Mother on the Roof

This morning, before breakfast, my two year old locked himself in his room. It happened this way.  My daughters had just headed to their dressing room and were soon going to need help. I gathered up a basket of folded laundry, and walked my little one to the boys' bedroom. I left him with his older brother.  My youngest was driving his toy cars while my oldest was tasked with making his own bed.

I headed over to put away my girls' laundry so as to be handy when my four year old needed help. She still has trouble taking off her shirts and needs help to brush and arrange her hair. Sometimes her older sister needs help with her hair too. As soon as I had helped my youngest daughter, I headed over to get my little one dressed. What I found was a locked door. 

My oldest boy was downstairs at the computer. As I saw later, he had hurriedly thrown his comforter over the rest of his poorly pulled up bedding in order to sloppily make his bed. Then he bolted for the laptop to squeeze in some more computer programming. Meanwhile, my little man, either accidentally or otherwise, locked the door. This put me in a bit of a pickle. You see, we have old fashioned rim lock sets. They look like this from the outside. 

No one has ever bothered to drill out the lock holes, not even me. I decided doing so was pointless. Those holes are for the skeleton keys, lever keys, bit keys, or barrel keys that unlock the bolts. I don't have any of those keys. Besides, my boy didn't lock the dead bolt. That would have required a key on his side. What he did, was to flip the privacy latch at the top. You can see the brass latch at the top of the cast iron plate to the left. 

This isn't the first time someone has been locked out of a room. We were locked out of our bedroom on our last wedding anniversary. Someone had pushed the privacy latch up, but not all the way over. Then, when the door was shut, the impact made the latch slip into the lock position. We slept in the living room that night, as initial attempts at getting in were unsuccessful and it was late. 

The next day I unscrewed the knob, removed the shaft, bent a hanger, inserted the hanger through the hole for the shaft, and managed after much effort and time, to flip the latch back. Then I replaced the shaft and knob and opened the door. I promptly unlocked a window, and ever since have left a window unlocked in every room. 

I haven't seen a way around this problem, other than to get new lock sets, which would be expensive. Also, the doors would then all need to be drilled for a standard lock set, and they would also be marred, as the rim sets are attached to the face of the door. Other rim sets operate in the same fashion, so getting different face-mounting sets are not an option either. Taping the latches might help, but might not, and would certainly muck up the doors and be unsightly. 

Today, after explaining umpteen times to my small child how to unlatch the door, and his feigned lack of understanding, I decided that I had to go in through the window to unlock the door. He just did not seem to want to let me in. And a two year old is not to be left alone in a room. The damage a child that age is capable of in a short amount of time is astounding. Plus, and most importantly, he was a danger to himself.

After stationing an older child outside the door to listen and to keep him busy conversing, I got out our step ladder, thinking that I would climb onto the roof and through the window. It was a few feet short of the lowest part of our roof. I decided that it was too dangerous to teeter on the top of a ladder as I scrambled up. I considered calling a neighbor for a longer ladder, but time was of the essence, and I wasn't even sure either of my new neighbors had a tall ladder handy. I considered calling the fire dept., but I know from a previous experience with a neighbor at our old home who had set his yard on fire, that the volunteer fire departments are slow in arriving. So instead, I climbed out of the bathroom window next to his room, scooted crabwise across the steep gambrel roof to his unlocked window, raised the screen, and climbed in to save the day. 

I had started to fast today, but after that experience, I decided not to continue. If the door-locking episode had happened later in the day, I might have been too shaky to accomplish the required climbing feat or my thinking might have been too foggy to find an expeditious solution to the problem at hand. Things could have gotten ugly or complicated instead of being quickly resolved. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for self-discipline. For example, I haven't been using facebook for all of Lent. And I haven't had a drop of coffee. Going without "extras" and fasting from things we need for short periods of time (like food) are valuable spiritual tools that Catholics like myself are especially focused on during Lent. They help us to be more mindful of our weakness, and therefore, more aware of our dependence upon God. They help us to continually turn our hearts to Him throughout the day. The willing suffering also helps us to unite ourselves in a small way to Christ's sacrifice. And that suffering represents our solidarity with Jesus and with His Church. In our over-consuming society, I think it is especially important to practice doing with less. But the main undercurrent for why I fast is love. It's not very loving to compromise my faculties and cause risk to the family God has blessed me with. So today I will find different tools, some other spiritual exercises in which to partake to show my love. 

I think I'll be sure to send the money to that family in need that I should have sent two weeks ago. I think I'll send a note to a friend whose husband recently died. I've been thinking of her a lot and praying for her and her children too. And instead of giving my hunger to God as a little gift, I'll give Him my gratefulness for my impish son, for my body that was able to free him from his room, for my ability to help a friend in need, for my husband, and for the fact that I have food to give up- even if I'm not going to give it up today. Oh, and as for the the ladder I got out, I'll be using it to take down the last 3 strands of Christmas lights that are still strung along the back gutters.

Lone Coyote

This morning, at one of my usual posts, the kitchen sink, I caught sight of a lone coyote. At first I thought it was a deer because it was so far away and I just saw it out of my peripheral vision and wasn't really paying attention. The next time I glanced up I noticed that it was too short to be a deer, so I took a better look. It wasn't a deer. Was it a dog, perhaps? Nope.... it was a coyote.

I got out my camera with the 30X lens. Standing in the dining room, I snapped a few quick pictures. The three shots I took were lousy. For one thing, it was still early morning, so the light was not good. The first picture, above, was not quite focused. Or perhaps the window glass distorted my view. In any case, my motion had caught the eye of the American jackal. 

It looked right at me as I snapped another photo, which unfortunately was blurrier than the first. Maybe it was his motion. Maybe it was me. But whatever the case, he decided to move on. My clearest shot was of the prairie wolf loping away up the path that my husband had just made last weekend with his flail mower. 

Then the coyote struck off across the ridge in the hay field and disappeared on the other side headed toward the lake. The ridge he disappeared over is on the right side of the photograph below.

When I spotted the coyote, it was stopped near the end of  the "peninsula" of woods that juts out from the right side of the the picture below.

To give you a better idea of how far from the house that was, the next photo was taken while standing in the yard just behind the house.

I took the photos of the hay field last week because I was enamored of the sky and clouds, so the mown path is not in them, unfortunately. But you at least get the idea of how far the coyote was from the house. He was closer to the horse barn. So I'm glad I've been good about closing up our geriatric goat securely!

Campfire Night Lights

A while back I had a post about my two oldest kids appearing on the Friday Zone. (The Friday Zone is an award-winning children’s series airing weekly on PBS stations since 1999. The Friday Zone‘s mission is "to challenge children to investigate, experience and understand the world around them.") My kids are slotted to appear on three episodes. The first episode that they are featured in while making "campfire night lights" is now available for online viewing. You can purchase a DVD of this episode too. And if you want to see pictures from behind the scenes of this show, you can see them here, if you check in the week that this post is published. (The featured episode changes.) Enjoy!

Green and Growing

My youngest has said some memorable things this week. First, he has repeated with gusto the phrase, "I'm growing into a big MAN!" He has also called the newly blooming ornamental pink crabapples, "strawberry trees." He thinks the dark pink petals look like sliced strawberries. The white crabapple is the "popcorn tree." I love his food-centric perspective!

Then there's the dressing incident. He walked in on me while I was getting dressed a few days ago. I was preparing to put my shirt on. He said, "I see your belly." I responded affirmatively. So he continued, "You have big chunks." I was confused by this at first, but eventually he made it clear that he was referring to my breasts. Then I was simply amused. Two year olds are funny!

The poor little guy may be humorous, but he is also a handful- in more ways than one. First of all, like his 4 year old sister, he is still battling the awful cough and head cold, along with the sleep deprivation that makes him extra-fickle, extra-loud, and extra-mean. He has also swung from diarrhea to constipation- of his own making- which hasn't helped things either. He's decided to do his best to hold "it" this week, thinking he'll avoid any unpleasantness. Of course, it's made him feel awful instead. But despite our discussions, he's very firm about the fact that he's not going to go if he can help it. You see, when he had diarrhea before, his bottom hurt from being scrubbed so much. He associated a sore tush with the term "diarrhea". Now his torso hurts because he needs to go. So he told me yesterday that he has "body-rrhea."   Hill AIR E us!

The little man has also been picking dandelions every chance he gets. For instance, between the few steps between the parking lot and where my children receive music lessons, he managed to pick a fistful of dandelions in a matter of seconds. The squashed, yellow, gooey mass was soon offered to me, only to be demanded back several times. His hands were thoroughly sticky and looked sickly yellow. But really, if you were two years old, would you be able to resist tightly cupping a brilliant handful of shining yellow sun?

Speaking of yellow, the majority of our daffodils are nearly finished flowering. We are down to the late bloomers now. There are these frill-filled solid yellow ones.

There are also these pale yellow daffodils with orange-tipped, darker yellow, short bells.

There are some white beauties with warm, golden trumpets,

these fancy star-like blossoms,

these delicate, petite-cupped blooms,

these showy, heavy flowering ones,

and finally, these pale-petalled wonders.

After a rain this week I let my oldest girl snip all the bent-stemmed blossoms that were "face-down." In this way, we got to enjoy the daffodils a bit longer. They are surprisingly long lasting cut flowers and are very aromatic.

It is sad that the sprinting spring is bringing the loveliness of these flowers to an end, but there's always a consolation prize. I stumbled upon a patch of blue bells in the paddock next to the horse pasture. 

And even parts 

of the  unmown lawn 

are full of blooming weeds 

and woodland wildflowers. 

Plus, the continuance of freakish temperatures persisting in the 80's has put spring in "fast-forward" mode. The redbuds purpled the place yesterday. The dogwood blossoms have begun floating like foam and flotsam on eddies of warm wind where the waving hay and forest meet like the sea and the shore.

The children have been enjoying the hammock again, whether for cuddling

or for "boating".

The fruit trees are unfurling 

and perfuming the moist air.

And everything is becoming 

gloriously green.

  

Sprint to Spring

A few short weeks ago
we had snow. 

The slow creep of spring 

turned into a sprint this week. 

We've had a weird
stint of weather.

It's been in
the lower 80's all week. 

Most of the crocus
have bloomed and drooped. 

The forsythia burst 

into a batch of  thick, bright blooms. 

The bobbing daffodils 

are glowing in all their golden glory. 

The Carolina Anemone 

(a dry prairie plant) 

have taken over the front yard. 

It's now a patchy lavender carpet, 

punctuated with tufts of daffodils. 

The vinca is blooming brightly...

so are the hyacinths.

My husband
even got out the mower

and mowed a section of our yard

so that we could play croquet,

since the lawn was so tall.

The spring peepers are roaming. 

Birds are even hatching.

Insects are everywhere. We've already had three tick encounters this week. The Autumn Olives and Maples are leafing out. Soon the redbud, dogwood, and apple trees will flower. My husband has been working on getting his ancient veggie oil truck up and running, tuning and fixing up the tractor, cleaning stalls, and stringing fence. I've been spreading grass seed, hacking back the jungle, trying to adjust to the heat, and tending a houseful of sick kids.

I also finally put my foot down and forced my youngest to wear a short-sleeved shirt. It was in the upper eighties and he was a sweaty mess. He doesn't like change, and it was a substantial battle of wills. But I'll focus on the small victories.

Grapple

With the illness we have been battling, we have all been grappling with lack of sleep. It's been hard to fall asleep and hard to stay asleep when you're gagging and coughing, your nose is clogged or running, or you're feverish. This sickness has also kept my littlest from napping for many days. And on the run up to this illness, he had been up on and off during the night for about a month, due to his 2 year molars coming in. As a result of his over-tiredness he is just not coping and acting mean. He is an active, impish child in general, but he is not usually malicious. 

Today his lack of sleep reached crisis proportions. Since we had just picked up my vehicle from the shop last night, I strapped him in and headed out at nap time, hoping that the vertical position, lulling hum and vibration, and endless new things to look at would help him to get a rest. I figured it would be a dual purpose excursion. I'm still learning my way around the winding, hilly, wooded countryside with its myriad of weirdly named roads. 

For example, the first time I got onto MapQuest to figure out the shortest drive to a nearby highway, I was directed to drive on Possum Trot, Rocky Hill and Coon Path roads... in succession! Other nearby roads that I have driven on or past that have stuck with me are named Rattlesnake Road, Hardscrabble Road, Wolf Mountain Road, Paw Paw Road, Pea Ridge Road, Switchback Road, Rat Lane, Ham Lane, and Drunkard's Pike. What fun... and a little intimidating to a city-raised girl too :)

Today I thought I'd try to find the local horse rescue place. I knew the general area... by the red London double decker bus that advertises a salvage place. I figured I'd drive around over there.

I didn't find the horse place. I passed a junk yard. It had a car on a pole for a sign. It was NOT the salvage place referenced on the local landmark. Then I nearly got run off the road by a semi hauling a gargantuan grapple skidder. (Grapple skidders are used by loggers to drag felled trees back to the log loading area.) 

I had just come over the crest of a hill. The road was narrow and wooded on either side. The land fell away to my right and rose steeply to my left. Luckily I spotted a cemetery sign marking a tiny gravel drive that went straight up the hillside just in front of me on my left. I quickly swerved into the steep little lane, my traction control system making noise and the new gravel slipping out from underneath my wheels. Carved out of the woods was a tiny cemetery on a steep slope. It was seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

But I didn't stay. The first rule of a "nap drive" is to stay in motion. So I turned around and pulled out behind the oversized load so that my kiddo, who is tractor crazy, could see it. He, of course, had just fallen asleep. He missed the whole episode. I snapped some pictures to show him later, and consoled myself with the fact that in his foul mood he probably would have had a tantrum anyway because he'd have rather seen a knuckleboom loader or a feller buncher. 

Rurality is full of fun and surprises. The truck had no flashers on. There were no red flags that I noted. There was no "oversized load" signs in a place that was readable. There were no "lead" or "trailer" vehicles.

When it turned off of the the road we were on, I decided to head back the way I had come, thinking I'd take the other branch of a road that had "Y"ed. But the little man woke up screaming and kicking the back of my seat before I got the chance to... which he did until we were nearly home, despite my attempts at calming him. 

He only slept fitfully for all of 20 minutes. That meant that the rest of the day he head-butted, hit, kicked, screamed, and was generally a little terror. He was like an injured, trapped animal. He felt awful, didn't understand why, and was taking it out on everybody.

It's hard to believe it when you see his sweet face, isn't it? So I won't spell out all the trouble the boy conjured up today. That way we can all forget it ever happened and just remember his long lashes, his cherubic cheeks, his plump little paws, and his sweet smile. Because, really, that is what he is generally all about, reaching up to ask/command me throughout most days, "Mama? Hold my hand."

Creeks and Clouds

Whew... These last few weeks have been doozies. If you read my previous post, you know that my husband was away on business for a couple weeks. The week before he left we all had head colds that he brought back from the trip he took the week before that... Are you confused yet? This time we all got sick before he returned. 

It happened this way. I took my children to my nephew's baptism the weekend before last. The sweet thing was on antibiotics and had a nasty, croupy-sounding cough. We seem to have caught his ick, or maybe it and some others. This plague includes terrible sinus pressure, post-nasal drip, sneezing, running nose, sore throat, raspy barking coughing, multi-day fever, and...diarrhea (not fun for a mum with a tot in diapers.) 

Since my dear one had been gone for a stretch, I already had things lined up to do this week, so it's been a bit hectic in other regards too. I had a badly needed chiropractor appt. with a new chiro. I spent 3 hours there and didn't get any relief. I took my daughter to the optometrist as she had been getting headaches when she is riding in the car. (Our family's been cycling through this illness, and both of us were symptom-free at that point.) He dilated her eyes and her pupils stayed dilated for 24 hours, so she was very uncomfortable. He also recommended reading glasses, despite telling me that her eyesight was "fine, her muscles just get tired." I went to a new dentist (because all three of my fillings had fallen out and need to be replaced. Ouch.) I also had my vehicle at the mechanic's and found out that I need three new engine mounts, some of which are hydraulic... pricey! (And it's still at the shop.) And my husband has been stringing goat fence every spare minute this week.

I'm feeling rotten by now, too. And as you can imagine, I'm awfully tired of wiping noses, changing explosive diapers, washing hands and faces, tending children all night, listening to whining, ministering to a bunch of "grumpy rumps," and worrying, especially after weeks of "flying solo". Yesterday I was so worn out and testy that my husband had pity and kicked me out for a walk while he bathed "the littles." I moseyed past the barn with the intention of having a look at the fencing project. But the sound of running water lured me into the woods. The goat decided to come too.

A lovely little creek, choked with leaves, trickled over shelving rock and burbled under tumbled stones in the bottom of a  ravine lined with ferns and mosses of vivid green. We followed the creek along the gully for a time until the fallen trees across it were too numerous, and either too tall to climb over or too low to duck under without getting messy. Then we struck off up the side of the gulch and down into the next ravine, crossing its creek and following it until we reached the meandering, deep banked stream that cuts through the valley below the dam. 

The goat, who is a nearly 16 years old (exceedingly old for a pygmy) was having an awfully good time. She ran down the steep inclines and climbed nimbly up the other sides. She nosed here and there, and munched a bit of this and that along the way. She even leaped from bank to bank across the output from the dam. 

Once we climbed the back of the dam I startled about 15 ducks from the water. They immediately took to the wing. At first glance they looked like mallards, but they made a strange whistling call as they whirred away that I did not recognize.

The pair of Canada geese were still there. They swam off into one of the inlets, but did not take flight. They seem to be settling down to raise a gaggle. I'll have to look for their nest soon.

The walk back to the barn with the goat through one of the hay field was a bit humorous, because the goat cavorted and ran this way and that, enjoying her halter-free hike. I savored the shifting clouds framed by the fringe of trees. I delighted in the last light of day silhouetting the trees against the cerulean sky. 

These moments of calm amidst the harmonious cluttered chaos of family life refill me and lift me. They slow my soul when I get preoccupied, enervated, worried, and agitated. They humble me and make me grateful. I commune with the Beautiful and True in a sort of silent prayer of thanksgiving.

For me, prayer is a surge of the heart, it is a simple look towards Heaven, it is a cry of recognition and of love, embracing both trial and joy. -St Therese of Lisieux