A nice lady at the library the other day told me about a new thing at Cornell University called "anarchy play" for kids. I should probably put the word new in quotes, because it doesn't sound like a very new idea to me. Cornell (and some other agencies) has come up with a playground to encourage kids to, well, just play.
The exact description: Part wild garden, part adventure playground, this space is a totally open-ended area filled with loose parts, natural materials, tools, artstuff, kids and trained playworkers.
My my, does that sound familiar. Except for the fact that Cubby is the only kid (so far) and I am the only "playworker" (an oxymoron if ever there was one), that neatly sums up Blackrock, don't you think?
So if I were to apply this terminology to our life, I guess that means that we exist in a state of constant anarchy. * That explains a lot.
* Except not really, since Merriam-Webster defines anarchy as "a state of disorder due to absence or non-recognition of authority." I don't think anyone would say there was a lack of authority around here. Maybe the non-recognition part is appropriate occasionally, though.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Another Animal Update
A sad one this time: Pitty Pet is no longer with us.
Pitty Pet was our old cat. Very old. He was adopted at a shelter and his exact age was unknown, but the MiL was guessing around 18 years. He had been slowly failing for some time and then he just stopped eating. So he has been sent to his reward and suitably interred in the burial grounds in the ram pasture.
So good-bye to Pitty Pet. It was a long, good road for Pitty, but he had most definitely reached its end.
Pitty Pet was our old cat. Very old. He was adopted at a shelter and his exact age was unknown, but the MiL was guessing around 18 years. He had been slowly failing for some time and then he just stopped eating. So he has been sent to his reward and suitably interred in the burial grounds in the ram pasture.
So good-bye to Pitty Pet. It was a long, good road for Pitty, but he had most definitely reached its end.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Animal Updates
I may (may meaning definitely) have been negligent in sharing some news about the farm animals around here. Like the fact that A. sold his purebred Cotswolds. Including Bonnie, my own particular nemesis.
The reason for selling the Cotswolds was simple: They had become completely unmanageable for A. The expanded size of the flock this year meant that A. had to find other ways to get them to grass. Luckily, we have really nice neighbors who don't mind the sheep on their properties. As long as they are contained enough that the sheep don't end up on their porches, eating their flowers. So A. got some electrified net fence specifically for sheep and used it to set up temporary pastures for the sheep when their regular pastures were getting too eaten down.
The Cotswolds, however, found that they could run right through the netting. Apparently the shock they experienced in the charging of the fence was temporary enough that they decided it was worth it to break out. Which they did. Over and over and over. A. kept having to retrieve them from the neighbors' lawn at five in the morning. Cotswolds are also very, VERY loud sheep, so the breaking out would always be accompanied by bellowing from them because the rest of the flock wouldn't always follow, leading to much talking of the sheep back and forth.
This was obviously no good for our relationship with our neighbors. After one particular day when they got out half a dozen times before 9 a.m., A. just put an ad on Craigslist. Since he was selling only the purebred Cotswolds, which are not that common around here, he got a call and a guy showing up to buy the sheep within 24 hours. A. was very sad to see them go, as they were his very first sheep and good mothers, but the guy who bought them has quite a lot of acreage and a fairly large flock already that he's trying to move more towards Cotswolds. So we know they went to a good home.
Know what? I don't miss them AT ALL. The sheep flock is now quiet and well-behaved and a significant source of stress has been removed from our lives. Good riddance, says I.
Not good riddance, however, is the sad disappearance of the surprise chicks. They were starting to mix more with the flock, but hadn't yet gotten to the point that they were going into the coop at night. Then one night last week, the MiL heard a late-night cat (and dog) fight and went out in the morning to find a large male feral cat dead on the driveway. We figure it probably ate the chicks. And then the dogs killed it. Not a good situation for anyone. So we are once again chick-less, though it's possible one of the other hens (or maybe even the hen that just lost her chicks) may decide to set. We'll see.
Also, we have tons of birds' nests and babies around the house that we're currently monitoring (blue jays, Baltimore orioles, and Carolina wrens) and the dogs may have finally exterminated the baby rabbits that were eating the garden. Plus A. trapped a large rabbit near the garden fence that had pretty much decimated everything in that corner--including my lovely beets (DAMMIT)-- so maybe my plants will be safe now. Temporarily, anyway.
I think that's all for the animal updates. Although stay tuned! You never do know what animal hijinks may ensue at Blackrock in the future.
The reason for selling the Cotswolds was simple: They had become completely unmanageable for A. The expanded size of the flock this year meant that A. had to find other ways to get them to grass. Luckily, we have really nice neighbors who don't mind the sheep on their properties. As long as they are contained enough that the sheep don't end up on their porches, eating their flowers. So A. got some electrified net fence specifically for sheep and used it to set up temporary pastures for the sheep when their regular pastures were getting too eaten down.
The Cotswolds, however, found that they could run right through the netting. Apparently the shock they experienced in the charging of the fence was temporary enough that they decided it was worth it to break out. Which they did. Over and over and over. A. kept having to retrieve them from the neighbors' lawn at five in the morning. Cotswolds are also very, VERY loud sheep, so the breaking out would always be accompanied by bellowing from them because the rest of the flock wouldn't always follow, leading to much talking of the sheep back and forth.
This was obviously no good for our relationship with our neighbors. After one particular day when they got out half a dozen times before 9 a.m., A. just put an ad on Craigslist. Since he was selling only the purebred Cotswolds, which are not that common around here, he got a call and a guy showing up to buy the sheep within 24 hours. A. was very sad to see them go, as they were his very first sheep and good mothers, but the guy who bought them has quite a lot of acreage and a fairly large flock already that he's trying to move more towards Cotswolds. So we know they went to a good home.
Know what? I don't miss them AT ALL. The sheep flock is now quiet and well-behaved and a significant source of stress has been removed from our lives. Good riddance, says I.
Not good riddance, however, is the sad disappearance of the surprise chicks. They were starting to mix more with the flock, but hadn't yet gotten to the point that they were going into the coop at night. Then one night last week, the MiL heard a late-night cat (and dog) fight and went out in the morning to find a large male feral cat dead on the driveway. We figure it probably ate the chicks. And then the dogs killed it. Not a good situation for anyone. So we are once again chick-less, though it's possible one of the other hens (or maybe even the hen that just lost her chicks) may decide to set. We'll see.
Also, we have tons of birds' nests and babies around the house that we're currently monitoring (blue jays, Baltimore orioles, and Carolina wrens) and the dogs may have finally exterminated the baby rabbits that were eating the garden. Plus A. trapped a large rabbit near the garden fence that had pretty much decimated everything in that corner--including my lovely beets (DAMMIT)-- so maybe my plants will be safe now. Temporarily, anyway.
I think that's all for the animal updates. Although stay tuned! You never do know what animal hijinks may ensue at Blackrock in the future.
Friday, June 22, 2012
In Lieu of Air Conditioning
If you have no air conditioning and experience two days of temperatures well into the 90s with humidity that results in a "Real Feel" of 100 degrees, it really helps to have a lake. With private beach, if possible. And a dock.
That little speck at the end of the dock is Cubby, of course, with a watchful A. in the foreground.
You'll just have to imagine me floating in the water there near the dock, which is exactly what I did for an hour or so both days. Our particular spot on the lake is nice because the depth is no more than a couple of feet for quite a distance out, so Cubby can walk around without fear. Though he still prefers to have a hand on the dock at all times.
Too bad I couldn't sleep in the lake, because nothing was going to result in sleep when the bedroom was 90 degrees. I'm really, really tired now. But tonight is supposed to be much better, so I have great hopes of a good night's sleep. Well, as good as it gets when eight months pregnant.
Oh, and an update on the Great Ice Cream Disappointment. I called Perry's (which is a very nice, family-run business located in upstate New York) and told them of my cookie-less Cookies and Cream. A coupon for a free container of ice cream is even now on its way to me. Which I will, of course, use for White Lightning, NOT Cookies and Cream, because that wasn't even what I wanted in the first place.
But the heat advisory is over now, so the need for ice cream (and the lake) is not so urgent.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Highlighting My Shortcomings
Awhile ago when I was at the grocery store, I bought some chalk for Cubby. We have a lot of stone and concrete patios and walkways around the house, so I figured he could draw to his heart's content outside. That way I get to sit still for a five-minute stretch and he gets to draw without constant admonitions from me that crayons/pens/pencils are only for use on the paper. No, Cubby, not that paper; that's a book. That's a magazine. Those are Grandma's work papers. THIS PAPER HERE. ONLY THIS.
It's not good for the budding artist within, I'm sure. So freedom to create via chalk. Sounds good to me. Except he doesn't really want to draw by himself, mostly because he, uh, can't. Like, at all. Instead he hands me the chalk and makes a series of increasingly difficult demands for drawings, using the incorrect pronoun because he does that.
So it goes like this: "I draw boats." Meaning "YOU draw a boat, Mommy." And I draw a really pathetic-looking boat, because I cannot, in actual fact, draw worth a damn. Then he continues with, "I draw propeller on boat." And I draw something that kind of resembles a propeller if you squint and ingest large quantities of alcohol before viewing. "I draw steering wheel." Okay, that I can manage.
And then he hits me with something like, "I draw gears." Uh. Or "I draw motors."
Right. I don't even know what a motor actually looks like or what might be in it, much less have any confidence in my ability to reproduce it with a piece of chalk. At about that time I tell him Mommy is done with drawing and now Cubby can draw.
I should've worked harder in my middle school art class. It would have been way more useful than algebra.
It's not good for the budding artist within, I'm sure. So freedom to create via chalk. Sounds good to me. Except he doesn't really want to draw by himself, mostly because he, uh, can't. Like, at all. Instead he hands me the chalk and makes a series of increasingly difficult demands for drawings, using the incorrect pronoun because he does that.
So it goes like this: "I draw boats." Meaning "YOU draw a boat, Mommy." And I draw a really pathetic-looking boat, because I cannot, in actual fact, draw worth a damn. Then he continues with, "I draw propeller on boat." And I draw something that kind of resembles a propeller if you squint and ingest large quantities of alcohol before viewing. "I draw steering wheel." Okay, that I can manage.
And then he hits me with something like, "I draw gears." Uh. Or "I draw motors."
Right. I don't even know what a motor actually looks like or what might be in it, much less have any confidence in my ability to reproduce it with a piece of chalk. At about that time I tell him Mommy is done with drawing and now Cubby can draw.
I should've worked harder in my middle school art class. It would have been way more useful than algebra.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Living the Nightmare
You know what people's reaction is when they hear you're due to have a baby in July? A grimace and a comment along the lines of, "Well, you're in for a hot summer!"
Although actually, it would suck a lot more to be due at the end of August, because then you'd have an extra month of pregnant heat exhaustion to deal with. Though I'm not convinced that cuddling close to a newborn in a heat wave--since the kid will, we presume, expect to be fed with great frequency and that happens while in very close proximity to Mom and her feeding mechanisms AHEM--won't be just as bad as being pregnant during a heat wave.
ANYWAY.
What I was going to say was that ever since I found out I was pregnant and calculated my due date, I've been dreading the whole hugely-pregnant-in-the-heat-of-summer-while-chasing-a-toddler phase. Aaaand here I am. Hugely pregnant? Check. Heat of summer? Official heat advisory in effect until Thursday WHEE, so . . . check AND HOW. Chasing a toddler. CHECKCHECKCHECK, SLOW DOWN, CUBBY, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND YOUR HUGELY PREGNANT MOTHER.
But you know, in a way it's kind of a relief to have gotten to the point I was fretting about for so long. I mean, no, I wouldn't mind if it were twenty degrees cooler, but I really don't think I'm any hotter than I already am during the summer (that is VERY, in case you have missed my extensive bitching on the subject for the past four years). And we don't sleep when it's hot anyway, and I don't sleep in the last stages of pregnancy anyway, so it all kind of goes together in a grand conglomeration of misery.
That said, anytime this kid wants to come or Mama N. would like to send some cooler weather our way, you will not hear me complaining.
Edited to add: Also on the topic of hot weather survival is ice cream, because I have been eating enormous quantities of it lately. We were out of my preferred flavor (Perry's White Lightning--dark chocolate ice cream with white chocolate mint fudgy stuff OH MY GOD SO GOOD) and I knew there was no way I was getting through this coming heat advisory without it. So we took a trip to the nearby market in a nearby village specifically to get this ice cream. And they were out. DAMMIT. My runner-up flavor was Perry's Cookies and Cream. I just scooped out a bowl, and you know what? It is not Cookies and Cream. Despite the container being clearly labeled as such, there is no doubt at all that the Cookies part done got left out. It's vanilla. Plain, unadulterated vanilla, without the saving grace of cookies. That, my friends, is what I call a comical screw by the universe.
I'm eating it anyway, with some maple syrup. But still, SCREW YOU RIGHT BACK, UNIVERSE.
Although actually, it would suck a lot more to be due at the end of August, because then you'd have an extra month of pregnant heat exhaustion to deal with. Though I'm not convinced that cuddling close to a newborn in a heat wave--since the kid will, we presume, expect to be fed with great frequency and that happens while in very close proximity to Mom and her feeding mechanisms AHEM--won't be just as bad as being pregnant during a heat wave.
ANYWAY.
What I was going to say was that ever since I found out I was pregnant and calculated my due date, I've been dreading the whole hugely-pregnant-in-the-heat-of-summer-while-chasing-a-toddler phase. Aaaand here I am. Hugely pregnant? Check. Heat of summer? Official heat advisory in effect until Thursday WHEE, so . . . check AND HOW. Chasing a toddler. CHECKCHECKCHECK, SLOW DOWN, CUBBY, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND YOUR HUGELY PREGNANT MOTHER.
But you know, in a way it's kind of a relief to have gotten to the point I was fretting about for so long. I mean, no, I wouldn't mind if it were twenty degrees cooler, but I really don't think I'm any hotter than I already am during the summer (that is VERY, in case you have missed my extensive bitching on the subject for the past four years). And we don't sleep when it's hot anyway, and I don't sleep in the last stages of pregnancy anyway, so it all kind of goes together in a grand conglomeration of misery.
That said, anytime this kid wants to come or Mama N. would like to send some cooler weather our way, you will not hear me complaining.
Edited to add: Also on the topic of hot weather survival is ice cream, because I have been eating enormous quantities of it lately. We were out of my preferred flavor (Perry's White Lightning--dark chocolate ice cream with white chocolate mint fudgy stuff OH MY GOD SO GOOD) and I knew there was no way I was getting through this coming heat advisory without it. So we took a trip to the nearby market in a nearby village specifically to get this ice cream. And they were out. DAMMIT. My runner-up flavor was Perry's Cookies and Cream. I just scooped out a bowl, and you know what? It is not Cookies and Cream. Despite the container being clearly labeled as such, there is no doubt at all that the Cookies part done got left out. It's vanilla. Plain, unadulterated vanilla, without the saving grace of cookies. That, my friends, is what I call a comical screw by the universe.
I'm eating it anyway, with some maple syrup. But still, SCREW YOU RIGHT BACK, UNIVERSE.
Monday, June 18, 2012
I'm Seeing a Pattern Here
Apparently our lawn tractors frequently break down for Father's Day. Their little gift to A., I suppose, because for two of the last three years, he's spent part of his Father's Day fixing our lawn tractor. Including yesterday. Last year, he spent it pulling the shed straight and bracing it so it wouldn't collapse on the MiL's car.
He does these things voluntarily, I might add. I told him that after the dump run on Saturday morning, he had the whole weekend to do whatever he wanted. He was paralyzed by indecision. So on Saturday he ended up painting the front porch steps and mowing, until the lawn tractor threw a blade off and then he spent another hour or so taking apart the mower deck and J-B Welding the blade back on.
Then we went down to the beach and A. went swimming with Cubby.
Yesterday morning, again, I told A. he could do whatever he wanted for Father's Day. So he re-located the movable sheep fence to create a place for the sheep to graze on the front lawn. Then he installed some heavy-gauge wire across the top of the newest stone wall in the front of the garden, to brace up the sagging gate. Then he re-attached the mower deck to the tractor and mowed a very overgrown lawn. Then he raked up the mowed grass and delivered it to his sheep to eat, as an experiment.
And then we took Cubby to a lock on the Erie Canal to fish. So I guess that was the real Father's Day treat for A. Well, that and the lamb shoulder roast I made for dinner.
A. and I obviously look for different things on our Special Days.
He does these things voluntarily, I might add. I told him that after the dump run on Saturday morning, he had the whole weekend to do whatever he wanted. He was paralyzed by indecision. So on Saturday he ended up painting the front porch steps and mowing, until the lawn tractor threw a blade off and then he spent another hour or so taking apart the mower deck and J-B Welding the blade back on.
Then we went down to the beach and A. went swimming with Cubby.
Yesterday morning, again, I told A. he could do whatever he wanted for Father's Day. So he re-located the movable sheep fence to create a place for the sheep to graze on the front lawn. Then he installed some heavy-gauge wire across the top of the newest stone wall in the front of the garden, to brace up the sagging gate. Then he re-attached the mower deck to the tractor and mowed a very overgrown lawn. Then he raked up the mowed grass and delivered it to his sheep to eat, as an experiment.
And then we took Cubby to a lock on the Erie Canal to fish. So I guess that was the real Father's Day treat for A. Well, that and the lamb shoulder roast I made for dinner.
A. and I obviously look for different things on our Special Days.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)