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I don’t know how many of you guys put a big emphasis on family dinners, but here at The Little Cottage, we try to make a habit of it.  There is something so centering about all of us gathering around the table, talking about our successes and failures, eating homemade, mostly nutritious food, and basically remembering how much we love one another.

Except for when the Critter and Varmint are fighting.

And except for when either Critter or Varmint gets in trouble for poor manners.

And except for when Mama is in a foul mood.

And except for when My Captain isn’t there because he’s working overtime.

But other than that, we are basically remembering how much we love one another.

Sometimes we’ll have Grandma Jane over, or sometimes her Mike, or sometimes maybe Goggy and Papa.  But the a couple of nights ago, we were visited by a newcomer:

He didn’t say much, but he did hog most of the avocado slices in ginger dressing.

And he didn’t eat all of his beef and cabbage.

And he drank his apple juice out of a snifter.

And frankly, I hope he comes around again soon, because he’s a hottie, man!

We’re ready to lay some Sod, baby!

(Wait, what?)

The patio!  It’s in!  We just need to lay the final sod up to the brick pavers.   Our good buddy, Muddy, (yes, that is really his name) is bringing it Thursday.  So we needed to get the base top soil ready.

(The what?)

Base Top Soil.

(What the Sam hell are you talking about, woman?  Is it the base, or is it the top?)

We needed to get the bottom layer of dirt prepped.  Geesh.

And we couldn’t use the gas-powered tamper to do it, because it would compact the soil base too densely.  And none of us wanted to use the hand tamper, because THAT would have taken forever.

My Captain decided we could all just put our muckboots on and stomp on it, and he even suggested we do it to music.

Critter was NOT excited about this.  He wouldn’t have minded just stomping the dirt down, but he REALLY didn’t want to watch us dance.

He REALLY DID NOT WANT TO SEE ME DANCE.

Specifically.

And the last thing he should have done was let me know this, because Hello?! OW!  Hurtful!!!

Especially when it was so clearly HAMMER TIME!!

If you haven’t seen a 220lb, arthritic, middle-aged soccer mom get jiggy wit it to ‘Cant’ Touch This,’ while tamping base top soil, YOU. HAVE. NOT. LIVED.

And Critter mourns because it is a vision so permanently sealed into his brain he will never see the world the same again……

He now has a name.

Our beautiful little bribe of a kitten has a name.  It is Sir Monty of Stinky Butt.  Little did we know when we adopted the little fuzzball (so we could get our road fixed more quickly) that we would be adopting royalty into our family.

Or, if not royalty, certainly Peerage.

Because let’s face it, even if your title revolves around a stinky butt, it’s STILL a title.  Which is not the same thing as saying if you have a stinky butt, you are automatically given a title.  If that were the case, our entire family would be Sirs and Ladies.

Some of us would be Dukes, if you want to know the truth.  Ahem.

So here he is…

…a little bit tuckered out from discharging all of his many officious doodies…..er, duties.

May I present to you Sir Monty.

All together now:  1, ….2, ….3…

AWWWWwwww!

I bought my beloved Chevy Equinox with the noble idea that I would save gasoline, but still be able to get around the rugged countryside.

Turns out I don’t save gas, because I get the same mileage as I would a Chevy Suburban!  And, getting around the rugged countryside doesn’t feel like quite the achievement the commercials present, when you see people on ten-speed bicycles moving as easily as you do in your spiffy-hybrid-sports-all-wheel-drive vehicle.

And to be honest, I carry way too much crap around for the size of my little car.  I’ve got softball bats, and basketballs, bottles of Gatorade and extra shoes.  I’ve got blankets and beach towels, and two camp chairs and a dozen canvas shopping bags (that I never remember to take into the store) at all times.

There is no stinking room for groceries AND kids at the same time.

I look at my fellow mommies’ Suburbans with growing envy.  THEY have room for children AND groceries.  I get very petty in my own head about it, as if buying the Equinox was never my idea in the first place.   After a little while, I begin to believe that getting a Suburban would cure all of my woes, satiate all of my desires, and hold all of my groceries.   It becomes clear to me that NOTHING else in this world could be more necessary than a hold-all-of-your-crap-at-once Chevy Suburban.

And then, then I saw this:

HOLY.   STINKIN’.   MOLY.

It was like a beam came down from heaven and struck my heart.  THIS is what I need.  THIS would hold all of my day-to-day necessities.  I couldn’t possibly live with something smaller.  I must have one of these.  This is the perfect materialization of who I REALLY am!

Of course, it’s worth more than our entire Little Cottage, and our beat up old vehicles all combined.  So I’ll have to start saving!

Meanwhile, it’s either kids OR groceries in a cherry-red Equinox.  But you remember one thing….you MUST remember this…even though I might be tooting down the road in a little Chevy Equinox, deep down inside I’m driving that gigantic loveliness of storage.  It may look like I’m driving a four-wheeled mommy-mobile, but in my heart of hearts, I have at least 10 wheels (dual axle dualies in the back), and enough room for a sawz-all and the Jaws of Life….

….AND GROCERIES.

The County Road Crew…the parents of our new kitten…came and fixed the broken edge of road in front of the Little Cottage yesterday.

They used big beautiful rocks to mitigate the erosion that is costing the county many dollars in road repairs.

They scooped the ditch out, first, and they patched the road when they finished laying the rock.

“But wait!” I cried.

“Oh crap,” you could see them saying, “here she comes again.”

“Could I add something to the road on the inside, you know like people who would put their initials in concrete sidewalks?  Could I just run and grab a couple of things from my garden to set into the tar?  It would be inside the ditch…no one would see it when they drove by.”

You could see them wondering how to say no.

And then I pulled out the cookies.

And they could not in all good conscience even THINK about saying no.

So I limped and hobbled quickly up to my garden and grabbed a few keepsakes.  Two mosaic glass garden hearts:  one to stand for my sweet Varmint, and one to stand for my feisty Critter.  And I also added a Stone that read, “Laugh.”

Perfect.

Not Classy…

…but perfect.

Just think, all of this because someone accidentally mowed down our landscaping!  We got a kitten and a custom-personalized street edge out of it.

‘Merica!!!