Monthly Archives: March 2016

~ It’s Sprung!!! ~

It’s here!  It’s here!  Spring is officially sprung!  Look what I found today!!

downsized_0325161526It’s the first of a whole lotta tulips!

And my cherry trees are blooming!

And my peach trees are blooming!

And my plum tree is blooming!

Everything is here at The Little Cottage is busting open!

(wiggles eyebrows)

If you need me, I’ll be mulching.  For the next five months, I’ll be mulching…….

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~ Beware The Tys of March ~

They’re at it again.

I was just turning to take the kitchen trash out, when I saw a figure at the back door.   It scared the bejeebies out of me, and  I yelped…. not so much because there was a man at my back door, but because it was Caesar!  Actually it was My Captain’s best friend Ty, who was holding Caesar’s bust.

I know that sounds dirty, but there really is nothing else to hold Caesar by, because that is all he is: a bust.

Kind of like my humor at this point:  (A bust.)

And my latest attempt to eat healthy. (A bust)

And my New Year’s resolution to stop cussing like a sailor. (A total @#%$@%!!! bust)

Don’t judge.


Ty was grinning ear to ear as he walked in.  Caesar was his normal stoic self.  But Ty was just as happy as a little girl, giggling and snickering.

I have to tell you, there is nothing more charming than a tall, dark, and handsome fireman with the devil in his eyes, snickering as he embarks on a joke.   There is also nothing more scary.  Just so you know.

st. patty's day at ruby's

This was My Captain and Ty a couple of St. Patty’s days ago, doing some charity bartending.  I can’t remember what group they were benefitting, and I don’t recall any of the women at the bar caring…why?  Because they both rocked those impish grins, and were totally working the crowd, man.  Two laughing, strapping fire captains serving liquor…if that didn’t boost our local economy, nothing would.

Well, Ty wore that same grin this time.

Today’s prank?  He was just returning my Varmint’s latest Valentine prank.  Remember Varmint dressed Caesar up like Cupid and left him on Ty and Maggie’s doorstep.  We never heard a peep out of him about it, which was nerve wracking, I promise you.

Until today.


I don’t even want to think about how long Ty spent on this.


I mean, between the bunny nose and ears, and the ever-so-perfect “C” for ‘CEASTER’….

You have to understand, this medal-recipient of a manly-man firefighting, paramedic hero has some DOPE artistic skills guys!  Seriously.   Not only does he put out hot, orange, singe-y things while balancing precariously on ladders,


he also plays guitar like some kind of modern day renaissance man,


studies other languages, is handy with construction, and tap-dances.

(I’m kidding about the tap-dancing.  Not that I doubt he could do it…I’ve just never seen him.)

Even as we speak, he’s down in Guatemala, on a missions trip, building and fixing, and healing and all those wonderful things that makes Ty, Ty.

But before he left, he just had to drop Caesar off for Varmint.


Varmint walked in from softball practice, took one look at The Caester Bunny, and smirked.   Then she just left the room.

Understand this, my child is plotting.  And I have a feeling that Caesar won’t be sitting on our shoe rack for very long.  And since she is 14, and is wicked smart and equally creative as Ty, I know retribution will be swift and hilarious.

And I don’t blame Ty for skipping the country at all.

But he’s got to come home sometime……


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~ Dapper Moose ~

March has hit The Little Cottage, full-tilt!  The children’s art wall now sports homemade St. Patty’s day clovers from years-gone-by.

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Every year, our family has gathered at the kitchen table to make our own artistic renderings of shamrocks.  No, we’re not Irish, but we do like to celebrate like we were!!!

Who wouldn’t?  No one, that’s who!

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This was Varmint’s, from last year……

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…and this was Critters from 2008….he had a hard time writing his name (Garrick), and so this particular shamrock is known as the “Gorrk Shamrock”.

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And this one was Grandma Jane’s from way back in….oh, wait…it was last year.  Let’s be honest…she pencil-whipped it.  Grandma Jane has a problem with whipping up motivation to make shamrocks.  I think that particular shamrock was her way of saying “Here’s my bleepity bleep bleep family shamrock…can we eat now?”  She’s like that….

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And after we do the shamrocks, which everyone except Grandma happily does, we dress up the Moose.   He has a nice top hat and bow tie.  He’s dapper, that guy.

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You’ll note the yummy muffins in the background.  I wish I could  brag that they were homemade, but this particular carbo-loaded pile is fresh from the store.

I’ll be honest, my muffins suck. No Blarney.  For real.  I’ve rarely been able to turn out a perfectly fluffy muffin.  Got a C in Home Economics on my muffins because I was too rough on my batter.  Some things never change.

Don’t tell anyone.  I live in shame, to this day.

Where was I?

Right, the Moose.  My Captain dressed him yesterday.  He did it super fast, too.  Faster than you could look up how to spell Shillelagh….which took me longer than you’d believe because I’m a bonehead, apparently.

He walked out there, all casual-like, threw the costume on lightning-quick, and hightailed it back to the house before more than a couple of cars passed the house.

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Our Dapper Leprechaun Moose.  Do you think My Captain was embarrassed to be seen doing that for me?  That’s love, I tell ya.

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Eleven more days until St. Patty’s day!   Not that we’re counting or anything!

Don’t judge.


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~ Double Murder In Dickerson ~

We’re still in shock, frankly.  Two days ago, we had a double murder here at The Little Cottage.  One of the bodies was actually found in my bedroom…under my bed with all the other forgotten bits and pieces of our hectic, disorganized life.

Apparently Sir Monty of Stinky Butt was outside in my garden, and unilaterally decided a wee little Junco had lived a long enough life.  And Walter Sir Ceasar McSneezer decided the same for a female cardinal.  Her poor remains are still somewhere under our shed, as we are unable to get under it to retrieve it.

I feel like an accessory to these murders, because I let the cats out in the yard with me, and I’m the one who fills the bird feeders in the first place.  It’s like Walter and Monty think I’m in step with their nefarious plans.  I WANT to help the little birdies!  That is why I feed them!  My cats, however, think I’m in league with them in their feline Thug Life.

Years ago, we saved both Sir Monty, and Walter, as feral kittens.  It was then that I asked the kids to help me make a decision:  Either we make the cats live their entire lives inside, where they will likely live long, and very bored lives, with no freedom or free will, or we allow them outside to play from time to time, knowing they will likely have a much shorter life, due to cars, wildlife predators, and disease, but where they will be free and happy to play in the sunshine.  The kids unanimously chose the shorter life, possibly due to my wording…we agreed they would be allowed outside from time to time.

CLEARLY, I had not considered one important consequence:  Cats are natural predators on their own.  We’ve had too many field mice brought to us, too many birds, and one unlucky chipmunk, who we saved three times before he succumbed.  He was either slow, or stupid, or both, poor thing.

But as of today, we’ve decided that, for the sake of all things good and wild, the cats must stay inside.  I have no desire to be complicit with any further degradation of the wildlife in our pretty little garden here at The Little Cottage.

Sir Walter…


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is PISSED.  He begs at the door constantly.  I am, apparently, a heartless monster.

And Monty?

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He’s playing with (re: shredding) everything he can get his hands on.  No roll of toilet paper is safe, right now.

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My Captain is most emphatically NOT happy with my life choices, as they pertain to these kitties, right now.  Fortunately, however, Sir Monty has My Captain wrapped around his wee little kitty soft paw…

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…so I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

Someone remind me….how long do cats live?

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