overheard in the garden~

Three year olds make great garden helpers. Especially if they're slight ocd boys :o) Not only does he do a great job counting and picking potato bugs and pulling weeds, but he's also happy to help out Grace when she loses her paci.

So, one evening when we were out working in our so pathetic it shouldn't be called a garden garden, Grace started to fuss in her bouncy seat. I asked Noah if he could go give her the paci, which he promptly did while making cute faces at her. A few moments after he went back to picking bugs, she began to fuss again.

So, overheard in the garden this week as Noah called out to baby Grace over and over...

"Don't fuss now, baby. I got to wook in da gahden. I got to wook in da gahden, baby."

I love three year olds, especially this one. :o)

the newest addition to our family~

(Don't I wish!)

Unfortunately, not that addition. No, as if adding a seventh baby and gardening for the first time ever weren't enough for us to take on this spring, we decided it would be a good idea for us to get chickens.

Misti, stop laughing :o)

In the spirit of full disclosure, I will say the idea was initially mine, and then Glen took over. We were already building a large shed, so he just decided to make part of it a chicken house with outside access to a large chicken yard. We're not planning on letting them roam completely free as we have so many other animals (not the least of which is our super-hunter cat) that may just think we've opened the all you can eat chicken buffet :o)

Speaking of, the night before last, I was thankful for my husband, and his shotgun, as the hugest, most gigantic possum ever decided that the cat food on our porch was for him. Normally, we don't worry about possums too much, but this one was reminiscent of that horrible nasty animal on the Princess Bride. It was gross. And that is an understatement. It was at least two feet long and it's tail was so thick I don't even want to think about it. Not to mention we have new chicks. It was late, and Glen shot it in the bushes, so he left it until morning. Now, my husband is as much of a manly man as any guy, but he did not want to deal with it. It was in a hard to get to area that was going to require more physical contact than he really cared for.

No problem! Eight year old son to the rescue. After being properly bribed motivated the following morning with the promise of $5 for a very minimal amount of work, Caleb donned rubber gloves, picked it up by the tail, and deposited it across the drive into the woods. Glen was relieved. :o)

So anyway, back to the chickens. We go through at least $50 of eggs a month, so that, along with thinking it would be a good learning experience and responsibility for the kids, decided to get eight Rhode Island Red hens. No roosters for us. So far they are doing fabulously and living in a box in our school room. Glen is oddly attached to them, I think it has something to do with he's the one that actually went and met the guy we purchased them from and rode around with them in his van for the afternoon. (Every night after the kids are in bed, he goes into the school room and plays with them, but you didn't hear that from me.)

We thought about just getting some hens from my grandparents so they would go ahead and start providing eggs, but then we decided that maybe having them from chicks would cut down on the nervousness about being around grown chickens for the first time ever and that the chickens would be friendlier. You know, because I've been terrified ever since I was little about being pecked it's important that the kids are comfortable around them. Ahem. I think it was a good decision. I'm not completely sure on all the details, but I know we have one named Picky, one named Arrow, one named Violet, one named Chick-fil-a, and one named Godzilla. I don't think the others have names.

I'll keep you updated on any interesting news on the chicken front.

more on raising protecting surviving boys~

Warning: Photos of a happy, but somewhat bloody child ahead.

Fair warning.

We've been very blessed around here that we've had very few trips to the ER. And only two of those events involving stitches. For some reason we've had a pile of medical stuff this year, Moriah's eye, Anna had pneumonia, she injured her foot, Caleb jumped off the roof, I had the hemorrhage, Glen and Anna diagnosed with Celiac, but in ten years of parenting, only two sets of stitches. Involving boys, Caleb and Ethan, of course..

So, my Monday morning starts off pretty normal. We're doing a little more cleaning than usual since Susie, my midwife, was coming over. We were all helping clean up, with the kids taking turns playing with Haven while the rest of us worked. Well, someone, who shall remain nameless :o) got slightly sidetracked with his (or her) turn being responsible for the little guy, and next thing I know, Haven has slipped and hit bumped cut split his head wide open on the fireplace hearth.

Now, most of our kids have bumped their heads before with no major problems, but he must have hit it just right. Anna scooped him up as she usually does (she's a little Mommy when it comes to Haven), and I went about my cleaning. A few second later, I hear, "Mommy! Mommy! MOMMY! He's bleeding really bad!" So I rush over, and I can't even tell what is really wrong as his face is covered in blood, and is eye is completely filled with blood. You couldn't even see his eyeball. It's a good thing blood doesn't bother me or we all would've been in trouble..

So I rush him off to the bathroom, get a washcloth, and press it onto his wound the gaping hole in the middle of his head. Seriously. By this time I can tell that's the only injury, his eye is fine, but he has what is literally a hole in his head. All. the. way. to. the. bone. I can see it and the split itself is a good half inch wide. And it is really disturbing. I'm okay, like I said, blood doesn't bother me. When I was younger, anatomy was my one of my favorite subjects and there were several years I wanted to be a surgeon, so I was okay. My kids on the other hand were freaking out.

I sat down, called Glen and told him he needed to get home. He was only a half hour away, so I left the kids here with Caleb (yay, Caleb!) and took Anna with me to take care of Haven in the car. I found out later that Caleb had all the kids pray for Haven after we left. I think that is my favorite part of the story :o)

By this time, Haven is fine. Completely fine. Except that you can practically see his brain. But you know, other than that. He's laughing, talking, playing, and climbing in and out of chairs despite the fact that every time he smiles blood continues to run down his face. No problem, he just wipes it away. Seriously, the kid has blood smeared all over the place, but he thinks he's on a grand adventure. We get to the ER, sign in, and here is this happy, curious little boy investigating everything in the place while sporting a hole between his eyebrows. He seems to have no pain whatsoever. In all seriousness, I completely give all glory to the Father who I know caused the bleeding to stop quickly, alleviated his pain, and was watching over the little guy the entire time.

Here are a couple of the pictures that aren't too bad.

Let's go guys!
Where's the party?

This is after the triage nurse cleaned him up a little.

So, three hours later, and some stitches that weren't exactly the highlight of the day, he taps out in the car before we even pull out of the parking lot. He took a good nap, but went on to play completely normally the rest of the day. He didn't even need Tylenol. What a trooper.

I knew I shouldn't have put off taking Christmas card photos. That's okay, I was kind of looking for an excuse to not worry about them this year.

Now, if we can just figure out how to convince Moriah that he really is her brother and not a monster baby, we'll be just fine.

(And in all fairness to the un-named responsible party, it really was one of those things that probably would have happened anyway. Don't worry, no children were spanked, disciplined, or yelled at in the unfolding of this story. ;o)

So...

Parenting Tip #12

Although not pleasing to the eye,

fireplace hearth guards are a good alternative to stitches.

overheard at my house last night~

Caleb has been trying to gather supplies to make a volcano for the past few days. Tonight, he went to the basement to find something to put his creation on so that it wouldn't make a mess when it erupted :o)

He happened to find a very large piece of cardboard, one that Glen has just used as a dropcloth for something he was painting...

So he drags this cardboard upstairs, one side of it covered in paint, and promptly sets it down on the floor. A few minutes later, Glen is helping him with the volcano, and realizes that it's the cardboard he had just been using. Apparently, Caleb had just picked it up and neglected to notice the wet paint...

Glen: Caleb! Buddy, use your brain!

Ethan: Gee, Dad. He does use his brain. All the time. He just wasn't using very much of it right then.

my son, the superhero~

It was bound to happen sooner or later...our first "boy" injury. You know, the kind that falls under the "brave, but stupid" category and wins you the award of coolest boy around.

I remember reading Dr. Dobson's Bringing Up Boys soon after it came out. One phrase stuck out to me more than any other, and I've remembered it to this day.

"one of the scariest aspects of raising boys is their tendency to risk life and limb for no good reason...for parents whose families include one or more boys, the greatest challenge may just be keeping them alive through childhood."


I don't remember taking it quite as ominously as it sounds, it actually struck me as rather funny as I vividly remember lying on the couch reading it while Caleb was busily racing around the house flying cars off pieces of furniture as fast and as furious as he could.

Anyway, back to the story. Caleb, my oldest son, my right hand man, master hunter and creator/builder extraordinaire, decided it would be "cool" to jump off the roof. Really. I thought this kind of thing only happened on tv or in books.

We were all quite impressed at the time, and he casually remarked that his foot was kind of sore, but it was off to nap time, and he wasn't crying or anything. I called Glen, we had a good laugh (privately, of course, no use encouraging 3 year old copy cats), and off I went to sleep. Crisis averted.

Oh no. Later, swelling, bruising, tears. So off we went to the ER. One huge orothpaedic boot and a pair of crutches later, we are back at home. And he is thrilled that he has something for show and tell at Bethel on Tuesday. This experience has done nothing as far as life lessons are concerned except for reinforcing the "cool factor" and I am anticipating Anna will be pulling the same stunt in the near future as she has been wanting a "crutch worthy" injury for years. At least she's upfront about it :o) She has already informed me that the top of her closet would be an ideal place for storing the items once Caleb is finished with them.

So....

Parenting Tip #10

Alarms on the upstairs windows might be a worthwhile investment.

who needs a flyswatter~

Caleb (said in a whisper): Hey! Mom! Hand me the flyswatter, quick!

Me (obviously without thinking): You know, I've heard of boys that can catch flies with their hands. You sure you need the flyswatter?

Caleb: Really? Cool!

(insert sound of tip-toeing boy...smack!)

Caleb: Awesome! Uh, Mom, what should I do with it?