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.