Morning News

before it is time to wake up, M (3) yells out in her sleep, as she is prone, and I attempt to salvage the wee hours of darkness by stumbling over to her bed, perhaps to rub her back or tuck in her blanket.  instead she grunts, as though peeved, yells something about a giving her a snack.  having failed in the offer of comfort, I bestow a stern, "be quiet now."  she is dreaming.  before I can regain the warmth of my bed, N (1.5) yells from his room.  in the last few weeks he has decided to take on the grumpy morning demeanor of his sister.  so now instead of happy mumbles and chants in the morning, he half wails and moans in mock agony until I am forced to get him up out of desperation for ear solace.  even though it is a much more stressful way to do things, when I am too tired, I will not get up bofore N.  such is the case this morning, yet I go downstairs to clean out the woodstove and restock it with wood before I go up to save N from his own despair.  I also happen to have a stiff neck this morning, my wife and I have long discussions about stiff necks and what they imply.  for my current purposes, it implies that it is harder to hold two grumpy children on my lap as they try to wake up and try to whine the other out of their space, daddy's lap.  we sit in front of the woodstove in the morning darkness, I try not to move my head too much.  N is taking great delight in eating cereal and milk from a bowl like his sisters and has done well.  until this morning when he decides to dump his bowl down his front.  I'm not sure how much milk has dumped, how much has been drunk, until I observe a puddle of milk forming underneath his high chair, dripping out of the slot designed for a strap.  I wipe him off and postpone a thorough cleaning of the chair until L (8) is on her way out the door to the bus (or the "cat bus" as M lovingly refers to it.  or the "BSSSSSS!" as per N.) having completed her morning routine with a few smart alec comments, almost forgetting something, and kisses all around, although N trips while trying receive his kiss and must now wail instead of receive his sister's blessing.  I now turn my attention to the high chair and discover there is a decent amount of squished food/milk packed neatly into the fittings of the chair strap.  I decide it is time for a complete overhaul and am required to get a few tools out of the drawer in the kitchen in order to take everything appropriately apart.  M and N also must watch and help hold the tools as I do this.  eventually all the straps are removed, the packed food bits are painstakingly picked off the floor and appropriate surfaces cleaned with spray.  I work the straps into the first load of laundry for this "laundry day."  my wife is rustling in the kitchen, staunchly making hot oatmeal and pours the coffee I have managed to make in between the kids.  M informs me that N has pulled yet another glass ball ornament off the tree.  I search in vain for the balls matching cap and wire, and while I am kneeling in front of the small tree, M and N decide to parade around the tree.  N half trips over the light cord and pokes his face in the branches.  it is too tight for a good parade and I redirect his enthusiasm.  I remind M to wash her hands after going potty and make sure that N does not try to wash his.  my wife has time for an impromptu conversation and after several failed attempts we let the kids watch an episode of Maisy so that we might have our 5 minute conversation over breakfast.  we speak about the nature of stress and back aches, stiff necks, the on-going "Amish project", what the day may hold and why are the holidays so stressful?  what are we doing wrong?  how can we simplify? etc.  I ask about a few of her Amish patients and offer to start her car.  (which happens to be my Dad's truck - as her car is no longer working, long story)  we wife does not keep the habit of hanging keys up on the key hooks I bought at Lowes last year while carting around two kids and deciding to get the "real wood" mounted hooks even though they were more expensive.  instead they usually are in her brown bag, her purse, or one of her coat pockets.  after exhausting these possibilities, she remembers that she set them on the ground beside the raised beds last night while peeking at the spinach.  I retrieve them in my flip flops and start the truck, taking care not to back over any children that may have slipped out the back door without my notice.  my wife rubs my neck briefly until the attacks by N are just too much, she shows me a few stretches for shoulders and is on her way.  I water the outdoor cats, who in the winter only get small windows of opportunity to drink as their dish freezes so quickly.  I start the laundry for the morning, after finding a brown bag with handles for M who is asking for a "basket" to carry things with.  I attempt to negotiate a parallel play opportunity, as N also wants the bag.  this works until M informs me that N has torn the bag.  I find another bag.  we have about 3 days until the holidays break loose upon us.  it is now 10:03 on a chilly Monday morning.

Lettuce Visions

Guest blog by Olivia

Last night around midnight I realized that, if I keep paying off my med school debt at its current rate, I will be 57 when it is paid off.  I can hear my uncle Phil joking, "Hey doc, how's it going making the big bucks?" all the way from Pennsylvania.

I suppose I could have become a famous neurosurgeon.  I could have done 10 more years of residency, and paid off my loans after two days on the job.

I suppose I could have gone to Hershey med school with the dairy cows, instead of Einstein, where all the partying smart kids thought I was a little touched and left me behind when they took the express bus to Manhattan. 

I suppose Matthew and I could have continued to rent a duplex in Lewisburg, never owning a home.  Allen Roth would have been quite proud of us.  We could have raised 3 more mini-Wengers across the street from Catherman's bakery, filling their bellies with the best eclairs on the planet, while singing "I've got a mansion, just over the hilltops" after supper every night.  But I got a REALLY bad case of nesting instinct while expecting N.  I didn't care so much about how we'd pay off a mortgage when I was two weeks postpartum.

We have lived in the prairie house for over a year now.  I'm working almost fulltime.  Most of my patients are on public insurance, and better thank their lucky stars for every Democratic vote next election.  I keep dabbling in the genetic diseases of the other, not-so-Democratically voting, part of the county.   A little failure to thrive here, a few seizures there.  Add a pinch of dystonia.   A few pleas to the Big Guys for a little more sacred time...it makes a bittersweet stew if you know what I mean.

There really isn't much to throw my arms up in the air and cheer about.  Until I stumble out of the house after a day sitting in gloom puddles, to see M's latest creation.  What finesse!  What fresh home-grown spinach in the middle of November!   Note the rain-proof roof, and the wind-proof clasps.  Regard the frame built from salvaged wood!  I shout Hosanna.   Blessed be the Name of the LORD!!!  I'm going to heaven, after all.



The November Masterpeice

 

Pine needles are automatic mulch if you plant your lettuce in the right place

Our Passionate Work

The woodstove in our living room is quietly and increasingly beocming a part of the daily routine.  In spite of the warm afternoons of the past week, the winter cold is on its way.  This summer and fall, I've spared what moments I can in order to split and stack a supply of wood that rests sheltered in the barn.  I don't yet have a good sense of how much wood we can burn in one winter.  N can hardly wait to handle the splitting maul and the axe that I use to make kindling.

The essence of a good life involves sitting still long enough to hear the wind, watching the light patterns move slowly along the wall, on a cold morning in late fall.  It also involves many days when this is not possible.

Those whom we love, we despise because of our own weaknesses that are revealed.  To love fully is the ability to accept the seasonal, cyclical patterns that confront and obstacle our moments together.  The sustenance of commitment is revealed in the callused hand that works unseen.  Its touch upon soft skin an undeniable surety, our passionate work.

Bringing in the Wood

long tall trees twitching in the strong wind

muddy meadow trails and

a bridge made of old spongy logs

not strong enough

to help fill the barn

with firewood this year

the world askew with leaves

the offspring of the summer past

the whine of twin chainsaws

and the strong men in my family

all of us strong

hefting eight foot logs about

staying abreast of the upswell

of Autumn

vivid memories

stacked into neat piles

and saved

for the cold short days

of the coming winter

These Thoughts on the 7th

of October
when geese fly over our driveway
in the morning
I always check their direction
making sure they're headed the right way
like, toward warmer climates, for instance
although today was warm
enough
to work up a little sweat
while shoveling earth
and making holes the exact size
of half-bricks
to border a garden
that still holds
my wife's vegetables and herbs

and suddenly the leaves fall
and quietly startle me
and the silence
as I work outside
the small moment of peace
that fell upon me
after a full week
of single parenting

now, too, the ladybugs
must be hatching
they come over me
as mosquitoes
with a small bite
and I constantly twitch
like a horse with flies
they are so plentiful

In order to finish the bricks, I had to pull out two Chard plants, unbalancing the two steady rows where they had grown strong and tall.  I was surprised by the density and strength of their roots.  What a hardy plant!  So abundant.  We could not keep ahead of it despite stir fry and soup.  I felt guilty tearing them out, especially without my wife here to come to their rescue, or speak on their behalf.  She cannot stand to throw away or destroy even the minutest vegetable.  Should I cook these two plants yet tonight?  Sometimes my wife playfully refers to me as "the constant gardener" - a name taken from a movie - some mystery, perhaps a Poirot?  I remind her consistently that I am a slow learner.  Seldom do I latch on to something without rubbing my nose in it experientially for a good while.  Such is gardening.  It takes me a while to wade through the discomforts and stress of the logistics - and to actually experience a garden in a full cycle - such as bring up a jar of grape juice from the basement in the middle of January, or eat green beans year round that we have frozen, etc. - until I start to be filled with passion and compassion about growing food in our yard. 

So Far This Summer

One more-so and one less-so enthused astronauts.

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A trip to the Great Lakes Science Center. To be remembered for M's running out of the play area back out into the museum and getting briefly "lost". I'm starting to keep my eye out for those back-pack kid leashes. Is our family really this big?
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Although she prefers reading, to weeding, L can be arm-twisted into garden chores from time to time.

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Planting a garden. More work than we imagined, but just as much fun.

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N is ready to take the helm of the ancient tiller.

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M found a place to play.

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Wagon rides are great fun, if you get N to stay in the wagon.

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N gets in touch with the Wild Man, helped out by chewing on a marker-laden balloon.

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N at 1 year is not afraid of sugar-laden foods.

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Ice Cream Cones on the porch. what can be better?

. We had to take these two mere-cats home with us after visiting the Cleveland Zoo. A day to be remembered for its heat, its sleepless children, and its parental arguments - just another normal day at the zoo.

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Cats, cats and . . . well, Cats!

as I sit down (lie down rather, on L's bed while shepherding M into her nap) to attempt BLOGGING, I at first thought, "oh, good, at least I'm posting in a one month interval - until I realized that this is JULY 22 and not the less surprising JUNE 22, which I apparently lost track of. so goes this period of life - lots of good ideas, lots of starts, lots of intentions, but mostly just good old-fashioned housework and family life. for instance I have a great idea to take thoughtful pictures of the different aspects of our gardening projects and write about them slowly, contemplatively and descriptively, absorbing them like an unchomped Life Saver or a Smartie that you leave in your mouth long enough for a hole to dissolve in the middle. when's the last time something like THAT happened?

a few words about cats. EXPENSIVE, PROLIFIC, SHARP TEETH. (apologies to the cat-absorbed) we started out our cat adventures last summer by trying to move and begin housing a cat at the same time. due to our noble intentions not to begin a cat farm or disease haven, we dutifully spayed and immunized as her breath was cut short by a fast midnight car, we ended up with a permanent, although costly, memorial spot in our perennial garden. sensing the time was right, a stray, pregnant, feline mother (albeit missing the toes of her right rear paw) took up shop behind our woodpile. who could say no to a hobbling, pregnant gal?

two litters of kittens later, my father and father-in-law's practical sense looms up within me. I haven't bought a gun, but I can more clearly understand the urge to "take them out to the back 40" so to speak. our family vet informs me that cats can indeed get pregnant during breastfeeding and because of virtually unlimited breeding seasons, are really kitten-producing machines. LESSON LEARNED. some of our kittens we gave away to "good homes", but the last litter of kittens for whatever reason, even though they were born and raised in our barn, were essentially wild. how are we going to give away kittens that we can't catch? while trying to round them up to take into the local animal shelter, I got more than one healthy chomp to my index finger (leaving teeth-shaped holes).

catching wild kittens is extremly time consuming, and difficult to do with small children around. taking their mother to the vet for a prerequisite exam and follow-up spay surgery is no less so. on the morning of our mother cat's surgery, I got all three children out of the house in order to begin the capturing and caging process. JD, the lucky patient, was no where to be found. we tromped through waist high wet grass in high humidity and ambled around our property and woods, shaking the food can and calling. I carried N the entire 45 minutes while M tried to keep up ("wait for me! wait for me!) and lost her flip flops somewhere in the middle of the pasture. Five minutes before the end of the drop-off window at the vet, I called to inform them of their reticent patient. I walked back out of the house and JD ambles nonchalantly across the drive. by this time I am exhausted, jaded and longing for the day when cat birth control becomes inexpensive.

in her two trips to the vet, JD was a stellar patient. she only went to the bathroom once while in the car and she did not bite me. she still limps and will need her stitches out in 7 days, but for all of my intents and purposes, will be kitten-free for the rest of her born days. unfortunately, we discovered last night that the one kitten we kept (for M) appears to be a female. according to the vet that means we have about 4 months to figure out how to take care of that looming problem. pay up or ship out?

*no cats were harmed in the making of this blog

Pell-Mell Into the Spring Playtime

It's going to take a bit of adjusting to get used to these warm, sunny days. After a cold winter and a cool spring, 75 degrees feels like I can't breathe. A cool 11 o'clock breeze through the living room window that rustles the maple trees along the driveway feels like all the peaceful interlude for which I could ask on a Sunday night.

Congratulations on continuing to check this blog after such long absences over the past year - you are to be commended on your commitment to my literary efforts, bumbling as they are. I have bumped into enough of you out there to feel re-inspired to continue to write. The fact that this effort means something to you, means something to me. Please leave me a comment once in a while!

Well, the grace period is over (see last post to define "grace period".) We are pell-mell, tumble bumble into the spring work/play out in the yard. We have weeded, mulched, trimmed, planted (perennials, vegetables, herbs, annuals, trees!), transplanted, sprouted seeds, and mowed grass in the third gear of my Toro walk-behind mower, which is about the equivalent aerobic exercize of a 2 or 3 mile run. (I've even stirred up the year-old compost pile) All this in the wettest spring I can remember and with the most children I've ever had to take care of. I fall into bed exhausted, but it's a "happy" exhausted. I haven't had this much fun in a great while.

Our outdoor projects help us to learn about each other. Most of these projects start out in O's brain - she browses the catalogs, envisions the possibilities and orders the seeds and plants. Through conversation and looking over her shoulder, I soon get on board with the enthusiasm. After the seeds, plants, trees and mulch come, I work outside fiendishly in spare moments to bring all these visions to pass. While most of her ideas are brilliant and beautiful, I temper them with the practical aspects of cold reality and in the process of pouring myself into the said projects, begin to come up with ideas and alterations of my own. (wouldn't these trees look better over there?) These discussions and differences of opinion keep the conversation lively and the love warm - but perhaps this kind of ebb and flow of tension is what keeps our parents from being excited about planting their own gardens 30 years into the team effort. Be that as it may, I've seldom worked so hard, loved the earth so intimately, or tended so many plants as this spring.

Spring

wow. it is spring, at long last. the daphodils have bloomed and the tree buds have given the woods a red blush of promise. we're in the grace period; after the long uphill climb of winter we've leveled off and can enjoy the view and excitement, right before we plunge headlong down the other side in the craziness of all the work that will undoubtedly come as we attempt to tend our little acreage. I haven't been an adult long enough to know how to walk around our place without constantly thinking of things that need to be done. good grief! let me alone! the cells continue to divide, children grow long legs and our age comes quietly.

Observing the Little Guy

Observing the Little Guy

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tearing apart my kitchen

limb from limb

like Dionysus

(nothing can be sole or whole

that has not been rent)

boxes, bags, dishes, containers

things on the ground

pushing them around

"learning the use of my hands!"

mouth, hand, hand, hand

mouth, hand, hand, etc.

two hands together, clapping

pulling, pulling out

sounds! making the sound again

turning over, pulling again

wanting to tear apart

and remake the world!

touching, tasting

everything!

wanting to know

to understand!

A Family

Although the hazards and pitfalls of raising a family are many - I doubt anything could quite take its place. Pictures help us realize this. When you see the faces of your children and wife all day everyday, its sometimes difficult for these visual intricacies to make impact on the pool of your brain. Its easy to forget to take pictures at all. Only later, upon reflection and when something is locked in the past forever, irretrievable, do these images of the everyday and ordinary take us to a greater emotional depth.

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Every once in a while I still run into someone who has stumbled across my blog for the first time - I'm like, "oh, yeah, that!" With a bit of embarrassment, with a bit of pride, with a bit of remorse. Writing for an audience can be pretentious; delusions of grandeur, and just plain delusions may be par for the course. A little bit of this and a little bit of that - "it is what it is" is a nice expression that comes to mind.

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for me it is a place to collect some of the debris, the driftwood, the leftovers of the mind, the heart - their pitiful scrambling about, their happy little jaunts, their storms - hopefully their storms; arranging these little pieces together in stacks and patterns, or just letting them fall where they will. How real is real? What is worth talking about? I don't really know. I guess its an exploration then - and here is my family - my pride and joy, my stability, my storm, and my occupation. (the woodpecker is just a visitor)

Birds at Home