When I was younger I was sick a lot (ok, I still get sick a lot). I would get sick, and then miss a significant chunk of school and then get all nervous and scared and not want to go back. I ended up hating school in general, because going back and being behind was so hard.
I'm bringing this up because Kevin has been sick for a long time. He was in school Monday, but the DR. said we had sent him back too early. So he missed Tuesday and Wednesday.
Today we sent him back to school, sobbing his heart out. He was trying so hard to be brave, but you could tell he was terrified. I told him he could call me, but it didn't help because he, like me, would never ask his teacher to let him talk to his mom.
That boy is too much like me.
Kevin says that he wants to be homeschooled, but I don't really believe him. He loves the kindergarten concerts and presentations, he loves knowing things, and he really has thrived there. It's just that horrible feeling of going back to school and realizing you missed things. I wish we hadn't had to keep him home, but it's not exactly fair to everyone else, especially him, to send a child with a fever to school!
I hate it, because I know he's not just being dramatic. I remember so well how that feels-- the horrible butterflies in my stomach and shaking. I was truly terrified and I could never explain to anyone why I felt the way I did. And now I am putting Kevin through the same thing. It breaks my heart... BUT I want to do what's best for him. I don't think showing him that he can quit is a healthy thing.
So, Kevin went sobbing on his way to school today, held on Daddy's shoulder, trying so hard to stifle his tears, but they would come anyway. And each tear honestly broke my heart. I wanted to take care of him, and he didn't want to have anything to do with me. He was trying to be strong, and turning to Mommy would break it all to pieces.
I'm sure he'll come home today excited again about school. He'll have things to show me and tell me and things will get back to normal.
The other morning we had a predator in the yard. I was awakened by the heavy flapping of duck wings and a weird strangled duck-ish sound. Because I was holding Kasen, it being 3 am, I poked Keith and said 'there's something out there!'
Keith immediately went to the door and turned on the lights in time to see something jump over the back fence. He thinks it was a bobcat. I've seen the prints in the mud, and I think he may be right.
Keith then went outside to see what the damage was and only found two of our three muscovies. He locked them up in the shed and came in to tell me, where I was positive everyone was dead, like what happened last summer. I was devestated and feeling like every time I reach for my dream, it ends in disaster, and wondering if I had it in me to try and try and try when I always fail. Emotionally, things have been very exhausting for me with animals and all the losses we've had.
I got up and went around outside and there was no sign of the missing duck.
In the morning, however, there was a present by my bedroom sliding glass door to the yard. Hershey, my brown muscovy, was sitting on the step, looking a little battered, but very much alive. I let her into the shed with her sisters and had a prayer of thanksgiving that she was ok.
I know, that with everything going on in the world as it has been, that it may be selfish of me to first mourn and then rejoice over a duck, but, I really believe, that it's the small things that can shatter us or put us back together. At least, I know that's true for me.
To protect the girls (and one illicit boy) Keith set up the shed as a new coop. It's secure, roomy, and now organized with plenty of laying spaces and cozy nooks for the flock. All they need is some straw and everything will be hunky-dory. The straw is a must... ducks are pretty stinky.
We've been struck with illness in the family, but yesterday Keith and the bigger boys put in some garden in the pen where the chickens used to live. They planted onions, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, and lettuce. I'm not sure what else may have ended up in there.
I have hope that this year will be better. The garden will survive and I will feed my family off of it.
And soon, as things start coming into season, we'll be making jam again.
Keith is in the process of applying to several jobs. Or, rather, he has applied to several jobs and now we're in the 'sit and wait' period to see if we get a call back from any of them. This makes me (the optimistic pessimist) think towards the future while it makes Keith (the pessimistic optimist) refuse to think ahead.
One thing we have in common, though, is this question-- "should we put in the garden this year, or not?"
Of course, mine largely stems from the idea that we might be moving. Keith says that's the same for him, too, but I can see in his eyes that it might have something to do with the fact that I murder our garden every year. And, to make the sin more great, I always kill it in its prime. Right *before* we get anything good.
With that track record, why is it that I don't want to put plants in, to have them shrivel up and die if we leave?
Because I believe that, this year, I might actually keep the garden alive! Really, I do! Well, mostly.
And Keith? Well, he would like to save on that water bill, I'm sure.
So, I got my copper-wire IUD put in this afternoon and, as always with 'girl stuff' it was a horrendous experience.
I had to sign a waiver that I was getting it by my own free will. I am-- but...
Let's just say Keith looked at me after the waiver left the room and said, "I know you're doing this for me."
I am. Otherwise I wouldn't have gotten one.
The insertion failed the first time. The second time was a success but one of the threads got bunched up, so I have to go back in a few weeks and see if it has fixed itself so it can be trimmed and fixed.
I was on the table for a long time and the cramping is what I would call 'three centimeters dilated' I am on 800 mg of ibuprofin and still in a lot of pain. So much to go through for something I don't really believe in.
The sharp suddenness of the pain was really a shock to me. I went to my happy place and tried to force myself to relax. I wanted to be anywhere but there. I don't know why I seem to have such serious pain for these relatively simple procedures. I've been told I have an 'irritable uterus' and a 'irritable cervix', but why does that mean that anything to do with my 'women parts' has to be so painful all the time?
Maybe Keith is right, maybe there are no more children in our future, but the very thought of Kasen being our last devastates me. Motherhood may be my only redeeming quality.
I've been completely in another land-- researching heritage animals to raise. I'm determined that, no matter where we get a job, we will homestead at some level. I'm very fascinated by Gloucestershire Old Spot Pigs and Dexter cattle. I like the dexters because they are pretty well 50/50 meat and milk. They're also very eye-appealing (at least to me).
It's also my way of keeping positive about finding a job!
Kasen has been really trying to figure out how to crawl. Last night he started climbing up pn his elbows and knees and kind of kangaroo bouncing forward. It was adorable! He's a darling!
I've been monitoring my weight again and have recovered from the weight spike last week, plus losing one additional pound. I have 16 pounds left to lose! Eep!
There's no doubt that getting off of gluten has been making a huge difference. Also, making sure I eat regularly and not so many apples (!!! blood sugar issues!!!)
I've also decided its ok to share what I want, instead of always bowing to other people. It's against my instincts, but it's ok to know what I want and go for it!
After losing eight pounds, I exercised, and the next day (yesterday) it was all back. I am now slowly losing it all again. I figure I'm holding onto water. Who knows, really, but it's frustrating!
Kasen is creeping. It's pretty funny, because you put him down, turn around, and he's suddenly in a new place. When you're watching he's too busy grinning at you to get anywhere. Sometimes he loves creeping, other time he yells the whole time.
I don't remember my other babies getting rugburn like he is. Maybe I just don't remember? It's pretty bad!
If you go on google and search "Bonnie Lewis" and horse you come up with page after page after page of horse quotes-0- and, yep! That was me at thirteen or so! Two little poems I wrote without much thought are probably going to be my only claim to fame as a writer.
It's my little giggle. I wonder if anyone ever wonders who "Bonnie Lewis" is that they quote!