Five Degrees

Woke up this morning and consulted the internet via my iPhone from the comfort of my warm bed. It said it was five degrees outside. How thankful I am for a warm bed in a warm house. Last year, we would wake up shivering in that tin can trailer.

Now that the kids are off to school, I am shamelessly feasting on coffee and the tin of Royal Dansk cookies gifted to us. My theory is that I need some extra weight to stay warm.

Last night, we put what animals we could in better shelter. The horses went to a stable with a fresh bale of hay. Daisy spent the night in the shop with the cats, probably fretting all night long that she couldn't get out of her pen to pester them. I was a little worried about the chickens. They don't all get along, so some of them stay in the safety of the chicken coop while the rest roost in the rafters of our open-air stable. I expected to walk out this morning to a half dozen bodies, frozen and fallen from their perches. But animals are far more resilient than I give them credit for. The chickens were fine.

Our sole loss was Duck, who insisted on spending the night out at the pond. We worried that he would get stuck in the middle as the pond froze, like the many stories we heard about last winter, but that isn't what did him in. We are assuming a fox nabbed him. Chris found some feathers, and is kicking himself for not making an extra effort to try to put him up in the chicken coop.

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!