Oh, My Darlin'

I so love having such a great photographer for a friend! Leah came over to meet the new addition and took some beautiful pictures of her. The baby (I'm calling her Clementine for the time being) is all kinds of frisky today - very cute. She was literally running circles around Sunday (her proud Mother). Every second or third lap she would skid out and fall over, then pop right back up. I even saw a couple of little bucks.

She reminds me of a ballerina on point in this picture. Look at those legs!

What incredible changes one day makes. Isn't she gorgeous?

P.S. Check out some of Leah's work here.

It's a GIRL!!!

Wow, have I ever been waiting a long time to say those words! And, no, I didn't sneak another pregnancy in under your noses. One of the ranch mares was pregnant. She's a gorgeous horse anyway but pregnancy suited her well.

We've been watching her like a hawk over the last week as all of the signs of foaling started. There wasn't a whole lot of sleeping going on - at least on my part. I didn't want to miss the birth. My vigilance paid off. She finally had a beautiful little buckskin filly last night. And she had her early enough (10:30-ish) that the boys got to watch the whole thing! Grey (of course) was ecstatic to see exactly how a horse is born and immediately followed his comment on the subject with "Now, I just need to know how a human is born . . . exactly". Tough luck kid. Still not ready to give 'the talk' to a first-grader. I think the horse birth probably answered a few questions on its own though.

Almost All Out

Scooting Away from Mama

Finally up - after much encouragement and a couple of face-plants

Figuring out the whole milk thing

I can't believe we were lucky enough to see the birth. It was incredible. As the baby was working on getting up for the first time she let out her first whinny and ALL of the other horses answered her in unison. It was so sweet. They had been trying to get a look at the excitement the whole time - craning their necks around the corner of the barn and over fences. Now both Sunday (the Mama) and her baby are doing well. Maybe we can get a little spring-like weather again so the little one can venture out of the barn without Sunday herding her back in - and the paddock and pasture can dry out enough that we can go out without big muck boots!

How much Are YOU Worth?

  So, I was doling out allowance money for the first time today. - sidebar: feeling somewhat guilty and somewhat lucky that my little slaves haven't been paid before now, but the natives are restless. They are just short of picketing in front of the house, or worse yet, the bathroom. What's a girl to do? I don't want to lose their services to some house up the street. Also, we just had a budgeting lesson with them and I could see their eyes start to glaze over as I was talking. I knew at that point they were hearing "blah, blah, blah, money, blah, blah, blah". As soon as I uttered the word 'allowance' their little faces lit up. There was a period with an uncontrollable amount of jumping , chattering and girlish giggles. I had them at hello - or 'your money', as it were.

  Hmm, where was I? Oh yes, the boys first allowance. Soooo, Grey took his fist full of cold hard cash and fiendishly cried, "All this and the money from Riley for being her friend! I'm rich!" (insert sinister laughter here). Um, 'rrreeeecccchhh' (that's the sound of the needle screeching across the record as the whole room - or just me, in this case - turns to look at Grey). "Sorry, what?" I say. "Oh, yeah, Riley gave me ten cents to be her friend," he answers, like it's completely normal for other children to pay him for his friendship.

Me - "You're charging kids to be friends with you?"
Mr. Innocent -  "She wanted to give me money, Mom." (Yeah, 'duh, Mom')
Me - "You were already her friend anyway, weren't you?"
M. I. - "Yeah."
Me - " Did you tell her she had to pay you to be your friend?"
M.I. - "Not really."
Me - "Not really?  What does that mean?"
M. I. - "Just not really."

 I still don't get it. How exactly did that conversation go? "I'll let you swing next to me for fifty cents. You don't have fifty? How much do you have? Ten? Okay , ten'll buy you a walk back in from recess - but no talking." Does she think she got her money's worth? Does he feel cheap? One way or another I told him he has to give the sweet little girl (who is as cute as they come, by the way - Grey should be paying her!) her money back. I mean, kudos for getting a little money for nothing, but it feels a bit like he's pimping himself out. Either that, or he's a natural-born entrepreneur.

Sweet nothings

So, I have this cycle with my hair; (not that I am at all unique in this - I'm just saying . . .) I spend a year or two growing it out so it's nice and long. I buy a gazillion clips, headbands, and elastics. I obsess about color and just how long I want to get it. About the time it hits an inch or two below my shoulders I start to get really bugged by it and I rarely wear it down for more than an hour or two before I lash it back off my face. Somewhere in the cycle I (traditionally) get pregnant, so my hair gets thicker and grows even faster. Then I have a baby and the hair is not only more annoying because it's in my way, but what isn't falling out (such a lovely hormonal side-effect) is being yanked out as the baby climbs his way to my face 'Rapunzel-Rapunzel-let-down-your-hair-style. I start sneaking out the scissors and making ill-advised chops at my hair when Tyler isn't looking. Let's face it, if I hated my hair before I started the self-mutilation, there may not be a strong enough word to describe how I feel about it afterwards. So, I finally go in to have it cut. Last time around Grey was about three. He was so distraught about my short hair that he kept asking when I was going to get it 'cut long' again. When I say "kept asking", I mean he asked that for over a year! Keeping that reaction in mind I was fully prepared for my boys to express their distaste for a short cut again (even though it's not as short as the last time I chopped it). Sweet Nick looked at me, cocked his head, furrowed his brow, and then didn't say a word until hours later. After much thought (apparently) he came and told me in a very matter-of-fact tone that he likes my hair more than Macaroni and Cheese, the good kind - not from the box. And you should see that boy eat Macaroni and Cheese. He really likes my hair. (And so do I, by the way. Good riddance to the long stuff.)

All dressed up . . .

Midweek my beautiful friend and sister in law, Holly, and I went to pamper our piggies and bask in the aromatherapy-land of the spa. A perfect girlie treat. We sat and chatted while our tired winter feet (and calves) were rubbed, slathered with sweet-smelling oils, massaged again, and de-calloused (is that a word?). Yes, there was painting involved as well.

Side note: Before heading off to the spa I applied a quick fresh coat of
paint on my toes - of course. Tyler caught me red-toed before my socks went on.

Tyler- You're going for pedicures, aren't you?

Me- Mmm-hmm.

Tyler - So, why'd you just repaint your toenails?

Me- Because we're going for pedicures - duh. Like I'm going to plop my
unpainted toes on the side of the foot bath while my pedicurist secretly
mocks my horrid, bare nails.

Tyler- Seriously? What's the point of going then?

Me - If I were going for a facial I'd still put makeup on.

Tyler- Different.

Me- Mmm, not so much.

Tyler- So much. So, so, so much.

Anyway - once our toes were all beautiful and glossy Holly slid out of her pedicure flimsy-flops and into a cute little pair of regular flip-flops. Me? Oh, yeah, I wore boots - because that's what I do. All winter long I change from one boot to another - muck boots, snow boots, tall boots, short boots, riding boots, furry boots. . . red boots, blue boots, old boots, new boots. You get the point. Not wanting to ruin my lovely toe-do I wore the flimsies out to the car. THEN I wore them into the feed-store. Why, you ask. I don't know. Because it's small store, because I had to stop on the way home, because I couldn't risk smudged paint! And I almost got away with it too. Alas, I found myself bare-footed with the tops of my flops around my ankles on my way to the cash register. I re-positioned the flimsies beneath my feet, tried to hold on to the straps with my toes, and shuffled my way up to pay. (Shuffling didn't work in the parking lot, btw.) I am the poster-child for absurdity.

BUT - my pedicure survived in tact . . . and my toes, I know. I told you they were more like fingers. I spent a good part of my childhood sweating in my Nikes because I was scared to unleash these babies on the world. Don't be sad. I'm over it now.

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I just wish I could figure out what to do with all my bright pink-ness in this ever-so-lovely spring snowstorm we're having today. Yoga?

Family Pictures

It's been a long time since we've had pictures taken as a family - way too long actually. My friend and very talented photographer, Leah, graciously offered to do just that. She worked wonders on our motley little bunch. We're so happy with the results (even if one of us would have rather shed a little more baby weight before being in front of a camera - Bah! Baby pictures couldn't wait that long).

Nick's expression kills me in this one!

And the 'center of attention' award goes to . . .

Now we all know what Sy will look like when he's ninety.

Ah, Happy Family.

Can't you just hear the little 'coo' and giggle here? Another Daddy's boy.

Mother and Child

Thanks Leah - you're amazing!

Silence of the Chickens

A couple of weeks ago a friend of mine asked if we ever had cannibalism problems with our chickens. My darling chickens? Certainly not. I told her I had heard that chickens will go after another chicken if it's wounded, but I'd never seen our chickens do that. I should have knocked on her wood kitchen table - send a little anti-cannibalism ju-ju at my little feathered friends.

In the winter I normally just check on the chickens and gather their eggs during the nighttime feeding (of the horses). The morning after the cannibalism conversation, however, there were alarming noises coming from the hen house. Happy chickens sound like a roomful of women gabbing. (In fact, there is a large group of women that jog together past my house every day, and they sound like very happy chickens.) My chickens weren't happy. I would love to do an impression for you - I'm sure it would be terribly amusing. They sounded like a cross between someone learning to play the violin, demons scratching their way out of Hell, and, well, chickens. It was horrible.

I opened the door to see our brilliant White Leghorn rooster, Foghorn, doing a strangely slow strut around the coop. The bottom ridge of his comb was bleeding profusely and the blood had pooled up on the back of his neck and then run all down his back. All but one of the hens were following close behind him pecking at the blood if they got within range. The matriarch hen was perched up high in front of the laying boxes. I say perched but really she was bent forward with her head down as if she were a raptor ready to descend upon it's prey. She was making the loudest of the ungodly squawking shrieks I had heard from outside. I think I interrupted her attack when I came in. I tried to wash the blood off Foghorn which just made the chickens cackle all the more - they started drinking the bloody water as it ran down his feathers. The red heat lamp made the whole scene even creepier. It was like watching a chicken-horror flick. Needless to say I removed Foghorn from the coop. I put him safely at the top of the hay in the barn, even brought him little dishes of grain and water - which, as it turns out was more ridiculous than it seemed because he immediately flew down and booked it back over to the coop and paced outside while the hens continued to wail inside. "They want to eat you", I said. He didn't care. Chickens are stupid. (What a revelation, huh.)

Why do I continue to keep them, you ask.

This is why:

Beautiful fresh organic eggs. Aren't they pretty? The yolks are a deep, rich yellow - store bought eggs pale in comparison (literally). AND the custard these eggs make is nothing short of heavenly.

This time of year there is another reason to have chickens too.

A super fuzzy, adorable reason. Nothing heralds the coming of Spring like the cheep-cheep-cheeping of baby chicks.

Obsessed

I am completely smitten.

Seriously. I can't get enough of this little guy. I could snuggle with him all day long, staring into his gorgeous eyes, smelling his yummy baby breath, listening to his content baby noises. That was the only good part of my sick day - I spent the day cuddled up with Sy. I look at him and think, "don't change, don't get bigger, don't grow up!"

Then he does this.

And this.

And it's okay if he gets a little bigger.

Then Izzy does this.

She likes baby smells too. Can't blame her.

Woops. Too far, Izzy, back off. Noooo lick-ey!

(She can't hold her licker.)

Random Shopping Notes

I try not to shop with Tyler. It's not that I don't like his company, obviously, but we are rarely on the same wavelength when it comes to spending money. I think my weekly grocery budget (yes, I'm still on my budget . . . most of the time - yay me. I'm so proud of myself.) is pretty impressive and rather important. He thinks we could skim a little off the top or just fore go the groceries if he wants to get something else we really need, like a travel cover for the boat. 'It protects our investment,' he says. 'It's January,' I answer. 'That's why we're doing it now - it's cheaper.' You know what I think is cheaper? Not doing it at all. I digress.

What I wanted to tell you is that we took a quick trip to the grocery store together last week with all the kids in tow. (During which he completely dismantled my budget by throwing in a bunch of things that weren't on the list because the prices were good. Amateur.) Watching the three walking children follow him down an aisle brought visions of ducklings following their mother to my head. It was so cute. I couldn't stop quacking to myself, and the boys, the rest of the time. Of course that means I usually look like the duck, which isn't quite as funny to me for some reason. Don't know why. Actually when I'm there without Tyler all three of the boys seem hover around me like little moons if there is a shopping cart involved. I don't know how we ever get past anyone coming the other way with all the bodies stuck to the sides of the cart.

Not many people used to comment about us having three boys and no girls, but now that it's four it seems to be all anyone sees. A woman stopped us on our way into a craft store tonight with a "FOUR BOYS! Oh my! Well, if they're as good looking as this. . ." blah, blah, blah. She grabbed each of their faces in turn oo-ing and ah-ing about them. They took it very well when she was there and decided the whole incident was 'creepy' afterwards. I think I agree a little. She was a complete stranger. It's funny how some people act like children aren't real people sometimes and talk about them instead of to them. At least she didn't mistake Max for a girl because of his hair (like Santa did, of all people. If Max still believed in Ole' St. Nick surely that would have killed the illusion).

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly

The Good:

*In the process of taking down the Christmas decorations I finally hung bells on the doors we want Izzy to use. AND she now rings the bell when she wants to go out. It's so adorable I can hardly stand it. I want you all to come over just so she can ask to go out and I can stand there beaming with pride.

*Sunday night I decided it was time to stop waiting for the baby weight to fall off on it's own and actually start exercising.It's almost been three months, after all, and horseback riding a few hours a week certainly won't do the trick. SO, I braved the scale a set a goal to be down five pounds in two weeks.


The Bad:

*Izzy is abusing her new-found power and asks to go out CONSTANTLY. Half the time she's like a cat and goes part-way out and stands in the doorway trying to decide if the wind chill is to her liking.

*We're having a bit of a melt-down (literally) in the pastures. I know it will freeze again before the real Spring thaw, but WHEW, is it ever stinky out there! I don't even want to wear my new insulated muck boots (can you say 'heaven', btw. Never ever thought I would be so excited about such a thing, but it happens more and more often lately.) in it because I don't want them to smell. If only I could float over the top, that would be perfect.

The Ugly:

*Usually Izzy sticks around the yard when she goes out unless she is following me to feed the horses. Yesterday she went out to 'play' in the muck three times. . . which means I bathed her three times. I didn't even bring her with me for the night feeding, the boys let her out when she rang the bell and she raced out to me before they could stop her. That's going to get old really fast.

*Apparently I was more determined to lose that baby weight than I realized. I was down six pounds by the same time Monday. Pretty amazing, I must say. (Toot-toot) I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that I ended up hugging the porcelain most of Sunday night and the next morning. It's been a long time since I've been hit that hard with the flu. I could hardly walk because my whole body ached so bad all day Monday, not that it felt much better to sit or lay, or just exist. Luckily it was a twenty-four hour bug so today I'm weak, but functioning. . .slowly. Nick was the first one to get it and I'm hoping the rest of the family - especially the baby - can avoid it.