave?”

This is one of Hubby’s calls that makes everyone else in the house cringe. Especially when he’s standing in the kitchen. And definitely when he’s standing in the kitchen the afternoon after we discussed our small garden is producing more than expected. We’ve shared with neighbors and still have a surplus. I love yellow squash, or I used to. Little tired of it now. We carved boats out of zucchini and floated them down the little canal that winds through the neighborhood. They sort of got stuck in the pond, in the middle. Bet the seagulls were happy, but I didn’t hang around to find out.

Back to bravery. The Girl looked at me and shook her head. The Boy is sequestered in his room either playing video games or recovering from marathon video gaming. He’ll show his face in the kitchen in a couple of hours, so he was off the hook. For now.

“Sure, I’m feeling brave!” I answered. No one would, I needed to offer my support.

Wandering into the kitchen, I saw Hubby had made a chunky vegetable soup. Lovely. I saw my tomatoes, bits of squash – still firm from the look of it, onions, and cabbage. Hmm. Usually there’s a bit more to it, but hey, roll with it.

“Looks good, honey. What is it?”

“Cabbage and herring soup.”

“Cabbage and what?”

“Herring. The kids like fish soup, remember?”

From five years ago? Yes I do. I also remember it had tilapia in it.

“Sure. But herring?”

“I have little cans of it.”

“I know.” I wanted to remind him I know because he’s not allowed to eat it around me. The smell of sardines or herring makes me sick.  But that would be criticizing the culinary masterpiece simmering on the stove.

“They’re not pickled, they’re packed in oil. Besides, I broke them up so there’s just little flecks.”

Great, so I can’t pick them out.

“Grab a bowl, give it a try.”

I chose the smallest bowl we have. “I’m not really hungry, but let’s give it a shot.”

I gave it a shot. I tried a little sip of broth.

“You don’t have to think of what to say, I can tell by the look on your face,” Hubby said.

I tried again. Picking around little bits of (I assume) herring, I pulled out a piece of cabbage.

“The cabbage has a good texture.”

He took the bowl from me and turned to the freezer. “You were very brave. Here’s your reward.”

I returned to girl-time with my daughter with an ice cream bar. She wasn’t brave so she didn’t get one. It’s important for children to learn these important lessons.

South Dakota: Mammoths, Floods, Rocks, & Reptiles

Wyoming and seeing Devil’s Tower was fun. The kids have never seen Close Encounters so they sort of didn’t get it. I feel like I’ve failed as a nerdy parent. South Dakota was more beautiful than I expected. (My apologies to its residents.) It was a busy, busy time, however, and the state isn’t conveniently laid out to see everything in a whirlwind trip, but geology is like that sometimes.

Starting at Rapid City, we caught Reptile Gardens just after opening. Yes, you heard that right, Reptile Gardens – they combine reptiles and gardens – and they do a lovely job of it. Oddly, we spent more in the gift shop there than the national parks combined (they had jackalopes).

What’s a jackalope? A taxidermist trick putting deer antlers (should be antelope/pronghorn but they almost always use deer) on a hare (which westerners usually call a jack rabbit).  I was astounded to find some tourists from Idaho looking at them and not immediately know what they were. Someone from the east coast, sure, maybe not, but how can you grow up in the west and not know? It’s like not knowing about Big Foot.

We arrived at Reptile Gardens in time for the snake show, so we went, and saw the cutest little prairie rattlesnake ever! He was rattling his tail at the guy doing the show, posturing, edging away then back toward him, striking even though he was out of range – just full of attitude.

They had some really rare specimens, so that was fun, then it was off to Mount Rushmore and the crowds. Wow, the crowds. You notice the crowds more in the traffic than walking around because the area is made to handle a lot of people. We parked, walked forever trying not to get in people’s photos, snapped a few pictures, noticed someone was standing on Jefferson’s head, hit the gift shop, and left. We offered a helicopter tour to the kids and both declined, I was stunned by that. There is something wrong with my teenagers.

Upon leaving, The Girl realized she forgot her MP3 player in the car so she forgot to play the theme song to Team America (Thankfully! That would have been totally inappropriate and that she even thought of it proves she’s mine) so she was grumpy for nearly an hour. Hubby and I considered the Crazy Horse memorial, then opted against it in the interest of time and not setting off The Girl on another rant about something else she couldn’t change about her imperfect world. We opted to keep her happy, so all of us could stay happy.

The Badlands were a must, but the official entrance was out of the way. I was already told about Wall Drug and decided I didn’t need the headache, so it was easy to cross that off the list of things I ‘had to see.’ The Badlands was more difficult. I did my homework though. A map of the area showed the Badlands extended to a little road by Red Shirt. We didn’t have to drive far down that little road before we got a beautiful view.

The Boy looked at the rough terrain, made note that he still had a data signal on his phone, and returned to his games. The Girl was more impressed with the geology, and all the dinosaur bones that lay still undiscovered there. She grabbed her camera and went crazy. An hour later we had to drag her away or we wouldn’t make it to Hot Springs in time. The Girl had an appointment at the Mammoth Museum to do … something archeology-like. They have classes. She was with a group of Girl Scouts from Ohio and a few other tourists and they uncovered bones buried by the museum and put plaster on them.  She was partnered with a seven-year-old, but she had fun.

Google Maps directed us to our hotel via a graveyard access road and hospital parking lot, that was pleasant. Maps is usually really good, but it’d been a long day and Hubby wasn’t really in the mood for that nonsense. Once stuck on a washed-out dirt access road behind the cemetery, I ignored their suggested route (which didn’t exist because the road didn’t exist anymore) and figured it out on my own, navigating for Hubby like people used to do before GPS told them to turn into rivers and such. Good times.

It poured most of the night and my phone kept telling me about flood warnings in this county and that area – which meant nothing to me. Tell me a city name or leave me alone! Worse, it’d been telling me there were flood warnings all day, and we traveled nearly the height of South Dakota while seeing only a few fluffy clouds. No rain. My phone is psychic. It was trying to prepare me for the torrential, tropical monsoon style downpour we’d get that night. I actually took the time to look up county lines on a tiny map of South Dakota, wondering if the car or hotel was going to get washed away before I found an answer, and what I could do about whatever information I found.

It was wasted time. The car didn’t float away, neither did the hotel (which admittedly seemed a ridiculous concern the next morning). The sidewalk was cleaner, and there was a lawn chair ten feet up in the tree across the street.

The trip home was largely uneventful. It rained more (hard), we drove, we had complaints from the back seat about it being boring, we hit several birds, we narrowly missed a turtle, etc. Hubby pulled over for the turtle. I hopped out, ran back, picked up Mr. Turtle, and moved him. Turtles shouldn’t cross the road, it’s absurd.

Upon arriving home, Jingles was waiting for us with many snuggles. She bed-hopped for a couple of nights to make sure everyone felt loved, then disappeared again for a few days. Normal. Glad to get vacations out of the way.

The Cat Is A B****

I’m going to put my rant about our family vacation on hold to once again declare our cat is a brat. More than that really, but it’s technically inaccurate to say a cat is a bitch, although the common usage definition of the term would certainly apply to her. Why am I upset with dear sweetums? You know I’m going to tell you.

Let me remind you of her traditional sleeping habits: Jingles comes in every third day or so and sleeps with The Girl or me now. It’s summer and The Boy is up all night playing video games and that disturbs her. She passes through his room to let him know he’s on her mind, but otherwise leaves him to it. Our winter comforter is folded up on my feet – a nice fluffy pile of down for her, a giant kitty-bed. She likes to sleep on feet anyway, so this arrangement suits her nicely. Jingles even likes this better than the basket in my window. The Girl is slightly jealous Jingles has been choosing her new kitty-bed on my feet instead of her lately, but she’s using her down comforter so it’s hard to argue the cat’s logic in choosing my feet over hers.

Then things changed for no reason. One morning Jingles walked up me like usual, except instead of standing on my shoulder to wake me and hint she was ready for me to trudge bleary-eyed downstairs to let her out at 6 am (which never happens, I don’t know why she keeps trying) she climbed onto my body pillow and curled up in my arms. She snuggled with me. I had this little warm pile of black fur purring by my chest, her nose tucked into the crook of my arm, and she fell back asleep like that. It was adorable. I went back to sleep and when she woke me again an hour and a half later asking to go out, I crawled out of bed, followed her furry butt down the stairs, and let her out simply to reward her.

A few days later, she came back in for a night at home and settled on my feet as usual. Then about 2 am, she got up and decided to come snuggle in my arms again. Wild. We slept like that the rest of the night, me holding my sweet little cat and her using my arm as a pillow. I was stiff and sore in the morning from not moving so I wouldn’t disturb her. (I remember that from when the kids were tiny and crawled into bed with us.)

Oddly, Jingles didn’t pester me to go outside. She let me sleep in, got herself up and went to The Girl’s room. The cat conked out with Simon Octavius, her stuffed octopus. (Until she noticed one of his tentacles was on her stomach, then she freaked out, batting it away. After that unpleasant startle was handled, she snuggled in closer between the tentacles and went back to sleep, go figure.)

Jingles stayed in all day. Willingly. She was lovey and snuggly with everyone. Except The Boy, he was out cold after being online all night but The Girl was thrilled with the attention Jingles was dishing out. I was seriously starting to worry what was up. The first thing that crossed my mind was that Jingles was sick. She didn’t act sick and was eating fine. Light rain doesn’t keep her inside, and it was nice out – not even as hot as it had been the week before, so it wasn’t the weather. Then I thought maybe we had an earthquake coming. They say animals sense those things and maybe she wanted to be with her family when the big one hit. That made me mildly paranoid the rest of the day, but nothing happened.

Last night, she lay in her spot by my feet like usual as I climbed into bed. I fell asleep. She walked up me, waking me, then stopped – sitting on my hip. I made a little room for her next to me so she could come snuggle. The little brat turned and walked back to her bed on my feet. Fine. She sat there for a moment. I moved my feet apart, knowing she prefers to be between my feet to just snuggling up to one. Why choose if you can have both? She took her place, assumed the kitty-loaf position, then got up and left the room. WTF? I seriously got snubbed by the cat?

Hubby dutifully went to retrieve the reprobate and she wasn’t getting a drink or eating or using the litter box. She wasn’t curled up on The Girl’s toes or on her spot downstairs (where it is admittedly cooler). She was sitting outside The Boy’s closed bedroom door. As if she really wanted to be in his stuffy room (it’s hot in there, he has a computer, extra monitor, and TV on almost all the time and never leaves his door open for circulation. Plus he only takes his garbage out once a week so it smells like stale popcorn.) All he’s going to do is ignore her in favor of insulting and making witty comments to his friends in the form of crude, incomplete sentences. I’m serious, I do not speak 15-year-old boy and I don’t understand why any of his friends put up with this kid, but I’ve met them and they all love him. That’s a rant for another time.

Hubby returned Jingles to me. I want her, The Boy doesn’t. She left again in favor of sitting outside his bedroom door. Whatever, the cat misses The Boy, but The Boy doesn’t miss her. Maybe. The alternative idea is that she knows he sneaks out of his room in the middle of the night, leaves all the lights off, and quietly slips downstairs to obtain more soda and chips to fuel is gaming marathon. Now, a teenage boy trying to be sneaky, a black cat sitting in a dark hall that previously mentioned teenage boy is having to navigate by memory … perhaps she’s trying to kill him. Jingles is tired of being ignored by her boy and had the devious idea to trip him and make him break his neck. His room is too far from the stairs for it to be a serious risk, so Hubby and I left her to it. Nothing happened last night, and Jingles went out this morning. We’ll have to see if she’s still in a snit in a few days when she comes home.