Now, I have officially done it....

Welp, where do I begin.  The past week+ had been wild around here.  We have suffered through the fluey/cold that is going around.  I think I went 14 days straight with sick kids at home only to then come down with it myself the very day they were both back in school.  I love my kids, but holy crap, I don't deal that well with having no peace and quiet for days on end.  I couldn't even shovel poop without someone whining at me from the house, wrapped in blankets wanting more tea and honey or  just to whine or dribble on about Mineraft.  Who would have thought that the sheer desire to shovel 4 kinds of crap uninterrupted would be the stuff of daydreams.

As a celebratory move, once we were all healthy, I decided to treat myself to some new hens.  The 7 chicks are Ameracaunas and Cream Legbars, which once they start laying (in June!), will help create my rainbow egg basket by adding shades of blue and green eggs.  Here's a cute pic of the buggers.

Cream legbar girls

I was thinking this would be a good warm up for some baby love.  All this examining of goat rear ends I previously mentioned,  lead me to believe that my goats are most likely pregnant and in a couple of months, I'll have some cute kids to dote on.  And so, Monday last, my earnest research on goat pregnancy, supplies, immunizations, gestation times etc began.

Well, that research was started weeks too late.  Tuesday, on my mid-morning rounds I noticed a rather large wet spot in the goat area.  I believe I was muttering "oh no, oh no" under my breath as I approached, knowing it meant something was going wrong with someone and worried at what I might find.   I was so intent on trying to figure out what might cause a large wet spot like that, I failed to notice, right to the left of the large wet spot was Bluebell, my angora doe, and on either side of her were two white, wet moving lumps. Then they mewed the sweetest little high pitched sound you have EVER heard!  Upon the registration that my goat just had TWINS without me knowing or supervising or knowing for sure she was even pregnant, my response was as you might imagine.  I started jumping up and down screaming "Oh my God, Oh my God, What do I do, Holy Sh+t".  Repeatedly.  For minutes.  Many minutes. To no one, except the goats and chickens. Until my brain started to function again and I decided the next best course of action was to interrupt my good friend in the middle of her hair appointment only to start yelling the same obsenities into her ear. She told me what to do (um, breathe?) and assured me that this happens everyday and everyone was fine and to see if I just had girls or boys!!!  Luckily, I was meeting this friend for lunch a few hours later and she promised to help me with supplies, come check out the little blobs and to ply me with margaritas.  I did say she was a good friend.

Left baby has yet to try and stand, probably 30 minutes old or less.

Two days old

Now, looking back, this seems kind of funny, and a natural process that happens everyday, yes, that is true.  But few things in my recent past have traumatized me so much.  Seriously.  I'm still not sure I'm over the drama almost a week later.  I have been in agriculture for 23 years, but there is little guilt and certainly not the same level of concern when you are tending plants.  Even when you have found a one of a kind flower that you are responsible for tending and bringing to market, there is pressure and stress, yes, but not like this. Chosing to bring life into this world and having the responsibility of supporting a small family with which you cannot communicate and know little about is kind of freaking me out.   I haven't fully digested my thoughts on all of this yet, I'm sure that will be the subject of a future blog post.  But in basic terms, this birth is symbolic of the trajectory of a dream.  Every other decsion along this path had secondary reasons that were more important and certainly more justifiable than following my hairbrained, halfcocked dream.  There is nothing BAD about moving your kids to acreage, a better school, and surrounding them with the natural environment.  There is nothing BAD about exposing them to where their food comes from, how to care for different types of animals and teaching them responsibility through animal care and farm work.  A good friend of mine kind of nailed it.  She is also a plant farmer and when she told her boys who are similar in age to my kids, their response was to BEG her for animals that they don't fix so they can have babies around.  There you have it, this is my first animal birthing experience and now I am responsible for deciding the lifes path of these two cute little angora bucklings. Gulp.

Introducing, Hercules and Billy McLarney of Ourstillunnamed Farm.  Date of birth, February 12, 2013.

Billy's on the left with the one black curl

First favorite day of 2013

Can you guess what this might be???  Don't ponder too long, my artwork is, well, my artwork.  I'll reveal in a bit, don't worry.  It has to do with one of my three favorite days of the year, the first of which occurred this past week.

As long as I can remember, I have believed in self improvement and practiced it regularly.  When I was younger it was things like trying to master a new skill in soccer or trying to overcome jealousy when a grade school friend spent time with another friend.  Once I hit college, which was my first real chance to be myself and self discover, the opportunities were endless.  But perhaps the biggest, most meaningful opportunity I have been blessed with in these 41+ years to really examine every thought, action and moment I create began at 9:43pm Saturday night, October 11, 2003.  The minute I gave birth to my first child.

I  had always wanted to have a family, initially for the same reasons most people do, because it's what you do when you are grown up and married and financially stable.  It took us nearly 4 years to get pregnant and carry to term which gave Tim and I plenty of time to think about the real reasons we were doing this.  For me, it came down to life's experience.  I wanted the opportunity to teach, to share, to experience what it was like to create life and nurture and guide that life into adulthood.  I wanted to experience what I had heard was a love like no other.  And lastly, when I leave this world behind, I wanted to leave in my place, a person that is better than me.  Not the first female President, not a Nobel Prize winner, a whole person who is kinder, more well rounded, a person capable of doing more good in the world than I, no matter how small the gesture.  This to me, in many ways, is how I will judge the success of my life. (should note at this point that any serial killer I may have given birth to will be considered Mr. Farm Hands contribution, not mine.)

So, in order to accomplish this, self improvement happens daily, if not hourly at times.  In parenting, you can't predict, EVER, when the next teaching moment will present itself.  This is what I have learned from 9 years of experience.  What I knew at 9:44pm that Saturday night, is that love like no other I mentioned before is the greatest motivator I will probably ever encounter.  That transformation happened immediately.  That very minute was the start of what internally I think of as the New Me.

That change was the best thing that has ever happened to me.  It has allowed me to live a fuller, happier life, to confront issues and flaws that I had happily been living with and ignoring for years.  It pushed me to finally take that final step in becoming the person I wanted to be.  And for that reason, the three days that mean the most to me in the calendar of 365 are my children's birthdays and of course, Mother's Day.

G experimenting with a birthday present

Now, back on track.  My Boy turned 8 last week.  Eight.Years.Old.  He looks like such a big kid and he himself has made so many changes this past year.  I am so proud of him.  He is a sensitive, old soul that feels deeply and in the eighth year of his life has made tremendous strides in learning how to control his emotions and not take life so seriously.  Yesterday we had 10 boys here, at our house, to celebrate.  And while I adore the actual anniversary day of my childrens' birth, I actually detest  throwing birthday parties.  They stress me out like not many events can.  I don't like the type of entertaining where there is a lot of planning or anything formal.  Having a bunch of kids at my house means a bunch of parents too, and I tend to be a bit shy (or antisocial, depending on who and when you ask).  Plus, I have enough problems keeping my own wild, creative kids under control...they don't need help or an audience.  Anyway, I digress.  I acquiesced this year and let G have a party here since we are in a new school, a new house and he really wanted to show off his farm.  Having just completed all 8 of the Harry Potter movies over holiday break, it was to have a HP theme.  You now know what the above is, huh!!  In the past I have referred to myself as the Ghetto Martha Stewart, but more accurately, I am probably the Slacker version. Turns out, we didn't even have to play 'Pin the Scar on Harry Potter' because all that the 10 boys needed were chopstick wands, a list of spells and 3+ acres.  It was fun watching and listening to them.  One boy found two eggs in the chicken coop and was beyond amazed and excited!  Once I told him he could save them and take those very eggs home he freaked out, putting them in the kitchen for safe keeping, but checking on them about every 20 minutes to make sure they were still there.

One of the party favors, note the excellence in cutting and stapling

The party was worth the hassle, I wasn't embarrassed with my art work, and most importantly, G had a blast.  I think I am very lucky that these 3 days I cherish so much are spread throughout the year.  It never allows me to get very far away from what I love or forget to appreciate each moment as it happens.