Farm Friday

I'll admit, I am a hopeless lover of alliteration.

I also enjoy a good acrostic.

I am all kinds of high-brow when it comes to literary stuff. It can be intimidating to some people.

So I hope you don't mind too much if I make Farm Friday, as Wordless Wednesday, a regular feature.

I'm actually tempted to do one more, focusing on ways to help children in the foster care system, orphans, Fresh Air kids, etc. But the alliteration piece has me stuck, so you're spared. For now.

Because whenever I try to think of something that would work I just get hung up on stuff like Malevolent Monday or Thespian Thursday, and they just plain don't make any sense.

But don't worry, I'm sure I'll think of something....

Meanwhile, like I said, I'm going to take a spin at Farm Friday. I will try to save anything farm related for Friday posts. Like the chick updates, putting in fencing, castrations, that sort of thing.

Sound like a plan?

OK, then, let's see what I've got for today ....

Oh I know. I'm finally starting the weaning process for Finnegan. You know, our blue-eyed colt that you got way TMI on regarding his recent testicular incident?

Yeah, him.

He is a hopeless Mama's Boy. He is still nursing at one year. I know I should have weaned him about six months ago, but I don't really have the proper facilities to separate them in cold weather, as I only have one barn. Not even a small run-in shed.

I know some folks subscribe to the method of completely removing the foal from the dam. As in they ship one off to be boarded at someone ele's farm till the deed is done.

Not to be judgemental or nothin', but that's not an idea I could get behind.

First off, it places a terrible stress on both Mama and baby when they're removed from each other so suddenly. Neither one knows what's going on, Mama turns her Mother Bear switch on when her baby is taken from her and who can blame her? They pace, they cry, they scream, they gnash their teeth
you say grazing I say gnashing, tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to.

Second, as a fellow mammal who has formerly nursed, I can tell you right here and now that cold-turkey weaning could be considered a form of torture. If it could be applied to men, it would be banned by the Geneva Convention.

At least when it was time for my babies to say goodbye to the boobies, I could do it on my own terms. And if the pressure
pun intended
got too much for me, I could always jump in a nice hot shower to express my discomfort
pun intended again.

So I'd much rather keep them together, within sight, within ear shot, just maybe separated by a fence.

Even that can be difficult. Tuesday I put Genevieve in the side pen and gave her a nice big tub of fresh water (of course, I had my kids haul about 10 buckets of water to fill it for me) and a few forks of hay. Pippin and Finn were in the field. At first they were visibly distraught even by this small degree of separation, and Finn wouldn't stray far from the fence, but as the day wore on they seemd to settle into this new turn of events.

After a spell, Finn did as any young boy will do, and went off to explore muddier fields with his brother. Gen would cry and pace a bit but eventually settle. And Finn would check in with her from time to time. Throw the poor old hag a bone.
Is this what it will be like when my kids leave for college?

My plan is to increase periods of separation gradually so the demand on her milk supply will also decrease gradually. Purest example of supply and demand I can think of. More comfortable for Genevieve, my sister in lactation.

The weather has played nicely into things because the next day we had threats of severe wind and thunderstorms. So when I got home with the groceries, I quick ran out to the side pen, (hoping the ice cream wouldn't melt), talked to her and pet her for a few minutes, then let her reunite with her baby. They immediately ran to each other and snuggled, then he checked out what was on tap and drank his fill.

Storms over on Thursday morning, and back into the pen for Gen. I'll keep her in there for two or three days this time, then let them briefly reunite. After that, a week.

So if my plan works out as I've intended, Gen will be all done with the whole nursing scene for the first time in many years. She was kind of a rescued broodmare and I believe Finn was her 8th foal in about 10 years. Yikes.

I'm all for large families, but my hat's off to this girl.



Here's Finnegan on his birthday last year in early June. Cute, right?



This is Finn and his brother Pippin about three months ago. How quickly they grow...

Breath of Fresh Air

Last year we (British royalty for I) decided to participate in the Fresh Air Fund by hosting a little boy from the Bronx.

We weren't too sure of ourselves. Adding a 7th kid to the mix for a week?

Really?

But it was great. He was a terrific little kid and got along pretty well with everyone. There were a few squabbles to be sure, but it all just seemed like the usual sibling stuff that we're so used to anyway.

So when asked by the coordinator if we'd be doing it again this year?

A resounding yes.

Would we be inviting the same boy back?

A resounding yes.

If you're wondering what this program is all about, it's simple. They place children from NYC into homes in the suburbs/rural areas in NJ, PA, NY and a few other surrounding states. Most of these kids are from impoverished homes, single parent homes, or families that may be struggling in other ways. Children in the program are 6 - 13 yrs old (I think) and can stay with you for a minimum of one week. Many of the kids that have been staying with the same family for years just stay all summer b/c their host family becomes their home away from home.

The goal is to get these kids to see that there is more to life than what they see day to day in the inner cities.

When a child grows up seeing crime, violence, school drop-outs, teen pregnancies, drugs, etc, he just assumes that's how life is everywhere. By placing him or her into a home in the "country" they are exposed to a whole other way of life. They hear crickets at night instead of sirens. They feel grass under their feet instead of pavement. They see that the norm, not the exception, is to go to school, go to work, care for your family. They see that this is an attainable lifestyle, and it helps to break the cycle they seemed destined to be caught in.

I don't have the numbers in front of me, but I seem to recall that most of the kids that participate in the Fresh Air Program go on to finish school and lead productive adult lives out of the inner cities.

I think it's a very simple, very cool way to make a huge difference in the life of a child.

And you don't need to live on a farm, or in the country, just out of the city. All you have to do is meet your child when he steps off the bus, and get him back at the appointed time. He comes with a suitcase full of clothes and full instructions. You do not have to schedule fun things for him to do while he is visiting; simply allow him to fold into your normal family routine. Honestly, anyone can do it.

Yes. That means you.
Come on, you knew where I was going with this.

To that end, I just received a letter from the good people at Fresh Air asking all participating families to also become referral families. Their hope is that each family that has participated refer at least one new family so they can place another child.

So go. Get your phone. I'll wait.

whistle, whistle...

Got it? Ok, now dial this number:
1-800-367-0003 x8931, and ask for Anya Korshak. Tell her you are interested in hosting a child this summer. She'll take it from there.

Or if you're more the keyboard type like me, you can e-mail her at akorshak@freshair.org.

How simple is that?

And how simple to make a difference in the life of a child?

Contact the Fresh Air Fund. Do it today.




Our boy breathing in some fresh air and listening to the quiet of the country.




Here he is picking a tomato from our garden. He doesn't even like tomatoes, but he loved finding them!



Even after one week, lasting bonds were forged.





After you place the call to Fresh Air, click the brown button to vote for me. Or you can vote first and contact FAF afterwards. I'll leave it to your good judgement.

Wordless Wednesday

Spring

Easter Madness

So I left off hinting that we had a slightly chaotic Easter weekend. It wasn't bad, really, just too much going on and not enough time to squeeze it all in. But somehow we did. The only day that was truly a challenge was....


Saturday
My friend Mary and I filled I don't wanna know how many dozens of plastic Easter eggs with I don't want to know how many pounds of sugar. Yes, the sugar was in the form of cute Easter candy like egg bubble gum and pastel-wrapped Reese's peanut butter cups and little foil wrapped chocolate bunnies and all, but honestly it would have been more to the point to just dip each plastic egg into a giant vat of granulated sugar. Certainly would have been cheaper.
Started some of the food prep work for Easter dinner, like slicing strawberries, baking the cake, etc.
Sent about 7 or 8 of the kids outside to play while Mary and I got the stuff ready to dye the 5 dozen eggs I had boiled the day before.
As we were nearing readiness for the troops, in they started running, all yelling,
"James got hit in the eye with the softball!!!!"

Sure enough, in walked James, caboose of the Mayhem Train, bleeding from his eye. Well, not his eye, but right at his eyebrow. And it was bleeding pretty good, too. We guided him to the kitchen sink so he could bleed into that while about 25 hands started thrusting papertowels and ice towards us. And between James' best friend, Mary and myself all standing directly in front of James and each vying for the position of chief cook and bottle-washer, things were getting a bit crowded. And just plain nuts.

Finally someone got Fred who surveyed the damage and decided it would need stitches or glue. He had some old Dermabond (which is basically Crazy Glue for skin) but it was old and crystallized. It would not do. We found some Crazy Glue knock-off and he was thinking about using that but then heard where he could get his hands on some of the Real Thing and off he jetted to pick it up.


So we bandaged an ice pack to J's forehead and went ahead with the egg-dying. Sorry, but the day's schedule left no wiggle room. Head injuries be damned, the eggs would get dyed.

And dye them we did. Followed by Fred getting back in time to glue J's eyebrow back together just before dinner.

As you can see from the picture, there are more hands involved than there needs to be. I'm counting at least four.

But, bottom line is, J's eye got fixed, the eggs got dyed, dinner got eaten. So far we were on track.

Next up was the service for James' and Julie's initiation into the church. They had been going to CCD for awhile, coupled with much whining and complaining, but their education on matters of the church was deemed complete. They were to receive the sacraments of baptism, communion and confirmation during the Easter vigil mass on Holy Saturday. I had been assured that the vigil mass was absolutely beautiful, though a bit long. I was told to expect an hour and a half for the mass. Maybe two.

Since I rarely possess the courage to get my brood through even a one hour mass, that was cause for some angst on my part. But I swallowed the lump in my throat and agreed. What choice did I have, after all?

So after dinner we presented James and Julie with their gifts of some rosaries and mass books and statuettes and the whole crew got dressed up in their church clothes, which took me all day to round up and wash and (wink) iron.


The kids looked beautiful. Even James with his swollen and glued eye. My angels. And off to church went Fred and I, plus J and J, with the rest of the crew to follow later (rest of the crew meaning 3 of our guests, the rest of my kids and my sister).

Poor kids were both pretty nervous. James hid it well but Julie kept going over and over how to hold her hands for communion
(left over right) Like this, right?
(right over left) No,no, like this! Right?
(left over right again) Aaah! Like this!
And trying to remember her responses
Me (playing priest): Body of Christ
julie: And also with you. No! I do. NO! Amen.....Right?

Finally, at 8:30, the sun had set and it was time to begin. The priests and the deacons and the entire congregation filed outside to the bonfire. Candles were lit, ancient words were chanted by the men in white robes.
Fred said if only we had a few goat entrails we'd have ourselves a nice Druid ceremony.

Back inside the dark church we filed again, this time with our candles providing the light.
Because I needed to worry about my boys and fire.
But the CCD teacher was right, it was beautiful. The priest sang the entire opening of the mass acapella. Sang for a good 10 minutes. Like Gregorian chants.

Beautiful...
Lovely...
So peaceful....

OK, we need to move along here, people.

And move along they finally did. At a snail's pace. If said snail were oozing its way through a chalice of Holy molasses.

A typical mass will have two readings, generally each followed by a responsorial hymn, with the homily bringing up the rear.

This was no typical mass. There were 9, nine, NINE readings, each followed by a responsorial hymn.

And myself being a cafeteria-style Catholic, I'm more of a New Testament kinda gal. This was mostly Old Testament fire and brimstone stuff. Abraham binding his son and raising the knife till God cried "Psyche!". The parting of the Red Sea and the consequential drowning of the Egyptians. And we were singing about it!

The Egyptians sank like a stone, to the bottom of the seeeeeeaaaaa....
The water crushed all the chariots and charioteers and horses, till they washed up upon the shooooooore.....
We worship you because we fear you, and you cloak yourself in gloooooo-ryyyyyyyy...

I fought the strong urge to cover the ears of my children.

But at long last it was time for my children to be baptized and confirmed. We marched over to the font and I was waiting for the whole "Do you reject Satan and all his works?" line of questioning. Instead we got more singing. This time to all the saints in heaven.
Literally, ALL the saints in heaven.

Saint Agnes
Pray for usssss
Saint Anthony
Pray for ussssss
Saint Ignatius
Pray for usssssss

Fred swears about 5 minutes into it he heard us ask a St Billy Bob to pray for us. He says there's no such saint but I just pray what I've been told.

But finally they reached the end of the line of saints and we proceeded with the ceremony. The kids made all the correct responses and they had water poured over their heads and Chrism oil applied to their foreheads and they donned their white robes and voila, they were Catholic.

Not many minutes later they went up for communion and Julie got her hands a little mixed up but the priest was kind with his correction.


Then, miraculously, at 11pm, it was over. Not an hour and a half. Not two hours. TWO AND A HALF HOURS! For James, Julie, Fred and myself, it was three hours as we had to arrive early.

I mean honestly, couldn't the nice priest just have waved his magic wand and said a few things in Latin and made the sign of the cross to all corners of the earth or something equally holy and mysterious? Three hours we were there.

But to remain positive,
no one strangled any of their siblings
my boys did not set the church on fire
bottom line, James and Julie have completed all their sacraments in one fell swoop (though at three hours, perhaps not so fell)

Well, all sacraments except reconciliation.

Tune in next week for that one.....




Pray for ussss.... then click the brown button.

Just a Quickie....

Busy weekend, including head injuries, marathon masses, sacraments, houseguests, holiday meals, egg-dying, Easter egg hunts, computer viruses and more.

Will write tomorrow. For now, please accept my apologies and a re-post of what I posted at Easter the first year J and Y were home with us.....


So kids, let Mommy explain to you all about Easter.

Jesus died on the cross for your sins.

Well, no, I know you weren't around back then, not your sins specifically.
He just did.

Then He rose from the dead.

No, not like a zombie.
He just did.

We decorate Easter baskets and dye eggs real pretty to symbolize springtime and new life.

Yes, I know Jesus was born on Christmas, but we celebrate new life at Easter. After He died.
We just do.

We eat chocolate eggs because .....
Well I don't know why exactly, but aren't they yummy? Don't touch that, you've got chocolate all over your hands.

OK, now let's all go outside and find the candy-filled Easter eggs that the Easter Bunny hid in the yard.

Hmmmm? He's a giant bunny that brings candy to good boys and girls.

No, honey, don't look afraid, he's a good giant bunny.

No, he didn't rise from the dead.

No, he's not related to Jesus.

Here, have some more chocolate and let Mommy go lie down for a little while.