On racism and parenting

While I was off capturing another birth (yes, I do this. It's my favorite.) and feeling all good about the world, two men were shot and killed. Two dads. Within 24hours of each other. By police officers. Because they were black.

I used to be really concerned with our fairly white circle of friends- in that most of our friends look like us. We live here, where sadly our statistics show our area as pretty diverse... because there's a maximum security prison less than 5miles away- I'll skip the prison racism rant for now, that's not why we're here today...
I used to avoid talk of diversity- because then our kids would notice and it would be a thing.
Until one day, when Noah was around 4, he said he didn't like someone because their skin was dark (he didn't know skin was referred to as white or black .... because we weren't labeling).
Adrenaline rush (on my part) and trying not to stammer too much as I ask for more clarification.
It was true. He liked people who were boys, with white skin, and preferably brown hair.
I researched like crazy. This wasn't right. The plan wasn't working! We were raising a racist white male.
I found an article like this and this.
And we started explicitly talking to our kids about race. Taking ownership for what our race had done, the atrocities committed, the need for change - still! We worked at seeking out picture books that show nonwhite characters (this is harder than you'd think - randomly pull a picture book off the shelf at the public library, and 90% of the time, it's filled with white kids) - and not books that specifically talk about race. Just books that show kids being kids -even *gasp* - black kids.

And now, 6 years later, I hear words come out of my kids' mouths and feel reassured that the race inequalities shock my children. We have recently been talking about the insane number of murders recently .... but then also talking about how it's probably the average number of killings - we just have social media to heighten awareness. The kids make big plans to go to a black person's defense in a heartbeat. Our kids are angry. And they can be, at no risk to them - because they are white. I'm so glad that they get it. I don't have to be explicit about how incredibly horrendous this is. They get it because they know that people are people and each one is worth fighting for (if needed). That it isn't about skin color - in terms of who you stand with - but it is about skin color in that it's something we're really thankful for. We're thankful that everyone doesn't look like us and we're thankful we live in a country where this is the case to the extreme. Our kids get it. Even if every.single.neighbor is white. They still get it.

I recently told Noah the story of when he was four ... and how it made me realize we weren't doing this right. He was mortified.

But I keep feeling like we could do more. I don't know what - but if more killings are happening, then it means we're not doing enough.
And this simple list came up on my newsfeed. We have a responsibility, as white people, to be the change. Black people don't have that power. They've tried. But as the suppressed group, they only have as much power as the dominant group (white people) give them. Think about that. That's a big responsibility. Take it. Own it. Do something.

And especially as a white mother of a white son who will grow to be a white man .... Big responsibility. It's a conversation that we have to keep having. It's actions that we need to keep taking.

What are the conversations with your kids like at your house around racism? Around these recent lynchings? How are you addressing this?

Everybody says it - because it's true!

"That first year goes by so fast."

We've had such a crammed packed year with lots of changes - I can't believe it's only been a year since Rye was born.
I also can't believe she's grown and changed so much in a year.
But I'm also still trying to figure out how the first baby I birthed is now a 10 year old, the same size as me ....
Life goes by fast after you have kids!

Pregnancy and what I don't want to forget

Not too much longer now, and unlike with Del's pregnancy, we know the plan is to not get pregnant again. (With Del, we didn't have an opinion either way about whether that would be the last pregnancy or not ... until after she was born).
I always tell photography clients who are seeking a maternity shoot that this time is so relatively short in comparison to life. It's hard to remember looking back that you actually had that baby inside of you and your belly grew to accommodate your baby. It feels long in the present, but it's just not. Pregnancy is fast.
So I'm trying even more so to live in the moment, relishing every pregnant detail.
This time I'm waddling. A first. And it started around 20 weeks gestation. I've realized this has nothing to do with how small or big I am, just how loose my pelvis is.
Everyone comments on how tiny I am. And to be fair, I have a hard time gaining weight (this is largely due to a restricted diet that comes with gestational diabetes. At least, that's my theory. I think of oreos, doritoes, tacos, pasta, etc were part of my diet, it wouldn't be so hard to gain and keep weight on.).
I want to wear a shirt that says: "I'm 8mos pregnant. Yes, really."
And even when people are saying: "you're so small!" - I feel like I look huge. I know "huge" is culturally a negative thing, but not in this case. I can't believe how much my stomach has stretched. I keep feeling amazed that my body has done this!
I can't walk as fast. And I'm often out of breath more quickly.
But I also don't realize how much I'm doing until I sit down and realize my body is tired!
It's harder to squat than last time (say for milking - although I wasn't milking last time, I was faithfully squatting to prepare for birth).
When pregnant, it seems the rest of my body gets smaller, my muscles become more defined, and my belly grows.

This baby seems to be the most active of the three pregnancies.
I try to keep this in perspective - I'm experiencing this pregnancy now, and memories fade. So maybe I'm exaggerating? But I don't think so. They say that babies form a routine in utero and take naps.
I don't think this one naps at all.
Ever.
It's constantly constantly on the move.
You can see it bump, nudge, and rub my belly as my skin moves across my uterus.
And it can be intense. This is a strong person and I'm seeing a lot of heel pushed up against me, I'm guessing.
Even intense movement, I want to remember. How amazing to think there is a person inside of me!

Braxton Hicks are real. This time. And all the books/websites say Braxton Hicks are "mildly noticeable" at worst. That's a lie. They are most definitely noticeable. And if this was a first baby, I'd have been the mom who cried labor multiple times already. The pressure from these contractions wakes me in the night. That's not "mildly noticeable". And if there isn't a bathroom nearby - watch out! The contracting uterus puts intense pressure on my bladder. When we're out and about (say, in the car), this can be awful. I take a deep breath, shocked by the sudden need to empty my bladder, while trying to relax through a Braxton Hicks.
The children find this incredibly funny ... after Ren Man told them the baby finds my bladder and squeezes it and says: "oooh, this is squishy squishy!" So now the children will randomly say to me: "squishy, squishy" in a sing-song voice. As a side note: laughing while trying not to pee is really hard.

This baby has been head down with its back to my right, and feet and hands pushing on my left side. It's not uncommon to get a jab to my bladder, or a head (I presume) rolling across my bladder. Hiccups happen occasionally - maybe once or twice a day. I remember Noah having hiccups and it was painful because it was right under my ribs.

Physically, I feel great overall. Yeah, it's harder to breathe and I'm starving one minute and two bites later feel super full ... only to be starving 20 minutes later. And the gag reflex is still intense at times.

Colostrum happens before the baby comes. I can't believe how full and ready these milk makers look and feel!

The hardest thing about this pregnancy has been diabetes. I'm so so relieved that my numbers have been fine after some weeks where they kept creeping up. I think what made a difference was increasing veggie intake significantly (a large salad a day). I'm sure experience has also helped, I know what works and what doesn't and just hammering that out has been huge. For example, conventional gestational diabetes advice includes a night-time snack - as in, right-before-bed, to decrease the risk of "dawn phenomenon" where your number spikes in the morning. I found that a night time snack doesn't help, and seems to increase my fasting number. So if I'm hungry before bed, I'll eat something small, but my number is lower if I skip the night-time snack.

Diabetes has been so stressful because it limits my diet, making food an obsession. You have to think about every.single.bite and its potential effect. For a few stressful (and tearful) weeks when those numbers kept inching up, it was very frustrating. What more could I do?! If my numbers didn't come back down, insulin talk would begin. If insulin was started, then the homebirth was off the table. And that was very discouraging.
Ren Man started doing (even more) research and found that people on low carb diets will have a sugar numbers without huge swings post-meal. What this means for fasting numbers is that they tend to be higher than the conventional norm. This doesn't mean it's HIGH though, in comparison to the conventionally recommended diabetes diet (that includes carbs).
After seeing this, suddenly my numbers weren't so scary and even started declining into that conventionally expected range (this all refers to fasting numbers as post-meal numbers were always more than okay - they need to be below 140, and were typically below 100). Which speaks highly of the effect stress can have on those numbers!

In light of gestational diabetes, the midwife asked that I see an OB she trusts for a second opinion. I was nervous. An OB!! She ended up being really authentic and as mellow an OB as can be, I'm thinking. She did say she wanted an ultrasound. My feeling is - it shouldn't just be done to be done, there should be a purpose. And the big concern with diabetes is a big baby. I'm measuring over 2 weeks small based on fundal height. But that has wiggle room for inaccuracy - as does everything. Ultrasounds are no different - I've read they can be up to two pounds off. So telling someone they are having a 10lb baby, could really be an 8lb baby ... or a TWELVE lb baby!
The ultrasound happened at 32weeks when the average baby is 3.75lbs. This baby was 3.5lbs. Well, inaccurate or not, it was nice to have an ultrasound show a smaller reading rather than a larger one.

So here are my baby predictions: I think it's a girl, lots of dark hair, hoping for blue eyes, she'll come early (I'm guessing June 13 - the day after our last wedding, or June 21 - the day after our annual solstice party) .... but this baby has been a surprise all along and if it's small then maybe this is the baby that will go past my due date?, she'll be 7.5lbs (smallest baby yet). I'm nervous about how active this baby is! We'll see how that plays out after birth :)

I'm so relieved that we're homebirthing. No matter what, there will be a baby. I know. But the thought of just birthing without having to over think anything (is this it? Or not yet?) or stay on guard to be sure silly things like wearing your own clothes or eating when you're hungry can happen.

Is there anything else I'm going to forget about pregnancy? It's hard (and I had forgotten that) and it also feels so empowering. I'm growing a person. I'm going to birth a person. Our family will grow. And my diabetes sugar numbers are awesome.

Goodbyes for now and hellos soon

In ten days we will have fostered for two solid years (we've been licensed longer but our first long term placement - Child B. and Child C. - arrived 2 years ago) with a two week break between placements.
And after 18 mos child D., Child E., and Child F. are moving back to their parent's home. There are boxes and boxes of clothes and toys to pack. This transition has been progressing for over a month and it's nice to finally have some permanency instead of splitting weeks and schedules and bouncing tired cranky kids back and forth.

For all five kids, this is a sad change ... and a happy one ... so everyone is a little out of sorts and confused. But as we get closer to a consistent bed every night the more settled everyone seems.

And everyone is sympathetic to us - as in, to Ren Man and myself. I get it, kind of. But this is the point. The point is to be a safe holding spot for kids while their parents learn new skills, strengthen their community/support system, and maybe even space to re-evaluate their choices/life/future. It's not a perfect system - far from it, but in this case, it seems to have taken hold in a positive way. And fortunately for us, we're working with some pretty amazing parents who value our relationship with their kids.

Having said all that, this investment takes a ton of effort, time, resources and it's been a relatively long time - especially given how young these girls are. This is all with the underlying pressure of feeling like every move, scratch, illness, parenting choice is analyzed and assessed by an almost-stranger who you didn't invite into your life - beyond deciding to foster. The lack of respect applied to original families (which is discouraging and frustrating) is just as often arbitrarily applied to foster parents, in general (having said that - this is a general statement - we've felt beyond thankful for the hours and hours of support and guidance and explanation and respect shared with us from the caseworker for this specific case). This is completely draining.
We're so honored to have seen them grow and mature over the last 18mos. But it's discouraging to see all that progress disintegrate the longer the kids are away from you - it's not even big things. Here's a silly example: in our house, you shut the toilet lid when you're done. This is apparently not the case at the girls parents' because the lid is now consistently left up. But we know they are morphing into someone else's kids who we just happen to know really well, and the toilet seat being up or down is not a big deal for this short time during transition. It's a good reminder of all the adjustments foster kids are expected to make the instant they move from one home to another - on top of the trauma of the move in the first place.

This summer is slated to be our busiest yet. We have all kinds of projects on the brink of beginning - including one huge one we're keeping under wraps until it's a definite.
Oh yeah.
And a new baby we're growing that will presumably come out into the world at some point this summer.
So when the girls were looking more and more like they would be leaving us we talked about taking a break until November or so. This would get us past weddings and high school seniors in terms of photography and through the intensity of summer farming.
But as the Big Project becomes more and more likely we're thinking the fostering break might last years, not just months.

And part of this is saying "Goodbye" to the notion of a larger family. I have always said I wanted 6 kids. Ren Man is pretty committed to not going over five. But even at five, he gets socially overwhelmed. And child rearing is intense and when you make the choice to raise kids, you make the choice not to do other things. And right now we're making the choice to do those other things and be satisfied with 2 (and a half) kids. It's taken a while to get here - because for years (since I was a child myself, literally) I would tell everyone that I wanted 6 kids (originally it was 50 birthed and 50 adopted, so 6 seemed a reasonable compromise). Every.single.time the adult I was telling would inevitably scoff: "wait until you have one!"
How condescending!
And all that did was encourage my adamance that I would raise six kids. And I was that person that said she'd have six kids.
I also attribute this desire to raise more than four kids to my mom - who I observed first hand as she raised four kids. What a testament to her mothering, to find myself wanting to emulate her so much - and then some!
I try not to take it as a testament to my mothering then, when Del insists she wants to remain child-free. Instead I think she is wise to see that there are so many choices in life and raising children is not a more valued than another choice - but by choosing to raise children, you choose to not do other things. And by choosing to do other things, you are choosing not to raise children.
And I hope hope hope no grownup ever says to her: "just wait until you get older, then you'll see how you feel."

So goodbye for now to girls - our daughters of 18mos, goodbye for now to fostering, goodbye for now to the expectation of a large family.
Hello soon to an evolved relationship with our girls, hello soon to spring and summer, hello soon to new projects, and hello soon to a new baby.

On being 32

Today is my birthday.
I remember being a bit sad to turn 30 - and shocked. I mean, when my parents turned 30, they were OLD!
But it wasn't a big deal, and I still felt like me.
But I was sad because we still had not been called for a foster placement and I was nervous that we'd always be parents of two. I wanted more kids. Two was so normal.
And now, two years later and we're pregnant with our sixth kid.

A lot can happen in two years.

ps I intended to have a picture of me with the kids ... but if you have five kids, you realize quickly that ideal doesn't always play out in reality.

The big secret

Oh, blog - you're the last to know, but you'll get the most details!
Right before Halloween I took a pregnancy test, four days late, and it was positive. Very positive. The "you're pregnant" line was much darker than the "this test is working" line.
(I looked it up, because I was panicking about twins. So here's what I learned: that line on the pregnancy test measures your HcG levels - the hormone that increases rapidly when you're pregnant. If your HcG is higher than the average, the "you're pregnant" line will pull pigment from the "this test is working" line. You can have a high HcG level and be carrying a single baby; you can also have an average HcG level and be carrying twins.)

The plan all along was to birth two babies and adopt four kids. Then we birthed two babies and thought we were pretty good at birth and maybe could do it again. Then we read more about overpopulation. I've never blogged about this before, because it feels too controversial, but we felt the ethical thing to do was to not birth again. This was hard. I wasn't as present as I would like to be for a final pregnancy. I didn't revel in the new baby enough, because I didn't expect her to be my last experience. I felt angry and frustrated when we work so hard to do so much right in the world - and having a third baby is something that also has moral implications to ponder before proceeding with a new baby.

But Ren Man didn't want to do anything permanent (a vasectomy was on the table) until I was 100%.
He was also concerned about me, because I get gestational diabetes - so being older and pregnant again wasn't a risk he wanted to take.
We used birth control, a mix of barrier and Taking Charge of Your Fertility. Some months (when I knew a baby wouldn't come right in the middle of wedding season, I was more laxed). Friends had "accidental" pregnancies and I resisted feeling bitter. And most months I was pretty sure I was pregnant. But, nope. Never. Your body thinks it's pregnant, until it's not, every.single.month.
Six years after Del was born I was feeling comfortable with Ren Man getting a vasectomy. We were very beyond the baby stage and had have a lot going on. A baby would slow things down and limit the number of children we could foster/adopt.

Ren Man scheduled his appointment with his doctor to talk about scheduling a vasectomy. He was referred to a urologist. There's one relatively local urologist, who will take our insurance. But he was full. We could contact another one an hour away and see if he would do it. But that whole busy factor kicked in and we put the whole project on the back burner.

We had our last wedding (another awesomely beautiful event - 2014 was stunning) and I was four days late - but sometimes this happens. Maybe you become more irregular as you get older? The time change had recently happened and it was so dark and cloudy. I was so tired and thinking we should get one of those sun lights.
I took the test and was surprised it was positive. But also not. Because it was inevitable - every month, right? But still unbelievable.
I kept the test hidden next to our bed. I finally took a picture on the phone, because it felt weird to be secretly stashing a stick with my pee on it.
After a few hours I showed Ren Man the picture and said we had to figure out how we felt abortions (which had recently come up in conversation because another friend had gone through the exact same thing - about 9mos before us, and they had decided against an abortion).

About five hours later, I was resigned to birthing again and maybe even a little excited.
We had talked about wanting the kids to experience birth, breastfeeding, and babywearing. Ren Man was 10 when his youngest sibling was born and I attribute a lot of his parenting skills to that experience. I'd love for our kids to have that background too.
In the next few days I started looking into homebirth options in this area (not many). I wasn't going to do another birth and not do a homebirth (again). We also talked about when we would tell people. We wanted to make it amazing because we knew this was the last baby (for real this time). We thought a Christmas gift that revealed all would be fun. We counted out the weeks and saw that it would be 13 weeks out. We wondered how big I would be and if we could keep it a secret that long.

I asked Noah what he'd think if we had another kid. His response: "I think we have enough already." And really, at five kids, that's a sensible response. But I asked: "what if it grew it my belly." His response (in a flat tone): "that would be interesting." Not exactly encouraging.

My dad was out of town one week for work and my mom is gone a million hours a day for work, so the first visit with the midwife wasn't a big deal. She came with her midwife-in-training. They got a little lost on the way here, but then realized that of course the place with geese, turkeys, ducks, etc running around would be the place where a home birth would be desired. They asked if I had any concerns, about home birth safety in particular. I said: "no, I know it's safer."

At Thanksgiving, I was tempted to just tell everyone. But we wanted wanted to wait for Christmas. So I hoped no one would notice my belly. I'd started wearing sweatshirts that made the belly less noticeable, but didn't think a sweatshirt as appropriate Thanksgiving Day wardrobe. Ren Man said I just had to keep my belly in until after the meal, then everyone would assume it was a turkey belly.

For the next midwife appointment I met the midwives at a friend's house who has a massage loft-like space in her finished attic. I just thought my dad would be too suspicious of me bringing a few women up to my bedroom. We do have random people over regularly, but no one traipses upstairs - well, not usually. I asked about twins at this appointment, but am measuring appropriately. We also talked about gestational diabetes. I get it every pregnancy because I only have 5% of my pancreas and it can only do so much. My impression is that if it isn't diet controlled this time (as it has been in the past - but harder to do with each pregnancy and as you age), then the home birth is not an option.

After much pinterest-searching (resisting pinning anything baby-related for fear of discovery), we decided to wrap a bottle for each family to open and tie a note to it that said:

"You'll need this when Mommy and Daddy are at weddings. I can't wait to meet you! See you in July.

Love,

The New Baby

p.s. Mommy and Daddy are just as surprised as you are."

I also knew that I wanted to tell the kids first - at least the older two. I knew our third kid wouldn't be able to keep this a secret and the younger two wouldn't get it. About three weeks before Christmas I was grumbling about a big sweatshirt (it was hot! But I had to wear it!) and Noah asked why. So I asked if he could keep a secret.
He threw himself into my arms, his head hitting sharply into my teeth. He didn't care. He was SO excited! He wanted to know how big the baby was and then we looked up pictures of how the baby looks right now. He wanted me to eat more so the baby would come faster. We talked about how that isn't how it works.
For the next three weeks, he encouraged me to eat avocados, was careful not to hug me too hard, and was careful not to share the secret.
On Christmas morning I gave him "Babies Don't Eat Pizza" (not that great, but gives a pretty balanced overview - not too hippy not too mainstream). He knew Del would be getting a gift that would reveal the news and he was very very excited. For her, I got the book "Hello, Baby" (great depiction of a homebirth, and an eye-opener for Del because there is an image of the baby between the mom's legs). She didn't get that this meant we were growing a baby at first. So we told her. Her response: (big eyes) "REALLY!?!?!"

And the kids were thrilled to watch the reactions of the grownups when they opened their gift. We arranged it so it would be the last gift opened for both families.
There was shock and tears and more shock and lots of questions. Everyone was impressed that we hadn't spilled sooner and lightbulbs went off like: "That's why you've been so tired!" and suddenly chores were too much for me to do by myself (in my mom's opinion).

So phew! Now the news is out. There's a baby on the way ... and that's how you get 6 kids. And I definitely still do chores (think of all that birth-training-squatting when milking a cow!)
There's been very little nausea, no puking, and tons of tiredness. It was fun to keep it a secret and interesting to feel that I needed to take responsibility of caring for my body even when it seemed like asking too much (like telling my father-in-law we needed to take a break when unloading hay early in the pregnancy because I needed to eat).
We're stressing a bit about finishing the creamery before the baby comes, which would be ideal - but we're needing about $25k to make that happen, on top of life and birth expenses.

Other than that it just feels unreal. This was such a surprise and now that the first trimester is done, it feels less real - except for the ever-growing bellu, and I've started to feel the occasional movement. So when the midwife came last time, I consented to listen to the heart beat (when I really want to avoid doppler/ultrasounds unless medically needed). I didn't expect to feel wowed. I wasn't with Noah (and didn't listen with Del). But this was so cool. It was strong and fast. There's really really a baby growing in there!

First Day of School

I didn't really intend to take a break from blogging ... and suddenly it's the first day of school!
So apparently I took a break.
Oops.
How was your summer? (That's what you ask on the first day back to school, right?)

It's funny going through the first day of kindergarten ... when you unschool.
Yesterday was an orientation for Child F and the principal asked the crowd of parents: "Just by show of hands, how many of you are doing this for the first time, sending your oldest off to school?"
Wait. Can you ask those questions again, more slowly? I think those were two different questions and I have two different answers.
I just kept my hand down.
I asked the nutrition specialist, in charge of the cafeteria, pointed questions about their food system. Not because the answers mattered (although I was curious), but because I wanted to raise awareness and point out that these were issues to be concerned about (where is the food being made? is it made from scratch? where is the food being sourced?).

Child F.'s mom came for orientation. We've had more reasons to be together lately (Child D. had dental surgery recently, for example) and it's nice to co-parent in real-time instead of catching each other for minutes before and after weekly visits.

Child F. is really excited ... and pretty nervous. I woke her up before her sisters, and she was still asleep in my arms as I quietly carried her downstairs. She sleepily got dressed, but was ready for breakfast. I packed a snack (panicking a little - what do I send for a snack!?) of yogurt and homemade strawberry syrup/jam and some homemade granola. Might this child live with hippies?

I found myself feeling all adrenaline-y when we were waiting for the bus. I'm excited for Child F. - she's ready. And the last few weeks have been challenging. I attribute this to the fact that we are very close to the anniversary of her removal and the weather took a sharp turn for cold at the end of August. The last few days have been better, but I'm assuming the break where Child F. is at school and away from us will be a good thing (but only half believe).

Child F. was mostly worried about the cat being in the road.

I'm nervous about her academic skills ... we haven't done anything over the summer ... on purpose ... that is purposefully academic. She was in headstart with special ed services and as we unschool, I'm a firm believer in "kids will learn what they need to know when they need to know it". For Child F. that was: how to heat food in the microwave, how to go to the bathroom, how to stay out of harms way, how to fill a bottle with milk when the baby was crying ... not: how to count, what sounds some letters make, or how to organize by shape. So I asked her to count last night. It was on a survey thing the teacher sent home. And she counted to 11 - without missing one number! This is huge! I've been told over and over that kindergarten teachers have a wide range of student ability that enter their classroom on their first day - and this girl isn't going to be the one needing the most academic forward movement. I took some deep breaths ... and then the child counted to 11. So cool. I'm really proud of all the gains she's made.

Here's the thing: she's going to be fine. Better than fine. She's going to excel. I know it. But it's hard (and I've only known this kid a year - imagine if I'd been with her day in and day out for the last 5.5 years!) to let her go do this by herself. She was nervous about where she was supposed to go when the bus dropped her off (there will be all kinds of adults there to help her on her way as she walks to the very end of a long hallway to her classroom). But she's got this. And you know how I know? Even if she would love to have a familiar hand to hold as she steps into the next big change of her life - she doesn't need it. She's done far bigger and scarier things than any other kid in her class (I'm guessing). Last year, she was taken from all she knew and brought to a brand new house with more questions than she could even articulate and no one answering in a way that made sense. And this was the scariest thing ever - even scarier than anything she'd experienced at home.



And she's done awesome. She can count to 11. She can check in with others who are sad. She can voice her wants and needs. Kindergarten is going to be easy-peasy.



Her teacher seems awesome and Child F. is excited. And the house is relatively peaceful with one less kid for the day. I can't wait to hear all about her first-day-of-school-adventures in about two hours!

A little me-and-you road trip planned

We heard about this creamery that is very nearly licensed and is about 2.5 hours away from us. So we called and asked if we could come and see their setup and ask about their process so far.
But then there's a frantic child-care search.
We know from experience that it's near impossible for me to focus on something OTHER than kids, if kids are with us. When we have our kids with us, they are my first priority.
And I really want to see, hear, investigate, etc.
Can we go with fewer kids? One at preschool? Two home who are pretty self-sufficient and wouldn't need more than my dad, who could still be working from home? And bring the younger two (the two that hate the car, it was noted) with us? But actually there isn't enough time between the time we drop off and pick up for Child F. to make it from there to the farm and back - never mind with some looking around time!
So after some processing, Ren Man's mom pointed out that she's coming to spend the night tonight anyway, so she could come earlier to give us more time in the light after our trek over to this farm. Then we could go out for dinner or whatever because Ren Man's mom will be here spending the night!

Bonus #1: it's Ren Man's birthday
Bonus #2: a long-time blog reader happens to live fairly close to this farm and has invited us over for dinner - a blog reader I've never met and I'm so so excited to finally connect with irl!

So that's where we are today. Just me-and-him. Off on a research adventure that is sure to end with warm and welcoming friends!

Our day in two ways

It was an awful day.
Child F. woke up before 7am - as she's started to do, I'm not sure why. She was miserable and whiney - not her norm. When she gets like that, it means she's due for a nap. She spent all.day.long in bed, refusing to sleep but clearly exhausted.
Child D. pooped in her pants. Again. She's had months of being potty trained. But lately. It's poop in pants every.single.day. Unless she isn't wearing pants. I can not describe how angry poop in pants makes me, for a child who is clearly potty trained. My hands smell of poop for the rest of the day - despite washing them 1,903 times!
Baby E. didn't take her now-normal 3-hour nap. Instead, it was a little over an hour.
Del was a crabby-whiney-bossy-pants ... especially to Child F. and somewhat Child D.
There was a lot of effort put in to cleaning up Child D, reminding Del to speak to others how she would like to be spoken to, attempting to convince Child F. that she REALLY needed to sleep and that "my eyes are closed" is not the same thing as taking a nap or sleeping.
I'm hoping for a better day tomorrow. Ren Man has work all day. So I'm nervous.

It was a good day.
Child D. came and snuggled in bed this morning - something that doesn't happen often.
Noah went and got Baby E. out of her crib this morning and brought the smiley girl in to my bed. Child F. was snuggly and really wanted to spend time with Del.
Child D. has started saying "otay mommy" when I explain why she can't come upstairs or throw food on the floor - this is a big improvement over being ignored.
Baby E. was smiley as ever and has started giving adorable baby kisses.
The three younger girls were all in bed for naps at the same time so we squeezed in a game of apples to apples with the older two.
Ren Man wasn't working off-farm today so we got a lot of daddy-time in. He made a big breakfast, cheese, yogurt, and dinner.
I had a roller derby bout to photograph so skipped out on bedtime!
I'm hoping for more happy moments tomorrow.

Puppy Cute Overload

If you follow or friend me on facebook then you already know about the puppies and have enjoyed the puppy eye-candy.
So here's the story of the puppies being born:

Here's the thing: spay and neuter your pets.
Now that we've established that ...
We made a very conscious choice to breed Eden and Wesley - our pure bred Great Pyrenees dogs. We need more livestock dogs and our impression is: we aren't the only ones.

On Christmas Day (yes, seriously) we saw Eden and Wesley rolling in the hay ... actually they freaked everyone out by being stuck together (known as "tied up" in the dog-breeding world). Dogs come in to heat twice a year, but I'm not confident Eden has even come in to heat that frequently. She was a few months from being 3 years old. She and Wesley took full advantage of Eden's in-heat status over the next few days.

We knew that Great Pyr's are pregnant for about 60 days, so two months later we were watching. Eden was larger in the middle and her mammary glands were filling out.

Around 2am Eden started whining in the hallway near our bedroom. I went and felt her belly, looked at her vulva, but no action yet.
The next morning she was up and acting her usual self.

Ren Man was off to work for the day.
"I bet Eden has her babies today and there's some big disaster because I'm at work," he predicted. I groaned. This would not be the first time a disaster has befallen the farm while Ren Man is at work and I'm juggling kids and farming chores.

I clean up from doing morning chores and get the kids breakfast. Check email and notice the man I had talked to the previous day about a possible camper has not emailed pictures, as he said he would. He had said he was better with texting, so I send a quick text saying: hey, I haven't received an email from you - here's my address in case you lose it. Then I clean up from breakfast and start picking up toys.

"Sarah! Come here!" my dad calls from the back door.
I know. At least, I think I know.
I race through the house, dodging random children who are reaching for a pickup.
My dad is through the mudroom in the "not garage".
"She's started," my dad reports, puppy in hand.
"Where is she?" I ask.
"Over here," he motions, leading me over and bringing the puppy to Eden. "She dropped this one over there, and then moved here," he explained.
"Is that the first one?" I ask.
"I think so," he says and we notice that two others are near her, already birthed. She's licking the puppies frantically (she's very adept at obsessively licking herself all over - so now all that cleaning practice pays off!).
Another puppy slips from her vulva. Ignoring the three older puppies, she licks this one who is already mewing and working on biting off its cord.
"I'm so glad she chose here to birth," I say. This is exactly where Ren Man and I had discussed her birthing. "But it's really cold," I say. We'd had a warm spell for the previous day or two but now we were back in to frigid temps and the not-garage is unheated and uninsulated, sitting on a concrete slab. I leave Eden to find a heat lamp. The 100 chicks we bought in December are getting more mature and they have three, I hope they can spare one. I bring it back to where Eden is whelping and spend a lot of time and effort trying to wrestle pieces of cardboard under her and the puppies so they aren't directly on the concrete.

I watch as she births two more puppies in fairly quick succession.

Six puppies!
Someone who comes regularly to the farm to pick up food, arrives. I tell him about the puppies and lead him around the cooler and freezer to show him. Eden starts growling. This surprises me slightly because I've been here, there, and everywhere all over her and the puppies and she's been very ambivalent about my interference. He makes a respectfully hasty escape.

Eden is resting and continuing to clean up the pups. They seem frigid - even Eden is shivering - whether that's from cold or the effort of birth, I don't know. I do know that I'm cold! Especially my hands as the birth fluids dry from them in the cold air. I keep putting puppies to nipples hoping they'll suck, but they don't. Child D. has insisted on standing out in the cold not-garage with me. She asks frequently to hold a puppy and motions and says "rock baby, rock baby". I remind her that Eden needs to take care of her puppies and she wouldn't like it if we held them.

I call Ren Man at work.
"Listen to this," I say and hold the phone down to the puppies. They are crying in a way that is disturbingly like a human baby newborn.
"Did you hear that?" I ask.
"What is that?" he asks.
"PUPPIES!" I answer.
"Oh! I thought it might be Child D. making a funny sound," he responds. "Where are they?"
"In the not-garage, it's really cold," I explain. "There are six, I think she's done. I kind of want to move her but I don't know where."
"What about in the mudroom in that corner by the bench - you'll just have to clear it out," he suggests.
"Okay, I'll do that," I say.

I go in the house and raid our modest stack of newspapers that lives by the wood stove and grab a wool blanket. My dad has another wool blanket. I clear out the corner roughly and put down a layer of cardboard and then a layer of newspaper and then my dad folds a blanket as a top layer. He then rolls up the other blanket to use as a barricade for the puppies.
I scoop up the puppies and bring them in to the blanket, assuming Eden won't leave them. While moving them I do a gender check, it appears there are 3 males and 3 females. I call to Eden, but she won't come. I go and take her collar and move her to the doorway so she can see and hear her pups. She gets the idea and moves right in to their blanket and continues her cleaning process.

"I don't think she's done," my dad says.
I'm doubtful. She seems relaxed and this is coming from the man who predicted she'd have 4 puppies.

It's lunch time and I have a text back from my camper-guy. He's sent pictures. I forward them to my influential friend (I might have to just name her because "influential friend" is cumbersome and really sounds like she's out convincing the world of something - maybe just a vintage camper love - and that's not all she does in life). My camper-friend also sends directions to the camper and tells me to go look at it any time - it's unlocked and I get the impression he's not in the area.
My friend implies she can come check out the camper with me, which I'd prefer, but only today (tomorrow doesn't work for her, and I want to see it soon!). I'd have to leave in about an hour to meet her. But it's nap time. But it's life. So I tell her to meet me and when the kids are done with lunch I get them geared up for the brief road trip. Google says (although they lie, every time, in my experience) that it will take 40mins. I have enough time to get to the camper, look at it for 20mins, and make it back to pick up Child F.

It's hard to leave the puppies to go check out the camper. But as I leave everyone is doing well, and maybe this quiet time (where I'm not going to check every 22 seconds) will be good for them. Del delights in seeing the pups and asks if we can name one "Lilly" and one "Daisy" and actually can we name them all flower names?!?!

I ask my dad to peek on them every once in a while to make sure everyone is alive and well.

Half way there I get a call from my dad. My heart is in my throat.
"Did you forget your mother-in-law was coming today?" he asks.
Ooops, yes, yes I did. And I would be bummed to miss her. I tell him to tell her when I'll be back and hope she'll stick around, although that's really above and beyond because I know she's passing through after a weekend visiting my sister-in-law and is probably more than ready to be home.
But the puppies are all still doing well.


When I arrive home a couple of hours later my mother-in-law is still there!
"How many puppies were there when you left?" she asks.
"Six," I respond.
"There's eight now," she says.
I rush back out to Eden and see that my dad has moved a mobile radiator nearby. Sure enough, 8 tiny puppies - two clearly recent arrivals, still slightly sticky.

Eight puppies.

So that's the puppy story. We've lost one, I think mom might have suffocated him. At first I thought there were three boys and three girls - and then I didn't know what the gender split was when there were 8 puppies. I tried to look more recently and there appears to me two are female.

Everyone is fattening up and feels solid. They're so small and warm and soft with their eyes squeezed shut. Eden is an excellent mom, which is a relief.

So here's more puppy cute (most have already been posted to fb):

The Momma Bear has Arrived!

I said in Child F.'s letter that the Momma Bear would come out at some point, if needed. But when it came, I was surprised.

I arrived at the per-determined visit-location just about on time. I try to arrive a few minutes early in case the girls' parents are early, that way they get a few extra minutes. This motivates me and usually I manage to arrive on time as a result. When I'm a few minutes late at pickup, I tell myself it's okay because I'm giving the girls a few extra minutes with their parents.

So on this particular day I arrived a minute or so early. It doesn't really matter. The point is, I arrived just as mom did. Yay! She met me in the parking lot and asked if I needed help juggling the bags, 3 young girls, and Noah (he was in charge of holding the hands of the older two girls).
"Sure," I replied, not sure what to hand off to her. We have a system and sometimes it's hard to figure out how to allocate in a mildly stressful situation (anticipating leaving the kids, dodging not-the-best-drivers in the parking lot, running through the list of last minute info I should mention such as last diaper changes and reminder that the toddler isn't fully potty trained). The older two are bopping around, excited to see their mom, but also remembering to keep their hands in Noah's.
"Can I have the baby?" she asks.
"Sure," I say. Who's going to say 'no'? As soon as Baby E. is out of my arms I cringe internally expecting the baby to protest.
She has a one-track mind - and it goes something like: "I want momma, I want momma, I want momma" - and sadly her definition of "momma" is not mine or her first mom's either. It's something she's decided on and her favorite place is in my arms.

But she's content to sit in her mom's arms. Phew. She did have a 3 hour nap, unlike most visit-days when we just don't have time to fit in the nap(s) she needs.
I'm excited along with relief. We make our way in to the building and Noah's anxious to leave. We have an epic library visit planned.
"Hold on," I say, feeling impatient with Noah. I'm having to remind myself that I can't just walk away from a mom with her kids. She's not allowed to be alone with the kids. I have to call the foster care unit and let them know we're here.
By the time I hang up, Baby E. has decided she is done with this, and is reaching for me. She's starting to cry. "Momma, momma!" she says.
"I'm going to cry," her mom says, and I feel myself getting hot under the collar. I nod sympathetically feeling increasingly uncomfortable but not raising my arms to rescue the baby who is increasingly getting upset. "I'm your momma!" her mom explains to her kindly. "She gets you all the time, I get you right now," she explains to her baby.
Meanwhile the older two are grabbing at their mom, starting to take their coats off, frantic to tell her the million things they've been holding on to - just to share with her when they finally see her again.
The baby is crying and reaching and "momma"-ing still.
Noah is still begging to leave.

Finally the appropriate staff member emerges, and I make a hasty escape.
And then realize I'm still holding a bag and make a quick re-entry to pass the bag off lightening-fast before retreating again, never giving last minute instructions.

I left shaking. It's not about the mom! It's about a baby who wanted comfort from the "momma" she's living with every day. We need to do what's best for our kids, and put ourselves behind their needs. Because if we don't meet those needs, who will? The kids can't. They can't. They are kids. They can't meet all of their needs without a grownups help. It would have been an easy fix to calm this baby. But this was a mom who chose her own needs over a baby's.

But did I do any different? Should I have ignored my social discomfort and my desire to let this mom parent as much as she is allowed (which is not a lot) and reached for this distressed baby?




Part of training is a lesson in parenting kids 100% - just as you would parent a child you birthed. But I would never leave a child I birthed in anyone else's arms as I stood there, looking on helplessly. But here's the thing: I didn't birth this baby, and it isn't the same. I find myself in situations, needing to do uncomfortable things, explaining impossible scenarios - all because of fostering, nothing to do with parenting. Everyone says what we do is in the kids' best interest. But that's not true. Our first priority is the kids' parents. We don't consider the damage of multiple moves, visits, changes - or at least we don't let that influence our decisions around these kids lives to the extent these effect the kids' lives. We consider how best to help parents - we set up services, visits, appointments that we implore parents to participate in. We give parents time and resources to meet their goals. We move children home and hold our breath, hoping that that time, those resources, that service, etc will be enough of a foundation to support this family - a family that admittedly faces challenges many of us can only imagine. We do all we can to make parents comfortable. Kids so often seem an afterthought.
But that's the best we can do. Kids need parents who can keep them safe. And the best we know how to do is support parents to keep kids safe. So we encourage parents to parent by not taking that baby back who is reaching for the "momma" that they know day-in-and-day-out. We pass off the children we're raising to strangers-to-us in a place we'd never bring our kids in the normal course of life. We hold our breath and hope for the best. And we tell ourselves that this makes a difference. Even when sometimes it feels like it doesn't.

Multi-generational questions answered

In response to Our Routine, a reader asked:

I am curious as to how in a multigenerational living situation you divide up household chores like cleaning, laundry, cooking, grocery shopping. Are those tasks assigned, do people do their own laundry, cleaning or cooking? Are they shared tasks. Did you figure out how you were going to manage those things before you even started or did the plan more or less evolve as you went along?

Cleaning: I think we all maintain, picking up where needed. I think this falls to me most because I'm the one in the house most - I feel that's fair since I'm physically present in our home so much. My mom will often vacuum on the weekends. My dad very often will do the dishes after dinner, but lately his work schedule has shifted so he works until 7pm so he doesn't get to them as often. My mom will also regularly do a big kitchen clean.



Laundry: I do the laundry for myself, Ren Man, our children, and most of the household whites (it just tends to be whites - like dishtowels). My parents do their own laundry. Generally there isn't an issue with someone needing the washing machine and it being unavailable. But this does happen on occasion and I just breath down the neck of whatever parent is using the machine. I try to not do any laundry on the weekends because I know this is when my parents have more time to catch up with things like laundry. Ren Man will do laundry when needed, but it generally falls to me. I'm happy with this arrangement because while I was a nursing momma I did little to no laundry (mostly because we made a deal that if we cloth diapered, he'd do the laundry - and it was a big priority for him that I breastfeed). I tend to do several loads in a day and then have the bad habit of leaving the last load in the dryer for the following day. But then I forget about it. So quite often one of my parents will fold that last load.



Cooking: This varies. I tend to do the cooking when Ren Man is at work and then 1 or 2 other nights a week. Ren Man does most of the other cooking. My mom gets in cooking "moods" and then will make several meals in a row with fun recipes she's excited to try out. I try to finagle it so she's cooking on nights Ren Man isn't home.



Grocery Shopping: My mom does most of the grocery shopping because she's in town every day and will often call to see if we need anything. We don't need a ton of groceries so there are weeks or a month that will go by without needing any groceries. We also tend to order things in bulk through the nearest co-op or through Wholeshare. As far as who pays for groceries - whoever does the grocery shopping pays.

We didn't pre-plan who would take what role. It evolved pretty quickly in to this routine. If someone is busy with another task - like when Ren Man was working (4)12 hour days this summer, I did a lot more cooking and so did my mom. We were both home more. It works when everyone is thinking: "I see this needs to be done, I'll do it".

A Day in the Life :: Tuesday

Crazy. I know. To do another Day in the Life - but a blog reader who has been reading for years and commenting/messaging in response frequently - it seemed fair. She asked for a busier day (because she apparently likes to torture me? That's the only reasonable explanation ;) ). So this was a more "average" day, but not the busiest (don't ask for the busiest - seriously!). The busiest just involves me doing all the farm work as well as all the parenting - this is what Sundays and Mondays are like because Ren Man is gone 12 hours on each of those days, at an off-farm job.
Ren Man has been doing all morning chores. The deal was that I would do one morning a week when we switched to early in the morning. We made the switch because it was too hard for me to do morning chores and get Child F. to school on time and care for the younger two - particularly in the c-o-l-d! But I've done very few morning chores and when I do I'm very grouchy. Because A) I'm not a morning person. B) I value sleep greatly - particularly morning-sleeping-in sleep. C) The younger two - Child D. in particular (yep, not the baby) have often had me up night after night after night - multiple times a night!
But Ren Man suggested moving milking to the afternoon because he's exhausted. Not only is he working 2-10 hour days with a 1 hour commute one way - he's also taken on a TTH class at the local college. This means he's often up the night before class until 1am prepping. And then up at 5:30 for farm chores. Plus, he caught this vicious cold that Child F. kindly brought home from school (you know, to share) and then got over said cold much quicker than anyone else in the family.
Milking in the afternoon would be fine. Except ... cows do best when milked in the morning AND it would mean one afternoon a week (two, if you count Sunday) I would be responsible for milking AND kids at the same time. Milking adds a good hour to chores. Ren Man suggested we get a sitter for a couple of hours on that one day a week.
I suggested I get up and do morning chores more regularly.
So Monday I got up with a spring in my step (kids have been consistently sleeping through the night! In fact, I'd had more than one morning where I'd woken before Ren Man for one reason or another and then couldn't.fall.back.asleep!). Ren Man starts chores half an hour later than I do because he's faster and I really don't need the stress of trying to hurry - it never goes well.
I insisted on also doing Tuesday morning chores. I was not so springy! But here is that day:


What time should I start?
At 1am I brought Child D. to the potty. At 2am she fell out of bed (I tried having no guard rail - this was her second night - apparently she still needs the guard rail. Good news: she called "Mommy! Mommy!" - normally she just makes noises in the night, so I was glad she used words). 3am Child D. calls out - she wants water - wait until morning baby, girl. 4am and Child D. is requesting a book to look at in bed - in the morning sweet thing, go to sleep. 5am - alarm off, time for chores.
Start a prewash for wipes and dipes.
Stoke the fire.
Stall a little, trying to wait for the prewash to finish so I can start the BIG MAMMOTH MOTHERLOAD SANITIZE cycle.
One minute left of the prewash.
Here the shower running upstairs.
Oh yeah.
People (my parents) will be showering - they probably wouldn't appreciate the BIG MAMMOTH MOTHERLOAD SANITIZE cycle using all of the hot water. So stalling for nothing. Oh well.
Outside to the "green room" to fill a bucket with hot water to use in the barn to thaw the rabbit waters.



The water is slow in coming (low water pressure? slow pump?) and while the bucket fills I get on a snowsuit, cowl, two hats, boots, snowpants, and mittens. I also put together the milk can. I rest the iodine - used to clean the cows teats - over the lip of the bucket to keep it from freezing.
Bucket filled, milk can assembled, boots on, ready to go.



I carried the milker out in to the dark, the claw ends whacking my knees in time with my step. I see why bad knees could happen. There must be a more comfortable way to carry this 15lbs, but I'm too cold and almost-there to stop. It's dark outside so early in the morning.



The cows all get a small scoop of grain during milking - it's like a scoop of m&m's ... and they are waiting. This is Shadow - first to be milked. She's mooing at me. I immediately take off my mitten-gloves, they'll only get in the way. They are from college and wonderfully warm ... except for the two places the dog chewed through when she was a puppy. I need to get a new pair, I think. This winter has been exceptionally cold.




I hook up the milk can to the milk pump and put the grain dish (a refrigerator drawer in a past life) back up on the step in front of where the cows are milked. I notice the chain - a thin, inadequate dog leash that we've been using to "tie" the cows when being milked - is still broken, it came undone yesterday. I decide to improvise a tie with some baler twine. I let Shadow go with some difficulty. The hooks aren't easy to unhook and she's headbutting me and lunging away, expecting to already be released. Finally she's out and bolting with enthusiasm for the grain. I rub her teats down, a let out a spray or two before dipping each with iodine. The time it takes me to walk across the width of the barn to replace the iodine on the lip of the hot water bucket is enough time for the iodine to do it's cleaning. I grab a paper towel and wipe Shadow down, being sure to give an extra wipe to the ends of her teats and inspecting to make sure all visible signs of muck is removed. The pump is turned on, the milking claw is attached to her full udder (not without frustration as the suction is not excellent at first). I listen carefully for the click and hiss of the milker. When I hear it, I sigh with relief. It's not SO cold that I have to fire up the flame-throwing heater. It's not been working for me lately and it's cumbersome.

I have a few minutes but don't want to move far, in case one of the quarters empties out and the claw starts to pull away from the teat. If it falls off, it's left hanging onto the ground, still sucking - and it's not sucking in milk any more, that's for sure. So I need to stay nearby but have a few minutes. I fill a 5 gallon bucket and top off Shadow's water bucket, noticing that the ice has crept even higher in the bucket. I then start scooping poop in to the tractor bucket. This is our cleaning method. We scoop the gutter behind the three cows in the morning and ever 4 days or so, Ren Man fires up the tractor and dumps the poop on an ever growing pile. It's rather huge right now - but it keeps growing. On Tuesday, the tractor bucket was nearly full and I knew I couldn't fit all of the poop in the gutter in to the bucket. But I worked on Shadow's section while she was milked. And then threw wood shavings as new bedding. There's a lot of hay under her in her stall, but always places where the cows need additional bedding.

The bag was kicked over in enthusiasm by one of the cows yesterday (but let's not talk about the cows shenanigans around the barn yesterday!) so there's a hole in the wide part of the bag ... and apparently the bedding is super comfy for a certain cat.



Shadow finishes milking, and Facet, and finally Dana. There's some confusion about who goes where and jostling for this spot in the line up or that. I fill the big cow water bucket that Facet and Dana share and put new hay down for all. I go and grab the rabbit water bottles and put them in the warm water to thaw. I finish out milking Dana and look down her side to see her face.




I move the milk can to the door and play the game at psyching myself out for carrying it to the house. With the can weighing 15lbs and each gallon of milk weighing 8lbs - there's 47lbs to carry in one hand. I start by filling a bucket halfway with water and go out of the barn and up a slight hill to the chicken coop - but really the duck/turkey coop. They turkey's have found their voices and the tom is yelling and scolding as I approach. I enter and the birds all move to the far corner - all except the Bourbon Red (I think "Rosie" might be a good name for her). She's used to us, I suppose. I fill their water trough - a shallow black rubbermaid container that sports a frozen waterfall around its apron. I check food. There's still plenty. And peak for eggs - there's one. I grab it and head out of the door, being sure to turn the latch to lock it.



Back in the barn, it's time to take care of the chicks, rabbits and pregnant sow. I bring the thawed rabbit water in to the rabbits and I get the chicks empty water container. We rely on physics to keep a constant flow of water for the chicks, and that container is empty. I bring it to the spigot in the "cow barn" and fill it, resting the precarious costco-pretzel-container on my hip and carrying a 1/2 filled water bucket in the other hand I head back for the "inner barn". It takes some doing to unlatch the make-shift lock on the outside, but it's a hook and eye lock to close myself in to the inner barn. I put down the 5 gallon bucket and move to the chicks to do the water-flip process. The cower in the corner dramatically. I grab the metal tray on put it on top of the water container like a cover. Then flip the whole thing over. I've done this dozens of times perfectly. This time, the tray isn't held in place tight enough and 3/4 of the water rushes out over me and in to the corner of their pen. Wha-what? I give them what is left and tell myself to come back before afternoon chores to give them more.

And then it's Toppy's turn. I notice that she dives in to her food first, instead of her usual water-first routine. Huh. Well, that's more like a pig.



Back at the barn door and the sun is starting to rise.









I do one trip down the small hill to the house with a heavy milk can. I feel the -tendons? bones? muscles? - strain and stretch under the weight of the milk can. In the "not garage", I deposit the full can and grab two five gallon buckets and start filling them with hot water. I'd noticed the day before that the pigs/sheep/calf/laying chickens water trough was close to empty - if you didn't count the thick wall of ice surrounding the perimeter of the container, despite the water heater lodged in the ice. (These animals are not in the same pen, the mammals share a wall and the water trough is sitting on the ground between the two pens. The birds can go where they please, she get the water out of either side.). Armed with two five gallon buckets, I haul the hot water up to the "horse barn" (we don't have horses, just to be clear) and put the water right inside the door. The dogs are waiting. Excited at the prospect of stolen eggs. I keep the dogs out. There is one more bale of hay waiting inside the door. I grab this and bring it to the sheep/calf gate. The pigs are grunting enthusiastically - expecting their grain. I break open the hay bale and throw half a bale over the gate as far from it, into the pen as possible. I do this in one throw. I always marvel at the strength I've gained farming over the last few years. In the beginning, I couldn't open a bale without a knife. Now I can bounce a bale free of its twine.

While the calves and sheep are occupied with their hay, I open their gate and bring in the heavy 5 gallon buckets. The hay-eating-animals ignore me as I dump the water. I immediately hear the ice start to give, but see no movement of the ice. The pigs are slurping on the other side of the solid-walled-divide. Out of the sheep/calf pen and I take a peek at the hens usual nest area. There is a line and only one recently laid egg, so I leave them be. I'll get them later.

Back to the not garage and I'm filling one of those five gallon buckets with feed for the pigs in the horse barn. Back in the horse barn, the pigs are happy. I head over to the "tool room" - also part of the barn and doesn't actually hold many tools. That's where the dogs are fed, and they are ready!
Dogs fed, I'm back in the "cow barn" and grabbing my gloves, the empty "hot water" bucket, and the teat dip.

Those get put back in the not-garage and I fill a 5 gallon bucket with yet more pig grain and head for the outside feeder-pigs.

The beef cows are waiting in the distance.



Out in to the pasture and the cows are waiting patiently.









And then it's time for washing up the milking machine.





And chores are done. Open the back door and see the usual morning scene - kids in front of the fire, some dressed, some not. But usually I'm part of this scene. It's cool to see it from the outside in.

Child D. comes downstairs - she's just woken up and has rosy cheeks and a warm snuggle.



Ren Man is teaching a class today so he drops Child F. off on the way to school and picks her up on the way home. So we wave bye to Child F.



And then it clicks with Child D. what's happening and she rushes at Daddy for a hug.





Time to get the younger two kids dressed. In case you're keeping track: it's 7:54am.



Child D. moves away from the getting-dressed-spot and she has picked up a book, taking a getting-dressed-reading-break. I'm so excited that nightly reading has fed the interest in books. When she first came, she could not sit through an entire story. And now she's hanging out, looking at books.



And this is my life, all.the.time. And recently she's started pushing anyone away who dares to sit on my lap. Or she'll pull your hair. Anything to get you away.from.the.mommy.



I wander away to switch out of barn clothes and in to regular clothes. I'm ready for the day.



And look at that! Child D. is dressed and follows Del downstairs for the promised breakfast. We're always excited about food around here! We also feel the need to bring a random ziploc of summer clothes left over from a previous kid's spare-daycare-clothes.



The baby sees a banana and Child D. is distracted by scissors. So breakfast is delayed. (I did not realize this chair, that Baby E. is on, was so tastefully decorated with fingerpainted-yogurt before seeing this picture on the computer ;) )



We are a very happy baby with yummy banana chin and cheeks.



Del is reading:



Noah is playing video games (he's been told he needs to do X amount of workbook pages, clean up X amount of toys from the floor, and empty the dishwasher. This might also have been the day he needed to take a shower first - that was the day he was up at 6:38am to fit in a shower early to maximize video game playing time):



and it's time for this momma to grab some breakfast ... a breakfast that I believe was referred to as "cake" the night before. I'm not anti-eating-cake-for-breakfast.



Child D. is chowing down some bananas and yogurt:



My stellar breakfast has reminded me that granola-making is in order. We order many dry goods in bulk and then store them in food-grade five gallon buckets. I wish we had a pantry. But we don't. I think we could - we have a near-the-kitchen-under-the-stairs-closet ... but that's a project I haven't tackled yet. So for now, we have towers of 5-gallon buckets which also double as step stools. So the oats bucket is almost out (don't worry, another 50lb back awaits).



The ingredients for the granola all laid out (except imagine 3 more cups of oats).



There's a fair amount of running back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room. The baby is fussy. The toddler is done with her yogurt. The baby wants up, no down, no up. The toddler wants in to the older kid's business. And then there's a "MOM!" from the living room. Del has enlisted Noah to help her find her workbook and she wants my help too. Child F. organized the homeschool shelf last night and now everything is in unexpected places (ie on the shelf and not on the floor) and Del can't work in this environment!



The workbook is found and the baby is on my back as I finish up the granola.



Granola is ready for baking - 30 minutes, stirring every 10.



While that's cooking, some dishes need some putting away and other dishes need cleaning. It's 9:03am.



Child D. reorganizes the lazy susan while I wash dishes. At some point in here I got that mammoth laundry cycle going.



And I used the last of our 5-minute-a-day bread dough last night - to clear out that super-salty-tried-to-fix-failure batch of bread dough. So I start a new batch. But I get distracted and put in too much yeast and salt. Argh. So I need to double my flour. But the bowl isn't big enough.



So I find the bowl Ren Man uses when he makes bread for farmer's market. It's too big, but it works.



The granola is done and I pull it out to cool on the oven.
The younger two are entertaining themselves by flipping through books.



I think it's time for a coffee:



Finished up Child F.'s Valentine's Day cards. She won't be in school for this - she has a dentist appt - but she still needs to have cards for the other kids, right? So I made these. No mommy award here - I didn't include Child F. in any part of the Valentine making.



The granola is cooled and ready to be jarred:



11:04, start lunch for the younger two and then check emails and work on a note to the girls' parents. I write one most weeks for them to tell them what the girls have been up to. This week The Lego Movie and a visit with Grandma was the big news.



The younger two are both napping by noon and I need to go back out to the chicks to replenish their water. I switch laundry before heading out.



Toppy, the sow, is carefully picking up a piece of stray baler twine in her mouth and mouthing it for a few minutes before depositing it in a mound near a wall in her pen. Interesting. I bet she's soon! And weird that there is a piece of baler twine in there.

Back in the kitchen and Noah and Del are re-writing their lists. Yesterday they wrote out lists for Birthday and Christmas wishes. Normally I would have cringed and discouraged this want-want stuff. BUT - handwriting! Go for it. In Noah's haste to write his list he had many many sloppy misspellings (like spelling "Noah" without an /h/). I explained that it would be really hard for people to read his list if he didn't write more carefully. I explained that he did just what good writers do - he wrote his thoughts down quick without worrying about spelling or looks - but now he needed to go back and re-write it so others could also read it. So a re-write was deep in progress when I came in to the kitchen - the top half of the paper was for Noah, the bottom half for Del.



Del is working on a "tornado" while waiting for her turn to add to the list.



And then it's done and on the fridge.



More laundry to do.



The younger two are still sleeping. If they sleep past the half hour mark - I will have time to shower!! It's a little like being on vacation. The plan is to swim the next day, so it's a mega-shaving-shower.



I'm out and loitering in the hallway outside of our room, checking facebook and debating how to get dressed. The baby is asleep on our bed, and I really really don't want to wake her up early. I'm reading, and facebooking ... and then I hear a baby crying. But it doesn't sound like it's coming from our room. That's weird. I go and open the bedroom door slowly. She's not there! Oh no! She's already woken up!! I speedy quick get dressed.



I find Del downstairs, giving Baby E. a bottle. She heard her wake up and went and got her and when Baby E. was still sad, she gave her a bottle.



"I think she wants you," Del says.
Yeah, me too.



Wait, something isn't right with this diaper. I'm getting wet as I hold you. Let's double check this:



Oops. It happens.
I made crepe batter last night but ended up just making eggs, bacon, and having bread for dinner instead of going whole-hog and doing crepes. So I should use the batter.



I find a recipe for a sort of crepe casserole. And here comes a Child D. flying in to my arms, happy to be awake!



I fire up the crepe maker and run out to the cooler to get some soft cheese. I mix in basil and the last little bit of mozzarella we have. The front door opens. It's 2:21pm and Ren Man is home with Child F.



I'm working on dinner and Ren Man is working on getting outside to do chores. The kids are acting crazy and I insist all of them suit up and get outside. The older three are gone in a flash, Child D. needs some help getting in to her gear. So Ren Man helps Child D.



and I keep working on dinner.



Oh! And the dog needs flea treatment desperately. She's about 2 weeks away from having puppies and we've researched and found that advantage works as flea treatment safe for pregnant dogs. So I need to do that while I'm thinking of it - and the treatment came in today.



The casserole is put together. Child D. and Ren Man are out the door ... and Noah comes in the opposite door followed shortly by the Del and Child F.



Ren Man comes back in - "I hear squealing, the piglets are here!" he says to me quietly.
"Okay, I KNEW it!" I say and explain the nesting I'd seen.
He stands there expectantly.
"What?" I ask.
"I didn't know if you want to come out or anything?" he says.
"No, I've seen it before," I say. "The kids JUST came in and I have other stuff I need to do."
Noah starts piano practice, a hot-and-cold interest for all kids - mostly hot when another child has the piano.



Time to tackle dishes again and switch another load of laundry. Our friend arrives. She's here to quickly pick up her cell phone that she'd lost here during a recent playdate. I also hand her a bag of clothes for the 7mos old she just started fostering. I run out in the cold quick to take a peak at her newest addition. The kids are all sleepy and the ones she's fostering look satisfied and plump. It's cold! Back inside to those dishes.



Baby E. is asking where Daddy is. "Outside, doing chores," I tell her.



He happens to come back in. "Next time you think a pig is farrowing, let's be out there with her," he says.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Well, she farrowed 13, only 5 are still alive and I don't think they are going to last either (they didn't)," he explained. "At this scale, we need pigs to farrow 8-9 piglets at each farrowing and even then the piglets cost us about $200/piglet."
"Maybe we should go back to just getting feeder pigs then and not keeping breeding stock," I suggested. He shrugged and left, clearly upset. I was feeling extremely frustrated, guilty, angry - myself.
This is not the first batch of piglets we've lost this year - it's the third. None have been so large. The previous two litters were unexpected and we attributed their demise to inexperienced mothers. But this was Toppy's third litter of piglets - and potentially her largest.

A counter cleared of dinner prep does not mean a boring counter. The three girls climb up on to buckets to investigate recipes ... and the two year old dumps a healthy amount of salt all over the counter and the floor nearby.



I put dinner in the oven and hope Ren man will be back in by the time it's ready. I clear the table, pick up toys, finish up dishes, fold laundry. When dinner is ready, everyone is there. The kids excited, the parents disgruntled.



And then it's bedtime for the younger three. Usually the rule is: no videogames after dinner. But lately, Ren Man has not been encouraging that rule.



Upstairs, the girls teeth are brushed, pottying done, drinks drank, pj's on, and books chosen.



When everyone is snuggled cozy and asleep in their beds, it's time to get the older two. Del insists on flossing.


And then it's "An Elephant in the Garden" with the intention of also reading "Harry Potter". I tell Noah that we'll start with "Harry Potter" the following night. My throat is starting to hurt and I can barely keep my eyes open. He's agreeable to the reading-delay. I smile when I look over at the paintings the older two did yesterday - Noah a ninja, Del 6 kids all holding hands. We'll need to hang those up soon - in their room, as requested.



By 8:45 I have myself bed-ready and I'm reading just a few pages of "The Book Thief" (I can't get through it!) before my eyes are too heavy and I'm off to sleep.