Or so valuable.
Three hundred fifteen feet of galvanized pipe down, one 33 year old well pump gave up the ghost.
Four days of no water makes the bill to pull it up and replace the pump and pipe so much easier to swallow.
Water’s flowing again, the dishes are on their way to clean, the diaper pail will get washed as soon as I can bring myself to dump it in the machine, and the shower is the most popular place to be in the house.
So. Much. Better.
“I like God. He knew we didn’t have water from our well so he made it rain today so we could catch it.” – Sterling
I sold a Johnny Jump-Up of sorts on craigslist after I bought a Jumperoo, since most of the doorways in our house don’t have trim around them – and those that do are around stairs. Not so good. Anyway, in meeting the woman who bought it, we started talking about goats. They have some too – and four kids. Then she asked if I homeschool, because I fit the “mold”. Oh dear. Certainly not an insult since we choose to parent this way, choose to live this way, but funny nonetheless. I’ve been caught.
Largely pregnant, not barefoot but almost, definitely not in a blue jean jumper, a van full of kids… I’m not sure what tipped her off – except she too homeschooled – but it was a moment. After this kind of morning, I’m not sure I want to know what it was. I’ve gotten that question a few times from people who’ve visited with my kids, but she hadn’t. I’m still curious!
I went to make supper last night and found out we had no water. No water in the bathroom, no water in the kitchen, no water at the outside faucet… this is not good. I cringed and called Blaine. Nope, definitely not good. Making supper without water = hard. Cleaning up = even harder. And while visions of bad well pumps (whatever they look like) and dry wells (again, not sure what that would entail, but you get the point) went dancing through my slightly panicked brain… it would seem, thus far, the solution is far more simple. One electronic control part – far cheaper—and easier to install than a new well pump (and a day’s labor from Blaine) later, the water is back to it’s ever-flowing normalcy and Blaine’s off to get a new filter to make it taste back to normal too. So much better than it could have been. And now that last night’s supper is cleaned up and I’ve showered, I’m coming to realize everyone has their limits. Slightly varying from person to person, but we all have limits. I can handle no a/c. Crowded houses and vehicles. Raising children close together in age. Even no hot water. I do my best not to complain. But running water at least somewhere on the property is pretty much required.
We don’t venture to the mall very often. It’s all the way across town and with five kids… it’s just usually a get-in-get-out venture to smaller stores. So yesterday, when we pulled into the mall parking lot with a friend following us to do some shopping, Ruby asked “Momma, what’s this place?”
“It’s the mall, Baby.”
She then asked why my friend wasn’t going to the Mall Baby. And giggling ensued from those of us in the vehicle who knew the difference a comma makes.
Sterling got new sunglasses at the mall. He wore them out of the mall, into Target, out of Target, and started shrieking as I was backing out of my spot at Target. He couldn’t find his glasses. They were on his face.
It hit 108 degrees today. Not on my little thermometer that might (I don’t think so though) have sun hit it, but the news said so. My inside thermometer said it was 98 in house. So in the name of good humor and trying not to cry… we broke an egg onto the concrete of the patio to see if we could cook the egg in the sun. I thought it would be a photo op… but you do not want to see what it looked like… before Brady ate it. It was pretty nasty – but cooked, although the whites didn’t whiten so well. It was a fun experiment. Can we call that science?
The kids have been subjected to a few meals served by Daddy lately. Tonight, Sterling’s prayer over dinner was “…and thank you that we didn’t have to have cereal for lunch or for supper.”
Eden made rice crispy bars tonight. Ruby announced that she was going to clean the pan so I wouldn’t have to wash it. And then she proceeded to do her best at licking it clean. Perfect. When I told her she needed to be done, she told me she was going to have a rice crispy bar for breakfast. Somehow I think the marshmallows nix out the benefits of the cereal – but I’m guessing that would be one cereal meal Sterling wouldn’t mind.
Sterling: “How old is Grandpa?”
“Fifty-two.”
Ruby: “I’m two too!”
“Fifty-two, Ruby. Not just two.”
“Oh. I not fifty-two. I just two.”
Whew.
Teaching Sterling to write 2’s and 3’s has proved to be a challenge. And then, I said something I’ve never needed or had opportunity to say during the handwriting process.
“Pretend it’s a car, Sterling. He starts here at the top, drives around the one-way to the dotted line to park, then realizes that spot is too small and has to back up and head around the other one-way for the bottom solid line. He parks there. Two’s a smarter car. He drives around the one-way all the way to the bottom line and backs into his parking spot.”
Sterling loved my analogy. He still struggled with dexterity. But it was worth a shot.
Yesterday, Sterling got a box of clothes given to him from a friend from church. He was in his glory, sorting through and looking at everything. I told him to sort what would fit now and was summer clothes, and put everything else into a box to head for the shed for later. This is what he came up with:
He sorted. He folded. He’s so excited. And he’s not a bit like his father, orderly and neat. Nope, not a bit.
This is what sheer exhaustion looks like. One of my dear daughters would fall asleep at meals on a regular basis. I’m fairly certain this is Ruby’s first time. Ever.
This is the photo I got of the girls when I told them to get together so I could take a picture of them together.
This is the photo I got when I told all of the (awake) kids to pile onto the futon for a photo.
And these:
…are what Sterling and Ruby gave me when I told them to sit together for a picture. That sounds about right.
And for those who care to know, the blue wall is one of those painted on the 4th. I love it.
I’ve potty trained four now. Mostly successfully. If we had neighbors close enough to see, they’d likely tell you of the occasional toddler bed sheets gracing my clothesline. Accidents happen. Around here, fairly often.
I cloth diaper. I’m convinced this is a huge benefit to me when it comes time to train them for better things. Like underwear. When I inform them they will be wearing, um, nothing on their bottom, that nothing will contain anything any longer, the whole concept of what it feels like to go isn’t new to them. The running down their leg – that’s a new one. But things move quickly and within a few weeks, my 18 months to two year old is potty trained.
For my first two, I had a pretty set way of doing things – and they worked. I still do them that way – but my four trained children are proving themselves, amazingly enough, different from each other. Imagine that. My once-you-are-trained-diapers-are-gone-24/7 mentality worked well the first two times around. I didn’t wash so many sheets. These last two kids are giving me a run for my money. For almost two years now, my laundry line has been graced with at least one, often two toddler bed sheets. Every day. It’s getting a little old. I’d given in and put them both in paper diapers for a bit, just to get a break. But they were telling me they were dry in the morning – and their droopy diapers were saying something else entirely. So I put them in cloth diapers at night. That made them both beg to sleep without a diaper again. Something about feeling the wet against their behinds was not so pleasant. Imagine that. So back we headed to try it again. And for many months, I washed sheets. Every day.
#2 on Sterling and Ruby’s morning routines:
Put your pj’s away and make your bed. Unless you are wet. If wet, put them in the laundry room. Strip your bed and put anything wet or stinky in the laundry room.
Someday we’ll change #2 on their lists and it won’t say anything about wet laundry. They’ll have moved past this stage and everyone tells me it will be sad. I’m not sure I’ll miss the smell that regularly hits me upon entering the laundry room though. It’s just not that pleasant.
In the last month or so, only one of my dear younger children have been contributing to the line’s load. Most of the time. And that’s getting less and less. Whether my persistence has paid off or they are just finally getting past this, the concept of getting up to go is finally sticking. And now I know. One size fits all parenting doesn’t work. At all. I’d realized this about discipline. About schooling. About my expectations for them. But potty training joins the list. And one day, when I’m old and the tables are turned, I’ll remind them of all the sheets I washed for them.
And they’ll make me strip my own bed, sort out what’s wet and stinky and haul the wet laundry to the laundry room. Because that’s what I did for them.
Oh dear.
Ruby was getting dressed this morning.
“Ruby, you forgot your panties.”
“Oh. Yeah. But it’s ok. I’ll wear some tomorrow.”
She has the “I screwed up today so we’ll just take a break and try again tomorrow” mentality.
We had plans to go to rummage sales today. My plans to get up early were thwarted with a fevered and crying Charlotte, and by the time I got up with her at 7:30 I wasn’t sure how fast we could get out of here. Milking goats, chicken chores, breakfast for 5 – it all takes a lot of time to get done and out of the door.
I hollered for Liberty to get up, and seeing no movement, headed up the stairs to rouse her. No Liberty. Her bed was made and she was not in the house. Remembering her sleepwalking toddler days, I had visions of horrible things, but I found her – outside, doing chores. By the time I made it up to the barn, she’d been up there for an hour, had the chickens done, Snow milked and all the babies fed. Amazing. She’s helped milk goats a handful of times but never done it alone. Something about selling the scary horned goat made milking the other goat manageable. I cringed and asked how much milk she’d gotten, sure I was going to have to get Snow back on the stand and finish milking her out, but she got just as much as I always get. I was speechless. And now I know who will do chores if I’m incapacitated in, say, late September. My baby girl is growing up.
www.yardsaletreasuremap.com is the coolest thing I’ve found lately. And today was profitable! We found a few new things for each kid, a $2 winter coat for Sterling and a few new things to fit my expanding what’s-a-waist-line and my favorite finds, a pair of Mary-Jane crocs for Ruby and Stride Rite sandals for a whopping $0.50 each. If this baby’s gender had been known, he or she would have had a whole new wardrobe. But I don’t, so it doesn’t. But all the kids are thrilled, we have a few new things for fall/winter and I’m exhausted. The kids wanted to keep going, but my energy level was gone before my day’s budget. They are hoping to head out again tomorrow. I’m thinking not…
They don’t write manuals for this.
We went to a rummage sale down the street (ok, the next farm road down, about 2.5 miles away, but it counts, right?) this afternoon. The kids all took their wallets, excited for the treasure they might find. Liberty bought, wait for it… zipper pj’s. You know, the really fuzzy footed ones. In a 10/12. Liberty is not a 10/12. But she’s excited – she can wear them when she’s, oh, 15. But in the 105 degree heat, they looked quite ugly to me. Quite. She tried them on at home… that’s a picture that would be worth a thousand words. I’ll take one… after I wash them. They smell a bit like someone smoked a whole lot of cigarettes in their near vicinity. Eww.
So, to get back to the manual I don’t have, Ruby found straw bowls. She’s always wanted one. You know, the plastic cereal bowls with the straw down the side. The ones I’ve never bought because, really? Why do we need bowls with straws attached? There was a blue one and a green one, marked $0.25 and Ruby was thrilled. She picked the blue one, Sterling decided he needed a green one, and off they went. 10 minutes later, when we were headed to pay for our $1.10 in merchandise and Sterling decided he did not want to green bowl. Ok… Ruby said she’d buy both. They charged her $0.25 for both.
So we get home and Ruby has two bowls. Sterling grabbed the green bowl, starting to scrub it and was really upset when I told him it was not his bowl. He exclaimed, “But I want it! I just wanted Ruby to pay for it!” Umm, yeah, but no. Ruby bought it, Ruby gets it. Sterling is moping, Ruby’s ready to give him the bowl – because when Sterling is sad, anyone who sees that face will want to cry with him. But that’s not the point. I told him if he wanted the bowl, he had to ask Ruby if he can buy it. Much moping later, Sterling asked if he could buy the bowl, the price was set at $0.15 and he gave her the money. And wailed. And wailed and wailed and wailed. He couldn’t part with his coins. In the end, he took back his nickel and dime, gave the bowl back, and declared “I really don’t like goat’s milk anyway, so I don’t want to drink it out of my cereal.” To which Ruby replied, “But I don’t need two bowls.” So now… nobody is happy. Perfect.
With the amount of fighting going on between Sterling and Ruby in my house these days, you’d think I’d get better at mediating. But I’m horrible at it. I will never, ever run for judge. Solomon’s wisdom, I have not.
We took three goats to the sale barn last night. Then we sat for four hours waiting to watch them sell… we didn’t have to stay, but where’s the fun in that? 10pm and five kids and Daddy and one pregnant Momma and no supper later, it wasn’t quite so much fun. But we saw them sell, learned a few things about goat auctions – and about raising goats. Namely, we cannot afford to eat goat meat. We can raise a goat, sell them, and buy a lot of steak with the proceeds – far more meal’s worth than we got from the one goat we butchered! All in all, it was a great experience. And the goat meat in my freezer is the most expensive meat we’ve ever had.
We did not come home with any more goats – despite one dear child stating that we ought to buy more.
Charlotte turned 10 months old yesterday. My due date is 2 months from yesterday. Liberty informed me that she’s now a month past her birthday (also yesterday) and still has not gotten a birthday cake. Ruby will be three years old in a month and a half.
Sterling and Ruby modeled for Bass Pro (again) Monday. Ruby eats it up. Sterling loved the cork gun he got to hold. (And the fleece he had to wear outside in the 95 degree temps – or not.) This is the sixth time – that I can recall – that one or more of my kids have modeled. I would have never pursued it, but it’s padding college savings accounts and in those few hours on Monday, Sterling and Ruby earned more than Blaine did all day. Amazing. They should be in the Ladies’ Collections fall catalog.
My weekly email regarding all things pregnancy asked if I’ve toured my baby’s birthplace yet. I laughed. I’ve been scrubbing (what I hope is!)baby’s birthplace, does that count? Sweeping, mopping, picking up toys… pretty sure I know this baby’s birth place inside and out better than anyone else.
Sterling got a new toy trailer in the free bin at the local farm supply store. It was without it’s truck. He spent ten minutes trying to find a truck here to pull it with and when it just wouldn’t work the way he wanted it to, he announced, marble run in hand, “I’m going to play with this instead. That fixes the problem!” It’s a band-aid fix, I’m thinking.
Yesterday, it rained. It was beautiful. The temps broke, and Blaine got downpoured upon. He said he was actually cold for a little bit there. Today, the humidity has it feeling hotter than it’s been. But it was worth the reprieve and the cooler sleeping weather. Major bonus would have been if I could have slept – but still.
On the agenda for tomorrow: sell three goats. That will cut us back to just four. Sweet. Beyond that… my kids get to see a goat auction tomorrow. Should be fun! And no, we will not be bringing any home. Please, no.
Nine and a half years ago, I met my husband. We’re about as different as night and day from each other. We married quickly and had babies one right after another and slowly learned the intricacies of the other. But still, it amazes me.
I’m not a perfectionist. I’m so ridiculously far from it, I’m amazed Blaine puts up with it with such grace. I do a great many things, but few things well.
Once I asked Blaine to fold the towel laundry in preparation for company coming. It took him 45 minutes to fold six bath towels. I rearranged the bathroom closet before I put them away. I could hardly stuff them in with the others when they were folded so… perfectly. I never asked him to do it again. I do not like cleaning out the bathroom closet.
Blaine takes beautiful pictures. He’s a great photographer. I shoot in auto mode. I have a very nice camera. Blaine has an even nicer camera. He really wants me to learn to shoot beautiful pictures too. But I like auto mode. And using the photos he takes.
When the garbage gets full, I push it down to see if more will fit. He takes it out.
When there are dirty dishes, I cannot cook. I cannot do anything until I take care of the messy kitchen. When there are no clean bowls, Blaine will eat out of a saucepan before he’ll grab dish soap.
When the flies were particularly bad the other day, I shooed them away and wondered where they were coming from. When Blaine got home, he had himself a fly massacre. And then… I mopped to clean up the fly massacre.
We make a great team. I love our life together. I love getting to know each of our children – and seeing the tendencies of myself and Blaine mirrored in our children. And while I’d love to say that my rush to just get things done is born out of sheer need to deal with life and children and homeschooling, it’s probably just laziness. It’s survival. And someday, I might have a perfectly arranged linen closet. But probably not.
A new record around here:
I opened a new pint jar of raspberry jelly on Monday. Today’s Thursday, and it’s gone.
I didn’t eat any of it. Neither did Blaine.
Really?
I’m 30 weeks and two days pregnant. It’s 100.1 degrees outside, 89.2 degrees in my house and it’s supposed to continue getting hotter to the end of the week. I’ll just state my misery and leave it at that. We’re making several gallons of sun tea a day around here and it’s dark brown within minutes of being set outside. Can we call that a science experiment or some such thing?
We’re back to school full-time. It’s been interesting, throwing a preschooler into the midst. Sterling loves his schoolwork, but having three students gets interesting. The only thing that makes me think we really can do this is my older kids are getting more and more independent in their work. Five years from now, provided everyone follows the path they are on, I’ll have a kindergartner, a first grader, a third grader, a fourth grader, a seventh grader and an eighth grader. You’ll find me in the nuthouse.
Charlotte has decided to go to one nap a day. All of my kids have done this around a year old. She’s a little young at 9.75 months old, but she’s making up for it: she’s sleeping 10 am – 4 pm. So very strange. So long as she continues to sleep all night, I guess it doesn’t matter. She’s not likely to learn to crawl or walk very fast when she’s missing out on so much of our day this way though. Thinking we’re headed back to the days of carrying two babies again. Sterling walked at 19 months and he and Ruby are 15 months apart. Fun times.
And, to prove I’m coping the heat oh so well and not completely crabby right about now… Blaine was quizzing the kids on states and capitals at the dinner table last night. He’d name a state and one of the girls would (hopefully) pipe up with the capital. “New Hampshire.” Quiet. Nothing. Wracking my brain for the answer, all was quiet. “I’ve stumped them,” he said. “Ahstumpedem?” Eden questioned, puzzled. “I don’t remember that one.”
I laughed so hard that I cried. And then I came up with the correct answer. Concord. But ‘Ahstumpedem’ works in a pinch, I suppose.
Growing up in a Frozen Tundra just a bit more frozen than that of which MckMama blogs, etiquette was a different world than anything I’ve encountered in the last ten years away from “home”. A nod and a smile was a proper greeting to anyone, and maybe, only maybe, a handshake. But it wasn’t required, especially for women. Saying ‘hello’ simply didn’t require any bodily contact. The same rules apply for ‘good-bye’.
The first time anyone other than my mother or father – and I do mean anyone – kissed my cheek, I was many miles away, eighteen years old, far from home in an East Coast world which promptly told me how different it I was. Everyone pulled you in for a cheek-kiss – then switched cheeks and did it again. The first person who attempted that must have wondered where on earth I hailed from when I fumbled, thinking it was supposed to be a hug. I got kissed squarely on the ear and we both backed up wondering what on had just happened. Or at least I wondered – and felt slightly assaulted in the process. Or maybe pickpocketed, I wasn’t sure.
I got more accustomed to it all after that, watching and learning. It’s just not normal though – of this I’m convinced! In my world of the Frozener Tundra, such affections were shown, well, I suppose perhaps by the Proper Courtier or the Doting Father. Certainly not the Next Door Neighbor, greeting you in passing as he mows his lawn and you mow yours. No, you can keep your grass and sweat scent to yourself, thank you. Make certain you don’t bear make-up lines, because they are going to be inspected closer than you imagined. That Mary Kay lady in the Frozener Tundra who said to inspect yourself with a hand mirror at arm’s length since that’s the distance people see you from never met an East Coast Cheek Kisser, I assure you.
So now, living in the North of the South, you meet many varieties. Bodily contact is almost always involved, ranging from the handshake to the side-contact hug to the full-body hug with a quick cheek kiss included. I have yet to meet the two-cheek kisser apart from someone who hailed from the East Coast, but the rules here are hazy at best. Strangers hug – sometimes. If you got a hug on the way in, make note. You’ll get one on the way out as well, I assure you. Best be prepared. If it’s a good friend, hugs are mandatory. Usually. Lots of handshakes. The occasional cheek kissed. It’s impossible to know for sure. The heat seems to limit bodily contact – something that baffles me. Surely social decorum isn’t dependent on the weather? “If it’s above 85 degrees, nod and smile. You simply do not want to find out, once entering another’s personal space, that deodorant was forgotten, after all.” It is an interesting concept, I suppose. There are a fair share of people who forget the deodorant, I assure you. I manage to land behind them in the grocery checkout line on a regular basis, testing my ever-present oh-so-pregnant gag reflex. I know.
But me? I’m the one on the sidelines at those social functions (wearing deodorant, hopefully!), feeling socially awkward in a world of North of the South rules that I haven’t learned yet and just not quite sure what’s expected. I rather liked the nod and smile. Simple. Something about personal space and the five littles who don’t understand respect for such space who hang on me most of their waking hours, I suppose. But if I ever pull you in with a handshake to a full body hug and kisses on both cheeks, know I’ve lived in too many places to know what is considered ‘normal’. And watch out. The baby will likely kick you in the process. Won’t that be awkward?
Ruby had a quarter yesterday to put in the offering at church. Examining it, she pointed to George Washington. “Is that Daddy?” It was definitely not the moment to laugh in the service… but I so wanted to.
“Mom, why are you fatter than us?”
"Ahem. Because I’m pregnant, Sterling.” Note the moment of "’thankyouverymuch Dear Son’ going on just here.
“No, not your belly. I know that’s the baby. Why are you fatter down here?” He points to his thighs.
“Because I’m a grown up.” My tone must have let on my pleasure at his topic of conversation at this point.
“When I grow up, I bet I’ll be fat like you too.” You’d better hope so, Dude. You won’t always be as cute as now and then… you just wait!
“Mom, do you want to skate with us?” What would that look like, exactly? Besides a broken nose when I tip over from the displaced center of gravity? “Gee, thanks, but I’ll watch.”
Charlotte loves canned green beans but won’t eat them when I cook them fresh from our garden. What does that mean? She’ll be easy to cook for – or harder?
Sterling got new boots from grandma. They lace up around the hooks at the top of the boot. The first time he asked me to tie them, he asked, “Are you sure you know how to tie this kind, Momma?” He also insulted Eden by trying to tell her how to do it. Her response?" “Sterling. Seriously. My skates have hooks like that. I’ve done this before.”
Dearest Ruby,
I am so glad you are enthused about washing out Charlotte’s messy diapers for me. But until you are old enough not to leave much of what you are washing out of the diapers on the toilet and it’s surrounding areas, you’re fired. I’m not one to turn down help – but you are causing more work than you’re eliminating and walking into the bathroom to that is more than I can handle.
I love you,
Momma
Two or three months ago, our barn cat had three kittens. Slightly wild, the kids still had great fun viewing them from afar. When they emerged walking and running a month ago, everyone was thrilled. Especially Brady. But the terrier in her emerged and, well, then there were two.
Blaine and I are not cat people. Cats eat mice – and the moles that dig tunnels under the lawn. The kids like the cats – but they are here for a purpose, and in the barn and half-wild is good.
So for the last month the kids have been attempting to tame down our two kittens: one tabby they loved because of the Mr. Putter books and his cat Tabby and one all-black kitten who was slightly tamer than the tabby. Brady got banished to a cable when outside and all was well.
Yesterday when doing the morning chores I didn’t see either kitten. But I didn’t really think about it. They are barn cats, after all. Who knows?
11:00 am Blaine called and asked if the black kitten was around. I went up trying to find it. I couldn’t find either one. So the story went:
Blaine got a call from someone he knows in another department and was told he needed to call security at work. He walked into another room to do so and someone else told him he needed to call security. Got it. Call security. Blaine commented to his co-worker how strange things seem to follow him around there. But they were about to get stranger still.
Blaine calls security, gets put on hold for 5 minutes. They come back on to tell him to hold on and he waits for another five minutes. They finally ask him what his extension is and hang up. Ten minutes later, they call him back.
“There’s an animal under your van in the parking lot and we’re wondering if it’s yours?”
“Why on earth would I have an animal under my van? Of course it isn’t mine.”
“You don’t own a black kitten?”
“Umm, yeah, but it’s certainly not here with me.”
He ended up heading to security, greeted by the sight of our black half-wild kitten that security had just spent an hour trying to lure out from under Blaine’s van. All this hubub over a barn cat. Blaine seems to have been more than slightly embarrassed. One security guard wanted to keep the cat. But the kids love that thing.
So, to end my long story, that tiny scrap of a kitten seems to have climbed (likely with the tabby, who has yet to show up anywhere) onto the undercarriage of Blaine’s vehicle and rode 10 miles and 20 minutes to the parking lot of Blaine’s work, including 3 miles on the interstate, somewhere on the outside of Blaine’s minivan. Blaine brought it home and it’s mother went straight away to nursing it, so there’s no doubt it really is our black kitten.
But now it has a name. The security guard named it ‘Lucky’. And now there is one.
Looking at baby name websites. Because, well, we need another one – and we are not good at finding names both Blaine and I like. This site had some interesting news for me: “Liberty” is a name that makes you feel weird. Well then.
They also say Charlotte will be a lawyer. This is too much fun. But she’s to be a future hippie too. This should be interesting.
They all missed this list. Whew.
No one else made any of the lists. Huh. I’d could have named at least one that should have made this one. That would have explained a lot.
Back to work. Thinking that site isn’t going to be so helpful, in the end. I’m thinking we should just simplify and go with Blaine Jr. Or Anne. With an ‘e’. Because really, it wouldn’t fit in with the others without the ‘e’.
Last night, 4:30 pm of course, I called the doctor about Ruby. Of course, due to close in a half hour, and me living 45 minutes away from there… we were told to go to urgent care. Ugh. Never been there, didn’t really care to. I have to say, I’m less impressed now, having experienced it. She’s still supposed to still see our regular pediatrician today or tomorrow – but I cannot figure out why. Except then they can charge for two visits… grr.
Ruby has strep throat. And super sensitive skin that reacts horribly to bug bites. That he really wasn’t worried about.
Didn’t see the strep coming. She’s not complained about her throat at all. Just the bug bites. But 12 hours later of antibiotics, she’s no longer fevered, the all-body rash seems to have dissipated, and she’s her lively self once again. Mad because she slept through her daddy leaving for work and she didn’t get to say goodbye to him. And because she dropped her cup on her toes. And because I did goat chores without her – because she was still sleeping. And because she cannot get her boots off by herself. Yep, life is back to normal.
Eden’s headed to the doctor today. Because she has a sore throat – of course. But maybe, just maybe we can get to the bottom of this. UPDATE: Eden has strep too. But she's growing up - she opted for a shot of penicillin over taking meds for 10 days. Girl after my own heart. As soon as she was done, she said "Now I am done! No fussing with medicine. That was easy." It's the little things, I tell you.
Everyone slept all night last night. Well, except for me. That would take a small miracle – and severe dehydration. But it’s good preparation for when baby’s born. At least that’s what I tell myself.
After a really long night without much sleep because of two crying children and one interesting moment around 3am that had me falling down the stairs with Charlotte in my arms, three of my children are now awake.
Three of my children are crying.
The two that I’ve touched so far have fevers.
One has had a dose of Tylenol already.
My knees are hardwood-floor burned from my skid across it.
One has been sent back to bed. Starting to think we should all go back to bed and try again in an hour.
It’s 8am. The weather forecast includes a heat advisory. The high for the day is 105+. Going to be a fun one. Or something like that.
For 4th of July festivities, we went to friend’s home for a potluck.
Really though, forks might have been helpful.
Though maybe not nearly so much fun.
And Blaine’s beard was really needing a good oiling, I’m sure.
And Ruby may (or, ahem, may not) have wanted to eat a pie of her own…
Good times. Great friends. Fun day. Despite Ruby’s little meltdown. (And, if you must know, it was because I told her to fill her cup with water from one of two coolers, her choice, and Liberty stopped her from the cooler she’d chosen, because it was not labeled ‘water’. It was labeled H2O. Time for a little science lesson for Liberty… and a lesson in not melting down for Ruby.)
Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Ruby. Approaching her third birthday, she was a feisty little spitfire.
She loved to do chicken chores. Carrying the eggs down the hill from the barn was her favorite part.
This particular egg was impressive. Although I’m fairly certain that the chicken who laid it would disagree and prefer one of a smaller size.
Ruby had a lot of fun showing it off though. After Momma washed it, of course.
And it made it all the way to the patio before it got scrambled. Sorry, egg. But the pictures (that Daddy took) were worth the lacking egg at breakfast.
Totally.
The end.
We’ve been making bracelets. You know the ones, out of embroidery floss and many, many knots later you have a tri-colored bracelet. Pretty simple and rather cute. Last year I made one for each of the kids. The girls tried and handed them off for me to finish last year.
This year, I’d made mine, Charlotte’s, Sterling’s, and was working Ruby’s when Liberty walked in and asked if I was working on hers. I told her I wasn’t, and she said, “Oh, good. I was afraid that was mine and I didn’t want to be rude but I really want to do my own.” She’s been working on it for two days. It’s not done, and it’s not perfect. But it’s all her own. And somewhere along the line, we’ve gotten past her desire to hand it off when it’s not perfect and it’s hard and have Momma finish it for her so she doesn’t have to struggle with it. Oh, my, my little girl is growing up.
Now that was a moment.
Wish me luck. Making goat meat (ie. ‘chevon’ or ‘cabrito’ – I’m not sure which category he fell into) for supper. I’m nervously skeptical and making a good amount of potatoes on the side just in case we… need to eat potatoes for supper.
Ruby gave Charlie her stuffed bunny to play with. She told me “If Charlie spits on my bunny, you can wash it. Because that would be stinky and gross. And do we want spit on our clothes? No!” It was a one sided conversation like only Ruby can do. So funny.
Baby’s growing and kicking and having fun flipping in my 6-kids later stretched out abdomen. Why stay head down when there are somersaults to be done?
Ruby ate a rice crispy bar before lunch. Then she complained she was still hungry after I told her one was enough. I asked her what she wanted for lunch. “Rice crispy bars.”
We made bracelets from embroidery floss today. All the kids needed one. Even Sterling. He picked John Deere colors. Yep, it’s a manly bracelet for sure that way.
Eden: “Can school teachers have a broken leg and still teach?” What kind of questions is that???
Sterling: “Is your arm a little fatter than mine?” “Yes.”
“Why is your arm fatter than mine?” Umm, food?
My girls are back. Life is back to normal. I’ve had to separate more arguments this weekend than normal by a long shot. Ah yes, they certainly missed home.
My parents came for the weekend and brought the girls back. We got quite a bit done yesterday. My living room is now blue. So much better. The kids got a lesson in where meat comes from when one of our goats we’ve been raising for meat hit the freezer. Some took that better than others. And for supper tonight? Mutiny, I’m guessing.
Ruby asked Liberty what name she wanted to use in their game. Liberty told her “Liberty”. After a few moments’ pause, Ruby told her, “I don’t know how to write that, so I just wrote ‘George’.”
It’s been in the upper 90’s at least for weeks. The central air in our house has been out of commission for two summers now – since we bought the house. It hasn’t hit the top of the priority list, and fans work. But it’s not exactly cool in my house. This is also the second summer in a row that I’ve been significantly pregnant. I didn’t realize until we took the coat racks off of the wall to paint that Blaine and my winter coats never made it off of the rack and into the tote for the summer. Something about seeing that wool winter coat of mine made me cringe. Thinking I need to take them up to the shed. Sometime around midnight, when the temps drop back into the 80’s…
There are 9 sets of bed sheets soiled from the last few days sitting in my laundry room. My living room is a beautiful blue – but torn apart like we just moved in. Twelve bookshelves sit empty and my floor bears their contents. I’d better accomplish something. A nap, perhaps?
Just an FYI, if you itch poison ivy – and try as I did not to itch it, I did – you can actually bruise your skin from itching too much. It’s an ugly scenario.
My girls are coming home tomorrow. I’m cleaning house today. You know, wouldn’t want them thinking I’ve been slacking off while they’ve been, um, slacking off.
Sunburns fade overnight. Charlotte looks mostly respectable this morning. So glad.
Sterling is knee-deep in his K4 curriculum from Rod and Staff. He does not understand why he has to follow directions. He does a great job, but crossing out that pear because it cannot be blue instead of simply coloring it green is getting to him. Compliant, yes – so long as it makes sense to him. Otherwise, you’d better explain it so that it does make sense to him. He’s so like his Daddy.
I caught Charlie on her hands and knees rocking back and forth in her bed this morning. Maybe she’ll crawl sometime soon yet.
Sterling howled when he turned on the wrong side of the hose splitter and drenched himself. Minutes later, he laughed when he drank from the house sprayer and drenched himself. I do not understand.
Roany the goat did her best to trample Ruby on her way to the milking stand this morning. Ruby was not impressed – and she informed Roany of her displeasure. Roany is scared of Ruby. Ruby’s learned the shaker paddle is her friend. Watching a 30 pound two year old still in her nightgown tell a 100-pound goat what-for is pretty stinking funny.
Last night, contemplating such deep things (or maybe just really bored because Blaine had to work late) I had this brainstorm. Rather missing the nose ring I’ve worn for over two years, I decided to put it back in. It’s been out for two weeks. Noses heal really, really fast.
It took me a good half hour. There was blood. It. still. hurts.
But it’s back in. Next time, remind me how much that hurt. If I ever take it out again, it’s staying out.
“Don’t ever throw Cheerios on the floor again, Charlotte. I don’t like picking them up.”
“Your sun tea is spicy, Momma, try it!” “Dude, you just spit in it. I don’t want any!”
“Sunburns don’t hurt, Momma. I don’t need sunscreen.” (Spoken by the dear son who once blistered his shoulder when I missed a spot. He would have disagreed with himself if that was still in his memory, I assure you.)
“Mom, I’m getting you wet on your arm.” “Don’t spit on me, Sterling.”
“Why is fire hot?” “Why do plants need water?” “Why did Daddy plant beans?” “Why are we going to the pool?” “Why does Charlie’s toy squeak when you push the nose?” (Continue for another 200 “why’s”. Per hour.)
“How old were you when you got married, Momma?” “18.” “How old was Daddy when he got married?” “25".” “He was bigger than you then too, Momma!” Sure thing.
“Good thing we watered the goats this morning, Momma! It’s hot today!” Yep, 98 and counting sounds hot to me. It’s only 90 in the house though, does that count? Thus, the pool…
Sterling learned to care for his own hygiene in the bathroom last week. This week, he’s trying to convince Ruby he can wipe her bottom too. She’s not convinced. Neither am I.
Not impressed with my SPF 30 water-resistant sunscreen. Sterling and Ruby, my two most active in the water, seem to have escaped the sunburn. Charlotte and I, not so much. We were in the shade most of the time. Really, I don’t know what to think on that one. Baby, I am so sorry. I turned that skin white with sunscreen just like everyone else. Grr.
My girls are coming home! Two days, can’t wait…
We switched cell phone providers a month and a half ago. My new cell phone drops calls constantly. The rest of the time people cannot hear me for the awful reception. Often I cannot dial out. I called to complain and they are sending me a new phone to see if that fixes the problem. Perfect.
Two hours later, an automated call asked me to push one if I was satisfied with their customer service, two if I was not. The reception was so fuzzy it wouldn’t recognize my selection. After three tries, I gave up and hung up. Fitting.
…if Ruby’s carrying them to the house. “I won’t run, Momma. Can I carry the eggs?” We’ve been through this before. Running to the house with a bucket full of eggs makes for pre-scrambled eggs: dirty-style.
So I let her carry the eggs into the house from the chicken coop this morning.
One egg survived the trip.
But… she didn’t run.
“Mom. Mom. Mom. Ruby’s asleep, and Charlotte’s asleep and you’re asleep and I don’t want to sleep, So what can I do? Sorry for waking you up though. You can take another nap after you tell me what I can do if you want to.”
“Thank you, Sterling. How about coloring a picture?”
“Or you could get me lunch.”
“What time is it?”
“Umm… maybe it’s 6 o’clock, or maybe it’s two o’clock.”
“One-thirty. Perfect. How about lunch?”
Ruby’s covered in bug bites. Sleep has been sporadic around here these last few nights. Thus the naps before lunchtime. But this was by far the best conversation I had all day.
Back when I was single (in my teens, mind you) I had this perfect ideal for who my husband would be, I didn’t pick thin. Nope, I wanted one bigger than me – by a lot. I did not have any desire to rival my husband for size – or worse yet, beat him hands down. But personality and values and beliefs trumped size – thankfully – and I married a man who barely outweighed me. And then I got pregnant. Six times. He didn’t leave me a whole lot of growing room before the inevitable happened. But Sterling informed me yesterday (after he asked how much I weighed and I told him that he must never, never ask a lady that question. And then I had to explain what a lady was.) that Daddy weighs lots more than me, because he’s bigger. I agreed – that must certainly be true. Blaine walked in right then, caught the gist of the conversation, and agreed Sterling was most certainly right. Wise man.
Have I ever mentioned I was going to marry a redhead? That didn’t work out so well either. I’d planned for a bunch of redheaded babies. But these blond ones are awfully cute. Turns out, God had different plans than I did – better ones for sure. I’m so glad. So thankful for my blond, thin husband. So thankful.
Photo compliments of my parents. She’s celebrating her birthday in South Dakota!
Liberty is 8 years old. Happy birthday, Baby Girl. I love you.
So the skirts flopped. I’m blaming it on my machine’s bobbin tension with the elastic thread. Mom’s bringing her machine down next week; we’ll try it again. Then we’ll all know: is it the machine, or is it me??? Shirring has gotten the better of me every time I’ve tried on my machine. 6 projects later. Makes me crabby.
Next up: Magenta diaper covers. Ruby was PENNDOT Ruby with her neon orange covers; Charlotte is going to be well camouflaged - in the raspberry patch. I just can’t leave well enough alone and go with pastels. Got the PUL in the mail today. Trying to get the house cleaned up so I can go sew. That’s why I’m sitting here, you know. Oh, that makes such sense.
Blaine’s on his way home. After yesterday and the skirts and the kids whining because I was paying more attention to the sewing machine than them… it’s a good thing it’s Friday and this week is almost over.
Poison ivy got the better of me last week and it’s still spouting about it’s victory. Ruby’s taken to grabbing the anti itch cream and smearing it on my legs when she sees me itch. So funny. Yet not.
Time to mop. There’s calamine lotion spilled on the floor. Wonder where on earth that came from?
Blaine is traveling for work for a few days. Liberty and Eden are in South Dakota. Boy, does life feel strange right about now. It took three days to get enough dishes to fill the dishwasher. I’ve done 5 loads of laundry since Monday. Usually I’d be on #10 at least by now. Two of those loads were peed-on sheets from Charlotte wearing a paper diaper to bed when I know better. So we’re theoretically 3 loads in. So strange.
Sterling and Ruby are taking naps in my bed. Judging from the giggling going on, they are both having some very funny dreams. Or something else is going on in there besides sleep.
Blaine’s birthday was Tuesday. Sterling wanted to get him bubble gum. I said Daddy doesn’t like gum. He wanted to get him a wheelbarrow. I told him Daddy already has one. Sterling decided we should just get gum and a wheelbarrow for himself instead.
Liberty’s birthday is Sunday. She’ll be 8 and be celebrating in South Dakota. I’ve had the hardest time figuring out what to get her – for her late birthday party when she gets home. Growing up, not big enough for makeup, too big for toys. I’m still wondering how you parent an eight year old. Two is so much easier.
Eden asked if she could get another hole in her ears when she gets home. She looked indignant when I said no. Sterling told me he didn’t want me to have my nose pierced. I’d been debating taking it out anyway. Did that a week ago. He hasn’t noticed yet. I guess it was really bugging him. Blaine noticed after 5 days. Must have been bugging him too. Charlotte got her ears pierced this week. She noticed the moment they did it. Blaine noticed as soon as he saw her. Ruby’s excited that she and Charlie “match”. They gave Charlotte a sucker afterwards. This is the third time someone has given my 8, and before 7, month old a sucker. Starting to wonder if she looks two to everyone else or if I’m one of the few that wouldn’t give candy to a baby who still eats the majority of her calories in liquid form. She really liked the sucker. Still trying to get her white shirt white again.
I’m making this this afternoon. You know, while Sterling and Ruby talk in their sleep. I’ll let you know how that goes!
To whichever child did the little science experiment in Daddy’s boot:
Putting your sister’s spit-upon outfit inside your father’s boot was a successful science experiment, I suppose. The mold growth was impressive for less than a week. But for future reference, clothing isn’t an appropriate test subject. Goat’s milk molds quickly. And doing that to your pregnant mother was not funny.
Love,
Momma
Dearest Blaine,
I’m not sure what to say besides “ewww”. Gross. I do not know how to scrub your boot out. I’m sorry.
Love,
Adrienne
Two traveling salesman knocked on my door Tuesday afternoon. It was in the 23 minutes I had to unload the groceries, change the baby’s diaper and all three kid’s clothes, plus my own, and head to town to meet Blaine for his birthday supper out. They told me they needed five. I said I didn’t have five extra minutes. I needed to get things done. They said they were selling extracurricular school books to enhance my child’s public school education. I said I homeschool. They said they sell a lot of their CD’s to homeschoolers, since the mothers often like to plunk their kids down in front of the computer to have that be the teacher. I told them I am the teacher. No computer needed. They said they have lots of informational books. I said I have books. Lots of them. Books I researched thoroughly before I bought them and set in front of my children to influence them and their worldview. They thought I needed more. They wouldn’t leave. And then, I said the magic words. “My school book budget for the year is spent. I have bought all I need; all I can afford.” Ha! They asked to use the bathroom and left. I had two minutes to put away the groceries. Sterling wore dirty clothes to supper.
Next time, I’m going to put groceries away and leave them on the front porch to give their spiel to the dog. Brady seemed to like them well enough. And her book budget for the year is spent too, I’m sure.
My two oldest girls left for Grandpa and Grandma’s today. They’ll be gone for two weeks. It’s eerily quiet around here. Some things are easier, so things are harder. So strange.
They rode north with a friend’s mom and another friend who live three hours from my parents. After a week of sick kids and fearing Liberty or Eden would catch it, I was relieved to hit Friday night with no one else sick. I woke up Liberty up this morning and she started crying. Her throat hurt. By the time we left, she said her stomach hurt a little. I hoped it was nerves, gave her the option and went ahead with her desire to go. What do you do? It felt like a life-changing moment; she’d never forget having to stay home from her first planned vacation at grandparents away from Blaine and I. When I didn’t hear anything by lunch time, I decided it must have just been nerves like I suspected. Nope. No vomit, thankfully, but I’m told she’s a little warm and slept most of the trip. Safely in the hands of Grandma now, she’ll be fine, but what would you have done? What it she gets her “transporters” sick? They do not write manuals for such occasions.
Sterling and Ruby become so different when their sisters aren’t home. They were eating when I went up to do goat chores. I gave them instructions to finish eating, brush teeth and head for bed. When I got back inside half an hour later, they were in bed! Tucked in! Amazing. And then I went and cleaned up their mess at the table. Because no one thought to clear the table.
Missing my girls. My helpers, my friends. I forgot how it is to parent just toddlers. Sterling and Ruby have asked half a dozen times if they’ll be home tomorrow. It’s going to be a long two weeks!
This puts a whole new spin on “ran out of gas”.
Charlotte really, really likes watermelon.
Really. It’s a good thing it’s bath night.
The wrong end makes a good teether.
Happy baby. So sticky. So worth it.
We’re alive. I’m reserving comment on the well part. Ruby’s kept two meals down since Monday afternoon but breakfast hasn’t revisited, so maybe three… Sterling’s had a fever that seems to have gone away and I finally gave in, decided to call the doctor first thing this morning and now everyone is acting normal. That usually happens after I rip out the check to pay our co-pay…
Bugs, bugs – they are bugging me. How on earth do you avoid the 200 bug bites – no exaggeration, I assure you – that plague me at the moment? I cannot spray bug spray every single day on every one – can I? But between goat chores and watering the garden, we’re going to have to invest in anti-itch cream – and quite possibly, something to treat insanity. I’m going crazy. I think I have more than the kids, but not by much. This is a pretty itchy household right about now.
Sterling has been walking around saying itchy and then rhyming it with any other word he can think of or make up. Last week in the grocery store, it was “Itchy pitchy sitchy b…, w…” – all of which I’d heard before and ignored. You know, ignore it and they’ll stop and forget all about it? But when the little old lady behind you in the checkout gives you a look… yeah, I had to address it. “Don’t say those last two. They aren’t nice words.” I braced myself for the “What do they mean?” question that was inevitable. It didn’t come. “Can I say twitchy?” “Yep. Perfect. Itchy twitchy will be just fine.” And off he went. “Itchy twitchy itchy twitchy.”
On that note, I’m going to go find a Brillo pad. If you scratch the bite off entirely, can it still itch? Pain would be preferable at this point, pretty sure.
Many weeks ago, we all were sick – except Sterling. We seem to be revisiting those germs. It all started last night, when, amazingly enough, we were driving home in separate vehicles and I had the one without kids. But I heard about it when we all got home. Apparently Liberty recognized Ruby’s traditional pre-puke cough in the van, and they got out in time. Whew. I just washed that car seat. Since Ruby’s a car-sick queen, we didn’t think much of it. But when she lost her breakfast this morning, things were looking suspicious. And now, I’ve got it. Eww. So much for today’s List.
Sterling got his K4 books in the mail yesterday. He’s thrilled and I’m schooling from the couch, trying to capture his enthusiasm. I’m amazed to learn the boy can trace lines with amazing accuracy and stay in the lines. quite well. I got out the tote of coloring books in hopes of keeping the kids entertained for my nap. Entertained, yes. Eager to show Momma what they did? Again, yes. So much for that nap.
They just look like chickens. Didn’t figure you wanted to see them.
Meet Cream. Or Creamy. Or Creamer. Yet to be determined. 3 week old doeling Alpine/Saanen. Slightly skittish but oh so cute.
And Coffee. Cream/y/er’s twin sister. Tamer, cuter and funnier than her twin – and already the favorite in the barn.
Munch, the LaMancha buckling. No ears is a LaMancha trait. Slightly funny looking, oh so friendly, likes to eat your clothes. He’ll be one month old tomorrow.
They like to hang out on my milking stand. The doelings have been with their momma up until this morning – and now, they lay next to each other with wire in between. The least stressful separation from momma and baby ever, from the looks of things.
Snow. Or Lady Mary Snow White, officially. Coffee and Cream/y/er’s momma – sweeter than any of my other does, and mocking the camera with her tongue, it seems.
Blackie and Roany – my first and second milking does. Blackie’s into retirement from the milking stand. Anybody want a dry goat?
Roany’s milking well for me and being her typical pain in the behind self.
And their no-longer-buck-lings. In other words, wethers. Or supper, one day soon.
That’s what’s in our barn these days. The three babies are all on bottles and the kids – my children, that is – are in love with them. Fun stuff!
I’m 24 weeks. I look 42 weeks. Maybe by the time I’m 42 weeks I’ll look 24 weeks. Or maybe I won’t hit 42 weeks. Either would be ok. So long as I don’t look 42 weeks at a week or so postpartum. Now that would be depressing.
I bought K4 curriculum for Sterling today. He’s thrilled. His dream is to read a book all by himself. Next up: the world.
I’ve started making lists. I bought a white board that has a new home on our kitchen counter and every night, provided I’m on top of things, I make a list of the things we need to accomplish the next day. Jobs, appointments, whatever I want to accomplish, gets written on the list for the day. Things I usually forget I wanted to do are finally getting done. If they don’t get done, they get moved to the next day. And the next. The watermelon? Cut before it was overripe, because it made The List. Charlotte’s sheets put back on her bed? That got moved to the next day’s List. A few times. But now? She has clean sheets. And I don’t have to move it to tomorrow’s List. Again. Amazing.
We have a few new barnyard animals. Four, to be exact. I’ll get my camera out there and share the details soon. As soon as it makes it to my List. Wouldn’t want to get ahead of myself, you know.
8 months old now.
and toys. She really loves toys. A lot.
Beautiful baby girl – full of personality. Determination. And spunk. Loads of spunk.
