Suki had been showing signs of labor all weekend.  She’d been pawing, contorting, heavy breathing, groaning, dripping mucous, contracting.  I spent so much time in the goat shed.  Some of it was very tranquil.  It’s quite nice to take a nap with a goat.  Other times, like at night during torrential downpour, being eaten alive by mosquitos dressed in a sopping hoody while staring at the goats ass…. not so idyllic.  My (marvelous and infinitely helpful) WOOFer Katie took shifts.  Auntie Alexis took shifts and even had the pleasure of helping hold Suks while I performed my first cervical exam as the vet was up North for a family gathering.  (We were worried she her amniotic sac had burst and there may be issues with potential kids.)  Through all of this Suk’s was the suckiest she had ever been, literally becoming a lap goat.  Laying across my legs, nuzzling my neck, putting herself under my hands.  She really wanted love.  So we gave it.

This afternoon her udder looked like it was going to burst.  Each teat looked like a jumbo cartoon breast from Playboy.  Her hind end had gone from very puffy to sunken and she began bellowing through her contractions.  Scott eventually heard this and came dashing out to the goat shed just in time to see a little nose emerging from within the fluid filled sac.  With a little manoevering and a few good pushes on her part we were soon helping clean off her beautiful little doeling.

Suki took instantly to mothering; licking furiously and keeping a hawk eye on her precious one. Little Cindy Ray took quickly and easily to nursing.  It was such a wonderful experience to get to share alongside my wonderful husband.  He caught Bob when he was born and played a huge role in supporting me during my labour with Meeps.  It was so fantastic to be able to help support our wonderful little goat through her labour, together.  Definitely softens the sadness of knowing we will not be having anymore kids ourselves.

And now I will shut up and show off some pictures.

On the topic of daughters, here is a recent picture of four generations of lovely ladies.

It is my precious little daughter’s birthday tomorrow.  But the Great Grandparents started their journey back to Hawaii today, so we shared presents for her yesterday.  We had a Blessingway planned, but given the unrelenting rain, the 7 or 8 desserts that failed miserably and the fact that I smelled like a goat… we decided to postpone.

There are plenty of people who think we are nuts over one component of our parenting ethos or another and one of those things involves toys.  We eschew plastic toys, specifically those containing BPA and pthalates.  We do this for two reasons: (1) I’d rather not expose my kids to said chemicals and (2) them toys is ugly.  I’ve gotten my share of “but you’re depriving them of play!”  Most certainly, I am not.  Mags presents included such wonders as a wooden coffee maker; a stash of handsewn finger puppets; a wool stuffed fairy and a fantastic set of felted peas in a pod, which I didn’t manage to take a picture of in daylight today, but I assure you are achingly adorable.  BEHOLD!

Maggie wore the dress I sewed for her from Anna Maria Horner fabrics (so wonderful) and Bob wore the Amish pattern based shorts I sewed for him over the winter.  He performed what he called Amish Dances all over the living room that day. They involved a lot of twisting and writhing, much akin to Suki’s recent behaviour.

And now it’s time for me to sleep, not in the manger, but in my own bed.

Good night all.  Thanks for checking in.

Scott asks him “so, how far apart are her contractions?” and he replies “30 seconds apart, I think”.  To which Scott replied something to the effect of “HOLY CRAP WE HAVE TO GO!”  And then there was great tizzy, Scott saying “she’ll be having the baby RIGHT NOW, go back on your horse!” Our friend saying “OH, if she’s having a problem she could just walk next door” and Scott countering with “SHE’S NOT WALKING ANYWHERE, MATE!”  and then finally our friend unfolds the piece of paper on which his wife has written the spacing and duration of her contractions and it’s more like 5 minutes apart, each lasting for 30 seconds.

Much better!

And without disclosing too much (more) private information here, may I just say that Scott reported back (when I pressed him for EVERY SINGLE DETAIL, since I am stuck at home with the kids and so jealous I couldn’t drive) that the only way he could tell she was having a contraction was that her breathing changed… a LITTLE.  I cannot possibly express how much I adore her phenomenal politeness of being.

Scott got them to the hospital, parked the truck and then ran in all…. WHAT NEXT! WOO!  And then of course realized… it was time for him to go home.  Awww.  Ride over.  They were of course apologetic and thankful and Scott made it perfectly clear that since his days of birth are over, he is pleased to be experiencing the birth rush through them.

I cannot wait to have a new little baby to hold and love!  I am so excited for my friends.  I am wishing and hoping the rest of this goes smoothly, as of my typing this baby was still stubbornly in utero.  I am off locate an infant car seat so that they can bring the baby home… all the while pondering the miracle of birth, my birth experiences, and the pure joy that is babies.

BABY, BABY, BABY!

We managed to watch The Hangover a couple of nights ago.  We loved it.  Zach Galifinakas is hilarious.  During the scene where one of the groomsmen meets the stripper/escort he accidently married, and she promptly starts openly breastfeeding, I turned to Scott and was like “that’s me, isn’t it.  Boob out, like all the time.”  And my loving mate responded “yes, only you have colourful tattoos all over your breasts to really draw the attention in.”  Thanks, honey.  We were laughing that I should make myself a scoop necked shirt that reads “INDISCREETLY BREASTFEEDING SINCE 2006!”  As I do.  It’s a natural thing, and if you don’t like it, don’t look.

I’d really like to tell you all about the great stride we’ve hit in the discipline department (also known as, our lives have all been markedly better lately) but I have to prep for a talk on EC I’m giving tomorrow, do some printing for a neighbour, flyer every house on our concession for an upcoming gathering and get groceries.

Life is good.  Busy, wonderful.

Here are some snaps from our excursion with our neighbour into our bush.

Here are some snaps my dad took out of a little plane recently, of a section of our property, the bustling Kincardine airport, the lighthouse in town.

Been doing neat crafts with the kids these days.  I forgot to take pictures of my version of April’s heart garland.  Mine are hanging from pins stuck into one of our beams, I think I will string them and put them in the kids room.  In a modified version of Maya’s heart craft, last night I stitched letters onto some felt and today the kids stuffed them full of wool and lavendar and Bob helped sew them closed.

After two weeks of quarantine, Bob went swimming today and tomorrow we’ll be off to play group with our newly bolstered immune systems.  The kids are playing with their Haba bricks, making crazy creations.

But I just can’t win with Bob right now.  I said to him just now: “super cool tower!” and he says “it’s not!  It’s terrible!”  Etc, etc.  It’s not just that he wants to be contrary, it’s that he’s determined everything should be…terrible.  Everything is in superlatives, the worst, never again, never EVER EVERRRR again in the whole history of the world will he build another block tower.

It’s also hard maintaining peaceful parenting when one child is hurting the other.  (Though she clearly idolizes him, no matter what he does to her).  And the LYING already… my goodness.    The sibling cruelty… I am so tired of it already.

All of my 2010 seeds have arrived.  I’m very excited.  I’ve also finished our farm tax, which brought about some interesting questions like “can we write off firearms”.  I discovered that this year the “containers and twine” category proved to be useful, and where to put custom killing.

We went on a great sleigh ride with our Amish neighbour into our bush the other day.  They’ve taken out two years of firewood for us and we will have some extra to sell.  If anyone local is interested, please email me.

Must go and entertain the kidlets and check on the leg of lamb (from our neighbour Israel) that’s cooking away.

I’m working on another Amish pattern based dress for Meeps.  I have added a zipper, intend to sew on an exterior pocket and have used wonderfully bright fabrics, all very UN-Amish things.  Hoping to have this done by spring.  There’s no pattern for the dress, you just estimate a box shape for the top, double the width for the skirt portion, and unlike most dress/shirts I’ve sewn, instead of attaching the arms to the body at the shoulders and then sewing it together at the sides, you insert the arms (already sewn into tubes) into holes you have cut into the body.  You could easily do it in an afternoon, if you were child free.  If not child free, estimate one week of evenings.

It’s not done, and I am not by ANY means an accomplished seamstress, so please excuse my wiggly stitches and yet-to-be trimmed threads.

Because I needed something else to do, I have decided to start to try to learn needlepointing.  I am attempting to sew a cut out flower from the body fabric onto a pocket.  I am guessing this would be easier if (1) I had one of those needlepoint hoops and (2) I had any basic idea at all about what I was doing.

Anyone do needlepoint?

How do I stop the threads from twisting and not laying flat?
Should I have folded the fabric, as the thread seems to pull through?
Where should I look up stitches and things, anything good (free) online?
I doubled my thread, was this wrong?

Maggie doesn’t like much solid food, but girls got taste.  She very much enjoys the ewe’s milk chevre I make.  I am presently noshing on some.  I figure the 1 mile diet goodness of it all outweighs the fact that I am scooping it out of the bowl with piece after piece from a box of Cadbury’s HEROS that my mother in law brought back from Scotland.

Ahem.

It’s been a long day.  I did a lot of things today.  And Maggie remains attached to me for almost the entire duration.  Her inability to be put down by me phase, which started at roughly 6 months, while getting better, is still essentially in full effect.  The only thing I haven’t done with Mags on me is use the WeedWhacker, and that’s only because I can’t get her to keep on ear protection.  Every other task around here from personal hygiene, to folding laundry, to carrying 5 gallon jugs of water out to the goats in ALL forms of weather, to tending the garden has been successfully carried out with her on my back, front or arm.  You gotta do what you gotta do and I want her to trust me as her parent.  She’s too little to get that when she cries for Mommy and I don’t answer, it’s not  because I have abandoned her like she thinks, it’s because I am REALLY TRULY VERY BUSY.

Today I packaged cheese for the market tomorrow with her on me.  She just wanted to follow the project through, as I MADE the cheese with her on me.  For those curious, we have gone with chunk and not tube, for ease of re-wrapping.  We tested it out.  The wrapping went beautifully.  Tomorrow we will be selling plain ewe’s milk chevre; herbed with tarragon and oregano; sprinkled with salt and chilis; mixed with vanilla and sugar; and slathered with chocolate shavings.  If you live in the Kincardine area, come to Conaught Park tomorrow before noon and buy our cheese, please!

Back on the kid tip.   One mommy blogger I read recently wrote “I do know that I don’t want a kid who will only want to be with me”, as her three month old is attached to her body.   And another more seasoned mommy blogger I read recently wrote “if your child only wants you—let me tell you something, don’t offer your story to someone who’s living the opposite scenario. I say this with kindness and the knowledge that you’re just trying to help, but no, you DON’T know how the other shoe feels. I’m sure it also sucks to have a child suction-cupped to your body all day long, a child who refuses Daddy’s loving embrace in favor of following you around sobbing to be picked up, but oh man, it’s just not the same.”

I know of that pain.  And let me say, it keeps my feelings about the Meeps Scarf that I wear in check.  Bob went through this phase where he wanted very little to do with me once Daddy came home.  And by “very little” I mean that he screamed bloody murder whenever I tried to do up his shoes, or read him a book or put him in his car seat.  Or anything involving him pretty much at all.  “DADDY DOOOO IT!” He would yell in my face.  Over and over and over again.   All the colicky months of nursing him while standing and rocking (and weeping from exhaustion) meant nothing.  In those, the LONGEST of moments, it felt like he hated my guts.  And I felt like I had wilted.

The day will come ALL TOO SOON when your child wants NOTHING to do with you.

So….The baby scarf phase.  It passes.  And gives way to other phases.  Like the DADDY DO IT phase, and the BOB DO IT phase.  Like the phase we’re presently in with Bob, when he acts all BOMBALOO and I have to excuse myself from public places while he thrashes every limb at once, spasms every muscle and emits fog horn type noises interspersed with shrieks.  That’s AFTER he’s shredded and smashed everything he could get his hands on in the 3.8 seconds it takes him to go from being a perfectly pleasant child to a…. less pleasant child.  And all this while trying simultaneously to protect the OTHER child in my arms from being bludgeoned.  Yup.

You take it all in stride because you know this one thing.  THEY HAVE TO SLEEP EVENTUALLY.  And then, despite how truly shattered you are, you get up to eat several thousand calories in chevre and chocolate and blog.

My mom called the other morning to say there was a dead doe in her front yard, and we came and got rid of it for her.  My folks live above a pretty busy road – there are stairs up their back hill to their house.  This poor creature must have been struck down there and come up looking for a quiet place to lay down and die.  She had a pretty gnarly healed leg from a previous injury – I can’t imagine what it was like to walk around on that.

The mini-vanasaurus is a loaner from the car accident the 4runner was in.  Hafta say, not a fan of the van.  It uses less gas than I thought it would, but it’s still a pig.  I can see them being highy useful if you had more than two children to haul around on a daily basis, but driving two kids around in that beast feels like HAULING and not driving.  I like zipping around in my little Focus hatchback and it holds plenty.  Our other vehicles each seat four kids, so unless we’re escorting around a team of children, I think we’re pretty well taken care of.

Something I love: Goat eyelashes.

I put Bucky in with the girls yesterday as his testicles had shrivelled up.  Things went better than I thought they would (on Sooki’s first night, the other three chased her relentlessly).  But I think it’s because they’ve seen and heard him for the last few weeks from his quarantine pen.  I took him out last night (I know they won’t let him in the shelter) and will put him in with them today for good.  The little ninnys have been playing “goat on a hot tin roof lately” and it’s a miracle there’s not been any broken limbs on account of their raging obesity. (Little Buffy on the ground there is actually pregnant and not just fat).

Maggie is sick, I’m a bit sick, Scott is sick.  At least one of us looks cute despite it:

Our little ratball has been getting showered with tummy rubs since his return:

In other news, we lost a baby chick this morning due to over crowding.  Squashed under the waterer.  They really need to get outside, so I think instead of tattooing me Scott will be building a chicken tractor tonight.  Foiled again!

Everything else seems to be OK.  Sunflowers are popping up, corn is popping up, strawberries are covered in flowers.  The rest of the tomatoes and peppers look great, as do their replacements.  The brussels sprouts, cabbage, chard, broccoli and cauliflower all are fine.  The flowers for cutting are ducky, as is the basil.  The peas and spinach are growing as fast as they can.  Though there is only one lone bean sprouting through.  No sign of carrots yet either.  Or beets.  But they’ll come.  I had written one of the cherry trees off as dead, but low and behold there’s some nice new green leaves sprouting so all is not lost.

Oh gardening.  The emotional roller coaster.

In super awesome good news, Dave Allen has just joined the crew at my husbands tattoo shop!  It’s going to be great having another artist around this summer.  Scott is really looking forward to having someone else to tattoo, fish and drink scotch beside.

We’ve decided we should name our farm The Super Annoying Animal Farm.  Dibly, in grass-is-always-greener fashion, keeps getting her head stuck in the fence.  I see a hot wires in their future.  The baby chicks are at that highly smelly, manky stage… too big to be cute, too small to  be out on grass.  Daisy Duke does about 37,002 annoying things every day in her rabid quest for love and attention.  NoNo Goo Eyes only wants to play loudly once the kids have just fallen asleep and are more prone to waking up.  CatCat chews plastic bags -  a quiet noise that wakes me up from a dead sleep.  Puppers riles up Daisy.  Daisy continues to be annoying.  And the laying hens refuse to use straw in their nesting penthouse and therefore get poo all over their eggs.  And yet somehow, we are planning to add MORE animals to the mix.

?!?

Bob’s Bird House (Sparrows have already made a nest!)

Group hug!

Wondering who Bucky is? This is Bucky:

Bucky is a goat we just rescued. He was not getting the care he needed. He was trounced by a horse when he was about a month old (which seems to have broken his ankle, which went untreated) and left him with a small abscess from a wound. Well the abscess went untreated and went from being about the size of a ping pong ball to a football. That’s a big abscess on a little baby goat (he’s just over 2 months now). To complicate matters, it is so large that it has started to bung up his plumbing (both his penis and testicles have disappeared inside of it).  It was freshly drained in this picture so you can’t see the lump.

Imagine clipping the end off of a bag of milk and that milk just pouring out. That’s what’s been pouring out of poor Bucky’s belly (after a belch of the foulest smelling air). Only about 1,287 times more smelly than even the stinkiest of off milk.  We’re going to keep this abscess drained and see if we can get him to start healing.  If we can’t, we’ll be putting him down.

He deserves a fighting chance, instead of being left to deteriorate and die. I understand (and agree with) culling sick animals out of your herd to keep your herd healthy. I get the ruthlessness of rural living. I just don’t get neglect.

Big thanks to Andrew White DVM of Gordon Lake & Veterinary on Queen in Kincardine, Ontario. If you live in the Kincardine area and are looking for a new vet, please check out Andrew and Heather. They provide excellent veterinary care.

About to start cleaning the house in preparation for our guests.  Gillian and her family are coming up for a visit and some tattooing.  I’m not sure how exactly I’m going to excavate our giant kitchen table, but it’s going to take some cunning creative skills.

Also have to make feta cheese today.  My sheep milk is defrosted.  Set up some of my no longer needed baby-goods at a local WI for a yard sale that is starting earlier than I am used to tomorrow morning.  Looking forward to getting rid of some stuff, not looking forward to early rising.  (The kids sleep in until at least 8am).

Bob has entered into the WHY stage.  I thought we were going to be clear of that one, because he has asked DOING and CALLED for months and months.  Now when you ask him to try to eat just a little more supper he asks WHY!  When you announce it’s bedtime he asks WHY!  When you break it to him that two cookies are all that are available for dessert he asks WHY!   I find BECAUSE I SAID SO a bit assholey, so I answer.  And boy.  Is it ever a task to keep up my end of the dialogue!  Little babies are so-much-easier than this.  Their needs are so basic; all you have to do is feed, change or help them to sleep.  Navigating this stuff, the wants and desires, the competition with his sister, the questioning and learning… it’s definitely a challenge.  Armed to the teeth with cups of tea and homemade doughnuts, I am attempting to rise to it…

Meeps has been super sensitive lately.  She’s still pretty snotty and is cutting more teeth and is essentially glued to me 24/7.  I’m still feeling pretty weak from the pnuemonia mess, so I’m pretty worn out at the moment.

I am on the last leg of sewing her the sweetest little dress.  Has taken me yonkers.  Got the buttons sewn on and was using my button-hole settings on my machine, and they got all wonky on me.  I’m not sure what happened, but they are bungled.  Thankfully all slightly too small, so I just have to rip out the bazillion little stitches and do them by hand… quite disappointed about that I have to say!  Will post pictures once I finish that up, which ought to be in another 4 weeks.

When I next update it ought to be with news of highly successful soap making.  Scott has made me some nice little wooden soap boxes and I have spent the last couple of weeks accumulating all I need to make some nice veggie soaps.  Of course being from the Chuck P generation the first thing that comes to my mind when I think lye is Tyler Durden.  I’ll be in the kitchen chanting “His name was Robert Paulson, his name was Robert Paulson” while the kids look on perplexed as usual at the ridiculous things Mommy & Daddy say.

(Anyone out there enjoy Peter Sellers in The Party?  Bob walks around saying “BANG-HOWDY PARD-NER”, whathavewedone).