Peeps

I cannot believe I haven't posted here in nearly two months. I have been attending to adding a second department to my supervision at work (suffice it to say that the new department lost their supervisor because of indiscrepancies in management, and there is now a situation where those who were not supervised are now supervised). The kids are having a lot of musical performances and school activities. I have been trying to write on the dissertation. I have been cleaning the house and trying to get things organized. And, we got chickens.

I have wanted chickens for a long time, and once I decided on the breed (Buckeyes, a heritage breed developed in Ohio), I searched for a person who bred the birds. Last weekend, after some preparation of EG's old music studio, we brought the babies home. Six girls--allegedly. From what I understand, chickens can be sexed at hatching, and then when they start to feather. There is a video on youtube which will show you how--please note that I did not avail myself of this opportunity yet.

Anyway, we already exist in zones in this house. The cats live upstairs with the girls (which, now that I think about it, may explain their apparent neuroses). The dogs live on the main level, except for Nash, who exists only in the eastern half. He is constantly tied because he is convinced that we have an infestation of cats which he could remedy in one assault. The cats come down at night while Nash is locked in the boy's room and Penny is crated. The rabbits live in the living room, and Nash is crated while we are out of the house because of his apparent interest in removing them from the house.

Of course, the Mom in me became concerned about the peeps being out behind the garage in the barn, so I opted to bring them to the basement. So we have a third tier in the animal kingdom--chick zone, aka "The Basement." Now everyone who goes downstairs has to remember to shut the door so the cats (if they get past Nash) don't get to the peeps.

I am enjoying watching the peeps--Buckeyes feather fast, apparently, as the girls already have wing feathers and are growing tail feathers. They have personality and are entertaining to watch and are remarkably low maintenance. However, as they grow, I can see that they will have to go out to the barn. For their sake as well as mine.

Decorator Icing

Recently, most likely as a stalling tactic to prevent me from doing work on the dissertation and avoidance of the hideousness of network television, I have started reading cooking blogs.

I visit one blog, written by a young woman who is apparently a lovely person who adores cooking--the blog intro has heart shaped cookies with the name of the blog emblazoned on them in decorator's frosting. The effect is quite charming, and I am impressed that anyone would, first, have the inclination to do such a thing and, second, be willing to spend the time. I guess that I am the type of person who gets in bed every night and grimly thinks, "Okay, one more day closer to death: exactly what did I accomplish today that was worthwhile?" Not to be cranky, but putting "Menopausal Mom" in icing on cookies would not make the top ten, not to mention the top 100 million, things I would want to have accomplished that day. Decorator icing is just that--something which is of little substance and is not intended to last.

Not that I mean to criticize. Nope, I won't go there. I do, after all, read the blog. And much like someone once said, I read the recipes and think, "Well, that's not going to happen." I do like to cook, but I don't see spending an inordinate amount of time on a meal which will be inhaled in ten minutes and will be referred to generically as "chicken" by Nita. I mean, when I'm gone, is anyone going to say, "Wow, could she bake." Or, worse, "What a great little housekeeper." Pardon me, but what a way to be remembered. I would rather have someone say something like, "Wow, was she fun." Especially if the someone was a twenty-something male, but I again digress. Where was I? Oh, yes. . . Anyway, I figure the house will be here long after I'm gone, so let someone else clean it then. I, on the other hand, would prefer to be someone who made a difference on the world, someone who brought about change, who showed kindness, who helped others, and who raised children who would carry on the tradition.

Year of the Rabbit

Over there on the right is a photo of my Pet Partner, Bob the Bunny. Bob and I have been visiting hospice patients for a couple years now.

I have recently found out from Bob's Facebook page that this is The Year of the Rabbit. Bob would think it was about time, as this is the first Year of the Rabbit in his short lifetime. From what I understand, this year is supposed to be quiet after the "ferocious" Year of the Tiger.

Well, so far, if this is quiet, I would hate to see ferocious.

Groundhog Day

I simply cannot believe that the last time I blogged, it was Christmas. The last six weeks or so have been a blur--someone at work quit, and I took over her responsibilities, including a fractured department. The kids need to be run here and there. It has been The Money Pit with the rental house. Nita was scheduled to go on a four-day campout with her class, so we had all the attendant leaving home drama, only to have the trip postponed; then we had leaving home drama intensified, as if Nita got better at it with practice. EG's car died on the way to work. One of the bunnies had to have surgery. And I have been trying to hold on by my fingernails.

One good thing happened during all this. For the last twelve years or so, Rocky has lied, more or less on general principles, but mostly to get out of trouble. The discussion then becomes long, involved, convoluted, and frustrating for both of us, as he tries to remember what he has said, and I try to trip him up. He always gets punished twice for lying if I can catch him up and get him to admit to lying, which is usually. Last week, I sat him down and asked him something, and I said, as usual, "Now think about whether you want to lie or tell the truth." For whatever reason, he decided to tell the truth straight out. I don't know who was more dumfounded--me, or him. However, I simply said, "Okay. Your punishment is yada yada yada." He said, "Wow. That was a whole lot easier than lying."

I looked for the aurora borealis or angels singing over the house. The next time he got in trouble for doing something wrong, he said, "I should have lied."

I guess we haven't made that much progress.

So here it is February already. We have our own resident groundhog here, by the name of Crusty, as he doesn't back down from a meeting with any of us. With the weather we have been having, I am sure poor ol' Crusty wasn't able to reach his egress to check for his shadow this morning. Consequently, I have no clue if we are going to have six more weeks of this. Hopefully not.

CSI: Christmas Scene Investigator

We had a peaceful Christmas morning, with a nut roll for breakfast, and our simple gifts to one another. EG gave me a copy of The Big Sleep, as I had mentioned I had never seen it and I love film noir. My cousins Ida and Sara gave Rocky The Book of Gross Stuff. Kiki gave Nita the exact Barbie doll she wanted. Kiki got the digital camera she asked for. And Rocky gave me a gift which made me laugh--bunny slippers.

For those of you who know me and our situation, you know that I have told Rocky from the gitgo that, if I had to go to the school for any disciplinary reasons, I was going in hair curlers, my bathrobe, and bunny slippers. Whenever Rocky starts acting goofy, his social studies teacher has mentioned to him, "I am looking forward to seeing your mom's bunny slippers." For Rocky to see the humor in the situation and give me bunny slippers as a gift tells me just how far he has come in his healing.

On a different note, we have been finding blood spatter on the hall and kitchen walls all week. Initially, I found myself thinking we had some kind of Amityville horror thing going on, as I was scrubbing the walls three or four times a day. I spent two days studying the direction of the blood spatter, the quantity, and the frequency, as well as what was going on during the time we found the spatter. We keep Nash tied in that area, so we next suspected that he was the culprit. So after the gift-giving this morning, I gave Nash a thorough vet exam, starting with cavity swabs, checking his ears, and checking his teeth. Nothing, except the realization that he needs a dental cleaning and Nash's dismay at this turn of events on a family holiday--can't blame the guy for that. As EG held on to his collar, Nash flipped over on his back, and EG rubbed his tummy. It was then that I realized that there was a wound on the very tip of his tail (I am, of course, referring to Nash and not EG), so when he wagged, he whacked the tail on the walls.

So I shaved the area, medicated the wound, and then taped the last three inches of the tail. Kiki said, "Nashie looks like "scorpion dog." And he does.

Peace on Earth

For years, Christmas was a time of desperation and despair. Rocky came to us at two, a product of the foster care system, with issues which are difficult for "normal" families to contemplate. The time between Halloween and New Year's eve were always stressful and chaotic for him, and consequently for us, apparently an anniversary time for him. His acting out included urination throughout the house, manic behavior, manipulation, constant battles for control, breaking all his own gifts within hours of unwrapping them, stealing other family members' gifts, including breaking some of them, too, and knee-jerk lying. We tried what we could to help him through it, eventually, though, giving up in despair and suffering it out as best we could. Since his memories of the time before us were pre-verbal, we may never know for sure what happened to him to cause that reaction every year during the holidays. I talked to him earlier this week about the previous years, and he gave me some insight about his thoughts and feelings during those earlier times, a pretty tough job for a kid who could earn a scholarship to the Gary Cooper School of Communication.

This year, a year in which he has shot up tremendously in height and has broadened through the shoulders, a year in which his voiced deepened, apparently overnight, he has grown into peace, too. He focused on others as he planned and bought Christmas gifts for the whole family, me included for the first time this year, and is now waiting excitedly for Wednesday's family "wrap party" to wrap them all.

What he doesn't realize is that he gave me my gift early this year--creating little chaos, gaining perspective, and even teasing me back about his dirty socks. He gave me peace in the house and hope that he will be able to experience joy every holiday season.

All I Want For Christmas

I have finally decided what I want for Christmas this year, something which I will find useful, something that will give me pleasure, and something which I can use for home and work.

No chia pets this year. No thanks to a clapper. Never mind crockpots, foot massagers, facial steamers, or convection ovens. This year, I want a taser.

First, I am getting to be an age where my children can outrun me. Imagine someone smarting off and then darting toward the door. I can let them run outside, then pull the taser, and "Whaugghk!" Stopping power at a distance. Not only is the little booger immobilized, he or she is compliant. At least until next time. And since I will be needing time to familiarize myself with my gift, misbehavior won't bother me as much: if the kids comply, I get peace. If they don't, I get target practice.

Second, just having this device will persuade others to give me what I want. I'm sorry? You can't remember to in your weekly report on time? Maybe I can persuade you (waving the device). No? Fine. (BzzzZZZZZZzzzt.) What's that? Why, certainly you may turn everything in early for the rest of your life. No problem. But only if you really want to. . . . No, I don't have a receipt, but the store's website says you will give me a gift card if I don't have a receipt. Oh, I see...THIS store's policy is that no one gets a refund ever. Perhaps you can make an exception? Hmmmm???? No? (BzzzZZZZZZAARRttt.) Ah, I thought so. Thanks so much. No, cash is fine. While I can't understand you right now, I'll assume that is an apology for your snotty attitude with me previously. Now, just let me pull these little prong thingies out of your tattoo there and I'll be on my way.

I have been looking online, comparison shopping if you will. Here's an interesting fact: tasers come in designer colors, and one site is having a special holiday inventory reduction sale.

So, for those of you who have that hard-to-buy-for person on your shopping list, there you go. Tasers for everyone. It might be the first step toward world peace.