Splish, Splash!

You've been missing pictures of the twins, haven't you? Well...okay! Here are a few to keep you busy.

"Bleah! Dis washcloff taste funny."

His own personal waterfall.

"You know what? I still taste good."

"Wooooooooo!"
Mopped the floor after this was over. Thanks, Logan.

Want a bath, Emma?
"No t'anks. I good. Got mine yestiddy."

This post brought to you by Sticky Boy.

Growing Challenge: Raised Beds

In case you were wondering why I haven't been posting as frequently, the answer is two fold.

• Part the first: in attempting to synch up the twins' sleep schedule, I've been tandem nursing. And ya know what? Ya just can't type when you're tandem nursing! I may had mad one-handed typing skillz, but my toes aren't that talented.
• Part the Second: it's Market Season! I've been taking piles of plants and selling them off at the Farmer's Market. It also means that my days are filled with watering and feeding plants, potting up little bitty plants and starting new seeds, repeatedly.
  
  Itty bitty plants. Lots of itty bitty plants.
  
  Pricking out and potting up calendula and lavatera.
  
  
  Putting plants outside in the sun, pulling them back in, culling the weak, ditching the dead and on and on and on!

So if you have a local Farmer's Market, you should head on down there to see what they have, meet the farmers and get involved in the local food scene. One of the best parts of being at the market, for me, is meeting all of the different folks who come through looking for plants. There are a ton of people starting gardens for the first time this year as well as folks who've been doing it for years. They all stop to chat with us for awhile while shopping. As a matter of fact, one set of folks came looking for me specifically since I was apparently getting a reputation as being The Tomato Lady! Aiee!

I can't help it, though. If you ask me about care and culture of plants, I can talk for ages. Also, I want you to have a good planting experience and if I can offer you details on how and when to plant those tomatoes, I certainly will! Also, since I raised them from itty bitty seeds, I'd like to see them go to happy homes.

So go on down to your local market and strike up a conversation!

In my own garden, work has finally begun on my new raised beds!*

Say it with me now: "Ooooh!"

"Ahh!" Upside down and in the wrong location, it awaits relocation and filling. And yes, my yard is that sloped. I'm so jealous of you folks with your flat yards!

Visions of tomatoes and green beans are dancing in my head. Also, mulching around the outside of the beds, ordering gardening mix to fill them with and starting yet more plants from seed! Woo! Squash!

A few weeks back I had started a pot with cilantro, carrots, spinach and scallions. They've finally decided to come up!

Cilantro, carrots and one puny spinach. Phooey!

Took awhile, too. Now I just need to keep the birds from eating them and they should grow on nicely. Next up, starting yet more basil from seed!

I still have huge piles of weeds that need ripping out. I started some of that work while Eric (Who built the beds.) and my friend Dave worked on digging post holes for the raised beds, late last night. As the darkness rolled over us and the temperature was dropping, I was scooping handfuls of last year's trees into my flower border, trying to find plants, instead of weeds.

Look! Mulch!

Today, while the twins are napping, I will sneak outside to continue ripping out weeds and throwing down mulch.

The weeds seem to be winning this battle.

I'm not getting it done as thoroughly as I might like to, but with my time being as limited as it is fast is more important.

Speaking of which, I've gotta go!

Tally-ho!

* Photos will be added later!

Beaten By Biology

I was at Market Wednesday night, and didn't get home until 9:15 pm with almost exploding breasts. I rushed in, grabbed my sleeping saviors and nursed them into deeper unconsciousness.

For once they are really really sleeping: they've been asleep for seven hours. But have I been sleeping that whole time?

Noooooo!

Instead, I was woken up by incredibly, exceedingly, painfully full breasts.

Not wanting to wake the twins, I pumped some. Now, thirty minutes later, I'm still so full that I'm beginning to feel nauseated by the pain.

I can't win the Sleeping Battle, can I? Beaten by my own Biology.

Guess I'd better go wake somebody. [Weep!]

Contagious

Is there a disease going on at elementary school that I missed the memo on?

It's as if being disrespectful is a disease. As if they go to school, see what the other kids are doing (and who knows where it started) and then decide to try those attitudes on for size. At home.

You know how you take your kid to school healthy and you see That Kid being dropped off who's sniffling and coughing and you have a bad feeling? Then later, when your child comes down with the sniffles, fever and wracking cough you're certain it was the fault of That Kid? Yet you'll never really know, because often the contagious ones aren't displaying symptoms that you can see. I'm starting to wonder if behavioral issues work the same way or if it really is That Kid who is often defiant and disrespectful to the teacher, their parents and/or other children that has infected the group around them.

My child, my eldest, my beloved daughter who is approaching seven, is driving me completely up a wall. I know I'm not alone, but the feeling of solidarity is not enough to get me through day after endless day of feeling broken, beaten and battered.

I swear, I sent a happy, outgoing, well-mannered child off to kindergarten and got back a shy, rude, miserable beast in return. What is happening in school?! What is happening to my kid?! What are the other kids like if everyone keeps insisting that my daughter is oh-so-much better behaved?! If this is well behaved in comparison, I shudder to think what the home life of the other kids must be like!

If I was a drinker, I'd be drinking heavily at this point.

I've talked quietly, I've yelled, I've given the single swat (Not the same as a spanking, I assure you.) on the bum, I've threatened to swat, I've ceded control over to her father, I've taken stuff away: playdates, movies, computer time, toys, you name it.

I am out of punishments. I am out of patience. I have no empathy left. All I have left are lectures. Constant, constant lectures.

I keep being told it's because of the twins, because she gets less attention at home, because she's "only six!", because she's almost seven, because she's so smart, because she's so emotional. Because! Because! Because!

None. Of. That. Helps.

This morning she turned her back on me and wiggled her ass at me because I asked her to brush her teeth. Yesterday, I asked her to go find her father for me and she asked me if she was "my slave or something?!", so I took away computer access for two days. Then, after screeching about losing privileges and finally doing as she was asked, when she returned, she was repeating "I hate Mommy!" over and over and over again. So I sent her to her room before the smackin' hand could come out and play. And the lying! I can't trust her anymore!

If this is "normal" I'm HATING IT and I want it to STOP.

Gods help me if the twins go through the same thing at 7. I'll run away from home.

Why can't she have picked up on the behavior of the well-mannered, confident, out-going seven year old?

Eric insists that this is a phase and that she'll grow out of it and that I'm just looking for the latest magical technique that will fix everything. He's right. I am looking for that magical technique that will fix everything and the answer can't be either as simple as Ignore her or Spend More Time with Her because I'm not going to last that long. I can't ignore or let her get away with being disrespectful and I don't want to spend time with someone so awful she sucks all of the remaining energy out of me. I don't have a lot of energy left.

Something's gotta give.

I'm afraid it may be my mind.

Sittin' Pretty

Logan sat up on his own for the first time on Saturday! (And I totally forgot to tell you!)

After taking so long to get mobile, I suspect he may catch up to Emma pretty quickly. He "steps" more these days, and started scooting a bit right after he figured out how to sit up on his own. Today he looked like he was just a bit away from actually crawling. He doesn't do the Down Dog like Emma does (Too ostentatious, I guess!), instead from all fours he just scootches backwards until he's sitting. Then, if he wants something, he inches towards it. I tried tempting him with a new toy from Grammy, but he wasn't that excited.

Maybe tomorrow.

Emma, not to be outdone, stood up unsupported for two seconds this evening. Eric yelled for me to come see and of course she wouldn't do it again. She crawls all over, though and will come to you if you ask her to.

That girl's gonna be walkin' pretty soon, I bet. I wonder if she'll beat Caitlin's date of 9 months and 3 days? My kids, they don't crawl very long.

Things to do, people. Things to do!

Half of All Marriages End in Divorce

The other half end in Death!

Eric and I are aiming for the Death! half of that equation.

Twelve long/short years ago we tied the knot in front of friends and family, high on a mountain in Colorado (The mountain was high. We weren't high. No, really. Aw hell...you know what I mean!). Since then, we've had our ups and downs and sideways moments.

First, (Well, after 5 years of being DINKs and travelling. Not that I miss that life. Much. Very often. Sniffle!) and the decision to have a child. Whew! That was pretty crazy. Then the decision to have a second, except Whoops! Bonus baby! Now we're ~8 months into our Twin Adventure and are still managing to make one another laugh, even if it is often laughter tinged with hysteria and/or exhaustion.

While we've "only" been married for 12 years, we've actually been together for 16: 3 years dating, 1 year engaged and 12 married. Took him awhile before he realized that I really was THE ONE and future mother of his rampaging mini horde children.

That's sixteen years in which to learn each other's anecdotes, habits and quirks. And yet? He still loves me. (Although I think he might be tired of hearing the one about having my arm up to here in a pregnant cow.)

To Eric, my sweetheart: the best laundry-doingest, breakfast/lunch/dinner-cookingest, child-wranglingest, diaper-changingest, garden-hole-diggingest, funniest (even when it hurt to laugh), computer-gamingest honey a woman could ever ask for. (Plenty of women have asked, too. Sorry! No brothers!)

Here's to death do us part! By my estimate, you've got 60 years left....

Mmwah!

P.S. Tell me the one again about your Wiffle Ball Injury? *snork!*

When Laundry Turns Deadly

Eric was doing the laundry earlier today while I was getting dressed (He cooks and changes diapers, too. Mr. Right indeed!). It seemed like a good time to get ready for the day, seeing as how it was 12:30 pm....Hours of nursing, feeding, cleaning, playing and napping had passed and I was only just getting showered and dressed well past noon.

Such is the rockstar lifestyle I'm livin' over here. Woo!

Anyway, Eric was doing laundry and I heard a Crash! from the hallway. Thinking he'd dropped something, I poked my head out to see if everything was OK.

Eric had dropped himself.

He was crumpled up on the floor holding his head in his hands. Turns out he was turning from the washer to load it with more clothes and cracked his head on the bathroom door frame. I ran to go get him some ice and upon returning saw what he'd done to himself. He had the biggest scariest looking welt on his temple that it has ever been my displeasure to see.

Wow!

And, uh, no. He wouldn't let me photograph it. Not even for posterity!

There's a glimpse of married life with me: first I check in on health and safety concerns and then I consider running for my camera. Foiled!

However, I now know why they refer to bumps on the head as "goose eggs".

Surprise! Sixty-Five!

On Wednesday we packed the whole puppy-pile into the car (Along with one cooler, one playpen, one stroller, one suitcase, one knapsack, baby blankets, food, snacks, books, pen and paper, water, my camera and possibly a few of the remaining contents of our house. Minus the cats and plants. What I'm saying is that the car was full.) and drove off (Six hours!) on a secret mission: to Grammy's house to join in on the Surprise Party.

Pit stop on the way to Grammy's house.

I was charged with making the cake

Grammy has lots of help blowing out the candles. She is "ancient and glacial" after all!

and bringing the family photo that was shot secretly during a recent visit with my sister-in-law and my nephews. A shot of Grammy's babies and grandbabies, all in one place.

Two generations, as a present to the third.

A daunting task, but I just barely managed it.

Was she surprised?

Her first words upon entering her house and seeing the big sign on the wall ("Happy Birthday!" Not very secret at that point.) was as eloquent, as usual:

"Oh shit!"

The "Oh shit!" moment.

It took her a few moments to finish climbing up the stairs

Surprised!

amidst all of the screaming and yelling of Surprise! by the 30 or so folks (Plus 4 children capable of screaming words. The other two were just busy screaming. ) laying in wait. When she finally made it to the top, she was verklempt.

This is what verklempt looks like. What you can't see: hand over heart in standard verklempt position.

Swarmed by grandchildren.

They had their own sign, too.

I was verklempt as well, but busying photographing the moment, as is my wont.

Taking a breather before the next round of hugs.

Jenni, Emma and Linda. Verklempting together. Emma, not verklempt, considers eating the bouquet.

Birthday cakes and photography. And plants. And babies. Oh my!

(It really never stops around here, does it?)

Was she actually surprised? Appears so. She had been hoping for a surprise party and had felt pretty certain that one was in the offing, but it never materialized where she expected it. So I'd say that it was a successful surprise party, since we didn't do what she expected us to do.

Me, cutting cake for the waiting hordes.

A small portion of said horde.

To my mother-in-law, Linda, who is one of my most faithful (And silent!) readers: happy birthday! Thank you so much for having such a great son and for welcoming me into the family and for being such a fabulous grandmother.

Squeee!

Mmmmwah!

Going Crazy

Back soon.

I hope!

• Babies napping serially, if at all.
• Caitlin being snippy and acting out, plus a little fisticuffs at school for a little extra spice.
• Cat randomly pooping around house.
• Plants growing, dying, getting leggy, coming up, potting on (336 in one afternoon with Heather's help!) and finally, being sold. Getting to market it a lot of work!
• Sleep? Naaaah.
• Book? I think I'm averaging one paragraph a day. But it's a really good book! Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.
• House? Wrecked. Absolutely. Don't come over if you don't have a shovel. And I'm not referring to snow, either!

Weekly Winners VI

A quiet moment shared between Father and Daughter.

Caitlin reads Eric one of the comics she has written and illustrated.

And almost sits on Domino.
Domino says, "Ahhh! People butt!"while Logan snickers in the background.

Traumatized for life.

Eric listens intently as Caitlin reads to him.

Some parts are a little more animated than others!

My first foray into Motherhood, almost seven years ago. She's turned out pretty well, so far, I'd say. On to the new set!

Happy Mother's Day!

More Weekly Winners here.

More of my Weekly Winners here.

Growing Challenge: Days Like These

It is on days like these that I question all of my decision making abilities.

• Why did I start a new business the year I was pregnant with twins?
• Why did I start a new business that involves a lot of physical labor?
• What made me think that things would get "easier" once the twins were born?
• What was I thinking when I figured I could start thousands of plants, from seed, inside my house?
• What was I thinking when I started tomato plants at the end of February?
• Why didn't I start the flowering plants at the end of February?
• Why can't I remember appointments day to day anymore? (We've had way too many conversations about overlapping appointments. "Oh, Saturday as in TOMORROW Saturday? Uh oh!")
• When am I going to sleep through the night again?
• Why am I filled with so many great ideas that I can't follow through on? (Making yogurt from scratch sounds cool! Wow! Cheese, too?!)
• What was I thinking when I thought using fish emulsion as a fertilizer inside my house would be a good idea? A house that contains cats?
• Why can't these babies sleep when I want them to sleep?
• Who is this almost seven year old that can't seem to hear my voice anymore?
• Will I always feel like I need help and can't get anything done?!

The twins were, as you may have guessed, fussy today.

I got them down for their first nap at 9:42 and they woke up again about 15 minutes later and wouldn't sleep for ages. Round after round of nursing, playing, feeding, jiggling and attempting to put them down. I really hope they're so tired that they sleep through the frickin' night. However, it's probably a vain hope.

Fortunately for me, Heather came over and saved the day. Even though we only got a little bit of work done (Do you have any idea of how many tiny little plants I have that need pricking out and potting on?! Neither do I, but there are hundreds of them!), it was good work. It was a nice day, we continued to work on hardening plants outside, and we potted up ~50 Greek Oregano and spearmint plants. I watered some number of plants. I even managed to pull a few weeds (I have even more weeds than I have started plants. Whee!) in the garden.

By the way, in case you've ever wondered: gardening and farming don't mix real well!

You'd think they would, since one is a smaller scale than the other, but they don't, really. What happens is the farming gets bigger and bigger and absorbs all of your waking time and thoughts, leaving you with no energy for gardening. Then you watch the slow, steady creep of weeds into your flower beds, causing you to tear out your hair and rend your garments in frustration. If only the weeds would Wait! You'll be right there! Right after you finish this thing over here. Oh, but this thing logically leads to that thing and next thing you know, the weeds are throwing little block parties and inviting more of their ugly, brutish friends to come on over and they're smashing windows and destroying property values.

Somewhere in there, you remember that you promised the family you'd grow them some vegetables and you have to make good on that promise, so you go shopping for yet more seeds.

Here's what I picked up:

1. Scallions (My other seeds are several years old and don't appear to have germinated.)
2. Squash - Buttercup - heirloom
3. Squash - table queen/acorn
4. Squash - early summer crookneck - heirloom
5. Squash - spaghetti - heirloom (Went crazy on squash although Eric says he doesn't like them. I figure he can learn and that if these keep well over winter = free food!)
6. Rhubarb - Victoria - heirloom (I figured, why not! These are essentially transitional fruits! Something to tide you over until tree fruits become available!)
7. Cucumber - Muncher (How could I resist such a name?)
8. Garden bean - gourmet French bush
9. Peas: snow - Oregon sugar pod (Might be too late to plant peas, but I can try again in the fall!)
10. Peas: shelling - Little Marvel
11. Peas: sugar snap - Super Sugar Snap
12. Spinach - Melody
13. Watermelon - Rainbow sherbet - the innards are pink, yellow and orange - 3 separate varieties in the package: Tiger Baby (P), Yellow Doll (Y), New Orchid (O).

Now I just need to plant them. In the raised beds that don't exist yet.

Argh!

Thirty Two Weeks

Or seven and a half months, which is so much easier to remember! Also leads to less confusion in grocery store chat situations - you don't have to make the other person do all that math.

Hey! Lots has happened in the last two weeks, you've been missing out!

I know, I know. You're crying bitter tears into your beverage of choice, aren't you? Well, I'm here to make it all up to you. Plus, photos!

Top of the list: Logan started crawling backwards on Thursday, May 1st!

Action shot. "Check it out! I go in reverse!"

"Are you gonna blog this?" Ayup. "The pressure! The pressure!"

Logan keels over from all of that work.
Emma rushes to the rescue. "I save you!", she cries. She breaks out her invisible defribrillator and yells, "Clear!"
Revived, but shaky, Emma gives Logan a little advice: "Take it easy, brudder. Crawlin' backwards is hard work! You gotta work up to it, little by little."

"Wow. Thanks Doc! She just saved mah life!"

"My work is done here." Emma crab-crawls off into the sunset.

Next on the list, the twins are playing together more.

"Are you gonna eat dat? Cuz I could eat dat."

Well, playing might be a bit strong. They play with toys near each other and crack one another up. Occasionally one will crack the other over the head with a toy, or get too close and do a little hair pulling (I'm lookin' at you, Emma. Logan is the only one with hair long enough to pull!) or possibly some scratching. Then the screaming starts. Until then, it's pretty darned cute to watch them interact. They can sit and laugh at one another for minutes! Minutes where I don't have to constantly be the source of attention. I'm looking forward to whole stretches of time where they can play happily together and I don't have to worry about them killing one another or setting the house on fire. When would that be? Eight? Nine? Ack!

I've noticed that Logan is very stable when sitting upright these days and is very happy to roll around on the floor the same way Emma had been right before she started crawling backwards herself (At 19 weeks. Logan is such a slacker!).

He's also eating everything that isn't nailed down and loving it. Emma still purses her little lips after one tiny taste and blows raspberries. Except that she has discovered an undying love of that oat grain O shaped cereal (Pincer grasp time!). Logan loves them, too. I find it completely odd that Emma has no interest in any of the green beans, peas, rice cereal, sweet potatoes, carrots, applesauce or bananas that Logan has eaten but goes nuts for the crunchy stuff: Mum-mums (a rice cracker mentioned here) and Cheerios. Is it possible that she's a texture eater like I am? Can you tell this early?

Emma started pulling herself upright, on Saturday, May 3rd. She was worried Logan was going to hog the spotlight, what with all that reversing going on. We're seeing a lot of this out of her these days:

"Hi! Look mommy! Only one hand!"

I didn't get a good shot of it, but she's been getting into the Down Dog position and then peeking at you from between her legs. It's ridiculously cute!

Oh and she's also working on her balancing technique.

"I graceful, like a swan."

Or something like that.

We're still not sleeping through the night and it's all Emma's fault. Might be because she's not as full of food as that other guy. We're working on it though.

Le sigh!

On the nursing front, they are a whole heap of cute when tandem nursing. They try to hold hands or pat one another as well as try to fend the other off, steal the other's breast or attempt a little hair pulling. The hard part is putting them back in bed when you have one that still wants to nurse and the other one trying to perform Exhausted Child Acrobatics on your other arm. Often I find myself sort of dropping Logan back onto his mattress. Fortunately, he's asleep, so he doesn't care. I can almost hear Emma snickering....

Good thing they're still cute!

"Whaaaat?"

Logan: powered by smiles.

Small Farms Aren't Dead

They're undead.

"Graaaaaaains!" says Eric the Zombie.

What?!

Confused? Well, let me clear it up for you a little. I'm currently reading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (BTW, really good book.) as part of Green Bean's reading challenge. I just read this out loud to Eric:

Among other obstacles, these [small] farmers have to contend with a national press that is quick to pronounce them dead. Diversified food-producing farms on the outskirts of cities are actually the fastest-growing sector of U.S. agriculture. The small farm is at the moment very busy thinking its way out of a box, working like mad to protect the goodness and food security of a largely ungrateful nation.
-- Animal, Vegetable, Miracle pg. 114

Graaaaaaains! was his response.

Yes, this is why I keep him around. I keep him in tomatoes and beautiful children and he keeps me in stitches (And clean laundry and dishes and dinner. You should get one of these!).

It is true, though. There's a boom going on (at least around here) with new small farms. There are bunches of "kids"(Read: twenty-somethings) starting farms in our area. I swear I'm older than most of them and if the "kids" can do it...so can I!

Although I do admit to being seriously handicapped by the addition of nursing 7.5 month olds and the lack of a fully functioning brain. Even so, it's the right thing to do. I like good food, I love to grow plants and as food gets more and more expensive it just makes sense to grow more of your own, if you can. However, it is also good work. Work with meaning.

We're saving the Earth, one shovelful of compost at a time.

Dinner and a Movie? No Way!

Eric and I got to go to a movie. By ourselves.

This miracle was made possible by, you guessed it: Grammy. She and Grampy took Caitlin and the twins whilst Eric and I sailed off to go see Ironman. Dinner was after the movie, with all the family. We had to swoop in and rescue them from the hour long screaming Emma.

I've gotta tell you, if you haven't seen Ironman already? It rocked. Totally worth it.

And that's not just a sleep deprived, adult time starved mom talking. It's the comic book geek that rests none too deeply under the skin of said sleep deprived, adult time starved mom talking!

Yeah. Woo!

Anyway, with that recommendation out of the way, let me give you the caveat: this movie is not for children.

Hi!

Just because it is based on a comic book character does not mean it's all four colored, zippy dippy and trippy, happy-go-lucky and whatnot. Nooooo. Keep your small kids away.

I'm talking to you people that brought their soon-to-be traumatized child under the age of what? 6? to go see a movie at 4 pm that included a few torture scenes, a death squad and a fair amount of other sorts of violence. Guess what? Sandman isn't for kids either. Should that ever make it to the big screen I hope like heck they give it a higher rating than PG-13.

Oh, but wait, they didn't even give Casino Royale an R rating and there he was, stripped naked and tortured on the screen for all to see. Yeah. It's totally okay for your children aged 13 and under to go see that, is it? The MPAA is perfectly fine with people yelling Fuck you! at one another and that will be fine, but just as soon as that changes to Wanna fuck? it gets bumped to an R rating. Think I'm kidding? From their site:

Any drug use will initially require at least a PG-13 rating. More than brief nudity will require at least a PG-13 rating, but such nudity in a PG-13 rated motion picture generally will not be sexually oriented. There may be depictions of violence in a PG-13 movie, but generally not both realistic and extreme or persistent violence. A motion picture’s single use of one of the harsher sexually-derived words, though only as an expletive, initially requires at least a PG-13 rating. More than one such expletive requires an R rating, as must even one of those words used in a sexual context.
[Emphasis mine.]

So, violence? Just peachy! Sex? No! Heaven forfend if we see a breast! You know, those things that half the human population carries around in front of them all day? Ewww!

Yes, I get pissed off at the kind of parent that takes their kid to such a movie and tries to hush their kid when the kid rightfully starts sobbing when the torture scene unfolds. You know what? I know exactly how hard it is to get out, without the kids. I know it. Do it anyway. Is listening to your kid freak out worth it? Do they really need to see how badly humans, even imaginary ones, treat one another? What are you teaching them by letting them watch that movie? (Don't even get me started about movies that include rape. Nuh-uh.)

Grumblegrumblegrumble.

Anyway!

Movie: Excellent.

Stay until after the credits. You'll be sorry if you don't!

Well, if you're a comic geek, that is.

Ashes

There is a box I am afraid to open sitting on my mantlepiece.

It's been sitting there since late September, 2002.

This box has always seemed unusually heavy to me. The contents sigh as they shift about inside their cardboard tomb. An ignominious end to the life of one so loved.

The box is not very large at all, but it has loomed over me for these last 6 years. My cat - what is left of my cat - lays inside. All 8 pounds of her, whiskers, tumor, teeth and all. All of that fur. The remaining hairballs she didn't live to hork up onto the floor. Great big eyes of greenish yellow. A heart that only had room for me in it, but that managed to make a tiny amount of space for a husband and eventually a little baby girl.

Well, so long as those two remembered their manners. She was a very formal kitty, after all. Forever wearing her tuxedo, ready for a party at a moment's notice. She used to sit very upright, her long, luxurious tail daintily wrapped about her white-tipped paws; bright white cravat cleaned, with every hair (and there were many) in place.

She wasn't always so formal, my first kitty, she came from a humble beginning: a farm somewhere in eastern Massachusetts. My friend (and roomie), Steph, brought her home from a farm where my kitty and her brother were the last of the litter. She was all eyes and whiskers, a tiny puff of black fur. Eager to pounce on anything that moved, flew, scuttled or flicked.

Long years passed. A strange lump was found. A tumor. Chemotherapy followed and we eked out one more year together, although it was not a good year for her, it was time enough for me to learn to say goodbye. She died in my arms one late September day. Her ashes were returned to me in an unusually heavy box.

I never opened that box. I was afraid of what I might see inside. Would there be teeth?

Today, however, I finally found an appropriate home for the ashes of my kitty (and the two others that followed her: Dart, out of turn at 7 and Pixel well into his 17th year) and the box wouldn't fit in the bright red, lidded, cache pot that would be her final (and far more fitting) home. Steeling myself I opened the box, alone in my kitchen.

Oh.

Oh.

Well then.

There inside was a plastic bag and in the bag just grey, gritty dust. Just some ashes. Just Xerxes. No more, no less, but nothing untoward, if you know what I mean.

I placed that rude plastic bag into the elegant cache pot, added in the sealed containers that held her brothers and put the lid on the pot. Back on the mantlepiece it went where it sits in a place of honor, where my cats rest now in a fitting container.

There it sits, holding three cat-shaped pieces of my heart.

Newsflash!

Emma started crawling today!

Inelegantly, but crawling.

First, there were the unsubstantiated reports coming from the livingroom. "Come here! You have to see this! She's crawling!" I went to investigate, but no actual crawling occurred.

"You have to wait. It's not perfect, but it's crawling."

"Suuuuure."

Emma then leaned over, in her Down Dog position, put one hand in front of the other and then...sat down! OK, I've seen that. That's not crawling. Eric insisted that I wait and watch. A little bit later, she did what he called crawling: Down Dog position, hands crawl forward, legs hunch up and sort of crab walk forward two inches and then she sits down again.

Hmm.

Then the real test, I was busy feeding her Very Hungry Brother and keeping a weather eye on her in the livingroom. She spotted an extension cord attached to the fan and immediately started making her very odd, inelegant way towards it.

Figures!

By my reckoning, she'll figure it out in 3 days and then she'll be able to crawl right towards every dangerous item in the house. Right Misty?

Weekly Winners V

For comparison purposes only. Not like I nibbled her toes right off after this shot, or anything.

Emma is a total wiggler. Do you have any idea how long it took to photograph our feet together?

Emma is being swallowed by the sofa. "Help! Sofa sand!"

"You're just gonna stand there, laugh and take pictures like last time, aren't you?!"
Ahh...yup.

"I'll save you!" says Daddy.
"Too late! I hafta save myself." grumbles Emma.

More Weekly Winners here.

More of my Weekly Winners here.

Of Mice and Moms

I was out working in the yard with Heather, moving compost from the first bin to the middle bin* when we saw the mouse (Suburban Correspondent won't like this next part!).

She was huge. Clearly she'd spent plenty of time in the bin, eating kitchen scraps and was as healthy and sleek as you're ever likely to see a field mouse get. There were tunnels in the nearby herb bed that were clearly her work. She was frantically running back and forth along the back edge of the bin, unable to escape now that she was much larger than the 1/4" hardware cloth openings. (Note to DIY builders of compost bins: use 1/8" or smaller hardware cloth for the sides of your bin to attempt to exclude mice. Or just keep turning it to keep the pile too hot for mice to live there. Unlike us!) She also looked kind of funny. What was that attached--?

There were baby mice attached to her abdomen.

Pinkies.

Clearly we'd interrupted feeding time and were left shocked and staring. We needed to get her out of there, one way or another.

In the few moments it took to figure out what we were looking at, I recognized the dilemma we were in: do we let the mouse and her progeny live or die?

If we let them live, they'd go on to move back into the pile (unless I keep it hot this year), and possibly nibble on my garden plants. They might even consider moving into the house if it gets too cold in the winter, as they did last year. However, they also would provide a food source for the local owls and snakes.

Looking at her and at the shovel in Heather's hands, I made the only choice I could: I took off my heavy leather gloves and handed them to Heather so that she could lift the mouse and her pinkies up and out of the bin and release her. (I might be willing to let her live, but I'm too chicken to touch her! Heather is made of tougher stuff than I!)

Terrified but alive, she scurried away, her children flapping about her furry little legs.

I identified with the mouse. I couldn't kill her.

A mother of multiples, she was trapped and facing desperate odds. She wasn't hurting me directly (The rules change if they step foot inside my house, though!) and she had the right to live her own life, in her own way. It's tough enough being a mother with a singleton, multiples add a whole 'nother level of complexity. I can't tell you how often we thank our lucky stars that we didn't have triplets or more! (I remain convinced that each group of parents of multiple children are convinced about how easy it would be to have one less child. Twin parents look at singleton parents and sigh wistfully about how easy it would be and then give thanks that it wasn't triplets. Triplet parents do the same thing, looking at twin parents. How easy it would be! Then they look at quad parents and wag their heads, grateful for "only" triplets. Quad parents sigh with longing at a "mere" set of triplets and look askance at sextuplets. The children, my friends, are always...cleaner on the other side!)

Poor little fat mouse! She doesn't get a break from nursing, either!



* The day before this, I had stolen a few minutes out in the yard alone (Successfully scraped off the twins!) to empty out the middle bin of its "black gold". All of the compost that had gone unsifted and unused from the previous year due to my ginormous gravid state.

I have to tell you, there's something so incredibly satisfying about looking at 5 or 6 inches of finished compost in a 3' x 3' bin and feeling like you've accomplished something. The best part, however, is when you set up your wheelbarrow, break out your screen (I use a 1/8" hardware cloth screen that is attached to a frame of 1" x 2" boards that I made, big enough to fit over the top of the wheelbarrow.) and sift away. As I shoveled and shook and sifted all of that material, the dross remained on top, while the fine garden enhancing material dropped into the wheelbarrow below. Who knows how much kitchen waste each shovelful represented? Waste that my family kept out of the trash and instead would turn into a useful garden amendment.

I tossed the large chunks back into the first bin to give them another season to break down further. Some bits were still recognizable: peach pits, mussel shells, corn cobs, sticks, but the vast majority just looked and smelled like clean earth. I put just about everything into the pile (No meat, fat, oils, bones, dairy products, animal poop, diseased plants or weeds that have gone to seed. Everything else is fair game: shrimp and mussel shells, cardboard toilet/paper towel rolls, egg cartons, used paper towels, spoiled fruits and vegetables, peelings, moldy rice, crushed egg shells, etc.) and do the lazy gardener version of composting: turn it when I remember, water it at the same time and let time and tide take care of the rest. Composting can be just as intensive as you want it to be. Mine would be "better" if I paid more attention to it so that I could kill off any weed (or tomato) seeds that are in there, but when you don't remember (or have the time or inclination) you just don't remember. That's OK, too.

Magically, that 5 or 6 inches expanded to fill that wheelbarrow all the way to the brim. I then shoveled out 1/3 of it into an empty heavy duty plastic bag that previously had potting soil in it, until it was too heavy to move, then I finished emptying the bin which filled the wheelbarrow up again. Ahh!

Seven Hours

Seven hours.

Seh-vehn.

7!

You know what rhymes with Seven? Heaven.

You knew that. You also know what this is about, don't you?

In bed at 7:30, nursed at 11, crawled into bed at midnight and slept (Well, I did!) until 6 am. Eric pat-pat-patted the twins to sleep again at 2 and 3 am whilst I snoozed on, oblivious. Too deeply asleep to hear, to notice, to respond. The first time in a year. (No exaggeration. Truly. )

Seven.

Never have I loved a number more.

Happy May Day!

Wordless Wednesday VIII

Emma shows off her new hat.

Mystery woman.

Caitlin feeds Logan carrots for the first time.

Note how even she can't resist doing the Ahhhh! thing!

Logan thinks Caitlin rocks! Pass the carrots!

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For more of my Wordless Wednesday posts, click here instead.