Thought I'd share some cute pics from today. The one of Buck proves he's a true ladies' man.

I have been all out pining over when the remaining two does would kid knowing we had a short window of time to ensure smooth births and bonding with mommies. You see, we're leaving on a tour of the southern relatives very soon, and the goats were already supposed to be nursing their young, not still can't-get-comfortable-fat with pregnancy. Borrowed Mac Daddy Goat must not have gotten it on right away with Shannon and Ginger, because we're nearing the end of a three week kidding cycle. I've posted how these gals have been lookin' ready for weeks.

I've been obsessively going out in the field checking goat butts for mucous plugs every few hours. Do you think my compulsive behavior has sped up the labor process? Not on your life. Buck says, "I noticed Shannon's making noises when she lies down." to which I answer, "Honey, she's been doing that for two weeks."

I say, "Does it look like Ginger's udder could get any fuller?" to which Buck replies, "It's looked like that forever."

All I've thought about was that if our does needed help during kidding while we are away, they'd die along with the new babies. Our friends who always take care of our goaties during our vacation might feel terrible if that happens. And what if something happens that the mother needs milking and babies need to be bottle fed every three hours? So much trouble!

So, as much as it sounds selfish, I've have been praying fervently for those mommas to get 'er done. One of my prays-like-Mother-Teresa friends even picked up intercession for us. She and I were convinced Wednesday would be the day, but no birth happened. However, another miracle, if I can call this a miracle, happened Wednesday. Buck called our goat friend Ella and asked if her family could help in some way. Her answer? "Why don't my twenty something son and daughter come farm sit?"

Um, yeah! Great idea. These guys have been present for goat births since they were wee little ones. Herman and Jess know how to milk if necessary. They can suction out a kid's mouth to help it breathe. They know exactly what to be on the lookout for in terms of labor. So, I'm saying, "God is good all the time. All the time God is good." I could come up with people on my own who would house sit and even feed the animals, but who in the world but God could come up with people chalk full of goat skills available for an entire week mid kidding?

Buck and I showed them the ropes, and Herman and Jess are good to go. I'm finally at peace with the plane tickets I had been glaring at indignantly on my desk for the last few days.

Here's how it works in my house. My children ask me to make dental and other various medical appointments for them. It's so sad that I don't think of essential things like this on my own. I think something very important in my how-to-be-a-decent-mother kit went missing. Pooh Bear had to beg me for two months, but today I finally managed to get her to Dr. Devine's for a check-up. Love. That. Name. A devine dentist. Our now former family dentist for the past 20 years, Dr. Chambers, couldn't put us on the schedule in for the summer though I called in early June. In fact,Chambers couldn't squeeze us in till November or January. I'm gonna miss his humming along to Musak versions of Madonna, but not enough to wait a hundred years to get on his calendar. And thank goodness for friends like Cecily who knows her way medically speaking 'round these parts; she gave us this excellent recommendation.

Dr. Devine got us in within a few weeks. Bless his heart. Pooh Bear thinks he is fantastic.

Dr. Devine is located in the little historic town of Sweetwater, so Pooh Bear and I took in antiques and ice cream afterwards. Is it another breech of the mother contract to feed a child sweets directly after a cleaning? Probably. Maybe I should attend a babysitter's course somewhere and learn a handy skill for hanging out with children.

So fun to meet this blogger in real life today. She is as beautiful in person as the eye candy on her blog.

Morning Surprise

This morning I rose at 7:00 earlier than my family to do animal chores. It's lovely to be the first to step in the dew alone and enter the quiet refrain nature creates, if just for a few minutes. The sun brightly shone, but it wasn't sweltering quite yet. I peeked into the goat shed not expecting to find anything, because the goats usually leave to graze just after sunrise. However, I found Momma S'more lying on the ground, and right next to her standing was a wet,huge,strong, black baby buck. S'more called to me and him and stood to greet me. I saw that she was in process of delivering the placenta which means she'd just delivered the kid a little before. I stroked the moist fur of the blessed hot-off-the-press creature. I talked softly to S'more, "What a good mommy you are!" When I reached to pet S'more, she started madly licking my hand, and then she turned to tend her baby. This excellent caprine parenting was a stark contrast to Momma Sissy who recently needed days to be convinced that her offspring actually belonged to her.

So, what a marvelous morning surprise. Compared to Sissy's birth, we'd just hit the easy button.

I ran inside to announce the birth and grab the floss to tie off the cord. When the children saw the baby kid's size, they decided instantly to name him Chuck Norris. We put the big ole' boy next to his mother's udder which he licked. I cleaned up the birthing mess which was really easy. Then we all showered and went to church. Once we got home I put Chuck to his mother's udder again with no success, so I procured reinforcements. Buck came out to work his goat magic. First, he squirted the momma's milk into his mouth, but Chuck flat out refused to latch on. I blocked S'more, who was growing restless, while Buck offered his finger to Chuck to try out his sucking reflex. As you might guess, that ginormous kid could suck like a tornado whipping a house off it's foundation. It took some doing, but Buck finally coaxed the loudly protesting newborn to suck on his mother's teet instead of his finger. Chuck's eyes immediately flew wide open; he liked what he tasted. Apparently, S'more has some gourmet colostrum.

When I left the goat shed, momma was giving her son another sloppy tongue bath.

And all is well on the True Vyne Farm.

Henry and Zaccheous

Perfect quote for mommas with radishes

“Angry, fearful reactions to people’s mistakes reveal that somewhere in our minds still lurks that fundamental belief of the Old Covenant, not only that people can be controlled but that they need to be controlled, and they need to be controlled through punishment. They need to experience the pain of our anger so that they won’t make mistakes that cause us to feel out of control.

…Fear and intimidation cannot help but rule the household of those who believe they can and must control each other when they make mistakes, and use anger and violence to do it.” (D. Silk, pg. 81, Loving our Kids on Purpose"

I hijacked this quote from Molly's blog to make sure my friends with RAD kids got a chance to mull over these incredible words.

I long to get past my personal romance with violence and remain always with the higher call to parenting toward internal discipline. In Molly's post, she talks about the disrespect of authoritarian parenting which I know like the back of my hand. Ask my children and husband how carefully I measure my words in a stressful situation, and they'll tell you I get dismissive, short, snippy. I wish I could step out of that like a snake leaving it's skin. Instead I've learned apology like an unfaithful lover. At times, I get stuck in the role of fearful parent, wondering if my particular spawn will be next plague on humanity. Where in the world does that awful thought come from? The fearful parent in me will jump to irrational conclusions in a heartbeat and turn into a tyrant who must squash the wayward behavior and trample the spirit in the process. Yet I know so much better than that. And thankfully, I'm doing much better as I see the fine people my children are becoming. I actually enjoy their company, and I know others enjoy them as people as well. My mother complimented my fifteen year old son the other day for being able to hold an engaged and interested conversation with her. She tells me she hasn't met many teenagers capable of relational discourse. I think she partial 'cause she loves him so, but even so, I love her encouragement.

I know I'm in for some upcoming stress with more does to kid in the midst of summer swim team season. I'm asking myself to examine my game during the crisis of the moment, casting off pain and anger, and make a bee line toward peace.

At 2:15 p.m. the children ran in from the goat field to report Sissy (can you believe it wasn't Ginger?) had a curious string of mucous hanging from her bottom. Yep, she was having contractions, so we brought her in. She contracted so long that I took her back to the field from the birthing stall to see if that would relax her more after several hours without much progress. At 8:40 p.m. I checked and she had blood in her mucous and things were happening. By 9:30, I could see one hoof and a nose emerging which was bad news. After many Sissy made many strains, I asked Peace to consider going in after the other hoof. While he was getting ready by reading the book, I worked up the nerve to do it myself. Peace coached me, "On the next contraction, push the baby back in. Follow the body back and cup the hoof and gently pull it forward." We waited for the right moment and I shoved. The next thing I knew, the other hoof popped out. Whatever I did, worked. Sissy kidded and kidded again. Two bucks- one bigger and much stronger, the other frail. Not sure he's going to make it. I suctioned them out with the bulb syringe and wiped them clean.

Sissy refuses to acknowledge the babies, and we had to force her to nurse them by holding her. She kicked even then. Rough road ahead.

One goat kidded. Three more to go.