Why We Still Need Family Farms

....with the golf cart

At five, Wm sometimes has trouble remembering which given name goes with which grandma and grandpa, especially since both names of the grandmas begin with Mar.... He has no trouble remembering, however, faces and experiences. Grandma Marilyn is known as "the grandma with the grandpa with the golf cart" because her husband, Grandpa Norman, has a golf cart.

Minutes after our arrival, he and William headed out on the golf cart to put big rocks in the ground hog holes. After plugging all the holes, they found some chores to do on this:

Spaghetti Squash is Taking Over the World

Lauren Playing "The Heart Asks Pleasure First"

How I Know He Loves Me

He built this chicken tractor for me.

Or...did he build it to keep the chickens from pooping on the front porch? Or both?

Working With Dad Building Fences

William Questions:

• What are the parts of your body? What is the most important part?
• How do your muscles move your bones?
• How does your skin all stay together?
• Can raccoons break rocks?
• How are rocks made?
• How does a volcano make rocks? Why does a volcano explode?
• If I eat good food, then will I live forever?

Hi, my name is Milo and I'm a catnip addict.

The neighbor and his son came over yesterday to see the new foal. While here, they discovered that Lazarus was their cat, Milo. They'd assumed that Milo had run off and gotten killed. Milo had lived for a year indoors at their house, which did not seem to tame his wild and somewhat agressive behavior. Perhaps because he was not neutered? At any rate, when they moved here last summer, they let him outside.

I shared that when "Milo" adopted us, we'd assumed he was one of around thirty cats another neighbor has in his barn, reproducing unrestricted. This cat began living in our barn, was suffering from two infections from cat fights, and had already been hit by a car and survived. We'd had him neutered and vaccinated, cured of his infections, and by the end, he seemed happy to stay.

I offered that, given I'd not intended to increase my cat population, only to help a stray cat, he could take his cat home, he declined. I was surprised the son didn't seem to mind. Likely, he'd just come back anyway. I have catnip. It does clear up the mystery of who he was going to visit (http://lifetimelearning.blogspot.com/2007/03/unfaithful.html) when he came back smelling like perfume. Since he's been neutered and remade, we'll still call him Lazarus.

Daisy Likes Licking the Foal

She'd also very much like to sit on top of it and/or chase it, neither of which we allow, of course.

Assume the Position

This is the nursing position we worked so hard to achieve for 16 hours. Notice that the foal is taking advantage of the fact that Maggie's back feet are up on the concrete, making the positioning easier - but she can nurse when Mag is flat-footed.

Update on Maggie's Foal

Given that sleeping in a barn on a cot with the flies is not my idea of a good night's rest, I was relieved to find the foal nursing on it's own at noon today. Though she still needs careful watching, I think she'll make it. Our all night vigil, milking the mare every hour and feeding it to the foal with a medicine dropper, has cured me of wanting to do this again, great experience though it was.

We've discovered her name. While speaking to the owner, I mentioned that compared to last year's foal, this one was "Dumber-Than-Rocks". She laughed and suggested "Roxie". Later, I mentioned it to the daughters who'd come up with the same name independently. Weird, huh? So, until she goes to her forever owner, she's Roxie. She's incredibly cute, just quite a bit slower to learn about following Mags or learning to stand in the right spot to nurse.

Here is a video of her first attempts to stand last night. More photos tomorrow after my batteries recharge.

It's a Girl!

Maggie foaled tonight at 7:30 p.m. The girls were running down the driveway as I was running up it (having seen her on the mare-cam). In just a couple of minutes, the little girl was born.

She is strong and doing well but stubbornly refuses to nurse, thus I get a new learning experience and because it would just be too easy for everything to go right. One vet says that I have only four hours to get the foal to nurse or I could lose her. In this scenario, I need at the third hour after birth to call the vet and get colostrum from a local farm delivered here.

Vet number two says I have twelve hours, not four, and that the best thing for this foal is to get it's own mom's colostrum. (BTW, Vet #1 and Vet #2 are in the same practice.) In scenario two, I milk the mom and feed it by bottle or dropper to the baby.

What to do, what to do? I don't know anything about this, except that my former La Leche League training makes me lean towards giving the foal colostrum from it's own mom and with a dropper, not a bottle. Who would have thought I would have gone from teaching women to breastfeed to teaching horses to? I've also never milked a horse, but it is easy. Right now, this is what we are doing, and it looks to be a long night.

Now, here is the actual birth! (Note: graphic birth of foal. Squeamish people should exit now.)

..

Potty Training?

Picked on to the point of mutilation by all the other chickens and missing her neck feathers, Chicken Lickin' is temporarily housed at night in a plastic tub in our half bath. Normally, she spends the night perched on the edge of it. I had put her away for the night when we heard a terrible squawking and fluttering of feathers from within.

Having seen the cat Lazarus with the lust to kill in his eyes when around her, I feared that he'd somehow gotten in there with her and was making his move. Rather, I found Chicken Lickin' inside the toilet bowl and unable to get out. I don't know if she was needing a drink of water or needed to use the facilities. Likely, she was just curious.

Hopefully, the new chicken tractor for the big chickens will be complete this weekend, and everyone will have their own outside accomodations.

Why

The "why" questions are the most difficult, taxing my creativity, religious upbringing and scientific mind all at once. Yesterday while driving, I was asked by Wm, "Why does God let you get killed?" In what seemed like minutes but was only seconds, my mind zipped through possible answers to this question. I could try the "original sin" story, how Adam and Eve sinned, causing God to allow us to suffer and die. I tossed this aside for the moment, thinking it could get into a very long conversation. I settled for "because if we all had babies, no one ever died, the world would become overpopulated and we'd not have enough food for everyone." That seemed to be something (having enough food) that his young mind could handle.

Ah, another question laid to rest for the moment. "But why does God let you itch?"
Humph! Another question, and this one not so easy. What was the advantage to humans to become itchy? I explained about plants that have protection against other living things harming them, and some of them cause us to itch. Some insects need to bite us to get their food, and their bites itch. But how does one explain allergies, asthma, itchy eyes? Perhaps because of our human nomadic existence, our genes ended up in the wrong climate or biosphere?

Another time, the boy asked how all the water stacks up in the pool. I pointed to the sides and how the walls contain the liquid. He wanted more detail. How is it that when you put your foot in the water, that there is water underneath, and the water moves aside for your leg? How does water keep together. Luckily, I had that answer, describing molecules of liquid being a good deal like marbles that on the ground, roll away from each other, but in a bowl, are all together. Okay, okay, that's simplistic, and yes, I do know about water molecules having an affinity for each other. He's five, okay? But his questions are tough!

That'll Take Twenty Minutes

Can you tell me why it takes twenty minutes to fill a prescription for a pre-packaged vial of eye drops? Are they counting the drops to make sure they're all there? And can you tell me why such a tiny vial costs $25 WITH insurance. Someone is making a lot of money.

What Was I Thinking?

Sleep deprivation is a form of torture. I am being tortured by a miniature horse. Maggie has not yet foaled. We do, however, now have a "mare cam" which broadcasts live feed to a tv in our house. Though grainy, I can see if she is standing or laying down. Last night, I only had to go to my home office to look at her, rather than a trek to the barn.

I am trying to get live feed on the internet, so that you can check on her progress. It's not available yet.

No Foal Yet

Despite all the signs, Maggie the Minature hasn't yet dropped her foal. Tonight, maybe?

In the meantime, here's how my horse, Bay, gets a drink.

Where the Wild Things Are

I'm exhausted today. I can't quite sleep knowing the foal could come at any minute. The neighbor who owns Maggie has reminded us that sometimes, the baby doesn't get out of the sack, and so we hope to be there at the birth. The baby has dropped down, so that Maggie's belly looks pointy to the ground. She looks at us when we peer in at her as if to say "What?? Leave me alone, already."

Lauren found four baby birds dead today, and one still alive, though it didn't make it. At a friend's house, I smiled at the pastoral scene of a bunny running across her yard. Not ten minutes later, I heard one yelp and then a cat, not much bigger than the bunny, dangling the carcass from it's mouth. Today was a rough day for wild things.

I think, however, I am the only person I know that has a chicken in her bathroom at night. Chicken Lickin', rejected by all the other chickens and preferring the company of humans anyway, is taken into the bathroom at night to free the coop for the big chickens to roost. Tonight, we got home late, after chicken bedtime, and the chickens were hiding everywhere. Daisy the dog and I had a good old-fashioned chicken hunt. The fattest, oldest chicken that isn't worth her feed hides best. Tonight, she was tucked under the steps of the back deck, and I had to crawl on my belly through slimy leaves to get her. You can bet that I'm not going to be late again.

Great Expectations

My life has been rather busy of late and I've been reminded that I'm neglecting my blog a bit. Okay, a lot. Perhaps given my long list of things to do and places to be, you might be inclined to understand this morning. I know better, though. How many times must I be reminded? Really.

It started out well. The girls had planned ahead so that all the chores and pet sitting got done before they were to report for duty this morning, 8 a.m. sharp, as group leaders at vacation bible school. I planned to keep Wm with me, knowing how he did not enjoy the one day he'd attended last year before becoming a vacation bible school drop-out. Yet, as we neared the school, he said he really wanted to go.

Moms reading this will understand that my mind began a dangerous journey. With all of my kids gone, I could really get some things done. I could run errands, do the laundry, grocery shopping, get up to top speed and efficiency and, gasp! I could maybe have some time alone!!!
I could ride my horse.... I commited my self-named cardinal sin of "expectations".

Well, we arrived, and in my dream-induced psychosis, I bought the t-shirt. Wm was signed up. We found his group, he sat down smiling. I moved to the back of the auditorium and made mistake number two - I paused to see that he was okay. As I turned to leave, I caught the tell-tale red face, vigorous rubbing of eyes, and knew that I'd done it now. He was bawling.

I spent the rest of the morning helping preschoolers, who couldn't thread a rope through a tire, try to string pony beads on a piece of flimsy yarn. (Have I mentioned before I hate crafts?) Next on to making snacks for the whole VBS. My stomach turned a bit to watch them alternate filling baggies with pretzels and picking their noses.

Likely, Wm will not be going back, unless Anna can convince him to stay with her in her group. Myself, I hold no expectations.

And speaking of expecting, you might remember Maggie the Miniature Horse from last year. (See about April of 2006 in the archives.) We are again a Miniature Horse Birthing Center, helping Maggie during her confinement. She is "waxing" as of yesterday, and birth is imminent. She's "dropped" and we are losing sleep checking on her during the night. Make that "I" am checking on her in the night. The world is very quiet at 3 a.m.

A Difference in Perspective

The roof of our run-in shed for the horses is caving in. To repair it, dh and I have dug a hole and poured a concrete post that will support a wooden 6x6 post. Dh began mixing the Quick-crete in a bucket, adding dribbles of water at a time.

"Do you know the correct consistency?" I asked.
"Yes, this looks about right," he said tilting the bucket for me to see.
"Oh, about the thickness of brownie mix," I nodded.
Dh replied, "I see it more as the consistency of dairy cow manure."

Coming from different directions, yet arriving at the same point.

So Much to Write....

...and so little time. The end of the week, finally, and the end of driving 70 miles round trip twice a day for the Suzuki Piano Institute. I will be happy to drop out of life in the fast lane. Today, after William's last class, we popped over to the zoo for a bit before going back to check out a few of Lauren's classes. At least that was the plan.

Click on the photo to enlarge. Can you find the duck?

(Look above the yellow flowers.)

How a giraffe gets a drink

Another learning for the day: We specifically went to see the new baby elephant born last month. It was noticed that the elephant's teats are not in the back like horses and cows. Would you have guessed? No, elephants nurse in the front, near the front legs. Interesting. Well, only to weird people like me (my children would be happy to inform you).

Our day was going so well. Anna and William decided to take the train ride,

during which we experienced a downpour. William, veteran recently of Kentucky Kingdom, put up his arms and shouted "water ride!" Both got soaked. Not wanting to ride, I escaped by watching from under an overhang. No problem, I'd drive them home, drop them off, and make the return trip in time for Lauren's class.

I didn't factor in the tractor trailer that ran off the highway into a ravine, shutting down the highway for an hour. Wm. worried that we were trapped and would starve to death, sitting on the highway. We finally got through to find our small town overrun with traffic trying to use the back roads.

I did finally get down to pick up Lauren, too late to see the classes. Some days..... Lots to write about Institute and my growing menagerie. Stay tuned...

"Bubble Practice"

Run around the room as fast as you can with a bubble around you. The bubble protects each runner from collision with the other runners (in theory).

Spare Me!

Let's see, shopping for bathings suits with two teenage girls and a five year old boy OR pulling out all my fingernails. Please, just start with my pinkie.

Creative Movement

This is Suzuki Piano Institute Week, something Lauren looks forward to all year. It is her well-earned reward for a year of diligent practice. For me, it is a twice a day 60 mile round trip to a local university. This year, William is taking one class as a "carrot" to the joys of taking piano lessons. It is his first formal class of any kind, and here is an example of what they did:



The man laying on the ground surrounded by munchkins is Mr. Krigger, the teacher of Creative Movement. William is the boy in the black shirt. After class, Wm. teared up, rubbing his eyes, wondering why HE wasn't going to any more classes with the other kids. I think it's working.

Later, I told him that Mr. Krigger taught and played the cello.
"Do you know anyone else that plays the cello?" he asked.
"Well, I do know of Yo-Yo Ma."
"Do you think that he......" Wm. paused. I'm expecting him to ask if Yo-Yo Ma plays as well as Mr. K. but instead I hear "....tells jokes as well as Mr. Krigger?"

Later in the evening, Wm asked me if I had Mr. Krigger's phone number. He wanted to call him to let him know that he was coming the next day, and not to start class without him. Unfortunately, I told Wm, Mr. Krigger has a secret number (wink).

Don't Leave Your Lunch on the Porch

Kentucky Kingdom June 1, 2007

Yesterday was Homeschool Day at Six Flags Kentucky Kingdom. William found his dream ride. As I sat as passenger of or watching kiddie rides, Lauren and Anna went on the wildest rollercoasters.

Then, we went on all the water rides. I've never been drenched like that in my life. The day was a blast but we've all agreed (except for William who wants to know when we are going again) that once a year to this park is more than enough. There is just too much blacktop, noise, people, and overall activity for us country folk. And it wasn't even peak season! It was fun though, and the rides are amazing technology.

The thing that bites my butt is how such a place can justify literally robbing people. How do you justify charging $3.50 for a 20 cent bottle of water? Or $4.50 for a hot pretzel, $5.00 for a 99 cent Icee? How about $6.99 for a hot dog, bag of chips and small drink kids' meal? I don't mind paying a surcharge for being at the park, but this is just robbery. I guess I'm just a miser. We managed with smuggled in water bottles and food we tail-gated in the parking lot.

Doesn't Get Any Better Than This

Homemade bread with freshly made strawberry jam.

Oh, That He'll Always Love Me This Much

Never again in my lifetime will I be held in such love and esteem by my children. At the magical age of four to five, my son still worships me with an untarnished love. It's not occurred to him yet that I'm as fallible and ordinary as other human beings. The time will come, I know, when my angel wings will lose their feathers, and I will be loved, but not with such devotion. If only I could capture this time in a bottle. Before I break out in my Jim Croce imitation, here are some memories to keep.

"Mommy, you're the best mommy I've ever had!" (Obvious response is that I'm the only Mommy he's ever had.)

"I love you more than the planets!"

"Well, you know everything! Like the names of the treeeeees, and that horses have bones in their tails, and how seeds grow, and that dogs have bones...." (We're all laughing by now, and wondering what it is with the bones already.)

And the best one:
Wm. and I were reading a Berenstain Bears book in which Mama is having a cub. Teasingly, I ask Wm if he'd like a baby brother or sister. "You can't have another baby, I know."

Expecting him to declare me too old, he went on to say that I was "too skinny". Bless you, child! If only I could keep him from growing up!

Clematis

This beautiful vine grows on my gazebo, a gift left from the previous occupant of our house. Except for providing some chicken wire for climbing, I've not had to do anything to it to get beautiful blooms each year.

What Happens if You Try to Relax Around Here

Lauren was trying to read her book before little brother and friend had other ideas.

Protesting the Protesters

Let's see, there's Darfur, the war in Iraq, the state of our educational system, global warming, child pornography and slavery, kids dying of malnutrition in our own country, the state of the foster care system here in the U.S., all sorts of human rights atrocities, and these people got out of bed, got signs ready, and spent human energy to protest spelling in the English language. Notice they don't use simplified spelling on their own website. Why not? Likely, because no one would read it.

Personally, I don't agree. I think the different spellings not only link back to their origin, they also make the English language interesting. For example, their limericks are quite amusing. If spelling was simplified, we would not be able to laff laugh about the inconsistencies.

Araucana

Reminding Me of the Importance of Just Being

Some may consider me nuts to have had another child in my later years. Yet, just this morning he reminded me of the importance of living in the moment. He reminded me that it was the perfect morning for sitting in the hammock under the maple trees and reading. And, we did.

Tomorrow Should Be a Doozy

I'm expecting a sink hole to open up and swallow the house whole any day now. It seems that along with me, the house is breaking down. Our septic system is giving up the ghost and the air conditioner is cooling, but leaking condensate in my bedroom closet and all over my clothes. So in addition to appointments tomorrow morning with the piano tuner and the farrier coming to trim two horses (who was supposed to come today but forgot), I'll also have the septic repair guy and the HVAC guy here. Should be another fun filled day!

My Next Career

I'm a "P" (on the Myers-Briggs Temperment sorter), I'll admit it. I love to come up with all sorts of ideas, but never implement any of them. I especially relish coming up with ideas for other people. Perhaps a dream job would be getting paid for my opinion. It was with this in mind that I was excited to be chosen for a focus group on a stain removal product. They paid me to tell them what I thought about the advertising for the product. What a good deal!

Technically, I'm probably not a good candidate for a portable instant stain removal product. I don't go out much and am about half as likely to be wearing jeans and a tshirt as I am to be dressed up. In fact, I own this product and only remember using it on other pople, not myself. They asked how embarassing it is to get a stain on myself in public. Ha! That's assuming I don't go out looking that way to begin with. I have kids, what do they expect?? I have animals.

I almost asked them if the product removed manure stains but thought that might not be their target audience. Likely, they are not looking for women whose teen daughter pointed out that I had hunks of chicken manure on my shoes and I was tracking it through the house. Still, I didn't share this more glamorous side of myself with the panel, and hope to parlay this opinion-giving into another career.

What She Said

On a day when you need encouragement in your parenting, read this.

Small Town Memorial Day

While it lacked the shooting of cannons by frail, 90 year old men like in dh's hometown (which frankly, always made me a little nervous), the service we attended this morning had all the ceremony, complete with a vocal group and county band. My eyes could not help being drawn to the old woman in red hair wearing bright orange and lime green (to the right of the blue state flag). Will that be me someday? Nah.

Sneaking Time

I literally have two minutes to post this because Lauren is reminding me that we are leaving in ten to go to a movie. I get to go to the Kiddie movie with Wm while the rest of the crew get to ahoy in Pirates. Oh, well.....

Lauren and I made 12 pints of strawberry jam, and then went to ride. Our horses were scared by a flock of buzzards and several times, by deer. Also saw a girl on a motorized scooter. I wondered at that - why motorize something that would give a child some exercise? I guess we'll have to ask Wm, who owns a Peg Perego John Deere Tractor and is saving for a gator.

Better go now, before I get caught blogging.

P.S. The deer flies are out.

Strawberry Picking

Each year, I make strawberry and peach freezer jam. I could very well buy the strawberries already picked for nearly the same price. We pick our own for the joy of being able to, and to bring home the lesson that when we eat food, someone was out in the hot sun picking it for us.

After about an hour, the novelty wears thin and everyone has tasted and picked all the strawberries they ever hope to see again. They've filled a flat. Perhaps I should empty that flat and say "fill it", for only then would they understand the drudgery of it. But, being soft and wanting them to remember the day with good memories, I instead bought them homemade ice cream in the roadside stand.

Note the cowboy boots. Nothing says style like cowboy boots while wearing shorts.

Treasures

Have you ever felt bereft of something or someone that you didn't know mattered, until it or they were gone? My children have always begged to be allowed in the Treasured Child toy store on Main Street. Though much higher priced than Stuff Mart, it was filled with quality toys and fun things you'd likely not find anywhere else but in catalogs.

The other thing you would find unusual was the owner, Trish, who always seemed to be there in her long flowing dresses and a huge smile on her face. I remember her saying things like "Let me show you this!" or "You've gotta see this!" and her enthusiasm for toys was contagious. In the paper, she is quoted as saying that the store is for kids of all ages, because "How sad if you don't still enjoy playing". That makes me think that Trish and I should have gotten to know each other better, for I feel much the same way. But now, she's gone at 57 after a brief illness. I was quite surprised and sorry I couldn't go into the store just one more time and see her standing there, smiling.

Her obit surprised me - for she was more than what she appeared to me, an eclectic toy store owner. She'd been in the Air Force during the SE Asia Conflict, a graduate of two universities, a councilor for the UN, teacher, artist and cared for refugees in Turkey, Yugoslavia and Rwanda for the United Nations. But all I knew is that she ran a small shop in a small town. How often we make assumptions that what we see is all there is.

I'm sure her store will go on, run by her husband and by Faith, a friend of Trish's that worked there. But somehow, it won't be the same. Another lesson in appreciating the here and now.

http://oldhamera.com/articles/2007/05/24/obituaries/obit01.txt

Small Town Life

If you live in our small town long enough, you'll likely hear someone claim to have special powers. These powers manifest themselves in the pessimistic ability to call trains. You see, in our small town the tracks run down the middle of Main Street, dividing our residential area from the highway and just about every business in town. You need be only five minutes late to an appointment and you can guarantee there will be a train stretching to Kansas pulling through town.

In their ability to think far into the future, our city forefathers declined an offer by CSX years ago to relocate the tracks to avoid "downtown". The train was considered integral to the town's image, even reflected in the town motto, "We are on track". I suppose it does lend an old town feel, and we've all learned patience with something beyond our control, but thirty trains a day roll through a town much larger than they could ever have imagined. Eating dinner at the Irish Pub, diners smile at each other, and raise their voices a notch as a train rumbles by less than ten feet from their tables.

Dh and I felt at home in this town that had the look and feel of both of the towns where we grew up. Eleven years ago, few people lived here. Now, driving to the grocery, two miles from my house, can take 20 minutes without a train. It has to make one wonder where this town is going.

Needing Better Fences or Better Neighbors

The neighbor's dog who killed the original and much loved Chickin' Lickin' (bantam hen) was good and stayed home for awhile, but she's back and with a friend. She and a neighbor's chocolate lab, sporting a large (and ineffective) shock collar have been visiting my chicken coops at 8:30 a.m. in the morning.

Terrorizing the chickens is bad enough, but the chaos inside the house caused by my beagle-dor (half Beagle, half Labrador) and her two miniature sidekicks is enough to drive anyone insane. I cannot let Beagledor outside to pursue, fearing a large vet bill. So, I went down to the garage and grabbed a can of spray paint. I painted a spot of red on each dog, but remorsefully, followed it with blue because the red looked a great deal like blood. Despite my antagonism towards the dogs and owners, I didn't want to make them appear hurt.

Later, I did relent and call the chickin' killin' dog's owner and request, respectfully, that he keep his dog home in the morning. I plan to get some bright orange spray paint, however, and mark each time the dog has been here. Being nice hasn't worked. It's time to get resourceful.

Boy Soup

You can hardly tell that Wm isn't the brother of the other three (friends). Note the naked Ken doll that has been decapitated and the tractor held aloft by the pincher arm toy. Boys certainly play differently.

Hoppily Ever After

Last Saturday, we attended a cousin's wedding. How refreshing it was! After a church wedding, guests changed clothes and attended a picnic reception. Each family was given a basket (which we got to take home!) and could chose items from a table for their picnic. Forewarned, we'd brought a blanket. Guests sprawled on the church grounds and talked. If not for the cars in the parking lot, it could have been one hundred years ago.

After our picnic, children played tug-of-war, three-legged races, and as you see above, sack races. (Lauren is second from the right.) They also had a dunking booth in place of a dollar dance, and the couple earned quite a bit for their honeymoon by joining the pastor, a groomsman and the bride's father for their turn being dunked in very cold water. There was even a little time for relaxation:

Perhaps, if we had a little less of the "Princess Bride" mentality in this country, and a little more family oriented weddings, we could begin to get our priorities in order.

Shh....It's a Secret

We don't normally drink real Coke, but snagged one at an event we attended recently. On the way home, Wm. asked what was in Coke. Oh, I mused, sugar, caffeine, carbonated water, coloring. He kept pressing for "what else"? Finally, I told him that the ingredients in Coke were a closely kept secret.

Exasperated, he asked, "If it is a secret, why are you telling me?"

Relativity

Used to be, that a lazy summer afternoon would last forever. I remember hanging from our old metal swingset in our backyard, the kind no one seems to have anymore, and looking for pictures in the clouds. That day lasted eons. Now, I wake up in the morning and two minutes later, it's nighttime, I've accomplished nothing, and it's three years later than I thought it was. Einstein was right: time is relative. Expanding on his theory, it is also in short supply now that it is summer. Doesn't make sense, does it? The days are longer, yet the time seems shorter.

Today, among other things, I installed box fans in the horse stalls, filled a trailer with horse manure for a neighbor, composted even more manure, took Wm to the park for a meeting with his pen pal group, went to the library and recycle center, stopped by the thrift store to dumpster dive for an adapter for a toy Wm bought yesterday (and found it, only to discover it's not the right one), cleaned the chicken coop, and made dinner. That's not all, but you catch the drift. My blog, like flowers that need water, droops.

Field Day

Today was our local homeschool group's field day. The Teen Group, of which my daughters are members, have been planning for months for this day in the park. They organized an obstacle course, games and activities for the younger children.

Each year, I marvel that these young adults put so much effort and care into planning the day. I am uplifted by the interaction of young people who will soon be parents bending over to help a small child. I am encouraged as all ages laugh and run together. I laugh as a few adults, including moi, who managed to fall on my face out of the tires, try to show that they're game, too.


I considered myself blessed to be surrounded by such children, but also women that are willing to look a little silly to have some fun with their children. Here is Marilyn, organizer of the Teen Group, not looking silly but handling the course quite competently. Her score, however, couldn't touch the time of this six year old.

A Milestone

Wm. came running from the other room where he'd been eating his morning sandwich.
"Mom," whining, "I fell asleep before I brushed my teeth last night and now, my tooth is going to fall out! Can I go upstairs and get my toothbrush and brush my teeth right now??"

Each night, I get him to brush his teeth with a reminder that brushing keeps our teeth clean and healthy, keeps them from getting cavities and falling out. Stupid me, I neglected to mention frequently enough (for surely I have mentioned it, haven't I?) that teeth naturally fall out at age 6 or so, making room for our big teeth. Evidently, I didn't make that point clearly for the boy was in a panic.

Feeling the tooth in question, I detected a slight wiggle, and my guess is that though he's a little on the early side, he will soon lose his first tooth naturally. (I say "naturally" because he had a tooth removed and three caps put on top teeth when he was but a baby. That's another story.) It's hard to believe he's gotten that old already. Now, I'm in a panic.

The Cat's Meow

I'm having a headache day and so my brain isn't working creatively. When this email showed up in my box, I figured it was too good to not share, and if I didn't have a headache, it could have been written about my house. I even have a 10 year old cat named Jack, though he is alive and well, thank you. (Thanks to K for sharing it! And Ellen, of course.)

Ellen DeGeneres received this submission from one of her viewers in response to a contest on The Ellen DeGeneres Show:

"We had this great 10 year old cat named Jack who just recently died. Jack was a great cat and the kids would carry him around and sit on him and nothing ever bothered him. He used to hang out and nap all day long on a mat in our bathroom.

Well, we have 3 kidsand at the time of this story they were 4 years old, 3 years old and 1 year old. The middle one is Eli. Eli really loves Chapstick. LOVES IT. He kept asking to use my Chapstick and then losing it. So finally one day I showed him where in the bathroom I keep my Chapstick and how he could use it whenever he wanted to but he needed to put it right back in the drawer when he was done.

Last year on Mother's Day, we were having the typical rush around trying to get ready for church with everyone crying and carrying on. My two boys were fighting over the toy in the cereal box. I was trying to nurse my little one at the same time I was putting on my make-up. Everything was a mess and everyone had long forgotten that it was a wonderful day to honor me and the amazing job that is motherhood.

We finally had the older one and the baby loaded in the car and I was looking for Eli. I had searched everywhere and Ifinally rounded the corner to go into the bathroom. And there was Eli. He was applying my Chapstick very carefully to Jack's . . . rear end. Eli looked right into my eyes and said "chapped." Now if you have a cat, you know that he is right--their little butts do look pretty chapped. And, frankly, Jack didn't seem to mind.

But the only question to really ask at that point was whether it was the FIRST time Eli had done that to the cat's behind or the hundredth.And THAT is my favorite Mother's Day moment ever because it reminds us that no matter how hard we try to civilize these glorious little creatures, there will always be that day when you realize they've been using your Chapstick on the cat's butt."

My Poppies Have Popped

Finally, the day has come. I am on the back porch with a glass of wine, in a rocking chair writing on my laptop. Pure heaven! William is in his newly purchased plastic pool, Anna is cooking my dinner (part of her "home ec" studies), and Lauren is doing math on the back porch. The sun is going down as the chickens peck around for a few worms in the back yard. Of course, the bills aren't yet done, the laundry is piled high, and I've not made the bed today, but there is always tomorrow.

This weekend, months behind the desired schedule of starting the garden, Wm and I finished putting out the tomato plants. I kept repeating in my head: I'm growing a boy, not tomatoes as I answered question after question, reminded him to watch his feet, and lost the quiet solitude that gardening has held for me in the past. "It doesn't have to be perfect, does it Mom?" he asked, a question he is often heard voicing. No, it doesn't have to be perfect, probably the greatest lesson I've learned as a mom. The quest is to do and to enjoy the learning, the journey. Too often, we search for perfection in the end results, and miss the perfection in the togetherness that got us there.

Mother's Day 2007

I have been asked several times, "What are you getting for Mother's Day". My reply? What more could I ask for?

Total Makeover

Before

After

Glad she figured out how to use makeup!

That's Stupid!

I'm going to start my own "That's Outrageous!" column, given the wealth of material available. I'll have to change the name, since it's already taken. How about "That's Stupid"? Much more to the point. Today's entries:

That's Stupid #1:
I took Wm and a friend to the local science museum. The young friend, while bending over to pick up something off the floor, stood up and struck his head on a Plexiglas display that jutted out just at his height next to where they played. The boy clapped his hand over the spot, crying because of the pain. I could see some blood through his fingers, so guided the boys to the front desk.

I asked to see the first aid person so that I could clean it and see how bad was the cut. Slowly, the assistant manager walked over, I explained what happened and asked for something to wipe the area: antiseptic wipe? baby wipe? wet towel? gauze? They offered me an adhesive bandage, and claimed that they could administer no first aid. I was getting hot under the collar and well, blew up a tiny bit.

"I'll do it myself, just give me a baby wipe." Surely, there are people that come in with kids and need to clean them off. No - they don't give out baby wipes because someone might react to the chemicals on it. "We can only call 911......" For a cut. I stomped off with the boys in tow into a closed area because I knew a bathroom was there (that wasn't supposed to be shut off either). There I used paper towels and water to clean it and see that it was a tiny cut, and easily cleaned. He would be okay.

Returning to the desk, we were offered a chemical cold pack (seems they are allowed that) and again, an adhesive bandage (for an area covered with hair). I apologized for my outburst and asked who made the stupid rule that they could not offer basic first aid? They didn't know, but it was the rule. The manager then offered that I should watch the boy, and should he develop a headache, I could give him Tylenol. Oh, so they could not give me gauze or a baby wipe, but they could dispense medical advice. What if he became allergic to the Tylenol which I gave on her advice???

Returning home, I called the zoo to check their policy and found that they did indeed have a first aid person for bee stings, cuts and scrapes. Though she would not promise what they would do, she said they did have a trained person. The museum will be hearing from me.

That's Stupid #2:
For her birthday, my mom wanted a magazine subscription. I took the subscription card, wrote out her name and address, wrote on it "This is a gift subscription to my mom" and included a check containing my name and address. I put it all in an envelope and sent it off. This week, Mom got a notice of the subscription starting, and a bill. Looking it up online, I could see that my check was cashed.

I called customer service and was informed that the mistake was made because I didn't fill out the gift subscription form. I wrote it on the card from the magazine. Didn't have a form. We didn't have your name and address. It was on the check you cashed. You did look at the card because you got my mom's address off of it. Oh, but the card was probably read by a computer and not by a human. So, the computer decided to cash a check and not associate it with the card. Well, I can fix this for you if you could just be a little understanding, but our normal cost for a gift subscription is $18, not $15. Why? Are they not both for a new subscription? It is for the cost of the additional mailings. Now, I've fixed this in our computers. Your mom may be receiving several bills (what does the postage and paper cost for all that?) she should ignore them, it's too late to stop them. You may also receive some bills for the gift subscription (more postage, more paper) but just throw them away. I'm thinking the extra $3 is for stupidity.

Where do I sign?

The BBC news magazine reports that Paris Hilton wrote the following on her myspace.com blog:

"Please help and sihn it."

She is hoping you'll sign her petition for her pardon from a jail sentence for driving while under a suspended license, a sentence imposed the last time she was caught driving drunk. I'd like to know where is the petition to make sure she does go to jail? That's the one I want to sihn sign. Actually, I think jail is too good for her. In fact, we all know she won't go to the jail that we'd go to - the one where they do the body cavity search, wash your hair with lice shampoo, dress you in orange jumpsuits that clash with your skin type, and white socks with flip flops. No, she'll be signing autographs for the guards and somehow sneak a camera in there to document her next show, "The Prison Life". She'd make another couple of million.

I instead have thought of a few alternatives to prison for her. It goes without saying that she'd not be allowed to film any part of it.

• First things first. She should be required to take grammar and spelling lessons with fifth graders, because she obviously isn't smarter than one.
• She must buy all her clothes and personal effects at Walmart for an entire year. (She was quoted as having said, “What’s Wal-Mart? Do they sell like wall stuff there?”) Idiot.
• Send her to Haiti. Make her serve food to the poor, help them pick through the garbage dumps for their next meal. Have her decide which child will starve today, and which will eat, since they can't all have food every day.
• Send her to Africa, to a village to carry water for women who spend 3 hours of their day walking to and from getting water, carrying it on their heads. Have her care for the children of the village with diarrhea because the water isn't clean.
• Send her to live in Afghanistan, where she can come to understand what it is like to be a woman with no money, no education, no power and covered from head to toe with black cloth. It would be hard to make your living on your sex appeal if no one can see that you have a body.
• Have her work in a nursing home, serving wrinkled, old women who no longer have men gaze at them with lust in their eyes, because Paris darling, your looks won't last forever and someday, you'll be that wrinkled old woman if you are lucky enough to live that long.

Really, one hundred years from now, who will remember her? And what will they remember? My girls could only identify a handful of the names of sex symbols of the 40's and 50's. A whole long list of them, famous in their day, are forgotten by the next generation. Here was someone who had all the wealth to make a difference in the lives of people, and she's throwing it away.

Sort of related, this phenomenon is not confined to our times. Have you ever heard of Mary Bolelyn? She was The Other Boleyn Girl. Before her sister Anne became the second wife of Henry VIII, Mary was the favorite of the court and Henry's mistress. She was at the top of the world. Yet, unless you've read this book, likely, you have never heard of her. And this will be the end of the story for Paris. She will likely not be remembered, and it will be no loss.

The Common Cold

Pride goeth before a fall, as the saying goes. I was about to report to you that I'd found a cure for the common cold, having dosed myself with vitamins all winter and avoided sickness even one day. God decided to send a little humility my way in the form of a virus. A common cold virus. I've been just miserable for two days, and even now, am grateful for the written word, that you need not suffer my nasally voice and sniffing.

I'm sure there are many remedies for each little symptom, but the bottom line is that mothers are the energizer bunnies of the world - we keep on going. I did, once or twice, look longingly at my bed, and then continued putting away clothes. I have mulched several flower beds, used the tractor to plow a new one, weeded the old ones, mucked my stalls, cleaned house, etc. Just as I would do if I were not sick.

As badly as this virus hit me, I told dh that he'd better hope that he doesn't get it. He asked if I were implying that he was a poor patient. I plead the fifth. (But look here. Need I say more?

Happy Birthday, Baby

It was quiet in the dimly-lit room and I reached down and touched you. Though you and I were still one, my fingertips were your first human touch. I will always remember the peace that came with your arrival, the beauty of it. On Mother's Day, fourteen years ago today, my beautiful, sensitive Anna was born. I can think of no greater gift.

I wonder if I can see through this?

Girls in New Dresses

Anna is Confirmed

Anna was confirmed at Immaculate Conception on Sunday. Lauren was her sponsor.

What are you worth?

Quizzes like this may make you feel better, but the truth is, mothers are irreplaceable, and therefore, priceless. (And, even though I'm worth $222,000 a year, I still buy my tshirts at Stuff Mart and put it on one arm at a time.)

Celebrity City

Well, the Queen didn't take me up on my invitation to drop by yesterday after the Derby. I'm sure she had a plane to catch. Louisville was all impressed with itself and the number of celebrities that came to our fair town to watch the horses run. The whole idea of celebrity amuses me and digusts me at the same time.

The papers were full of supposedly famous people that I'd never heard of. You had your Piddle Daddies and Puff Doodle rap stars (I don't listen to rap), a good number of ex-NFL football players (I don't watch football), lots of TV celebrities (if it isn't on House or Bones, I don't see it), and other supposed celebrities that have no other credit to their being than having acted or sung on TV or screen. Most of them, I not only would not know them if I passed them on the street, but if I did, I'd not have anything to say to them. Somehow, I suspect they don't know anything about what to put in their garden this time of year or how chickens like to hide their eggs from you. There to see horses? Perhaps we could discuss the best manure fork design. Oh, you don't really like horses, just the endless boozy parties. And being seen. I get it.

Oh, Yuck!

Discover Magazine points out that June 9th is World Naked Bike Ride Day, protesting the world's dependency on oil. If you want to participate, you need to head to New York or San Francisco with a banner declaring their favorite slogan, "Less gas, more ass."

Now, I don't know where you live, but Kentucky definitely does not need more ass. Helloooo....we are home of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Kentucky ranks as the sixth fattest state in the union. There isn't one person I know that I want to see riding a bike naked, 'cepting maybe my dh just for the pure humor of it.

Dh mentioned that the whole idea sounded decidedly uncomfortable. Picture the little seats on a ten-speed bike seat - on the other hand, let's drop that line of thinking. Dh said he would turnout for World Topless Bike Ride Day, which, however, ruins the slogan.

It won't happen here - home of where we make Derby a holiday: we invite over friends, sit on the couch and eat fried chicken and buffalo wings while watching horses run. But exercise ourselves? In the nude? Will never happen.

Happy Derby Day!

Someday, They'll Realize They're Friends

What Money Can't Buy

Though no reflection on this blogger's lifestyle, our bedroom community county is the richest in the state per capita and the 48th richest in the whole US of A. Trailer parks mingle with McMansions, old timers mix with a flood of professionals building their estates. Drawn by the beauty of horse farms (now disappearing) and excellent public schools, growth is out the roof (pardon the pun). This once rural community is changing quickly. Despite the obvious general wealth of the population, it made the news when a recent survey of high school seniors indicated that 50% of them had consumed alcohol in the past 30 days and that 44% of them had indulged in binge drinking (got drunk) in the past 14 days.

I was discussing this with Joe, the farmer from whom I buy hay for the horses. Our idle chat turned to the cost of horses, and yet, the value of them in a young teen's life, how it keeps them busy, requires responsibility and focus. I asked if he'd seen the statistics and the resultant letters to the editor claiming that the problem is (use whiny voice) there's nothing here for a teen to do.

I asked Joe if it wasn't true that he'd lived here all his life, and he replied in the affirmative. And, I continued, isn't there more to do here than when you were a teen? He threw his eyes upward, oh gosh yes. He told me that when he was a teen, he and many of his school mates didn't have time to get in trouble, as they had to come home to the farm and work. He raised his daughters the same way, and though peers sometimes made fun of them for being farm girls , they grew up hard workers and good people.

Good people. What if - we've given our youth all the privileges money can buy, schooled them in every subject known to mankind, got them to regurgitate this back on tests so that we can say that no child was left behind and so that they can get a good job, but we forgot to parent them to be good people?

The Secret to a Good Marriage

In Church last Sunday, Father said that there were three phrases that were key to a successful marriage:

• "I'm sorry"
• "I forgive you"
• "I love you"

I had to laugh, because just recently I heard something similar, which was advice to a man on what to learn to say to his wife to have a successful marriage:

• "I'm wrong"
• "You're right"
• "I love you"

FlightAware Website

An email friend passed along this website to me and it is too cool! You can put in the flight number of someone you know is going on an airplane, and you can track their progress on the website. This morning, I "watched" my husband fly to Chicago, and this afternoon, I "watched" Anna fly from Amsterdam to Detroit. (She's on her way home!)

In Search of Someone Real

There are many things I could do with $400. I can tell you that getting a haircut for that amount would not be one of them. Anna at Fantastic Sams does a fantastic job for $20. Let's face it, $400 and I'm still not going to be a supermodel, and by next month, it'll just need cutting again. John Edwards, however, seems to think his hair warrants that amount for a trim. I can only envision that they are putting each hair under a microscope and inspecting the angle of each hair before cutting. $400?

Four hundred dollars (the price of his haircut) would buy:

• A membership to the county pool for the summer, to the zoo and museum for the whole year for my whole family.
• 80 new tshirts at Stuff Mart.
• Food for our family for two weeks
• Enough hay for our horses for four months
• 40 pairs of shoes from Payless
• 200 baby chickens !!!
• A Wacom for my daughter Anna
• A Great Dane Puppy!!!
• Wm adds: a John Deere Peg Perego Gator
• 20 pairs of $20 jeans (yes there is such a thing)
• I have never had a pedicure or manicure, and yes, I know it shows. I could have five of each.
• Dh and I could eat out 10 times.
• 40 large pizzas
• new tires for our van
• Six massages and I really need massages!!!

Oh, I could go on and on and on. And I haven't even gotten to the good stuff. Maybe, just maybe, he does a lot of charitable things and we don't hear about them. Could that be? But he did this twice, spending a total of $800. His two haircuts would have sponsored a child at CFCA for two years. Two years, that child would have food, education, a home. $800 to Food for the Poor would feed over 85 families for a month.

Okay, I know there are fabulously wealthy people out there, and $400 is a drop in the bucket to them. When running in the public eye for a public office, don't you think you'd have a little teeny bit of sensitivity to the fact that the vast majority of people out there that vote would never spend that kind of money on a haircut? That's what worries me. That lack of sensitivity bodes ill for someone that wants to run the country and spend our tax dollars. And John, it's not about the hair, bud. Get over yourself.

Anna in Germany

Anna returns from Hamburg, Germany today after riding in an international mounted games competition. She and her riding partner took third place out of 10 teams, narrowly missing second place when a piece of equipment blew over before the rider crossed the finish line.

It has been a marvelous experience for her. She's been to Lubeck (a medieval town), Hamburg, ridden a boat in both towns, visited the home on the Baltic Sea of the German people lending them ponies, met people from several countries, and eaten all kinds of different foods.

I am looking forward to her return. I've missed you, Anna!

Cone Monster

William amusing himself with cones at a mounted games competition.

Week in Review

You'd think I'd have lost a pound or two trying to hold down the fort while dh and dd#2 are out traveling, and with dd#1's social calendar. I'm finding, however, that chocolate chip cookies with a quart of milk make me feel better about working so hard. They call my name late at night from the refrigerator.

Dd#2 has been in Hamburg, Germany this week at an international horse competition for Mounted Games. The events leading up to the day she left were an emotional roller coaster. Her riding partner had not received her passport, so tickets weren't purchased thinking that the pair wouldn't be able to go. Last Friday, the passport came, and thus began a flurry of activity to get together all the clothes and items a 13 year old needs to go overseas.

First the most important news: As of this morning, they were in second place out of 12 teams! There is one more heat to go. I am so proud of them. In addition to handling (with chaperones) their first travel overseas, they had two days to accustom themselves to borrowed ponies that were not of their choosing, and to ride for two days against some of the best junior teams in Europe. No matter the finish, they've represented the United States well and shown that they are excellent Mounted Games riders.

Read more about it on the front page of our local paper.

About the same time I saw her off, dh left for Florida and a business conference. They call it a user conference, meaning its for people that use their products. I call it a user conference because they use this as an excuse to leave the old wife at home while they play golf. Two days of golf and eating out, two days of seminars and more eating out. Staying in a hotel where you don't have to angry whisper through your teeth, "SHHHHHHH, there are other people on the other side of that wall!!!!" Eating without having to worry that the ice water will once again be tipped over onto the table or worse, into your lap. Ah, well, it was a bit windy, dh reported, ruining an otherwise nice golf outing.

Dh then continued farther south to visit his parents who live in a retirement community there part of the year. TC's account of the rules at her in-laws retirement community tickled me, as they must be at the same park. I am looking forward to his return this afternoon. Anna will be flying home tomorrow. Please pray for the safety of both.

And here on the homefront? It has rained just enough to keep the grass growing several inches each night. While trying to keep up with dd#1's social calendar (she can't yet drive, and now I know why parents count the days until they can), I've been trying to keep up with the horses (buying hay, moving manure, etc) and cutting the grass. One day, I spent over an hour cutting, enjoying the instant results, the feeling of a job well done. It was late at night though, and dark while I finished up with the headlights. In the morning, I noticed that the dandelions had shot up their flowers overnight and turned to seed, and the entire yard looked as if I'd done NOTHING.

Well, and that is why I've not blogged much this week. Aside from my dwindling sense of humor, I've been trying to hold together this fort with duct tape and baling twine. Speaking of duct tape:

DS: Mom, why do they call it DUCK tape?
MOM: It isn't DUCK tape, it's DUCT tape, with a T on the end.
DS: But why do they call it DUCK tape? What is a DUCK - T?
MOM: Ducts are the pipes they use in houses to carry heat and air. You know those metal pipes in the ceiling?
DS: No. So why do they call it that?
MOM: So they could put a picture of a duck on the front of the package and you'd know what brand to buy.
DS: Oh. (subject dropped, finally)

Private note to TC: That photo is from seventh grade, back when cheerleading wasn't a sport but rather something you could do while the boys played basketball, since the girls had no team. And I did play softball, as a pitcher and catcher, and later coached other kids. I didn't try out for cheerleading in high school, eschewing the popular crowd mostly out of a profound anxiety of hanging with the "in" crowd. I was a nerd.

Update on Poly

After spending two days with her paramour, Poly (our Polyphemus moth) began laying 42 eggs. I wrestled with guilt at confining them to the cage, and that night, let them go. They floated away on the night. We have several days left to go to see if the eggs are fertile.

Global Chilling

Can you please tell me why, in an age when we are beaten over the head with the need to conserve energy, that public eateries and places are cold enough to hang meat? I'm sitting at an indoor playground (which conveniently has wireless internet) watching ds and his best friend play. They don't want to leave, though we've been here hours. And why should they? Lots of toys, a giant indoor slide, all the pizza they can eat. Me? I'm freezing my tookus off. (Is that how you spell tookus?)

Have you noticed that fast food joints and places like this are freezing cold? We have in our family held the belief that such places are cold to encourage you to eat quickly and leave. I'm so cold, I'm seriously considering going down the slide over and over to generate some friction to warm my tookus.

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Gee, Thanks....

Ds asked to see a photo of what I looked like when I was a kid. I pulled out a photo album which was of my later "kid" years. He looked at the line up of cheerleaders and asked, "Which one are you?" I pointed to the girl pictured above, to which he replied, "Gee, mom, you were skinny." Thanks. Nothing like the truth to lift one's spirits for the day.

The Moth Whisperer

We caught a male! Following directions I found on the web, I placed "Poly" outside in her container on a white sheet, and turned a flashlight on the sheet between 10 p.m. and midnight. During that time, I went outside, and there he sat, gently moving his wings. He was much prettier and furrier than Poly, with a more distinctive blue "eye". I picked him up, and put him in the tub (covered with screen) with Poly.

He was not at all happy about being imprisoned, despite the waiting and willing female. After some flapping around, I finally got him to grab onto the branch near Poly, but not before she grabbed one of his antennae and ripped half of it off. I wondered if that hurt?

Will our efforts be successful? Will our Pyramus love our Thisbe? Today, I see two white spots on the tub near Poly, which I take are eggs. Both are quitely resting, as moths do in the daytime. Tonight, I'll release this male, and see if Poly can call another.