Martyr?

Ever get "forward"that everyone you know sends to you? The latest in my inbox is the email about the Invisible Woman (link to excerpt) that is from a book by Nicole Johnson. In it, the writer laments that she is often invisible to her family, working diligently to mother and care for them, not immediately seeing the results. She bolsters her self-esteem by comparing her job to the building of a cathedral:

No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

I loved this part, identifying with having faith that I am making good choices for my family even though I won't see the end result for years to come. (Truthfully, though, I see a good deal of results right now.)

Because it was forwarded to me without credit to the author, I did a quick Google and found her name right away. I clicked on several links to see that some bloggers have put the whole excerpt on their blogs without given credit. (Can you spell plagiarism?) Anyway, in my clicking I ran across a group called Alt Support Childfree, a group of people that consciously choose not to have children. I was completely taken aback by the angry and mean tone. Still am. I looked past that though and tried to listen to the message and found some truth in it.

This author becomes a martyr in her words and actions. She has become invisible to her family only because she's allowed this to be. We've all made choices, and we must stand up to those choices. I'm not saying that being a stay-at-home mom isn't hard, that sacrifices aren't made and willingly. It is likely the hardest job in the world. I'm saying that if we are invisible, if we feel we are not being heard, we need to voice that to our families or make other choices - find other outlets. I will say that I do get this martyr feeling once a month, however, but I recognize it for what it is.

I make no apologies for staying home and building my cathedral. It will be very beautiful.

Farm Notes
We are off to pick apples today at a local u-pick-it. William says, "MOM, when are we going to go already?" so I've not proofed the above very well. Please be kind to me.

Why?

If you have a young child, you probably hear the word "why" more often than a person ought. "Why" challenges my knowledge of the world and stretches my memory to it's limits. Maybe that is why I continue to read a lot and learn - trying to keep up. For example, I bet there's not a mother among us that has not been asked why do men have nipples too? They obviously don't need them. Up until now, I have given the answer that God put them there for decoration. I've got a better answer today!

I've been reading Raising Boys: Why Boys Are Different-And How to Help Them Become Happy and Well-Balanced Men, and in Chapter 3, it says:

It may surprise you to know that all young creatures start life being female. The Y chromosome that makes a baby into a boy is an 'add on' chromosome that starts to act in the womb, to give a boy the extra bits he needs to be a boy and to stop other bits growing. A male is a female with optional extras. That's why everyone has nipples, though not everyone needs them.

Well, that solves that mystery of life!

Farm Notes
I've not even been outside yet.
The chicken coop has been moved, but I need to clean it.
The stud next door was gelded about a month ago, and at night, we hear squeals and donkey-like brays as he and Jorgen determine who's boss.
I need to measure the roof of the shed - it needs new shingles.
The pool, now defunct and empty, is collecting acorns and leaves. I need to dismantle it soon. I look at the decking on the pool and think of building a clubhouse for Wm. Think. Not do.
The days are alarmingly short.

Down the Road

Agape

Once a week, I volunteer two hours at a thrift store run by my Church. For two hours, I unpack clothes, refold them, hang them up, arrange knicknacks on shelves, throw out less desirable donations and straighten the shelves. Each week, I look forward to going. I am often asked why I do this, why would I work for free?

There are many answers, but the most telling would be that my time there puts me in touch with part of my community that I might not otherwise get to know. I've come to be comfortable with a large black man always wearing a construction helmet, talking to himself and shouting at cars that pass by. That's "Porkchop", a sort of dubious celebrity in our town.

I've exchanged buenas tardes with Angelica who tells me the sweet story of how her non-English speaking father could not understand why everyone stared at him when he wore his esposa's sweatshirt, until it was explained to him that it read "World's Greatest Grandmother".

I worry over the morbidly obese woman who can hardly walk, but even more worrisome, has a van so packed with garbage with a space only big enough for her body that I wonder if she is a hoarder. She buys more stuff even as we are closing.

Sometimes, I marvel at the two black women friends that come in, so enjoying each other's company and talking up a storm, and that with my white ears, I can't understand them at all. They have a secret language.

John wasn't in this week. He's Hispanic and friends with Chuck, my co-worker. John washes dishes at local restaurants and seems to be alone here. I wonder how he came to our area.

The woman who mops the floors at McD's stops by with a friend, their English non-existant. They're followed by a man who sweeps through daily, looking only for Derby glasses. Another regular laments that she hasn't found anything to buy that day, yet another day asks me how she can keep from collecting more things and learn to discard.

This week, an Amish woman and her baby came in. I dared to ask her (not wanting to intrude) if she was with the men painting the bank in town? Yes, she told me, that was her husband. I told her truthfully that they were doing a beautiful job and that it was appreciated. She smiled widely, but said nothing. I noticed that Amish do not have very nice teeth, or at least she didn't, young though she was.

I get to see Raidy and RuthAnn, the elderly couple who runs the store, who would otherwise not be of my acquaintance. RuthAnn tells me how happy she was that I was in her line at Communion last week. Chuck talks to William, who is always with me, and says that he saw a boy dressed fancy at Church last week that looked like William. "That was ME!" William squeals.

So in this rich, 98% white county, I see a richness in diversity in a small shop on a side street. Do you not see that I am the one that receives?

Farm Notes

In my last blog, I wrote ""Miniature horse foals cannot walk upright on laminate flooring in the basement. Ask me how I know." Dawn wrote: How do you know? Well, Dawn, the foal will slip under the electric fence and come running anytime she sees a human. One day she was with me while I worked in the garage, and I forgot she was there. Our garage is a walkout from our basement, and forgetting she was there, I walked into the basement to put away a toy, leaving the door open . The next thing I knew a terrible clatter, much like Santa's reindeer on the roof, was in the room with me. It was Roxie, who'd followed me in. I had to support her weight to get her out, as the laminate floor was like ice to her hooves.

Ginny, Anna's horse, has gone to training at a local farm. We drove her there with her best bud, Quid (Lauren's horse), put her in a stall, and prepared to leave. That's when the fireworks began. She is quite pushy and buddy-sour, aside from the general issue of needing more training. We expect it to take at least several weeks. The other horses will surely miss her.

There are dead leaves everywhere. I hate dead leaves. I love the fall. What a contrast in sentiments.

Got the horse trailer fixed - lights, brakes, broken window. I wonder if Walmart needs night help?

Of Grave Concern

Within a short horse ride of our house lies a large property belonging to a local television station. It was purchased for the construction of a weather station tower. Local horseback riders have benefited by the station looking aside if anyone rode there. While not given permission, we were also not prosecuted. That is, if we did not ride and scare away deer during hunting season when executive big-wigs came to prove their manliness.

In the late 1800's, this property had been a farm, and until recently, the old farm house and barns stood derelict and a shell of their former selves, housing buzzards that would take flight and scare the horses out of their skins.

On one ride or two, we came across a graveyard. Intrigued by the possible history of the place and the story of the people, we decided to return with a camera and a notebook. But of course, it took many more rides to finally locate the overgrown plot. Lauren in particular was intent on finding it.

Today, she and Anna located the Duncan cemetery, likely the owners of this farm in the 1870s or so. We are going to take the photos and information to the local history museum to see if they can tell us more about the Duncans. The farm was on a route from the Ohio River to a spring in our town we know from a previous visit to the history museum. Several of the stones marked infants or a daughter age six.

Sadly, I hear that the property is to be sold and my guess is that it'll be subdivided for yet more houses.

Farm Notes
Dry as a bone. I did manage to weed my herbs and found some parsley, oregano and a few other herbs surviving despite my neglect.

Picked a bunch of red Cubanelle and Hungarian hot wax peppers. Tasted some of each and found them to be sweet, not hot. Yet, when I went to clean my contacts.....Well, let's just say that I've not been drinking should you noticed that my eyes are bloodshot.

Miniature horse foals cannot walk upright on laminate flooring in the basement. Ask me how I know.

We are preparing to store as much hay as we can stuff into the barn. It has been a bad, bad year for hay and people are rushing to buy it like Louisvillians run to buy milk and bread because we could get snow flurries. Truly, people are already paying upwards of $6 a bale here where we normally pay $3.50. So, we're going to buy a bunch now, for even our hay guy will raise the price in January.

Been Busy

With the change in weather, we've been outside more, trying to catch up a bit with a yard let go during extreme heat and drought. We've also enjoyed getting out to ride a bit more. Keeping up with girls studying dual credit high school courses keeps me hopping as well. I am again learning my French language skills and immersing myself in Algebra. Life is good - and full.

Farm Notes

The chickens are not laying - nada. They are lucky that it is 2007 and that I have no idea how to butcher a chicken, nor do I want to learn. On the other hand, the silkie pair that I've verbally given away to a friend have finally started to lay and are sitting on eggs, so that they cannot be moved right now.

Quite a scare yesterday - a man stopped and rapped on our door. If a stranger comes to our door, either they are Jehovah's Witness members or a horse is running down the road. He told me that a mini and her foal were running down our road and inquired if they were ours? We rapidly prepared to get the truck to go see, but soon discovered that the horses in question were not black, like Maggie and Roxie, but buckskin. The man had put the horses in a neighbor's fenced yard, but we were never able to find them. I hope that they were found and put back where they belong. My heart got a good workout in my temporary scare.

I've decided I'm not a gardener, yet I feel ecologically I should try to grow things. Yet, I'm such a dismal failure at it - not enough time. However, I have enough hot peppers right now to supply a Mexican restaurant. They evidently like hot, dry weather and total neglect.

A Leg Up

Sometimes, a task can seem insurmountable...

...without a big sister to help you...

...and to lead you around the yard for a pony ride.

Farm Notes:

No rain. You can hear the grass when you walk on it.

Beautiful skies, nice temperatures. Summer is over. Time to pot annual herbs.

Jorgen developed a swelling on the side of his neck. He had an injection last Thursday so that we could power wash his privates. He often has a small swelling at injection sites. This was large enough that we called the vet, as it encompassed the entire side of the neck. The vet gave him an IV injection anti-inflammatory and we'll follow up with Bute over the next couple of days.

I'm tired yet from spending a full day Saturday at my late Aunt Loraine's house, boxing, cleaning and moving things. Yet, I was very, very pleased at how well my sisters, my bil and my nephew and I all worked together without any animosity and moved a mountain.

Look What Hatched!

Whirlwind Life

Wm held out his hand with a short, brown item and I was relieved to hear him say, "I found another chrysalis." Indeed it was, but I can't imagine that anything pretty will come of it. What kind is it, he wanted me tell him, and when I declared my ignorance, he said, "Well, you can look it up, can't you?" He's learning what I want him to learn - that if you don't know, you can find out.

Wm to Daddy: Why don't you have much hair?
Daddy: I don't know. It just went away.
Wm to Daddy: But you're still handsome, aren't you?

Last night, we went to a reception at a local library for the art studio where Anna studies. Anna had two drawings on display.

Today, I am off to Cincinnati to help box up the house of my aunt and uncle, both of whom died recently. Both people who'd survived the Depression, they were frugal and saved most everything. Some of the things have been most fascinating. I found a blow dryer from the 70's, and brought it home. My girls wondered about the brush attachment at the end. I told them how we used to curl our long hair in a flip along the sides of our faces to the back.

Some things were quite puzzling. Uncle Otis had save a small box with "cicada" written on the top. Inside, yup, a dead cidada. No idea why he'd saved it, no small note to tell us of it's significance.

Though I didn't visit there often, and when I was younger, Aunt Loraine and Uncle Otis usually came to our house, it is a sad knowing that they won't be there and that someone else will occupy the house they'd owned since the 60's.

Farm Notes

Horses 2, Walmart $2 sprinkler 0
Still no rain. Heard this is the worst drought our county has had in 100 years.
Neighbors' dogs, two of them, have resumed sniffing around the chickens in the evening. I'm going to have to complain again.

The Sound of SH

One of the joys of owning a gelding is that periodically, one must become more familiar with a part of him that can't normally be discussed in polite company. Some horses love that clean feeling "down there". My horse, Bay, in fact, enjoys it a little too much. Jorgen, on the other hand (no pun intended), acts as if he is being molested. Lifting his hind foot, he tries to scrape my hand away.

You may ask why it is necessary to clean a horse there. Nature had a way of self cleaning during use and in submersion in water. Neither happen to a domesticated gelding. Jorgen was to the point of having what looked like asphalt adhered to him and he was swollen. Something had to be done. With a horse that won't "drop down" or allow you to be intrusive, you must sedate them or have the vet come do this.

I called the vet's office to get an estimate as to how much it would cost to just have the vet come.
"I need an estimate to have the vet come out and clean his sheath," I told Linda over the phone.

She began looking up prices. "It will cost about $60 for a simple case pluse the trip charge ($24) and sedation ($30), and up to $100 if he has to use the grinder."

Grinder? I am thinking. OUCH! To give you an idea of how hard the stuff was up in him, and how bad he looked when he did drop down to pee, I envisioned a little hand held tool...... Well, anyway, I guess I just thought the vet ought to know what he was doing. But grinder?

"So, this is going to run me, worst case, about $150 or more? I am trying to do it myself but....."

"Well, we don't recommend anyone trying to do their horses' teeth themselves."

Teeth? The little bell went off and I laughed out loud. "I didn't say teeth. I said sheath."

Linda likely had tears running from her eyes as she realized that we'd been talking about two different things and what an idiot of an owner who thought one might use a grinder on a horse's privates. I laughed with her, knowing that this story was going to make the rounds of our little town in no time.

Check at http://jmatt.net/ElecEq/sheath.html if you'd like humorous, yet accurate, directions as to how to clean a sheath without a grinder.

As to the end of the story? We ourselves gave old Jorgen a shot of Rompun/Ace from the vet and cleaned him ourselves. He's now as fresh as spring air.


Farm Notes for Thursday

Cleaned chicken coop and moved it. The baby chick is getting big and shows signs of being a rooster.

No rain in the forecast. Bought a new sprinkler and have it running all the time. $2 sprinkler didn't stand up well to 12oo pound horse rolling on it, but I think I fixed it.

Lots of peppers to pick. About the only thing my garden produced this year - hot peppers. I never even have time to pick them. I am thinking of giving up gardening until I'm older, have more time, and no one to eat the produce.

Found another chrysalis on basil I picked to dry. It is also a Monarch. Hung it up in container with other chrysalis which doesn't appear viable anymore. Maybe I'm being given a second chance?

The truck, used for a myriad of hauling and work, is beginning to sound like Darth Vadar.

The creek is completely dry except for a small puddle where some frogs still reside.

My Son

William's current career aspiration is to become a garbage man. I'm so proud. I may be able to influence that. Last night, I jokingly told him that he ought to consider becoming a doctor so that he could care of dh and me in our old age. Tonight, in the middle of watching some insane cartoon, he looked over and said in a despondant voice, "All right, Mom, I'll be a doctor."

"Why do you say that?"
"Well, I want to be able to help you." I don't know how this thought came out during the cartoon, but I released him from my expectations and told him I had been joking the night before.

Live Webcams
I've been gazing lately at the Earthcam website where you can click on webcams from all over the world. It shows live video, the current time and weather. I've been using it to show William how different parts of the world have different amounts of daylight at any one time. I like checking the beach where we vacation , particularly when I hear that a storm is brewing. (As an annual destination, we worry about it when big storms hit, as it is a home away from home.) I love the cam at St. Louis, which I caught just as the sun was going down and reflecting on the buildings. A funny - there was a spider on the cam and I could clearly see it crawling all around.

I'd love to set up a cam on our front yard, but I've not figured out how to host one yet. It would be really cool to have one in the barn, but the wireless won't go that far. I guess I could hook up a couple of hundred yards of USB cable!

Too Funny

Can I Help?

Wm. is always at the ready with "can I help?" He's particularly involved at dinner time when there's chopping to be done. "Wait, let me get my 'little knife'" he say, looking for the dull pairing knife he's allowed to wield.

When it comes to feeding our foster kitties, he gives me quite a chuckle. He'll ask, "Can I help you milk them?" meaning, can he help give them a bottle of milk. I am amused with the image of the both of us pulling on the tiny teats of a mother cat to milk her.

Update on the coccoon: It is definitely changing in color and overall appearance. We expect it to hatch Tuesday or Wednesday. In the meantime, go look at my sister's blog and the black swallowtail butterfly they hatched.

My Front Porch

I have often had animals on my front porch: other people's dogs, for example.

But throwing out the welcome mat for a horse might be going a little too far.

The problem is that if I am on the front porch, so is she.


And if you give a horse the opportunity to go on the front porch, she'll want to come inside. She actually knocked.

She may even make herself look pitiful enough that you consider it for just a moment.

Future Daddies

As a former La Leche League Leader, I don't advocate bottle feeding (and in fact found this week it to be quite a pain to prepare the supplies), but could not help smiling as these boys nutured these little abandoned kittens.

My loving sister was given one apparently abandoned in a barn, and while at the pet store to buy formula, met a woman with two more. Instead of giving the woman the cat she had, you guessed it, she took the other two as well. I guess she and I have something in common - more animals than sense (or cents). Sister then proceeded to leave town for two weeks, leaving the kittens in my care.

The boys were so gentle with the kitties, which burp quite loudly after downing their formula. The boys found this quite amusing. We keep them in a bathroom where they can run around and stay out from underfoot, away from our giant, mean-old red tabby cats.

Chrysalis

Last Friday, William's friend, Aidan, pointed to a beautiful chrysalis hanging by a thread from a post on our front porch. It looked like a bright jewel - emerald green with gold dots all over it. Later in the day, we saw that it had fallen off the post, and so we retrieved it and put it in a safe bug container.

Googling it, we found out it is the chrysalis of a Monarch butterfly! It is due to hatch, we think, next Tuesday. (That is, if I can keep William off of it. He reported today, while showing to my friend, Becky, that it felt a little squishy. Oh, no!)
Here is a website (by someone else) where you can see it in all its stages of development. I'll post next week if it hatches or not, but we can already see that it is changing in appearance.

Thinking Outside the Box

I was trying to get dinner on the table with a five year old underfoot. Pulling out a worksheet, I read and memorized the short instructions and returned to the kitchen. I asked William to circle the items in each column that were above the others. Next, he was to cross out items below the others. When he told me he was done, I looked at the paper.

He had correctly circled the items above and crossed the items below, but it took me a moment to process that the middle objects were both circled and crossed out. This was, he explained because the flower, for example, was above the worm but below the cloud, so got both a circle and an "x".

I was amazed at his thinking beyond what was asked. Was this exceptional thinking? I looked in the back of the book (which I think is kind of amusing that they have answers for kindergarten worksheets, but thankful in this case), and in fact, they showed just the cloud and butterfly circled and the worm and log crossed out. They didn't think any further. Maybe I need to write them a letter.

This type of thinking reminds me of a time Anna, at about the same age, was asked on the Iowa Skills test which cloud of several was the smallest. She said that she couldn't answer the question. I pointed to the smallest (apparently to me) cloud. Anna responded that the cloud wasn't the smallest - it was just farther away. Sometimes, I'm just amazed at this type of early thinking and wonder how much of it is drummed out of us with the "right" answer.

Secret Code?

So I had to ask dh if anyone had ever touched his foot while in a bathroom stall. After the recent disclosure of a politician who allegedly was soliciting attentions from an undercover police officer by touching feet and running his hands under the stall wall, I was creeped out enough to wonder if this sort of thing happens often. No, dh assured me, he didn't know of any secret code that implies an invitation. Still, if you hear me yelling "William, are you in there?" very loudly at the men's door (since my five year old is now old enough (he tells me) that he has to use the men's room), or maybe even charging in and looking for him if he doesn't respond, you'll understand.

In Which I Show My Ignorance

Perhaps I've been in KY too long. But no, that's not it, I've never been interested in fashion or clothing. Like anyone, I feel better in nice clothes and like to dress to go out, but to be honest, most of the time, I don't think about fashion at all. I guess that's why I had absolutely no idea what a Coach purse is and (aside from the obvious mess to cleanup) why my friend would be concerned about an egg becoming cracked in one. (My place is the farm where the deed took place.)

In the car on the way to a family golf outing last night, I relayed the story but asked puzzled, "What is a Coach purse?"

"Oh, my God, mom. Everyone knows what Coach purse is."
I turned to my dh. "Do you know?" Yup, he knew. They gave a description. A purse with circles and brown and gold and they cost upwards of $300-$500. I started hyperventilating. FOR A PURSE???

And, I wanted to know, how did they know about this, my homeschooled teens? How did dh? One offered that at the malls....("but you don't go to malls") and in fashion magazines... ("but we don't get any fashion or popular magazines"). Okay, maybe TV commercials. Granted, I watch very little TV, but still, would I have not heard? Dh offered that it was kind of like saying you have a Rolex. Well, yes, I know what a Rolex is because some Chinese guy is trying to sell me one by email. Rolex is a metaphor of sorts for wealth. But Coach? Never heard of it. I guess I am a hopeless case. A chip off my dad's self-admitted "German Deutsch" ancestry. I can only think that I could buy a new computer for the cost of a purse. Amazing!

How to Turn a Conversation

"Skorts" are an interesting clothing item and a throw-back to my childhood. They are meant to look like a mini-skirt, yet have shorts underneath. Both a friend and I, unknown to the other, bought the same skort at a local department store and found that while driving on the highway, we were startled by blasts from eighteen wheelers passing by. Evidently, from their vantage point, the skorts look like we've hiked up our skirts. In our minds, they hit no differently than a pair of modest shorts.

Retelling our conversation to my husband and okay, a little puffed up that anyone would honk at me at my age, he stated that a truck driver would honk at anyone in a mini-skirt. In fact, he volunteered that he would elicit a honk if he donned a skort and a wig and drove down the highway. I laughed at the image at first, but then I got to thinking. "Hey, you mean that your 200 pound self would get the same response as I got?"

"Well, I have good legs," he replied.
"Yes, but, well, you're not built like a woman."

He continued to insist that he would get honks. Next, he'll be telling me that a 400 pound gorilla in a skort would get a honk, too. Men.