mochi swims!
Posted on July 1, 2009 - Filed Under kiddo life
It’s a walk of a couple minutes to our pond. Lately, Mochi the Barn Cat has been coming with us.
The first time she came, we were worried that she would wander off and get lost, but she stayed right with us, and now she comes along almost every day.
It’s a lovely little walk, from bright sun, to deep shade, then through the woods and up the hill….
To the dock!
This actually isn’t our dock—it’s our wonderful neighbor’s dock. They graciously encourage us to use it, which is fantastic, not just because it’s an awesome dock, but because our section of the pond has nada but a bit of knee deep sludge to wade through in order to get to the sweet, clear pond water at the center.
Mochi likes the dock, too.
She also likes to freak me out by stretching out on the top step of the ladder, the better to watch us swim.
Yesterday, however, she realized my fears.
She fell in.
No pictures for that one, as I was in the water. From a distance I saw her stretch, slip, and splash. I dove for the dock, swimming as fast I could, not knowing if she would sink, prepared to brave scratches from a frantic thrashing kitten in order to save her tiny furry butt—but she kitty paddled for a second and then scrambled back up onto the dock, saving herself before I could reach her. Poor baby, she was this dripping, shaking, rat-thing. I got there just as she slunk off under the bench to lick the pond water out of her fur.
I was so impressed with her, though! Was it all instinct? As far as I know she’s never had swimming lessor or anything. I suppose staying alive is a powerful motivator.
By the time we were heading home, Mochi was dry and fluffy from her pond bath, apparently unscarred by her experience. I’m guessing she won’t hang out on the ladder anymore, but who knows? We’ll find out later today.
A girl, a boy, and their kitten. A kitten, her boy, and her girl….
floaty madness
Posted on June 29, 2009 - Filed Under kiddo life
Our pond is pure heaven.
The only problem with it is that it has no shallow end—you just dive off a dock. In fact, I’ve never touched the bottom. So the kids have had to learn how to get along in the deep end from the start.
How did they do it? Lots and lots of floaties.
Here Luc models his handy floaty vest thingy that buckles right onto his suit.
(What was he doing, I wonder?)
Sophie’s floaty is built into her suit, too. Then add an inflatable frog ring and/or some swim noodles, and we’re good to go.
Sophie is fearless in the water, always pushing herself to new challenges. Right now she is into practicing putting her head under. Luc is more careful. It took him a while of holding onto me before he felt safe enough to let go. Nowadays, though, he just jumps off the ladder like a pro.
I love how the camera froze the water ripples! It’s like he’s a wizard casting spells….
Below, we have the kids in their colorful floaty gear, and, I know you can’t see anything but a tiny head, but that’s me! In my sunglasses! Yes, I always swim in my sunglasses. It’s a thing.
Anyway, I had a mom say to me the other day that she didn’t want her kids using floaties because she thought her kids wouldn’t learn to swim properly with them. That it might take longer. Like it’s a race. Like floaties are a crutch or something. Like floaties are cheating.
I swear, people need to lighten up. Playing in the water is awesome fun! That’s as far as the thinking on it needs to go.
We swim every single day, and it’s about the best part of every day, too. The confidence and pleasure Sophie and Luc feel from all that experience in the water can only translate into confidence and pleasure in swimming floaty-free, later. But I don’t even care about that. I just want us to have a good time making some lovely memories together. And I want us to get cool, because it’s freaking hot around here lately. Putting up a barrier to those things because of some idea about ‘proper’ swimming is so backasswards, I wanted to shake this woman. Or at least invite her kids over to play in our pond.
I reckon I decided to invoke the Power of the Blog on her ass, instead.
Bottom line: don’t let thoughts about how kids ’should’ learn something, or ideas about ‘what if they never learn’ something, get in the way of having a good time together. If being together is fun, the rest takes care of itself.
There. I have spoken.
And now, Wizard Luc will cast his swimming spell upon us all….
goat yard morning
Posted on June 28, 2009 - Filed Under goats, honeymilk farm
The goat babies went outside today for the first time. It was so funny when I opened up that stall door—they craned their necks out, raising and lowering their heads, looking and sniffing, refusing for several minutes to step hoof out of safety as they tried to comprehend this new, alien landscape. They got over it pretty quickly, though, and were soon running—bouncing—everywhere. Here are Cinnamon and Emma (named by Sophie) taking their first steps out of the stall.
Lucy has not been willing to nurse the babies much, not unless she is eating or I hold her collar. I think her difficult labor may have turned her off on this whole mothering business. She still might change her mind—I remain hopeful. She does sniff them and sometimes talks to them. She just doesn’t like nursing. Hey, I can sympathize. I wasn’t that thrilled about nursing either.
Here’s a close up of Emma—at first glance she looks black, but she’s really a patchwork of dark browns, blacks, and grays, with white ears and a white heart shape on her head. So cute. We’ll probably keep her, though we have to sell Cinnamon—we don’t have the facilities to keep a buck, which is also why we sold all the kids last year. It’s nice to let myself attach to a goat kid, for once.
The goat yard was looking extra spiffy today. Paul did a bunch of fence repairs and general sprucing up before letting the tiny babies out.
Ms. Sophie was out early with me, helping the babies nurse, holding them, letting them suck on her fingers. She is such a good goat keeper!
Emma and Mochi the Barn Cat have been playing in the barn stall—here they are surprising each other outside for the first time, coming around the corner of the goat house. The next second, they touched noses. Life long friends?
Here is back scratch run. The goats lean heavily on the fence and scrape their backs along the length of it. Thus the need for constant repairs.
All in all, goat life at Honeymilk Farm is burbling along nicely!
it’s a girl! and a boy!
Posted on June 25, 2009 - Filed Under goats, honeymilk farm
Lucy had her babies! Oh so exciting!
She was acting weird all day, pawing the ground, getting up laying down getting up, not eating…so we knew it was soon. Finally, around 6pm, she started really pushing. Nothing to do but talk sweetly to her and comfort her as she did her work….
But it went on and on and she started to get tired, eyes and ears drooping—and nothing was coming out, no goop, no membrane bubble, and certainly no baby. I started to get scared for her. She was working so hard with so little to show for it, and for so long. I’ve been there—nearly three days of labor when I had Sophie, holy cow, I was ready to lie down and die. So—time for some intervention. I broke the membrane and tried to feel what was going on, but the baby I could feel was a tangled mess, presenting sideways. No wonder labor was going nowhere. I tried and tried and couldn’t get hold of anything to help straighten that baby out. Time to call the vet.
But before the vet could get here, she was just suffering so badly that I thought I would try one more time. And maybe the kids had shifted inside her, because this time I got hold of a rear leg and pulled. Poor Lucy hated this part, but she was hugely improved by that black baby goat slithering out of her. What a relief! The high that comes at a birth is just the best! And I was feeling pretty damn proud of myself—not a bad showing for a city girl!
Here is Sophie, tenderly drying off the new kid.
Just so you know, Sophie is not covered in goat goop—it’s tempera paint. Just when Lucy’s labor really got going, Sophie and Luc were in the middle of doing some body art. Luc was purple with blue spots, and Sophie was red with green spots. I think they were monsters. When I called her that things were going, she threw her overalls on over the paint. Time for bathing later.
Meanwhile, Lucy was pawing the ground and groaning—another kid on the way.
The vet arrived then—I was so relieved—and quickly delivered the second kid.
Lucy was like a new goat, she was so happy to be free of this confusing and painful problem! She finally started licking the second kid, and we got the first one on to nurse. Woo hoo!
A few pictures later, we head inside for baths and a nice big pomegranate martini for me, courtesy of Paul. Hallelujah, praise the Goat Goddess! Sophie fell asleep as her head hit the pillow.
This morning, mother and babies are well, if still quite confused about what their new roles are. The babies try to nurse from everything, Lucy’s knees, her fur, our clothes, and Lucy keeps sniffing them, puzzled, and then running away, as if to say, ‘You remind me of something…but what the hell do you want? Why do you keep bothering me?’ But she lets the nurse a little and I think they’ll figure it all out by the end of the day.
The thing that stands out the most in all of this is how amazing Sophie is. She stayed with me and Lucy through it all, brave and helpful, getting things, offering ideas, tirelessly rubbing down the new babies and helping them to nurse, unfailingly kind.
A totally valuable part of the team. She is so awesome.
It makes me think that five year old’s have a ton of ability and skills that they don’t usually get much credit for.
And look where Mochi the Barn Cat was sleeping when we went out this morning.
She’s been trying to play with the baby goats all morning. I wonder how that will turn out?
so say we all!
Posted on June 23, 2009 - Filed Under mayalife
I’ve been in several weddings and gone to a pile more and I have to say, my cousin’s wedding this past Saturday was about the most fun, joyous, and silly-happy I have ever had the pleasure of attending. And I was the maid of honor, often a hell job, but not so for this one! I couldn’t have had a better time. Maybe it’s the difference between a twenty-something wedding and a forty-ish wedding—when you’re forty you know more of who you are and what you like, and you’ve got the confidence to do what you want. So you get an event that fits you, rather than a fantasy plucked out of Bride Magazine. Not that there is anything wrong with bridal mags, just… here, let me show you.
My cousin’s wedding included such fun things as traditional songs, well loved poems, and bagpipes, yes, but they also had a call to any wizards in the group, medieval costumes in the audience, the jumping of a cauldron full of blessings…
…and a pronouncement of “So Say We All,” a la Battlestar Gallactica. Ha!
Did I mention that Elvis came to the reception?
Much laughing and fun and true expression of love from the bride and groom….
….made the whole thing a hoot and a half, despite 100 degree temperatures.
Thanks so much, Tracie and David, for letting us bask in your happy love for each other!
happy dragon-free summer solstice!
Posted on June 20, 2009 - Filed Under kiddo life
Last night, falling asleep with Luc, he asked in this small, serious voice, “Is there anything spooky under the bed?”
I put on my Total Confidence Voice. “Nope. Nothing spooky. This bed is Spooky Free.”
“Good.”
Quiet. And then he said, “Except maybe some mouse poops. There might be mouse poops under the bed.” ‘Poop’ is one of Luc’s favorite words.
“That’s true,” I said. “And there are probably some dust bunnies. Those might be a little spooky.”
“Do dust bunnies have fangs?”
Luc and Sophie have been listening to Bunnicula on the ipod lately, a story of the vampire rabbit who sucks the juice out of vegetables. Great book.
But lying in the almost-dark was not a time to consider vampire bunnies under the bed. “No,” I answered, sure. “Absolutely no fangs on dust bunnies. They do make me sneeze, though.”
Luc relaxed a bit at this. “Nothing makes me sneeze.”
“You’re lucky.”
Quiet.
“But there are definitely not any zombies under the bed. Because they eat brains.”
Now where did zombies come from? Yugioh cards? We found one in the bottom of a yard sale bag of castle parts and had looked them up on-line. Complicated as hell, but cool. I think we’d seen a zombie card. Or maybe it was the Spongebob episode where Squidward thinks he has been bitten by a zombie snail? Or it could be living with a fantasy writer who can’t help burbling crazy monster talk at random intervals. Ahem.
“Nope,” I said. “Definitely no zombies. They’re just from stories anyway.”
“Yeah,” he said, all sophisticated now. “Like Pegasus isn’t a real horse. But it is a real constellation.”
I nodded, impressed. “True.”
“What color are brains?”
“Um, pinkish grey. I think. I’ve never actually seen a brain. Just pictures.”
A bit more urgent now, voice lowered, he said, “What about ghosts? There could be ghosts under the ground there. Under the ground under the bed. Ghost ground.”
“Like a graveyard?”
“Yes.”
“No. No ghosts. This bed is not on a graveyard. No ghosts. No zombies. No vampire bunnies.”
“Oh.” More quiet. “Good.”
This was a lot of questions for one night. Considering whether we ought to lighten the monster story load for a while, I started to drift.
“And there are definitely not any chickens under the bed.”
I laughed. “That’s right. No chickens. The dust bunnies kicked all the chickens out.”
“Good.”
“Would you want a chicken, if it was a friendly chicken? It might be funny to have a chicken under there.”
Rustling in the covers. “No. Chickens poop on things.”
“Right. That would be gross. No chickens. You having trouble falling asleep?”
“It’s too light.” Yawn. “The solstice is keeping me awake.”
We had been talking about the solstice because our cousin is getting married today, the longest day of the year, and it’s supposed to hit 100 degrees—three conversation-worthy things in one happy, sweaty event.
He was right, the sky outside the yurt dome was still light, despite the late hour.
“Ah.”
But he seemed to be quieting down. Enough that after another minute I eased over to see if he eyes were closed.
Eyes wide open. “And there are definitely not any dragons under the bed.”
“Dragons?”
“I mean, there are definitely not any orange dragons with four heads who can breathe fire and have something that looks like an arrow on the end of their tail. None of those. Under the bed.”
I snuggled him closer. “No dragons. Definitely not. They wouldn’t fit under there anyway.”
Quiet.
A few minutes later, his breath slowing, his eyes closing, and he mumbles in this sleepy voice, “Definitely not.”
I swear, I wouldn’t miss these little nighttime conversations for anything.
i stand corrected
Posted on June 19, 2009 - Filed Under kiddo life
Luc, 3, was telling me today about Compsognathus (it’s astonishing how many of these multi-syllabic dino names he knows) a dinosaur that was small, about the size of a chicken.
“Oh,” I say, “so it was as small as you.”
He looks up at me with his blue eyes and says, “No, Mommy, it was as big as me.”
Duh.
could this be writer’s block? Naaa…
Posted on June 18, 2009 - Filed Under writing
Ack. I really ought to write a blog post, but I got nothing. Across the board, I mean, I’ve got nothing in the writing department. My novel, the new one, the one I have characters, plot, setting, and outline for, will not be written. And I don’t mean I’m procrastinating. Writing is a mental health issue for me—if I don’t do it, I get seriously whacked. I’m not even kidding. So, not procrastination but…that voice, the one in my head that is the source of the words that my hands type out, it’s gone…silent. I see the scene I want to write, I see the world, I see the characters doing their little character-things, but I can’t get in. I was cool about it for a couple of weeks, but now, I’ve got to admit, it’s starting to freak me out.
Maybe I need a break. Maybe I need to write something else, not this novel. Maybe I’ve got issues. Maybe I need to muscle through this shit and put down 1000 words a day, even if I can’t feel it and nothing is happening and it’s pure 100% crap. Maybe maybe maybe. To make it worse, I keep thinking I’ve figured it out, that is, I do figure something out, and I get all excited and sit down, crack my fingers, fire up the macbook, and then…nothing.
Gah! I can’t take much more of this! Stories are starting to back up in my head! I’m starting to get that glazed, distracted, hallucinatory thing going, like people who can’t sleep and start to dream when they are awake—my creativity buffer is full up, overflowing, this can’t be good, I’m going to start acting really weird. I mean, really weirder. Right?
Don’t answer that.
I bought some spiffy new oil pastels—doodling has jump started me in the past. So far, no good, but I’m hopeful.
In the meantime, there is a new “The Listener” tonight. Perhaps Craig’s big blue eyes will inspire me.
flower porn
Posted on June 16, 2009 - Filed Under honeymilk farm
Because really: what does this remind you of?
And when you consider that flowers are the plant’s genitals….
…well, I guess the world is a flower’s gynecologist.
Okay, this isn’t a flower, but isn’t the shape amazing?
This is like some kind of crazy fiesta dancer’s dress….
I had this idea that the macro on my camera might be able to capture a human iris like a flower….
But I couldn’t get the shot because Sophie couldn’t stop giggling. Camera test is inconclusive. But look at her skin! She has no pores whatsoever! Did I ever have skin like that?
Alien landscape….
Can you see the yellow bug checking you out on this one?
I tried the test again with Lucy The Goat, and she was game, as long as she got to lick the camera lens.
She says “Hi-i-i-i!” and “When am I going to have these freaking babies, already?”
I love imagining this is how the world looks if I am three inches tall….
The Listener (Who-Also-Sees) gets a review
Posted on June 15, 2009 - Filed Under mayalife
I watched the pilot of “The Listener” the other night. At first glance it seemed to be a Canadian rip-off of “Medium” and “Ghost Whisperer” et al, a telepathic paramedic solves crimes. Yawn. But, to be honest, I don’t really care if an idea is a rip-off if they do a good job. Are the characters complex and fascinating? Are the relationships moving and true? Are the jokes funny? Although I am NOT a fan of procedurals, far preferring episodic tv that has a chance to go places, I’ve swallowed plenty of procedural yada yada in pursuit of a good character arc. So, when I saw ads for this one, I knew I would tune in, despite the distinct feeling of deja vu. And the main guy was appealing, you know, except for the goofy hair. I can forgive goofy hair. Hell, I live it. But bottom-line, the show threatened to be a derivative rerun of a last year’s leftovers, but I was willing to let it retread if it did it well. Hey, sometimes hash is better than the steak it was made from, you know?
But I hated it.
(And then changed my mind. Wait for it.)
First, it seemed to me, in watching pilot, that they barely used the telepathy angle, pulling it out sporadically, and only when it was convenient for the plot—but letting it drop when it would have solved things nicely (as in: wtf? why didn’t he just LISTEN TO HER THOUGHTS right there? That sort of thing). I hate that stuff.
Second (and this is a bit petty, I’ll admit) although the show is “the LISTENer” he apparently SEES stuff, too. He’s not a telepath, he’s a psychic, people. I mean, I get that Allison Dubois of “Medium” sees things, so I guess focusing on the hearing angle differentiates the show. A little. But it bugged me every time he got a vision. I wanted him to Listen. I wanted Brand Consistency.
Third—and most distracting to me—there was this dumb-ass “detective” with 20 pounds of hair-products in her perfect, long ringlets (it would take no less than an hour to get hair like that, and we all know how much spare time for grooming your average detective has), not to mention her low-cut, skin-tight, red tank-top and push-up bra ensemble. You could have completely cut all of her scenes and it wouldn’t have changed anything. Except for the boobs, which Paul said were important in their own right, but I maintain have nothing to do with detecting, nor listening, so they ought not to have been so prominently displayed. I, apparently, want gritty realism in my telepathic paramedic shows, and big boobed, ringlet tossing detectives just don’t fit in with that model. I have to draw the line somewhere.
I mean, I knew going in that it was going to be your basic “paranormal abilities force a nice, normal person towards greatness by making them save someone’s life every week” story, but I got SO ANNOYED. I don’t know why—who cares, right? Another crappy tv show, so what. But it pissed me off. Why does that stuff get made?
It’s just, I wanted very much to like it, and it failed me.
Fast forward a week and I noticed my dvr had captured the next couple of eps. Blame it on my new novel which is refusing to get jumpstarted, leaving me with a free hour in the evening. Or blame it on my being worried about the aforementioned Allison Dubois, who will be in a coma ALL SUMMER until the season premier in the fall (her husband Joe must be out of his mind with worry! and her poor girls!). Or blame the end of “Sarah Connor Chronicles,” and “Battlestar Gallactica,” and “Dollhouse” (can you believe that got a second season? I’m so psyched.). Factor in how much I’m jonesing for some sci-fi, paranormal, get-my-freak-on tv, but whatever was the reason, I watched it. Both eps, actually.
They were pretty good.
Huh?
Okay, first, the skanky detective put on some regular clothes and a pony tail—she still didn’t have anything to do but say “What are you doing here?” and, “How could you know that?” and, “Why should I believe you?” Her purpose is to scowl and scoff, but okay, I guess can tolerate her now. Barely.
Second, it appeared that the way they portray Toby the Telepath’s ability, whatever it is, is either constantly in creative flux, because it’s different every time, OR (and I’m willing to give the benefit of the doubt here for a few more eps and assume that they meant to to that) it’s evolving. Maybe they’ve got some momentum here, some forward arc on the ability angle, and my patience will pay off…? Anyway, I’m willing to give a pass on the Listener-Who-Also-Sees mess.
But third, and the real turn for me, was the best-friend. Oz (a total rip off of Cool-Best-Friend-Name but at least he’s Turkish, so maybe it’s short for something ethnic) has some awesome people writing his lines! He had several very funny monologues—not just lines now, but whole paragraphs—delivered perfectly by Ennis Esmer, that had me chuckling out loud and tapping the rewind button. I find I really like him and his relationship with Mr. Telepath, lots of chemistry there. Heck, I’ll call it a full on bromance—and hey, I got to use that word! I’m so happy.
The show still has problems for me. For example, too much on the puzzle of the week and not enough about the ability that seems to be changing…maybe? It’s too vague—if Toby the Telepath is having a seismic shift in this ability he has been suppressing, for the most part, his whole life, then I want to be hearing more about that. And the pacing has problems at times—things get rushed that should have more space, if-you-ask-me. Also, I don’t know why they keep putting him in these girly sweaters with deep v-necks—maybe manly guys in Canada wear these things?
Still, despite the girlie shirts, I find I’m suddenly grooving on this show that I severely dissed, just a few days ago. Weird. Am I just desperate for paranormal entertainment? Because you know, I may want some realism in my tv, but I need some tv in my reality. Because reality, what with it’s alarming lack of superpowers, can be so disappointing.
Or maybe it’s just Craig Olejnik’s beautiful eyes, featured prominently, and in close up, in every ep.
I’m not complaining about that, by the way.
(Although, it being “The Listener” shouldn’t they be prominently featuring close-ups of his EARS? Maybe I should be thanking the producers for being a bit fuzzy on the whole listening/seeing thing and let it go. His eyes are worth it.)
Just goes to show, can’t judge a show by the pilot.
keep looking »
