DAMN-uary

Welcome back to the ongoing saga, boys and girls.

This has definitely been a slooooow month, and I, for one, am sincerely grateful.  After the Holiday blitzkrieg, we really needed some down time around here.  The month of January seems to have a lot in common with September, in that they both are devoted to returning to the usual school/work grind after taking considerable time off to lounge around the house, gaining weight.  Yours Truly has stayed on top of running on the treadmill since October, but even that didn't stop me from putting on a few pounds (thanks to all the Holiday parties, filled with delicious and unhealthy food and booze.)  We're not big on resolutions in this family, but getting back into healthy eating habits was paramount this month.

There were some other notable events that happened this month.  A euchre tournament at the Collier's, a couple Girl Scout outings, and, of course, my ascension to the highest rank of Masonry:  Master Mason.  I achieved this rank in a very short amount of time, as I studied religiously for this final degree, and now that I'm officially a highest-ranking member in the Freemasons, I can go on to explore some of the appending bodies of Masonry (York Rite, Scottish Rite, Shriners, etc.)  I'll keep you posted with those developments as they transpire.

Oh yeah, and we got another dog.  He's a pain in the ass, so he fits right in.

In closing, here's some pictures of the four-and-a-half months that was January.

Enjoy.

So here's a picture of my lodge (the top floor, the left half of the building), around one hundred and fifty years ago (it turns 150 in April, technically.)

Shortly after the Holidays settled down, Kris bought some white paint to redo Abby's bedroom.  No longer into Star Wars (sad as that is), she'd been wanting a beach-themed bedroom, and the formerly dark grey walls weren't really giving off that vibe.  Kris was able to really lighten up the room with a couple coats of primer and a couple additional coats of paint.  I didn't help out with this in any way, shape or form.

While Kris was painting her room, Abby got to hang out with some friends at the Roll Arena.

 

Decor getting thrown up on the walls (okay, I did that part.)

A beach-themed picture display above her dresser, lights courtesy of Dad and Cindy.

A far cry from the greys and purples of her pre-renovated room. . .

Both girls have been really into sewing lately, thanks to my mom, who showed them how to do it one day over at her house.  She gave them needles and various threads, along with random fabrics so they can practice and make God knows what.

 

The Larsons' kid, Sophie, hanging out one day for some more f***ing sewing. . .

I came home from work one day to find these signs plastered all over the door to our basement.  I blame the spelling on their Farwellian mother's genes.

Running around the neighborhood one afternoon, following a nasty ice storm that coated everything in dangerous ice (to the point where we had the kids put on helmets if they were running around the sidewalks.)

One of the gifts Abby got from my mom for Christmas this year was a gift certificate to Build-a-Bear (where kids can custom-build their own stuffed animal from scratch.)  Unfortunately, the closest location was down in Grand Rapids, in some mall in Grandville.  So one Saturday we drove down in the morning to get Abby her Goddamned stuffie. . .

Taking an elevator down to the first floor (this mall was slightly more fancy that the Midland Mall.)

Let the up-selling begin. . .

After picking out her animal's 'skin' (for lack of better term), it was time to get the animal filled with stuffing.  Abby went with a rainbow-colored cat.

 

This whole process is so frickin' bizarre. . .

Hooking the cat up to the fluff tube.

No idea what's happening here.

Abby places a red heart into the corpse, thereby giving it life.

(This isn't a real bath.)

Once they sell you a $25 stuffed animal - with options to pick a scent for $5, a heart for $5, an audio recording for $10, etc. etc. - you then get to pick out an outfit.  Rest assured, each article of clothing costs about $5 apiece, so one drops $50 on one f***ing stuffed animal real quick.

Holding up her new, over-priced stuffed cat and a certificate of adoption.

After our nightmare at Build-a-Bear, we swung over to BP's house to hang out with the DeBoer fam for a few hours.  BP recently got into vinyl, and he just completed his setup.  Not bad for a novice.

Awaiting my Master Mason degree at Lodge.

After my initiation ceremony, Erik and I met up with a bunch of other dads over at the Boulevard Lounge for some celebratory beers.

To mark the occasion, I had this custom-made .925 Sterling Silver Masonic ring made on Etsy.

This symbolizes Memento Mori (one of our principles in Masonry.)  Worth the price, for sure.

Finally got around to replacing the cabinet hardware in the kitchen.  Happy Wife, Happy Life.

My lodge donated a bunch of hats and mittens to Chestnut Hill this month, one of our charities that we run every year.

The girls set this up in the living room one evening.  God knows why.

Aldi recently started selling boxed wine.  I'm a happy camper.

Alayna is 11 going on 16 these days.

The girls have been playing a lot of chess lately.  I'm 100% cool with this.

I didn't know such a thing existed, but I definitely want one now. . .

One of the rare days this month that actually felt like winter.  It's been eerily warm, and without much snow at all, for most of the month.

Watson shows Samson the ropes.

Samson is obsessed with Abby. . .

Setting up teams for the Colliers' ridiculously-intricate Euchre Tournament.  There was a $10 buy-in for all players, and instead of full-on games, 24 players were scrambled up at random and would play through two deals per player before ending each round in the tournament.  However many points you and your random partner received would then be entered into a spreadsheet (which was displayed via a monitor that Ryan put atop his TV, shown here.)  At the end of nine rounds, whomever won the 1st, 2nd and 3rd places (based on total accumulated points), won $100, $80, and $60, respectively.  The last two point values would have to perform karaoke for everyone else.

For most of the evening, Kris was in the bottom two, and she was mortified at the prospect of singing in front of other people.  This doesn't bother me in the slightest, so - being the chivalrous husband that I am - I told her that if she finished in the bottom two places I'd step in and take her place.  Alas, she finished third-from-last, as Ryan - the host himself - finished second-to-last, and assumed her karaoke spot.  Stephanie ended up finishing dead last, and when she heard of my husbandly gesture, she made her husband, Lonnie, fill in for her.

 

I forget what highly-homosexual duet these two did, but it was damn funny.

- Brian

A Cadence to Arms: St. Patrick's Day '19

Breakfast of Champions.

ERIN GO BRAAGH, ya filthy Paddies!

Welcome back to one of the greatest days of the year, folks:  St. Patrick's Day (Observed.)  I know I've said it before, but this day seriously falls behind Christmas Eve and our Halloween Observed (the Saturday closest to Halloween, when we throw our annual Halloween party) as my favorite day of the year.  I mean, what's not to love?  All the Irish music you could want, parades, road races, bagpipers, corned beef and cabbage, Jameson and Guinness, and - for the last couple of years, at any rate - a Hough-hosted St. Patrick's Day party.

Like the other two previously mentioned holidays, we start decorating the house and breaking out the collection of holiday LPs about a month in advance (though, to be fair, I listen to Irish music on my turntable throughout the year. . . just moreso in late-February and March.)  But it's the weekend before St. Patrick's Day that we really go all-out.  It starts with a morning libation (see picture above), then sees the Hough family eating a usual green breakfast (dyed green, not hippie or vegan or whatever - we're meat-eaters 'round these parts) before heading to Clare for Irish Fest.

Behold. . .

Waiting in Clare High School parking lot, about twenty minutes before the race started.  I was to meet up with BP beforehand in order to pick up my racing bib and free shirt.

My kids are weird.

That's leftover face paint on her cheek, there - the previous night we had spent at the girls' elementary school carnival (I'll post pics in the March month-end wrap-up.)

After BP and I started the 5K at 9am, Kris took the girls up to a local gas station to fill up her car and run a couple quick errands before parking outside Witbeck's grocery store, on the main drag of McEwan (Clare's main street.)  Our 5K route brought us down this way around the 2 mile mark.

BP and I both struggled in the cold air - breathing while running in the 20s is hard as hell - but at least the roads were dry this year (aside from the ice patches hugging the shoulder.)

Turning the corner on to Schoolcrest - right outside the High School, about the 3-mile mark.

We ended up doing on/off stints of walking and running this year.  Kinda hard to do much else when it was as cold out as it was.

Thirty-eight minutes later.  Yes, we're that out of shape.  Shut up.

Victorious.

 

Another 5K in the books.

Abby, waiting for us on the hood of her mom's van.

After the race, we headed back over to my parents' house so I could shower and change out of my running clothes.  The resident Doodles were feeling festive.

Suited up and ready for the Parade.  Time for a few family pics. . .

Pretty sure this is why my folks had this stairway constructed in the first place - for staging family pictures like this.

Seriously.  Go back through and peruse this blog of mine - I got tons of pics like this.  Grandkids, siblings, other folks' families.  The stairway gets a lot of use.

On our way from Dad's over to downtown for the parade, we swung by Kris' mom's place so we could pick her up (Marcy usually watches the parade with the kids.)  And of course the Cannonball requested a selfie. . .

Remember how I said it was super cold out earlier?  It was still frickin' cold as shit.  And now there was wind.

Shop N' Go knows what's up. . .

We always park in the Clare Hospital parking lot (even though you're technically not supposed to - nobody enforces anything) and then walk across the street to stand by the Doherty Hotel (the epicenter of all things Irish in Clare.)

Alayna, waiting inside the entryway of the Doherty, attempting to keep warm.

Just look at all the fun the kids are having. . .

May this old creepy-ass dude forever haunt your dreams. . .

Does your hometown have shamrocks on its water tower?  'Cause mine does.

After ten minutes or so, Dad and Cindy showed up with Jeff and his two older kids (they had come up to check out the parade today as well.)  They were going to cross the street and meet up with us in front of the Doherty, but we told them to stay put and we crossed over to where they were instead:  as cold and miserable out as it was, we didn't anticipate staying for the entire parade.  And our vehicle was on their side of the street, which we wouldn't be able to cross if the parade was still going on.  Hell no was I willing to be stranded outside for that long.

The girls with Scarlett.

Owen makes himself at home.

We had to wait, like, twenty minutes before the parade started.  So there's a lot of standing-around-and-waiting pictures for you to check out today.  Lucky you.

Marcy and Abby

More pics of my kids having fun downtown.

Cindy took this and told us to act like 'we were having fun at the parade.'   I'm not handicapped or anything.

At one point Alayna 'got bored' and wandered off across the street.  Being the responsible adults we all are, NONE of the six of us adults present took notice until she had been gone for ten minutes or so.  Here's her walk of shame back to her scowling parents.  I hate kids.

Kris bought the girls hot chocolate, but then remembered Jeff's kids were on hand, too, so they basically became communal mugs.  The kids made short work of them.

Still cold.  Still waiting.

Nana and Scarlett.

Strafe-less fly-bys down McEwan Street:  the signal for the beginning of the parade.  Or so I assume.

Houghs.  Ready to spectate.

Scarlett waves at the cops in the hopes of scoring some candy.

Scrounging up Tootsie Rolls (apparently that's the only type of candy the good people of Clare care about. .  . because that's seriously the only type of candy they threw out at people.)

Why the hell do these guys have horses?  I'm sure they borrowed them so they could play up the whole 'cowboy' thing for the amassed MAGA die-hards (Clare is solid Trump Country.)

A rare float.  You don't see these very often in Clare parades anymore.  They're more 'big ass truck and trailer' or 'firetruck' sorta folk up there.

My alma mater.

I know I say this every year, but I really, really envy those uniforms.  Mine was a hand-me-down the school issued me, and I'm pretty sure it was from the '70s.

St. Patrick and his mighty float.

 

There you go.  There's the one firetruck we bothered with this year.  We left before the other thirty-two could pass by us and blare their sirens.

Alayna, protecting her little cousin's hearing from firetruck sirens.

Jeff was holding his son's bag of candy when a parade member, walking along the side of the parade passing out candy, saw him with 'his' candy bag.  Without saying anything, the person walked up to Jeff, dropped a few pieces in his bag, and then proceeded to pass out more to the kids before moving along.  Pretty sure the person assumed Jeff was 'special.'

Begging for handouts.

Having a blast at Irish Fest. . . now that the candy's streaming in and the cold wind had let up somewhat.

We stayed until we saw these dudes:  the legendary Clown Band.  Aside from the bagpipers - which you don't see much of anymore - this is the highlight of any Clare parade.

I like the trombonist (trom-boner?) in the middle, clearing thinking "f*** this playin' music nonsense, I'm gonna take a selfie of me walking in this here parade."  You do you, Mr. Tromboner.

That Little Caesar's in the background and changed locations, like, half a dozen times since I was in High School.  And every single time it's been somewhere on McEwan Street.  Honestly, the fact that it's held up so long against the far-superior (and Greatest Pizza on Earth), Buccilli's, is pretty damn impressive.

After the parade, we reconvened back at Dad and Cindy's to warm up for our nearly two hours out in the cold, and to eat up some hot, awesome lunch Cindy had cooked up.  While we waited, the parents broke out this old racetrack set for the younger grandkids. . . and Uncle Jeff apparently wouldn't let anyone play with his cars.

Coloring at the kitchen table

(I think that's slime from last night's elementary school carnival.  I frickin' hate slime.)

Dad inspects some artwork.

A very fitting glass for today.  Aside from when we ducked inside to keep warm, we all together stayed out of the Doherty Hotel this year - the first time we've elected to do so since moving home.  Like I said last year, it just isn't the same anymore now that we have kids and we're no longer, you know, 23 years old.  I went downstairs in the hotel to go use the restroom, right before the parade started, and had a bizarre conversation with some guy in his 60s who absolutely hammered.  At 11:30am.  Holy mother of God.

Gettin' some lunch (well, everyone but Bailey, that is.)

Following lunch, most of the kids migrated downstairs to enjoy the newly-refinished basement game room.

Kris is about as good as the kids at this. . .

After saying farewell to the rest of the Hough clan in Clare around 3pm, we headed back to Midland and began setting up our house for the evening's big St. Patrick's Day party at our house.  Like our Halloween Parties, this has become an annual tradition that we're hopefully going to keep going for quite awhile. . .

It's that time of year again, folks:  time to invest in another collectible case of Guinness Draught. 

This year's Weapon of Choice. . .

Sorry.  Had to take a pic of this random assortment of crap I noticed on my kitchen counter.  What kinda party are we havin' here?

Kris and I bought a really nice folding picnic table earlier in the week in preparation for this party, because I didn't want all that dads that were coming to just sit around in a circle in the Study and shoot the shit like they've done in past parties.  Knowing how much these dudes get into cards (especially Poker and Euchre), I draped a festive green tablecloth over the sum'bitch and our buddy Ryan brought a few extra folding chairs.  These dudes were entertained for hours.  It may or may not have had anything to do with the fact that Pete's daughter, Rosie, was 'playing music' for them (she doesn't play piano at all.)

Quite the impressive spread.  Most of it incredibly unhealthy.

Kris and I made corned beef and cabbage again on potato sliders.  It was awesome, but - as always - pretty difficult to shred the corned beef into manageable pieces.  Tasted good, but I think it'll take us a few more goes at it before we really know what we're doing.  Still, folks ate it up like crazy.

A few of the fellow dudes - like Morgan, here - brought ingredients for Irish Car Bombs (where you drop a shot of Bailey's Irish Creme into a half-glass of Guinness.  Not my personal favorite, but. . . 'when in Rome.'

There ended up being quite a lot of money on this table, and guys came in and out of the game throughout the night. . .

BP and I more or less hung out and watched, since I was on Hosting duty and, more importantly, BP and I rarely get a chance to hang out, so it was cool just to be able to chat it up for a bit over a pint or two.

Kris and Danielle.

Alayna, riding Ella around the living room.  'Cause why not.

The moms hung out in the living room (as usual) and played some dollar buy-in card game that they always resort to (the female version of poker, I guess. . . just nowhere near the $150 pot the dudes were running in the Study.)

Watson, as always, was totally losing his shit for the first few arrivals to the party, but eventually gave up when he realized he couldn't bark his way around over fifty people.

More Irish Car Bombs, this time courtesy of Pete (who had these Kiss Me, I'm Irish. . . Just Kidding, I'm Italian shirts special-made for the party.)

Can't take these guys anywhere. . .

Tablet-viewing on the stairs

'Til next year, suckers.  Slainté.

- Brian