I’ve lost my memory.

I forgot to buy Easter candy. Completely spaced it. So when the kids mentioned our tradition of hiding baskets of candy for each of the children at 8pm on Saturday night, I was a little taken aback. How on earth does one forget that???

Saturday night, 3.5 hours after the “forgot the candy” realization, I went to make the sticky buns I’d agreed to take to Easter brunch at church. I’m out of cook-and-serve vanilla pudding. I’d sent Blaine to the store on the way home from work Friday so that I’d have the frozen dinner rolls I needed to make the sticky buns. Never checked my pudding supply.

Can I have my brain back? This pregnancy is getting to it, I think. (Although someone, remaining nameless, also pregnant, called me the other day to tell me that she, after running an entire load through her washing machine so that clean sheets could be have, and learning the wash load on her new machine takes 2 hours, opened the washing machine to find she’d forgotten to add clothes. I haven’t done that. Yet.)

So back to the Easter baskets. I scrounged the house for anything sweet, found a couple boxes of Andes Thin Mints I’d bought in the after-Christmas sale, peppermints from my very-Dutch husband’s stash of peppermints for church, and fruit cups and rice crispy bars – from Blaine’s lunch fixings supply. Poor man – but I left him some. I threw a dollar bill in each, and we were in business. I was tempted to raid their Valentine’s day candy, but putting their candy into their baskets just seemed, um, strange.

That story for this one. All the kids, post-lunch, ate yogurt and then one thing from their Easter baskets. All chose rice crispy bars. They looked good, so I asked Sterling to raid Blaine’s lunch supplies and get me one. His reply? “Momma’s gonna be sugared up!” This stated as all four older kids are running the length of the kitchen, hyper on yogurt and rice crispy bars. I assure you, I did not join them in their sugary races. That would have been a sight.

*Side note, instead of the pudding, I just used brown sugar, butter and corn syrup. Blaine said he liked them better.

Life’s an adventure–a funny one at that.

Last night I realized I hadn’t drank any water yesterday. I filled my 32 hospital jug and drank it. All. At 11:30pm. Bad plan. If you visit my home, kindly ignore the path beaten from the bedroom to the bathroom. I’ve been pregnant for all but three months of life here. It’s a well worn path.

All five kids were in the tub last night – yes, they still fit, but only barely. They were brushing their teeth – because we work on a fine timeline on Saturday nights (and every other night…). Ruby got an evil look in her eye, stood up, and spit directly onto Liberty’s head. Liberty sat there, shocked, then burst out laughing. The rest of the night was finished in fits of giggles. Ruby’s as fiery as they come.

I was mowing the other day, rain was threatening, thunder booming, and I finished – just in time. Then I realized my cell phone had fallen out of my pocket. Hoping I’d lost it in a mowed patch and not run over it, the kids and I went on a hunt through our rather large lawn. Eden found it, whole and unharmed, just as huge raindrops began to fall. We were about to head for the house when a collie, furrier than I’d ever seen, came rambling over, wanting to be pet. Sterling and Ruby were freaking out about the strange dog, Brady was losing it trying to defend her territory to a dog that weights ten times as much as she does, and the collie was just begging to be pet.  We checked the dog’s collar, found no tags, and decided to head for the house before we were drenched.

We got into the house – and so did the fluffy white collie. Sterling was howling, thinking the house was his escape from the strange dog, Ruby was hollering that the dog had followed her in, Brady barking like she owned the place and didn’t want company and the dog realized what a crazy kitchen she’d just wandered into – and she didn’t want to leave. Yep, instead of running back out the way she’d come like any sane dog should have done, she headed for the corner, behind the table, under the bench, and hunkered down. And I laughed. Laughed until I cried. Liberty and Eden together pulled and pushed to get the collie back to the door, finally successful. But they couldn’t get back inside without the persistent dog following them back in. Finally they were inside, the dog outside, Sterling calmed down, we swept up the grassy mess, and life went back to normal – just slightly less chaotic than the scene above.

That night, when Blaine got home from work, Ruby told the tale, in short form. “But Momma didn’t let the dog into the house. She made her get out.” I’m so glad, in all the hilariousness of it all, that I came out heroic. And I couldn’t help but wonder if Liberty’s reaction in the tub had anything to do with my reaction to the dog. Because if it did, it would do me well – and my children as a result – to laugh in the stressful moments instead of getting upset. It sure was a lot more fun.

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.