It's the End of the Year (as we know it)

And I would feel fine if all this mucous would stop clogging up my sinuses and airways.

We had a great Christmas, in spite of our colds, with both sides of the family coming out to spend a part of the day in our new house. The weekend before, we had a gathering at Chris's grandmothers, and got to spend time with family we only see once or twice a year.

Speaking of the new house, we finally-FINALLY got our official certificate of occupancy. Over the weekend, Chris nibbled away at all the little things that needed to be done, such as disconnecting the trailer's sewage lines and installing a clean-out for the line from the house, putting up the railing that will keep anyone from falling into the stairwell, slapping up some ugly railings for all the steps leading into the house, and putting numbers on the house (as if anyone could see them from the street). It's nice to know we can legally live in our house now. Chris was especially happy to have accomplished this goal by year's end.

We are into week two of the kids' winter break. I had grand plans of all the things we would do, but between the snot and Christmas festivities, it was quite an accomplishment to fulfill just one of those plans: making gingerbread houses.

On a side note: it is almost impossible to get a "normal" picture of the kids these days, thanks to the influence of their father. But I guess goofball is their normal.

One day last week, Finley slipped this note to Chris after supper:

I felt bad, remembering a word I let slip when I thought the kids were out of earshot, and thought there might have been a time or two when she might have misheard my under-the-breath mumbling. I'm not one to get bent out of shape over a cuss word or two, but I really don't want my kids to think swearing is an okay habit to develop, so I went to Finley to find out exactly what she heard and to apologize. "What did you hear me say?" I asked her when I got her alone. "You said 'I SWEAR...'!"

So I have one more week of walking on eggshells until the kids go back to school and I can let the blue-streaks fly without worry.

The Kids

Figured I should take a minute to brag on the kids a little.

 Finley and I have been helping the neighbor with her horses the past couple weeks. Last night, the neighbor was gone, so we were supposed to lead the horses to the stable, feed them a little, and treat one that was having some dermatitis issues. Up to this point, the horses had been pretty calm whenever we got them, but last night, the one Finley had was feeling a little impatient. After Finley circled a few times to try to get the horse to slow down, it decided to take off at a trot to the stable, nearly dragging Finley alongside. Finley's foot got kicked or stepped on in the process, and when it was all over, Finley was a little shook up and in tears. I asked a little later if she still wanted a horse. She didn't hesitate. "Yes." Cowgirl up.

 Last night, the kids watched the Rudolph Christmas special on television. At the end of the show, Rudolph's dad, who initially was rather embarrassed by his son's red nose and doubted Rudolph had a future with Santa's team said, "I knew that nose would be useful someday. I knew it all along!" This BS was too much for Joe, who blurted out, "THEN WHY DID YOU KEEP MAKING INSULTS ON HIM?!"

And Zivah. She handed me a huge stack of addition flash cards the other night, insisting I quiz her. She happily and correctly answered all but three. I have spent little to no time with her on her math facts up to this point. Apparently, she's the one that inherited my math gene.

Easing from Thanksgiving to Christmas

I have just survived Thanksgiving. For that, I am thankful.

The kids were home from school all week. Thankfully, the weather wasn't awful, so the kids got in some sunshine and fresh air. In spite of the the poo scattered through the yard and sometimes tracked into the house, I am also thankful for the chickens. The birds keep the kids occupied when other animals (like Daisy) aren't as easy to play with.

 I have to admit that I am not so fond of our big rooster. He has never shown any aggression toward me, but I just don't like the way he treats most of his ladies. I rarely see him making romantic overtures to woo the hens like one of our old roosters would. Most of the time, he just takes what he wants when he wants it. Zivah, however, probably has no thoughts of the chickens' love lives, and likes him just fine. She has been getting a kick out of catching the big roo, and I am getting a kick out seeing Mr. Macho at the mercy of my baby girl.

 We hosted Thanksgiving dinner at our house this year, and Finley helped bake some pies. We made pumpkin (from the pumpkins Finley grew this year), apple, and chocolate.

 As my in-laws gifted us with an actual tree this year, I let the kids decorate it before Thanksgiving. Three different colors of garland, multi-colored lights, and the miscellany of ornaments make it a sight to behold. The kids think it is beautiful. I am glad they like it.

 So this year, our cactus was spared from the heavy burden of all those ornaments, but it just wouldn't be Christmas if we didn't decorate the cactus. A strand of white lights, red garland, and candy canes will do.

Now I need to figure out where to hang the stockings. If there is one thing I miss about our old house in Nashville, it is the fireplace mantle. Nowhere else seems appropriate.

Daisy

I had no idea that chickens could wail. I have heard all manner of clucks and crows, but never in these four years on the farm have I heard such a hopeless cry come from a chicken. Upon hearing it, Chris took off running for the stable, while I followed not so quickly behind. Entering the stable, we found our dog, Daisy, hopping about with excitement, and Rock-Star, cornered and howling in exhausted defeat.

I knew getting a dog would take some work- that we would need to work with it to teach it basic manners (not to jump or gnaw on people, to sit, etc.), but I was hoping Daisy's farm dog pedigree would make her indifferent to the chickens. Thankfully, she has no intention of ripping apart and eating the birds like the strays we caught a few months back, but she sure does like to chase them.

At first I thought she was just exercising some of her herding instincts, and would watch her chase them for a few yards before she moved on to another chicken or other distraction. It wasn't until after the incident with Rock-Star- then when I saw her chase Isadora through the yard, under the trailer, back out, then all the way around the trailer without slowing- that I really realized I needed to put a stop to this behavior.

(You'd think the chickens would be smart enough to fly up out of reach onto a fence or something, but apparently, they lose their minds in the panic and can only think to run.)

So until we can put in the time and training necessary, Daisy cannot have free reign of our entire yard. This means that we either have to keep her on a tie-out, or in the fenced area behind the stable. You would think that having a quarter acre or so to run would make a dog happy, but not Daisy. As soon as I close the gate on her, she starts to whine, then spends all her time and energy (when she's not crying like a poor, tortured soul) looking for a way out. Tie her up to the 20 foot lead on the front porch of the house, and she's as happy as a clam. But since I can't stand to see a dog tied up, I've been trying to get her used to the fenced area.

I can't count the number of times she's escaped. Time and again, I patch a hole, only to find her on the porch half an hour later. So I lead her back to her yard, play with her for a bit, then lock her behind the gate and watch to see how she gets out. The last time, she found a hole in the back fence, worked her way through some tall grass and brush, then through another hole into the calves' pasture, a squeeze through the cattle gate, back into our yard.

I've been taking her on walks around the farm. Usually, we walk the fence and tree line of Queenie's pasture: one that we are only using for hay, so that I don't have to worry about her running off to pester some animal. As I walk she'll run ahead or lag behind, stopping to sniff whatever catches her fancy. By the time we've made our way around the perimeter of the 14 acres, I am winded, but she can still run full tilt. If I keep this walk up once or twice a day through the winter, I'll be in good shape!

Indecision

Our clock has been sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of the living room for more than a week, waiting.

I need to hang it. But it's complicated.

Interior decoration is an art. And I am ridiculous enough to want my home not only to look good, but to say something, so the placement and grouping of items is important to me. It doesn't help that some of the things I'd like to hang aren't framed, or that the trim isn't up to help me know where to position things on the wall, or that I haven't built the wall shelves out of the barn wood yet. So I think and re-evaluate and put off.

And the clock still sits there, grumbling, "It's time, it's time..."

Living in the New

It happened.

Last Monday, I called in for our electrical final. Tuesday came and went, and the inspector never showed. He was slammed with work and didn't make it out to us. He was not scheduled to be in our county again until Thursday. If he failed us on Thursday, we would have to wait until the next Tuesday to have him back out for a re-inspection, which meant our hopes to move in over the weekend were looking dim. We tried not to be disappointed.

Wednesday, I picked the kids up from school, got the kids working on their homework, then wandered outside. There was a truck in the drive that wasn't ours. The inspector had come! I went out to the house where I found him poking around upstairs. He explained he had run out of work in a neighboring county and decided he might as well get a few things knocked out over in ours. Besides, he knew we had been waiting for a long time. After a few more anxious moments on my parts, he passed us.

Thursday and Friday, I worked feverishly, finishing the floor in the mud room. My mom came over and helped clean out the fridge, getting it ready for Chris to move when he got home. By Friday evening, with the help of our neighbors, we had all the major appliances cleaned up and moved over.

Seeing the table and chairs ready for us to eat breakfast in the new house the next morning made me happier than I can tell you.

Speaking of happy, instead of the used, scuffed up kitchen sink we had available, we splurged and bought a new sink and faucet to go with the countertops Terry finished and helped us install. I didn't realize how much I would enjoy this fancy, new faucet. I almost (almost) look forward to washing dishes.

 In the meantime, back in the trailer, there is a colossal mess. Nobody wants to go in there. For the past few weeks, the smell of death was added to the stink of moldy wood, so the relief we felt when we could finally move into the new house was greater than ever. I am sure when we tear the place down, we will find the bones of an animal or two tucked away in the insulation under the floor somewhere.

But every day, I have been braving the trailer, sifting through the chaos, throwing away whatever I can, setting aside things to give away or sell, then bringing over bit by bit the things we decide to keep.

The kitchen is slowly taking shape. Although none of the doors and drawer faces are painted, and there are shelves and an island I need to build, I am making do with what I have. I almost like the look of the unfinished drawers, but I doubt Chris would let me leave then this way long term.

In the evenings, we all settle into the beds in our clean, new rooms, breathe deep of the fresh air, and drift off to sleep, happy.

First of Fall

It is the first day of autumn, and we woke up this morning to a typical autumn day: cool and clear with the promise of a warm afternoon. The kids put on their shorts, t-shirts, and jackets, then headed outside, bearing backpacks, to see the newest member of The Funny Farm family before heading off to school.

 We adopted Daisy on Friday. I had resisted adopting a dog, determined to wait until we were in the house. But then a friend posted some pictures on facebook. She was free, oh-so cute, and her farm dog mix of Great Pyrenees, Australian Shepherd, and touch of Blue Heeler made her a dog we couldn't pass up.

I am hoping that Daisy will help Joe get over his fear of dogs. It is working, I think. Joe adores Daisy, but is still apprehensive. We keep reassuring him, "Daisy is just a baby. She is not mean, she just playing. If she is doing something you don't like, you can make her stop." Still, you can tell from this photo- he tries to keep a safe distance.

 While the kids are at school and I am doing chores around the farm, Daisy is my sidekick. I have to be careful, though. If I stop moving for more than a few seconds, she curls up on my feet, tempting me to cast aside all responsibility and plunge my hands into her fluffy softness.

 In spite of the new distraction, things are moving along on the house. We had the building inspector come out last Thursday to give us a list of things we needed before we could get our final certificate of occupancy. I also called the electrical inspector to see if we were ready for our final electrical inspection. We were hoping we could pass that inspection this week, but turns out there are a couple of minor thing we need to fix before that will happen. Maybe next week. Once we have electrical and a few other minor things, we can move in and work on getting our final occupancy.

Countertops are going in! They aren't exactly what I wanted, but comparing the time and cost difference between the in-stock countertops and ones we'd have to special order, we opted for the less-expensive, faster option. Terry, our ever-helpful neighbor, came over yesterday to help Chris install them. I am thankful. I was worried that with our inexperience, we wouldn't do a very good job. But Terry is a pro, and I can cast those worries aside.

In other news, Finley came to me about a month ago, bubbling with excitement and determination. Mrs. Sweeney, the music teacher at school, was about to hold auditions for Melody Makers, a 4th and 5th grade extra-curricular choir. Finley wanted to try out. Warning sirens went off in my head. My sweet, music-loving daughter can barely hold a tune. "That's great, Finley! I am proud of you for wanting to try out. I just want you to know that you might not make it," I cautioned her.

For the audition, the students were to sing Mrs. Sweeney a song, then try to match notes she played on the piano. I practiced with Finley. The results were not very good. I was not very optimistic, but kept my opinion to myself.

The day of auditions, I picked the kids up from school. As I pulled up to the curb, it was obvious, Finley was floating on air. "I made it! I made it!" she yelled before I could even open the door. Out of the 65 kids that auditioned for the 36 member choir, Finley was #36 on the list.

All I can think is that Finley's Sue-Heck-ish enthusiasm won her a place, because she certainly doesn't have the greatest ear. (Chris keeps making Barney Fife jokes to me on the side.) So, thank you, Mrs. Sweeney. Maybe you see potential that we can't. Maybe you just needed some truly earnest kids to boost the energy of the choir. Either way, I don't care. Finley really enjoys it, and I am just praying this experience will help my daughter to sing mostly in tune. That would be amazing.

I Will Not Be Cranky

We got most of the flooring laid this past week, and finished up the kitchen floor on Monday.

The laundry/mud room still needs to be done, but Finley was sent home Monday with strep. Tuesday, I discovered that the van's battery had gone kaput and a had to take Finley to a doctor's appointment. (Thank goodness for the truck.) Today, after getting a 4:15 wake-up thanks to Chris's alarm clock (I will not be cranky), I wrestled the battery out of the van. With an older model vehicle, the job would have taken about 30 seconds, but the brilliant engineers at Chevy buried this battery under a bar bolted to the frame, a fuse box, and tangle of wires, so it took a bit longer. 

In the mean time, the kitchen waits for counter tops and for Chris to hook up some plumbing. Once that is done, we are hoping to at least get a temporary occupancy permit so that we can move out of the trailer...

Laying the Hardwood: Beginning

We started laying the hardwood floor Friday afternoon, and got several rows laid int he living room.
Saturday morning, we started the office. After a couple hours, we realized we hadn't quite lined things up properly, and had to tear up everything we had done that morning and start over. After getting everything realigned, Chris left for a work-related event, and I kept working. Sunday took on a slow, leisurely pace, and by the end of the weekend...

Moving Right Along

Last night, Chris and I hung some of the kitchen cabinets.

Since painting the cabinet doors would have taken a lot longer, we opted to put that off until we are moved in. Flooring is next before we can permanently install the lowers cabinets and counter tops.

The Right Way to Raise Chickens

I took Finley to the 4-H chicken show last night to show her chickens. We got there early to ensure that we would have plenty of time to let the vet take a look at her birds and get them set up in their pen. We were one of the first to arrive, and as other 4-H-ers trickled in with their birds, I couldn't help but compare their chickens to Finley's. The birds in the pen right next to hers looked like they might be a little bigger than Finley's. But they were uglier, in my opinion.

As the pens filled up with the 150 or so Black Sex Link laying hens, I was overwhelmed by the sea of sameness, and couldn't imagine how a judge could tell any sort of real difference. Most of the pens had a carton filled with eggs sitting atop the pen. One pen had a whole plastic bin piled with at least 4 dozen eggs. Our pen had a mere half-dozen eggs. This fact was a little discouraging to me. Because we had let Finley's chicken mix with our other chickens, we weren't entirely sure how many eggs her hens had laid, so I only let her bring the ones I was sure of.

After all the pens were filled, and the judge started his rounds. He would reach into the pen, grab a bird, and feel it up in some mysterious way. After letting it go, he would feel another one. Before moving on to the next pen, he would scribble something onto the card that announced the owner's name. When he was safely down the row past Finley's pen, she went out to see what he had written, but it revealed nothing to us. Periodically, he would go back to a pen he had already been to and feel up another chicken. The suspense was beginning to kill me.

Finally, the judge was done, and stepped back to leave us in suspense a little longer with a speech.

He had been involved in 4-H chicken shows for over 35 years. Just so we knew, these birds were for all intents and purposes, genetically identical, and were all born on the same day. Sometimes, he could tell the difference in birds that had been picked up as chicks in the morning as opposed to the afternoon. I had been one of the first to pick up Finley's chicks. That's good. He said it could make a difference if the chicks were given sugar water right away. Uh-oh. He said it could make a difference if the birds had been kept in too big of a pen. Finley's birds had been free range for the last several months. Oops. He said it could make a difference how long you fed the chicks the grower feed before switching to scratch, or when you started feeding them layer crumble. The birds could show underdevelopement if they were left without food for as little as 8 hours. Since Finley's birds were free range, we rarely left them with unlimited access to scratch. It could make a big difference if the birds had access to fresh water all the time. I know we didn't give them fresh water EVERY day. Oh, this isn't looking good... He went on to explain the different grades. Blue plus birds were top quality. Blue was good, but could be a bit small, or not laying yet. Red birds were underdeveloped.

At this point, I was just hoping that Finley's chickens would score blue.

After talking a little while longer, he finally released us to see what he had graded the birds. We stormed the pens.

In the right hand corner of Finley's card was a big B+. I couldn't believe it. Although she didn't win a Grand Champion or Reserve Champion prize, we had apparently done something right. So go ahead, Fin. Let that heart swell with pride.

The End is Near

 The kids are back in school, and that mean a lot of uninterrupted time to work on the house. The past two weeks, have been focused on the kitchen cabinets, prepping them for paint. My mom spent several days sanding down the doors while I got caught up on laundry and other neglected chores. Once she had most of those knocked out, I started on the cabinets themselves.

 The base of the cabinet where the sink is to go had seen better days. Aside from the large hole cut in the floor of the cabinet, some of the particle board was rotten, and a large spot of dried black mold adorned the underside. Chris' original idea was to cover the floor of the cabinet with 1/4" plywood, but I didn't like the idea of knowing that mold was under there.

 I carefully took the cabinet apart, rebuilt the support base, and installed fresh, new wood on the floor.

 Next, I wanted to modify a cabinet that will sit next to the range. I took out the shelf and installed dividers so I can easily store my baking sheets and cutting boards.

Another cabinet base that was used for a counter-top stove also had holes in its floor, so I replaced that. And it had the perfect space ready for a large drawer. I figured I'd better take the time to build the drawer now, as installing one after the counter tops were in would make the process a lot more difficult.

As I was using our table saw to cut precision-sized grooves to hold the base of the drawer, I realized how happy I felt. There is a satisfaction and joy that comes with building something, and building it well... I can't wait to get started on the growing list of things I want to build once we are in the house.

 The face of the drawer will be put on after the painting is done.

 Meanwhile, in another part of the house, Chris laid the tile in the last bathroom this weekend, and installed all the fixtures. All three bathroom are up and running.

As soon as the cabinets are painted, we can lay the hardwood, install the cabinets and some counter tops, then, maybe, just maybe, we can move in!

Sleuthing on the Farm

One day last week, Finley brought me a small, brown egg she found in the chicken coop. I was baffled. All of the hens that roost in that coop are older and tend to lay normal-sized eggs. I had been expecting our young hens to lay in the stable, since that is where they sleep at night. Also, the stable has it's own nesting box with a golf ball decoy that has been waiting patiently for some one to make use of it.

In order to solve the mystery, I planted our game camera just inside the door of the coop, pointed at the corner where the eggs have been found. Day One left us without an egg and without answers. Day Two yielded some thirty photos, mostly of a chicken's rear end:

 But one shot revealed the culprit:

I am pretty sure this is one of my two Buff Orpingtons, sneaking into the old ladies' coop to lay her eggs.

*Note to self: Fix rear coop window to allow for better lighting.

Goldie 3

If I was superstitious, I would insist that the kids refrain from naming any more chickens "Goldie". Goldie #1 was given to us the first year we lived on the farm. Not long after we got her, she came down with some sort of mysterious illness (I suspect something like botulism) and died. Goldie #2 was nabbed by a fox. Goldie 3 is faring no better.

Thursday morning, the kids and I were quietly minding our own businesses when a ruckus was raised by some of our chickens outside. Finley and Joe dashed out the front door of the trailer. I peeked out a window in the kitchen as I made my way to the door, and caught glimpse of a pile of feathers. This wasn't going to be good.

I ran out the front door and into the yard. There were my kids, crying, with a look of terror plastered on their faces, and at the same instant, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a dog running at me from beneath the trailer. I turned and kicked it as it jumped. And in the next couple seconds, as I watched the dog stumble, then run around a little, I realized this wasn't some vicious, crazy dog. It was a happy, excited dog that desperately wanted some food, love, and attention. Thankfully, the dog wasn't very big and I was able to grab him and restrain him by the scruff of his neck.

It took a few minutes for the fear to melt out of the kids, and a little longer for the tears of grief to subside. We had discovered that Luke Skywalker, Zivah's pet chicken, had suffered a serious wound on her haunch, and it would be necessary to put her down. Joe and Finley were terribly worried that Zivah would take the news badly (more crying on their part), but when I broke the news to Zivah, she said, "It's okay. I still have Fluffy-Head." [Side note: This from the girl who cried for an hour the day before because I wouldn't let her have a pocket knife that she couldn't close. An hour. I am not going to try not to worry about her just yet.]

Initially, we thought Goldie had been killed and taken away by the other stray dog that we kept seeing hanging around Queenie's pasture. [We later caught the other dog, and our neighbor took them both to the shelter the next morning.] But several hours later, she reappeared with a de-feathered and bloody rear-end.

I had already had to kill one pet chicken that day, and really didn't want to have to put another one down, so we decided to give her a day or two to see if she might have a chance of survival. Our neighbor gave us some Blu-Kote antiseptic, and we sprayed her down with it, and put her in a cage in the stable with fresh water and food.

By Saturday, she was keeping one eye closed, and I was afraid she might be going down-hill, but on Sunday, she seemed a little perkier. She was eating and drinking (and pooping) just fine. But then I noticed something: maggots. The Blu-Kote didn't seem to affect them at all. I did a little research, remebering that maggots are sometimes used in medicine clean wounds. Maybe some maggots weren't so bad! But after reading some articles by wildlife rehabilitators, it became obvious that they couldn't just be left unchecked.

I quite honestly don't have the time or the stomach to sit and pick maggots out of a chicken's butt, but, nevertheless, thought I'd give her one more chance. I had to bribe Finley to help me. I got Goldie out of her cage and, while I held her, had Finley try to spray the maggots off with a nozzle on the garden hose. This didn't work, and in one last-ditch effort, we doused Goldie 3's heinie with some Gibson's antiseptic. I had used this on the calves when we castrated them to keep the area clean and fly-free. I put Goldie back in the cage, thinking that this probably wouldn't work, and I would have to put her out of her misery soon.

As the kids were getting ready for school this morning, I told them that Goldie would be gone when they got home. After dropping them off to school, I ate my breakfast, and tried to work up the nerve to get it done. I decided it would be best to dig the hole first. I planned bury her back behind the stable, so after grabbing the shovel, stopped in to check on her before I dug the hole. A quick inspection of her tail, and to my surprise, the maggots were gone.

So Goldie 3 lives on for now. If you are the praying sort, say one for her. She could use it.

LEtting GO

As far back as I can remember, we had a bin of Legos at our house. Most of them were from the 70s, with people heads the size of large marbles, wagon-styled wheels, and little doors that would be impossible for the big-headed people to fit through, even if I could have figured out at that young age how to build them out of the crazy random and broken pieces we owned. 

So when I was 8 or 9, a desire was born in my heart to own my own set of Legos. **Disclaimer. I am aware of the fact that the plural of LEGO is LEGO, but after 30-plus years of saying and writing "Legos," have decided a disclaimer is easier and more comfortable than correcting myself.**

As you probably know, Legos are not inexpensive.The price tag for a set of Legos was far beyond my allowance-saving potential, and the only hope I had of owning my own was to petition my Gramma to buy me a set for birthdays or Christmas. She came through. First came a police station, then a fire station, and eventually, a Technic go-kart set. Each set, I built, then left intact on a shelf in my room, ready to play with. The instructions, I kept in a safe place in case I needed them. At some point, I bought another bin of Legos in which I put all the pieces of the fire and police stations along with the instructions. The Technic set, I kept in it's original box, not wanting to mix the two kinds of Legos.

Then, along came my kids. At some point, I allowed them to play with my Legos, letting them build random things out of the pieces, and didn't bother trying to build the stations.

When Joe received his first Lego set, I was thrilled. It was a blue car that could be rebuilt several different ways. I had visions of him building it, playing with it, then carefully taking it apart and rebuilding it when he got tired of one style. I place the instructions and extra pieces together in a ziplock bag, instructing him to keep them all together so that nothing would get lost. I don't think the car remained intact for even one day. Boy that he is, he like to pretend that the car would crash... 

As the Lego sets kept coming, I told the kids (in vain) to keep the instruction booklets on a bookshelf where they would be safe and easily found. But, inevitably, after the initial build, the booklet would end up under a bed or at the back of a closet, bent up and falling apart.

A friend of mine has a son that is conscientious enough to take care of his instructions. He then started his own business, renting the booklets out to his friends at school. My kids aren't like that. It has come to the point where I have confiscated all the booklets and have them hidden in a drawer in my desk.

Joe came to me the other day wanting to build a car he had seen in the fire station instructions. I handed him the booklet with a strict warning that the booklet needed to come back to me AS SOON AS he was done with it. He came back five minutes later, complaining that he couldn't find the base to the car. He swapped that booklet out for another, but was back with that one in another five minutes. No surprise there. As the kids get into building something, they don't want to put their projects back into the Lego bin come clean-up time, so they squirrel the pieces away in random parts of their rooms. Zivah will take a liking to a certain Lego piece, and I have found stashes of pieces in several clothes drawers, backpacks, other bins, or other toys. I would be amazed if we could build ANYTHING by the book.

If the mixing of sets and disregard for instructions weren't bad enough, my kids even take apart the mini-figures! Removing an arm or a hand is unconscionable in my book. Seeing the mini-figures suffering from missing body parts about does me in. 

As much as this drives me crazy, I have decided to let go of it all and look on the bright side. The kids love building with Legos, and they are being far more creative with their builds then following instructions allows. Instead of bemoaning that the cool Star Wars ship has little chance of ever being built again, I am enjoying the Lego mess.

Above, a dwarf from a Hobbit set relaxes in a hot tub that Joe built, while Finley's mermaid man swims in his aquarium in the background. Below, Z has her own thing going.

 

It's 95 degrees outside. The trailer's AC unit is running non-stop to try to get the temp in here below 83.

Yesterday, Chris's cousin dropped by and spent the day helping him get the main unit for the house hooked up. It turns on now and then. The temperature in the house right now? 74. Gotta love good insulation.

A Better Week

We woke up the morning after my last post to a collapsed section of trench. All the rain we got had weakened the sides of the trench and a mini-mudslide had ensued. I used the tractor to dig out as much mud as I could, and then went to work with the shovel.

The mudslide wasn't all setback. I found two glass marbles as I was digging.

We managed to get the trench dug out and the pipe laid, then went on vacation. Instead of the beach, we opted for a quicker, closer trip to Chattanooga where the Finley, Joe, and Z got their first amusement park experience. I was kind of glad that Zivah was too small for some of the more intense rides like the tilt-a-whirl. I can't handle as much as I used to.

Z and me at the top of the ferris wheel.

Chris and Joe in a paddle boat.

Brutal bumper cars.

One of my favorite things there was the sky lift. It reminded me of the long-gone Peony Park in Omaha.

Finley and Reanna on the sky lift.

After exhausting ourselves on the roller-coasters and other rides, Chris, Reanna, and I managed to convince the younger, more energetic kids that it would be in their best interest to head to the hotel. We stayed overnight in the Chattanooga Choo Choo hotel, then spent the next day at the aquarium and Lookout Mountain before heading back home that evening.

The day after our trip, a guy from the electrical company came out to inspect our trench. With everything a "go", we had the other inspector out the next day to see if he would give us a service release. The orange sticker below gave the electric company the green light to hook up power to the house, and as of 10 a.m. this morning, we have electricity in the house!

All that's left (I think) is flooring, cabinets, and plumbing fixtures........ Pinch me. I might be dreaming.

It's Always Somethin'

Stomach bugs are no fun. And when they last for six days, things can start to look really bleak. Thankfully, I have a husband that would stop at the grocery store after a long day at work to bring me chicken noodle soup and kefir and whatever else I needed, and a mother nearby who was willing to help Finley and Zivah bake birthday goodies when I felt too lousy to do it. 

So last Sunday, my digestive system was finally starting to feel a little bit normal, and we had a little birthday party for the girls who turned 10 & 6 this week. Once again, Finley topped her cake with a horse, and Zivah's cupcakes had little fishes and a big worm swimming in the blue icing. 

 Thursday afternoon, our neighbor took me to pick up a bigger trencher, and in a couple hours, Chris had the trench deepened. The plan was to finish digging out around the water and power lines Friday morning so that we could start laying the pipe in the trench that afternoon. We had about four more inches of dirt to remove when it started to rain. It rained off and on all day and night, and this morning, the kids are out playing in the big puddles, looking for turtles and frogs. The trench work will have to wait.

To make the most of the current setback, I took the opportunity to fix my goof in the electrical panel. The wire-nutted extensions for the neutral and ground wires that wouldn't reach are tucked back in the corners, so the panel doesn't look as disastrous as I thought it might.

As soon as we finish the trench and the electrical company gets the wire pulled, and the inspector gives us the green light, we might actually get power to the house. That will be something!