Home Alone

So this summer, both kids will be home, at least part time. L will go to daycare on the days they go swimming, and he has football camp and band lessons…

But today there was nothing. Just the two of them, the dogs, cats and a list of chores. One was to clean the back porch, which involves sweeping it and neatening up the boots/shoes out there.

Remember last year, when I got the frantic call from M that Bub’s head was stuck in the jar?

Well, I had a dentist appointment this morning, and called B in advance to tell him to be listening for the kids to call—if they called my phone I would not be able to answer, being in the dentist chair and all. They know to call him if they need something and can’t get ahold of me.

Sure enough, the phone vibrated three times while I was in the chair, and I was wondering what crisis could possibly have occurred that would warrant three calls in less than 30 minutes—that B couldn’t handle! Immediately I checked the multitude of voicemails left for me, to find out that there was a snake in the house! Come to find out, it was only on the back porch, which is technically not in the house. But it had slithered down to the basement to hunt for mice. I hope it ate its fill and slithered back out again. M said it was about 3 feet long.

L did not have to clean the back porch, he got out of that chore for the week.

I have won the award twice now for the best reasons to pack up and go home early;

1. My cat’s head is stuck in a peanut butter jar
2. There is a snake in my house and it’s holding my children hostage.

What next?

Autism Speaks

Click Here to see an amazing movie about autism. It will open your eyes to the lives of those who care for children with disabilities. I am so lucky, M is mostly self-sufficient.

When one has a child, that naturally comes with hopes, dreams and expectations. Whether it will happen or not, we dream about that baby girl's walk down the aisle on her wedding day, dressing her for prom, cheering her on before her first job interview. We think about our little boy's sports, band concerts, what will he be when he grows up?

When one has a child with a disability, those dreams are replaced by hopes that he or she will walk, talk or feed themselves. We read others' Christmas letters and hear all about how Johnny is captain of the football team. We consider that they might not understand our excitement for our child's final ability to control their bladder at age 12, or reaching the bare minimum of grade level performance on a standardized test, or even going to Target without a meltdown. For us, those are causes to celebrate.

It's good that we don't take those things for granted. Nobody should, really. But they do. And because our situation is not the norm, it is such an incredible struggle. As parents and people, we have dreams for OUR lives as well as our children's lives. Yes, we want them to succeed, and we'll be there to do whatever it takes to help them succeed, but for some parents it means abandoning their own dreams and desires. That's NOT what we "signed up for" when we became parents. Or at least that's not what we thought we signed up for.

Yes, we signed up for whatever it demands. But who rubs their very pregnant tummy and thinks about the possiblity that their baby will be developmentally delayed and will require constant supervision, requiring them to choose between working and staying home permanently to care for their child? Who considers the birth of their baby to be the end of their own lives as they know it? Yes, we put our immediate dreams on hold, and yes our kids come first. But what if your life is never yours again? What if your sole purpose in life is to be your child's caregiver? Not just a cheerleader, a guide, an encourager, a teacher-- a diaper-changer for life, a seeing-eye dog, sleeping with one eye open because your child can unlock doors and run away in the night.

If that's the case, you grieve. You grieve for the child you were supposed to have. You grieve for the life you were supposed to have. You have to. If you don't, you aren't human. Your grief has to propel you into doing superhuman things, but if you don't ever stop to say, "THIS SUCKS AND IT'S NOT FAIR" then you are not only doing yourself a disservice, but doing your child the same.

There's no answer. There's not a judgment. It is what it is. This little video will give you a glimpse of what life looks like when it's not your own.

Spring!

Click on the photo to watch a slideshow of my photos. They're good! (Nothing like a strategically place zinnia... sorry B!)

My To-Do Hell

This weekend’s to-do list:

Finish the goat pens
Rototill the garden
Set plants in the garden
Landscape a small piece of ground around the Terre d’Esprit sign
Purchase various plants for planters and areas around our steps and the sign
Plant above plants
Fix the engine on our rototiller
Clean the house
Do the laundry
Make treats for church on Sunday
Shave Rocky (he sheds so badly in the summer)
Build a chute for Joe Llama
Put Joe Llama in the chute and shear him
Finish a newsletter I am working on for an organization to which I belong
Send my friend her baby gift (the baby will practically be driving by the time he receives his gift—which I have, I just haven’t sent.

I crossed out those items which are done, and the ones that

What a weekend it’s been. We got up at 0-dark-thirty yesterday morning and worked all day long. It was one of those days, however…

We have a rototiller that we got for free. It wasn’t working, and while I know NOTHING about small engine repair—let me rephrase that: while I KNEW nothing about small engine repair, I decided that it was worth a try. And it may well be worth my try.

I thought perhaps the gas line might be clogged. So I removed the gas tank and cleared the line with B’s handy air compressor. It did start up, but didn’t stay running. After several unsuccessful attempts at adjusting the carburetor, I had two thoughts:

1. we are wasting time fixing this Barbie-sized rototiller and we should just rent one, since I have an approximately 10 x 20’ garden plot planned, and this will take 2 weeks to till
2. maybe the rototiller needs a spark plug, and we could get it running with a spark plug

So B went to the TrueValu and rented a rototiller and bought a spark plug. The rototiller was half as big as my car—and good thing, too, since I had never done this before. And the little one would have been as effective as me out there with a garden trowel trying to dig up the 100 year old established grass carpet.

As it was, rotilling out there really made me closer to God. You know, as in, I WAS SCREAMING HIS NAME!!! If you have never had the experience of rototilling, I would NOT recommend it. Well, I would recommend it if you would like to find out how weak you are by being dragged around by a machine that has a mind of its own. Then the next day you are reminded how weak you are by how your muscles are moaning. I have slathered my entire back and arms in BenGay for the past two evenings, and I am still in screaming pain. People, you will be taking Advil for a week if you try this at home.

Am I painting the picture here of a pleasant experience? It was hellish, let me tell you!!

As I was doing it, I asked L to bring me several loads of compost from the manure pile (the manure we brought out when we first moved in is beautiful black dirt now!). He complained with every load. You would have thought I had tied him to the tiller and dragged him around. It was really endearing, since I was living my own personal hell trying to command the stupid rototiller. But we got it done.

B is one of those men who does not have a problem with women being independent. If I have a crazy idea, he is usually supportive, and he lets me do it myself. He doesn’t usually try and step in to help if I struggle, since he knows that I think it’s important for me to do my own thing. I see some men that can’t stand for the women they love to struggle, so they will “rescue” them every time. And I seriously do appreciate that about B. I think some men try to be chivalrous, but he respects me and lets me do my own thing. But Saturday, he asked me if I wanted him to do it. And I practically begged him to. He finished off the last pass while I went to whimper in private while ensuring my arms were still connected to my body (since they felt like they had been ripped off).

Let me rephrase this, if I haven’t been clear. This rototilling process, it kicked my butt.

We finished tilling the garden, but the day was young! We went down to Winterset and bought some lunch, took the tiller back, and spent too much money on plants and seeds for this new garden.

We came back home and B went into the barn to work on Ernie’s pen. I was still struggling with my limbs, but L and I tore out some grass to make way for some flowers around the Terre d’Esprit sign. It’s a really steep slope there, and it’s terrifying to drive the lawnmower down such a steep incline. So we decided to plant flowers around it. We put roundup on the foliage that was there, and tore out a section of grass and put landscaping bricks in. There is also a large hole on the other side of the driveway where it appears a tree stump had been removed, and last time I mowed I got the mower stuck in it. So we filled it with good compost and lily bulbs. I also bought a cool Zinnia and planted it in a planter for the new table on my front porch. It goes with the new patio set we bought.

But wait, there’s more! We came in after the animal chores, about 7:00, and enjoyed the sunset on the front porch. B went to the store, where he proceeded to purchase all of the ingredients for me to make snacks for Sunday’s church service. We are in charge of treats every Sunday this month. So I made brownies, lemon bars and cherry cheesecake bites. We didn’t get to bed until about 12:30 (B was stargazing while I was baking), and got up bright and early for church.

I figured that since I had been doing a lot of calling upon God’s name on Saturday, that we really didn’t need to go to church Sunday. But we had to bring the treats. After service we had a road cleanup. I was actually thankful that I was able to stay behind and clean up the dishes from the morning snack/coffee, but B and the kids decided to go on the 2-mile walk.

We came home and went back into the barn, where we got busy on Ernie’s pen. I will have to take pictures when the pens are done—B has crafted them like a master. He plans the construction so carefully—trying to anticipate where any weak spots may be, or how the animal could get out or get hurt. He also tries to anticipate how our use for them might change, in case we might need to add more pens, make them smaller or larger, etc. He uses bolts and screws that can be removed or moved if necessary.

We stopped and took a supper break, but worked on the pens until 10:30 pm, and then went to bed. Needless to say, I am exhausted, and I am cursing that noon meeting I have today, since it will be next to impossible to stay awake…

No rest for the weary, though. Today I will stop on my way home and pick up another board that we will need to finish the job. Hopefully we can get the pens done this week.

Because…

Next weekend we are visiting two goat farms in Iowa, with the intent to add to our herd! We will then have plenty of room to allow for our new additions.

I will post photos I took this weekend…

Disgusted with myself. :(

I really, really, really did something dumb. Something that eats away at my gut every time I think about it-- which is often today.

I missed the deadline for filing the papers for L to show Cindi at the fair. : (

Just typing it makes me want to burst into tears.

I have no real good excuse. Lots of reasons-- we have been so sick on and off lately, I went down to the extension office and actually picked up the form the week before last, and dug out all of the registration paperwork to fill it out. It was ready to go. But then last week I had my meeting, so I was out of town. And I announced to the entire house that I would be making it a priority to take it down in person yesterday. (My announcement was in hopes that nobody would let me forget.)

M got sick yesterday-- the school nurse called and said she was vomiting in class, in the nurse's office, pretty much any and everywhere. So I left work in a hurry, and early, to pick her up and kept her comfortable all afternoon. And, as I felt like I might be coming down with it, I slept.

And slept through the deadline of 5:00 pm.

I am just so gutted over it. I have let L and Cindi down.

B took it down this morning, just in case. Not a chance-- a big sign on the door noting that there will be no exceptions, and they were all due yesterday. I can't blame them, I deal with that all the time in my work. But it is still so, so sad for us.

Ugh, I just feel so terrible.

Iowa

I am not an Iowa native. But after living in England for 3 years, I didn’t think that coming to Iowa would be that much of a culture shock.

And it really wasn’t.

Iowa is a great place, and nothing that I am saying here is really disparaging the great state, it’s just pointing out the differences.

And there are some differences.

They say things differently in Iowa. Like there is a town called Madrid. No, NOT like Madrid, Spain. Madrid, Spain is pronounced kind of like Muh-DRID. No, in Iowa it’s like MA-drid. Kind of rhymes with “rabid.” And there is a town called Laurens. I would say it like the possessive of a girl—that’s Lauren’s book. NO, not in Iowa! You say it like Luh-RENZ. And the town of Peru? It’s PEE-roo. What’s up with that?

There is also the May day thing. Do you celebrate May day? Here you make a basket for your friends, and secretly leave it for them. We have made them for the neighbors and leave them hanging on their mailboxes or their doorknobs.

Beggar’s Night is also a local tradition. They don’t have Halloween or trick-or-treating (well, they DO, but they don’t call it that). Here kids go from door to door, dressed up in costumes, around Halloween time, but they have to tell a joke. If the joke is worthy of candy, then they get the loot. So while you ensure your kid is all decked out and in costume before he goes out, you also ensure that your kid has his joke ready.

Do you know what a kaibo is? It’s a port-a-potty. Um yeah, took me a while to figure that one out. Our realtor mentioned something about a kaibo at our construction site. I was thinking, “I don’t remember discussing that upgrade with the builder! I hope it’s included.” I had no idea it wasn’t some sort of lighting package or fancy insulation… Some people also call it a Bob, but I don’t know if it’s an Iowa thing or not. Kaibo is definitely Iowa.

There is also the typical vocabulary of the Midwest, but to me that is not unique to Iowa. I grew up saying groceries go in a sack or you drink pop, etc.

But we sure never peed in a kaibo.

Reflecting

I’ve been quite reflective lately. April 22 was the 2nd anniversary of our move to Terre d’Esprit, and I have been thinking a lot about how we have changed. I mentioned that to Eileen yesterday, and she asked me how I felt that I have changed. I gushed for nearly the entire hour.

Remember the mouse post? The one where I found mouse poo in my kitchen drawers? And I freaked out? Now, mind you, I still don’t have much in my kitchen drawers (and what is in there is either washed first before using, or contained in mouseproof containers), but I feel like people have lived in that house for 85 years, and for probably over 80 of those years have been shared with generations of mice. I am relatively certain that nobody’s obituary has listed anything to do with mice as the cause of death.

I have always loved horses, and as a child I dreamt about having my own. Never did I think that I would be running a veritable breeding operation of livestock of any sort. Major and Lady have been busy lately, and hopefully this will be the first and last heat cycle this summer. The past few days Major has not come when I called him for his “dinner” and to come in for the evening, so I have had to go take the lead rope down to the bottom of the pasture and get him. I led Lady first, figuring that he would follow. I hadn’t counted on the fact that having him follow her puts in him in a very opportunistic position, no pun intended. I had to avoid being stampeded the past two evenings as they came into the barn. Let me tell you, it’s a little uncomfortable being around 2200 collective pounds of horny horseflesh. As I said, I hope the job gets done. But never, never did I mention myself on the other end of a leadrope while a mare was getting bred.

While I would never have considered myself superficial, I think that I have been just as interested in fashion and trends as the next person. I still admit to scanning the front covers of the tabloids as I stand in line at the supermarket checkout. I do watch “What Not to Wear” (and vigilantly check for hidden cameras when I go out to the barn in the morning). In the past I have been enticed by the cool toys the neighbors have had. Now, however, I take most of my pleasure from simple things. I have never been interested in, or any good at, photography. I can’t believe that it is me taking some of the pictures that I have taken at Terre d’Esprit. Truthfully, I just look through the lens and the photo takes itself. Nature yells and I just turn my head and snap the camera. It really isn’t my doing. What IS my doing, however, is the listening. I am not a good listener, and I think I have really turned into an excellent listener in the past couple of years. We look at the stars, we hang out in the hammock. And I wear clothes that don’t match out to the barn. I wear yellow rubber boots that look ridiculous with most things. And flannel, plaid jackets. And I don’t care.

Things are much more simpler, and I am finally starting to follow suit. I think we’ve used our good china once in the past couple of years. And you know, that is fine. I love it, and I keep it for good (which I said I’d never do), but it does convey a sense of complication, of pomp and circumstance, fussiness and frilliness. I don’t have an issue with that—and have loved that in the past—but I am seeking something simpler. Our meals are uncomplicated—things like cheese soup and pasta, lots of grilled food. Our everyday dishes are plain white—perfect for the job.

It’s not that I don’t like the fuss, or the complication, or the effort of those things. On the contrary—I love to cook a gourmet meal. I love to get dressed up and go out. I love a clean house, and to have all of the laundry/dishes/cleaning done. But I used to try to do that every day. So if you came over and “caught” me off guard, you might find me cooking a gourmet meal. Or you would catch me with a spotless house. Or you would never see me with messy hair or in my pajamas.

Now, if you come over, you’ll likely catch me in my pajamas, or sweatpants, or some other unmatching outfit. If you come over for dinner, you might get stuck helping cook it. And it likely won’t be gourmet. And we’ll serve it on the white dishes. You’ll have to overlook the mass of veterinary supplies that are stored in a bin on my hoosier. You’ll have to avert your eyes at my full laundry basket in the mud room, or the baskets of clean clothes stored in my bedroom. Or the smelly barn shoes on the back porch. And you’ll definitely have to look away from the dust that has settled on my furniture. Or, you could always write me a sweet message in it!

But I am so much less complicated myself. I can’t believe how liberating it is. No pretense, much easier to enjoy the moment when it’s not tainted with expectation.

It’s peaceful—truly full of peace.

What is it about gravel roads?

People do weird things on gravel roads.

I am sitting here in the relative dark, watching out my window. Of course, we notice every car that passes, and a farm implement’s passing is cause for running to the window to see who is out and about today. If we’re really lucky, they’ll stop and say hello.

I am watching a car stopped in the middle of the road. It backed up, and then stopped. Someone got out (using the binoculars, I was able to discern that it was a woman). She went onto the roadside for something—Mushrooms? Marijuana? Lost diamond ring? Needle in a haystack?

We’ve had people drive by slowly to take photos. The llama in the paddock is also cause for gaping. I know that as summer gets closer, there will be more tourists, since we are near one of “The Bridges.” (That movie is getting older and older, though, and soon it will be forgotten!)

It just seems like folks do things on gravel roads that they wouldn’t do on a paved road.

Business is Booming!

And we don't even have a product yet.

Okay, it's not booming, but B has had some inquiries at work about buying market kids. He wears his "Wear d'Esprit" to work, so a lot of people know he has meat goats.

Now I don't know whether to hope for girl or boy kids next spring. Oh wait, I guess I'm putting the cart before the goat-- we need to get some DOES around here to breed Wolfie to! I never do anything in the right order.

We have been busy in the barn this weekend. B is working on a new pen for Ernie, and has constructed a beautiful pen for Wolfie. He is also going to put in a third pen, which we will use for a future goat, or for now, an extra pen. It will be so nice to have more space.

I will take pictures when it's done!

Other than that, it's just business as usual. These days it's all about sex and poop. Major and his new Lady are honeymooning and enjoying themselves, and everyone else is making a lot of poop for me to clean. ; )

All’s well here at the equine honeymoon hotel!

Yesterday M came to take Don Pecos and bring a mare for Major to breed. I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, Major is a stud, and he hasn’t bred any mares for over a year, so what’s the point in keeping him intact? He’d be much happier a gelding if he was not used for breeding. On the other hand, he is difficult to deal with when mares are around. He and Pecos did well together, being just two blokes, and he was so much kinder. He didn’t bite, and he was very agreeable. He would do his dozing in the cross ties as we doted over his mane, tail and coat. It was fun to be with him.

So yesterday Lady arrived, and apparently she is a problem breeder, so we plan to keep her around for a couple of months to ensure that she settles. M didn’t even know if/when she was in estrus. Well, I can tell you that she is definitely in estrus. What luck to bring her at that time. Major is acting very stud-like, and covered her yesterday when they were hardly even out of the barn. He covered her at least three times yesterday, and when I let them out this morning, another two times before they even got down to the bottom of the pasture to eat grass.

The poor guy hasn’t had any for a year, so I guess that’s understandable.

We’ll see how long the bliss continues. With any luck she’ll settle on the first estrus, and we’ll have fewer hormones around this place.