Throwback Thursday: yeah, she's definitely mine.

There's no denying this little is mine.

 

On the left are photos of photos of me when I was itty bitty, once upon a time, 41 years ago (so glad they had color back then!). On the right are photos of my sweet Lovie from three years ago. As you can see, she's kinda my mini me. 

But that's really the only things that are similar between us. She's all girl, all dresses and skirts, all pink, all the time. I'm not anything like that. It's odd how very different she is... but it's also freaking awesome. I love that, at only 3 years and 8 months, this little chica knows who she is and loves who she is: All Girl.

My girl.

oh cereal. how i love thee.

When it comes to cereal, I don't think I can really pinpoint a favorite.

I love cereal.

I could eat cereal morning, noon, and night.

I'm not even sure why exactly I love it so--the ease, the readily availability of it, the taste, the crunch--but I just know that I feel sorry for people who don't like cereal. In fact, I find people who dislike cereal to be a bit ... strange.

There is one cereal, however, that I cannot eat. It was a favorite of my older brother and sister growing up and I tried many times to eat it but I always ended up never being able to eat a full bowl, sometimes even getting sick from it: Cap'N Crunch.

Should be called Cap'N Gross if you ask me.

Even thinking about it now, I get the heebie jeebies. Didn't matter if they were the plain ones, the peanut butter ones, or the strawberry ones. They were all nasty to me and I wanted to cry anytime I saw a box of them in the pantry.

Other than those though, I love all cereals. I'm an equal opportunity cereal lover, if you will.

Now Lovie? Granted she's only 3 but her favorite cereal is Cinnamon Toast Crunch. She's a lot like her mama, that one.

YUM!! NOW I WANT SOME CEREAL DAMMIT!



linking this up with Mama Kat, who's Losin' It.

Happily ever after

Once upon a time, 10 years ago (or so), I had long dark hair with maybe a handful of grays very well hidden.

May 2003ish. might be May 2000. it's May some year in the early 2000s. NYC.

I was visiting my cousin in NYC. We were in the Rainbow Room overlooking Manhattan, enjoying the best salmon dish I'd ever had after a night of drinking like there was no tomorrow and almost not making our dinner reservations at the Rainbow Room as a result.

I was 30 years old, unmarried, childless.

Ten years later...

my hair is a bit shorter and a LOT grayer. But I kinda dig that.

I also like my glasses at 40 more than the fugly ones I wore at 30. Man I was such a baby back then. I mean, it was only 10 years ago but look at me! Look how cute I was! So damn cherubic looking.

Kinda like this little chica:

taken at 6:40 this morning. girlfriend had to wear those sunglasses despite it being pitch black out.

Heh.

Seriously, 10 years ago I was very different. I had a lot of insecurities. I was very much a loner. I was so very shy, it was hard to look at people. I was getting better but I think it was the start of change for me.

I'm still kinda shy and a loner, but it's so very different now.

Now I don't really give a shit what people think of me. I don't really hold grudges. I try not wasting my time and energy on shit that I cannot fix like I did back then. And life, as a result of letting a lot of shit go, is so much better.

It's good, actually.

Today I'm fabulous and 40, I'm great and gray, I'm married and a mom.

Today I can live happily ever after.

Santa Claus lane

I haven't been able to scan in this year's photo on Santa's lap (we got one with her actually smiling) so this one below- with her inching her way toward the big guy- will have to do for now (no crying photos from my evil kid):

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Mom" by Lovie

I was gonna do this and then I wasn't. I was gonna do it and then had her do it but then decided to post this instead. But then I saw and read this and laughed so hard I had to share mine after all.

So that's that and this is it... Lovie's portrait of ... Me:

I stood by her as she created this. She kept looking at me and saying, "Ok now for the ... ears!" or whatever it was she drew next. She didn't look at me for the face, eyes, hair, or nose because I guess those she knows by heart. The rest she looked at me and studied me for 2.2 seconds before adding to her masterpiece.

So here's the breakdown, per Lovie:

 

Truth of the matter is, she's got it about right: I'm a blob.

Cray Cray

Lovie is a talker. She always has been. I swear she said her first word (Kitty- or a form of it) at like six months, followed shortly thereafter by Da-da on Father's Day. Granted, I don't think she really meant daddy, but her timing was pretty badass.

But that's Lovie for you. She's pretty badass for an almost 3-year-old.

The other day when we were home and I was changing her pull-up (cuz she's not badass enough to have potty trained herself yet), she looked me in the eyes and said, "Mama you cray cray."

"Excuse me?" I said, trying not to erupt in laughter and wondering if my ears heard her correctly.

"You cray cray, mama," she said.

"I'm cray cray?"

She laughed. I laughed. Loudly. So much so I had to hold my stomach for a moment.

"Where did you hear that?" I asked her, knowing very well it came from school.

"Anthony tells Kaitlin she's cray cray." (Two her class/playmates at school.)

Again, I laughed.

"What did Kaitlin say to Anthony?"

"She says to Anthony 'I no cray cray!'"

"So now I'm cray cray?"

We both laughed loudly.

 

5.) Tell us and/or show us something that made you smile this week.

Cripes in 12 lines.

It feels like just yesterday when I was very much looking forward to becoming a Mama finally.

 

But that was three years ago.

 

She's getting SO big.

 

gotta love the school picture

She's so smart, so funny, so adorable, so Lovie.

But how is it possible to be 2 months (and 4 days) from THREE?

Where did my itty bitty baby doll go?

I cherish every day--every single day--with her but it's still won't slow down.

How do I make it slow down?

 

H O W ?!

 

I don't...I can't.

 

Instead I look forward to each day, each snuggle, each smile, each giggle.

 

Because soon... oh so soon... getting older and growing won't be so exciting anymore.

 

 

 

 

Fall

Cool air, Crunchy leaves

 

2011

E l a t e  me.

 

 

 

Happy 40th Birthday to me!

When I was younger I was damn cute.

So damn cute when I was younger.

Confidence

Here's the thing: I'm not a perfect person by any shape of the imagination. Never have been, never will be. And that's OK. That's a part of who I am. But I'm also not a person who really cares much about what other people think or say or do. I mean, of course I care, especially when it's affecting me or mine, but if I can't change something, I don't really put much energy into it. (It's taken me an insane amount of time to truly live my life like this because, again, I'm not, nor have I ever been, perfect.)

 

That all said and done, I've never been one to really worry about my Parenting.

 

Again, I'm not a perfect person and this holds true in every single aspect of my life including Parenting. But just because I'm not perfect at it, doesn't mean I can't rock it. And frankly...

 

I'm a Rockstar Parent.

 

I love being a Mama. I love it with everything I have, everything I am. The moment she was placed into my arms, I knew that parenting was what I was meant to do in my life.

 

And I kick ass at it.

 

I'm not saying I know everything about Parenting. It doesn't mean I'm some expert. It doesn't mean I don't read books and blogs and articles and comments on Parenting. It doesn't mean I can't afford to learn more about Parenting.

 

But it does mean that while I don't really give a shit what the Joneses are doing, I do care about what kind of parent I am- and that's a damn good one with the confidence to say so out loud.

1.) Share something your child taught YOU about parenting.

early memories

I was 6 years old and it was my birthday.

My older brother and sister and I stood with my maternal grandparents outside of the airport waving to a huge plane off in the distance. My parents were going to Italy, we were going back home with my grandparents.

I thought we might die that day as we left the airport because my grandfather- proud, strict, and very European - ignored the 10 MPH signs that were plastered, along with skid marks, on the walls of the never ending corkscrew exit.

We did make it home and there were presents. My own little gumball machine!

When my parents came home, they gave me a big doll that laughed like a real live little girl after you threw it up into the air. I hated dolls but that one was pretty badass.


Up until very recently, this was my earliest childhood memory.

I often get jealous when I hear people talking about their childhood. I just don't remember much of anything. There are bits and pieces- riding bikes to the park, getting ice cream from the ice cream truck, fighting with my siblings- but nothing too concrete. Well, not before my parents' separation when I was 9. It's like that's when I was born or something and it sucks ass because life, for me, wasn't very much fun- or childlike- after their relationship started crumbling.

It is what is though. All I can do now is try to learn from it and move forward.

It's a big reason behind blogging for me.

The thought of Lovie growing up and having unanswered questions keeps me plugging along. There's so much shit she's going to have to go through, remembering her childhood shouldn't add to it. You know?

3.) Share your earliest childhood memory. How old were you? Why was it memorable?

Princess Cow Girl

Last night as Lovie and I played Grocery Store in her room for a few minutes before bed, I asked her what her favorite thing about Summer has been so far.

"Mmmm," she hummed, playing with her cash register. "Cawh Ga."

"What's your favorite thing about summer?" I asked again, not certain what the heck she was saying.

"Mmmm," she puts her finger to mouth to indicate she's thinking. "Cawh Ga!"

"Your favorite thing about summer is 'cawh ga''?"

"Nooo... Cawh. Gurl."

"Oh, COW GIRL?!"

"Yesss." Giggles.

"Your favorite thing about summer is Cow Girl?"

"Yes, cow girl. I wish I could ride a horse."

WHAT THE HELL IS SHE TALKING ABOUT?!

Then it dawned on me that I've been asking her a lot lately what she wanted to be for Halloween and proving her Two-and-a-half-ness, she answered my question about Summer as if I was asking about Halloween. I guess!

"You want to be a Cow Girl for Halloween?"

"Uh huh," she says smiling super big. "And I wish I could ride a horse!"

"Hm, well okay. But what about Summer? What's something that we've done that you really like? You know, like how we went to the zoo and saw the dolphins..."

"Oh dolphins! They dance and jump to the orange ball!"

"Yes, or how we went to the beach. Did you like going to the beach?"

"I like the beach and the sand with Mama and Daddy."

"So what was your favorite?"

"Mmmm..." finger goes up to her mouth. "I wish I could be a princess."

And that was the end of the conversation about Summer and cow girls and princesses.

So... I will take it upon myself to answer the question for her since she's my kid and I know what really was her favorite thing (so far) about this hellaciously hot summer: The Dolphin Show at the zoo.

And how do I know this was her favorite thing about the summer since she insisted it was being a Cow Girl? Because of this face:

That face is what transpired as we sat in the steaming hot arena waiting for the show to officially start... as she pointed to the dolphins that were right there in front of her...swimming, dancing, jumping.

Plus, she does talk about the dolphins swimming and dancing and jumping for the orange ball on occasion, too.

So that's what Lovie's favorite thing about this Summer has been.

And now, I guess I need to start looking for a Princessy Cow Girl costume for Halloween.

Cheers

A week from tomorrow, I'll be here:

Paradise, if you will.

It will be the first time in four years since hopping on a plane.

It will be the first time in ten years since vacationing without my husband.

It will be the first time in two years, seven months, and twelve days I'll be overnight without my Lovie. (This one scares the shit out of me to the point of making me feel a little ill when I really think about it. I love her so friggin much and it hurts to think about being away from her so I do my best not to thinking about this.)

I'll be meeting up with my BFF/cousin. She's flying in from NYC, I'm flying in from Chicago. Two big city girls, who happen to turn 40 this year, getting away for a long weekend of doing absolutely nothing but lay by the ocean for three days... to celebrate each other and our lives. And hopefully another 40 more years together.

Cheers to 40 years!

the absolute best thing to ever happen to me in almost 40 years... so glad to be doing this trip before my
bday so i can celebrate my actual bday with her by my side. i'm such a sap. and??

peace, quiet, and kinda creepy

A log cabin with fine amenities tucked far off a country road.

A large living room that opens into a bright and airy dining room that leads into an ample kitchen with a round table set in front of sliding glass doors leading out to the deck that wraps around the west side of the house- the perfect spot to sit and watch the sun set. Just outside the deck off the kitchen is open space with luscious greens and a vast wall of pine trees blocking any views into any other homes that may or may not be neighboring.

A glistening, small, hand-made lake sits a bit further away where the kiddo can play in the sand, splash in the water… where we can just sit and be.

Huge windows in the living room overlook open landscaping of green grass, looming trees, and gorgeous hills off in the distance that fold into the sky. In the fall, those hills are littered in reds and yellows and browns and oranges. The view is like a painting and anyone and everyone ever sitting inside the house comments on how breathtakingly beautiful it is.

Because it truly is.

There’s no cars, no neighbors, no stores nearby.

My make believe vacation home is Peace and Quiet and maybe even a little creepy in the dead of night.

note: i shit you not that after i wrote this i googled "log cabin in woods" and "log cabin by lake" and found it! my dream vacation home is in Michigan (i thought i was in Maine but Michigan will do, too)!

I Am

I am sarcastic and kind
I wonder why some people are so stupid
I hear her amazing laugh
I see her beautiful smile
I want this to last forever
I am sarcastic and kind

I pretend that my feelings don't get hurt
I feel fulfilled by her life
I touch her sweet soft skin
I worry what will happen when we're gone
I cry when a soul passes on
I am sarcastic and kind

I understand she's what it's all about
I say to enjoy every moment like it's your last
I dream that my hair wasn't so gray
I try to stay positive
I hope all of her dreams come true
I am sarcastic and kind

the Fourth

Independence Day has never been a big deal in my family growing up. I think divorce will do that to a family. From what I can recall, I generally spent most July 4ths with my dad who is very much a get-outside type of person. He hates staying inside; he's always got to be doing something.

I remember visiting some people who were somehow related to his mother's cousin on a couple different July 4th holidays. Their house was one of about a dozen or two that circled around a little lake. We'd eat BBQ and pasta (of course), play with sparklers and water, ride paddle boats. And at night, we'd watch the fireworks over the lake. Looking back it was pretty damn cool, but as a preteen and teen, I hated it. I was so bored. I knew nobody but my dad. Yippee. I wanted to be out with friends partying. But I didn't have many friends because of how often my mom moved. Besides, my dad was/is great at laying on the guilt trips about seeing him.

When I became an "adult," I still didn't do much on the Fourth; I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've seen a fireworks display on the actual Fourth- or in honor of it. 

I just hate the crowds of people, the sweat, the smoke, the clusterfuck of ...everything.

Now that we have Lovie, however, I'd really like to change some of this. I'd love nothing more than to have some sort of "tradition" for something we do on or around the Fourth. But I don't have any family related to my mother's cousin who live on a lake to visit and neither does my husband. (Actually, Taye probably does since both of his parents are one of eleven children {could you imagine?!} but there are so much family it's confusing.)

July 4, 2010

Lovie was only 6 months old on her first July 4th in 2010 so we treated the day like any other weekend day off with her and just hung around at home.

July 4, 2011

Last year I insisted we do something so we packed some bags and headed out to the park for picnic (with McDonald's) and play. But Lovie was quite off and it got hot fast so we were back home by early afternoon to discover Lovie had a 103 temperature! It was horrible and I felt awful for dragging her out in the hot just to start some sort of tradition.

July 4, 2012- hey, at least it was a red, white, and blue bath!

This year... well, this year the 4th fell smack dab in the middle of the week. As you're well aware. We had no plans going into it but I did look up some parks and pools nearby in the hopes of having some sort of plan. But as the day neared and the damn heat rose, we ended up doing nothing. It was just too damn hot to leave the house.

Instead, we woke early, watched TV, had some breakfast and then just did whatever which consisted of painting with water colors for about an hour, painting with finger paints for about 10 minutes (never again- will leave that for school), took an hour long bath, watched Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, had a hot dog for lunch,

is there anything more American than a hot dog, Cheetos, and applesauce?

took a two hour nap, made pancakes with playdoh, ate popsicles, watched more MMCH, ate dinner, watched Olivia, and went to bed. Well Lovie went to bed. Then Taye and I chilled out on the couch not touching one another, not moving, trying not to sweat even though the air conditioning hadn't shut off once all day.

It was like any other day in our house when we're all home together.

So actually, it was damn lovely.

Even without any BBQ or water play or watermelon or fireworks.

Daddy

My husband is by far the most patient human being I’ve ever encountered. In the 12 years I’ve known him, I’ve never once heard him raise his voice; he’s always, under every circumstance, very calm and collected. It’s like he just knows things will work out.  

I thank the universe for Taye and his patience often, but not often enough. And the truth is, I’d be one sad puppy without him. He loves me for me. All of me. And he’s sooo patient with me and my antics… my moods, my ideas, my insanity, my dorkiness. But more than that, his patience has turned him into an absolute amazing Daddy. 

I remember lying in the hospital completely blissed over the fact that all my dreams had finally come true while I watched Taye, with a hand-made baby blanket wrapped around his shoulders, lean over and look in at our Lovie. His face was so peaceful, so blissful, so complete. He smiled from ear to ear. His hands held onto the side of the clear bassinet Lovie laid in all swaddled like a burrito, and his face leaned over so that he could study hers. He spent a lot of time that first day, especially, studying her. I thought he might be afraid to pick her up so I told him several times to do so. But now I know he was just absorbing it all in, living in that moment and soaking it all up. 

Sure there are times when Lovie might have a tantrum that grates on your last nerve, but I never have any doubt that Taye will be right there to try to reason it all out with a calm, patient approach. Every single time. And every single time I’m always left sitting there in awe at his patience, and am reminded that this, too, shall pass.

My patient husband… an amazingly calm and patient Daddy.

1.) Father’s Day is coming! Share something you’ve learned from your husband about parenting. What makes him good at what he does?

Good Morning, Sunshine!

There’s a whole process to follow. A routine. And if I skip a beat of it, the whole day is a disaster.

My alarm sounds at 4:45 AM. Good thing I’m a morning person. Good thing I’m not one who needs to hit the snooze button seventeen hundred times before actually lifting my body up and putting my feet on the floor.

1. I go to the bathroom, shower, apply gel and hairspray to my hair and head out of the bathroom to open the door to Lovie’s room, shut off her sound machine, open the closet door so the light acting as night light brightens the room a bit.
2. I go into the kitchen, pour a sippy cup of milk and place it on the table, grab a couple pieces and bread and pop them in the toaster, and grab and water two eggs to medium boil.
3. As the eggs dance in the water and the bread crisps in the toaster oven, I head into the bathroom to apply some mascara, brush my teeth, apply some deodorant, apply more mascara, take my morning drugs (all legal- no worries), apply my under eye cream.
4. By then the toaster has dinged and the water is bubbling on the stove so I shut that off and rescue the eggs from the boiling hot water. Then I make my way into Lovie’s room.
5. If I’ve made enough noise, she’ll be awake but still lying there, ready for me to tickle her toes and turn my hand into a spider crawling on her arched back as she scrunches up into a ball trying to stifle the giggles.

While I need her to get up and be compliant that moment, I’ve learned that demands make it worse. I try to make it fun- a couple tickles, ask her what she wants to wear, kisses and hugs, raspberries on her tummy while getting her dressed as quickly as possible so that we can head back into the bathroom to brush teeth, wash face, do hair. (This is where the biggest struggle always comes. Every morning. I place her on the sink to brush her teeth and she has no interest. I try brushing and she slams her mouth shut, jerks her head from side to side. I try headlocking her and her arms block me from moving in with the brush. So I’ve succumbed to laying her ass on the floor and for some reason she lets me brush her teeth very easily then. No fuss. Whatever it takes.)

I take a wet wash cloth and wipe her face after brushing her teeth, and then it’s time for her hair. Since we don’t comb it when it’s dry and it’s always dry in the mornings, I just spray it with a frizz free tangle tamer and scrunch or throw it up into to ponytails if Princess Lovie will allow.

Then she grabs her milk off the kitchen table and heads into my bedroom to hop on the bed and watch TV for a few minutes with a snoring Daddy while I turn my eggs into a tinfoil wrapped sandwich (Lovie eats at school). Then I get dressed, get Lovie’s coat on, and by 6AM(ish) we’re heading for the door.

If I follow this routine, Lovie is pretty compliant (sans the damn toothbrushing). If I don’t follow this routine, Lovie’s a bear. She gets mean. She kicks. She says screams NO a lot. She cries.

So is she a morning person? Uh, if I’m gentle she is. Otherwise...NO. She’s a lot like her dad over there snoring in bed.

1.) Is your child a morning person? Share a story, picture or list of reasons that supports your opinion.

Bitches

I always loved school. So much so that it doesn't surprise me much that my very first memory involves walking out of preschool.

Some of the things I loved the most about school was school supply time (paper, pens, markers, pencils, rulers, oh my!), the structure and routine of going to school, and the way I always felt kind of special during the school year. Like I had somewhere to go, something to do.

 

Of course there were many a day when I didn’t want to get out of bed or hated a certain class or a teacher, but overall, I was a big time lover of school. I always got giddy the day before the new school year started and always slept like crap that first week from being too excited about it all. And really, I felt all of this through all my schooling- from Kindergarten to getting my Bachelor’s degree.

One thing I never really cared for, one thing I absolutely do not miss about school... the girls. So much so that I preferred to get pummeled by the boys than hang with the girls. Of course I had some schoolmate pals (couldn’t even really call them “friends”) who were girls, but for the most part girls always annoyed the shit out of me. The way they squeal and giggle and huddle together. The way they go to the bathroom together. The way they wear the same brand of clothing and have no mind of their own. Gross. College girls weren’t as annoying to me- at least not in my experience at a commuter art college (had there been sororities and all that bullshit, I’m sure I’d feel differently).

Early on in my school days, girls just kind of annoyed me. They were just too… girly to me. I enjoyed playing with the boys because they actually did shit other than sit around and talk about painting their nails or whatever it is girls do when they all huddle together on the playground.

In the later days of grammar school and all through high school, girls really started to get under my skin. It wasn’t so much about being too girly then as it was about being little fucking bitches. Yeah, think back… I know you know what I mean. Hell, maybe you were one of them! The darting eyes judging  you from your head to your toes. The whispers and giggles as you walked down the hall. The pointing, the laughing in your face and behind your back- but only done in groups of 2 or more, of course.

Blech.

 

It's because of my experience with girls during all of my school days that I never wanted a girl. Never never never.

 

 

 

And wouldn’t you know it? I have the girliest girl of all! And I love every bit of her and her girliness… but girlfriend best watch out if she ever turns into one those snobby ass bitches that judges and laughs at people who may be different than her.

5.) What about school do you miss the least?

Little bastard

When I think back 30 years ago to a time when I was in fourth grade at the nearby Catholic grammar school, one image comes immediately to mind: being socked dead center in my stomach by a boy named Eddy George (falsified name to protect the {not-so} innocent).

Eddy and I were friends. All of us in fourth grade were friends. Well, at least I was friends with all the boys. Funny thing is I don't remember one girl from fourth grade. Color me the definition of Tomboy because I had absolutely no interest in playing jump rope, hop scotch, or with Strawberry Shortcake dolls (this is a lie: I did like Strawberry Shortcake dolls but I couldn't let that be known out on the playground during recess!) with the other girls. Instead, I wanted to pee standing up like the boys (even tried to once or twice, failing miserably of course) and since I couldn't do that, I played tag and catch with them during recess instead.

Eddy and I often hung out at the playground at the park after school, too, until one day when he stopped being cool with me. I'm not even sure exactly when it happened or why exactly, but Eddy started being an asshole. And one day, before going into the school as we all gathered on the playground running around screaming our heads off, Eddy and I got in a little tiff.

I think I pushed him and egged him on, "Go on an hit me, you think you're so tough!"

I'm sure he mentioned something about me being a "Gir-url" and I, am sure, scoffed and cussed him out. And then, with his right hand balled up into a fist, he flexed his right arm and guided it back a bit so that he could eject his fist right into my stomach.

Holy hell did I want to vomit.

I also wanted to cry and did everything I could not to cry. But I'm pretty certain I failed just as miserably at that as I did with trying to stand to pee.

I remember clutching onto my stomach as if it was going to fall out of my body. I remember leaning over so much laying on the ground so that I could see the detail in the black concrete below me. I remember loafers and white socks darting all about me. I remember hearing nothing but the bell ringing just after my seventh grade brother asked me if I was OK and whose ass he needed to go kick. And I vaguely remember making my way up the few concrete steps into the school, avoiding eye contact with everyone and telling the nun teacher that I wasn't feeling well when asked what was going on.

Fourth grade was my last year at that school with Eddy; that was the year my parents decided to split so the next year I would be attending public school with a whole bunch of new faces. That was the year my life changed so drastically that I could never really catch up with it all.

Thinking about all of this made me look up Eddy George on The Google. It brought me to a Linkedin profile. According to that profile, dude owns his own law firm. I then found him on Facebook and again, mention of the Law Offices of Mr. Big Shot. There's a picture of him in his profile: dark haired, kinda short and stocky. I know it's him. It looks just like the 40 year old version of the 9 year year old who punched me in the gut.

Little bastard.

A part of me wants to send him a Facebook message to see if he'd remember me. But what do I say? "Hey! Are you the Eddy George who socked a girl in the gut in 4th grade at [XYZ School] in 1981?"

Ah the good old days.

1.) Share a story from fourth grade. (inspired by Wild Life in the Woods).