Tales From the Waiting Room (and other stories)

Will the Real Susan E. Please Take a Nap?

Before we get around to that, though, let me address some of the comments that some of my precious & few readers left for me:

Jen (Knitters, Knitters), Brett has been duly notified and educated about what a "porn-stasch" is. 

Yes, Pam (dear sister), I drooled all over Brett, literally--and now the world shall know why. We drove to his college campus at the end of the summer (1978), so he could start moving in (just a 2-hour drive, as my parents were still being old-fashioned and wouldn't allow me to go on a sleep-over with my boyfriend).  Unfortunately the night before I waitressed the evening shift, which lasts until 2 a.m., (typically when the male customers are such cut-ups for hitting on the female wait staff and leaving hilarious 2-cent tips), so I fell asleep on the drive down. I slumped over and landed on Brett's shoulder. He decided not to disturb my peaceful slumber, being the nice guy he is. I woke up and mopped up his saliva-soaked arm, sleepily apologizing that I didn't know I had that much spit. That seemed to amuse him.  

 I know "engaged" isn't a verb, but I panicked in the moment and wanted to sound intelligent. Brett's strong suit is math so he didn't catch it. Thanks, Cousin Luke the Grammar Nazi, (posting as "Fred"), for pointing it out though. I know it would have been impossible for you to read it and not comment, so I shall comfort you by patting your hand and saying "Their, they're, there."

..........

A couple of years ago, I obtained a gmail address. Yes, it was time to stop paying $28 per month to our internet service provider that we hadn't used for over a year (we moved) just to have their domain name on my email address. It was more of a procastination issue, really, with the added bonus of not ever having to explain again that it was "earthlink" and not "earthling."  I probably would have kept it if it really *was* earthling.  It would imply an intriguing intergalactic choice. 

However, my name was already taken. I'd be willing to make book that my maiden name would have still been available.  While it's common knowledge that I married for love, despite what those who whipped out their abacus's thought when our first-born arrived 10.5 months after the wedding, I also figured that at least my last name would never again be misspelled. 

That was a horrible error in judgement on my part. 

Nonetheless, as I signed up for gmail, I couldn't just have my name since it was already taken. Google gave me several suggestions. I wanted it to remain as simple as possible so added the number 1. Taken. Kept going up the number scale. Taken, taken, taken. Finally determined that the number 14 after my name was available. Whee! Hey, that's also how many rogues progeny we have. Serendipity, thy number is 14.

As we age, we tend to have less room in our brains for the minutae of life, such as algebra and remembering your mother's maiden name so you can access your bank account. Sure enough, I'd forget from time to time that my new email address had a number after my name, so would occasionally sign up for web accounts with just my gmail address with no number. Turns out the lady  with that email address actually existed, and for some reason didn't want to pay for my gourmet coffee. WhatEVER! So the company called me and I explained the error, then emailed Susan the First to apologize, and all was put right. She was quite nice and understanding.

Turns out other people have the same problem remembering that my email address has a number on it, and I'll get the occasional forwarding from Susan the First, saying "I think this was meant for you." And she was always right. Thankfully they were mostly emails from machine embroidery and gourmet coffee sites, and thankfully not from all those former lovers I've taken. 

A few months ago, she forwarded an email she figured was for me. It was from a dentist's office several states away, reminding Susan Easley of her upcoming appointment and complimenting me on my wise choice in in dentists. 

I thanked Susan the First for thinking of me and not wanting me to miss out on my dental appointment, and explained that the message was not for me either, but no doubt for one of the Susans 1-13.  I suggested that I call the dentist's office, schedule the appointment, then split the insurance payment while giving my address as to where the check would be sent. She said she liked how I thought. I suspect this is not the end of our erstwhile relationship and it's only a matter of time until I get another forward from her, updating me on something I should already have known. 

**********

We had guests recently, missionaries who serve in Bolivia. I mention this only because it was during their visit that I discovered Ceiling Cat. Several weeks ago, for Easter, I'd printed out several sheets of DIY Ceiling Cat and gave them to the children. Over the following weeks, I'd found the sheets in various places, usually crumpled up or colored on, and threw them out one by one. Imagine my shock when I was in our dining room, chatting with the mom of the family when something on the ceiling caught my eye. 

 

After my initial gasp and subsequent chest pains, I remembered I'd printed out Ceiling Cat. Thank you Judson, who continues to find amusing ways to shock his aging mother. After regaining the gift of speech, I asked Judson how he was able to keep it a secret for so long. He said that it didn't matter how long it took, it was worth it to see my initial reaction. 

I made this the other day. It's on the floor baseboard directly under Ceiling Cat. We'll see how long it takes Judson to notice.

Therapeutic horseback riding lessons have started up again. We've enjoyed ourselves and the children who participate have learned quite a lot. Each lesson for each child is tailored to their special need, and the volunteers and workers are quite amazing. Gideon, diagnosed with autism two months before he turned 3 years old (because he hadn't spoken a single word, not even "mama"), has now spoken consistently to his side-walker for the first time. Justen is so good with him and I've never seen anyone who can make Gideon laugh like he does. Justen imitates what Gideon does and makes him feel as if no one has ever understood him before.  Perhaps that's true. Here, Justen imitates Gideon's "noodle body" and tells him to straighten up and ride proud.  

And here he is, trotting properly on Dakota, minutes later. 

Good work, Gideon! Justen is ever-encouraging. A good match, to be sure. 

Isaiah helps break in Chance. They worked well together, and Isaiah's vision issues seemed not to matter to such a wonderful horse and instructor. Thank you, Elizabeth & Mary Jill!

He does quite well with his sidewalker and his horse, Boomer. 

By this week's lesson, he was allowed to trot off-lead. Great job!

Mercy Grace foot-reins her horse, Hope, and all is well. How could it not be, with the names Mercy Grace & Hope? She's graduated to riding on her own, and does well with all the commands to Hope. 

Susannah practices turning, and was able to ride off-lead during several trotting sessions--a huge improvement over last fall. Here, she's practicing turning on T.C. (Too Cool).

 

Abigail is off-lead more than anyone else. Hard to get a good picture of her, she likes speed. 

The rest of our summer has gone rather swimmingly so far, too.

  Have a great pre-weekend, everyone! Good wishes to all. 

 

A New Low

Oh sure, there are times I can fit in to polite society. But just when you think you've gotten all the kids out of diapers, here we go again. As often happens, the baby got diaper rash, necessitating medicated soap in her bath. And she didn't even want to play with the duckies.

Gideon saw the residue left in the tub and exclaimed that he was "never taking a bath in there again." As if the tub doesn't require a good scrubbing after he and his brother come in from taking turns burying each other in mud.

Nice socks, Gidster. Got another pair just like it in your drawer?

After a bath and a fresh diaper, what baby doesn't need a good bottle?

I think other people my age get out more often. 

 

Quarantined

Except we were allowed free to go to the dr. yesterday. We thought we'd beaten this...this "thing" that's had us in its clutches on and off for a couple of weeks, but yesterday morning when several of them woke up with fevers and sounding like a seal begging for its sardine, I realized it was Time. Time to call and talk the dr's office into fitting us all in. 

After a back and forth on the phone with the receptionist speaking with various nurses to see if they could fit in 8 children, and in between me making phonecalls to cancel Abigail's physical therapy session and all of their piano/voice lessons, we got it all straightened out. Believe it or not, Brett was actually able to accompany me to the dr, but we did drive separately because his flight left out and the dr's office is kind of by the airport. So that was a big help, because they were able to split up the children in different rooms and they like to have a parent in each room. Turns out we needed three rooms but they were all next to each other. 

The waiting room had toys. Toys for young children. But since everyone wasn't well, it's about all their brains could handle anyway. Nate and Jud played teacher. Abigail felt too sick to even join in. 

There was a man in the waiting room who kept wanting to give the children a toy that he'd found out in the parking lot (we saw it on the way in). Politeness didn't work, and when he actually came and sat right next to them and asked them to show him how to play the game, Brett told him to go back and sit where he had been before or he'd have to get security to help him leave. 

This kind of thing happens frequently and I'll never get used to it. Now that our non-ambulatory children have grown up we tend to be a little less noticeable so it doesn't happen nearly as often as it used to. The children take it in stride, but it never ceases to freak me out. We've had some odd stuff happen. Remind me to tell you the story about the woman in the Hobby Lobby parking lot who clawed at my window and screamed at me because I wouldn't let her buy things for my children. She followed me out from the checkout line, yelling the whole time about how she was just trying to be nice, then tried to grab the door as we were piling in and I was yelling to the kids "LOCK THE DOORS!  NOW!"  Oh, Amy would remember, she had just gotten her permit and was the driver so the woman was trying to get the driver's door open. 

Well, I guess I just did tell you the story. 

But, I digress.  

We spent the better part of 3 hours total, which included lots of breathing treatments for the children to test their lung capacity. I'm guessing.

Abigail wore her sweater with the long arms (it's her favorite). Although when she was younger I'd always alter her clothes to prevent "sleeve flop" (I imagine things like getting her sleeve caught in a car door and the car driving away, or some other misfortune that only mothers imagine), now that she's older I let her choose if she wants her sleeves altered. Usually she does not. This can result in amusing incidents, such as after the nurse took her temperature (102.8) the nurse said "Now I have to take your blood pressure." Abigail pushed up one of her pant legs. The nurse said "Are you chilled?" Abbi said no. The nurse said "Can you just take one of your arms out of your sweater so I can take your blood pressure?" 

Abigail:  I don't have any.

Nurse (not really comprehending): I just need you to take one of your arms out for just a couple minutes.

Abigail: Can you just take it on my leg?

Nurse: We take blood pressures on arms.

Abigail: I don't have any.

Nurse: (looking at me) She doesn't?

Me: (having let the conversation go on this far for two reasons:  #1-- Abigail needs to learn to speak up for herself which she doesn't like to do but needs to. #2-- I find it amusing) No, she doesn't have any, she just needs the smaller pressure cuff and you can take it on her leg. 

Finally, all was said, done. Gideon needed breathing treatments at home twice a day, and since I'm still not feeling the greatest (yes, I'm that dull, and knew I'd never remember all the steps), and the nurse was trying to explain the machine and how to put the medicine in So I took a video of her demonstration with my iPhone. Handy things!  

 

Should I say, "Thank goodness for insurance"?  I think I will.

 And you can see how pleased Gideon is to do his treatments. At least he's cooperative.

Our goats don't vacation just because we're sick, and we had another kid born. We're keeping her in the house until it warms up a bit outside. Gideon feels much better this morning, so wanted to feed her. 

Yes, that's a diaper she's wearing. I've cleaned up enough animal (and human) excrement in my day. She's very sweet and makes a nice house pet for awhile. 

 

And Isaiah wanted to see "if it was still cold out" today. It is.

Stay warm, everyone!

Tarantulas 'N Roses

As promised, here are the tarantula photos. One morning in Haiti a couple weeks ago, Brett woke up and saw that Josh had a tarantula crawling on his back. Josh was just starting to wake up too, and Brett said in a low, stern voice: "Do not move." 

Josh knows his dad well enough to obey a direct order like that. We do have other children that, upon hearing something like that, would flail around saying "What is it? GET IT OFF ME!"

So the spider was gently brushed off without incident. One of the first things Josh said upon once again receiving the gift of speech, was "You know mom's going to want to know why you didn't get a picture of the spider while it was still on me." 

He was right, that was the first question I asked upon hearing the tale. Brett said he thought the more prudent action was to remove the venomous spider from his son first. I pointed out that tarantulas don't have enough poison to kill a strapping young lad, though it would be painful (as was the 28 hours of labor giving birth to Josh, I might toss in for speculation). And since Josh is allergic to stinging insects (YES, I know, spiders are arachnids, not insects) Brett also said that he might be allergic to the spider as well. I pointed out that they did bring Josh's epi-pen with them. 

But I forgave all, because indeed they did get photos. And upon further reflection, I did see their point. Probably best not to purposely tempt fate and get bitten by a poisonous spider, especially since it's doubtful the local witch doctor accepts Blue Cross/Blue Shield of Kansas City. 

And not to minimize the situation further, but my older sister Pam had a pet tarantula for years. Hers was at least twice the size of this one and much fuzzier, and would have consumed it immediately, merely out of embarrassment for the species. 

Here's the group on the last day. Everyone survived.

They got a lot of work done there, mostly mechanical, on the well-drilling rig. Some welding also. 

The week brought them home, but then had daddy leaving on business. My emotions run thusly:

Ah, but he was so thoughtful, and a lovely bouquet arrived the day after he left. Aren't they lovely?

He's so nice. I really think this marriage thing is going to work out for us. Just so happens, when he returns this week it'll be his birthday the next day, so I've ordered various types of gourmet animal flesh and muscle, and sea insects for appetizers. True, I'll have to heat it up, as it will arrive with a huge pack of dry ice. We'll throw that in the pool for the children's amusement. They never tire of that. 

Bible Quiz started up again. Always a good time for me, though a bit stressful for the participants. We had a great start yesterday--the teens did well. This is Mercy's first year and she was nervous but recited a whole quote (has to be word-for-word or it doesn't count, yes they are merciless ; ) )

The whole team.

Christina (front left) is too old to be a quizzer so she is their coach. It involves paperwork, which she loves. 

Oh, but I mustn't forget another of the weeks' highlights! We received a chickment on Friday morning. Apparently they are rather loud (as we all would be, traveling in a box for two days without food or drink) and when the post office receives them they're a peeping nightmare. So the call sounds something like this:  PLEASE. COME. PICK. UP. YOUR. LIVESTOCK. ARRIVAL. NOW. Livestock indeed!  More like sweet little bundles of fluffiness!

♫ Anticipation ♫ 

Awwwww!

 Ahhhh...finally some food and water!

 

 We ordered all pullets (females) because, for you non-farm folk, those are the ones that lay eggs. Also with a minimum order of 25, we get a free rare-breed chick (of unknown gender). So we always check that box, because they usually look funky, or have furry feet when they mature, or something that makes chore-time even more fun than it already is. He's (she's?) the one in the first photo that's separated out. Nate did that as soon as he opened the box, because he likes to guess which breed it is. This time, we don't know. We'll have to wait until he grows up. He's kind of blueish.

It gets old rather quickly having the chicks in the house, so they are now up at the coop, huddled under a heat lamp, in their very own "chick" room as they are too small to be with the big hens and roosters who would promptly peck them to death for no apparent reason. I've come to realize that chickens are not clever creatures. Are there such things as wild chickens?  I wonder how they survive.

Have a beautiful day. It's sunny here and just chilly enough to want to wear a sweater. Perfect.  

 

Free at Least

Doing the pasture rounds this morning after chores (just to make sure all the animals were --in the right pasture/had not given birth during the night/died--) I found this lady with her head stuck. I tried for an hour to set her back through--I mean, if she got in, she had to be able to get out, right? Apparently not while being gang-raped by the males who thought this new development of having the female's head trapped was not quite as sporting as chasing her around the pasture, but ultimately much more interesting. 

 

I won't include a photo of the males lined up behind her, punch cards in hooves, as this is after all a family-friendly website (not that I took one) (really). 

After a series of texts between me and Brett (remember, he's still on vacation putting up drywall with six of the kids. I'm convinced at this point he got the better deal this week), I finally found the wire cutters in his shop. Turns out the fence was too thick for mere wire cutters, so it was the bolt cutters I needed. Just a funny aside--the shop and the barn are about a mile away from each other. 

I finally cut enough for me to push her head out. For some reason she didn't want to back up, and I quickly figured out that having an 11 year old girl try to shoo the males away was not a wise thing, so I actually had to kick her face out of the fence. Boy, did she gallop away when she was finally free. I pushed a spool up to the new hole in the fence sideways (you may remember the Spool Incident  of a few weeks ago) so at least she couldn't get back *there* anymore. Of course I can understand her needing to get into the next field, as the poor thing only has about 50 acres of grass, bushes and trees to roam in. That must be where the saying "The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence" came from. Someone who owned livestock. 

Well they say it all builds character but I'm not sure about that. Does it mean good character? Because I feel myself turning into one of those elderly people who chase everyone away with their cane. 

I guess God knew I needed something sweet to remember that some of the prettiest creations of His are ones that I don't have to feed and water. We knew we had a swallow's nest on our porch light, and for a couple weeks have been hearing the babies cheep. The parents make a quick exit every time we open the door so we only get a glancing glimpse of them. But the babies are older now--in fact, it looks like three eggs hatched and then much later, another one. Hope the parents don't decide they need an empty nest all on the same day. 

 

Powder wanted just a taste...or maybe some fresh air...just for minute, please?

Someone asked me, when they found out that Brett was taking six of the children on the mission trip, what I was going to do with all my free time? I had been wondering about that a little, as my 11 year old girls are self-sufficient enough, plus they're going to 2 different VBS classes this week. 

Turns out my free time found me. We'll see if I get that nap later today, but it's not looking good for it. 

 

Post-partum Elation & Feeling Blue

Friday....

It seems that there can be an actual plan when allowing livestock to breed...keep them away from each other until winter, and then they give birth in the spring and summer, when it is warm and we don't have to worry about the babies freezing, or make sure everyone stays in a stall and has hay and water (that also doesn't freeze). It's so much easier this way. Of course the trick is to keep the boys and girls separated during the summer. Not to be too graphic but it's amazing what can occur between fences. 

So! we have babies on the farm, and it's not winter, and the children can go play with the babes whenever they want. 

First, the twins. I highly suspect they have different daddies, because the white one has blue eyes. And the other one looks a lot like most of the other dairy goat babies on our farm. 

The triplets, born to a mom that has only ever had triplets so that wasn't a surprise. She's a fainting goat that we acquired from A Peculiar Farm a few months ago.  

The babies look big to me, and they are only 2 days old here. Yeah, mom was enormous and the last few days before birth, she could barely walk. 

Oh and our kitties! We had one cat that escaped the mass spay/neuter we had done of all our barn cats. So who's the father? Must have been a wandering minstrel. There's four kittens, but they all kinda look the same. Anyone want one?

 

And now....the little things in life that bring me a great deal of joy. A bouquet of wildflowers picked by my dear Brett, from around our property. The "hay guy" will be here in a few days to mow everything down (it's a win-win, he bales all our hay and sells it, we get our acreage mowed and a nice check).  

 

An early Father's Day dinner, as poor daddy will be out of town on the actual Father's Day. In fact, he will literally not have a Father's Day at all, since he will be passing over the international date line and go straight from Saturday to Monday. So we celebrated early. What could be better than lobster bisque soup, crab cakes with herb butter, filets and dinner rolls and four kinds of cheesecake? Oh yeah, the fact that I didn't actually make any of it. The internet is a beautiful thing.  I did have to heat it all up though (puts back of hand to forehead in a wearisome manner).

The children ate outside :)

 

Earlier that day we'd gone blueberry-picking, as I'd warned about in a previous post. Gideon picked a whole 4 berries in the first 15 minutes. He was told to step it up a bit. But sometimes, the play's the thing, eh?

 We went with friends, and sweet little Naomi would get upset every time someone ate a berry (you know, just to test and see if they were good). She'd be near tears and say "Don't eat them, you don't know if they're paralyzed!"

 We finally figured out that she meant "fertilized" and had been warned not to eat berries that had recently been sprayed. We appreciated her concern for our health and well-being. Perhaps she'll be a doctor when she grows up. 

Susannah figured out that the best, most ripest berries were toward the bottoms of the bushes, where no adults wanted to bend down to get. So she got quite a harvest.

Mercy picked more than her share...

 

A very weary Gideon after a morning of berry-picking. He must have gotten 25 or so. Poor lad. 

 When we were done, we went to have the berries weighed and saw these signs. Josh said, "I think I violated every single rule."

Saturday....

The Driver's Edge training went quite well for Josh and Abigail today. Josh got a laugh when, after the initial instruction there was a Q & A. The officer asked "If an officer of the law pulls you over, what should you be?" Josh said "Sober."

The answer was supposed to be "Respectful." But sober's a good start. 

Josh used the intructor's vehicle. Abigail had to use her own modified car so it didn't have a coolio dashcam. Still, fun to watch Josh:

Ooo, found a couple pix of Abbi driving. This was when the storm started so she got some great practice in on the course. 

 

 

And to all a good night. 

If it weren't for the Children

...Brett and I would make really good parents. 

Laundry? Got it. Dishes?  Check. Shopping?  I can do that. 

We know what to do. We know how to do it. It's the daily execution of it all that seems to get in the way. Today I walked through the house and found there were several places where the children apparently had gone feral. I tried to remind myself that someday, they won't be here anymore and I can clean up once and for all. But with the advent of five (so far) grandchildren, is it wrong that I look forward to said grandbabies making the same messes? 

It really doesn't seem to me like we have  a large family, because I'm used to them all. But then, I see them through someone else's eyes, and I feel irresponsible, as if we've haphazardly collected this ragtag group without any forethought. And I see anew, how it must look to others. Here we are, with only 11 of the Original Fourteen:

On Sunday afternoon, we took our pastor and his wife out for lunch at a local buffet. A kinder couple you won't meet, and they remarked again what a blessing our armless girls (Abigail and Mercy) have been to others in the church.  

I never quite know how to respond to this and tend to answer with platitudes, but I do know that the girls would find such thinking amusing. They of course, know that it's not they who are disabled, but everyone else who is handicapped with the horrific Superfluous Arm Syndrome and has to deal with far too many limbs and to be honest, looks a little funny to them. Yet, they are tolerant of others and say nice things to those encumbered with four flailing limbs. 

Speaking of grandchildren, we recently returned from California. I took my girlies (and Judson) there and we tried to help with my new twin grandsons. I must say, that as many children as I have had/acquired, there is really nothing like two who are exactly the same age. My dear DIL Maggie has the twins on an amazing schedule, and the boys only wake up once at about 4 a.m. for a feeding. I slept in the nursery for most nights I was there and marveled at how easy they were to care for. During the night, that is. When daylight came, they needed baths, bottles, cereal, cuddling, swinging, changing and a host of other things. Good thing they are darn cute. Here's my step-grandson Joseph and the babes:

And here I am, with our son Taylor, daddy of the twins. He will most likely be deployed by August. 

And despite the swine flu epidemic fears, I took the girlies to Mexico. The shopping in Tijuana was dismal so we high-tailed it to Ensenada. Not only was the shopping abundant, but we also got hennas at a tattoo parlor. Mine was a heart with a banner that said "Brett." It only lasted a week but it fed my wild side :D

We ended the day at an open-air cafe. Judson, of course, ordered an American cheeseburger and fries.

It was on the menu, after all.

G'night, from Ensenada over the Pacific.

Romeo, Romeo, Wherefore art thou?

In lieu of celebrating St. Patrick's Day today, which we usually do for no particular reason other than we love a good party with oddly-colored food, we searched for our ancient golden retriever. Yesterday I was so sick, Brett felt sorry for me and fed the dogs and cleaned the kennels. I just wasn't up to the job of Poopsmith. 

So this morning, when I went out to commence the chore and saw that Romeo had not eaten his food from yesterday. I immediately knew something was wrong, in the same way that I knew something was wrong when I didn't feel like eating yesterday. Something must be very wrong. 

After a quick check of the woods out back of the kennel, it was time to dispatch the team. Brett took Josh out on the 'gator (small tractor-like thingie we tool around the property in). About an hour later, he called from his phone asking me to bring rope and a shovel, because Josh found Romeo. He'd been stuck for about 36 hours (the last time anyone remembered seeing him). Brett had been digging him out of mud for about a half hour at that point. 

We located both the shovel and some rope in the form of horse leads. I had to bring the little boys with me, because they couldn't stay in the house without supervision. Well they *could* but that would bring us a new set of troubles. 

It was a little scary getting over the big log to cross the ravine, but we persevered.

By the time I got the little boys over, the other boys had delivered the rope to Brett, and Romeo was this far out of the ditch:

Romeo is old, arthritic and fat. We tried to put him on a diet but it doesn't always work, as he usually finds the cat bowl, or some child feels sorry for him and selflessly sacrifices his cheese soufflé. So despite our best efforts, he still hovers at around 100 lbs. Make that 120, soaking wet and mud-caked. Because he was. 

In a push-me, pull-you type of event, Josh manned the upper marionette strings. It was definitely a two-man job. 

Finally! After several long minutes, his adoring minions were there with soothing pets and pats.

Poor old lad.

Josh took the camera back down into the gulley, and snapped the tracks from the coyotes that were most likely the reason Romeo was chased so far. 

Then he took a pic from down under at the boys holding up Romeo so he doesn't slide back down, while dad gets the 'gator. 

Then, since Romeo had spent the night (and previous day, no doubt) with his legs submerged in very cold water and mud, he couldn't walk. This is what they mean when they say "dead weight." 

Finally! Romeo is starting to enjoy the adventure. Maybe.

He was quite hungry after so long without anything except muddy water.

After a bit of food and a few minutes of warming up in the sun, he was up to walking short distances. Since he really needed to be bathed and we couldn't really bring ourselves to wash him with the freezing cold hose water, we brought him in through the patio door to our bedroom/bathroom. See the boxes? I hadn't noticed those until I saw the picture. A point off for not having unpacked all the way. But two points for actually having made the bed today. 

<sob> Not what I imagined my vintage reproduction tub being used for. 

An old dog, an old blanket, and a long nap. Just what the vet ordered.

That's about as far as St. Pat's Day will get here--the dog sleeping on a blanket that has green on it. 

"I Need a Towel"

Not the stuff of horror movies, you say?  If you're a parent and your 4 year old appears at your bedside circa 2:00 a.m. and utters the phrase, it is. No need to paint a further word picture here, or most definitely, include an actual one.

We've all been passing around a little sumpin'-sumpin' here, and whenever I dare say that I think it's on its way out, it returns in someone else. Slightly mutated, as if to keep me on my feet. 

Still, this too shall pass, probably in more ways than one if the towels are any indication. 

Add to that the frustration of our Information Superhighway being slow punctuated with slower times. Makes it very difficult to watch streaming episodes of The Office. Oh yes, I'm suffering.

Yesterday we did all feel well enough via the miracle of OTC meds to attend the Valentine Bowling activity with our local homeschool group. Most of my children have never been bowling. That was corrected yesterday. Gideon wields one for the team:

Isaiah has an unusual way of tossing:

Mercy Grace had a nice helper putting the ball in front of her so she could kick it. 

Susannah looks pensive.

Nate was never happy with his skillz:

Judson obtained quite a delivery over the afternoon:

Noah and Abbi did quite well:

Josh never does well enough to suit himself:

The generous treats brought by each family more than made up for any disappointments.

And I've been given an award for my blog! Imagine that. Thanks, Kim at Ruined Art!

Here are the rules:

1. Put the logo on your blog or post.

2. Nominate blogs which show great Attitude and/or Gratitude!

3. Link to your nominees within your post.

4. Let them know that they have received this award by commenting on their blog.

5. Share the love and link to this post and to the person from whom you received your award.

So many great blogs...so few awards. I nominate Jen at Knitters-Knitters, Amber at Welcome to Grouchland (check out the Valentine's post!), Linda at My So-Called Life, and Cara at C'est la Vie (love the handwritten blog!).

Thanks ladies, I don't read or update my own blog often enough, but yours never fail to bring a smile or a wistful thought. 

B.P.

British Petroleum. Blood Pressure. Banana Pancakes. Baseball Prospectus. 

Would you believe, Back Porch?

Here, it's one of our cat's names. Most of our cats don't get named, since they hang out in the barn. Some go live at other farms, sometimes we notice someone here we haven't seen before. Mostly, we seem to keep the same ones though. 

After we moved, this particular cat refused to stay up at the barn. He'd hang out on our Back Porch, and any attempt to move him back to the barn would see him trudging back down the drive after an hour or two, usually with a fresh scratch from another cat, and sitting patiently on our back porch. It could be because I fed him canned food on especially cold mornings. I felt sorry for him, all exposed to the harsh elements and not in a warm hay loft. 

I think I figured out why he doesn't play well with others. I noticed the other day that he is..."intact" and had somehow escaped the "2008 Mass Barn Cat Sterilization" when we took all the cats in to be fixed. Or unfixed, if you look at it from a cat's point of view. 

So either the other cats are jealous, or don't want to be bothered in "that way."

I take back what I said about not naming the barn cats. They have to be named so the vet can put them in her database. What usually happens is an on-the-spot naming, and we end up with "Orange Fluffy Barn Cat" and "Ink-Blot Barn Cat" or perhaps, "Surly Jane." 

Since they all get annual shots about the same time, I don't see that it matters much. And for a barn cat, it's probably as good as it gets.

The vet chided us a bit last time, as it seems our barn cats have a BMI that is unacceptable. I know the feeling. 

I'd put them on a diet, but they act so hungry every time we go to the barn (three times a day). So they eat well, but it has detrimental side effects. Mostly, the mice can scurry across the floor undisturbed on their way to eat up the grain. We're probably the only people who actually have to set mouse traps in a barn full of cats.