Far Beyond Pearls

Penelope was singing the soundtrack to a movie she’d just watched and Jonathan was trying to join in.  However, he wasn’t singing with enough gusto for Penny’s tastes.  After trying unsuccessfully to drown him out by singing louder, Penelope paused in her vocals to scold, “Stop, Jonny!  You’re making my song messy!”

The sun came out today, for the first time in forever, it seems, so I took my new camera out of doors and attempted to manipulate it into making some pretty photographs. I had spotty success.

There is this photo of Daisy, for instance. I like it, but it’s the least blurry of the thirty or so I took.

And then there’s this one, perfectly focused on the side of Thomas’s head, just behind his ear.

In my defense, he probably turned his head just as I snapped the shutter.  I like it anyway.

Here’s one of Rosie, focused on her right eye. Strange little photograph.

Rosie smooshed a poor brown leaf all to smithereens while waiting for me to finish with her.  It is now captured for all eternity.

And a pinecone.

I think I’ve established that I can focus well on an extremely finite area.    I think I shall now give up the trial-and-error method of learning this camera and break out the book.

I was pretty stressed about the amount of milk we’ve got here this weekend.  But you already knew that.  I took Sunday off from dealing with it and I’m feeling  a lot better today.  The fact of the matter is, we eat cheese, and lots of it, and I need to learn how to make cheese, and lots of it.  I love Colby over Cheddar, and Colby is easier to make, so we’ll need three or four pounds a week of that.  Two pounds of mozzarella will take care of our pizza habit.  A couple of pounds a month of Parmesan or Romano will season our spaghetti suppers.  Swiss looks easy enough, too, and though it’s not a favorite cheese around here, it has a role to play.  Two gallons of milk makes about two pounds of cheese, so this shouldn’t be too challenging, once I get into the swing of the process.  I’m also going to need a labeling system, so that I know how often to turn them and when each cheese is ready to eat, and I’m going to need a second refrigerator to simulate cave-like temperatures and humidities.  Sounds like a lot, but I’m feeling like the cheese/milk crisis has crested and I’m going to be okay.   Maybe it’s because the Romano I made on Saturday came out so beautifully.  I can’t wait to taste it…in three months.

Thank you for the ideas for using up the milk and cheese. I’ll be using them for sure!  And thank you for keeping me sane.

Oh, and Thomas took his first steps last night. 

“Is Daddy going to be mad?” Brenna wondered from the back seat.  I heard that question four times between the time I made the decision and the time David got home to see what we had done.

“If I thought he was going to be mad, I wouldn’t have done it,” I consoled.  But I had my doubts.  I knew he’d be tired when he finally got home and I wondered if he’d resent our new guest.  I thought back over our morning, trying to determine if I’d done the right thing.

It was a perfect, sunny Saturday, warm and bright, and we’d gone out the farm store to pick up a few little things we needed.  That’s where we met Max.  He was down on his luck, in desperate need of a bath and a good meal, and we were all moved with compassion for him.  We talked to him for a while, walked with him, tried to make sure he wouldn’t do us any harm if we brought him home, but I still wasn’t sure.  We left him behind to finish our shopping, to give me a little space to think.

I caught glimpses of him sometimes as we rounded the aisles.  Max just sat quietly by a sunny window, people watching.  There was a deep sadness in his brown eyes that touched our hearts, and in the ten minutes it took us to make our small purchase, I decided.  Max was coming home with us.

I had all the fears you’d expect, bringing a stranger home to our farm full of young  children, my husband gone for the day.  The call to show mercy must often be balanced by a need for safety.  Max has been a perfect gentleman, though, and he’s already a good friend, generous with his time and his love, eager to please those around him, content with the life he’s been given.

Hours later, when David finally got home, he took one look at Max and sighed.  He wasn’t mad, though.  Later that evening, as we lounged in the living room together, David, Max and me, he smiled and said, “It’s fun, having a dog.”

Oh, yes.  Tommy had a birthday.  He was born last winter, just after the Great Ice Storm of 2009.  The roads were hardly cleared for our drive.  Phone lines were down to my dear friend Pat’s house, who was going to stay with the other children for us.  People I hardly knew were keeping warm in our living room because they had no power in theirs.  Yup.  Trying times.  If you missed the tale, you can read all about here, here, here, and here.  It was a long tale.

One year later, my little boy is a sweet and silly little thing.  He’s an agressive kisser and a blower of raspberries on unsuspecting bellies.  His laughter is deep and infectious, a happy reward for kisses under the chin and clean diapers.  (I have no idea why diaper changing makes him laugh.)    He’s very good at waving and I can count on him to be waiting for me at the window when I return from chores.  That happy face on the other side of the glass always makes my day.  Oh, sure, he has his faults.  When he gets hold of a crayon, he colors on the walls.  When left unattended in the living room, he pulls all the books off the shelves.  Splashing in the toilet is a favorite passtime.  We have to keep a close eye on our little troublemaker, but nobody minds.  He really is a sweet boy.

I set Rosie to work cleaning around the edges of the kitchen with a little hand held vacuum while I started mopping.  Glowing in the warm light of the winter sun streaming through a nearby window, she declared, “This is fun!”

I stopped to smile back into her happy face.  “It is, isn’t it?” I said.  “I like cleaning.”

“Yes,” she replied, “especially when you’re cleaning with your whole family.”

Shared work is happy work.  No matter how old you are.

Delaney is a stamp collector, so she always checks the mail for new and interesting additions. A few days ago, she found one that was printed right onto the envelope. “Mommy,” she asked, “why would somebody want an envelope with the stamp already on it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it saves a little bit of time licking stamps.”

Surprised, she asked, “Why would anybody want to lick a stamp?!”

Oh. The post office changed over to sticker stamps years ago, and none of my children have ever had to lick a stamp or even thought that such a thing was ever done. I still think of them as “new”. For just a minute, I felt… old. It was quite a blow, since I had recently been pondering the link between babies and eternal youth. I suppose children are more apt to provide opportunities to grow in humility, though.

So, yes. Once upon a time, long, long ago, we had to lick our stamps. Barbaric, I know, but there you have it.

Ah! The snow is falling. I was hoping we were going to miss this storm. You see, Thomas, as of yesterday, is on the down hill side of chicken pox, and it has been a very long time since we have gotten to go out, what with us being contagious or in great pain for the last month or so. I was looking forward to making a trip for certain provisions down to Elizabethtown. I want cotton stuffing, and I need butter and chicken bouillon, and we all need some new gloves. David says we’re going anyway, but it rained all day yesterday and that snow might be sitting on a nice layer of ice and the roads here are winding, hilly, and narrow. I don’t need cotton stuffing, butter, and gloves so badly that I’m willing to risk lives for them. Oh, well. At least we have lunch.

Next week is the annual agriculture show in Louisville. We went last year, but we weren’t actually doing any agricultural work yet and David had hurt HIS back two weeks before and Thomas was a newborn and, well, it wasn’t as much fun as we’d hoped! Come lunch time, too, there was very little to choose from among the vendors, and whatever was available was swamped with hundreds of other hungry show-goers. With seven kids in tow, it was a recipe for disaster. So we’re planning ahead this year. I had this idea for sandwich bread. You know, bread with the sandwich already in it. Just slice and eat. I made three loaves last night and I’m thinking it’s going to be a success. Today was to be the trial run. After lunch today, I’ll tell you how I made it and what I’ll be tweaking next week.

Where ever you are, I hope the snow is not too deep and the power is on and your home is warm and your family and friends are all safe and snug. Because I love you.

A little blurry, I’m afraid, but just a little.  Tax rebate is coming in soon.  Hoping there might be enough for a new camera.

Round Two of the chicken pox has finally caught up with us.  Brenna and Penny have it, but Penny doesn’t mind.  That’s a big benefit of being very young, I think.  They just assume that whatever state they find themselves in is normal and continue on cheerfully.

* * * * *

I’d been hoping Daisy-the-dairy-calf and I could peacefully coexist, sharing Maybelle’s bountiful milk without incident.  I hoped that because I wanted Maybelle to do the work of raising her calf and because I think she’d learn the art of being cow so much better from an experienced one.  What do I know about being a cow?  However, being such a dedicated mama, Maybelle wasn’t letting down her milk, holding it back for her calf.  Understandable, of course, but unacceptable. She’s a milk cow, after all, and we want milk.  That’s why we got her.  So yesterday, we separated them.  Maybelle is not particularly pleased with us and has not yet let down all her milk, but even subtracting the calf’s rations, we’re getting a lot more already.  As a bonus, that little calf likes me a lot better now that I’m the one with the warm milk!

* * * * *

We got a fair bit of snow last night, so today is house cleaning day.  And bread baking day.    I like when I get a day to stay mostly indoors and do some inside work.   It doesn’t happen so often anymore.

* * * * *

Thomas celebrated his first birthday yesterday!  I can hardly believe it’s been a whole year since he was born, and at the same time, I can hardly believe he’s only been here one year.  It’s funny how, when I’m pregnant, I just think about the logistics of adding one more: where will he sleep, what will he wear, how will we arrange the car seats in the van.  But then, holding that new baby in my arms, something happens, something changes, and suddenly I can’t imagine that this perfect little person ever wasn’t a part of my life.

* * * * *

Thomas has just recently begun kissing me.  Forcefully.  He grabs hold of my face with both his pudgy little hands, turns me right toward him, and lays a big wet one on me.  I just have to be careful that he doesn’t bite me, too, while he’s at it. 

* * * * *

Our garage school is working very well.  I was worried that I would get really behind on things like laundry, but I’ve actually noticed improved productivity all around.  At least, on the days when my back doesn’t hurt so badly.  I remember to take dinner meat out of the freezer early in the morning, so no last minute wondering about what to make.  I usually have all the laundry washed by the time we go out, since we’re up early anyway.   I just feel like we need to come up with a good lesson schedule out there, and plan for the younger ones better, and we’ll be good to go.  We all like this new arrangement very well.

* * * * *

I finished up that art history course last weekend.   Woohoo.  Or something.  Here’s hoping I’ve gotten rid of that college bug once and for all.    Anyway, I did well enough on my written assignments and got a 91 on my midterm, so the results of the final exam shouldn’t matter much as far as passing goes.  I’m glad to have that off my back, at least.  Now I can expend my energy on blogging again. 

Happy Saturday, friends!  Thank you again for your prayers, too.  Today, I am fairly mobile, luckily, since I wanted to do a few things and I actually can.  It doesn’t last for long, so I take advantage.  I know.  Maybe if I rested, it’d keep.  But I think you all know how that goes.