Hey Look! Pictures of Things Other Than My Kid!

How about some Leda the Fluffball?  Because she's cute.

Especially since she went to the groomer and got her outrageous coat tamed.

And some lambs . . .

Because it's always a good day for a lamb picture.

And the one bed in the garden that's actually producing something edible . . .

From left: Two newly planted rows of lettuce, two rows of carrots, two rows of beets, one row of spinach, and some radishes.

And . . .

Well now, really.  How do you resist this face? (Note the hammer clutched in his hand.  Hammers are never far from Cubby.  Kind of like a safety blanket.  Made of rusty metal.)

True Confessions

So everyone knows that Mother's Day is on Sunday, right?  Yeah, um, I didn't until I read a mention of it on a blog yesterday.

What kind of mother AM I?

The sort who doesn't get very worked up about Mother's Day, I guess.

The thing is, Mother's Day seems to me to be a day for children to express their appreciation for their own mother.  And my own children are pretty far from that stage yet, being two years old with the complete self-absorption characteristic of that age and, well, not born yet.  A. appreciates me as a mother.  I already know that.  He asked me what I wanted to do for Mother's Day.

You know the real, true, shocking answer?  I want to be an absentee mom for the day.  To NOT be the one instantly waking up to the slightest rustle from the boy's room.  To NOT be the one he screams at in his fits of rage, and yet the only one he can even bear the sight of during those fits.  To NOT be the only one who can get him to go potty/wash his hands/calm down/sing his lullaby ("Lullaby TWO TIMES, Mommy") to put him to bed and down for a nap every day.

A. is a good father, but I am Cubby's mother and primary caregiver, all the time, every day, every hour of the day.  If I worked or were otherwise away from him for even a couple of hours at a time ever, I probably wouldn't feel this way about Mother's Day.  But I'm not, and I do.

But, you know, I know how lucky I am to have that choice to be here with him all the time, despite the drawbacks.  And so on Mother's Day I'll just be Cubby's mom, as I am every other day of the year, world without end, amen.

Just Like All the Rest

It's quite obvious that Cubby's childhood is already quite different from the majority of his American peers.  And his life--as long as he continues to live here, at least--will probably always be outside the mainstream.  But in the end, he is still just a small boy and I am still just a stay at home mom*.

So when I find myself feeling like shit for the . . . how many days is it now?  Five million and two?  Anyway, feeling like shit AGAIN, staring stupefied at The Cat in the Hat as rain threatens outside and wondering what the hell I'm going to do with Cubby for the next three hours before his nap . . .

Well, then I must just take the child to the kitchen and make some damn cookies.  So we did.  Oatmeal and chocolate chip, to be specific.  And of course, I gave Cubby one of the beaters to lick, because that is an inalienable right of childhood that I am certainly not going to deny my son.

I think he enjoyed it.

He's sleeping now.  And I am sitting here eating boxed macaroni and cheese directly from the pot.  Because it's not all locavore cuisine and idyllic scenes around here all the time.  Just thought you should know that.

* Okay, maybe not JUST a stay at home mom, as most of those women do not count sheep herding among their home duties.  They don't know how good they have it.

I Can See the Future

I feel as if I'm just now getting to the point with Cubby where I can do things again.  And by "things" I do not mean resuming my pre-child frantic social schedule (HA) (HAHAHAHAHA) or once again wearing stylish clothing and jewelry (again: HA and HAHAHAHAHA).

I mean things like doing some minimal cooking in the kitchen while he entertains himself in the living room without breaking himself or anything else.

Things like washing dishes while he eats some peaches and stares out the window.

Things like working in the garden while he occupies himself.

Things like vacuuming the stairs while he plays in the parlor with the tube attachment to the vacuum cleaner.

Things like telling him I need to go put the clothes in the dryer so he can just stay in the living room and keep playing while I go in the cellar.  And he does it.

Things like drinking my coffee while he eats his oatmeal for breakfast.

In sum, he's getting more independent and I'm getting more done.  Which is why I'm getting a slight sense of foreboding about the imminent future with a newborn.  Because I still remember what it's like to not be able to get anything done.  Or at least feel like I'm not getting anything done.  First because of the sleeplessness and constant feeding.  Then because of the precarious locomotion and obvious intent on self-harm that comes with it.  Then because of willful disobedience.  Cubby has passed through all of these stages* and I have come out the other side, only to begin them anew.

Oh well.  There's also the first smile and first steps and all the fun stuff to look forward to.  Must focus on the positives.  And get as much done now as I can.


* Okay, truthfully, we may not be quite done with the willful disobedience yet.  Or ever.  Kid's stubborn as a mule, with the temper of an irritable bear on occasion.  I can't imagine where he gets it.**


** I don't have to imagine.  He gets it from both parents. Neither A. nor I is the laid back type.  Sorry, Cubby.

Q&A Because I Am Sick. AGAIN. GODDAMIT.

First Cubby was sick, then I was sick (AND HOW), then the MiL was sick.  Then Cubby got sick again, then A. got sick, and now I AM SICK AGAIN.

IT MAKES ME ANGRY. AND FAR TOO PRONE TO CAPS LOCKING.

But at least this cold is nothing like the soul-sucking plague that got me last time.  Still.  I feel I only have it in me to answer a couple of random questions before I have to go back to blowing my nose and coughing.

It's a glamorous life I lead.

So!  Questions.

1) Did you have to train the dogs to not go after the chickens, or do they just seem to "get it" on their own?  Oh, they had to be trained.  By which I mean shouted at whenever they chased chickens.  And I'm pretty sure some of our earliest chickens became doggie hors d'oeuvres.  But collies are, thankfully, fairly trainable when it comes to which animals are prey and which are not.  At this point, the chickens walk right past the dogs' noses and even jump in to peck at their bones (like meat bones for treats, I mean) on occasion with no repercussions.  But it took a little while to get to that point.


2) Are you going to keep all the girls (lambs) as you have in the past?  Nope.  In fact, I don't think we're keeping any of this year's lambs.  We just don't have the pasture for them.  Fourteen full-time sheep is about as much as we can manage on our limited acreage.  So some of these lambs will be sent to a livestock auction at a fairly early age--so we don't have to worry so much about depleting our pastures this summer with too many big sheep--and we'll keep several to raise to slaughter weight for us and some people who buy them from us in the fall.  But none of them are permanent residents.  So don't get attached.


Okay.  I have to go find a tissue now.  (DAMMIT.)