Cindy Ray looks like QuasimoGoat because she had gotten disbudded the day before.  Her eyes are thankfully no longer swollen. I know there are a lot of people out there who want to potty train dwarf goats.  I know this because my STATS function coughs up a surprising number of Google generated hits with those key words.  Let me take this opportunity to make something perfectly clear:

Goats belong in barns and not in the house.

1. You cannot toilet train a goat.  (This coming from a woman whose babies were no longer pooing in diapers by 4 months of age, remember).
2. If your goat comes to think it’s a puppy or a member of the family, WHEN the time comes you no longer want it in the house, it’s going to have a serious adjustment problem when introduced back to other goats.  That little bit of entertainment gleaned from having a goat in the house would be nixed 10 times over. Goats are farm animals and not pets. Making your farm animals into pets is a mistake in my opinion. A pony sized horned and hoofed animal (a.k.a. BUCKY the Chief Jerk of JerkCity) with a sense of entitlement, even if benevolent, is a physical threat to children and adults alike. For the sake of the animals and the people in your life, keep your farm animals where they are happiest. (Pooing freely on fresh grass).

And so why is my goat in the house?

1. Bandage change and wound wash in the sink in the house which has (a few) less flies than the goat shed.
2. Hilarious one off photo opportunity.
3. To annoy my husband.

My husband went to Toronto today to get tattooed.  He took the Exploder because the 4Runner has a head gasket problem (just like last year) and has been sitting at the mechanics for a month.  The same Exploder whose tire went on the highway in the middle of winter and nobody stopped for the lady waiving her hands in the middle of the snowstorm at night… that Exploder.  The one whose tie rod end went on the highway this summer.  The one whose tire was fully flat (ditto the spare, I thought we had replaced over the winter) tonight after his tattoo appointment.  In Toronto.

I mean, I guess that thing has done alright by us, I did roll it once and drive it away.

BUT IF he drives that godforsaken vehicle home from the Big Shitty I am going to light it on fire.

So if you see a blaze out in Kingarf way, bring over your marshmallows and weenies, she’ll be a good burn.

He has rugged good looks and a wicked glint in his eye.  His hands are strong and capable, becoming increasingly battered by use.  His freckles are each one a delight, his tattoos made sexier by the full body of fur over them.  My husband is very much a man.  His humor is crude and continual, effective and endearing.  He can fanagle and fix just about anything we need fanagled or fixed.  His artistic skills are awe inspiring, the man can just sit down and draw…anything.  He has tremendous patience with our children which balances out his deficit of child proofing skills.  He has helped make my dreams come true, one kid at a time.

I could not possibly be more in love with him.

His hard work and dedication to our family are evident in every minute of his absence.

Which is a good thing.  Because much like those tremendous folk tales of yore, some days I feel like I know of him only from memories, from stories of his interaction with us.

Anyone else out there have a partner they don’t get enough of?  How do you deal with the loneliness and the potential for resenting their extracurriculars?  How do you stifle your excitement about them finally coming home so you don’t come across as demanding?

Being perturbed by the person you have missed so dearly because you’ve missed them so dearly is some predicament.

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.

Don’t know why I waited so long to buy a pair of work overalls, but holy crap.  They had them on sale at the TSC this week and am I ever thrilled.  Now I don’t have the poo of the 7 different types of animals we have at our farm on my pants!  Novel!

Suki is penned up in the maternity ward as we wait for her to kid.  Everything is racing along at full speed.  Animals, children, life.

I have been gardening my face off. Trying to keep my mother’s day fruit trees alive, so far so good.  Scott tells me if I kill this lot, they’re the last. I am now fretting over some rusty looking spots on one cherry tree and some brown dead leaf tips on the plums.  The black bugs have eaten my pak choi already and almost all of my heirloom tomatoes got frostbite and I’ll be shocked if they make it.  And they’re not even in the ground yet, heavens.  Nature does abhor a garden, Michael Pollan you are right again and again.

Below is a picture of Scott holding the Meeps after running his first 10k.  Have I mentioned how insanely, rabidly proud I am of him?

I haven’t been running races, but I have been running my tail off.  Made lotion specifically geared towards tattoo healing.  Appears to be working great on my back and Scott’s ribs, which are both seriously soaking up some nice black ink.  Made the most delicious ice cream the other day.  After multiple failed attempts to get the whipper snipper started, I found a Gerry Can of gas and some oil and managed to get our push mower to start.  Cutting grass so tall you could bale it means the mower bogs down and stops.  While it fires up in a couple hard pulls, after what was surely at least a hundred cranks on it, I can hardly use my right hand.  At least the edges of our lawn look beautiful now.  Fixed the giant gates on our back pasture so I could put the new four month lambs out with the goats.

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again.  Sheep sound like people making sheep noises.  Honestly.

Our goats are being nicer to them than I thought they would be.  I thought it was going to be 9 goats chasing 2 lambs in endless circles around the shed.  So far the majority of the butts they’ve received (and there have not been many) have been from the Nubian/Boer babies who are the lowest on the totem pole.  Like somehow the other goats higher up the totem pole are too important to be bothered with the business of these new stupid sheep.

I am posting the following picture because I have had several people tell me to ” just plant trees” when I talk of neighbours installing multiple industrial wind turbines beside our property.  Unless I am transplanting a fleet of Mighty Sequoias, no tree is going to buffer us from the 100+ meter tall turbines.  We are having a public information night at the local Davidson Centre June 24th with speakers starting at 7pm.  Please any Kincardinites, mark this on your calendar and attend.  These things are not green and they are not safe.  Optioned, contracted, or just curious, this information night is for everyone.

Here are the children playing in a pile of topsoil.  The Eisen lads cleared the topsoil off the spot where we put the 20×24 foot pad our playset sits on.  The kids love that topsoil.    And I love having the Eisens over.  These guys are punctual, polite and hardworking.  They are also quite attractive and well, it is summer… so Kincardine housewives, you know who to call for any landscaping needs, OK?  You will not regret your decision, I assure you.

Here’s Bob doing a crazy monkey dance in front of the pig tractor Scott built today.  And the kids pretending to be pigs inside of it.  And one of a few dozen handfuls of grass the kidlets deposited in it.  Thank you Richard for your innovative and afforable design!

I am reading Will Ferguson’s Beauty Tips from MooseJaw.  I got the book because (1) Bob loves the word MooseJaw thanks to Alligator Pie and (2) it’s about Canada, eh.  While I find his humor a little soft in spots, I have to admit I am inspired to do the following: (A) read more of his titles including Bastards and Bonehads, Canada Glorious Leaders Past & Present  (B) go to Churchill and have a polar bear encounter before we kill them all.

I am getting into taking  Vega.  Scott has been taking it.  It’s pretty incredible.  It is spectacularly full of of vitamins and minerals, vegan, gluten & soy free and here’s the best part: it doesn’t taste like you are cleaning our your child’s fishtank with your mouth.   At least, the berry flavour doesn’t taste that way.  Scott would go so far as to call it “delicious”.

I am going to go to bed now.  And try to sleep through the BAA-ING that is going on practically underneath my window.  Wish me luck, eh.

Had I had time to blog about our trip to Clifton properly before leaving for the UK, I would have titled my entry: “Colonial Houses: Another Reason I Hate Kemstone.”  OK, so hate is a strong word, they are a Canadian company and I give them props for that.  They specialize in man-made “natural” stone, which I thought looked terrific the first few times I saw it around a fireplace or covering an entire house.  It was new to me, the wool was pulled over my eyes, I thought “what beautiful stone work”.  But now when you can drive past any house build or remodel in progress and see them sticking on these half “stones”, there’s no fooling anyone.  And the stuff is everywhere now.

SO.  Houses in Clifton and Canandaigua are really beautiful: a rainbow of painted wood, with all the trimmings.  Very nice.  Our hosts were incredible, as we pretty much took over their entire house with our two children and pigdog.  Had terrific sushi with friends and had uneventful border crossings.  Hoorah.  Looking forward to doing it all again next year.

I started packing for our UK trip as soon as we returned for Clifton.  I had the kids travel outfits all picked out well in advance, everything laid out and lists checked twice.  We had loaded all the suitcases into the car, and were about to load the children in when we came upon Meeps, with her travel-outfit pants around her ankles, trying to pee standing up like her brother.  The first of many outfit changes!

The flight over went way better than I expected.  I had read a really long blog article written by a stewardess (and mother), which was really helpful.  Our flight departed at 11pm.  Take off was great, Bob was excited and interested, and Meeps fell asleep.  The lights were off, all appeared to be going smoothly.  And then they turned all the bright lights back on.  And proceeded to serve dinner, at midnight.  Who the heck needs dinner at midnight?! Meeps was roused everytime a single serving plastic bag rustled (a roar of them is produced with the meal carts) or the snap of a pop can erupted.  Bob managed to fall asleep and stayed asleep for practically the entire flight.  On one side of him was a Scottish Gran, who had 5 children and 12 grandchildren, so things really couldn’t have been better there, as he slept practically half on top of her.  Meeps nursed for the vast majority of the flight, which is preferable to hysterical screaming, even if only marginally. I would absolutely take a night flight again, but I would aim to leave around 9pm, to avoid overtired children and meal carts at midnight.

I had never been to Scotland.  It had been a decade since Scott had been.  It was beautiful. We stayed with Scott’s Aunt, who may have well been his mother’s twin to our children.  They embraced her instantly, which made our trip so much easier.  We were surrounded with cousins, and children of cousins.  Seeing some of the Duncan genetics at play in these children, as they are in our own, was surreal and wonderful.  We also met up with some friends of Scott’s, who coordinated their vacation with ours.  They also have a toddler, and it was play galore for all.  Scott went to two Whiskey distilleries and made some purchases which he is overjoyed with.  Our entire travel shopping budget was spent on Scotch, and that’s A-OK.

We opted to drive from Tillicoutry, Scotland to Porthcawl, Wales (and then to Gatwick airport, England).  Our Ford Mondeo, which had a trunk so large our first response was “we could fit all of our goats in there!” got an incredible 1,000 kilometers on a single tank of diesel.  It took us through three countries on one fill up.  Beat that, North America.  Scott had a terrific time driving; the winding roads, the driver etiquette (which is non-existant here), the speed.  (We’ve been joking we are waiting for the tickets to come in the mail, in a binder, which one could flip through like animation…documenting our journey).  It took about 7.5 hours, and Meeps screamed for all of England, but we pounded BBC Radio crazy dance music and it helped pass the time, and mask the hysterics.  Thank you, Pete Tong.

Scott had never been to Wales.  It had been a decade since I had been.  It was beautiful.  We stayed with relatives I had never met before.  (This despite the fact I have been to Wales many times, and stayed always a 10 minute drive away from them).  Scott and I both agreed we could have sent home for a box of our belongings and moved in, instantly.  Castles, cousins, kin, and even a visit to Bob and Meeps Great Great Great Great Grandfather’s grave.  Top that!

The kids handled the entire trip beautifully.  There were of course “moments”, but considering we did nothing but yank them everywhich way, jetlagged and unrested for two weeks, while asking them to smile and say cheese for yet another photo… they were champions.

The flight home went way better than I expected.  This time it left at 11am.  Which meant entertaining the children for nearly 8 hours, instead of trying to get them to sleep.  Thankfully the bag of new toys and crayons and snacks I had packed remained unopen on the flight over, so we got to pull out all our tricks on the journey home.  It was long, uncomfortable and very draining.  But there was no mass hysteria, only severe boredom.  So we can mark it a raging success.

The drive home from Toronto (3 hours) was pretty brutal.  Both children were berserk for the duration, screaming to be out of their seats and home again.  Bob vomited on himself, Mags cried so hard her eyes were swollen shut.They were shattered, having been traveling for nearly 24 hours.   When we came home, Bob attempted to climb onto the couch, and fell asleep in the process of doing so, with his feet dangling, not touching the floor.  (See picture below).

We are happy to be home, but sad to leave so much incredible family so far away.  We loved everyone, through to the DNA and back again.  I gained a cousin, who is my age.  I loved him from the first moment he emailed me (on SuicideGirls of all places a couple of years ago, saying “Hi, you don’t know me, but your parents are standing in my kitchen, and I am your cousin”) and I love him even more now.  Don’t know if it’s the lonely-only child in me coming out, but it feels incredibly special to be up a relative, with similar age and interests.  We will be making the Scotland/Wales tour a regular occurance.

The kids have brought some new virus home with them, and are pretty gross.  But the weather here is incredible (as it was on our journey) and we picked up our 4 laying hens from our neighbours barn today (where they stay for the winter).  Covered the the garlic with straw.  Did chores in the sunshine.  Relished the wide open.  Couldn’t have been happier.

I feel like I have so much more I could write, but it would be a book.  I have so many more pictures to show, but no time to prep them as I have a mountain of laundry.  Ordered heaps of mulch today, starting seeds tomorrow, 100 day old meat chicks will come soon, followed by 24 started turkeys.  Soap making next week, first cheese of the season the horizon.  Here we go!

I can’t believe winter is over and I get to play in the dirt for the next six months.  Lucky, lucky me.

Five days, no internet.  It was delightful.  It seems insane to me that five days seems… like something to write about!  But it is.  Five DAYS.  No internet.  Hahahaha.

And now for the undelightful task of playing catchup with my inbox.  And to get going on the 68 item long To-Do Before Leaving for Scotland List.  Which includes a blog entry with pretty pictures from our trip.

Mental note: gain back the 12+ pounds lost doing the 30 Day Shred and P90 before next session.  Any padding over my ribby back would be welcome.  In fact, gain 30 pounds, soley by eating cream cheese icing and other soft cheese confections.  For fun.

So I got a giant Kali mask tattooed on my back.  We have a giant Kali mask that hangs at the foot of our bed.  It was a wedding present that we bought ourselves.  She is beautiful, violent.  I am not particularly interested in Hindi or Tantra, but I find her image powerful and I particularly enjoyed looking down at her while I gave birth to Maggie in my bed.  While all of my tattoos mean something to me, mostly I just want to look at them.  Because they make me laugh, make me thankful, make me happy.  Nothing I can overly articulate.  I just LIKE them, I like BEING tattooed.  I am not all “every BODY has a story” (thank you for that one, Kat VonD, ahem).   It’s okay to get tattooed just because.

And so I do.

My tattoo session for the Kali outline was longer than my labor with Meeps.  Not kidding.

It hurt.   A lot.  I was quite sure that spread 9 was actually penetrating my ribs, and filleting the top of my ass.  Anyone who says tattoos don’t hurt probably does not have any in their ditches, their throats, their ribs.  Anyone who says tattoos don’t hurt has small tattoos.

Like labor, once you start you have to finish.  There is no turning back.  Like labor, every time the needle lifts, or the contraction stops, there is no discomfort.  Everything is clear.  You just hold on… let go… be ready to dive back into the waves.

The first few hours were OK.  I got by and sat still doing Ina May Gaskin’s “loose lips” breathing.   But by the last hour I was worn out and there was nothing but pain.  I had no energy left and it was at the part where it just feels like torture.  Scott’s friend and #1 Client Myke came in right at the end, I took his hand to hold loosely.  I went from a shaking heap to a still, but weeping heap.  I was so thankful for that understanding hand, I needed that calm and it worked.  He held my hand until the end.  What a ride.  It was totally a wonderful experience, to arrive at the end of that session with those two men.  Transcendent, tremendous… true.

Whenever I am sitting there going “why the hell do I do this to myself?!” I look in the mirror and know.  Because they fucking ROCK, that’s why.  I love it.  I love the experience, I love the result.

I love the adventure.  I love following through.  I love carrying it with me.

We’ll be covering up the “daeomnic energy wave” ass antlers.  And colouring it in… in less marathon lengthed sessions.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In other news, I had a good scare this morning.  Maggie was sitting on the kitchen table naked, and when she stood up there was a clump of brown between her buttcheeks.  I thought ohmygod, this is the payback I get for never changing a poopy Meeps diaper.   She’s just shit on the kitchen table.

I picked her up slowly.  I put my head closer.  I sniffed.

Thank god…

She had just sat on a cupcake.

I love standing back and watching kids interact.  He and a little girl, a few years older were the last in the showers.  They were beside each other, chatting away.  She announces, “OK!  Time to go, so we can go to gym.  Let’s play together there, OK?!”  He trotted right on out, instead of asking for me to push the button on the shower “one more time.”

We did groceries, got the kids balloons at the dollar store and now Scott is off for a jog, pushing the kids in their totally wicked awesome Mountain Equipment Coop double stroller contraption of brilliance.  (Great price, and the best kid containing device we have). Hopefully they are presently napping in tandem.

Had a most excellent weekend with Caitlin and the Meeps.  SO.  Friggin.  Awesome.  I didn’t take any pictures, because while I am great at taking pictures randomly, when the kids are doing things they do 16x a day, I am bad at taking pictures when you know… it may well be months before you see that person again.

Hoping Scott is going to finish drawing my backpiece tonight.  Listening to the puppy gnaw the wood pile.  Leaving you with pictures from some of our skating adventures.