Creativity

Today, Calvin violated the zero-tolerance-for-pushing-on-the-trampoline policy. Oddly, I think I've only seen him push twice on the trampoline. The first was when he and Reed were fighting over something, which inspired me to draft the policy and deliver it in the sternest way possible. The second was within 30 seconds of the policy's passage. That boy just lives to push the limits.  I enacted swift justice. He begged to be let back on. When he realized I wasn't giving in, he said, "Fine! Then you can't jump on my trampoline that I'm gonna make that's gonna be cooler than yours!" I was in a snarky mood, so I said, "Darn. Well.... Good luck with that," rolled my eyes, and laughed with big brother. Not my most mature parenting moment, but sue me. I think the mockery inspired him, because he gave a silly giggle, then got to work constructing the way-better hops. Several carefully-selected sticks later, he was ready to jump. He sprinkled a little grass on the stick circle he'd driven into the ground (I think the grass was for his way-cool jumping surface, but I'm not sure) and took a "Hiiiiya!" leap, immediately cracking all his sticks. He thought it was pretty hilarious and went off to recreate the tramp with a fresh batch of sticks. A better mother would have stopped him because, after all, it's all fun and games until someone gets a stick shoved into their tenders, but I chose to err on the side of keeping him happy. And developing his creativity. That is definitely one of his gifts. Among things he's created:

Recipes:
- PBJ with apple slices 
- strawberries on toast with honey
- banana dipped in peanut butter, mixed with jelly, syrup, and honey (another result of lazy parenting, "Yes, you can have a snack, but only if you make it yourself.")

Outfits:
- Tight monkey pajama pants, no shirt, John Deere boots
- Silky Halloween pirate costume shirt (inside out and backwards), black athletic shorts, black socks
- Optimus Prime Halloween costume under regular clothes (in case anyone needed rescuing while he was at day care)
- Max's "I leaked my diaper" jeans as "I peed the cot" replacement pants - skinny capris on Cal
- Mud boots and undies for working in the garden
- Pants on arms, undies on head, shirt on legs, "bidness" on display (yet another bed-time stalling tactic)

Excuses:
- "I didn't say it. Chocolatey did." (Chocolatey is his stuffed dog)
- "But I'm a dinosaur and dinosaurs don't listen."
- "I heard what you said, but you talked too much and you made me forget!"

Games and toys:

- Roller coaster: tie large baskets/boxes together with jump ropes, tie pogo-ball or baby brother's scooter to front and attempt to pull brothers around house

- Freeze ball tag

- Grape-stem dragons (we actually had to save stems for future play sessions, the boys were so attached to them!)

That boy's gonna be famous some day. Just hope it's for some really cool innovative something and not for committing the perfect crime. Or being that kid who suffered that freak stick injury. Or putting his mom in the insane asylum.

Adventure

The other day, I took the boys on a walk. They wore mud boots and shorts – their typical walk fashion. Max rode in the double stroller alone and Reed rode his bike to the bottom of a hill, then parked it until we got back. That took all of 7 pedals. Either way we walk we face a huge hill. It’s great for the exercise factor, which is a good thing, because our walks are not what I would call vigorous, what with all the stopping for every interesting rock, possible wildlife sighting, weapon-shaped sticks, and puddles containing 5 or more milliliters of water.

Anyway, we were on the way home and walking along at a pretty steady pace. Apparently, the rocks and puddles had already been conquered along that leg of the journey. Suddenly, Calvin yelled, “Mommy! Snake!” I immediately looked down and could barely see a copperhead. I could barely see it, because it was under my stroller, right by the front wheel. I backed up quickly, pushed everybody far away, and did what any good country Mama would do. I called the dog back to us and started talking about snakes and markings and venom, and why he was coiled up and ready to strike at the moment. Now, you may be wondering why I wasn’t freaking out like the big spaz that I usually am. It’s because life on our little patchwork farm has given me experiences I never DREAMED I’d have. Things like this:

-          Nightly tick checks (with frequent discoveries and extractions)

-          A possum in the shed in the dog food bin

-          Ryan shooting a possum on the porch for getting in the cat food

-          Ryan shooting four water snakes by our pond (don’t tell the conservation agents…)

-          Ryan shooting TWO skunks who came to “court” the female skunk that was residing under our house for about a month

-          Dragging skunk carcass out of the yard after our curious coonhound puppy discovered it

-          Chickens ignoring the roost we provided and instead taking up residence in our storage shelves under the porch.

-          Milking goats by hand  

-          Chasing goats out of shed and off of lawn mowers  

-          Holding goats steady while Ryan treats for “hoof rot”

-          Washing (and snipping) dried-up poop out of baby goat’s fur IN MY KITCHEN SINK!

-          Blow drying newly-named kid, Dingleberry, so he wouldn’t freeze after his shampooing.

-          Ryan and the boys playing fun games of kill-the-wood-bees-with-shovels-in-midair

-          Holding deer legs steady while Ryan cuts through the bone with a hack saw (mightta spazzed a little on that one, but COME ON!)

So, you can see how a venomous snake in the middle of the road, but safely away from my boys wouldn’t really be that big of a deal. Until our previously-mentioned curious coonhound puppy began to take interest in it. Shaky doesn’t listen like our Labrador. Despite my firm commands and the boys desperate screams, she wouldn’t “Come!” or “Stop!” or “Get away from the venomous snake, Shaky!” Too bad I couldn’t continue our Venomous Snakes 101 lecture. They could have learned the difference between coiling like you might strike, raising up ready to attack, and actually lashing out at dangerous predators. We saw it all. We also saw Shaky back off in fear and took that as our cue to run – encouraging her to follow suit.

The next day, the boys would excitedly tell the tale of how “Calvin saved Mommy and Max’s life!” and how “Shaky almost got bit by a venomous snake!” but not even a week later, the tale was forgotten. Just another day on the farm…

Let the Hunt Begin

Be still, my beating heart. I just watched my two bigs walk down the road with their handsome daddy and their coonhound pup, Shaky. Sporting mud boots, they skipped down the road shouting about the moon and the stars and the spaceship that Calvin "sighted," blue and green glow-stick/flashlight bouncing around excitedly.

This is so poignant for so many reasons. My boys have an amazing Daddy. They're old enough to be hunting. We live out in this gorgeous place where they can just walk out the door and into the woods. But most of all, my husband is finally realizing a dream.

Ryan has been an avid coonhunter since his own grandpa took him at age five. He always pictured taking his own kids out to the woods like Grandpa Calvin did for him so many times. But, since having kids, he's slowly backed away from a hobby that used to consume him - and take him out on average five nights a week. I can't remember the last time he hunted. We used to have anywhere from five to 15 hounds. Until recently, we had one.

When an old hunting buddy called him, wanting to make good on money he owed Ryan from a way-back deal by giving him a pup, Ryan agreed and decided that this pup would be the boys'. I'll admit, I have mixed emotions about the dog. She's beautiful and the boys love her. But part of her "training" is letting her run loose until she's past the pup stage so Shaky has free reign of our yard.  She's super-affectionate, which is sweet if you're a loving boy. Not so sweet if you're a baby just learning to walk outside in shoes. Or a mom running late for work and wearing white pants. Or enjoying some "me" time by soaking up some rays in the backyard. She likes to get into the van with the boys. And into the old hardware-store bins that are a catch-all on our front porch. And the kitty food bowl, which we hide on top of the grill, but she still noses down. And the neighbor's field, where she found a dead skunk carcass to deliver to our porch. But her most annoying habit is stealing stuff we leave lying around. She runs off with toys, sippy cups, scrap buckets, ball gloves, garden tools, socks, and, especially, shoes. She will wait for the boys to get on the trampoline and then come over and sniff out shoes. No matter how high they hang them in the nearby plum tree, she finds a way to nudge them down. She even removed Max's shoe while he giggled in his stroller. She immediately runs with her finds, usually to chew on them a short distance away. She eventually stashes them back by our other dog houses. I can't count the number of times we've chased her town (or Calvin has sneak-attacked her) or had to raid her hoard for a missing shoe. But she's almost grown now which means it'll soon be time to tie her up AND it's time for her to start hitting the woods.

Ryan hunted the camera down 10 minutes before it was time to leave. This is significant for two reasons: 1) Ryan doesn't do anything until it has to be done, and 2) Ryan doesn't take pictures. But he wanted a picture of him, his boys, and their dog. I think he thought this might be the picture we look back on years from now as the night that "started it all." I hope he's right...

Perfect Day



My "twins" with the triplets



Today felt like summer! Not just weather-wise, but lifestyle-wise too. The boys ALL slept in--and by slept in, I mean 7:15.  There was a day long, long ago when I would have referred to anything before 8 as the butt-crack of dawn. Now, I feel like a lazy teenager when I get to roll out of bed any time after 7. They only ate one breakfast (as opposed to the usual 3-5 morning snacks the little hobbits beg for). Max extended his mommy leash a few more feet than normal. We had a relaxing, fun, productive morning - finished a dragon book the boys and I have been reading, got a jump-start on laundry, then off to church. Agreed to take over a  Sunday school class starting next week (yikes!) Then came home to a low-key lunch and simultaneous nappage. While the boys slept (and by "slept" I mean rolled around making battle sounds with stuffed animals for an hour, but whatevs) I laid out in my swimsuit and graded papers. Triple threat, right there: 1) alone time, 2) getting something done, 3) fighting albinism. The rest of the afternoon included working in the garden/yard, the boys playing with our new triplets (be still, my beating heart!),

haircuts for all, another low-key meal, and everyone showered, jammied, and teeth brushed with no incidents! We watched Frozen Planet on TV as a before-bed treat, and now I sit here with my baby, relaxed, slightly sunburned, and with EVERY PIECE OF LAUNDRY IN OUR HOUSE CLEAN, DRIED, FOLDED, AND PUT AWAY! I shoulda just started with that little tidbit, huh? It only happens once every 75 years, but today is the day! Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!

New Toy

The bigs have found a fun, new, interactive toy. It's called a Max. They’ve played hide and seek with him for over an hour now. They’ve knocked half the clothes off the hanger in my closet and spread blankets all over the house. And yes, they may have drug Max around the house a bit. And tried to put him in the hamper. And then they may have swept him off his feet more than once trying to help him in a baby kickboxing match.  But hey -  it’s great sibling bonding time. And it’ll toughen the little guy up. But mostly, it’s all fun and games when the baby isn’t Velcroed to your leg.  

I’m hoping today is a start of a whole new Max. He has been so happy and so not all up in my bidness! Even when his bubbies were outside on the trampoline, he wandered around the house happily creating havoc. He’s usually a total Mama’s boy. His favorite place to hang out is my left calf. He’ll be happily playing one minute, then see me walk across the room and suddenly be rendered a blubbering codependent, alternately crying and saying, “Buh! Buh! Buh!” which could be “bite,” but in this situation means, “up,” I’ve learned. I’ve gotta admit, there’s been quite a few things that Max has gotten away with, simply because he wasn’t being a barnacle. Among them:

-          Taking all the books off the shelves

-          Filing various objects in random locations (deodorant under the microwave, sippy cup in the dog scrap bucket, spit-out grape skins in the mixing bowls, toys in the bathroom drawers, etc.)

-          Splashing in the toilet

-          Tearing up the boys’ masterpieces

-          Raiding the beer can collection from under our stroller (no, I don’t drink and stroll—apparently we live on a drinking road, so we pick cans up on our walks)

-          “Helping” with the dirty laundry

-          “Helping” grade papers

-          Trying to dial out on one of our cell phones

-          Eating who-knows-how-old scraps from under the table

-          Blowing into and licking the vacuum tubes and attachments

I won’t differentiate between the ones that I didn’t notice because I was sneaking around trying to not to let him see me and the ones I knew full well he was doing, but did nothing about because it bought me a few moments alone. Let your imagination run wild…