Baby chicks are so noisy!

One of our barred Plymouth Rock hens died in the heat, so my husband and I decided it might be a good idea to go in search of a variety who might weather the heat a little better. The chicken farmer out at Bageniece Farms, the absolute master of so many kinds of foul, recommended Buff Orpington. He described their feathers as fluffier, rather than insulating like the Plymouth Rock. The bird gets pretty big and meaty-- most of his are ten pounds when full grown!

We picked up three chicks. They're a week old now, but just as cute as if they were a day old. And... not as needy. At $3 a pop, they make for excellent entertainment. Toby wants to squeeze one SO BAD! I have to show him how to put out his finger to pet them, repeating the pet-mantra, "Gentle, gentle." It's three of them, because I'm hoping that's enough to create a chicken solidarity party against the Plymouth Rocks, in case somebody wants to pick on somebody for being different! Nu-uh. Until they're bigger, we're keeping them in the house in a cat carrier, which might as well be the size of a bowling alley to them.

I don't have any chick feeding or watering equipment, so I just put some chick starter scratch in a plastic lid and change out the small puddle of water I'm keeping in the base to a butter dish... oh, every hour. They foul it so fast, but fortunately it's not even a jigger of water. No big deal.

---
The baby goats braved another long car ride out to see the country vet. Since we live an hour away, he wouldn't make a house call even if we wanted it. No trouble; they went in the trunk of our car on some blankets. To keep them cool, we'd pull down a seat from time to time and fan some of the cool AC into the trunk. They seemed happy enough. I'm proud of them for holding their urine all the way there and all the way back! For how long my buckling stood there peeing afterward, I KNOW he was holding it.

So. Clementine, my future dairy mama, weighed in at seven (!) little pounds. Her brother Meriwether weighed in at 13 lb. What a heavy weight, wow. Still, the vet says he wants to wait three weeks until Meriwether is a bit more mature before the castration. I was disappointed, because I wanted to get it all over with in one day.

We got the nanny berries tested, too, to see what's in these kids. Coccidiosis and a few others, so they're on medicines for those. Fortunately, none of the caprine parasites are transmissible to humans, according to the vet. They're species specific. I asked the vet a number of times, "Could they have anything which could be a problem for the baby?" No, he told me, and few most pathogens wouldn't even bother a healthy child's system-- it would strengthen the child. This is exactly what I believe.

Aside from that, I considered selling my car today to pay for the goat fence. It's my old car that I bought with my own saved-up money during college. It was $1000, a 1995 Buick Park Avenue. Maybe I could get that much and finance part of the fence. Then my husband could use what we would have had to save on a ring flash, I don't know.

I wish my project/hobby wasn't so expensive. It isn't that it hasn't paid dividends already in produce and eggs, but... Alas, it will be many more eggs down the line before I make back more than about $20. The chickens are nearly on laying strike because of the heat, too. In the end, I decided I should keep the car. I never know when some emergency could come while my husband is at work, and I'd need to drive to the emergency room. There certainly aren't any cabs around here! Buick is here to stay, it seems. I'll just have to keep on saving for the fence. Hopefully I'll have enough by the end of August to tell the builder to come back and get started.
---

My husband's grandmother is in the hospital now, in the ICU. She has double-lung pneumonia and is 81. Blood clots in the lungs. We're praying she gets better, and soon. Yesterday she went on an IV because she hadn't eaten in three days and is in a great deal of pain. Please get better, we love you too much to let you go so soon. We want you to see Toby get bigger. We need you here for your husband, because it would break his heart to spend even one day without you. We're cheering for you.

Our Suburban Farm: One Day

"PROJECT PEQUENO FAMILY FARM"
Pequeno is Spanish for tiny
Gradually, I wish to expand the capacity of our ordinary suburban lot to include...

• Eggs: Flock of layer hens to total 5-10.


• Eggs and Meat: Flock of quail in movable avian tractor.


• Meat: Good line of meat rabbits in hutches in the shade.


• Dairy and Meat: Nigerian Dwarf/Pygmy herd of 1-2 does and a wethered companion in rotating pens for hygeine; offspring beyond capacity raised to adulthood for meat.


• Fish: Above ground pool for farm-raised tilapia; possibility of koi barrels.


• Honey: Small-scale bee hives.


• Fruits and Vegetables: Potager kitchen garden, fruit and nut trees, fruit-yielding shrubs, herb and medicinal plant beds, berry patches in undergrowth shade, and front yard square foot garden plots.


• Beneficial wild birds and insects: Attracted by flowering drought tolerant native plantings and wildflower beds, in addition to specific structures, e.g., bluebird house, bat house, feeders and bird baths


• Fodder: Scrub gathered from native trees and easement behind property to supplement goat diet.


• Water: Rainwater collection for non-potable water; possibility of having a well dug for potable water, finances permitting.


• Fertilizer: Composted animal wastes and plant residues


• Protection: Our lovable St. Bernard!

Bath Time

All too extraordinary

My friend Marco was telling me about his business plans. They are complex and international, calling on his skills in speaking Spanish, English, and Cantonese. He asked me, "What are your dreams?"

A line from a song by The Violet Archers plays in my mind nearly every day. "The simple life's no mystery, Confusion lies without."

I answered, without hesitating, "The simple life." He listened patiently, as is Marco's habit, as I described what that means to me. It means living out my vocation as a wife and mother, caring for my family the best I can. It means experimenting with different projects which will help me to do that better, and it means reading to discover new ideas, reflecting, and writing from time to time. I have to do all of this in the light of my faith, too. Where else would I get the strength to do these things?

Whether it was foolish or not for my husband to volunteer to take my evicted grandfather into our home, I cannot answer. I am angry at anyone who suggests it, because I feel it is not their right. It has been hard, but there are only seven more weeks until he will move into my parents' house. I have to believe that God has made this possible and that the trial of it has a purpose.

Mid April, I was the one who discovered the letter on my grandfather's door at the assisted living: two week's notice. Two weeks? What do you do, let your 89 year old grandfather with dementia become homeless in the mean time? People who don't know the situation suggest a nursing home. Well, Grandfather is terrified of strangers, not to mention violent on occasion, and he would live the rest of his life strapped to a bed. I wouldn't want it to happen to me, and I am proud we didn't let it happen. I am proud we took Grandfather in.

The consolations I prayed for have come. After such a prolonged spiritual drought where I just haven't felt the presence of God, and my prayers have felt perfunctory, I didn't know when it would end. Today. I had just changed and dressed my Grandfather for bed, and he was full from a dinner I had cooked him. He was happy and laying down to go to sleep. I put my hand on his shoulder and asked him, "Grandfather, do you know I love you? And that I will ALWAYS love you?"

He smiled, oh, how he smiled. In his suffering, thin frame, for a moment I saw-- Can I say it? And how? I saw the love of God. Let me cherish the memory always.

This simple life which I crave is the repetition of seasons and years until I grow old and kiss my family goodbye. I want to become good and holy, and I hope I live a long life, because Lord knows I need the time for the ways I need to grow and change! I want to grow plants that will feed my family, and I want to take care of healthy, happy animals who will feed us, too. My dream is to support my husband and make him happy and holy. I'll educate our children to be thinking men and women who will seek Truth. I know, I won't be getting any accolades or even a spot in the local history of my town, perhaps bound with a hole punch and a plastic spine. It's all too normal.

Normal? But to me, it would be all too extraordinary.

Goats to join out herd

"Simple things are waiting
For the one who wants it so
You bet your bottom dollar
It'll cost less than you know"
-The Violet Archers


We drove for two hours. It was a special farm. I had seen the goats online, and they looked happier than others, but more than that, the farmer seemed like she actually cared about where they were going. When I asked about a doeling, Lora wanted to make sure I would have another goat to keep her company. She spent so much time talking with me about their care that I was certain these animals were well-cared for.

...As opposed to the backyard goat breeding-mill I ran across out on my first country trip for goats.

The land gets hilly if you drive a few hours south of Dallas. It's the edge of what we all call 'the hill country'. There's even a small mountain made of chalk rock, sat straight in the middle of the flattest land you've ever seen, stretching out broadly to the end of the earth. It's called Chalk Mountain. We were in awe and vowed to come back again to see the dinosaur skeletons and archeological park in nearby Glen Rose.

We picked two little kids who were stuck together like glue. A little doeling and a buckling, which would be wethered (castrated) as soon as possible. They were siblings, and they seemed to bring a great deal of comfort to each other. As recommended in my book "Raising Dairy Goats the Modern Way", we put them in the trunk! It was surprisingly cool in there, about 80 degrees, and they slept on the way home. I checked on them, too.

It's true: Goat poop looks like rabbit or deer poop. People call it 'nanny berries' because it's like firm beads. They didn't do it in the car, whew.

Once home, we cut holes in disposable diapers-- for their tails!-- slapped 'm on the kids, and let the little cuties bound around the kitchen. They bleat so much when they get separated!

We named the Meriwether and Clementine, and I also built them a small cedar house for shade until I can finish building the rest of their accommodations. I have so many plans, but it all requires money.

What would I do if I didn't always have some little project. Well, this is a big project. We will be self-sufficient for our food as far as is possible. Each year I have a plan for which element we'll add to the mix. I haven't decided whether next year will be meat rabbits or the tilapia pool. Or just a great deal of edible landscaping and fruit trees. The sooner we plant the trees, the sooner we'll have fruit!

I am so very slow with all of this, though. I can only do it in the early morning when it is cool and when Grandfather is still asleep, or in the dusk after Toby is asleep again. Toby will only play with rocks or sticks or dirt for a few minutes, so if I am shoveling or building something, I must move quickly and take frequent pauses to make a face at Toby or play a little game with him. I have to remember that these projects are for the benefit of the entire family, and it's no good to neglect them while I go work on something. Slower is better.

All the same, I feel like I have accomplished a great deal this year. I've built the chicken coop and run, learned to care for chickens, and raised pullets to laying hens. I learned so much about edible gardening and organic plant care, but I need to learn more. I've planted a fig tree, a pear tree, and an apple tree, as well as the thriving north-side garden and the drought-tolerant butterfly garden out front. I made an annual bed around the lamp post. There's also the south-side vegetable garden which I prepared, planted, and is growing a few things.

I've had failures.
--The south-side garden is baked to a crisp. It receives far too much intense sun, and almost everything there is fainting by mid-day. The plants are too taxed in the 105 degree heat to produce any fruit or vegetables. (I think that's why the north-side plants have fared better in partial shade.)

--My apple tree seems to be very needy for water, and I suspect it is ill-suited to this climate, although I want me some apples all the same.

--My broccoli has never recovered from the caterpillar wars, and I should have done more.

--And, sadly and worst of all, we lost a hen today in the heat. One of our guests gave her too much watermelon yesterday, and it gave her diarrhea. Quick changes in diet can be very stressful to farm animals. She became dehydrated, and in the heat today, she died. I asked my husband if we wanted to pluck and eat her, and he looked like he wanted to cry! And *I* am the one who doesn't eat meat!

Yet, in spite of all of these failures, the accomplishments have been wonderful. So many fresh herbs, tomatoes, strawberries, and bush beans... Creamy-tan colored brown eggs, fresh each afternoon. I've built the fence to surround the backyard kitchen garden, and I'm still working on excavating for the paths. It's hard work, but I'm proud of myself. Oh, and composting! I have two giant barrels going, and I've used a great deal of it already.

These Nigerian Dwarf goats... They're cuties. I'm just making them tame now. Give me another eight months or so, and I'll get this Clementine bred to a fine buck and get her in milk. I'm already dreaming: milk, cheese, cottage cheese, yogurt, ice cream. She'll produce half a gallon a day, and goat milk produced in the absence of a buck will taste just like that from any Jersey cow. Impeccable. Go Clementine, you can do it! And her brother Meriwether will continue to be an excellent companion and gentle pet.

I just have to get busy before I get pregnant and am too tired! Sometimes I forget what it was like. Well, that's the pattern of life.

Spiritual things

I haven't been feeling spiritual for some time now. It's a drought.

Sometimes, I can look out the window and just see a plant and be overwhelmed by the feeling of God's presence and the beauty of his earth. I would be moved to the point of tears looking at a crepe myrtle in full blossom. Watching my little boy, I would be in awe at the splendor of creation and the miracle of this little life entrusted to me.

Lately, however, I just haven't had those feelings. It is a good thing that my faith is not centered on feelings. Feelings are so ephemeral. They come, they go. They are like the rain: You just stand under them and you get covered from head to toe.

If I may extend my weather metaphor, the ground is dry. I don't 'feel' anything. Intellectually, I know God is real. I know of the sorrow of His Passion, and I know of the courage and valor of the saints.

Sometimes I don't feel particularly loving to my husband, but that's who he is, and I love him anyway.

Ah, I'm rambling. I love you, God, and I give you all of me anyway. I'll serve you anyway. Thy will be done.

Writing therapy for a caregiver

I'm up late. Same night, but I can't sleep. I'm thinking about caregiving for my grandfather. I think caregiving has to be one of the hardest jobs there is. It's all day, every day, and nights. There is no vacation.

I have a terrible sense of guilt. I feel like... I'm not doing enough for him. I wish I could sit there and 'talk' with him, you know, listen to his incoherent speech and nod and say, 'Yes, Grandfather,' with all my love. I wish I could take him to the bathroom every three hours; I wish I could sing to him more. I wish, OH GOD! Sometimes I want to SCREAM at the top of my lungs. Let me get these feelings out, please.

Because I can't tell my husband when I've had a bad day. I can't tell him, because I have to support my husband. He's tired, and it would worry him. I don't even want to tell him if Grandfather chased us around the house, having a flashback about something evil his estranged wife did to him six years ago. Hallucination.

It's not a feeling of being trapped. It's being pulled in so many directions that there's very little 'me' standing there. Some nights, I'll stay up late on the computer after my husband is asleep, because it's scarce time that I just have to be 'me'. Maybe that's why I was so mad at my great-aunt Nell for accusing me of neglecting my baby and husband. I know I am worn thin. But I did not ask her to tell me that in a sharp, critical tone.

I didn't know anything about dementia when my grandfather moved in. But look. Of seven stages, grandfather is a six:

"VI. Severe cognitive decline: It is the next to the last stage and is also called moderately severe or mid-stage of dementia with memory difficulties continuing to worsen, personality changes emerging substantially and the patients requiring a considerable amount of help for carrying out their day-to-day activities. The following symptoms are observed in the patients:

*The patient loses track of some of the most recent experiences, events and even their surroundings. The patient cannot recall personal history exactly, though she/he can recall her/his name perfectly. The patient can distinguish familiar faces from unfamiliar faces.
*The patient requires help to dress appropriately, since they tend to create errors such as wearing shoes on the wrong feet etc.,
*The patient experiences a disturbance in normal sleep/waking cycle.
*The patient would require the help for handling details of toileting such as flushing toilet, wiping and proper disposal of tissue paper.
*There are increasing episodes of urinary or fecal incontinence.
*Changes in behavior including suspicion and delusions such as suspecting the care giver as an impostor, hallucinations, repetitive behavior such as hand wringing etc.,
*The patient tends to wander and become lost."

Yep, that's him.

I am terrified when I look to see what is waiting in the next stage. He will not be able to sit, hold up his head, smile, or swallow. And, still, I can see the quiet advances toward that, although it ebbs away from time to time to show a small bit of improvement. Around Toby's birthday, maybe a week after that, my parents brought my grandfather out to the porch to watch my dad build Toby a playhouse. After a while, Grandfather's head started to hang over to his right, like he couldn't hold it up, like it was too heavy. After he woke up again the next day he was fine. How do my parents not take it more seriously that the man has days he can't hold up his own head?

Grandfather's hands have atrophied for movement, because he always keeps then in fists. His left hand, he can't even open it. It is hard to keep it clean, too, because he can't extend the fingers. His arms lack enough flexibility that it is difficult to get the shirt over his arms, and we use button-ups so we can just slip it over each arm without raising them.

I hope this isn't seen as complaining. I just feel the need to write it out. He talks at night, always talking to his Betty, that evil estranged wife who tried to kill him so many times. If I don't get there soon enough to change him or take him to the toilet, he just pulls off his pants and his underpants and wants to go around naked. I know, it isn't Grandfather; it's the dementia.

I made the mistake of putting a leather couch in his bedroom. He peed directly on it, while standing. Multiple, multiple times. Ugh, the leather absorbed... My father tried to clean it. I don't know. Urine, it gets everywhere. The hamper reeks of it. He peed on the tissue box, soaking it. There are urine pads on all of his stuff, but he pulls them off. He peed on my small stack of congratulations cards from when Toby was born. I cried to throw them away. He peed on my husband's old stuffed animals, cherished things. At that point we just laughed, though. Somewhere, you have to just realize that it is ridiculous to a point that you need a sense of humor.

Lord, I wish people didn't get sick with dementia. Why do you want that? I have to trust you. It's so terrible, though. Grandfather was so proud, so noble. He'd kill himself with humiliation if he knew how he is now. It's hard for me too, God. I know I have to get my strength from you, but sometimes I want to give up. Please give me the strength to keep trying. It's only seven more weeks. That will go by very quickly. Instead, Lord, help me to cherish this last bit of time with Grandfather. Please give me a heart of compassion. Sometimes I turn away from the human reality of suffering in its ugliness, but help me to look it in the face and see your face in him. In Jesus' Name.

Jesus said,
"For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me. Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me."
Matthew 25:35-36, 40

Baby is Now a Toddler.

My little baby is growing up. He fed himself with a spoon a day or two ago. He clapped. He walks. He dances. He hides and pops out, grinning.

I'm crying. It's a conflicting joy, isn't it? I am so amazed at the things he can do. I take pleasure in his confidence and learning. He says, "Kitty!" whenever he sees a cat, inside or outside. Other than Da-da, it's his first word. All the same, I sometimes long to feel his baby heels on the inside of my belly, kicking me, rolling and turning in his dark, watery room. The happiest moment of my life was when my husband held him up and laid Toby's body across my chest. Watching Toby grow up makes me feel far away from that. It frightens me.

What joys await? I do not know. If I think about that, I will be happier. I want him to say Mama. I want him to answer back that he loves me, too. That will be a consolation, I am sure.

Oh, he looked so handsome in his highchair this evening. It was right next to my husband, and while my husband and I conversed, Toby would answer in his babble sentences. The right intonation, wrong words! Carefully, he would pop a bite of cantaloupe into his mouth right after each expression. So mature, this little man!

Is this how you find a preschooler whose mother calls him "my little baby"? I think I might want to call Toby my little baby even when he is grown. He will always. be. that. baby.

I am so glad he is still nursing. All night long, he can nurse whenever he wakes, and it rarely even stirs me, although I am aware of his position constantly. He nurses four to six times during the day. Sometimes he jokes with me then, when he's curled in my elbow, laying across my lap like that. He'll wink at me, and I can tell his eyes are smiling. Or, I'll make a face at him... It's wonderful, nursing a toddler. I am glad to know, too, that his nutritional needs are being satisfied better than I could any other way. Also, fertility is still suppressed.

My husband and I were thinking, Toby would probably be very jealous of another little baby in my arms when he would rather I carry him. I am glad that my body has known that it isn't time just quite yet. We're waiting and trying. We're offering what we can into the equation where love yields life.

I love my husband so much. He bought be a pomegranate bush today, too.

Tired of caregiving

I'm tired. My husband and I got to the point that we sent a written letter giving my parents three weeks notice to find a new place for my grandfather to live. We gave them the reason that caring for him was not compatible with our family. We expected yelling or anger, but they just looked crushed. There is no where else in the world for him, they said. His violence, which they politely call combativeness, would cause him to be strapped down in any nursing home. The dementia care places within driving distance are dismal, at best, and you can't even get a private room. They wouldn't walk him to the bathroom at intervals like we do, like you do for a training child. They would just let him soil wherever he was. We want more dignity for him.

All the same, this is draining me. It is straining my marriage. My husband is so patient to put up with me trying to nurse the baby to sleep for an hour and a half, while the burden of feeding and toileting Grandfather falls on HIS shoulders. Sigh. How did we get into this arrangement? I know how, we offered the room. Naively. And now we can't get out of it... What if Grandfather lives another 17 years? I don't know when God will call him.

Well, we gave the letter to my parents, and they said no. How? The said no because they will need at least until the end of August to get their house ready for inspection by the state. They have to move walls, build a bathroom downstairs from scratch, and de-clutter and excavate their messy, messy house... to find the floor. I won't even get into the state of their house, but ever since I was in middle school, maybe, my parents have become disorganized to the state of madness. It has gotten progressively worse. I do not know how they live in their own home, actually, except by an impressive capacity to ignore mounds of clutter. Enough.

We tried to be firm, but in the end, we had to be realistic. They SWORE they would be ready by the end of August, and my sister would also be gone at college by that point. It would all be neat and tidy. My father tells me, quite honestly, that they've been putting in 16 hours days just on their house, trying to get it ready for Grandfather. I know he is working hard.

But here's the thing. Last night, Grandfather banged on his door so many times the lock gave way, and he started roaming the house in the dark. Again, this is a man born in 1919 who has Alzheimer's-like Dementia. He is confused, and he doesn't know where he is, but he wants to break out. He's trying to open windows. He goes inside a closet and pours out the cat food... He puts cookies in the bag and puts that on his bed. He's furious, for some reason. I don't know. I have to lock the door to his bedroom at night! There's too much in the house which could hurt him, and imagine if he got out of the house and roamed the neighborhood. Not going to happen. So, I lock the door. And I lead him in his room and turn on the television every time I sense he is getting agitated, because then when he is violent he doesn't hurt me or Toby or my husband. It's no way to live. But this is JULY 4, and I can count down the days.

I got so angry when my great-aunt called to interrogate me about the care Grandfather is receiving. She is 88, I believe, and she knows nothing about our circumstances. All she knows is that I am 21 and that my husband is 22. "Is your husband out of college yet? You need to be taking care of him," she told me. MY HUSBAND, Ma'am, graduated with two degrees three years ago at the age of 20. Now please-- and I didn't tell her this, because I was trying to be polite and respectful-- stop talking to me like my sole duty in this life is to shine my husband's shoes before work. She was patronizing me, belittling me.

Excuse me; but. Like HELL am I going to go to the trouble for this hateful woman to come visit, for me to put her up and scrub my house top to bottom to please her. She said she wants to come visit her brother, but I don't think she actually cares about him, because she never calls and hasn't called him in a year? Two? So no, this is just to be critical of someone. I believe I will tell her that my grandfather is not accepting visitors at this time. The same is true for my hateful, lying uncle-- and I don't even want to get into that. I'll just say he would prefer that my grandfather be strapped down in a low-cost nursing home so that there would be more cash for him to inherit, and he doesn't mind pulling any underhanded trick to try to get what he wants.

So yes, I'm irritated. I love Grandfather, but as he has become more and more violent, he's had to spend more of his time alone in his room. Some days he is very happy and very nice, especially when he is with my father. That's why it would be so good if he could finally get into the house with them.

I'm sick of talking about it. How do I balance honoring my grandfather with my obligation to care for my husband and baby? I almost don't want to write any of this down so I can just forget it.

How I Ended up with Finches

(c) Birdtrek

I have two beautiful little finches. They are husband and wife, Atticus and Mrs. Finch. I caught them romancin' on Saturday. Finch gestation is 11-14 days, so we'll see if they're pregnant or just TTC, ha. Ever since Saturday, Atticus has spent every single minute either cuddling with Mrs. Finch or building a new nest in the corner of the cage. I gave him alfalfa hay to build with, cut into small pieces, and he is so discriminating! Yet, his nest looks like a mess. I'll try to give him some more diverse materials.

The little bird in the picture isn't Atticus, but it is a male zebra finch like ours. You can tell the males because they have bright red beaks, blushing orange cheeks (the male in the photo is slightly different, as he has black cheeks), and polka dotted tummies. The female is charming, too, but her beak is orange, and most of her body is just gray, excluding her cream colored belly.

I'm trying to get my husband to photograph the pair, but it is quite difficult inside the bars! He says he will actually have to use medium format to get an aperature wide enough for the depth of field to neglect the bars near the camera, focus on the birds, and blur the back bars. Good thing he has a medium format camera.

I picked this kind of bird over all the other options because I realized that (1) I am busy and (2) I am new to birds, excluding the chickens.

I also had to realize that the most lovable birds require hours of daily socialization: lovebirds, cockatiels, conures, parrots. Plus the cost of toys and vet visits, wow. Also, these kind of birds live so long, like 25, 50, 75 years!

So, with that, I had it narrowed down to parakeets (budgies), doves, a canary, or a finch. Parakeets are noisy and are only cool if you train them-- boo. My cage was only large enough for the miniature doves, the Diamond Doves, but would you believe they are $40 a piece at Petsmart? No, I don't think so. They only live five years anyway.

I thought seriously about a canary, or maybe a mating pair of canaries. I had visions of a charming yellow bird swinging in the middle of a black-barred cage like Tweety. Aw. Too bad they are about $70 from a private seller and over $100 in the pet store!

The finches were $16 a piece, and you don't have to play with them. They're fairly wild, but I like their little beeping and their particular kind of warbling song. As a low maintenance pet, they bring me a great deal of joy. I especially like watching them while Toby naps in my lap. It's a nice change when I'm stuck in one place but am tired of reading. They hop from perch to perch, converse, and build their little nest... And Atticus loves to look in the mirror!

If the romancin' keeps up, let's see how many finches I have my Christmas. Oh, did I mention I got the cage and accessories for $5 at a garage sale?

Happy 1st Birthday!

My little boy is one. How about that. He's been one for nearly a week, too.

The way he toddles across the living room floor... then thuds down on his bottom... never fails to bring a grin to both of our faces. Toby has such a bright smile. He lives in the present moment, each moment as an infinite now, and when he smiles-- oh, when he smiles, all there is in the world is happiness. Together, we make it through the day with him on my hip or in my lap. He babbles while he observes the world, too.

I don't know if it's my imagination, but I think he's been calling me 'Mama' lately. Three times in the past day. Could it be a coincidence? When he eats a bite of solids, he says, 'Guh'. Good? And when he sees a cat, sometimes he says, 'Key'. Kitty? My mother laughed and told me that Toby is asking the cat to bring him the keys.

Toby is very ticklish, especially to Daddy's beard. One of his favorite games is to hide on the other side of something big, and we will take turns peeking around and surprising each other. Toby also loves dropping a smaller thing into a larger thing, like a ball into a bowl, or a card into a bag. If it involves dropping, containers, and taking it back out again, he is GAME! What else does he love... Oh, he loves to play 'keep away from mama' by crawling to the furthest corner of the bed and giggling when I try to catch him.

His favorite toys are colored balls. Big, small... He hasn't really looked twice at stuffed animals yet, but if I give him a stainless steel bowl and a wooden spoon, look out. Noise and fun! OH, he sat with me to read yesterday!

Merri, if you're reading this, you will be happy to know that he was suddenly entranced by the book you gave him, 'Baby Animals'. He slaps the pictures of the ducklings and puppies and tries to poke them. I talked about the pictures as we went from page to page, and he has a newfound love of turning the cardboard pages.

Happy birthday, Toby!

Your granddaddy and grandmama brought ingredients to make you icecream on your birthday, and they also brought you homemade chocolate syrup, a swimming pool, a beach ball that sprayed water everywhere, and another kind of sprinkler. Oh, and a bubble machine! Then, Gramps and Nana brought you a tiny tractor filled with farm animals. From Mama and Daddy? A metal car for you to scoot around the living room!

Happy Birthday, little one. 05/27.

Another difficult day

I've been reading a number of books on dementia. It is startling how little I knew about the disease when we decided to take Grandfather in.

When Grandfather has a good day, it is a very good day. He'll finish sentences with familiar phrases, too. For example, when I say, 'Mm, snug as a bug in a... in a...,' he will finish the sentence with a look of deep satisfaction. For a man who has had strokes and has limited language expression capacity (aphasia), this is great!

Last night he started singing an old song, too, a song he hasn't heard in sixty years.

But today was very difficult. It was like he was stuck in a 'loop' reliving one of the moments where Betty was abusing him. Betty, his estranged, clinically schizophrenic wife, did many small and cruel things to hurt him during the few years they were together, and aside from pushing him down stairs, suffocating him with a pillow (the hypoxia caused brain damage), mixing deadly drug cocktails, and trying to starve him by not allowing him to eat (120 lb - 6'10"?!)... aside from all of that, she cut him down as a person.

Today, Grandfather just kept reliving this one torturous moment where Betty was refusing to answer him. "Look, dear," he said, "why aren't you answering me? You're not crazy, you just think you're crazy. Please. Look," and at that, he would repeat the whole scene, not really noticing me as 'me'-- I was a stand-in for the physical body of his wife. Each cycle of the loop, he grew more and more frustrated, as well, until he was grabbing my arms and grabbing at Toby's arms. Grandfather clacked his teeth together and bared them, as if threatening to bite me. He tried to pull my arms to his mouth to bite me... Oh Grandfather, it makes us so sad.

Toby was crying in pain, as if he knew that Grandfather was trying to hurt us in the midst of this demented delirium.

Yesterday, when Grandfather was having another violent episode, he started punching the dog in the face. The dog did not like this and started to think of Grandfather as a threat... This 185 lb Saint Bernard started growling at my grandfather in a way that was downright scary. All we could do was give my grandfather medicine that has the side effect of making him sleep, and he slept for the entire day just to 'reset' the aggression.

I can tell all of this is taking a big toll on my parents. Today my father spent the entire day helping over here, taking care of my grandfather's feet and cleaning my grandfather's sensitive peri-areas. Daddy let me and Toby take a much needed nap, too, as Grandfather was up at three in the morning last night banging on the doors trying to get out.

When the chips are down... You do what you have to to take care of your family, but this is definitely a challenge.

We've noticed an upsurge in violent activity since the Viaticum was brought on Thursday. We wonder if there is a spiritual dimension, spiritual warfare.

The Honeymoon of Caregiving is OVER

I admit it! I wasn't being realistic. In the past three days, my husband and I have seriously struggled with whether we are called to be grandfather's caregivers.

Grandfather gets angry when he is confused. I was under the false impression that his anger would be completely abated if he received his medication properly. No, he still gets angry. He has tried to punch and kick at my husband twice, and he's yelled and lunged at the baby for crying. It chills me to remember him shouting, "Why don't you SHUT UP!" at an eleven-month-old. Grandfather has kicked the dog on two occasions and even slapped me across the face when I tried to help pull up his pants. He'd had his medications on all of these occasions...

It's frustrating, because when we got into this caregiving relationship, we did not provide any 'out' if it wasn't working. So, my husband and I called my parents to firmly tell them that something needed to change.

By the end of the conversation, I had crumbled into a crying, stuttering mess, whimpering that I was just a kid, and now I don't know how I got so much on my plate. That was my darkest moment.

My mother continued to encourage me and asked me to try a different medication strength. 'Don't give up yet," she pleaded, and explained she would make arrangements to take over care of Grandfather if we absolutely needed it. Still, she and my father are here almost every other day helping, bringing food, helping to clean him, finagling the home-visits from doctors and nurses...

So, here we are continuing to answer the call. We truly feel called to help care for him, as far as we are able, but we must make it safe for Toby. Thus, the two reasons which would end our caregiving for Grandfather:
-If Grandfather ever, ever injured Toby, or,
-When our next child is born/ challenges being pregnant and overseeing all of this.

Fighting

Well, that aggression that gave Grandfather so much trouble the past few years has raised its head again. Yesterday, in the chaos of helping Leonor (Spanish speaking only) call the jail to try to find her derelict son, Grandfather got testy and wandered out of the bathroom with his pants half off. Here I am, Toby crying on one arm, the jail talking to me on the phone crunched between my chin and shoulder, and Grandfather is about to trip on his pants!

I'm trying to get him to stop, and Leonor is speaking to me a million miles a minute in Spanish, and her nine year old son is wandering around the house trying to help and only creating more chaos-- so I'm trying to pull the pants up Grandfather's leg-- and he slaps me! He didn't *want* me to pull his pants up. I don't know what confused idea he did have that made him want them around his ankles. Yet it made him frustrated.

The moment of chaos ended soon, though, because Leonor grabbed Toby to go play in the living room, and I could help Grandfather regain his composure... and get a second dose of his mood meds!

Well, he had another blow-up today. It was nearly out of the blue, too, although we could recognize some subtle causes in retrospect. I took the baby off to go to bed, and my grandfather was alone with my husband. For some reason, out of the blue, Grandfather decides that he needs to punch my husband in the face. Oh boy! So my husband is restraining my grandfather, trying to calm him down, and all I can think of is to get Toby out of the room. I should have grabbed his sedative cream, but I think it was instinct. Eventually, Grandfather did calm down, but only after trying to kick out my husband's knees. Where did Grandfather find all of that strength?

Well, my husband is NOT pleased by all of this, to be sure. He wants to know our home will be a safe place for everyone. Not a crazy demand!

I spoke to my mother, and she is sure than an adjustment to the medications which help regulate his mood will be the answer. That... and giving grandfather and early bedtime. Very early, like winding down in bed at 4 pm and asleep by 5. That way, Grandfather can wake up very early in the morning, like at 6 or 7 am (old folks sleep longer) and be asleep by the time my husband is home from work. Less chaos.

I think that may work.

As I was putting Grandfather to sleep tonight, I started to cry when he told me he loved me. I do love you too, Grandfather, but getting angry is getting you into trouble. Please be happy for us, so that we can take care of you and have you here. You must be happy for your own survival.

Is this the same man?

When you bring an old man into your house on a wheelchair, you don't usually expect him to be walking in less that two weeks. Yet, not only is Grandfather walking from one end of the house to the other, but today he asked to go on a walk outside. The steps made me nervous, but he climbed up and down with only a small strain of effort. I grinned ear to ear as we shuffled a few laps across the length of the property. We stayed at our house, in case he became suddenly tired, but the lovely view of red, yellow, and orange blossoming nasturtiums seemed to invigorate him each time we passed.

He nearly rolled out of his chair laughing yesterday when I left him, momentarily, on the back porch with baby Toby, who is now nearly a year old. Toby was toddling from chair to chair, not quite walking, but taking steps holding on to whatever could scaffold him up. Grandfather was still trying to talk to me, and I called back to him, "Grandfather, what's that you say?"

I could hear him starting to chuckle harder and harder, and I wandered back out to the porch to hear what was so funny. He answered, "That little baby just asked me, 'Grandfather, what's that you say?' Now, that little boy talks big!" According to Grandfather, those were Toby's first words, and I certainly don't mind if it goes down in the record book just like that.

It's good to see Grandfather noticing, say, a bowlfull of freshly cut watermelon slices and reaching for some. He was so near death, it seemed, and now he's pouring himself another healthy, icy smoothie. It sounds like a small thing to pick up a pitcher, but for us, he might as well have swum the English Channel.

We're all proud. Perhaps as proud as he is of Toby for... 'speaking' full sentences!

The way he says, "You make me happeh."

My first day with a housekeeper. She's my neighbor and friend, and Leonor jumped on the idea of just crossing the street to do work for cash. I hope hiring her will make us closer, in some way. There's an unusual kind of intimacy in seeing someone's private messes. I never let anyone see the house when it's messy, and I won't let it get bad, of course, but she'll see a very human side of me that few people do-- the side that says, "I need help! I can't do this alone!"

No, she spent six hours today working speedily. She did things I hadn't realized I even needed to do, like fluffing the pillows or sorting dirty laundry by its owner to speed the sorting later. Smart. I don't think I've ever scrubbed the baseboards or wall tiles in the bathroom since we've moved here. Embarassing? Maybe. Maybe I was just pregnant, in college, and working two jobs. Or, overwhelmed with a newborn. Stuff creeps up on you like that!

So now the baseboards have finally ended their state of neglect. I still have no clue how she washed the sink full of dishes so quickly. They're immaculate, too. Leonor is coming back tomorrow morning to fold the laundry she washed today.

Yet, I still have the overpowering sense that I need to justify hiring her. It's too much to cook the meals and take care of grandfather and the baby and clean... all the while giving my husband SOMETHING like attention and support. But I don't have to justify it. We have the money, and I need the help. I'll give myself a nervous breakdown if I try to do everything. No more nights of losing sleep to wash dishes!

And Grandfather is doing so well here. In one week, he has started walking again, with support. He crossed the span of the house today! He picks up his of silverware to eat with, and he can drink out of a glass or a mug with no assistance. Talk about progress! The conversation mostly consists of him repeating that he loves us and he is thankful for what we do. I do love him. It makes me so proud of him to see him regaining his continence again, telling me when he needs help to get to the bathroom on time. I help him to sit down, and he uses the bathroom there.

Two weeks ago, he couldn't even lift his head. Meals were liquid only, when some nurse's aide had time to jam a straw in his mouth to insist he drink the fourth Ensure shake of the day. He was always in bed, and they rarely even dressed him other than a dirty undershirt and the Depends diapers. Robbed of his dignity, they left him in a dark room to stare at a persistently blabbering television set on old reruns of Hawaii Five-O and timelessly offensive episodes of Maury Povich. They didn't even wipe the sleep out of his eyes enough for him to open them. It was time to get him out of there.

You should see him now. He rides around the house in his wheelchair, talking about a mule he used to have, a mule named Grover Cleveland. What a sense of humor! When the house gets quiet and I don't have anything to say, I just look over at him, smile, and start to sing, "You Are My Sunshine". I adore the way his Mississippi drawl has him say, "You make me happeh."

Toby is always on my hip, and Grandfather notices him from time to time and remarks, "Well, look at that little bit of a boy. That's little ol' Tobeh, eh?" We all smile.

We put up pictures of my grandfather when he was a young man. They're in the middle of the living room for him to see. One day, some family member will come to take them away for their own inheritance, but for now, we'll enjoy the photos.

Growing in love

There was a breakthrough today. For the first time, Grandfather let me change him and change his clothes. It's a good thing, too, because no one else can help him! Up until this point, he has been to modest to be comfortable with a woman changing him.

He's eating well, making more jokes, and laughing so hard he throws his head back and turns red. It has been a wonderful day.

The family should have received the postcard saying Grandfather is here now. I feel like I am waiting for the storm. There are, after all, some people who would rather see Grandfather mistreated in a shoddy nursing home. 'Just put him away somewhere,' they say. They are angry with us for trying to do anything otherwise. He is happy here, though, and he will thrive.

My mother had the legal paperwork gone over by a lawyer to make sure it's all rock solid-- the power of attorney, the medical p.o.a., the revocation of the trust that had every cent going to his estranged, schizophrenic wife who tried to kill him... I know it's complicated. The good news is that the paperwork is all in order.

The bad news is that the only money he has left is in the form of a condominium in the suburbs. So much money, gone, gone in the stock market, but it's ok. We'll care for him all the same whether he can pay rent or not. As long as there is money left, I'm receiving some to alleviate the costs of paying sitters, housekeeping, and extra utility use-- and my time. If it weren't there, though, I promise I would care for him all the same.

Alright, baby is asleep, and I have to try to tidy up and get my husband's lunch ready for tomorrow. He'll be home from work soon.

Toby is blossoming, so close to being a toddler. He can climb a ladder in four seconds if you let him, and today he drank some baby yogurt out of a sippy cup. Before smashing it open on the floor, haha! We all laughed, including Grandfather.

We're so close to getting my husband's business started. We just need the website. I believe in him! He can do it, he is so talented. So knowledgeable. We just have to get out there and do it. Help us, Lord.

How is it that I am so happy? Why? Because I see so many avenues to try to get these things growing in me: patience, true generosity, self-sacrifice, humility, and love.

Seeing progress

At the assisted living, a few weeks before we took him home.

Time is precious, so I have to learn to be brief.

I think I will rely on journalling again to clarify all of my feelings and experiences as they occur.

The house feels alive. When it was just the two of us, there was the quiet feeling of expectation of what it might be like when these halls could be filled with other voices. I thought about all the empty places at our dining table. Then, I had imagined the seats eventually would be filled by little ones ranging in heights.

Instead of little ones, it is the broad spectrum of years in Toby and grandfather. Almost one year old; almost ninety.

Since we've had grandfather home, he has already improved. Ugh, he was overmedicated at the assisted living. They were always mixing up medicines, giving too much, or giving to little. He was either doped up beyond his needs, nearly drooling, or angry.

Here's the thing about dementia. You get confused. It makes you frustrated and scared. You react with anger. When he's angry, he gets hurt, because he'll try to hit or kick. That's how he broke his toe, and because of a broken toe, he can't walk, and because it takes forever to heal, now he has to wear diapers. See how that all dominoes?

He has medication to help, and boy does it help. In the right dose, it keeps him from getting frustrated in the first place. It doesn't knock him out. It makes him like the grandfather I remember as a little girl, the man who brought me dresses from Hawaii and told me stories about foxes on the plantation when he was a little boy.

I'm noticing an effect upon myself, though. The more I help him, the more I love him. I want to protect him from every bad thing in his life. I love him, oh how I love my grandfather. I will help him live long and happy.

I spoke to Leonor about housekeeping. She looked very pleased at $8 an hour that I could offer her, a few hours a week, every week. That is good, because I was worried it would not be enough.

Today he started getting his sense of humor back. The dog was barking so much to come up on the deck to play with us, and Grandfather looked at him and said, "You have two options, dog. Either be quiet or shut up." We all laughed so much! This is a man who has had a number of strokes and has trouble speaking, and he said all that.

Another time my husband came in to check on me-- I had been nurse-napping Toby on the couch in there-- and Grandfather hailed him, "What's that now?"
My husband answered quietly, "Oh, I'm just coming to check in on you."
"That's nice of you, thank you," my grandfather smiled, nodding back to sleep.

We're seeing progress. I truly believe we can get him walking again. If I keep cooking him good, healthy food and sharing our family life with him, well, who knows. I just like to see him eating out on the back deck, enjoying the evening.

I'm in the process of reading Mere Christianity right now. C. S. Lewis is very Thomistic, whether he wants to admit it or not. In Catholic news, we're trying to get the viaticum taken here, since I can't leave the house with grandfather alone to go to Mass and Confession. Who knows, maybe I'll be able to pay a sitter.

Grandfather's Home

We got him moved in today. Somehow, it took from morning until this very minute. Both my parents and my husband and I, we were all hauling, helping, or arranging furniture. One thing or another.

Before we sang him to sleep with "Beautiful Dreamer" and "Amazing Grace", all four of us stood around the bed praying the Our Father with him. I felt God's blessing, I believe.

In some ways, I am afraid that I will not be able to live up to this challenge. I'm scared the house will get terribly messy and not meet standards-- It's all irrational fear, because I will keep the house immaculate if I have to pay help. But those fears creep up on me, motivating me.

It is a kick to my pride as a housewife to think I will have to hire cleaning help, but with a baby and an elderly grandfather, I just don't see how wiping streak-free windows and polishing the wood floors is a good use of my time. I'll keep the big things clean enough, but I think I'll have someone come help with folding the laundry. If $50 buys six hours of cleaning, I'll take it.

I love my grandfather so much. My husband is good to him, too. Ah, and now we are a family of four.

Helping a noble man the world forgot.

I realize I'm not updating enough when I find myself only coming back with big news.

The headline, I don't have. The simplest was I can say it is... My grandfather is a very dignified man. Born on the old family farm in Mississippi, the oldest son. One of the first pilots. A captain in the air force, a WWII vet. Flew all around the world, became wealthy in a number of ventures. A man of old fashioned Southern-Baptist faith.

He is 89 now. He's had strokes. His clinically schizophrenic wife of six years or so left him last Thanksgiving. He has been diagnosed with cogagnosia, which means he can't understand all the cruel things she did, and it is a severe manifestation of a coping mechanism. He can't understand anything that would hurt him.

My grandfather received an eviction notice from the assisted living place, with two weeks notice. He has until the 30th to be gone. The reason-- his needs are too high for the place.

No one in the family can take him. He'd be headed for a miserably depressing Alzheimer and Dementia Care center. My husband asked if we could have Grandfather here.

I'm a stay-at-home mom. Toby is almost a toddler now, and we have three empty bedrooms. We talked to my parents about it, and it has been decided. Grandfather will come live with us, and he will have dignity again. No more rude nurses and incompetent aides. No more $5,000 a month care bills, all out of pocket, mind you. You have to have less than $20k in assets to get Medicare to pay for it. No more nurse pressuring us to get a DNR order, forgetting to give him his medicine, or telling us that he 'wasn't hungry' at meal time.

I am thankful for my husband's generosity. For a long time, I've had the dream of having an extended family all together, caring for old and young. I know my life's vocation is in family and in nurturing them... And you know what they say? Pro-life from cradle to grave. I can't just support one end of life and neglect those at the other end.

I hope I will be able to do it. It will be a challenge. Sometimes he gets angry out of frustration-- at inability to do or understand the things he was once capable of-- but he's on a medication that helps regulate his moods. There will be spoon-feeding, his diapers, his meals, and time talking with him, singing to him. My father will come to bathe him once a week, and my mother says she will come over and help with his laundry, the cooking, and help keep the home tidy for his visitors and for our sanity.

I think it will work. I know God loves my grandfather, and I know he will bless us in special and unexpected ways for taking this leap of faith to help a noble man the world seems to have forgotten. Please help us to do your work, Lord.

Child of Nature

After much prayer and consideration, big news

Warning. TMI below.

My husband and I sat down for a very important conversation. When my fetility finally returns in the next handful or weeks or months, do we want to try to conceive immediately? Or do we want to avoid conception until Toby is older?

The conversation came up because I was giving myself a refresher in all 494 pages of my natural family planning manual. It's thorough alright; this isn't your gramma's Calendar Rhythm! One of the recommendations under lactational infertility (from ecological breastfeeding, not cultural breastfeeding) is to start charting basal body temperature, cervical fluid, and internal observations after nine months postpartum. The reason-- after six months of amenorrhea (no period), it becomes more and more likely that the first postpatrum ovulation can preceed the first menstration. Therefore, I want to detect that return to fertility *before* ovulation occurs. Then, if we do conceive at a particular ovulation, I have a due date for the baby. It would become complex otherwise, because return of menstration may even be accompanied by a number of anovulatory cycles. I really want to know if I do ovulate and have a sustained thermal shift into pregnancy-- Otherwise, it's just a million ultrasounds and guesses based on fetal size.

Other than the nine month rule, I'm supposed to start charting again if there's a mucus patch. Ok, "mucus patch" sounds odd, but it means a number of days where cervical fluid is being produced and can be detected as a feeling of wetness or lubrication at the vulva. I attend to it because a mucus patch accompanies higher production of FSH and estrogen, usually leading up to ovulation, go figure. Even if I do get a mucus patch, though, the prolactin from ecological breastfeeding may continue to suppress the ovulation, or produce short luteal phases where an embryo won't survive. All this is incredible: It's God's plan for spacing babies.

Where I am:
Ten months postpartum, no period yet, and we're about 20 days into a mucus patch. All of it so far is the less-fertile type, consistent with the BIP (basic infertility pattern) from the Billings Ovulation Method, but we're on the look out for the more-fertile type. I contacted Sheila Kippley, the co-founder of The Couple to Couple League, who is now heading NFP International with her husband. I wanted help figuring out my chart, because the cervical observations all were pointing to maximum fertility, but there was no shift in basal body temperature indicating ovulation or increase to more-fertile cervical fluid, like EWCM. She was very helpful. She emphasized the importance of the temperature sign, since I'm getting some conflicting observations between cervical fluid and cervical ripeness. She also said that the fluid observations can be difficult to interpret with frequent intercourse-- We're on the every-other-day and not-in-the-morning rule-- so it's better to attend to the temperature sign here.

I should say... and I'm so nervous and excited to say it once and for all... that we are trying to have another baby! I mean, as soon as we are able, we would be happy to conceive again. Toby's ten months old, so he would be at least 20 months old. And that would be if we conceived tomorrow. I could manage a baby and a toddler, and it's advisable health-wise. Eee! So now we're officially TTC!

We're so premature in saying so, because there may be a number of weeks or months until we can. I'm getting ahead of myself. There's the fall back down to earth after that elation, because my fertility is not back yet. But-- I'm happy and hopeful that as soon as the Lord sees fit, we can bring another beautiful child into the world to nurture and educate and love.

I did have one reservation. I had to consider whether there were any serious reasons why to postpone another baby, and while I didn't have any, I thought of my friend, Toby's godmother. Her name is Bria. Bria is trying so hard to have a baby and has been since she and her husband got married nearly a year ago. I feel... unfair... trying to conceive our second when they haven't gotten a chance to have their first. I want to give her her own turn!

The amazing thing about it is that it was actually her input that helped us make the decision to try for another baby as soon as possible. When we were talking late after Toby's baptism, I laughed and asked if she thought I could handle Toby and another baby. "Absolutely!" was Bria's answer. I had been praying for an answer to that question, and I think she gave me my answer.

So, in the end, we decided to be open to God's plan for both our families. I pray we will both be blessed with big, happy, holy families. We'll see.

In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti

Do not resuscitate?!

The head nurse at my grandfather's nursing home tried to persuade me to get my parents to sign a DNR (do not resuscitate). She told me it is "cruel" to give the patients CPR. "It'll just break their ribs, and then they'll be connected to feeding tubes and all that. You need to get them to sign the DNR."

I was horrified. How dare she. We told her-- It is in his living will that he be given CPR and food and water. What basic care! How could she be to the point that she doesn't believe someone who can talk and eat and walk shouldn't receive air or nourishment, the most basic of care. She was angry.

You cannot qualify for hospice care under Medicare until you sign a DNR. In my opinion, that's pretty evil.

I went back to his room and cried. Then Grandfather saw me and Toby, perked up, and said, "Hello there," in that familiar Mississippi drawl. He's in a stage of life beyond conversation, so I sing with him. He joins in the refrain:

'Glory, glory, Hallelujah..."

Tortilla Lessons

Leonor gave me a lesson in making sopas, tortillas, and gorditas. I think I can do it on my own now! I can't express how exciting this is to me. Simple pleasures. I'd like to buy a press to help them be as perfect as Leonor's. Ah, my hands smell like harina de maiz.

Thanks to Leonor, I can now make my own refried beans! Silly me for taking this long to notice that she keeps a DRUM of dry pintos in her kitchen for this very purpose.

I found a way to make that yogurt using a crock pot. Maybe I'll try it next week.

In other news, Toby has learned how to remove his own diaper; this is a severe downside to velcro closures! It's getting warm enough for him to bare-bottom around some clean wood floors, so it's no problem.

There's a nasty little dog in the neighborhood who is opening other people's gates and letting their dogs out. He let out Charlemagne, but one of my neighbors came and let us know... We chased Charlemagne down a block away, sniffing someone's tree stump. He's safe at home now, thank goodness. I need to thank her with some good cookies.

Baby just bit my big toe, which required a full mouth chomp. That's my cue to go!

First success: making tortilla chips.
Next success: hoping to make yogurt, much more complicated however.

Started the Spiritual Exercises today for upcoming Lent.

Getting the grocery budget down.

We just can't buy prepared foods if we want the organic, quality groceries.

We made a list of things we'll start making ourselves FOREVER hereafter:
refried beans
burritos
bread
pizza crust
croutons
cornbread
biscuits
granola
corn chips
salsa
tortillas
taco shells
spaghetti sauce
cookies and sweets
sandwich meat
yogurt
cookies and sweets
... and all the instant and prepared vegetarian/organic meals are out.

Grocery budget for the month is now down to about $300, with everything organic except the meats. Whew. We've added some more expensive items to the list, like flax seeds, more wheat germ, brown rice protein, domestic soy flour, and the seeds and nuts necessary for granola. But, since we're eating less meat, we need balanced sources of plant protein.

If I didn't have the baby around here, I would be a real domestic goddess, but... I am so slow, and I have to stop every two hours to help him nap, and I stay with him, reading or praying. When I want to wash dishes, he may not want me to! I may have an hour of cleaning, but with carrying him along, that one hour is now six. It is a dedication of love to commit to making all of this myself.

All for love, my dears.

I love it when Toby's face is green with avocado, like the Wicked Witch. He does love avocado.

Eck-citing Veggie Burgers

Makes 6

Steam:
2 T finely chopped carrot
2 T finely grated potato
2 T whole kernel white corn
Mash:
1/2 c cooked beans, preferably seasoned by slow cooking with celery, shallots, and garlic; if unavailable, canned may be substituted.
1/2 c brown rice
In a medium bowl, stir steamed veggies in with mashed rice and beans. Add 1 egg yolk* and 1 T wheat germ.
Shape patties and pan cook in 1 T olive oil, about 3 minutes each side.

Mix 1/4 c plain yoghurt with 2 t dijon mustard to make a condiment. Serve 6 small whole grain rolls with a handfull of spinach leaves and a few slices of tomato, preferably "beefsteak" variety.


*If you're baking buns the same day beforehand, use the egg white to glaze the buns the last 5 minutes of baking, and save the yolk for veggie patties.

Eck-citing Complete Protein Oh-mega Granola

Preheat oven to 300F.
On the range in a saucepan, low, warm:
1 c honey
1 1/2 c blackstrap molasses
2 c olive oil
While slowly warming, roughly crush or chop as finely as desired:
1 c almonds
1/2 c unsalted raw pumpkin seeds
1/2 c unsalted raw hulled sunflower seeds
1/4 c pine nuts
Pour nut mixture into a lipped cookie sheet or large pan.
Add and mix:
4 c organic whole rolled oats
1/2 c flax seed
2 c wheat germ
1 packet dry milk solids (about 1 c)
1/2 c soy flour
1 t brown rice protein
Mound and well to pour in the liquid mixture. Slowly incorporate the liquids to solids, stirring.
Bake at 300F for 35 minutes, stirring frequently at about 7 minute intervals.
Remove and add:
1/4 c raisins
1 c dried cranberries
1/2 c dried mango, chopped
Cool and store covered.

May be served over natural vanilla yogurt, rice or soymilk, cow's milk, or eaten alone. Packs well for hiking.

Furnishes DHA through wheat germ and omega-3 through flax seeds. High in plant-based protein. Image "Oat Field with Cypress", Van Gogh.

Organic $

It's taken three months to transition our entire pantry to organic or as-natural-as-possible conventional foods. I feel good knowing that there are no pesticides or preservatives coming down to baby while he nurses. I like thinking that these crops were likely raised and prepared in a more sustainable way, although I don't have direct evidence of it. In a way, it's also like browsing the web in Opera, basically worry-free of viruses; since our food supply is separate, we're not as likely to get salmonella from our peanut butter.

But the cost. Buying conventional foods with additives and preservatives, mostly generic store brand, lowest price per ounce, our grocery bill was about $250 a month. Now it is $675! We're shopping around, too, buying some items at Albertsons, some at Whole Foods, and some at the Farmer's Market. Nothing is wasted-- between our dog, cats, chickens, and the compost pile, the only trash is in non-recyclable packaging.

Nearly $700 for groceries will not do. I'm going to brainstorm a minute on some of the things we've changed: (CV=conventional, Org=Organic)
-1 gal CV milk ($3.00) to 1 L Org milk ($3.50)
-2.5 dozen CV eggs ($3.00) to 1 dozen cage free grain-fed eggs ($3.00)
-Bagged cereal to Org whole oats or cracked wheat, with honey, wheat germ, and brown rice protein ($$)
-About 4x more produce consumed, and now it's Org or conventional local, plus the cost of pesticide soaps and garden-safe soaps for saving used dishwater for gardening
-Much less meat around here, maybe part of three family meals per week, by choice. But, cost of husband's certified humane Org sandwich meat is $7.99/lb.
-From cheap-o bread ($1.25) to bread with no HFCS (high fructose corn syrup-- and we don't want that in any of our food) or additives ($5.00)
-Colgate to Tom's toothpaste and Tea Tree Oil mouthwash
-The one bright side, almost no TP or paper towels to buy though
-4 bags Tidy Cat clay litter, used and thrown away to the landfill ($16.00), to 1 bag Wheatscoop flushable, biodegradable wheat litter ($26.00)

Ugh. I think that's how I was so driven to start vegetable gardening and raising my own animals for food. The chickens are still too young to bear eggs, and I want to have a share of success with vegetable gardening before I add on the challenge of the meat rabbits. I must bake my own bread and as many of the prepared food I can, like granola or cookie snacks for my husband's lunch. Ugh! IT IS SO EXPENSIVE! Would you believe that Horizon's 8-slice pack of Org sandwich cheese is like $4.00? Yeah. I don't think so.

So, I have to reign this in. This is me, looking at myself, urging myself to get this under control by cooking and baking more. It's a responsibility thing.

As of yesterday, we decided to cancel the weekly dinner date. In lieu, we'll go out for tea and coffee. Toby comes with us to all of these events, and sometimes he gets fussy and nearly wrecks the date~~ Well, that is, if we didn't have such a good sense of humor. At the Mexican restaurant, Toby threw a bowl of salsa while we both made the mistake of looking at the menu. He jammed a handful of it in his smiling mouth and then- BANG!- the spice hit him. It was a bawl-fest. Or what about the time he somehow climbed on the table and grabbed BOTH glasses of water and dumped them out, also smashing the goblet of ice cream into five pieces of cruddy broken glass...

Anyway, having a baby with us on date night will work much better at The Brass Bean, and we can cut some costs. At home sometimes, I just feel like a queen when I get to go out anywhere. My husband comes home dressed like a million bucks in his work-clothes, and MY work clothes consist of what I call "dumpy". An excuse to put on something even slightly elegant is much welcomed.

I guess I better get started on that bread.

Garden Dreams

I have this dream that I could make every piece of soil here productive of something. One bush might attract birds that would kill pests on vegetable plants. Even the weeds could provide a snack for the hens. But, no bluebird has discovered the bluebird house built and hung on the post.

My childhood memories are always set with the backdrop of what was blooming or ready for picking in the backyard or in a neighbor's scrubby patch of cultivation. I want that again. I want to be canopied under mulberry leaves and dyed purply black.

I felt a tremendous sense of pride when I swung the hoe and tilled my soil. Seeds, please sprout.

On the north side: two tomato bushes, two strawberry, about fifteen broccoli, about fifteen onion. Soon, I'll add the herbs between the vegetables, and there are still the south and west gardens-- much larger. I dream of fresh German chamomile tea!

First spring plantings

This is what my dream vegetable garden would look like...

And this is the location in the yard. We have a long way to go.

My husband and I decided to raise rabbits for meat, as a sustainable, organic, and humane source of meat that we can oversee ourselves. Here's a photo my husband took of my breeding/hutch plans over the next year. It's not hard to breed them; it's hard to keep them from outbreeding your capacity.

Our clothes line was looking rusty and unsightly. Hopefully, I'll be able to get these ivy vines I planted today to grow up the pole and maybe onto the line.

I really love figs, so I figured it was time to plant a fig tree! And, well, this is also the time of YEAR to plant a fig tree.

Have you ever seen fruit flowers?

** Click to enlarge for gorgeous up-close views in my garden!

above: Tomato Blossom


above: Strawberry blossom

Chicken Paradise

Garden shed turned Chicken paradise

My husband had the idea to use logs as their staircase into the roosting and nesting areas. I close and lock the window each night when they go inside to sleep.

Is Charlemagne your friend?

Henrietta 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Chicken bums

Next step: planting pansies in the cement block.

Weather is warming up

For now anyway, it feels more like spring. The chickens are happy here, I think, unless the dog is pouncing around the outside of their run, herding them from one side to the other. I like to go out and peek over at them a couple times a day, at least while they're so new here.

I've caught them eating bugs! The kick back the moist leaves covering the floor of the run and peck down into the soil. I know when the girls have found something good, because they'll throw their head back to shake their treasure down to the belly. They look delighted.

No eggs yet. I bought come cuttlebone and grit to help them get to business, and not even the porcelain egg from the feed store has made them convinced that it's safe to lay eggs in this new place. Would you believe that when I brought it home from the store, my dog tried to eat that egg? At least someone finds it realistic.

Baby Toby is getting less terrified of the chickens, now that I've started bringing him in to the shed to see them in the coop. Oh, how he BAWLED when he first saw them! I know, that turkey could have terrified anyone.

I put my first bit of leaves and grass in to compost today. We bought a large drum, maybe 50 gallons, at the feed store ($17). I'm excited about reducing our trash even further. This week for trash we only had one bag, and three of recycling. I wonder if we could get even less than that! I bet a quarter of the bag was apple cores, banana peels, and vegetable scraps. And, with some good compost, it'll make for organic fertilizer for my [soon to exist] garden! Did I mention I can compost the chicken's coop bedding when it gets... smelly? The nitrogen, once composted, makes for excellent fertilizer, I've heard.

Toby tried to rip my tomato plants to pieces.

I need to dig a hole for the fig tree. That's going to be hard.