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Changes are still happening with the Vynes.  Besides leaving a good life entirely behind to begin anew, I shuffled something big around for my children.

Tater's response to this particular project was a whooping, "I'm not doing that!  I like the old way better."  It's been his response to everything lately- nothing like a upsetting the apple cart of a rad kid's life with new school, new house, new room, new routines.

Here is my radical lifestyle change.  I went to the store, laid down a big hunk of money, and bought each person a shower basket like the ones we all used in college.  Each child has a their very own stock of deoderant, shampoo, body wash, toothpaste, toothbrush, razors, shaving cream, comb, brush, floss which is kept in his or her own room, probably on the dresser.

Clifford the big red house has four bathrooms, and the old sharing one sink between three bickering boys is old news, like the first horseless carriage.   The showering until one's skin becomes a wrinkly pink or brown pickle can happen without anyone else becoming at risk of missing daily grooming.  Toothbrushing hypothetically can occur in a another location when a shower hog refuses to open the door.  Hair brushing need not be skipped due to a lack of mirror time. 

There is only bathroom on the kid's floor, so I have heard the occasional, "I can't brush my teeth.  Peace is hogging the shower."  So nice to answer, "Where's your shower basket anyhow?"

Works for me.

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Yesterday at my hypertufa making party at Almost's house, I was crowned with a new name.
Drum roll, please.

I am now considered The Duchess of Clifford.

Don't be jealous.  My friends will rename you with somethin' fancy if you simply ask.

I wanted to blog about these new days so as to keep a record.

Once we moved into Clifford, I was hoping Wise One and Pooh Bear would allow me to homeschool at least till the end of the semester.  Pooh Bear has been very clear that she prefers homeschooling.  Wise One was content to stay home as well until Tater decided on a dime to change to his zoned school Tuesday after saying goodbye to friends at his old school Monday.  Wise One puts lots of thought and time into his decisions and decided to quit homeschooling after Monday as well.  I choked back tears silently at his news and have been for the last three days.  I'm actually tired of homeschooling, but I love being with my children.  Wise One is especially easy to be around, and he's not here with us anymore. He walks out the door after 7 a.m. and returns at 4:00.  Such a long day away.
 
Buck and I took them both into their new school Tuesday to register.  Tater got right in with his paperwork from his previous school.  Wise One was asked to wait to enroll till the next day, because the doctor's office had a days delay in shot records/physical record sharing. 

Wise One returned home yesterday from his first day full of joy.  He's not much of a talker, but he had a few stories to tell.  He definately is into the whole school idea.  I still get teary missing him. 

One day without Wise One here was enough for Pooh Bear to suggest that she'd like to try school.  Gasp.  Choke.  Whimper.  She's not ready in so many ways, but some sort of alternate schooling will be necessary sooner or later as I'll be looking for a job.  Friends have offered to keep her while I work and allow me to homeschool her on my days off.  I just can't wrap my brain around the entire issue of putting that little wisp of a girl into the school machine and letting go.  I'm up for letting her try it and then finding alternatives if she's eaten up. 

Off to figure hang with my fix-it guy to resolve some of Clifford's flaws.

Spent the last week painting inside the Clifford Estate with an army of beloved friends.  More friends on the way today to scrub floors.  I've simplified my life beyond belief, so the move has been easier than any other I've made.  I'm not hanging onto anything "just in case". 

kids- check
bare necessities for life- check
clutter- gone to Goodwill or the dump

I'll take pictures inside as soon as I unpack and get a little organized.  

Try to hold back the snickers.  Yes, she's very RED.  Yes, she's awfully odd and awkward for a house. She has lots and lots of work to be done on her.

I'm calling her Clifford, Clifford the Big Red House.  If the stars in the heavens align properly, and the unknown banker will allow, we'll buy her Thursday.

Then I'll have to relearn civilization, how to be a friendly neighbor instead of a scowling recluse- that kind of thing.  Wish me luck.

Pooh Bear Horse Vaulting

I worked on a project yesterday whilst I wait upon unknown realitors and bankers to acquire a certain one paragraph document enabling me to begin a new path on my journey.

I've had an old behind the couch table sitting in our garage collecting junk, spider eggs and spider poo for the last six years. The table's veneer was gummy and peeling up on top. I decided it might do in my new kitchen as an island of sorts. The new kitchen has very limited cabinets unlike my farm kitchen which boasts entirely empty spaces and shelves from overabundance of cabinetry and workspace.

My dear friend Claire now creates mosaics, and I roped her into agreeing to tile the table top with me or for me. She instructed to get the area flat, so the tile would be mounted on something stable. This is precisely how I spent my afternoon after homeschooling. Much of the veneer pulled off by my hands with the exception of a long strip 7 inches wide which had been tightly adhered with God's Super Glue. This sticky strip required a literal chisel to pry loose. With a chisel, I ran the risk of gouging an uneven surface, so the work became meticulously slow. Pooh Bear came out to help with a bucket and brush to scrub off arachnid leftovers. Some water got on God's glue, which we discovered loosened it's bond considerably, and the work became easier.

Once we were finished removing the veneer, I stepped back to admire my work. Yes, the table was smooth and ready for tile. I went for some sandpaper just for the edges which would surely leave splinters if left undone. I went over the top as well in the process and a the beauty of the bare wood caught my eye. The more I sanded, the more I fell in love with the natural grain. After taming all splinters and smoothing over all rough patches, I loaded the table up with help into the back of my van to take it to Claire's knowing I didn't want to tile over that lovely surface any longer.

However, I wanted to learn how to treat the wood in order to make it useful in a kitchen. Claire and I researched the internet. One site would say, "Make sure to use polyurethane," while another would completely disagree and say, "Do not use polyurethane as it is poison." I decided upon shellac which is essentially made of edible non-toxic Indian bug goo. I learned that shellac will rub off with harsh cleansers or alcohol, but can be easily reapplied when necessary.

Claire sent me off with a coupon for Bed, Bath, and Beyond for a new cutting board to put in the middle of the island table. I also purchased shellac from Home Depot.

At home I applied the shellac which after several coats caused the wood to shine like a new copper penny. I wish I could take a picture to post, but I still haven't figured out where the photo option has gone from my blogger tool bar.   (thanks to John I added the pic)

Isn't it interesting how I could disregard a piece of furniture for years and transform it into something essential and charming for my next home just by removing a difficult layer of unattractive exterior?

Isn't that just like God to redeem something neglected and unloved and make it new and useful again by revealing its natural beauty from under an ugly coating? Let it be a picture of my life.

Moving

Hidden under forty-two Russian emails, I got an email I've been waiting for over a week with wild anticipation. It's a single paragraph requiring a banker's signature which held up a loan on a new residence for the Vyne family. We are moving back to civilization though it's not what I want to do. Sometimes it comes down to choices on behalf of others, like my children, that require me to step out of my own will and allow what needs to happen. Our bank is working on closing for tomorrow. Local friends, get your grungies ready for some serious cleanin' and paintin'. This new old house is a fixer upper for sure.
I can't publicize the name of my new road on my blog, but let's just say, it makes me giggle.
I'll be working on making my soon to be suburban home in a neighborhood (cough, gasp, wheeze, take a deep breath) into a place of peace and rest. Is that possible? Any tips out there in bloggerland?

Update: The unknown banker musta had some sort of mad and felt coerced into signing the document, so he:
1. only used his initials
2. did not sign on the seller's line
3. did not date his signature

All of which make the document invalid. I can't imagine this man's disposition when he is asked to resign something he's irked about already. So, it's back to my unfavorite game of "when will the banker decide to sign [correctly]?"

FREE Parenting Tip

FYI, when one takes her son who struggles with RAD to Wal-mart to buy batterys and cat pan liners,and he tells her a knee slappin' story which he finds utterly hilarious and the mom finds horrifying, a good mom should listen closely. Particularly if the story goes something like this:

"Mom. Dad showed me a video of Mr. Greasy covering his hand with Germ X and lighting it on fire! It was way cool! He didn't even burn his hand. Can you believe it? It just shot flames and went out. Wouldn't you like to see THAT!"

Then a good mom shouldn't just say, "That's not my kind of story. WAY to dangerous and stupid thing to ever try. You get that, don't you?"

Instead, that mom should take a mental note, and immediately drive home, obtain all scattered matches around the house and the bottles of Germ X purchased by Dad during the swine flu in weeks previous, and automatically put them all under lock and key.

Otherwise, hours later after the mom has completely stricken the fearful image of third degree burns on bloody hands from her mind, one might find the spent matches and a nearly empty Germ X in the garage next to the son who struggles with RAD exclaiming, "My hands smell SO much like Germ X! Weird isn't it, Mom?"

Peace called me from his state championship meet in North Carolina to tell me who he beat, who beat him, and that he'd made a personal best in finishing his race in 19:20. His dear friend, Steve made 18th overall and got a trophy as a FRESHMAN! How awesome is that? Peace said the course was easy, but the weather was muggy.
I stayed home and held the fort to make sure Pooh Bear made it to her horsemanship vaulting clinic with the real deal- judges from Georgia. She informed me she had to wear make-up and make a perfect bun in her hair. Thank God she's an independent person cause I'm not hair and make-up kinda mom.

I'd love to post some pics, but there is no longer a picture option on my dashboard. Hasn't been for weeks now. Anyone know where it went?

An Irish Prayer for today

In the words of an old Irish prayer:
Three wishes I ask of the King when I part from my body: May I have nothing to confess, may I have no enemy, may I own nothing! Three things I ask this day of the King, ruler of suns: May I have no dignity or honours that may lead me into torment! May I not work without reward before Christ! May God take my soul when it is most pure!

Hello. My name is True, and I'm a paper addict. I know this, because in cleaning out my drawers and decluttering I have found stacks of card stock, colored, and scrap booking paper in every nook and cranie of my room and closet. Does anyone know of a twelve step program to help kick my unnatural attraction to Office Depot and If it's Paper?

Pooh Bear Bear contracted the swine flu. She's been such a trooper. She's spiked her "normal" 103.5 fever. All my kids turn to toaster ovens with skins when they get sick. Pooh Bear surprisingly has not grumped around and moaned as she does most of time when she's not feeling great. While we were at the doctor yesterday, she asked him to burn a plantar wart from the bottom of her foot. He couldn't believe her request given she was in such a droopy state, but he did it for her anyway. She thanked me twice for letting her get it removed. The nurse commanded me to get her icecream on the way home, so we stopped at the Jiffy for a waffle cone. The young lady who served Pooh Bear had an armful of jagged skin art. Made me wonder if she was sleeping with a tattoo artist, or if that's how she spent her entire convenience store check-out girl paycheck.

My daughter is cut from the same cloth as myself. Last night she discovered how very thin our herd of goats is becoming as we slowly sell them, and she fell into a puddle of tears. She's been told it would happen, but when reality hit, it was too much. I feel the same.

Holding on steadily to hope as I walk towards new things and away from the solitude and beauty I've always found here.

This is a dark time for me, but I can't blog the details. I'll save those for another time. However, I got an encouragement yesterday from a dear friend, Ella. I called her for support, and she came through the way she always does. She told me a timely story about needing to open a gate to a field which has not been bush hogged in a long while. She first sent her son to chop down the overgrowth with a long sharp tool. He began the work but needed to get on the road to college leaving her to finish the job. Ella took that tool and wielded it like nobody's business over the waist high grass. She noticed the vines creeping and intending to swallow up the grass in order to swipe it's potential for life. She began to cry out to God with her grumbles and complaints with terrible force as she hacked down the wild vegetation. God beckoned her quiet her heart and to listen closely. As she stepped on and held the stalks low with her knee to slice, God gave her a picture.

"The way you are bending that grass and holding it is how I'd like for you to pray for the saints. Cover them, throw yourself over them and protect them in prayer from the weeds, the enemies, who intend to devour. The saints need you."

I know that's what she is doing for me, Ella and others. I need it so. Not every moment, but mostly I feel a peace, knowing though things are not all right now, they will be.

I am a woman with great hope.

Sold one of my goatie girls today, Shannon. She has been my very favorite for all six years of my caprine experience. This lovely lady was the first we ever bought. She's given us tons of love and milk through her years at True Vyne Farm.

We sniffed noses to say, "Goodbye." I considered her shiny black coat, her curious eyes, and frosty ears as we parted.

I remember our first cold morning milkings. I played classical music to calm us both- I, the green farm hand; she, a little jumpy due to her new surroundings my lack of expertise. I nuzzled my curly locks against her furry belly in gratitude for the gifts she gave.

I'll miss you my friend, Shannon.

You know what I know? That kindness is the better way. Justice can be kind. I mean it- surprisingly gentle even.

Maybe it's crazy to learn from Oprah, but I have. I learned something so valuable to me that it will follow me the rest of my days and give me peace. Last year Oprah had a guest on her show- The Most Hated Woman in America. This lady changed her daily routine and accidently left her gorgeous little towheaded girl in the summer heat inside a closed vehicle. Of course, the precious baby died. I believe there is no greater injustice than the neglect of a parent which causes the death of a child, a child at the complete mercy of his or her care.

At some point in my life, I too would have hated this woman for doing such a thing. How could someone simply forget their own flesh? However, I was surprised at my reaction, because I didn't go there. I felt overwhelming compassion for her brokenness. As she soberly relayed the events of that horrible day, she captured my heart.

Just about the time I was scratching my head with the question, "Why am I not feeling angry with this woman for killing her child? Why don't I want to wail on her?", Oprah turned to the camera. She started to speak on judgment. She said something which made so much sense- something along the lines of "There is no judgment I or anyone else could give which is more harsh than the one this woman has given herself. No one knows the depths of pain and suffering of the loss of a child like a mother. She knows she has done this thing and must live with it the rest of her life." Who exactly am I to hope she pays dearly? To wish she'd go to jail or hell, or pay some huge debt back to society? She will pay dearly with regret for her entire life. When she's on her death bed, her daughter's name will be the one she'll whisper. I bet the mother already wished she'd have been the one to have died. She's getting perfect justice, and all I can think is, "I'm so sorry for her. I wish it hadn't come to this."

Such is the way of one who falls.

This lesson sustains me in a new pursuit in my own life. You may hear things about me soon, and I hope you can see beyond appearance to the kindness and justice mixed up like a strawberry fruit smoothie in me. I may get judgment, but it's not me I'm speaking of who requires kindness. It all boils down to the fact that justice and anything else for that matter is learned best through love. I'm walking down a path I've never been down and never wanted to go down before now. Pray for me. Pray it isn't all regret but an adventure with hope behind every corner.

My Prayer for Today

Life is messy. My life is messy.
This is my prayer for today.

Let justice and praise become my embrace.

Mary Oliver

The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice-though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen branches and stones.
but little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,determined to do
the only thing you could do
determined to save
the only life you could save

Mary Oliver

Molly got into my brain somehow again with this post. I swear I've never even met her. I just read her blog. Honest!

I don't know if we'll get to attend or not, but the Battle of the Bridge is coming up Thursday. This battle is when the rivalry between two Loudon high school's (Loudon vs. Lenoir City) takes roaring form in the shape of a football game. It's like the face off between two lion prides defending their kingdom, and the Loudon bridge clearly marks territory. I've heard about this game before, but I never had anything at stake. Let's face it, I'm not a sports gal. I've always wished I had the talent to do something physical really well, but the only person I can compete and win against is myself. I can't catch anything, but a cold. I have the athletic ability of a turnip, but by golly, I return to the gym to be the best darn turnip ever!

Now I see the Battle of the Bridge with new eyes- a chance to build a deeper relationship with my son. Tater's other love beside every breathing teenage female on the face of the earth is football, so I'm sucking up my mother's heart that hates to see her son pushing, smashing, crushing, pulling, and squashing other people, and tuning into the love of the game. Slowly but surely, I've begun to forget the manhandling and actually enjoy the sport of it all. That's right, folks. I'm having loads of fun being a football spectator just like the rest of America. And it's sincere.

Still, don't think my heart didn't skip five beats last Friday watching the evening news of the Knoxville kid who dropped dead on the football field. My fears are real.

Though Buck has been gently been poking fun at my football game cheering, "Nice receiving!", when I should have shouted, "Great interception!", I'm surprised at myself letting go of my list of injury statistics and standing for a big play. I love my boy. that. much.

Catechist humor

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So, this post is for Catechesis of the Good Shepherd folks, cause noone else on earth would understand.

I've been working on the Level II Blue Strip material. It's a "timeline" to emphasize the three moments in Christian history and set up for typology later:



Creation- the beginning of the our universe, our planet and ourselves,

Redemption- the time Christ was born and now

Parousia- the time Christ comes again, and God will be all in all.

This particular teaching tool is a very long strip of paper with events from each moment depicted in pictures.

Now here's the funny part. I'd stretched the the Blue Strip out across the living room floor and into the hall to glue on the pictures, and of course our two cats quickly found their way to the new surface upon which to lay as all felines must do. Bees...honey. Fishermen...boats. Butterflies...flowers. Cats...paper. Buck walked in on their slumber and announced, "I learned something new from closely examining this time line. Apparently cats were around before the creation of the world and will be present when Christ comes again for all eternity as well."

Buck took the boys to school and Pooh Bear to the doc for a stuffy yuck nose, and Wise One is quietly occupied. Buck is kind in that often he gives me time and space just to think by taking care of everything. So I'll think here on my keyboard.

School started this week for Peace, and he's got classes which are a good fit. Probably easier than next semester, and he gets to challenge his brain the first half of the day and build things with his hands the second. He's loving cross country team as usual. He's got a better attitude than last week when I was ready to sell him into slavery to the traveling gypsies should they have passed by. He does love school and considers it to be a great opportunity. Peace gets frustrated with kids who are just there and don't appreciate the chance to learn. Last night, he asked me what to do about sitting next to a person quite fond of cussing in Latin II class. Peace observed the teacher noticing bad language from his general direction and worries she'll think it's him. I told him to ask her advice, but he didn't like that idea. I know he'll find his way like he always does.

Tater is loving life. He's surrounded by girls and football with school as the bothersome vehicle to project him into the scene. Amazingly, his RAD is usually not the first thing I think about when I look at him. Since last summer he's been in a positive place for the most part. Not healed but going in a generally good direction. He's middle school varsity on his football team though he's never played in his life before this year. First string defense. Second string offense. First game tonight, and I have to say I'm a bit excited for him.

I've got some issues to work on in myself concerning Tater's "player" attitude towards young women. This week he posted that he is "in a relationship" on his Facebook. Ugh. I met the girl a few days ago at open house, and let's just say, I quickly developed the standard answer, "I like all the girls my son likes". Mostly because if I indicated a strong opposition to anyone, she'd surely end up my daughter-in-law for a while. I don't think there's a setting on FB of "heartbreaker" which is a far more accurate description of my son's relationship status. Double Ugh. Fair warning to all teen girls out there- though he says it's just you he loves, it ain't. He digs you (and you, and you) simply because he likes to be dug. It's all a cover for low self esteem. And just in case you were wondering, moms or girlfriends cannot hand that out like candy and bandaids. It's a long work, a big internal work which takes vast amounts of courage. Hoping and praying for Tater to stay on that road to self acceptance.

Wise One started co-op courses this week, and he's delighted. He knew one person when he walked into class and walked out with a bunch of new friends. No surprise there. Next year, God-willing, I'm putting him in middle school for eighth grade,and these classes are a great step to get him ready. Of all my children, he's got a very best friend, Kole. In fact, I feel like Kole's family is a bit of an extension to ours. They spend nearly every weekend together here, at Kole's house, or on an outing. Since Wise One is my third son who happens to have an easy nature, I feel like I must be more intentional, because he'd be easy to neglect.

Buck called to tell me Pooh Bear has a touch of bronchitis, which makes her irritable. She was downright unpleasant last night. She asked to go to the doctor this morning, because she does not want to miss her horse vaulting Saturday. She got to ride the horse bending in half at weekday practice, but her teacher says she gets to ride standing on the weekend. Good night, what have we gotten ourselves into?

Pooh Bear's schooling is off to a good start though I'm definitely having trouble lighting a fire under her to read and answer math facts with speed. Any suggestions? My boys liked the game of it. She feels offended, like I'm pushing her, when I make it a speed game. Girls. What am I gonna do?

Buck had a birthday yesterday. His quote, "Forty-five is a lot like forty-four, only my shoulder hurts just a little bit more." Uh-huh. When we went to bed last night he explained what a privilege it was for me to sleep with a forty-five year old, since I've never done so before. Uh-huh.

Personally, I'm doing fairly well. The food I've tested in elimination diet for allergies has come back negative except hazelnut. Who needs hazelnuts anyway? The downside is my esophagus in not healing. Stuff still gets stuck. Oh, bother.

Buck and I are in an uncomfortable place with our church lately, because his thing is worship music and mine is children. The worship teams are dropping like flies, and there is no leader to be found. After somewhere around a year on staff, the children's pastor is moving to South Florida to start a church. Once someone new is hired, I'll have to start over again for the third time in three years of preparing a place for the specific work I do with children. Sigh. I'm not sure I want to keep trying at this particular church, since leadership keeps changing like light bulbs. Buck is about to start working Sundays for 16 weeks straight, so we found a nice fit of a Wednesday night study elsewhere in the mean time. It's a precious small congregation, something I've missed after struggling through our current mega-church.

With the start of school and early mornin' alarms, I've gone into "dragging me arse around" mode . I wake up tired and fog through the day. It took me till at least October to become a fully functioning human being when my son started school for the first time last fall. Hopefully, the learning curve will be shorter this time around.

All is well on the pretend True Vyne Farm. I don't want to take this good life for granted.

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No worries, grandparents. This is the sport your granddaughter wants to try next!

Horse Vaulting- gymnastics on a horse.

I'm told Uncle Laughter used to put tiny shells in Aunt Artful's shoes just for fun. He possessed a child-like quality of playfulness which touched every one's heart. I can picture him sneaking to her shoe just before a walk, placing in the shimmering object with great stealth, calling her to the door, and responding with great chuckles as she slips on the footwear announcing, "There's something in here. Just a minute..."

When I visited Aunt Artful this summer, of course we reminisced some of the time about sweet Uncle Laughter. She showed me the memorial video of pictures from his abundant life. He quite literally made friends everywhere he went with his easy manner of being. Buck used to joke with Uncle Laughter that even made friends at the automatic teller.

Over my visit with Aunt Artful, I came to understand better the love between my aunt and uncle. My aunt has always used the phrase, "He worshiped you" and "He worshiped me," and I'll admit, I didn't quite comprehend it. However, this stay with her I caught a glimpse of these phrases. In his boyhood pictures and really all pictures since I noticed a glimmer in his eye that spoke, "I am deeply loved and adored." Aunt Artful attributed that joyful expression to his wonderful mother. She gently spoke about his mother in a reverent manner which she would not have done if it were not so. When Aunt Artful started dating Uncle Laughter, his family's great love spilled over right onto her. His mother bought her a beautiful marble topped desk to study for school, took her places she needed to go, invited her over all while Uncle Artful was in the navy and before they were married.

Aunt Artful told the tale of how she met her husband. She was on a double date with someone when they ran into another group of friends unfamiliar to her. Uncle Laughter was in that bunch, and asked if anyone wanted to play basketball. Aunt Artful's date refused, but she didn't. I can picture Uncle Laughter playfully digging for the ball as Aunt Artful dribbled with the carefree vigor of youth. She said he was just so much fun. They simply laughed and laughed. Fun must have been hard to resist. Their marriage spanned several decades.

I asked later how she became an artist after all, since that wasn't something available to her being from our impoverished family. She pensively answered, "Uncle Laughter truly believed there was nothing I couldn't do. He thought I hung the moon. He believed whatever I did as perfect and made me believe in myself, so I started art school." Acceptance and adoration must have been infectious. You should see the paintings and other my aunt has produced and collected.

Anyhow, I can't even begin to imagine what my aunt's life is like now that he is gone home to be with God. Somehow I like to think he's with us in a different way than simply absent. Aunt Artful must feel the same, because she brought out an alabaster box from her bathroom vanity to show me on my recent visit. When she opened it to reveal the contents, I was taken aback- for there was a tiny pearled shell within. "I didn't put it in there. I think it's his way of saying, 'I'm still with you,'" Aunt Artful explained.

Later that afternoon, I snuggled into a comfy couch to read a book, I reached over to examine a colorful bowl from the Dali museum I'd given for Aunt Artful and Uncle Laughter a few years back on a previous visit. Immediately tears sprang to my eyes. What do you suppose I found inside that piece of art? A tiny shell letting me know Uncle Laughter was also thinking of me.

I have been hungry for an awfully long time it seems. Hungry to learn. Aching to be in a fresh experience. Wanting new life. In fact, I've been praying for something to open up and inspire me in daily living. I begged at church for in depth study, but I have not come across any offerings. I turned to friends outside my church and asked, "What is filling you? Where can I find it?" The reply? "I've been waiting and praying for something myself. Let me know when you find it, because I might want to join."

If the stars align properly, I meet with a out-of-town friend, Jo, on the phone for accountability and prayer once a week. Jo is in an incredibly rich season of faith. Each morning she wakes up to meet with God on her front porch, and apparently they've really been enjoying one an other's company. Yet she never criticizes or judge when I say for millionth time, "Still pray for me. I got nothing on spiritual growth. Dry. Dry. Dry." And she does pray for me. Faithfully.

Next week, I got something better to say to her. In fact, it might knock her socks off. First of all, I found a study group of folks and attended last night with my entire family. It's a refresher on basic Bible study. The pastor even gave homework without obligation which had me in a happy place with God in my own home for the first time in a long time, and that's not for lack of trying before. It's that I have a communal direction, and someone else is sailing the ship while I delight in the ride.

I have to wonder if God was just waiting for this particular moment, because of the earth shattering events of last weekend. The "what ifs" of that situation remain, yet I've found peace in not going ahead of what is present.

I also have another thing to tell Jo. I've begun making materials for the children which I teach spiritual formation through Catechesis of the Good Shepherd. I've been stuck for years literally on how to proceed in teaching older children, because of the denominational barriers. Will I offend those who have graciously passed the work onto me in original form by essential adaptation to meet the need of parents and children who express Christianity in another particular way? It's been a question I've not been brave enough to really answer by following all the way through with all necessary materials.

At the formation leaders conference I got an incredible amount of encouragement to dive in from friends and through God-given ideas. Once I began construction this week, I've found the work in itself to be utterly fulfilling. In a way it's like Dorothy always having the ruby red slippers, yet never knowing she's a always been a few heel clicks of the way home. How could I have forgotten the method of work of the hands leading to God? Yet it does.




Here's something of the discovery made in the delightful time I had this morning. The homework from our study focused on examining each phrase and getting as much meaning as possible from each verse in Mark 8:22-30 where Jesus heals a blind man and then asks the disciples who they think He is. He leaves Bethsaidia to head for another town to have this conversation with His followers and enters Caesarea Philippi. I became curious about each city,and the search turned up some interesting things. Turns out Caesarea Philippi was a particularly pagan town in which the god Pan was enshrined. I looked up Pan and was surprised to have found he was known for being in charge of fields, herds, shepherds. In fact, he was half goat, half man. Satanic ritual borrows the image of Pan for services. Interesting since Jesus went to Caesarea Philippi as the Good Shepherd and all. Pan, in his capriciousness, frightened his worshipers by evil stunts in lonely places. Believe it or not, his name is the origin for the word "panic". I think of Jesus as the exact opposite- peaceful, always good, always loving. Pan played the pipes and was known for music- sometimes erotic and other times to strike panic. Such a contrast to the comfort and glory of hymns and spiritual songs of Jesus we sing. Curiously, Pan was the only Greek god to have died. Another contradiction in that Jesus conquered death forever. In this very city, Jesus allowed His disciples uncover and assert His position as the Christ.



Here's to digging for more hidden treasure in days to come.

The first person I've ever known in real life to have a blog is my cousin, Wes. He took a photo of something different everyday for a year and posted it on his blog. Then he took a break. Noticed on his Facebook today that his blog is up and running again. His work is very inspiring, so you might want to check it out.

mind of the photographer

Humility given flesh

There are some disadvantages to being a Protestant Evangelical hanging out and working in a Catholic and Episcopal community. I don't understand the obvious, because my experience is so vastly different. At my Catechesis of the Good Shepherd formation leader events I tend to "get it" later than sooner.

Here's an example.

Many nuns have joined the work. I've had the privilege of sharing meals and deep conversation with many in my journey. Being slow on the draw, I figured out after a few years that Sr. indicated "Sister" not senior or senator or senorita. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to single out these saints. They look and act in the same dignity and elegance as the formation leaders who have not married Jesus in a literal and intimate way. So, this week I simply did not grasp when the speakers at our formation leaders conference were going on and on with the excitement of a little girl given her first set of jacks about a particular group of Sisters being trained in Catechesis of the Good Shepherd, "It would be such a privilege if the Sisters would come here to join our meeting." In my small mind, I thought, "Yes, that would be lovely to share with more holy women."

I'm embarrassed to say that I wondered if I'd be able to pick them out in the crowd to greet, because I hadn't ever been able to before. I should not have worried. At some point a quiet bustle erupted and hush during the conference. I turned my head, and I privately blushed at what my eyes were taking in. A Red Sea of participants parted to allow a group of the most humble and beautiful women I'll ever see make their way to chairs. Their heads and eyes were bowed, but their garments and faces spoke volumes. It was as if new rays of bright sunlight stepped into our room. I can only say I haven't seen any persons (besides sleeping babies) look so, well, so pure and utterly peaceful. As people spoke softly to them as they walked, the sisters deliberately and solemnly pressed their palms together and bowed to the persons talking with a quiet, "Thank you." The particular Sisters were the Missionaries of Charity from the same order as Mother Teresa, and I only figured it out from their impeccable white habits with the distinguished thin blue stripes. With every movement each made, their bodies spoke, "I respect the humanity of each living being before me." I'm not exaggerating, and I've never seen anything like it- humility given flesh. The leading Sister looked downright pained and became red from her collar up when asked to say a few words. I could plainly visualize addressing and being acknowledged in a crowd did not suit their work.

One primary theme present in CGS proposes that the things that are small and unassuming, the least of these- mangers, children, the poor, mustard seeds, stinkin' shepherds, little countries like Israel are made great and honored in God's eyes. From this one might draw the conclusion of the significance of including The Missionaries of Charity in our work. Their mission is truly unto the least, and now these join our work with children. I'm lost in amazement and wonder.

Apparently I'm not the only one. When our quite elderly Sofa Cavalletti, the writer and founder of CGS, heard that the Missionaries of Charity desired training in CGS, she immediately responded in Simeon's prayer, "Now Lord, You are releasing Your bond-servant to depart in peace, According to Your word; For my eyes have seen Your salvation, which You have prepared in the presence of all peoples". Luke 2:29-30. She followed in conversation with something, "Now Catechesis of the Good Shepherd will go those whom it has always been intended."

Amen to that.

Twenty-one years of marriage. It's our anniversary today, and I have to say, things have never been better. We're celebrating with a simple dinner out, but it'll be sweet. Buck is the love of my life, my best friend, and I'm the luckiest woman around.

We accomplished other mundane things today. Talked to Tater's new vice principal and homeroom teacher to set up meetings. Also registered him for school. Got Peace's schedule changes finalized at his high school. Nice balance on it. In the hall, we ran into his physics teacher from last year and chatted for a long while. Peace will have her again this year for honor's chemistry, and it's nice to have her be so friendly and complimentary of him.

Gonna scram for now. Have a blessed day.

Today as I was about to enter security check point at Chicago O'hare on my way home from a conference, I got a call which left me gulping for breath. When the surprise caller identified himself/herself, I immediately moved behind a partition between the swelling crowds to hide my shocked and awed expressions. During the conversation, I was comforted as a Muslim woman laid down her mat and prostrated herself for evening prayer beside me and out of the airport bustle. Forgive me. I can't talk about any of it just yet in fact, but that phone call could influence the rest of my family's life. I don't want my children to get even a whiff of wind or even sense anything is afoot, so it's got to stay completely under the radar.

In some ways, the new development been a ticking time bomb, and at least, I know where it's located. Buck and I have some serious prayer and counsel to seek.

My intentions were to come home and blog about my Chicago adventures and learning experience, but now my mind has been riveted in a completely direction.

School Sundries

Just when I think I have all materials and kids ready for the upcoming school year, I come across something else.



Peace had three tough books for honors summer reading and an algebra review packet. One of the books I bought on cd, because it got rave reviews- Three Cups of Tea. I wanted our whole family to get in on it due to the hype. Honestly, we're about halfway through and it's certainly not going on my "favorite books of all time" shelf. Think I'll resell it at McKay's. To be fair, at least Peace and the other boys like it because of the adventure- lotsa mountain climbing.

Peace's high school schedule came messed up. I met with the guidance counselor July 1 and have emailed her, but we still don't have word if it's fixed or not. I'm told the computer system keeps being down. In that case, the first days of school will be chaos.

Pooh Bear is still struggling with reading. I let her have several weeks off this summer hoping the same thing which happened with Wise One will happen with her. After his summer break before third grade, he finally "took off" on reading. Right now every. single. word. is a phonetic challenge for Pooh Bear, and reading is not fun. We have an extra hurdle with Pooh Bear in that she does not like reading unless we are reading to her. That she'd let us do all day, everyday. Wise One was so naive, he didn't understand he was having difficulty.

Wise One still hasn't finished all his school work for last year. Argh. He's making me nuts with the dilly dallying. I waited on hold forever and finally talked to our homeschool materials company. Yup, they messed up our order again and did not take responsibility. Fortunately, the rep let me buy the materials I'd ask for in May at the May discount, but it's always such a big hassle getting what I need from them when I need it.

I have asked for a meeting with teachers and principal on behalf of Tater, but the principal still hasn't contacted me. I wonder how this fresh set of teachers is going to react to the family therapists recommendation of "no homework help from parents"? Tater's long on talk about how well he'll do in school, and short on accomplishment. God help us all get through the academic year with this guy. Already his middle school football practice schedule is over the top. Monday was a nine hour practice, and the night practices are everyday including Saturday. Pulleease. It's middle school folks! Maybe I should start watching Friday Night Lights to prepare for high school football.

Hey! Noone invited ME to the Blogher conference! What am I? Chopped liver? Or maybe it's that I don't advertise or do anything at all with my blog except post when I darn well please. Just wishing I could have met a few more of you in real life.

Gotta a new Triton phone from Buck yesterday. I'm going to need techie lessons just to answer a call now. Is it fair that I finally got a tiny keyboard on my phone right at the same time I need reading glasses? Furthermore, Buck and I were exploring ring tones together this morning. When he hit "voice of the nature" both of agreed the song+rushing water made us both want to pee.

Took my chillins to volunteer at the animal shelter today, because the boys need scout service hours. The worker let us do a ton of chores. We cleaned out cages, mopped, laundered,folded,tamed kittens, scrubbed dishes, walked dogs. I haven't cleaned up that amount of poop since my progeny were in diapers. Three hours well spent.

At present the boys have friends over, and in a bit we're off to the season finale of swim team.

Over the weekend, three of our children competed in the ginormous city swim meet (Wise One was away). The entire team did very well. A couple of my children made the finals. Our team is still very little, but we actually scored points and did not tie for last place. Go Tarpons!

School starts for Tater in less than two weeks and for Peace in three. Peace acquired his learner's permit, because he's taking driver's ed this year. And, no, he's not excited about it. He's very cautious and not anxious at all to get behind the wheel of a car. In fact, he hasn't yet, so you can still stay on the road for a little while at least.

Vacation pics

A few vacation pics. Peace is missing 'cause he was at cross country camp running half marathons every. single. day. Yikes!

new pics

Sarah the dog being very patient with the baby does, Francis and Edith.

My new "do" as of today.

And baby doe, Jessica Boots.

This one is for John.

Dropping a note

After our whirlwind tour of the South, we've come home to three new beautiful baby does. One of them sounds kinda squishy, maybe pneumonia, so I'm giving her antibiotics along with the two goats who needed help kidding. So what do all these antibiotics do to a goatie? Same as people, they all have diarrhea. And yup, it's that's messy.

I'll post pics of the new kids when my husband rounds up the computer photo input thingy he may have lost on vacation.

Grateful to Jess and Herman for delivering. The new babies came out as mature as Henry and Zaccheous which leads me to believe my girls were late to deliver. That's a woman for ya, always making others wait.

My aunt told some fantastic stories concerning her beginnings. I'm still trying to figure out how to move to Ludowici(pronounced "ludawissy"), Georgia, because I think the name of the town is bug ear cute.

Wise One stayed behind and is living it up with grandparents as an only child for the first time in his 12 year old life.

The rest of us are finishing up swim team and summer reading. Except Pooh Bear. She's scratching like a dog with mean fleas due to the webs of poison ivy hives forming over her little girl skin.

Life is good.

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.

It's like watching the proverbial pot boil, and I have yet to see a bubble. Ginger the goat has not kidded even though her udder has been full for four days. I'm checking on her every few hours, and she's simply hanging out, chomping her hay, and keeping that unimpressed "Oh, it's you again" look in her eyes.


However, this morning when I stopped by the goat field, something was different. Ginger started being contrary- like the time we thought she had rabies but really she was just angry that Peace was milking her instead of Buck. That naughty-goat-not-rabies experience only cost $100 for a two night stay in cushy stall at UT Vet Hospital. Today when I walked in the gate, Ginger assaulted me. I thought she was trying to bite me, so I pushed her away as hard as I could. Nice. Pushing a pregnant goat and shouting, "Hey, what DO you think you are doing?" Then I realized, changes in behavior mark progression in the birth process. At first, I tried to stay a few feet away, but she couldn't get close enough to me. She pressed her moist nostril to my arm and sniffed, and sniffed, and sniffed. Just when I thought she was going to try and bite me (goats without rabies do NOT bite, but I've already told you she's contrary), she licked me wildly. Oh yeah, I remembered, Fiasco Farms website warned goats in labor might try to lick. From the website, I had in my mind's eye, a sweet gentle tongue bath, but Ginger's technique bordered on violent.

Buck and I tried to settle her in the kidding stall we set up in the garage, but it stressed her out too much. She's back in the nasty ole goat shed, pawing the ground and taking turns standing and laying back down. It's getting closer.

I'm carrying around embroidery thread in my pocket to tie off umbilical cords. Kid already, Ginger!

It's Kidding Time in Tennesse

I have butterflies thumping around in my stomach like shoes in a dryer. Buck let me know yesterday that Ginger's bag is filling with milk which means kidding is just around the corner. This explains why I put up the photo of a goat's bum for you to see. Notice how the she's bulging back there? I'm nervous, because I've only kidded once about five years ago,and it went smoothly as a silk kimono. Let me tell you folks, there absolutely nothing cuter than a baby goat or two or three. There's nothing more miraculous than birth, and I'm in awe that I may have the chance to witness something of heaven touching earth very soon.

Buck and I snapped a kidding stall together quickly in a our garage this morning. Gloves, iodine, kid puller, lubricant, antibiotic bolus, paper towels, bath towels, soft music, water, hay, baby snot sucking syringe, feed, raisins, molasses instructions guide (Barnyard in your Backyard), overalls- we got the works.

It's just like a human birth. Ginger hasn't dropped her mucous plug yet, and she's not stargazing or getting up and laying down to get comfortable, so I don't need to bring her in just yet.

The very goofy buck in the photo (the one with horns in the pic) has been on loan since January. He musta got it on at some point with the ladies. Insert Barry White music here. I wasn't sure he had it in him, since he's kinda small and not so assertive. But obviously he's got what it takes to be a baby daddy.

Wish us luck! And say some prayers for easy deliveries if you are the praying kind. A couple of our does have never kidded before.

image

Shhhhhhh.

I just ordered one of these little beauties for the hostess of my Super Secret Summer Sewing Sircle.

I'd never seen one of them, because pie vents must be an English invention. Peace says I've watched enough English films for me to have run across one of these fru-fru kitchen gadgets. Somehow I've missed all the Jane Austin's pie baking scenes. This morning I found a photo of the blackbird pie vent in my very first Mary Jane's Farm magazine. The magazine is a treat for me in itself with all it's quaint layouts and informative articles.

Apparently the blackbird whistles with steam which has me positively smitten.

Warning- Pirate Cat Photo

This is Pooh Bear and her very own "cone of shame" empathizing with Patches. What a hoot! And doesn't he look great a few weeks after surgery.

I dreamed last night that I was anxious. I woke up with my brain spinning and my heart racing. That's no way to start a day. I'm considering that perhaps my dream let me know that I have some work to do on being kind to myself- just when I thought I had that part down. Honestly, it's something of a crisis of faith. A few weeks ago, I spent some time with people who inspire me,and I missed old working life, and I haven't held a weekly job for fifteen years now. I tell myself that parenting four children should be enough to make me feel like I'm accomplishing something important, but I find myself questioning just how well I'm doing even raising my sons and daughter. I do need to work on self criticism, eh?

When I ponder the words, "Be anxious for nothing", I realize I have a long way to go. "Nothing" is a big challenge when even my dreams are full of anxiety. This morning I'm concentrating on how worry never adds a moment to my life. In fact, worry just distracts from the beauty at hand- the lush green pastures surrounding me, the bright morning sun burning off the dew, the lovely zinnias popping up through the weeds in my gardens, the smile on my daughter's face beckoning me to have girly fun, the pregnant does baaing as they approach kidding time, the surly roosters chasing about the hens and one another.

So, how do I meet my need of being among passionate adults working for a cause when I've chosen a retreated lifestyle? I wish I knew.

image

So, what form will Loudon's fountain take now that the old one has been torn out? It's my small town's pride and joy.

Buck and I are thinking water sculptures. Buck says he expects Obama with water flowing from his hands. My money's on Mayor Inky Swiney, hands folded behind him, arched back, spewing water from his mouth. Any other guesses?

I've been waiting for three weeks for the other shoe to drop with Tater. I know it will, and I thought it would be today.

Unbeknownst to me, Peace began his morning by chewing out his brothers for eating the last of the cereal he wanted. Then he cleaned their clocks about doing their animal chores improperly. Wise One and Tater joined forces against Peace's tyranny by telling me Peace had fed the goats in dirty buckets. Peace insisted the bins were clean. Someone was lyin', and I was irritated. Instead of eating breakfast before carting the clan off to swim team, I needed to check the sanitation of goat bowls which turned out to be clean after all.

As a result, I prepared for the big battle by asking Tater to stay home from swim practice with Dad and think the morning through. I asked, "Do you think you are going to need to pitch a fit about staying home? Do you think you'll need to break something, because you feel angry? Tell me, besides cleaning your room, what you will do till I come home?"

Tater reply stunned me, "I'll be fine. No big deal. It's just one swim practice. I'm going to read the book I started after I get done with my room."

I gave a sigh of relief as I climbed out of my armor and took the others to practice. Tater's room was better by the time I got home.

In a way it is humorous. In other ways it's sad. I took my son with attachment issues, Tater to the doc for a well person visit. When the doctor would ask a question, Tater's answers were off sometimes. For example:

Doc: Do you drink milk everyday?
Tater: Yes!
Me: Ummmm. Tell the doctor the last time you drank milk, cause I haven't seen it.
Tater: I drink it everyday. I had some the day before our campout.
Me: That was five days ago, so do you really drink milk everyday?
Tater: Almost. I drink it when it's chocolate.
Me: When do we ever buy chocolate milk?
Tater: Dad buys it sometimes, but never you.
Me: I can't remember if it was Christmas when Dad bought chocolate milk once. And Doc, just so you know, when this guy was a baby, he was allergic to milk, so he never developed a taste for it. He tells me he doesn't like milk.
Doc: Well, he needs calcium and vitamin D from some source. How about orange just enriched with vitamin D?
Tater: I drink that all the time.

At which point I shut my mouth tightly and started my own inner dialogue to get back to what actually happens on planet earth, "We certainly don't buy orange juice all the time either, but this is gonna come across as weird if I keep up this nutty banter in front of the doctor. The physician just wants to be sure he's getting his vitamins in somewhere, and he eats enough good food for that to happen."

Later there was this question-

Doc: What's this scar on your belly?
Tater: It's a bruise from where a kid and I were playing rough at Scouts the other day.
Me: Honey, it's from that nasty infection you got this last year.
Tater: No, it isn't. I got it from Cade when...

Man, I do not understand why the simple truth doesn't work for my son. It's that crazy lying symptom, and I pray someday he'll find his way out of it.

I bulldozed my daughter's wreck of a room today for eleven hours. The result? One packed bag of trash. Two generous bags of toys. I love that she actually easily gives up toys on her own, because she knows she's moved on from them. Three stuffed bags of size six girl's winter clothing. Need 'em? My whole body aches from all the up and down. Heck, I even swept the ceiling. If you are Pooh Bear's friend, I'm giving fair warning, better come over quick, before she starts her next horrific mess, I mean, craft project. It won't last.

Pooh Bear is prancing and dancing about. She keeps kissing and thanking me. Apparently, it's been a long time since we've cleaned in there. Perhaps it was purged last the middle ages?

And just so you know, the carefully placed butterfly rug in the middle of the room hides the blue, yellow, and green permanent marker stains on the carpet. Not worry, there's all kinds of decoy spots here and there I tried unsuccessfully to scrub up to distract from the oddly placed winged rug.

Buck fueled my efforts with eggless flourless peanut butter cookies, which are yummy by the way.

Buck's job today involved grooming our poor unattended Great Pyr, Ripley. And as always, there is enough fur to make another dog if anyone would so desire.

Our neighbor asked if he could Bobcat our very long gravel driveway to the tune of sixty-five big bucks an hour. We jumped on it, because it's been a groovy road in all the wrong ways since all the spring rains.

Very productive day at the Vyne home. What have you done today?

Okay, with all this allergy stuff happnin' to my body I've had a major blessing from my friend, Lynk. She met with me for a few hours yesterday encouraging me from despair to the new journey I'm embarked upon with food. She positively loves to cook and explore new foods. I don't, but her inspiration moved me forward. She has her own crazy list of food allergies and is very creative about substitutions. She taught me how to look at a recipe with new eyes as she introduced me to agave, coconut milk, xantham, quinoa, and agar. Stuff I may have heard about but had no use for in the past. Looks like these will become my new buds now. The normal egg replacers include soy and simply won't work for me. And let me tell you, sisters and brothers, everything on earth that's pre-made has corn in some form hidden within. I'll be cooking from scratch and watching every ingredient like a father watches his daughter's first boyfriend.

Lynk also says she wants me to come over and we'll develop a recipe together, maybe not for bread, but for a cracker of some sort. It'll be so lovely to have something crunchy on queue. I miss bread like a sports nut's wife misses her husband during football season- always present, but just out of reach.
Lynk will also take me shopping in a health food grocery store to look for further options.

So, it's overwhelming and humbling to know a person who'll literally walk beside me on my unchartered path. Applause to Lynk- another new hero of mine.

p.s. Buck is making me flourless peanut butter cookies substituting homemade applesauce for eggs. Hope it works. I haven't had a cookie for months!

List of possible food allergies on my blog in case I lose the sheet my doc gave me yesterday:

egg white
egg yolk
wheat
corn
oats
cow's milk
rice
shrimp
almond
walnut
mushrooms
carrots
navy beans
green peas
sweet potato
white potato
cottonseed
flax seed
lettuce
celery
ginger
soybean
pineapple
lima bean
green olives
green peppers
squash
broccoli
watermelon
cashew nut
hazel nut
malt
cabbage
brazil nut

Doesn't look so bad once you get past the American diet infused with the milk, corn, wheat, soy, egg, rice, and potatoes. I can still have good old water, so life is good.

Our cat, Patches, is very annoyed. Two and a half weeks ago, he had his nasty blind eye removed due to circumstances too gross for blog readers to endure. Anyhow, the vet sewed the fur shut from temple to cheek and left him looking very much like an ugly cat pirate.

The stitches popped open in the middle, and Patches had be to re-sewn and kept overnight. Again. And then a third time. He's angry due to the Elizabethan collar he must parade around wearing. Humiliated in fact. He refuses eye contact and sulks. A friend mentioned that animals consider it "the cone of shame".

In the day home between stitches he gained an entire pound. Methinks he refuses to eat or drink at the mean ole' vet's office.

Patches is old as dirt but tough as nails. My prayer is that he'll make it through all this healing and dies a happy sudden death laying in his favorite spot- in the warm summer sun on the front sidewalk.

Hold on, folks. It's always a wild ride 'round here. I remember reading a post from Living with RAD about not scheduling anything for the week after school for Brenda's radlets, because the transition is difficult. I thought to myself, "Well, good. She knows and follows her children's needs." Here's what I should have thought, "Hmmmm. This wise woman has been parenting RAD kids for years. She knows what's around the corner, and I should take note and learn from her. Hell is gonna break loose here too the day school is over."

But I didn't.

I was caught unawares. Mostly, because my radish hasn't been to school in six years. He came home the Friday after school concluded, and wigged out for three days straight. He balked at any every day pleasantry and piled on insult to injury with every family member. He immediately went from thirteen to three when "the school's out" bell rang. At one point, he produced a screaming fit and kicked a hole in the dry wall in his room, because we simply asked him to go to bed.

And I, being naive, had made a zillion fun plans for the next day and the next week. Much to everyone's disappointment including my own, I started canceling plans (yet again) for Tater and myself knowing we'd taken ten giant steps backward for no apparent reason. Who wants to hang around a five foot four angry toddler?

Somewhere around Sunday, when the rest of my family returned from fun weekend plans sans Tater and I, the lights flew on inside my head about Brenda's post, and the puzzle pieces fell into place. I understood Tater's anger came from having to be away from his school friends for the long stretch of summer, and that he doesn't have the ability to compute the opportunities of swim team, trips to visit with old friends and family, football practice, sleeping in, biking, hiking, ice cream outings, and the like for the lazy days of summer. To Buck I explained all this and the fact that Tater probably wouldn't be ready for our big trip to out-of-town family get togethers in two days time. Buck literally cried and wished for a family "who could just do fun things together." At that point, there was not fun to be had with Tater- just arguments, disregard and disdain for parents and siblings alike. I couldn't imagine subjecting any of us to five hours trapped in a van with the raging bull, and much to Buck's chagrin, we constructed a new plan for Tater and I to stay home from the graduation gala and birthday parties altogether, and for Buck to take the others for fewer days. Buck became somber while I tried to stay positive for Buck's sake. Tater instantly sniffed the shift of events in the air and suddenly began to ask questions about packing. When we replied, "We'll let you know if and when we need you to do that." He retorted, "I'd hate to have Mom miss going on our trip because of me."

It's so true that words don't work with RAD, and these children can and do make connections themselves if we'll let them.

Then his behavior turned around on a dime. He went from complaining and demanding his every whim to "Can I help you do anything, Mom? What do you need Dad?" and "Though I'm missing my friends from school, I don't need to take it out on you guys" for the next the next three days. When we hit a bump on the day before our trip, I asked, "Do you think having your way is worth missing summer activities?", and he skipped merrily back to the yellow brick road of the Big Six. In fact, he's miraculously managed the Road to Oz for a week now on our trip and back home.

Man, I wish I had this all figured out. My crystal ball reads a cloudy future. It could go any way. However, when Brenda posts what to expect in the future, I'll be more ready to take it to heart.