Thursday, May 31, 2012

Frog Legs on the First Day of Summer Vacation

Amy came inside a little while ago holding a large frog by the legs. She had actually sat by the pond waiting for just such a specimen and shot him with a BB gun.

She wanted to try frog legs.

She does not get this tendency from me.

At all.

With some assistance on cleaning and preparing from Leo, the frog legs were soon breaded and sizzling in the cast iron skillet. I will admit that they
did smell kinda good. For frog legs.
















Then came time to taste the little morsels. Believe me when I say that there is not much meat on a frog.

Amy: "You go first."
Heather: "No, you go first. It was your frog."
Amy: "There, I licked it!"
Heather: "That's not fair."

They both tasted the frog legs, after Leo tried them first. I just stood back and tried to not make "yucky" faces.

Heather: "Ooooh, this is pretty good!"
Amy: "It tastes like fish and chicken."
Leo: "The bread crumbs mask a lot."
Dianne: "I did not birth these children."


And to think, I can't even get them to eat certain vegetables.
Go figure.


Just think, this was just the first day of summer vacation; what will the rest of the summer hold?

Love, 
Dianne, the proud mother of frog leg eaters. 

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Grandma's Porch

I like how certain flowers remind me of certain people. 

Take for instance, petunias and my Grandma Bender. On her front porch she always had these big planters, made out of cut-in-half round cast-iron tanks of some kind, that Grandpa got at one of his auctions. After cutting them in half, he welded pipes on the bottom for legs, and painted them a cheery yellow. Then Grandma would fill them with flowers.
I remember the petunias the best.
To this day, I can't see or smell petunias, especially the ones with the deep purply-pink and white stripes, without thinking about Grandma and her homemade planters. The smell of the blossoms and the sticky feel of the leaves takes me back to 
summer afternoons at the farm, playing on the porch.

In the above picture, that is one of my aunts (I think it is Gloria.) In the one below, it is Angela, my sister Kim, Jencene, Doug and me. (I'm the one in the red dress, standing.) I would love to know what we were eating. 

Another plant that always reminds me of spending time at Grandpa and Grandma's house
is actually a tree. Right of the porch steps was a tall evergreen tree with a peeling trunk and
flat foliage. It was an American Arborvitae tree, a member of the Cypress family, and it had
a distinct and pleasant smell. Once, I found a nest of baby bunnies underneath and we tried
to feed the soft grey and brown bunnies with a tiny little doll bottle.

In this picture, behind two of my lovely aunts (Sharon and Gloria), is the Arborvitae tree.
You can also see along the front of the porch, below the barrel planter, some kind of mystery
plant. No one seems to know what these plants were, but they came up year after year; they
remind me of some kind of sedum. We grandkids used to pull off the heavy, almost watery
leaves, and gently rub them until the inside would separate and you could blow into it and it
would puff out like a frog's neck.


Another part of the porch that I remember is the cream separator. It sat on the side of the steps
opposite the Arborvitae tree. It was no longer used to separate the cream from the milk, but
instead held more flowers. I liked that it was just there, a constant.

In this picture (above) you can see the cream separator. It looks like a Sunday morning
and my Aunt's Gloria and Laverna, my cousin Sandi, and Uncle Gordon are looking snazzy.
Another member of the family is also there but I can't tell if it is Fluffy or Sparky. The two
Eskimo Spitz dogs were always on the porch too. They liked to lay behind the glider. Fluffy
was friendly, but Sparky was snappy.

I have such good memories associated with The Farm in Accident, MD. I lived only a few
 miles away and loved spending time there. Ah, the memories. . .
   Learning to ride bike,
      playing German Spotlight with cousins,
         sneaking cookies from the cookie jar,
             playing in the sandbox beneath a huge Chinese Elm tree,
                eating jelly bread on the porch swing,
                   my aunt's watching Hogan's Heroes,
                       playing Mother May I in the kitchen,
                          riding the green pedal tractor that didn't go very well,
                             my dad and uncle eating breakfast,
                                 reading Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories. . .

The list could go on and on. The memories are sweet. I didn't have a choice in who
my grandparents would be or where they would live, but if I did have a choice, well,
I wouldn't change a thing.

Love,
Dianne





Monday, May 28, 2012

White Shoes

"You can't wear white shoes before Memorial Day." 
"You can't wear white shoes after Labor Day."

Does anyone else remember those rules? Follow them? And why?

Growing up, white shoes were not worn until the months of June, July and August. Most of the time, those shoes were sandals and would have been inappropriate for Garrett County MD winters anyhow, so it wasn't a big deal. Besides, it was just what you did and you didn't question it.

Even if it really didn't have a rhyme or reason.

To this day though, I have a difficult time wearing white shoes (I own exactly one pair of white sandals) until after Memorial Day. It just feels wrong somehow. I can see it now. . .

. . . It is May 1st and I step into the public eye wearing a cute pair of white sandals. I am feeling fine as I stroll down the street, with a bit of a saucy saunter, in my summery shoes. I am whistling a chipper tune, minding my own business, when out of nowhere, the fashion police stop me in my tracks. After first admiring my cute white shoes, they rudely remove them from my feet. I feel like Cinderella in reverse. And all because. . . 


"You can't wear white shoes before Memorial Day."


Maybe it's because all the mud of Spring would make your white shoes dirty. 


Maybe it just looks too fresh and summery, and we all know how fickle Spring is around here. Wearing white shoes too soon would be like daring it to snow in April or May. 


And this year, we did have a rather large snowfall towards the end of April, and I did wear the white shoes earlier than I was technically supposed to. . . 


Oops. 


But, hey, today is Memorial Day! So bring out the white shoes, the white pants, the white dress, and if you really want to, the tidy-whities (you know, of the Fruit of The Loom variety). 


And when you do, take the time to remember all those who have fought and died for our country, for our freedom and our rights. Without their sacrifice, our country wouldn't be what it is today. 


Love,
Dianne

Saturday, May 26, 2012

A Good Day: Take 2

So, here is the other side of the old milk house. 
Here we find lots of weeds, miscellaneous odds 'n' ends of metal buried in the dirt and a pipe sticking up. 
This is the spot where Leo ties up baby calves to get them outside.
I guess he'll need a new spot as I've commandeered the location for another flower bed. 
(That makes me a pirate, right?)

First, I cleared out lots of weeds and leveled out the layer of gravel that was hidden underneath. 
Oh, and carried more rocks to where I need them. 
Actually, some of the rocks, I rolled. 
(Now that's rock 'n' roll.)
I really need to invest in a wheelbarrow. 


The rocks are all in place. 
Coffee break. 
Iced coffee, thank you. 


The dirt, the wonderful earthworm filled dirt is ready for plants. 
Time for a water break.
Iced water, thank you. 


Heather and Ryan helped me with watering the irises, dianthus (only 18 more to go), shasta daisies, 
hens 'n' chicks, and a couple other miscellaneous "surprise me" plants. 


This is me,
Dianne,
The Pirate Queen of the Garden.


Mission complete. 
It's been another good day. 
Awesome day, thank you!

Thank You God!




Love, 
Dianne


Thursday, May 24, 2012

A Very Good Day Indeed

I've been busy the last two days, but busy in a very nice way. You see, I was in my garden, and that kind of busy is most welcome. I went to the produce auction on Tuesday and came home with 72 pots of Dianthus. I knew that would keep me out of trouble for a while, but then a friend of my mother's invited us to her garden to dig, uproot, and adopt a variety of plants. This is a sample:

 I tried to write down what I was digging up so I'd know what I was planting later, but after awhile I gave up. There was just so many and they were getting all mixed-up. The back of my dad's pickup was seriously loaded with foliage. Gloriously loaded I might add.

So yesterday afternoon and today, I tackled getting as many of these plants into the ground. Some I just put in existing flower beds, but then I was motivated to tackle this pile of rocks and make a new bed. . .

. . . right about here, by the old milk house shed:


I dug out weeds and befriended a toad. I hope he sticks around.


 I added some rocks for the start of a wall, then I went on a coffee break.


Ahhh, the rocks are finally in place, and Leo got me dirt with the skid loader. I could've gotten the dirt myself, but he looks soooo much nicer driving that beast than I do.


Sunset had arrived and I finally had the bed filled with dianthus, asters, pink salvia, irises, hens & chicks, thyme, yarrow, and black-eyed susans. At least that's what I think they are. Some I transplanted from my other gardens, some came from this generous friend, and of course the dianthus was from the 72 pots. (Only 42 more to go after today.)



All in all, a productive two days. My body hurts just a little, but just like being busy, it's in a good way.
It reminds me of watching Little Bear with my children, and Little Bear would say, "This is a very good day!" That's how today felt to me.

A very good day indeed.

Love,
Dianne

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

No Cure For Nostalgia

Nostalgia happens at my house. No, it's not a stomach bug, or the flu, but it can cause bizarre symptoms.

nostalgia |näˈstaljÉ™nÉ™-|nounsentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happypersonal associations: I was overcome with acute nostalgia for my days in college.

 It all started with a pair of jeans that needed a button. Out came the button jar.

Because everybody needs a button jar. . . just in case. 

We were sorting through potential buttons that were the right size and color when I found some old buttons from off of our original couch that we bought when we got married. Look, a perfect fit. 

 And here (below) is the remainder of the couch/loveseat/chair trio that has been in our family for 24 years. The couch and loveseat have long since departed (may they rest in peace). At the time, the kids all thought that it was terrible. They looked on this furniture as members of our family and thought we'd always have them. We still have the chair and I guess I'll be looking at the pheasants (soooo very 1980's!) for at least a few more years.


















Not only are my children nostalgic about furniture, but it extends to musical instruments (like the piano that Aaron learned to play on, but is now untunable), light fixtures, clothing and other miscellaneous items.







Here is Adrienne with "The Garfield Shirt", a t-shirt she's had for about 20 years. She wore it as a nightgown/nightshirt for many years and it is now quite thin, faded and soft. While she hasn't worn it in the last 10 years (at least), she has kept it with her box of treasures. When she thinks about this shirt, it reminds her of her Aunt Kimmy and "Aunt" Denise who gave it to her.  Good memories and the shirt helps her remember.

Then there is the ugly light fixture in our kitchen that I think is the most unattractive, uninviting light ever. My kids do not want me to update it for something prettier because "it has always been here." It is a part of their childhood memories of growing up here on the farm. That is the same for the old stovepipe cover that is by the oven. So ugly, and it doesn't even serve a purpose. It used to have a picture of a wheat field, but it has faded and almost disappeared into a pastel blur, and yet it has to stay. Nostalgia. 

I thought I'd have to call a counselor when I replaced the kitchen clock (it stopped working, what else was I supposed to do?) And when we bought a new bed? I thought we'd have to call in a therapist. 

Nostalgia causes bizarre symptoms as evidenced below by Amy when she encountered the button jar and the pheasant buttons. 

Is there a cure?

I hope not. Nostalgia has a lot to do with remembering good times, the "good old days". I may not hang onto every article of baby clothing, every drawing, or pieces of furniture just to remember, but I do scrapbook and I think that's part of the reason I blog too. I like to remember, I like to feel nostalgic once in a while. Writing it down makes the memory more permanent somehow.

And now, my dear children, since I blogged about it, and have a photo of it, do you think I can get rid of the ugly kitchen light?

Please?

I know. Let's save it in the attic, and when you all leave to start a home of your own, one of you can have it, so you'll always remember.

Love,
Dianne










Monday, May 21, 2012

Semi-Rainy Day With The Decorating Goddess

I love semi-rainy days.
     1. I don't feel guilty for not being outside mowing yard.
     2. I like catching up on things indoors, like dusting.
     3. Rain makes it feel cozy inside.
     4. Coffee tastes better.
     5. A second cup tastes as good as the first one.
     6. Who wants to iron clothes on a sunshiny day?
           (actually, who wants to iron clothes at all, sunshine or rain?)
    7. Some Celtic music sounds better on rainy days.
       
I dusted the living room today, and it may sound funny, but I enjoyed it. I like decorating and rearranging, and dusting gives that opportunity, even if it is just in how a picture or candle is positioned. Sometimes, it doesn't take much to make me feel inspired.

Of course, watching HGTV while dusting may have had something to do with feeling creative. I am trying to imagine myself hosting a design show. . .

"Hi, I'm Dianne, you're decorating goddess." 

Umm, no.

"I'm Dianne and I am here to redesign and rejuvenate your space." 
(because what you have already is ugly, boring, and outdated in a nonvintage kind of way.)


Maybe.

"Do you want a space that makes a statement about who you are? A space that inspires you to be who you have always wanted to be? A space that is uniquely you? I'm Dianne and I am here to make that happen." 

Okay, I could go with that.

But wait, they say the camara makes you gain 20 pounds. I would need to lose that much before putting myself on TV.  And I don't really like my voice.  So maybe TV is not the place for me. But, a magazine, maybe. . .

After the dusting and dreaming is done, I am tackling the ironing (or is it tackling me?), which is going to lead into organizing (again) my sewing corner. I have some pants to hem for a friend and I need to be able to reach the sewing machine.

And what better day to do it than on a semi-rainy Monday?
After a third cup of coffee that is.
Hey, I gotta have energy to iron.

Love,
Dianne






Sunday, May 20, 2012

Gathering the Loose Ends

Today is beautiful.
The sunshine.
The warmth.
The laziness of it all.

And I am at loose ends.


Loose end
n
1. a detail that is left unsettled, unexplained, or incomplete
at a loose end without purpose or occupation
Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003

Why do I feel so restless? Like I need to be doing something? It's like my day has no purpose if I have no purpose. I don't like feeling like I have had a "wasted day". 
I worked the last two nights and I actually fell asleep in my car before I even left the hospital parking lot. Now, that's a first; I usually at least make it to Somerset. I secretly wonder if I have a strange tropical sleeping disorder that causes me to be delirious the moment I get in my car after night shift. Of course, having not spent time in the tropics would render my exotic sleep disorder null and void. 
I am just plain, sleep-deprived (boring though that may be) tired. 
So after my brief little siesta, I took off for home, stopping for groceries on the way. Once here, I had grand intentions of going for a looooooooooong walk. I changed clothes, laid on the bed, and before I knew it, the same sleeping disorder took over. My siesta this time was much longer.
I woke up at 4pm and now, at 5:24pm, I am still at loose ends. 
Do I drink coffee now or not? Don't even suggest decaf. I mean really, that's like saying, "Here, eat a piece of fake chocolate." 
I think I will still go for a walk; I think I can convince Leo to come along with me. I don't like to walk in the woods alone. You never know when a hawk will swoop down from the sky and carry you off. Just saying. 
Wasted day or not? 
Not. 
I rested and siesta'd. I blogged. I ate. I can still go for a walk. Not wasted, just rearranged. It's only wasted if I let if be wasted or I if look at it as pointless. 
So, look out Leo, we're going on a walk. 
Better bring the hawk repellant.
Love,
Dianne


Friday, May 18, 2012

"To Age or Not To Age. . . "

How old am I?

On the outside, I am almost 32.
Umm, well. . . okay. . . 42.
Physically I have lived for 41 years, 11 months and 17 days. Some days I "feel" my age (or older), especially if I am tired. Most days though, I feel younger. I try to stay active, mostly with walking and that helps.

But what about on the "inside"? How old am I? There is a saying which states that "you are only as old as  you think you are" and there is much truth in that.

I have moments of feeling quite young, like preschool-age young.
          Like when I am feeling insecure, shy, and small.
          Like when I am over-tired and have gotten angry or irrational over something pointless.
                 (That's right, sometimes I need a time-out.)
Other times, I feel like I am 10 years old.
          Like when I am excited about learning something new.
          Like when I am digging in the garden, and am covered in dirt and simply don't care.
          Like when I feel like I don't have a care in the world. (that doesn't happen very often, but when it    
                  does, I am 10.)
At times I feel like a teenager.
          Like when I am faced with decisions regarding the future and life feels unsure.
          Like when I am insecure over how I look or what to wear.
          Like when I want to drive fast in a really cool car.
I like feeling like I am in my twenties.
          Just because.
I really like feeling like I am back in my thirties.
          Life had a feeling of being "established".
          I felt more alive as my depression was finally being dealt with.
          I don't know why exactly, but I liked the decade of being 30.
But what about 41? Someday when I am 81, I may feel like I am 41 again.
          Like when I look at Leo and my heart pounds.
          Like when I am feeling pride for my children's accomplishments, or feeling pride just because
                   they are mine.
          Like when I have walked 5 miles and just feel healthy.
          Like when I spend time with God and discover something new about Him and me.

Whatever age I am, I am ageless. Maybe even classic. Within a day, I can be 4, 14, 24, 34 and 104.

Or I may just be 41 years, 11 months and 17 days.

Love,
Dianne
       
       

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Thankful A to Z

What am I thankful for today? Let's see. . .

Adrienne, Aaron, and Amy,
Birds singing in the morning,
Coffee with hazelnut creamer and whipped cream,
Dishes are done,
Excellent potato salad seasoned with chives from my garden,
Freshly mopped kitchen floor,
God,
Heather,
Ice cream, coffee ice-cream in case you were wondering,
John Deere tractor with my husband driving it.
Katie's Ice-Cream,
Leo and LisaAnna,
Music, Celtic to be exact,
New tires on my car,
Outside things to do,
Phlox,
Quilts drying on the clothesline,
Ryan,
Sewing machines,
Tax refund,
Uniqueness,
Variety,
Water,
X chromosomes,
Yellow buttercups,
Zippy salsa

. . . and that's that.

Love,
Dianne

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Flexibility is More Than Just Doing A Split

Flexibility is a good quality to possess. Now, I don't mean the "doing splits" kind of flexible, but the being able to change plans kind of flexible.

(Although, being able to do splits would be interesting.)

I planned to go somewhere this evening to meet with someone. I was getting ready to eat supper and then go shower when Ryan started acting funny. Not "ha-ha" funny, but just quiet. It didn't take long before he started crying and said he had a headache and didn't feel good. Just like that, my plans changed.

Now, I am watching an old Disney movie, Rascal with Ryan; it's about a boy and his pet raccoon. I could be at my meeting, mowing yard, weeding out the herbs, or cleaning something. Instead, plans changed and I needed to be flexible.

Did I like my plans changed? No.
Do I feel like watching a movie? Maybe later, after dark, but not now.
Do I take the change in plans in stride? Not always.

For the most part, I like to know what I am doing, and when. I like structure. I like schedules, daily planners, and to-do lists.

But I also like to be able to "go with the flow" and be able to adapt to whatever comes my way. Just like so many things in life, it comes down to balance. One extreme or the other is never good. I learned when my children were babies, that strict schedules and I never really worked. Every time something would happen and the schedule got messed up, I was frustrated and anxious. We just did better having a flexible schedule that accounted for the unexpected.

I guess that's just how I am wired. Or short-wired as the case may be. It would be easy to get angry, and honestly, sometimes I do, when things change and life throws me a curve ball, but everyone is happier when I can be flexible.

I have a work schedule, and events with the family that can't just be changed, but sometimes there are things that I can adjust or work around if I have to. It is in those times that I can choose what my priorities are.

Tonight I choose to be a mother to a little boy who needs me to be here.
And I am thankful I have the option.

Love,
Dianne








Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Flying is For The Birds

Birds look so graceful when they fly. Jets look impressive and butterflies look sweet. As for me?
I just look pale, shaky and scared.

I wish I enjoyed flying. I wish it didn't scare me. I wish, I wish, I wish.

My first experience with flying was with Markel Maust when I was about three or four years old. He took  my parents and my big sister up in his small airplane. I remember being strapped into the same seatbelt as Kimmy and flying over Northern High School. I don't remember being scared then and as far as I remember it was a good experience.

Fast forward now 30-something years. I have decided I don't like heights and the idea of flying makes me queasy and sweaty. I'm not sure why, it just does. Flying hadn't been necessary until now.

Adrienne and I decided to go with a group to Guatemala on a missions trip. I had no choice but to fly. Sitting in the airplane, waiting, was torture. Then the engines started with a roar and I felt like an internal countdown had begun. A time bomb. I gripped the seat as we rushed down the runway and before I really knew it, we were airborne.

And it wasn't so bad.

After getting to Texas, we had to wait for our connecting flight. The longer the wait, the more the fear began to rear its ugly head again. This time though, I knew what to expect and didn't grip the seat quite so hard. The landing was the worst part as I was seeing building fly by us, fast, and we hadn't touched down yet. When we did, it was, shall we say, bumpy and abrupt.

I survived.

Coming home, we had to do all the security stuff to leave the country. Shall we just say that you should never put fingernail clippers in your back pocket and forget about them? Our flight took us to Miami where we had a very brief time to make our connecting flight to Pittsburgh. Our group got separated and as we dashed through the airport, I learned that it seems much more romantic in movies to do the same thing. Believe me, it was anything but a romantic adventure. Somehow we made it to where we needed to be, and when they took us out to our plane, I really thought it looked like a Fisher Price jet. Very small.

I learned that a smaller plane goes much higher and faster than others and that I should consider it lucky to be aboard. I just hoped our flight attendant was right. As we got close to Pittsburgh and began to drop altitude, everybody aboard groaned out loud as it was a bit like a roller coaster.

Again, I survived, although my luggage didn't make it until a few days later.

Fast forward again, just a few years this time.

I need to fly in a helicopter for work as we go on transports to outlying hospitals for sick babies. I have been on 2 flights so far and really can't say that I hope for more. Even though flying hasn't been terrible, it still just scares me to the point that I feel like I can't move. Somehow God gives me the strength to do what I need to do, and I am usually okay once I am in motion again.

Still not graceful, impressive, or sweet, but at least surviving as I go through the motions.
Why does it scare me? I don't know.
Will I let it conquer me? No.
Will I pray hard every time? Yes

I hope that today, whatever it is that is making you afraid, that you will face it head-on. Take a deep breath, pray and take that first step forward. You never know where it might take you.

Up, up and away,
Dianne

Monday, May 14, 2012

Taking Chances

On Saturday, I played "official" BINGO for the first time. A fundraiser was held for my cousin Sandi and her husband Keith and their children to help them as they move to Chile to help children in crisis. 

As I am playing BINGO, I was inspired by the game cards. Weird, I know. Ryan was playing with me, and I decided to make something for his room as a way to remind him to pray for the Probst family. 

Not to mention that it rained all day and I was feeling crafty.

I started with an old dresser drawer. 
 I laid out the BINGO cards Ryan and I used and decided they looked too new.
 I aged them with vinegar, coffee grounds and a 200 degree oven.
                         Voila!
 I had already painted the dresser drawer "caramelized onion". Next, I decopauged the pages into the bottom. Not the tidiest project in the world.

 Then I hung the drawer in Ryan's room next to his maps of the world and USA. . .
. . . and added a few favorite toys.
There you have it: my project for the day.
I wasn't sure how it would turn out or if I'd even like it.
But then again, life's a little like BINGO sometimes, full of chances and sometimes you just have to take them. Follow where God leads.

Like Keith and Sandi.

Love,
Dianne



Sunday, May 13, 2012

Prepared for Motherhood?


Before I had children, I thought I knew what being a mother was. I thought it would be easy; after all, I was an organized, healthy, energetic young woman. I had eagerly read Dr. Spock's Baby and Childcare and devoured every handout my OB/GYN tossed my way. Not to mention the knowledge and common sense imparted to me by my own mother. 

I thought I was prepared, but nothing prepares you for:
          -sleepless nights
          -feedings at every hour
          -sore gums and cranky days
          -explosive diapers
          -juggling schedules and baby care
          -postpartum depression
And that was just the baby stuff.

Nothing quite prepared me for :
          -the terrible two's
          -the even more terrible three's
          -the whining
          -potty training
          -chicken pox
          -teaching manners to an uncooperative student
          -worrying about their safety
And that was just the toddler/preschool years.

I was even less prepared for :
          -sibling rivalry
          -fighting and biting
          -friendship troubles
          -2nd grade math
          -more worry about safety
          -being needed more and having even less time
And this was just the school age years.

I figured the next years would be a breeze. I didn't account for:
          -dating ups and downs
          -changing bodies
          -shopping for teenage clothes
          -hurt feelings, broken hearts
          -talking about sex
          -knowing when to step in and when to step out
          -allowing them to make mistakes and deal with consequences
And that was yesterday. 

Being a mother has been the hardest job I've ever had. And the best. Nothing could've prepared me for:
          -the joy of being a new family
          -the warmth of baby's breath on your face
          -soft chubby hands
          -first words, first steps
          -sticky fingered hugs
          -their joy in simple things
          -watching their independence grow
          -late night giggles
          -late night talks
          -family vacation
          -unique personalities
          -day to day family life
          -being friends with your adult child
          -The joy of being a family still

It didn't matter how prepared I thought I was, because I wasn't. It wouldn't have mattered anyhow, because no matter how many parenting books I'd read, my babies hadn't read a single one. And all the books in the world, although they prepared me (kind of) for the practicalities of parenthood, couldn't prepare me for the unspeakable joys that awaited me. 

From Day 1 to Day 7490, it's been a journey I'd do all over again. Thank you Adrienne, Aaron, Amy, Heather and Ryan for making me a mother. I love you. 

Explosive diapers and all.

Love,
Mother Bear
          

Friday, May 11, 2012

Dogs, Cats, Turtles and Sheep...Oh my!

I am not a pet person.
It's not that I don't like animals. I do, just not in my house.
Our experience with pets hasn't been all that great either.
Let's see. . .

When we first got married, Leo and I had Oscar, an older beagle that was Leo's. He fell through the barn floor. Then we got Dino, another beagle and a gift from his brother Ben. He ran off one night.

Once,Leo gave me birds: two little finches. They were cute enough, but so incredibly noisy and they would make this "bee...beee.beee" sound all the time. He took the finches back, and returned with a canary. She was a lovely bright yellow color, but she was even chirpier than the finches. And louder, especially first thing in the morning. I didn't think it was fair to keep her cage covered all the time to give her the illusion of night, and she got returned too.

We had a couple of ducks (or were they geese?) for a while, but they weren't very friendly and they ate all the green beans in the garden. At present, of course, we have the chickens. . . we'll see how that goes.

I brought home a puppy once and Leo made me take it back the same day. Something about too much stress with two toddlers and a puppy. Then, years later, he brings home a miniature horse (Her name is Merrylegs). Go figure.

Once we moved here to Level Acres Lane, we acquired Rex, part collie and part bassett hound. He was three years old when we got him and lived to the age of 17. He was a good dog and was really our only "good" dog experience. Rex was friendly most of the time except when he got his annual buzz haircut in the summer. Hey, I never said I was good with clippers. Poor dog; he always looked so embarrassed when I got done with the haircut.

We also had Molly (Aaron's beagle pup) and Ty (a one year old boxer that needed a home). They both met their end on the road. Telling Aaron about Molly was one of the hardest things I ever had to do, and not something I never want to do again.

Rico was our next dog. Part Westie, part beagle, he had wiry hair and a scruffy look about him. He was a funny little dog and liked to play with the neighbor's boxer. He got backed over by a truck and needed to go to the vet for repair. He actually coded on the operating table and got his heart massaged. After surviving all that, he just disappeared two winter's ago. We never found out what happened to him.

Adrienne had two sheep, Nellie and Emma, for a couple of years. They were friendly and actually were a part of local live Nativities at Christmas. The problem with sheep is that they eat everything green that grows, including my gardens. They would actually strip the lilacs and rose bushes bare up as high as they could reach.

Martha is my cat, a nice gray mama cat. I tried her as a house cat, but it just didn't work out. Too much attitude. Mine and hers. She is now a barn cat along with Kurt, Tigger, Sneakers, and her new litter of five (free to a good home). They like to congregate outside the front door or in the flower beds. Grrr.

Along the way we have also had a turtle named Olive, two anole lizards, miscellaneous tadpoles, tropical fish, and beta fish, and hamsters. Oh, and rabbits. We won't mention what happened to Zippers. Poor Zippers.

I am not a pet person. I like playing with other people's pets; I just haven't found the right match for me. Maybe there should be a pet/person matchmaker. I don't know what I'd end up with.

Who knows? We haven't tried a potbelly pig yet.

Love,
Dianne


Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Chicks!

I walked into the house this morning after work and was greeted by an unusual aroma and the sound of little feet scratching.  Oh, and chirping, lots of that too.

Yep, my kitchen has a box with what looked like about 16 fuzzy, yellow chicks, and 4 reddish colored ones. They were hard to count as they did not line up nicely in a row; rather, they kept running around each other, climbing in the water bowl, and chirping all the while.

They came in what appeared to be boxes similar to Chinese take-out. Shhh...don't tell them that.  The fluffy yellows ones are for (gasp)...eating. The red ones are little Rhode Island Reds and will be egg layers. Those are my favorite ones.


They are terribly cute right now and make me want to celebrate Easter all over again. 
My mother may not feel the same way. 
In fact, she may never visit again as long as there are chickens on the loose. 
She had a BAD experience with a feathered friend as a child, and chickens do not rank high on her list of things she loves. In fact, they don't even make the list. 

Don't worry Mom, we hope to have a coop of some kind for them. Believe me, I don't want them in the kitchen any longer than necessary. 

 They are funny to watch. Wherever the light goes, they follow. I just wonder how they can see anything other than sunspots before their beady little eyes. Don't they know it's not healthy to stare into a bright light? Tsk tsk tsk.

As I am trying to get a picture of them facing me, they all turn as a little group and look the opposite way. I tried clucking like a mother hen to get them to look at me, but apparently I wasn't too effective. They all tried even harder to get into the corner away from me. 


They are cute, aren't they? I wonder what I should call them...
Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee?
Laurel and Hardy?
Robin Hood and Little John?
Lucy and Ethel?
Lavern and Shirley?

Oh wait...I can't name the yellow ones. . . the eating ones. . . that would be weird. 
As for the Rhode Island Reds. . . 

I like Lucy and Ethel. 

Love,
Dianne