Thursday, April 26, 2007

Raising Tadpoles

I want to be a good mom. I want to be the kind of mom who helps her children discover the beauty and wonder of nature.



A couple months ago, I kidnapped a clump of frog eggs from some wetlands in a local park, brought them home, and put them in a fishtank out back of our garage. I had no idea how many I had brought home. When the eggs all hatched, I probably had about 200 of the little guys in our tank.

I read up on them on the 'net' and discovered that they required fresh, clean, chemical free water. You could feed them cooked lettuce, but that they might turn cannibalistic if overcrowded. When they finally grew their back legs, they would need something to crawl out of the water onto, else drown (I guess).
In spite of my excitement I had for our little science project, I began to feel twinges of guilt. I did not want to see them eating each other. I wanted them [all] to live. But when it came time for them to spread their legs and hop away, there was no frog apartments with a fresh water pond nearby for them to move into after moving out of the tank. I would have to take them back to the park when the time came.
We do have a creek, though, and to spare myself the trauma of watching them eat each other, I got lazy and dumped half of them in the creek. I knew full well that they would all get swept away when the first real rain came, but told myself that at least they had a chance of surviving this way.
We soon discovered that I must have scooped up a pre-hatched tadpole along with the eggs. He was bigger than the rest, with his back legs already sprouted. With much enthusiasm, the family monitored his growth over the next few weeks. One day we noticed that his arms had suddenly appeared, and the next, his tail was nearly gone. He spent one more day climbing the side of the tank and a brick I had placed for him, then the next day, he was gone.
Hardly bigger than a dime, he had ventured into the wide world of our back yard full of snakes, lizards, and who knows what other menaces. Didn't he know I was planning to take him back to the wetlands in the next few days? I thought I had told him so. Wracked with guilt, I loaded the rest of the tadpoles up in a bucket the next day, and Finley and I took them back to the park.
The scene was surreal. Nestled back in a thicket of trees, was a perfectly clear little pond, lined with last fall's leaves. Snatches of sunlight danced on the water while a myriad of tadpoles played beneath the surface. I gently poured my captives back out into sweet freedom...

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Who I Spend My Days With









Joe has recently turned into a regular Linus, dragging a blanket or dishtowel around with him.
















And Finley... is still Finley.

Monday, April 23, 2007

It's a beautiful day...

It is hovering around 70 degrees and the wind blows the trees every so often. The sky is a bit overcast, and I can tell it wants to rain, but can't quite commit yet.


My four tomato plant in my otherwise empty garden seemed as if they wanted to shivel up and die from just looking at the pale dusty brown earth surrounding them, so while Joe took his morning nap, I took Finley outside. As I opened the doors to the compost bin, a lizard dove beneath some leaves. I had to dig deep to find anything other than dry leaves, since I wasn't too good about turning the leaves this winter, but on the bottom, I struck gardener's gold. The black sludge looked beautiful, as did the fat night crawlers I uncovered here and there. Some things are still right in the world.




So my milk jug covered tomatoes are happier. And I'm happier. And it doesn't end there. I ran by the bank, dropped off some boxes to Salvation Army (where we've started shopping on 50% off Wednesdays and gotten some killer deals on cool clothes), and baked a batch of cookies... all before lunch. Amazing. If I could be this productive (and the kids be relatively content) all the time, I think I could take over the world.

Monday, April 16, 2007

My White Urkel



This after my sleepless night at the ER.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

A Decidedly Not-So-Restful Night

Saturday night at 3 a.m., I was in the Vanderbilt Children's Hospital emergency room listening to Joe struggle for breath. The rapid, shallow breathing started up about supper time, and in spite of Vick's rub and some time spent in the steamy bathroom, it hadn't improved.


After a half dozen people poked and prodded Joe as he screamed and clung to me, we were allowed to go back home with the diagnosis of mild pneumonia and brochial spasms.


I don't deal with medical problems very well. They make me angry. How dare something mess with my child's body and leave me powerless.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Men.

We have a toilet in the unfinished space of our attic. Just like a typical man, this is Chris' favorite toilet to use. It has no sink nearby, no doors or walls to give you that secure feeling while you defecate.


Something I don't quite understand is the pride men feel concerning the size of the deposits they make into toilets. Maybe it has something to do with the ecouragement we give toddlers when they learn to poop in the potty, but I thought we were supposed to grow out of that need for acknowledgement. Anyway, I can't tell you how many times I've heard something like "I can't believe they're [his cheeks] still together after all that." Pride comes before a fall.


A few days ago, Chris went upstairs to 'do his business.' When he came down, he said, "It got stuck! [read with touch of pride] What are we going to do?"


We?


He left for work, the thing still stuck in the toilet. When he got home, he went to check on it, hoping that it had miraculously disappeared. No suck luck. He came down, asking for more advice, secrectly hoping I would bail him (and the poop) out. Would Drano work, he asked. I doubt it, I said, what about a stick? He didn't like that idea. I suggested a latex glove.


Minutes later, armed with a stick, plastic bag, and latex gloves, Chris went upstairs to take care of his problem. He soon came back down, proclaiming loudly, "Watch out! Poop on a stick!"


Men.

Monday, April 9, 2007

Joe is One

Last weekend we held Joe's 1st birthday party...




He didn't care much for his cake.

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

Mr. Tidwell

When we moved into our house four years ago, we noticed this old man mowing the yard across the street. We went over to introduce ourselves, and, both being in the mowing business, Chris and he got to 'talk shop.' He was in his 80s at the time and had over 30 yards that he cared for.

As Mr. Tidwell usually mows our neighbor's yard while Chris is at work, we hadn't spoken to him for a year or two.

Yesterday, Mr. Tidwell was out for the first cut of the season, and Chris jumped at the chance to reconnect. Mr. Tidwell is now 92. Yes, you read that correctly: 92.

Chris told him he was an inspiration. He returned by saying Chris was his inspiration and had made his day. Whatever, Mr. Tidwell. Nothing compares to you.



Monday, April 2, 2007

Silence

I told you earlier that I borrowed two books about Mother Teresa from the library. One is biographical, and the other written by Mother Teresa. Now known as No Greater Love, its original title was The Mother Teresa Reader, A Life For God. I am only on page 14, but I feel as if I need to stop and read the first ten pages every day for a month.


Unfortunately, I haven't read them but three times, but I had to take a quick break and read Dobson's Strong Willed Child. After a crazy few days with Finley a while back, I just needed some retooling on my parenting strategies. I'm feeling a little wiser now, and also thankful that she's not as strong willed as the examples in the book.


It is no wonder why depression, confusion, and hopelessness so easily infiltrate our lives. The news, the television, that mean guy in Kmart (God bless him), all fighting for our attention and our thoughts...


So here are a few lines from MT:

"In the silence of the heart God speaks. If you face God in prayer and silence, God will speak to you. Then you will know you are nothing. It is only when you realize your nothingness, your emptiness, that God can fill you with Himself.
Silence gives us a new outlook on everything. We need silence to be able to touch souls. The essential thing is not what we say but what God says to us and through us...
Listen in silence, because if your heart is full of other things you cannot hear the voice of God..."