My morning, in short form. Because it was a really long morning.

We had to be at the dentist at 8:00 this morning – 45 minutes away. They seem to like giving me (more specifically, my three oldest children) the first appointments of the day. Six months ago, it sounded like a good idea. We’ll be in, and out, early in the day. And we were. 9:36am we were back in the van. But six months ago, we did not have four goats that need attention, feed, and two that need to be milked twice a day. We and our dentist are members of church together, and yesterday, I was extended grace in not having to be there right on time. So I got up at 6:00am instead of earlier. After last night with Charlotte, that was an early enough hour for me anyhow.

So 6:10am, while my pj’s lay cooling on the floor, I headed for the goats. Blackie, sweetie that she usually is, is apparently not a morning person goat. She kicked and balked and tried to step into the milk. When that landed her a fist gently placed in her gut, she laid down. On the milking stand. She’s played this game before, and I wasn’t amused. Tying her high and tight, she had the choice to stand and be milked or lay and choke.

She chose choke. Fine. I was almost done anyway and I did not have the time or frame of mind to deal with her any longer. I pulled her off the stand, she balked at not having finished her grain up there, and, long story slightly shorter, the back of my hand bore the brunt of her anger. I’m pretty sure it’s just horribly bruised, but still not completely convinced that it’s not broken. Dumb goat. Milking Roany with my left hand was interesting. Slowly interesting. I gave in, endured the pain, and finished with my right hand. She’s never been so well behaved – ever. And three kids were anxiously waiting to go to the dentist.

Yep, strange kids, they like to get their teeth cleaned. And those tiny tubes of toothpaste? We’ll have three of them opened and fought over whose is whose in the drawer if I don’t intervene. They love each other so much.

We all had a granola bar in the car, the kids brushed their teeth in the dentist’s bathroom, and we were there at 8am on the dot. Still not sure how that happened.

Six months from now, they have a return visit scheduled. For 9am. A splurge to be sure, but in all fairness, I’ll have six kids then – one about a month old. And maybe, just maybe, the goats will be better behaved by then. As Mr. Roosevelt said, “Speak softly and carry a big stick.”

“Momma, why you always want your name to be "’Yes, Ma’am?” Thinking Ruby’s not quite getting this whole respect thing.

We had company over for supper a few nights ago. Sterling couldn’t wait, and then he got sick shortly before they got here. He spent the night sleeping on the couch. They next day, back to 100%, he mourned, “But I didn’t even have any fun with them! Can they come tonight too?”

Saw my midwife yesterday. I’m 16 weeks, measuring 16 weeks, baby’s heartbeat was 144. Steadily growing. My belly is also steadily growing. Huge.

Ya got that?

I ask my younger kids their names all the time. No idea when or why that started, but they’ll rattle off all three names. Usually. Lately, Ruby tells me she’s Momma instead. But today, Ruby told me, “My name is ‘Yes, Ma’am. You can call me ‘Yes, Ma’am.’”

…and, DONE.

I’ve been sewing, sewing, sewing for weeks now. We haven’t had dinner together as a family for weeks now. The kids have had dinner with a sewing machine. All for seven black chiffon worship dance gowns. Chiffon is horrible fabric to work with. Horrible. Seams do not lay flat, hems are worse, and it frays something terrible. But they are done. They are not perfect. I wish they were. There is no such thing as perfect with chiffon. Except done. Done is perfect.

Sibling love. And rivalry.

“Liberty, will you save my napkin so Sterling can’t get it?”

“I’m not going to get it! Ruby, I don’t steal napkins!”

 

“I’m going to tell mom.”

“No! I’m telling mom on you!”

“No. I’m telling mom.”

This went on, a room away, for many minutes. In the end, no one came to tell me anything. The impending threat of tattle tale consequences was apparently greater than whatever was going on. Sterling and Ruby love each other so much. Can’t you tell?

Strange, very strange.

All told, I’ve spent 21 years of my 27 in South Dakota, land of long winters and hot summers. And yet I’ve never experienced this one before:

Sunday, it was 86 degrees outside. I slept all night with the ceiling fan on.

Monday, it was 45 at best, windy, rainy, cold and had a freeze warning low of 29 overnight. We (ie. Blaine) had to put a fire in the furnace Monday night.

Tuesday, now? It’s looking sunny, with a high of 61. 70’s the rest of the week.

Welcome to Missouri.

Well now, ain’t that grand!

In the words of one of our favorite books we’ve found this school year – it seemed a fitting title. I found a letter slid underneath our bedroom door last night. It read:

Dear Daddy,

I love you. I wish you could have some time off work so we could go on vacation to grandpa and grandma’s.

I love you very much and I hope you don’t die until you are at least 90.

Love,

Liberty

There was a hand-drawn maze in green crayon on the back to occupy him as well.

My kids decided they do like goat’s milk. Even Blaine agreed it tasted fine, good even. I don’t know what was up the first time we tried it – except Roany was new on the place and likely getting different feed here than where she had been – but it’s actually good. I made banana bread with it, Sterling told me he wasn’t going to like it, and of course couldn’t tell the difference. He told me I should use it in the French toast this morning. Since we now own four goats, liking their milk is kind of a good thing, I’m thinking.

The other day we were walking down the main aisle in Target when Ruby broke out into the Alleluia chorus at full volume. Over and over and over and over again. As if the 5 kids 7 and under wasn’t enough to get us all the looks. I assure you, the two year old evangelizing for all she was worth got us a few more. I kept walking going, “Laugh? Be embarrassed? Pretend everything’s normal? Ask her to quiet down, just a smidge?” I didn’t come to any solid conclusions. There were about 20 people peeking out the aisles around us, watching it. And Ruby did a beautiful job.

My week in five paragraphs.

I’m 14.5 weeks along. I look like I’m more like 30 weeks along. People keep asking if it’s a boy or a girl. When I say I’m not far enough along to find out (and we won’t likely find out anyway) I get a look. A look like “you look ready to pop. That baby looks huge. Or you’re just fat.” It’s a lovely look. Any minute now I’ll have it memorized, I’ve seen it so many times. I just look them straight in the eye now, and tell them, “My belly has learned how to do one thing well in the last 8 years. Protrude.”

Charlotte had her 6 month checkup yesterday. Her pediatrician, and I really like him, so don’t get me wrong here, said “You should really figure out what’s causing this.” Never heard that one before. But, out popped my favorite response I never knew I had. “It would seem I know what’s causing this. It’s stopping it I have not yet mastered.”

I signed up yesterday for next year’s co-op classes. I got an hour in each of my older girl’s classes, and three 20 minute segments teaching manners to 2 year olds, then 3 year olds, then 4 year olds. That will include both Sterling and Ruby’s classes. Thinking this is the perfect solution. I can’t handle a full hour with either of those classes once a week. A room full of 12 two year olds is enough to drive anyone batty. I’m not sure how one ought to teach manners to a two year old in one 20 minute segment once a week, but I’m thinking the china teapot ought to wait until I get to the four year old class. (In all seriousness, they have curriculum. I think.)

Both of the girls finished their math for their current grades this week. Liberty had a frustrating realization when she found 2 more lessons in her book than in Eden’s, but she doubled up and got them done. She has eight extra lessons next year. That’s a good thing to know now, and not at the end of the year when she thought she was done and wasn’t. Anyway, yesterday was a fun day – math is our most time consuming subject so it frees the girls up a lot and it gives me two more hours in mine. Maybe the house will maintain a little better now. I can hope. We’ll start the next grade next week I think, and do two lessons a week until August.

Time to get to work. Goats are bellowing.

We Americans and our can’t afford it, gotta have it ways. Really now.

Found a cute pair of sandals in the shoe catalog that comes in the mail about three times a week. Gotta give it to them for persistence. These sandals are $94.95. That’s an outrageous price for a pair of sandals, but the kicker is you can put them on a payment plan. For $18.99 a month, you can pay for them all summer, and five months later, when it’s getting too cold to wear them, you will finally own for your very own one pair of worn out, stinky sandals. Or maybe, just maybe, sandals that are approaching $100 last for two summers. One could hope. I couldn’t say, since I’m in $15 ones I (thought) I splurged on. But really, if they last for two summers, just think: you’d get to wear them while you owned them free and clear by then!

I beg to differ.

The Chinese Gender Chart is wrong with all but Ruby. According to it, I only should have one girl, Ruby - and this pregnancy should be my second daughter. Sterling would beg to differ that our house is full of boys. Thinking it's not as 90% accurate as they say. Or I'm very 10%. Or God’s in control and no chart is going to dictate my family. Yep, I think it’s that one.

Roany wins.

Roany, dear goat, was tied out in the pasture yesterday and apparently didn’t like the constraints of her 30 foot rope. She managed to break the metal clip holding her and was happily munching in the yard when I found her. I found a new clip, put her back on the rope, and all was well – until time for milking. I was milking Blackie first (because she doesn’t try to eat my hair when I milk Roany) and Roany was not happy. She bleated and bellowed and ran at her lead until clip #2 broke. Next thing I know, here comes Roany, pleased as punch with her accomplishment, and she begins trying to eat my hair. Perfect.

Today, Blackie and Roany roam the yard freely while the kids goat-sit. I’m out of metal clips that have even a small chance of holding Roany. Blaine, if you’re reading this still at work, stop at the hardware store for me? We need two metal clips, extra reinforced. You know what, buy a couple extra, just in case.

Meet Roany, pest extraordinaire.

Meet Roany, our newest goat. I’ll have to clear space on my memory card before I can introduce the cutest addition to our goat herd. Roany though, joins Blackie in the milking pen and shows her up 3 to 1 in production. Lacking nothing in personality, Roany may very well drive me crazy, but we’re working on a system that doesn’t involve my hair or ears getting eaten and my barn coat staying intact for the duration of chores each time. I’d like to keep all three, but thanks anyway, Roany.

I made eggs for breakfast this morning. Sterling does not like eggs. None of the kids have jumped for joy at our switch to goat’s milk (Threats have been involved each time to get children to finish their milk.) I asked Sterling what animal he thinks we should get, since we have chickens and he doesn’t like eggs and we have goats but he doesn’t like goat’s milk. He said he likes hamburgers and hot dogs. I’ll get right on that.

That conversation was promptly followed by Eden asking if I’d put milk in her eggs, and if I had, had I used goat’s milk. (I did, but I didn’t. It was cow’s milk.) Suspicious children.

I think I might not have to mow the lawn this summer. Four goats can eat a lot of grass.

Dear Baby Tad,

I’ve been a faithful Baby Tad fan for several children now. Lights and music help my children fall asleep faster. But last night – that was so very not cool. I do not care to salsa at 2:00 am. Nor do I care to dance, sing, or play. And while every time Ruby moved you sang and she slept, the only thing that saved you from flying across the room last night was the fact that it would have likely woken Ruby up, even when you couldn’t. Well, you woke me up, you woke Charlotte up, and I’m still a little peeved. You are banished to the windowsill, dumb frog.

Signed,

To Tired to Tango

Adequate seating, missing hours and teeth.

“Mom, can you pull my tooth out? I couldn’t figure out what three times nine was and put my head down and my tooth banged on the table and now look.” Her front tooth was bleeding, hanging by a thread. I told her to bite an apple, that would solve that, but all the apples are gone. She decided to try it with a banana instead. Thinking that’s not quite going to have the same effect. That’s a new one for us. Mathematical frustrations result in lost tooth.

While Liberty’s losing teeth, Charlotte’s gaining hers. She now sports two very sharp bottom teeth and her mood has drastically improved. Momma needed that.

Midwife appointment yesterday. Baby’s heartbeat was loud, strong, and fast. (162 beats per minute. It’ll slow down in the next few months to give a better indication of the boy/girl wives tale – if that’s really true. Boys are supposed to have slower heart beats than girls.) Baby never stopped moving. Robyn warned me to prepare myself now, this one’s going to be a busy one. As opposed to all of my calm, laid-back children, you know. She said she wouldn’t be surprised if it was another boy, given it’s activity. But if it’s really a boy, he would be Sterling’s complete opposite. He would be my one and only calm, laid-back child. What kind of change would that be in this family? Oh, the possibilities (of gray hair…).

We were given a couch yesterday. We have enough seating in the living room for all of us now, no floor required! So cool. Blaine took Sterling and Charlotte with him, and Sterling fell asleep right after they left to go get it. He barely woke up when he was carried into the house. This morning he asked me when he was going to our friends house – he’d anticipated it all day yesterday. I still don’t think he believes me that he was there and home again, asleep the whole time. What a disappointment, poor child.

“Don’t eat the car”

“Spit out the tacky tape.”

“Cats don’t like moldy biscuits. Those are for the chickens. No, you cannot eat the moldy biscuit.”

Just a few things I heard myself saying this morning. Normal, everyday things, you know.

By the way, the banana didn’t work. The tooth is still hanging there. For lunch? Corn chips, peanuts, and/or a rice crispy bar. We’ll get the bugger out one way or the other. I’ve used thread and a doorknob for all the others Liberty’s lost – and end up pulling it out in the end anyhow. Time to mix things up a little.

Oh, yeah…

The homeschool co-op we are a part of has a pamphlet of all the mom’s names/photos, and those photos go into the yearbook. Something apparently happened, those photos have to be taken again for the yearbook, and I thought, “Great! I won’t be pregnant in it this time!” When they took the photos last fall, I was about a month away from my due date with Charlotte. And now… it hit me. I am pregnant. Not so big, hopefully not nearly so fat, but still. And come fall, when they take them for next year? I’ll be a month away from my due date. Oh, yes, the irony. Didn’t I just do this?

I’m still feeling great. My gag reflex is ever-ready and Brady nearly did me in when she got carsick on the way home yesterday, but I’m good. Strangely normal. And 12 weeks along.

Ruby asked me the other day if my glasses were my Sunday glasses. I told her they weren’t, but she informed me she has Sunday glasses. You know, in case we get a sunny Sunday.

We’re getting another goat! “Roanie” and her buckling arrive sometime in the next week. Joining “Blackie” and her buckling, we seem to have a pattern here. Color names, baby bucks, Boer/Nubian crosses… but Roanie produces significantly more than Blackie. We’re on our way to providing our whole family with goats’ milk. Except Blaine, who cringes at the thought. And me, if my gag reflex doesn’t improve. Simply knowing it’s goats’ milk might do me in. But the kids – well, I’m pretty sure if I don’t tell them, they won’t know. Looking forward to the day when they get to try it. It should provide some entertainment. Maybe not quite so funny as apple cider vinegar, but it might be funnier too.

coveted cereal and minor meltdowns

This morning I was outside doing chores when here comes Sterling, plodding up the hill in his one-piece union suit pj’s and his puddle boots. Too cold to be without a coat, he was shivering horribly, trekking up the hill – all to say, “Momma, I want another bowl of ‘Honey Bunches of Boats’ but no one is getting it for me.” I dropped everything, told Goatie to hold on, I’d finish milking as soon as I poured that bowl of cereal… or maybe not. But you have to give it to him for stamina in desiring that second bowl.

The kids didn’t get to bed until 9:50pm tonight. Ruby asked me at that point to turn the light off. Turns out, even Ruby has her limits. And bedtime is far, far less stressful and no one talks after lights out when it’s that late. Then again, the three meltdowns before bedtime might have been an undesirable tradeoff.

Morning musings, mid-coffee. Thoughts aren’t always completely coherent at this point in the morning. Just a warning.

Someone commented, in jest, (I think!) to Blaine that he really ought to figure out what is causing this. Blaine’s response was that someone had told him once to find one thing that you can do well, and stick with it. I cringed – and then I decided perhaps this answer is a good one, especially for those who aren’t saying such things in jest. Because trust me, how the comments fly.

Blaine’s off to Presbytery for a few days. I’m looking around the house wondering what to do first. Decided to start with coffee.

Goat is actually being… nice. She’s making just enough to feed Charlotte, more than she was by half again as much, and heading for my makeshift stanchion when she sees me coming. It’s amazing. She’ll still try to kick on occasion, but a stern word stops her in her tracks. She’s somewhat like some of my more tender-hearted children. Stern words do little for a few of them…

Our wooden stools we use at the kitchen table have seen better days. They were hand-me-downs from my parents, who bought them back about the time I was born – and I’m not sure if they were new then. One is always getting stolen to be used here at the computer. This morning’s loot was the worst one, and when it creaked a bit more than I was comfortable with, Liberty offered to swap it with one of the better ones. And when she picked it up, the leg fell out. Oh dear. Feeling like the sweet girl saved my tush - and my coffee! I think it’s time to invest in some new stools.

“Mom, does time go faster in Texas?” I don’t have a clue where that one came from. Best as I can figure, Eden had just realized that the tv show she was watching last night was encompassing more than the half hour she saw – that days had passed. And you know, tv is live and unscripted, right?

Sterling: “Can you read Santa and the Fox to me?” “You mean Chanticleer and the Fox?” “Yeah. Can you read me that?” Nothing like exposing them to good literature – even if they aren’t quite getting it.

Our entertainment for the afternoon.

Ruby tries something new… and likes–but hates–it.

Dilemmas I’d never dreamed would be life.

How does toothpaste get on the side of the toilet? I always buy white toothpaste – the bright blue stuff does not blend in well and it stains the white bathroom rug. I do not like scrubbing the bathroom walls every day. Now the walls are orange and I’m wondering why I did that. They do not sell orange toothpaste. But on the toilet? It did blend in there, I suppose.

New word banned from use by small children in our home: assume. One of my dear children, ahem, who shall remain nameless, likes to pick up a new word and use it. Nonstop. So, after hearing the word “assume” at the beginning of 90% of said child’s sentences, mostly out of context, it became a banned word. It joins the phrase “Do you know why you…” and others not currently coming to mind. The ban must have worked.

Sterling came inside, panicked because there was a “big huge noise outside”. “I don’t know. I think maybe someone was shooting us.”

Liberty brought home a lump of homemade play dough yesterday. Last night for supper I made split pea soup, and Liberty got a bone in her bowl from the ham bone I’d used. Today she informed me she’d hidden the ham bone in the play dough. Then she promptly took it outside and encouraged all her younger siblings to join her in a treasure hunt through the play dough. Um, ew?

It’s March 2nd. It’s 64 degrees outside, and my children are out in the yard, barefoot, comfortably. (Ok, comfortably temp wise. From the tip-toeing going on out there, I’m thinking they are experiencing some pre-summer tender toes.) It’s beautiful.

A few weeks ago I signed up for the Purex Insiders. Free samples and trying new stuff is always fun. They sent me a little sample of their crystal fabric softener. It smells great - and the clothes coming out of the dresser still smell great. Now, if it would just cover the smell of goat's milk spit after the fact...

Such the quandary.

The kids all piled in the tub for their weekly “before church” bath. (No worries. There’s a Tuesday morning “before co-op” shower too. Most of the time.) With the amount of dirt in the tub when all the water was out, I know one of two things. Either this last half of the week was a really fun, muddy time, or we need to have a “Thursday night just-so-we-don’t-clog-the-drain-Saturday-night bath”.

Here a goat, there a goat.

Meet Ms. Goat. She’d been named Blackie. It doesn’t seem very fitting to me, so for now, she’s Goat. Maybe we should have a “Name That Goat” contest.

And her kid, Socks. I should have zoomed out – he really does have black “socks”.

Cute, pitiful, and feisty.

 

And currently taking up residence in a dog igloo.

Goat, on the other hand, is not quite cute or pitiful, but most definitely feisty. She’s gotten over kicking me for the most part. She’ll bite me the first chance she gets when I’m milking her though. Then she quickly goes back to what she was doing, knowing she shouldn’t have. She’s like a naughty child. If you pretend it did not happen, did it?

#6… heart beating, legs kicking, and stirring things up like a true child of mine

Ultrasound yesterday. My due date… is Charlotte’s first birthday. Won’t that be fun? Happy birthday, Baby Girl, here’s a new sibling for you. Ah, the irony of it all.

No twins. He thinks. There was something else there that he couldn’t decipher, but couldn’t see a heartbeat in it so assumed it was the placenta. So reassuring.

Time for a nap. You know what they say, sleep while the baby sleeps. And the other four… quietly play together in complete harmony. I’m certain. Please pass the ear plugs.

Meet Ms. Goat. Photo shoot to follow.

Saturday, I bought a goat. Two, actually. A milking doe and her kid, old enough to be weaned but not. Milked before, but not recently. Cheap. Turns out, spending more might have been ok. My knee would say so anyway. I left them alone Saturday (after driving through the top of Springfield in a pickup with two goats in the back. Good thing this isn’t New York.) and tried milking her Sunday night. Blaine held her head and it wasn’t too bad – but the kid had been with her, so there wasn’t much to be had. We put the kid in the chicken yard last night, gave him the dog igloo that came with the property, and bright and early I headed to the barn to milk the goat. It was a beautiful thing. She kicks, squirms, tries to get away, I spray milk pretty much everywhere but the bowl. My knee into her side provided a slight amount of persuasion for her to hold still – but only slight. For a few minutes, all was going better than I expected, and then the kid bleated, and all fell apart. Set the milk aside to tighten the goat’s two inch lead to, um, negative inches, turn to get my bowl, and the cat’s drinking the milk. Seriously?! Back to milking, almost done, 45 minutes later (pretty sure this is NOT supposed to take so long!) Ms. Goat decided to bite me. She got my barn coat. Ah, yes, this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Blaine saw my, ahem, dirty bowl of milk and suggested I feed it to the kid. Oh, no. I’m finding cheesecloth and straining it. I worked far too hard for those two cups of milk. We’ll be having some sort of cream soup for supper. The kid can have the other two cups that are in the dirt.

Mathematical confusions.

“Liberty, what unit of measure do we use to measure weight?”

“Ilbs.”

“Eden, if you cut something into two pieces, what is each piece called?”

“Twoths? No, tooths isn’t a word. Teeth?”

Oh boy, we’re learning now. Math provided a great deal of comic relief this morning!

Let’s mix things up, just a little. Ok, more than a little.

I’ve had two family practice doctors, two OB’s, and one certified nurse midwife (and then an OB when things didn’t go my way) for prenatal care. I’ve spent hours and hours in waiting rooms, waiting for my two minutes with my doctor. This time, it’s gonna be different.

This baby’s gonna be born at home. My home. With a midwife whom I already am beginning to love. And while I spent an hour and a half with the midwife last night, I didn’t wait for her for even a minute. She actually sat with me, in her little birth house, visiting on the bed, for an hour and a half. There wasn’t a white sheet or exam table in sight. Ah yes, it was beautiful. I haven’t been so excited about something in a really, really long time.

Such the memory.

Nine years ago today, I drove 66 miles from my job as a nanny on Long Island, got lost more than a few times, and went to a church in New Jersey for the second time. I’d been there once before, swore I wouldn’t do that and get so very lost again, and yet, two weeks later, unable to decline a sweet invite from my friend’s mother, I went again. And there, I met my friend’s brother. Oh, man. So very handsome in his three piece suit* and bright blond hair, I was done for. Seven months later, that friend became my sister-in-law, and the woman we can thank for her sweet offer of friendship and hospitality was my mother-in-law. What incredible nine years it’s been, dear Blaine. I love you.

*The three piece suit, it turns out, was the only clean thing available in the man’s closet. But I was smitten before I learned that laundry is not his thing. And now… it’s my job to clean his clothes. With pleasure.

You learn something new every day.

Decided to teach Charlotte to nap in her bed instead of in the swing. Turns out, it's all my fault we've gone through more batteries than I can count. She went right to sleep - and is still sleeping an hour later. Day three of napping in her bed. That was easier than I thought it was going to be!

Next up: folding eight loads of clothes and putting them away. Because I need my laundry baskets before I can wash a few more loads. I don’t suppose anyone has any ideas that will make this easier too?

One brain cell at a time.

Why is it that when a child leaves the step stool in front of the bathroom sink (and this is all together common around here) I will just stand on the stool to wash my hands or brush my teeth? As I was brushing my teeth, elevated another foot in the air, bending in half to spit, it suddenly dawned on me what I was doing. I’m pretty sure it would be easier to move the stool than to bend over like I’m 6.5 feet tall, but there I stood, folded in half to make it work. Hmm.

Baby’s got a new hat. Time to go to town.

See that button over on the side for 4Sisters4Freedom? That would be my husband’s nieces, four girls crocheting for a cause. They are selling their handiwork to raise money to fight slavery. I ordered this hat for Charlotte. The bow is one we made – I love that I can switch this out to match her outfits. Or her pj’s. Because it’s that kind of day.

See? Baby likes her hat. Or maybe she just likes her sisters, since this is the face I got before recruiting girls to be silly to get her reaction:

Either way works, I suppose. Cute hat, Charlie-girl.

Happy Valentine’s Day to you.

Tomorrow is our co-op Valentine’s day party for all of the kids. The girls did cards, but that seemed silly for Sterling and Ruby’s class. I can only assume there aren’t very many child prodigies in there that can read, and since Sterling can spell but not write his name and Ruby thinks her name is spelled “Syt”, I decided not to go there. So I’m making paper boxes to put candy and a trinket in for each of their classmates. Oh yes, this is so much better than filling in the “from” and “to” sections in a dozen Valentine’s. While I’ve certainly amazed Sterling with my abilities to turn a couple pieces of cardstock into a lidded box, (thank you, Google search) I’m starting to think I didn’t make such a wise choice in all of this. I didn’t have anything better to do with my afternoon, I suppose.

Sometimes, you just have to improvise.

Charlotte’s been drinking a bit of goat’s milk lately. Momma’s body doesn’t do so good at supporting three, unfortunately. So when Charlotte woke up as I was making bread the other day, she nursed while I measured out salt and flour. But when she was finished – and yet not – out came the bottle. Except forming loaves with a baby and bottle in hand isn’t something I’m quite coordinated enough for. All the kids were outside sledding, and I had to do a bit of improvising…

…turns out, hotpads work well enough for a momentary prop – just until I could get the dough off my hands.

Oh, baby baby.

Before fall, our family will increase in size once again. The kids, at that point, will be 8, 6, 4, almost or actually 3, and 11 months. And a newborn. It was starting to get a little dull around here, I suppose. Bring it on. We’re going to have a set of Irish twins around this little house.

Sweet 6 year old.

Eden Rayne turned six this past Tuesday. For her birthday, it snowed. And snowed. And snowed – like Missouri rarely sees. So much, Sterling asked why it was still snowing, since the grass was covered. He was amused to find out that the snow does not know when the grass is covered, it just comes down until it’s done.

Eden, though, enjoyed a day off of school and went sledding instead. Of course, she didn’t get a sled for her birthday. She got rollerblades.

Rollerblades that she wore in the house for most of the day. The foot of snow on the concrete patio prevented her from really trying them out. But after a brief reminder that since her birthday and Christmas both fall in the winter months, and if she wanted such a thing now was the time, she agreed readily. And now, the rollerblades sit in her bedroom, waiting for the snow to melt so she can really try them out. Happy birthday, Eden. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them – later.

Happy birthday, baby girl and other short stories.

So… Blaine’s home. I mentioned that. I have a cold. Mentioned that too. It has me pretty wiped out. Coughing all night isn’t real restful in and of itself, and it wakes up a baby. A lot. And if anyone knows why I talk in my sleep when I have a cold, I’d love to know. There has to be some scientific explanation. Either that or I’m going crazy – which if I weren’t, the talking in my sleep and waking myself up because of it will drive me to crazy. Turns out Blaine, also suffering from same said cold, talks in his sleep too. That’s somewhat normal for him… but not this much. What does that mean?

Sterling brought me a one-dollar bill yesterday and asked me if that was Uncle Troy on it. Umm, no. That’s George Washington. Close, but not quite.

Liberty was doing a report on Harriet Tubman and Eden asked if Harriet Tubman was alive when Moses was alive. I told her no, Moses was a long, long time ago, but Harriet Tubman wasn’t that long ago – but still a long time, I suppose. Eden replied, “Oh, so in the 1980’s?” I informed her I was born in the 1980’s… and her mind went, “Wow! She’s old! Almost as old as Harriet Tubman!” Just for the record, Harriet Tubman was born in the 1820’s.

Eden turned six yesterday. It was a blizzard like Springfield rarely sees (and South Dakota calls just another day) and public school was cancelled. I briefly thought we’d do school anyhow, but quickly came to my senses. I took a nap instead.

Blaine’s home. And back at work. It’s so good to have him home finally. I haven’t loaded the woodstove once since he arrived. And he cleaned the chimney – again. One week after I’d cleaned it. Turns out, the wood we’d had delivered and didn’t start burning until that really cold spell was likely still pretty green, in spite of looking dry. Thus, the dirty chimney and cold house. Sounds about right, I suppose.

I got all the cold symptoms my children had while Blaine was away the night he got back. Feeling pretty blessed that I didn’t get it until I had help. God is good.

My quilt is not finished. I’m almost finished cutting it out. I’m very, very tired of cutting it out.

Blaine worked 54 hours of overtime last week. Remember that chimney I had to clean? Yep, no complaints there. It suddenly sounds pretty easy.

Sterling has figured out how to spell his name perfectly. He can spell Ruby too. Ruby thinks her name is spelled SYT. She gets mad when anyone corrects her. I’m tempted to teach her to spell her name TROUBLE. FRUITCAKE would work too. I would thoroughly enjoy that. Until, I suppose, she is a completely confused kindergartener and my sole responsibility to straighten out. Yeah, maybe not.

Meet our friend, Tad.

Dear Leap Frog,

Twenty dollars seems like an extraordinary amount of money to pay for a stuffed talking frog. But I have to give it to you. It was a brilliant idea. Baby Tad is much loved around here. We have two. I’m trying to convince my son he doesn’t need his so we don’t have to buy another for his baby sister. Seriously, $60 invested in stuffed frogs is a little much for me. I didn’t pay full price for the first; I did for the second. I would again for a third if I don’t convince Sterling to give his to Charlotte. It’s currently on loan to her, and she loves Baby Tad too. The lights, the music… the quiet, almost-asleep baby – I love it too.

Thank you, Leap Frog. If I have any more children, I might have to buy stock in your company.

Sincerely,

Adrienne

P.s. The first model is far better than the one that came out two years ago. You should have left well enough alone.

I hereby resolve…

We don’t wear skirts all the time. Part of the time, sure. But not all of the time. Especially the boys…

The girls have a friend from our homeschool co-op who does. After spending the day with their family, Liberty, my ultimate blue-jean and shorts-wearing daughter, decided she was only wearing skirts and dresses. She promptly asked me to buy her nightgowns. I told her she could get by with what she has, at least until I’m convinced she’ll follow through with this. So for one day, she wore a nightgown to bed, wore a skirt all day, and stood by her resolve. Then, she took a bath, put her pj’s on, and came out last night… in pants.

“Pants?”

“What? I have pants on.”

“I know.”

Slow look of dawning realization. “Ah! I forgot!”

Eden decides to interject, “You’d better go change.”

Liberty: “Do I have to, Mom?”

“Good grief. Of course not. This was your idea in the first place. But I’m certain pants to bed are acceptable, since no one else will see you.”

She’s decided that chicken chores, at least in the cold weather, are also blue-jeans acceptable. I’m just sitting back and watching this one. Of all of my girls, Liberty is the last one who would want to wear skirts all the time. Oh, peer pressure. Gotta love it.

I’m right. Even when I’m wrong.

There’s an ad on the radio right now for a furniture company that “will do anything to save you money”. They go on about having turned the heat off to save money and the customers won’t even have to take their coats off. At the end of the ad the furniture guy gives a gift to his incredulous co-worker: overalls, the wrapping paper crackling in the background. And there the fun began.

Eden: “He gave her what?”

Liberty: “Overalls.”

“Eden: “What’s that?

Liberty: “Overalls. It’s paper that covers your whole body.”

Eden: “Why would she want paper?”

Liberty, oh so matter-of-factly: “She just does. It was a present.”

I finally felt the need to step in. “Overalls, honey. Coveralls. Kind of like snowpants.”

Girls: “Oh!”

And no one, even those who were quite admittedly wrong in their explanation of overalls, looked the slightest bit sheepish. Oh, to be the oldest and need to be right. Funniness.

That’s a lot of trucks!

We seem to have recovered from the “we only have girly toys” syndrome.

Snow Ice Cream

Snow Ice Cream

1 gallon freshly fallen snow

1 cup white sugar

1 Tbsp. vanilla

2 cups milk

Send five year old to collect snow. Pick out the straw she missed when gathering “only clean, fresh snow”. Mix everything together, serve immediately.

Mmm. One of the better things about a new batch of snow. Next up: sledding on feed sacks. Gotta get the sugared-up kids outside.

Does it smell like smoke in here?

Don’t answer that. It does. Bad. Without going into the gory details, our chimney got a good scrubbing today by yours truly. Have I mentioned that I’m missing my husband? 4.5 hours later, I’m certain of only two things. 1. I did that right. Painfully so. 2. My talents lie elsewhere.

To the dear neighbors, don’t fret over the flaming bucket in the driveway. I meant to do that. Sort of.

It’s been a long day. We’re getting snow today. This morning’s venture into chimney cleaning resulted in a late afternoon trip to the grocery store. It’s snowing. Do people really let themselves get so low on groceries that they all need to swarm Aldi before a snowstorm just as I’m finally arriving, trying to get a week’s worth of groceries with five children? I’d planned to go in the morning, but my plans were thwarted. It went as well as herding cats can be expected, I suppose. If you were trying to herd cats in and around a cattle stampede.

For the record, I bought neither milk nor bread.

Old McDonald, stanza 2.3, repeat, repeat, repeat.

Only when you are two can you be screaming like someone was trying to kill you and singing “E-I-E-I-E-I-E-I… (continue for at least five minutes)” in the same 20 second time frame. Being female helps with that scenario too.

Blaine had better get home soon. My dark chocolate candy bowl is rapidly depleting. Stress has a way of doing that around here. We have a lot of girls.

Liberty asked me if I could put cinnamon rolls in her hair. I asked if she wanted me to get the cinnamon, and oh, the giggles. She stood by her original description though, and scoffed at my suggestion that it be called a bun.

Three and a half month old Charlie graduated to 6-9 month clothes. And she rolled over three times. While I wasn’t looking. Can’t get her to do it again while I watch. So good to know she’s modest of her achievements like that. Never had such to chubby baby – or an early mover. She’s a good 2 months ahead of schedule if she were to fit in with the rest of this clan.

Brady has had a bell hanging from the door. I thought, for the last 6 months, that it was the best idea I’d heard of as far as dogs and training goes. Then Brady learned she could ring it. All. The. Time. Want to go bite the cat? Ring the bell, return to door, bark to be let inside. Birds in the yard? Ring the bell. Oops, cold outside, let me back in! She abused the bell. I took it down, set it on the ground, and told Brady she’d have to whine like the rest of the lesser civilized canine population. She’s gone to bumping the bell on the ground against the cupboard. Dumb Smart dog.

*During the course of my 10 minute venture into the writing of this blog, dear Ruby has ventured from singing to crying to singing again. Oh, to be two again. I quake at the thought of that emotional train wreck about 12 years from now.

It’s rather like herding cats.

Blaine has said on more than one occasion that trying to go shopping with our children and keeping them heading in the same direction is like herding cats. I always have protested. It’s not that bad. But today I took them to the mall, skipped the stroller because I decided they’d been cooped up so much this week they would enjoy walking. Really. Mistake. That herding cats concept? Yep, that’s what it was like. Charlotte was in the sling, Sterling was trailing far behind, Ruby was running ahead and circling around every center kiosk the mall has, and Liberty and Eden were “shopping”. The one finger rule was thrown out, Sterling stopped to check out and pick up every button-down shirt they had hanging at his level and I debated taking the sling off, carrying Charlotte, and tightening the sling down around Sterling’s waist to make him keep up. My moment of reason? My sling is pink. Sterling can’t wear a pink sling. And we get enough looks without entering into the leash world. I’d never hear the end of it. Next time I decide to go to the mall without a stroller, smack me. Throw something at me. Just please, talk some sense into me.

Things I’ve learned this week:

Things I’ve learned this week:

Ruby doesn’t know she’s whining. She just does it. It’s like she needs noise. Next time, I’m turning on the radio and waiting to see if she stops.

Charlotte is like no other baby I’ve had. Between 7 and 8 pm, she starts whining, then escalates to a cry if you do not respond properly. The only thing that makes her happy: being put in her bed. With a snuggle blanket in her arm. Really, what baby does that???

I’m not as smart as Blaine. Really, this is no new revelation. The man is ridiculous.

I get really crabby at my children when my husband is not around.

Sterling misses his daddy. They all do, but Sterling seems to be noticing that he’s the only male in the house. Imagine that. He was so proud to help me mix chicken feed and check the coop today. He needed to do a “job”.

A queen size bedspread requires 780 rectangles. I’ve cut almost half so far. I hate cutting rectangles.

Fabric scraps and a school glue stick can make a mean doll blanket. Or placemat. So easy, an almost-6 year old can do it.

A firstborn will make a perfect scrap blanket. A second born thinks the ripples add character.

I’m a second born. I understand that mentality far better.

Eden thought the monkey chased the easel. Because weasels don’t have legs. And easels do. Hmm. No. Yes. But…

Sterling cannot remember what a cattle guard or a hardhat are called. But he’ll remember what they do. Every time.

Ruby likes sour cream by the giant spoonful. Brady will clean up the mess she makes on the floor. It’s a team effort.

A handful of change, access to the canned food cupboard and a pretend cash register makes for hours and hours of fun. And dented cans. And pennies everywhere.

Polka dots on a bedroom wall belonging to a small boy who has witnessed firsthand a massive huge very large tarantula on the same wall: not a good idea. In the dark, polka dots do not necessarily look like polka dots.

If I spend enough time on Facebook and on my blog, I can avoid cutting rectangles. But no one will cut them for me. Eden offered, but she’s a second born and I’m told crooked rectangles make for a crooked quilt.

When Daddy is away the girls will… find something, anything, to keep busy.

I would have said that the kids were who keeps things busy around here. But it turns out, Blaine and his projects are major contributing factors. This morning, breakfast was over and we were sitting looking at each other wondering what was next. Ugh. So, off we went. Ingredients for homemade pizza for supper and ribbons and clips to try our hand at making hair bows later (and a quick stop for diaper cream for Charlie’s behind) we went to work.

It was fun! And someday, perhaps in the distant future, I might have to delve into this further. You never know, my glue gun and I could be a formidable enemy in the world of tangled tresses. It could happen.

Some were better than others. These two were my favorites.

Up next: my very first quilt. Sewed a lot of clothes, never a quilt. I take that back. I made a patchwork something-or-other in high school that now resides inside a duvet with it’s seams zigzagged where they split. Apparently slightly larger seam allowances is important in the scheme of things.

Anyhow, I’m using these fabrics to make a queen size bedspread for Blaine and I. I’d like to finish before he gets back. As you can see, I’ve gotten so very far. I’ve picked out fabrics.

I love them. Blaine approved. Now to cut out 525 3.5” x 6.5” rectangles, sew them all together and then… well, I’ll read the instructions and find out what happens after that. Yep. That’ll keep me busy.

 

* Just for the record, I didn’t forget Sterling. He was busy taking a four hour nap during the making of the hair bows. I woke him up in time for pizza.

Just what you don’t want to hear.

“Mom, I rocked Charlie so hard in her car seat that it fell off the table. It’s a good thing she was buckled in!”

I’d gone out to get ribbon out of the tote in the shed. That’s the next blog. Eden had been left with Charlie sleeping in her car seat. She’d been instructed to leave her in it, just rock her if she cried and holler if that didn’t help. I guess, theoretically, she obeyed. Next time, the car seat will be on the floor to begin with. Charlie, startled as she was, is ok. I’m not sure I am. At this rate, we might not survive the month.

Let them eat cake? Or celery?

Blaine left this morning for his three-week trip to CA for the spring/summer catalog photo shoot. My first thought, other than loneliness, is to diet a bit and see if I can lose a few pounds while he’s gone and cooking duties are pretty much whatever I feel like. My next thought is to make a chocolate cake. Hmm.

Sterling is learning to spell his name. Sometimes he gets it right. Often he’s Steringy. Or Stling. Or Stering. We’ll get this though. Sadly, his name, 8 letters long, isn’t the longest name among them. Poor Charlotte – and then Serenity too. Really, the poor girl will be ten before she can spell the whole thing. Ruby, on the other hand, can spell ‘Ruby’ accurately almost every time. We haven’t ventured into her middle name though… there’s another doozy. Something to consider next time. You know, if there is a next time. At the rate we’re going today, I may not survive the month. Three kids were crying about bedtime. Half an hour later, we’re down to just one – one whom sounds very much like a mourning dove when she cry/whines. And with that, I’m making myself a cup of tea for lack of wine (not to be confused with whine, which we have plenty of), locking myself in the bathroom with a book, and taking a bath.

Nevermind. There’s Charlie. She’s harder to ignore.

Fun email, pasted here and commentated on by yours truly.

1. I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die. Facebook, Facebook, gmail, Facebook… incriminating only in where my time disappeared.
2. Nothing is worse than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.
3. I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.
4. There is great need for a sarcasm font. Is this different than the I’M YELLING AT YOU font?
5. How are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet? This I have figured out. I wash a lot of crib sheets. Corners into corners, then in half, all corners into one. Then… do your best to make it all nice and flat together. It’s pretty… sort of.
6. Was learning cursive really necessary? I use more cursive than manuscript. It’s faster and prettier!
7. Map Quest really needs to start their directions on # 5. I'm pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood. Yep, this one I’m in complete agreement with.
8. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.
9. I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.
10. Bad decisions make good stories. Or blogs.
11. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.
12. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after Blu Ray? I don't want to have to restart my collection...again. Blu Ray? We’re past CD’s???
13. I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten-page technical report that I swear I did not make any changes to. Or hitting the print 75 copies button after walking away from the week’s church bulletin, praying I’ve caught all the asdf’s Ruby inputted between the letters of this week’s sermon title. 75 bulletins later is not a good time to find that mistake. Although the people in the congregation might get a good laugh out of it.
14. I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.                          15. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.  My fridge freezer definitely needs one. But we just bought our first ever chest freezer, and it has one! Someone was thinking.
16. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Bud than Kay. I’m laughing – but I’m leaving this one alone.
17. I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.
18. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger. That line says “Chocolate” in really, really small print.                                                         19. How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear or understand a word they said?
20. I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team up to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers and sisters! This I have yet to see.
21. Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever. Until they can stand on their own. Sometime before that happens, consider adding them to the laundry pile.
22. Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is. So true.
23. Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, finding their cell phone, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet everyone can find and push the snooze button from 3 feet away,
in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time, every time. Charlie doesn’t have a snooze button. Good thing.
24. The first testicular guard, the "Cup," was used in Hockey in 1874 and the first helmet was used in 1974. That means it only took 100 years for men to realize that their brain is also important.

I didn’t write this, remember. Just laughed. Because well, Ruby’s whining today isn’t funny. And I did not get near enough sleep in the last 3 days to come up with anything nearly so funny on my own.

At church yesterday, Eden sounded like she was going to cough up one or both of her lungs. She did not sound like that at home. She does not sound like that today. So why, when we’re surrounded by people who prefer not to get sick (imagine that!) did that happen? I felt like a good nominee for worst mother of the year right about then. And some of the looks I got said I may have won a few votes too.

Ah, the intricacies of Eden.

Eden’s new favorite word: tempted. Turns out, she’s tempted a lot. Or she doesn’t quite understand the definition of “tempted”.

She’s tempted to take her watch off when I use that stuff so it doesn’t get dirty.

She’s tempted to not put sugar on her cereal. (This after I had to explain why sugar does not have a daily value assigned. I made the mistake of saying sugar isn’t necessary to a healthy diet. Rephrase: sugar is necessary to my diet.)

She’s tempted to clean off her bed. (Don’t hurt yourself, Darling. It’s a small large disaster on there.)

The girl loves to sing. Painfully off-key, but she loves to sing. When she can’t remember a tune, she makes one up. It hurts. Yesterday she was dancing around the house singing “Oh, oh, the Mr. Toe.” I didn’t correct her, because then she’d want to know what mistletoe is and I don’t know that I’d want to get into that tradition.

She got a word-find book from Liberty for Christmas. It’s well-above a five year old level, but she doesn’t care. If she can’t find the word, she just writes it in the margins and circles that. Or she circles the letters in the puzzle, one at a time, that spell the word, scattered randomly around.

Rules? Eden doesn’t care to understand them. She beats to her own drum. Ruby’s following in her footsteps.

I’ve got my work cut out for me.

Fascinating numbers:

My nieces make hats. They are beautiful. Check out: http://4sisters4freedom.com/ to see them. They asked me to measure my kids’ heads to know sizes to make for the hats. They are:

Liberty 20"

Eden 20.25"

Sterling 20.75"

Ruby 18.75"

Charlotte 17”

Yep, Sterling has a big head. Apparently he gets it from me:

Blaine 22.5”

Adrienne 22.75”

Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown.

Our tree, cut in the back pasture, decorated very carefully with only the lightest unbreakable ornaments, and much-loved by children who do not remember what a real Christmas tree is supposed to look like.

Well, that was just cool.

Sterling loved his work boots. All summer, he’d put on his work boots, his “work” jeans (jeans with holes in the knees, to match the holes in his Daddy’s jeans that were well-earned crawling in the crawlspace) and he’d head out to help his Daddy. Blaine had much to do, mostly in the crawlspace, involving re-plumbing water and sewer lines and running new gas lines as well. This house was a wreck. But Sterling had a great time helping his Daddy.

A couple months ago, Sterling’s work boots had to go. They were a size 7, killing his feet, but it was still a very sad day for Sterling. I looked for a new pair, but couldn’t justify spending the money on a new pair. Still, I kept looking for some at all the consignment stores. My mom was looking for some too.

Yesterday I took the kids shopping for gifts for each other. We had just walked out of a $1 store, the three older kids were already in the van, Ruby was throwing a fit it typical Ruby fashion, and a car pulled up next to mine. The woman got out, commented on Ruby’s coughing and I said it was all fake in the name of getting her own way. There was no way this lady saw my other kids except for Ruby and Charlie. So when she asked if I had a boy, I said yes, wondering if she knew us from somewhere.

Nope. She popped open her trunk, pulled out a pair of work boots identical to Sterling’s old ones, only in a size 9 and asked if he would like them. She said she’d bought them at a consignment store, feeling led to buy them with no one to give them to – just that God would show her. It was incredible. Sterling put them on immediately, wore them all afternoon, then gave them to me to wrap for him for Christmas. Right then, it was pretty incredible. God cares for even the little, frivolous things like giving Sterling the desires of his heart – new work boots. That’s awesome.

What does that mean?

Apparently Brady has me trained. She barks at her water bowl, I rinse and fill it. Really now.

Eden heard the “making a list/checking it twice” line and asked what it meant. The idea of Santa is a fairly foreign concept to her, and after explaining it, she asked, “If it really was true, if there really was a list, would I be on the naughty list?” Oh, honey. We all would.

I was informed by my dear three year old son that “There was a stop sign back there, Mom!” I replied, “I know honey. I stopped. Quickly.” The look of confusion on his face told me to wait for the rollback next time or he’s ratting me out.

Eden got carsick on the way home the other day. She was supposed to clean out the van, but didn’t do so great of a job. Neither did the cat she then locked (accidentally, I assume) in the van. That was one terrified half-wild cat that spent the night in the van. She left gifts. Really, if she was going to jump in there and leave her mark, couldn’t she have at least done a better job with the vomit?

An Amish woman in the grocery store asked if my children are all mine. I told her they were, and she asked how close in age they are and commented on my hands being full. Nothing new – except for the Amish woman part. It’s given me pause to think - I just haven’t reached any conclusions yet. When a person that is part of a church that teaches that children are a blessing and encourages all you can have asks a question like that, what does that mean?

Adrienne’s* helpful hints #153

Taking a pair of tights – women’s or girls’ (Liberty’s worked. Thanks, L.) – and cutting a two inch wide strip from around the top of the leg (so that it’s still an unbroken circle) and then hot-gluing a 1” or so length of ribbon around it in one spot, overlapping the ribbon and gluing with a spot of glue on the inside only makes a great headband. An alligator bow/flower clip can then be slid under the ribbon on the outside. Voila! One of those “interchangeable” headbands at the cost of one pair of old, worn-out tights. If you can stop at just one color. Next up are my black ones. I have never heard of a better use for the awful things.

 

Clean is preferable. Of course.

Or, like mine, purchased with great intentions, yet never, ever worn.

See?

Charlie loves hers.

I think.

It’s not scary. I promise.

 

*This helpful hint originated from an acquaintance. I’m simply not this creative on my own.

Christmas, homemade.

My sewing machine and I have been hard at work making Christmas dresses (less the green and red, since I do not plan on putting in so many hours sewing for something that can be worn just at Christmas!) for the girls. Sterling wondered what he was getting, so I made him a shirt to “match”. Yes, they know what they are getting. There are not nearly enough midnight hours to sew after bedtime.

Upon finishing, I’ve decided more boys would be a good thing, since that shirt took a fraction of the time and work as those dresses! Without further ado, ruffled dresses, a button-down shirt, and no close-up shot so that they can look nearly perfect – from afar. 

 

Ha! Those doors look mostly clean and you can’t even see the cobwebs from that shot! Perfect.

It’s a good thing you’re cute, Dog.

Brady seems to have caught the flu from the kids. At least that’s what I’m assuming that’s what she was telling me with her little surprises all over the house this morning. Note to self: kennel Brady tonight.

All great literature… leads to great quotes.

“Eden, I needed that spoon to get MY yogurt!”

“Sorry Lib.”

“Just wash it.”

Eden washes the table.

“Not the table Eden! The spoon!”

Eden wipes the spoon with the dishrag.

“Eden! Wash the spoon in the sink, not with that rag! You’re just like Amelia Bedelia.”

I love it.

Hmm… poor, poor boy.

"Did you go potty?"

"No, I couldn't."

“Why not?”

“Because I tried to open the toilet, but the lid was too heavy.”

We’ve been dealing with vomit – or did deal with it, since it seems to have passed. Sterling, though, must be experiencing loss of strength. Or something like that.

Adrienne’s helpful hints #256

Spreading a thin layer of honey in a strip along the front edge of your cabinets allows you to fill the cabinet to the line and those pesky items that protest the overfill will stick into the honey and stay put when you open the cupboard! Problem solved! Be aware that doing this on lower shelves that children can reach may end up with sugared up children and licked-clean honey strip.

After spending an hour cleaning the tub that I scrubbed less than a week ago, I’ve come to one conclusion: the maize color that was so popular in the 70’s? It was for a reason. Instead of Rust-B-Gone, it was “Rust? Where?” I mean, really, if you can’t see it, who cares? I find myself hoping black tubs come into style. I can scrub soap scum off without a problem, but the iron in our water? It’s another issue. An orange issue. One that Comet, Lime Away, and Tilex come together, fight hard, and lose miserably. Elbow grease, ha.

 

Blaine tells me you can’t see into the house during the day. My hero, he checked for me. So what was that Dodge doing???

Ruby wins.

Ruby likes to procrastinate at bedtime. She’ll go potty, get her diaper on, and then decide she needs to go again. And again. As many times as she can convince you. Diaper off. Diaper on. Off. On. Tired of this scheme, the new rule: go before the diaper goes on. Go to bed. Stay there! So when Ru came out announcing she needed to go night before last, I sent her back to bed. Ten minutes later, she pranced into the kitchen and announced, “I pooped.” Last night when she came back out to potty, guess what? I let her go. Score: Ruby 1, Momma 0.

I sneezed 4 times this morning and was informed by my son that it was funny because I had "three snore sneezes and only one 'Bless you!'". Funniness.

I was nursing Charlie this morning without covering myself, sitting at the computer in front of the window. A Dodge Charger drove past, stopped in front of our house, then drove off. Our house is on a hill off the road a bit, but now the question is- why did he/she stop??? And am I disillusioned in thinking people can't see in? Oh boy.

If you cover your face, no one can see you, right? Sterling thinks so.

Charlie weighed a whopping 12 lbs 2.25 oz yesterday and was 22.25 inches long. She's riding the 85% line on all and gained almost 3 pounds in 5 weeks. All I can say is I'm glad it was her and not me! Atleast if I've been unknowingly exposing myself to the passers-by all this time, someone can benefit. I mean, other than... oh nevermind. Covering up now!

The kids saw egg nog in the fridge and wanted to know what it was. They poured a glass, Liberty didn't like it. Eden didn't like it. Sterling tried it and started bawling, scraping his hands on his tongue, crying that it was gross and he couldn't get the taste out of his mouth. Oh, I cried, laughing so hard. Ruby wanted to try it, said it was "blech" and went back for more - over and over again. Thinking she really did like it, and was out for the attention Sterling received. Either way, egg nog isn't a real big hit around here, I guess. Would it be mean to give Sterling a bit more to videotape his reaction? Funniest Home Videos, here we come... or a great blog post at least!

*Photos from the week after Charlie was born. I'm so fast in posting them, I know. When I get more on the flash drive, I'll post more. No rush, you know. The bandaid on Sterling is from picking a bug bite open and me trying to get him to leave it alone. He wasn't hurt, that time. If I took a photo now, there'd be a big egg on his forehead from falling off the chair into the cupboard and then falling off the couch onto the floor, both hitting the same spot. It seems to be a pattern, poor boy.

Who done it?

The toilet won't flush; Blaine's getting something to fix it, and I gathered the kids together to find out who flushed something they weren't supposed to. Ruby was quiet, I asked her what she flushed, and finally admits it, scared and whispering. "My poopy." Oh, honey.

Thank you, my Dear.

As a bridal shower gift, my now sister-in-laws bought me a set of pans. A few years ago, Blaine found a matching saucepan, larger than I had, and added that to my collection. The littlest saucepan, once well-used, had gotten too small to be useful with meal prep for my crew. Today, we hit a new high. Or low. I'm still trying to decide. Blaine presented me with yet another pan for my collection. Or pot, rather. Stock pot, to be exact. Quite useful, I'm sure, particularly in soup prep around here, but I'm still trying to absorb the thought that this is where we're at. If he brings me a canner next, he might get hit over the head with it, I think. I am not making soup in a canner. Because, well, that would be excessive.

Oh, and he also bought me a chest freezer. You know, for all those leftovers a stock pot will allow me to make. Very, very cool. (No pun intended.) I'm still waiting for the chef he must have ordered to show up.

Can't win at losing.

1 cleared garden plot
+ 1 lawn mower to mulch up the, ahem, vegetable plants pulled
= 1 shattered pane in the double-paned sliding glass door

Now that must have been one rock hard cherry tomato. Or a rock - it is Missouri soil after all.

Just to be an optimist, it was the foggy side of the door - and it's foggy no more. So just now, when I do not know what it will cost monetarily or time-wise, I'm going to enjoy being able to see out that side too. And the garden plot looks better!

Calendar confusion and scared stripes - or something like that.

Ah, the busy-ness of this house has taken over. Between that and the internet seeming to only like Blaine, I'm finally getting this updated. And just for the record, first I wrote business. Because that should be busyness. And while business works there too, I fixed it. Because, well, "business" is something I have to clean up a lot of. You know.

Ran yesterday with a friend. What was I thinking? I have visions of being skinny and cute, but after yesterday, I'm thinking this baby belly might just be all right. My thighs doth protest too much.

Charlotte is 5.5 weeks old, quite the chunk, and mostly content - although she does love to be held. Blame her for me not getting on here - it's awfully hard to type one handed. Sleep is not bad; some nights she gives me 5-6 hours straight. I'll take it.

Last week the kids and I headed north to my parents' house in South Dakota for 5 days. Yes, it was cold, but tolerable most days. Yes, there is snow there - but only a little in the ditches. Sterling had to be reminded what snow was; Ruby didn't care what it was, she just dove in, bare hands and all. Those two are about as opposite as they come.

Sterling asked me this morning if Christmas is in first grade. He was looking at the calendar but I'm still a little confused as to what he meant by it. Later, he handed me a stack of plastic nuts all stacked up on one toy screw and told me it was a Christmas tree. Someone help me here; I'm confused still. Whatever it meant, he put it on the coffee table for decoration. Who needs knick knacks?

Last night I cooked 6 pounds of sweet potatoes, 2 pounds of ground beef, and 1 pound of green beans to feed these troops. There were enough sweet potatoes left for another meal, but the sheer numbers were staggering to me. We are going to need a really, really big garden in the coming years if we're not going to be eaten out of house and home. And really, these are mostly girls! That's looking to be a good thing when I start considering the grocery budget.

A work release crew just walked past, picking up trash. The kids were entirely curious about everything, from what the men had done (No idea. I've heard it's unwise to ask.) and if they had to ride in the trailer (Pretty sure the van was for the inmates, the trailer for the trash.) and why the men wore black and white stripes. (That was the only question I was entirely certain I had the right answer to. Although I didn't know stripes were still "in". All the old movies show stripes; the new movies show orange. Way to be retro, MO.) Brady, by the way, thought she was tougher than all the inmates walking past. Little dog, I hate to break it to you, but your 4 pound frame is looking a little scrappy... although I'm sure the term "Yorkie-Poo" would scare the stripes right off of them.

Charlotte was nursing the other day and pulled off for a minute. Sterling walked in just then and matter of factly informed me I'd forgotten to put my boob away. Thanks, little man. I appreciate the heads up.

The three youngest are down for naps, and since the only other stories I can think of are ones that I certainly wouldn't publish and incriminate myself (more), that's all I've got. Time to clean while I can.

Charlotte's chunking up! She's 9 lbs 15 oz at three weeks old. She's gained two pounds since birth. Such a sign of success in the breast feeding department. :) The turtleneck I attempted to put on her this morning was tighter than any turtleneck ought to be though - so much for that shirt. It was looking more like a noose than a shirt. Those neck rolls just want to get in the way!

The kids saw the dentist yesterday. The dentist - a good friend from church - made them each latex-glove balloons. While we waited to Blaine to be finished with his appointment, Sterling drove his truck over a "balloon" and popped it. I said, "That's sad.". He replied, "No it's not. It's not mine. It's Ruby's!" Ah, yes, such empathy. It was a little bit sad for him when I informed it was now his, because he would be trading with Ruby. Then he realized he could use the glove as a glove once more, and he became a dentist for Eden. Such a fun life we have.

Photos!

Charlotte had a little photo session today (and a few last week!) and I picked a few to post. She's two and a half weeks old, her three week appointment is next week, not this week - something that would have been nice to have remembered before I got all the kids dressed and in the car by 9:45am. But at least I didn't show up at the doctor's office and make a fool out of myself too. And that form that needed to go in that envelope that I mailed today? Yeah, it's on my front seat. Seriously, dear Brain, please come back. At least visit once in a while, please.

How's a poke in the eye, dear girl? He loves you, really he does. Such sweet dreams!

We're all alive and well. Having a hard time finding time enough to do all that my day requires, but that's not exactly a new thing. I spent about five hours today working on getting new stickers for another year on the license plates. Went to the old inspection place, found out they don't do them anymore, went to a muffler and brakes place, and guess what they flagged? Ah yes, my muffler and my brakes. Notice something fishy there? Me too. I decided it was worth the $12 risk - and Blaine agreed - to get it inspected again, elsewhere. And, yes, you know it, it passed with no flags. Really now.

So it's inspected, personal property taxes amazingly waived for the moment - until next month; I don't know why. But I'll take it. Off to the license office, no hitches there. But this process was NOT five-kid friendly. Courthouse steps are mean, for starters. Sterling and Ruby have not mastered the two-feet step up the stairs. You try walking up and down 75 steps with the same foot always leading. Their right legs ought to have some impressive muscles!

Something to consider: I have 100 fingernails/toenails - plus my own - to clip each week. I hear "Your hands are full!" at least four times each time I go anywhere. At least. All the seats in my minivan are full. And last Sunday, when I was setting out church clothes for everyone, I forgot Charlotte's. But, as Sterling informs me, Charlotte can wear pj's to church. Whew. And I just realized it's Friday - and that Liberty didn't get her spelling test done yesterday. Can we just pretend it's Thursday for another day? Maybe I can catch up that way.