July 10

The irony is not lost on me....there was once a time when I would have sold organs on the black market in order to be pregnant. Today? I just want this baby out of me. Today is my due date. And except for four and a half weeks between back to back miscarriages, I have been pregnant since last May. Only elephants should be pregnant for years- it makes humans cranky.

It's a been a rough farm week. I came home from a long day and appointment with my midwives and just sat in the driveway. I noticed Mama llama having a fit down on the lower fence line which was unusual. I looked down to the newly fenced poultry pasture to see a dog (not ours) chasing our poultry. All the ducks, chickens, and turkeys are fenced within a half acre area. Not only have we found out that within that fencing is a fox den, but apparently a dog can get in. Thankfully, Husband happened to be home because I can't run very well at the moment, and especially not in 102 degree heat. Damn dog killed two chickens and our biggest turkey.

Our last doe kidded unexpectedly last week as well. We thought she was doing fine, but I noticed yesterday something was off with her. Tonight when we took the last three babies to be disbudded we found out what. She has pink eye and is most likely blind in at least one eye. Because she's so young she probably got it during birth and since we weren't present during the kidding she didn't get the same attention as the others. She's been quarantined to the garage in a pen to avoid spreading it to the rest of the herd. We came home after hitting the drugstore and I busted out my rusty nursing skills. I'm hoping we can clear it up and she will keep at least some of her sight. Thankfully at this point no one else has it.

Have I mentioned that it's bloody hot? Oh, well it is. But because of that the deer don't have as much to eat so they have taken to stalking my porch during the night. One night Husband sat waiting for them with a pellet gun. He's also got a little pile of rocks sitting next to the front door so he can lob them in their direction if he sees one. Last night I thought he was going to break his neck sliding down the hillside when he decided to chase one around the property. I just let Jango loose on them which seems to do the trick for at least a day or two. Most of my plantings are "deer resistant", but I have a couple that I've tried to sneak in. Only a few things have been damaged and it's not that big a deal, but it just adds to my crankiness.

I used to blog. And get pedicures. And I prided myself on a wicked clean kitchen floor. But, that was a long time ago. Life before we had baby goats living in the guest bathroom because the chicks/ducks/turkeys were taking up the Master. And before we milked cows and goats and counted poultry at dawn and dusk to be sure of their numbers. And there was that time I chased a coyote with a golf club. That was awesome. Thankfully we don't have neighbors or someone might have called the cops.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Uh, yes. There's a very pregnant woman running down the road screaming "BASTAGE!!!!!" at the top of her lungs and swinging a golf club."

In my defense, the bastage had my drake in his mouth. That's a male duck by the way, not some weird Urban Dictionary phrase you need to look up. In fact, please don't. I just probably don't even want to know.

But we live in the boonies, and I could yell profanities at predators all the live long day and no one is going to bat an eye. It's kind of awesome actually. If we had pesky neighbors they might be put off by the fact that we have encouraged our children to pee the perimeter of our property because it keeps the deer out. I may or may not have done my part in protecting my crepe myrtles. I'll never tell for sure, but I will have the most beautiful purple crepe myrtles lining my front drive. So help me!

So, yeah. I might not have written for a while. But this is still very much Crazytown.

Today

Packed up some wood puzzles of a craft swap.
Bottle fed our baby goat.
Milked the cow in the rain.
Found the secret hiding place of the chickens and collected ten eggs.
Started tiling the backsplash.
Cleaned up a little.
Had a home assessment for solar installation.
Friends over to play.
Made my favorite dinner of bulgogi, spicy kimchi coleslaw, and sticky rice.
Lost another chicken to something that is really starting to tick me off.
Milked in the rain again.
Went and cut more wooden puzzles for a different craft swap while Husband did the bedtime routine.
Came in and found my wool coat so I could warm up and have a bowl of ice cream.
Chatted with a friend on-line for a bit.
Headed out to cut the last puzzle and feed Bella her last bottle.
Go to bed.

Conversation in the front seat....

"What does he do for a living?"

"Um, I think he's a nurse."

From the back seat...

Girl Child, "Wait, are you saying boys can be nurses?"

Boy Child, "I HAVE NIPPLES!"

Yeah, about that...

I rarely talk about money, especially not on my blog. Or ever if I can help it. Few subjects make me more uncomfortable. I get this awkward anxiety over it that takes me back to third grade and some lasting awkward memories.

You see, when I was little my family had money. Or at least the appearance of money. We lived in Mexico which I'm sure helped to skew the perception. There was a maid, a full time gardener, private school. We lived in a big family house with a pool. But I also remember when my Mom and Dave separated and we moved to live with my grandparents. At one point there was a reconciliation, but our lifestyle was completely different. My mom worked nights as a CNA. Dave went from being president of a company to at one point delivering pizzas and then as a beauty supply sales rep. Job to job and next business venture to next business venture and somehow (I don't know the details) we were living in Texas. My mom had gone back to school and was to finish her semester by staying with some people from the ward. My sisters and I were to move back to Utah with Dave a few weeks before my mom could come. Someday I might write about that trip, but most of the memories from it leave me with a pit in a my stomach. We made it only through the generosity of strangers and had to miss Trick or Treating that year.

Back in Utah, Dave and my grandma took us school shopping at D.I. I remember seeing and wanting a denim jacket. I wanted it sooo badly. It was $8.00. They said I couldn't get it because it was too expensive. I wasn't an idiot. I was going to be in third grade. I knew what money was and I knew that eight dollars was not a ton of money. It was standing embarrassed at DI that I realized something was wrong. The weird anxious feeling that accompanied is the same feeling I still get when having to talk about money.

Later that school year a boy at school made fun of my grandma chosen shoes by saying they were just like his grandma's shoes. It wasn't until this week that I realized that, oh my gosh, they could have been his grandma's actual shoes. Along with the memories of the neighbor boy I was madly in love with down the street, my favorite elementary school teacher, and breaking my nose by jumping a crack in the sidewalk on one foot in rollerskates on a dare, I also remember that Christmas happened due to the generosity of family members and knowing that my aunt paid for my Mom's plane ticket to visit us over Thanksgiving. When I think of my mom, I still picture her meeting us after school that day wearing jeans, a turtleneck, and a pink sweatshirt with puffpaint like teddy bears and a faux fair aisle embossed pattern.

Even though things were tight, I never went without. My mom worked hard so that when they divorced we stayed in our house. By the time my mom married my dad in Jr. High, life was different again. We lived in a middle class neighborhood in Southern California. There was always the expectation that we work and earn our own money, but we went to Disneyland at least once a year, ate out, built a new house. My parents worked hard and still do, but shopping at thriftstores has been for a long time more about the thrill of the hunt for me than necessity.

When John and I got married we had nothing, but we were too young and dumb to notice. We were waiting tables and going to school. We busted our backs to put each other through school. I became a nurse and he an electrical engineer. We were never going to be rich, but nice and steady paychecks every two weeks is what I'm about. The uncertainty of starting a small business or jumping from job to job makes me feel like an awkward third grader whose teeth are too big while wearing some punk's grandma's shoes. Life insurance, health insurance, 401k. That's what I'm about. But life still happens. Sometimes you make stupid choices like buying a new Mini Cooper on a whim and others you fulfill God given callings like taking in three kids on your dime. Either way, life is expensive and the money's got to come from somewhere.

So, knowing that talking about money makes me almost physically ill, you can imagine how awesome the conversations around our house have been when we found out that the company John works for is downsizing this year and offering severance packages to those who voluntarily leave. Good ones. One we couldn't pass up. Even if it meant that we might have to move after just planting an orchard in a house we thought we'd live in forever. Completely out of character for us and a little risky, we had to take it. As of the end of March, husband will no longer be employed with the company he's worked for for eight years. He has to take his sabbatical so he will be "on vacation" for eight weeks. That's only part of the good news. The other good news is that it looks like I don't have to move. We are expecting the official job offer to come in this week or next with a company that's actually one mile closer than where he's been working. More good news...I don't want to throw up or jump out of my skin due to anxiety anymore. Also, I'm going to be cow-sitting at my house in a few weeks for a couple months and milking a sweet black Dexter named Pepper.

Moral of my long and boring story...things have a funny way of working out.

Sometimes, on a good day, I knit to relieve stress. Wednesday I cast on a pair of socks, a dishcloth, and Scrunch's Easter sweater. I have already needed to frog the socks when one of my bamboo knitting needles snapped from my holding them too tightly and then again when I accidentally yanked the cording from the needle on my circular needle when I switched to magic loop.

Saturday I am driving a van full of my knitting group to one of the biggest yarn/fiber expos on the West Coast. The day cannot come fast enough-except that I have to clean out my car before then and it might take me all day. It is a very needed and well timed outing for me. And my car is grateful.

When I was in nursing school we took a mental health wellness quiz based on life stressors. You got points for major life events like a relationship status change, new job, moving, etc. Then you tallied all your points and it gauged how likely you were to become ill. At that time, I had enough stressors to be dead. I used to joke about it because I didn't even have kids or a mortgage! Ten years later, I guarantee that quiz was faulty. Had to be. Or that's why this is Crazytown and I'm it's Mayor. In the next two weeks (preferably one), I hope to have more clarity on a few of those stressors that are giving me and my knitting grief.

Some of my nearest and dearest kept going through all this major life drama. I was literally sitting in a hospital parking lot (because it was the cheapest, closest parking to our Pioneer Day fieldtrip at the Fort) when I got the voicemail from one of my oldest and dearest that she was being admitted to the hospital. This has helped to give me perspective. But then I think I'm going to lose it if I don't clean out my car, and I'm back to square one. My kids are fine, my marriage fine, but if one more person clogs another toilet I'm going to run screaming down the gravel road.

I had a self imposed afternoon of bedrest because this baby feels like it is trying to climb out, but I didn't knit. While Juju and Porkchop napped, I traced dresses for Scrunch's paper dolls. I played on my computer while she glued sequins and buttons to everything, including the back of my skirt I found out later. There are sequins and bits of ribbon still all over the bed. We laughed at her silly baby name suggestions. My favorite being Rainbow and Peter Pan of the ones that will never make the actual potentials list. This was a welcome change from stressed out, cranky mommy of the last couple days.

Who knew parts of being a grown-up were going to be so lame? And it's not the things that FlyLady can help me get a handle on. So, I knit. I might never actually finish something and have to keep restarting, but I'm still here. Tomorrow I hope to recharge and stock up so I can keep going.

Insomniac with a paintbrush.

I am several weeks past being able to squeeze into my lucky thrifting pants so I sat in the parking lot of the Korean market downing my lunch of noodles, sushi, and kimchi while the couple in the car next to me hunted down some jumper cables. I jumped their car, finished my lunch, and hoped I had secured enough karma to make my two hour trip to furniture heaven worth it. Four chairs and the beginnings of a bench later, me thinks it might be worth it to start carrying my own set of jumper cables and eating in the parking lots of every ethnic grocery store in the county.

Let's talk about me.

This post is about me. Weird, right? Since it's my blog and all.

#1. I have pregnancy induced insomnia- all three times. Yay, wee morning blogging where my lack of sleep is evident!!

#2. I recognize that my problems are first world problems. Pediatric hospice, multiple organ transplants, and potentially terminal cancer in a friend's spouse is a little too close to home right now, so believe me, I get it. My whining sounds shallow even to myself.

#3. If you have known me long, you will come to find out that I call for help pretty much when my house is on fire. Thankfully, my house has never been on fire, so yeah...I guess I'm a little proud. Ouch. That hurt even to just type it.

#4. On the surface I could be described as a Northern California homebirthing, home-schooling, hippie who recently moved very close to living on the edge of "the grid", is trying to raise as much of our own food supply on our property, and milks and then drinks raw milk.I know you're thinking, "Wackadoodle!" But please don't misunderstand...I'm not an idiot or a Kool-Aid drinker. I can only advocate and support homebirth when attended by experienced, certified midwives who have made it their life's mission to assist women in doing what has been done and attended by women since Eve's daughters. And only if low risk, and blah, blah, blah. I home-school because well, really? Read up on it. It's cool, and I don't have to worry about whose going to see me bra-less and in my pajamas when I drop of my kid at the butt-crack of dawn. Our move to BF nowhere came about because I wanted some goats and some chickens and my husband wanted somewhere high enough and far enough that light pollution didn't mess with the night sky and his telescope. Yes, I am growing a no GMO, organic garden and we're going to (soon I hope!) butcher our own pigs and stuff, but I also like Del Taco a little too much. And if the nacho cheese on the Nachos Bell Grande is mostly made of plastic, I'm kind of cool with it. The milk thing...well mostly, why not? It's pretty tasty and very handy to not have to go to the grocery store for it.

So, now I can tell you my story.

Two (or three) weeks ago I was watching my goats out the window and saw Moira, the herd "boss lady" wagging her tail a little too much. Aw, crap! She should not be in heat. She's supposed to be pregnant. So, I kind of went on a rampage trying to find a new buck and figuring out what I was going to do. Through some e-mails and a recommendation off the FB dairy group I belong to, I found a vet who would come out that week and teach me how to draw labs and would ultrasound my girls. While she was here she recommended that we test for a panel of zoonotic diseases, including brucella, coxiella burnelli, and leptospirosis because we were drinking raw milk. Based on #4 above, I agreed because well..hello? I'm not an idiot. I get why pasteurization is done and I would never drink raw milk unless I personally knew the udders it came out of.

So we tested for these rare, but still potentially disease causing agents and wouldn't you know it? Two of my does came back with positive titers for leptospirosis. Don't know where and I don't know how, but they were two does who I purchased together. I got the lab results late one evening and emailed the vet for clarification because positive titers only means that an exposure and immunity and has been developed, not necessarily that there is active disease, but it's hard to know. She called me first thing the next morning and very professionally, but with a tinge of panic explained that while transmission risk was low leptospirosis is "a known aborting agent in both goats and humans most often occurring late in pregnancy." Oh, great. But really not so great. Her recommendation was to isolate the two goats, re draw titers in 30 days to see if it was past exposure and then make a decision. As she put it, in one of them the level was high enough to "warrant humane euthanasia, although not her first recommendation". I was not to touch them. I am not to attend their kiddings unless gloved, gowned, and masked and I needed to consult my family doctor to have labs drawn on me to verify that I was not exposed during milking. At this point, I'm thinking that I got an over-zealous vet who was going a little overboard who was freaking me out! Did I mention my Husband was gone on a last-minute trip to Portland?

I read, and read, and read. I got a second opinion from another vet. I even emailed a homeopath in the UK who treats both animals and humans. They all said the same thing. "You're pregnant. Don't touch the goats." I called my midwives. I hemmed and hawed about actually finding a lab and having the tests done. I mean come on! I cared for AIDS, Hep C, and MRSA patients- all the time! And where was I going to find a GP who was a) going to take a new patient in their second trimester and b) be "Yay, homebirth! Yay, raw milk!"

Through the wonder known as the internet, I found an ND (naturopathic doctor) a few blocks from my husbands work. I saw her yesterday. I love, love, love her. She is one smart cookie. I was totally upfront with her. "I'm pretty much only here so you'll write me an order for a lepto titer and a CBC." "Oh, yes. We'll definitely do that, but since you're here do you mind if we talk a little and go over some things." "Um, no." I only had to drop off a 13 page history at least 24 hours before my appointment. She asked me a bunch of questions. I asked her a bunch of questions. Have you ever heard of methylenetetrahydrofolate reductase deficiency? Yah, me neither. But she's sending me to the lab again to have a panel drawn. She thinks there's a chance I might have it. It's a common genetic mutation of a gene responsible for making enzymes that do a bunch of stuff. One of them is to properly process folate. There is some debate, but they are finding this deficiency more common in young women with recurrent miscarriage. Also, I had a son with cleft lip/palate even though I'd been on folic acid for a loooong time in trying to get pregnant.I don't know if anything will come of it, but for the first time in nine years someone is trying to figure out the why of things. I'll do the labs soon and in three weeks I'll find out if I have been exposed to a rare bacterial infection and/or have a genetic mutation. Awesome. Not so awesome.

As for the goats, we've decided that it would be best to sell two of them if I can. It just isn't worth the risk that it be spread to the rest of my girls. I am so bummed. Sparkles is my favorite and I was so excited she's due with twins. In 6th grade I butchered and then ate my pet goose, Raffiki, to impress a boy so it seems I have a fickle, fickle heart when it comes to livestock. I will get over it. I don't even plan to replace her. At least not for a while. I do plan on doing a major day of thrift store shopping when the sun comes up though. It's been sort of a rough week and vintage chairs for the kitchen table would be an appreciated consolation prize. Especially since Amazon also e-mailed me to tell me that the order of amazing chairs I had ordered at an amazing price was not going to be fulfilled.

#5. I have very good and very bad luck.

We came home from the park on Tuesday to find two guinea hogs chillin' in the driveway waiting for us. Cute, but um...not where they are supposed to be. I thought I was going to cry. I just wanted to go inside and finish painting gold dots in the girls' room and listen to my book while the kids played house. Instead, I channeled all the strength of my pioneer ancestors and went searching for the post puller and driver. Damn it if I didn't build a DIY fence stretcher, string a straight fence line, and set those posts by myself. Don't get me wrong...I am living the dream. Raising our family on acreage with lots of animals and plans for a big garden. Our home orchard is even under way. We have gotten so much done as fast as we can in the last four months. It is just so much back breaking, never-ending work. Why couldn't my dream have been a white, minamalist, two bedroom condo on the beach? In my dreams I simply glazed over the necessaries of fencing and vet bills. By late Tuesday afternoon when I called Husband to bring me Subway, like now, I also informed him that I was moving back to my almost finished house in the golf course community. He could shoot the stupid deer who ate my broccoli. Stupid, stupid disease-carrying, garden pillaging nuisances. Bambi and his buddies are further down the crap list than even the well pump, which seems to be behaving itself for the moment. Thank you for that because Mommy's time-out is a hot shower- drought or no drought.

I keep reminding myself that I was in a similar slump four years ago. I found out I was pregnant the first month after moving into our last house. For all my planning, things still moved in slow-motion for about two years. Maybe it's a blessing. I don't make the wisest pregnancy paint choices. Remember my yellow kitchen and the "cheap South American hotel" color scheme? I can't find a picture of it right now, but honest. Picture a cheap South American hotel minus the paper mache Jesus on the wall and you'd have my house back then. So, I keep reminding myself...Patience. It's a virtue. One I lack. Like it or not, I am being forced into working on it.

Just so you know, eventually things came together. When we listed our house it no longer looked so South of the Border. These are the pictures from our listing. They make me miss my old house, but also help remind me that it took me years of back breaking, never ending work to get there and that was a much smaller house and yard to work with. This was staged for the listing. I know because it was hard to move out my beloved green piano, all our family pictures, and my even more beloved cow-hide rug.

Her Majesty Turns 6

After her breakfast of donuts and pink milk (which she promptly switched out for chocolate milk because she likes the color of pink milk, but not the taste) Scrunch announced, "Well, you can call me 'Your Majesty' since it's my birthday. I agreed but only after noting that maybe she should call me the same every other day. I still haven't gotten a straight answer as to whether or not it will happen.

At first, I wasn't sure it was such a good idea, but we went with it after seeing her reaction to singing 'Happy Birthday' to 'Her Majesty'. She laughed and laughed and laughed. Scrunch can be an intense kid and is not always so easily amused so it was worth her reaction. I think she might have been better behaved than usual because Her Royal Highness felt the obligation to set the example for her subjects. She was so excited that all of Primary would sing to her ON the actual day of her birthday.

She seemed to love her birthday this year. As the first one up she got to spend a little more time just with Mom and Dad which she usually forfeits by being my latest sleeper. She carefully reviewed each of her presents before opening them. Her gift wrapping is one of her favorite parts and it has now become a tradition to see how they are wrapped. The glittered 'after Christmas sale' ornament bows seemed to cut it this year. I was so proud of her when she said 'Thank you' after opening each present without being prompted. We put off a 'friends' party for another year and I was worried she might regret it when we went to a birthday party on Saturday, but she didn't even mention it. You just really never know with her.

The last several weeks have been filled with some intense conversations about her adoption as she processes what it means. There have been tears when talking about her Birthmom and lots of questions. I read some really great articles from qualified professionals that used the metaphor that processing your own adoption is like climbing a mountain every adopted child has to climb. Depending on their personality it may affect how they approach it and at what point, but they all have to do it. Some choose to go around it, others ignore it's there, others a little bit at a time, and others up and over. True to her personality Miss Scrunch seemed to take it on and not stop till she had conquered it.

These questions and all the talk of adoption kind of came out of nowhere. We've always been open and just treated it as a fact. "All babies grow in tummies. Not all of Mommy's babies grew in Mommy's tummy." Things like that. At one point she commented that she had been for sale. Turns out she heard somewhere how adoption is expensive and because she knows that her Birthmom 'chose us' she interpreted it to mean she had been for sale. She took a few opportunities to push the limits and made some comments about not really being "part of this family". I was so grateful to be able to tell her about the temple and her sealing to us and for her to be at an age where she could understand a little bit more about what that means. We finally figured out that all of this wasn't really about her Birthmom, but about her. She is still 6 so in her mind the world still revolves around her.

My pregnancy opened up some questions for her as to where she fit in. I knew we'd address the fact that other children were biological at some point, but I didn't think it would be kindergarten. I was thinking more along the lines of 13. But that is Scrunch. One morning I told her she was my favorite Scrunch and would always be. She asked me if she would always be the oldest in our family and I told her that she would always be my first baby. We talked a little about the night she was born and that was it. She seems to be cool with it and hasn't mentioned it since. On her birthday I told her that we loved her and hope she knew how much we loved her. "I know Mom. And I know C loves me too." She looked at me waiting for my response. "Tha'ts right. We all love you very much." She smiled and that was it.

Her birthday is the one time we make contact with her Birthmom. I had given her the option over the last couple of weeks to draw a picture or write a letter to her but she wasn't interested. I sat down last night to write her my yearly email and debated whether or not to tell Scrunch. When she came in to ask what I was doing I told her and asked if there was anything she would like me to tell her. I was a little bit nervous as to what she would say and whether or not I was prepared to fulfill my promise to relay the message. "Tell her I wish I could drive and that I got a bean bag for my birthday. Also that I am going to see Frozen again in the movie theater." You got it. Your wish is my command. Happy Birthday Your Majesty!

I just figured out how to post multiple pics in a post from my phone.

Taking pics of Scrunch during tumbling is joke. She's too wiggly and I'm too slow.

Let's see if I can figure this phone blogging out.

I look at this picture and think, "Holy Crap! My three year old is huge. And has very big feet."

Stream of Conciousness

I am going to blog more. No really, I swear. I really am. Right after I figure out if I want to write about the books I've read, the books I want to read. The projects I've gotten done. The ones I haven't. That I finally cleaned my craft room! Oh my gosh, I have a craft room! My kids. Oh, my kids. My goat kids? My favorite goat is having "at least" twins! I thought I was going to cry during her ultrasound. I was offended on her behalf when the vet commented that she didn't have the "cleanest looking uterus in the world". What does that even mean? We'll start a club Sparkles and I.  I learned to draw labs on a goat. I've been a nurse for ten years this year and I have done more venipuncture on caprines. Weird, huh? I think I'm going to puke. Why do I still want to puke? I am starting to feel better, but not awesome. After waiting, and waiting, and waiting we finally heard a heartbeat. My midwife was prepared to stand there until the baby grew big enough to hear for sure. Everyone was relieved. I didn't realize how stressed and anxious I was. I like visiting my midwives mostly for the book recommendations. Are audio books the same as the "reading"? I actually "read" (not listened) to two Jane Austen books. Audio books let me spin, do the dishes, clean the bathroom, and fold the laundry while being entertained. Listened to Anne of Green Gables with the kids. Oh so good! Stitches is only a couple of weeks away! So is Juju's birthday and Scrunch's birthday is next Sunday. I managed to put off a "friend" birthday party for another year. She just wants to go to the movie theater again. They won't stop singing the soundtrack to Frozen. Thanks a lot Aunt Goose and Aunt Miq! Come back Aunt Goose and Aunt Miq! Come back Grandma and Grandpa! We've had out of town visitors every week since Christmas and it's the only motivation I've had to clean my house. Tomorrow I am going to clean my bathroom. No really, I swear. I really am. I might blog again, too. Maybe.