Filling in the Gaps: Divorce and Moving

In January 2015, I wrote a post I titled "Coming Clean".  Here is the bulk of that post (edited down just a bit), which kind of summarizes the changes I had faced to that point:

Although I'd never shied away from writing about the stressful things in my life, there seemed to be a shift.  I felt like if I were to continue writing about the daily goings on under my roof, it would be less how-to from a Mom who'd been-there-done-that, and more Jerry Springer.

Writing about PTSD and trauma and RAD of my young children, in the vein of venting and commiserating and also educating?  What's wrong with that?

Writing about misdemeanors of now adult children?  Not so easy to go there.

Writing about the fall-out of parenting children with mental illness, trauma-based or otherwise? It's all in the name of keeping it real.

Writing about 911 calls, paramedics, police, questioning neighbors, in-patient admissions?  We've moved on to a different realm. 

And aside from the parental side of my life, there's the marital.  How does one write about a separation after 26 years of marriage and not feel just wrong on so many levels?  There's privacy to think about, my kids to think about, my feelings, his feelings, trying to figure out how I feel/he feels/where we stand from one day to the next.  How do you write about that sh**?

Although I know first-hand all that is wrong with "wearing a mask", it is something I have been guilty of.

Nothing to see here!  We're just one big happy family that managed to go from three kids to four through international adoption of a special-needs child, then from four kids to six with the addition of two older internationally adopted kids with mental health issues including RAD, PTSD and more!  Woo hoo! Plus my husband and I were high school sweethearts!  We can weather ANY storm, right?  

Holding that image up for all to see is a disservice to me, to my family, to my readers. 

If I can't write on my blog that it's ok that we are where we are, how am I going to convince my kids?  How am I going to sell it to myself? 

The truth is, it IS ok. 

It's ok that two of my three adopted kids have had their lives dominated by the fallout of the trauma-born mental illness that is often part of the fabric of the lives of adopted children.  I have dealt with those issues with dignity, compassion, and love.  I have been able to tell my children that no matter what they do, I will always love them, even when their actions have caused me to take drastic measures such as eviction, filing charges, hospital admissions, outpatient programs, residential treatment facilities.  It means I love them enough to do whatever it takes to help them become the best persons they can be, even when they may feel that my actions prove just the opposite.

It's ok that life is difficult for the entire family when one of my children (one that's wearing my genes) is dealing with the ramifications of his own mental illness demons.  He didn't ask for it.  My husband and I, given our unique genetic histories, should never have spawned children.  It was the perfect storm. What the family has gone through in dealing with his (and the others) sequellae have stretched us to the limit.  I love my kids for their resilience, their flexibility, their adaptability, their compassion.

It's ok that my husband and I may not have a happily-ever-after marriage.  It just means that we're honest enough with each other that we can attempt to deal with it, that we can own up to having problems, and we can have the courage to try to fix them.  I can't tell you how things will end with us.  All I know is that we're trying to figure out if we have what we need to make our marriage succeed.  The answer may be yes, and it may be no.  Right now the answer is elusive, but I pray that God will show us the answer in His own time.

I am proud of myself for having weathered so much, and to still have the strength I need to deal with problems as they continue to surface.  Let's face it, my life is one big Whac-a-Mole game, and I have to keep sharp and quick in noticing the issues and dealing with them as they arise.  Have you ever watched someone playing Whac-a-Mole?  Their face is always a mixture of both fun and determination. I've got to keep that smile on my face and have fun. 

It's life. 
It's MY life. 

And it is what it is.

It's hard to believe I wrote that more than five and a half YEARS ago!  So, just to bring you up to speed, here is a brief summary of what's happened between that post and now:

• I dabbled in my own business, Birdsong Bits and Pieces, creating art, decor, and refinishing furniture.
• James moved out, first to live with my sister in NJ, but when he burned that bridge, on to NY.
• Started the process of divorce.
• Fixed up the house with a good bit of help from my friends, to put it on the market.
• My Mom was given a few months to live, went into hospice care, and died at home with her children around her.
• Rosie went off to college.
• Bought a new smaller house, a few miles from the old one.
• Plans for selling the farmhouse changed: Fred moved back in to the big house with Daniel. 
• I fixed up and moved into my new house with Patrick, Julie, Bella, (plus a friend of theirs that moved in with us), and Rosie when she was home from school.
• My daughters' friend moved out.  Julie started going through another round of new problems, culminating in let's just say drama of many varieties.  New ground rules were set that she had to meet or move out.  She moved out.
• James was brought back home when things got really bad for him in NY.  He seemed to be getting things straightened out here, but sadly has fallen off the rails again.  He is currently (and it breaks my heart to say this) in jail.
• The divorce was finalized.
• I have a new job (still in the field of Occupational Therapy, doing home health care) with a great company that pays well and provides benefits even though I'm only part time.
• And as you may know, I've gone through a bunch of health issues this year (which resulted in four hospital admissions and countless tests and procedures), including surgery to remove a weirdly positioned stone up in my liver, pancreatitis, and open heart surgery. 

And that catches us up on the big picture items.  I'm in my new house with Patrick (commuting to college and working part time), Rosie (who with any luck will be doing a semester as a student teacher this fall to finish up her college education), and Bella (who is working at Goodwill).  Julie is, for the time being, living with Fred, as is Daniel.

Thank you for letting me catch you up!

On my next update I will take you through a tour of my house, that I am very much in love with. Can't wait to show you!

   

Out of the Mouths of ......

Out of the mouths of babes husbands:

Fred (trying to give me a compliment): You like nice. Did you frizz your hair?




Love that man....

Valentine's Day. It's All About the Romance.

I originally posted this on my old blog about two or three years ago, but I like to drag it out every year at Valentine's Day. It's my tradition.

I live a life of thrills....






5:15 Awakened by shrill beeping. Stupid alarm clock. I was having a wonderful dream about my new crush Justin Bieber. I saw the movie last night with my girls and I know I could be his Grandma (OK, maybe a slightly younger friend of his Grandma's), so hang me, but he is so stinkin' cute. Any female, no matter the age, would be rendered helpless when he flips his hair like that in 3D slo-mo. Anyway, who am I supposed to crush on that's in my age group. Barry Manilow?

Showered and dressed and headed downstairs. Hung up birthday banner. Started coffee and set out the morning meds. Made breakfast for the masses. Arranged on the breakfast table seven adorable Valentine's bags filled with cards, trinkets and sweets.

Love must be in the air 'cuz there was a minimum of Morning Bickers today.
Moment of Rejoicing #1

7:00 Got five kids on bus. Woke sixth child up. Fred came downstairs and I told him Good-Morning-Happy-Valentine's-Day-Happy-Birthday. Happy Valentine's Day to you, too, said he, and he plodded on off to work.
Did I imagine it or did his hair do a little flip as he walked out the door?

8:30 Drove 6th child to school and then headed up the road to do my Monday Morning Grocery Shopping. I am nothing if not a woman of consistency and routine, romance be damned. Managed to fill my cart for under $200 for the first time in like a month.
Moment of Rejoicing #2

12:00 Groceries put away. Baked BD cake for Fred. Began taking down the remaining Christmas decorations.
I know. Dec 25th - Feb 14th. I can do the math. Hush now. I will be judged by a higher authority than man.

3:00 All kids home from school, and I ran out the door with 2 or 3 of them to do last minute (seriously, last minute) birthday shopping for their Dad.
As we were wrapping the gifts, he walked in the door. We all wished him Happy-Birthday-Happy-Valentine's-Day and hugs and kisses were dispensed all around. He had a treat for me. Gourmet chocolate-covered strawberries.
Moment of Rejoicing #4

5:00 I demanded of Fred that he stop vascillating and decide what he wanted to do for dinner. He finally proclaimed that he wished not to go out, but rather to have a quiet night in, and order take-out samiches. So my labor-worn fingers dialed the buttons on the phone and ordered dinner. Then I hopped in the car with a kid or two (and I think a small dog) and off we jetted to pick up dinner. No romantic candle-lit dinner, but then again, no cooking either.
Moment of Rejoicing #5

6:30 Dinner consumed, Fred opened presents, with much ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the little gifts the kids and I picked out for him. Wrappings discarded, folks scattered about the house, watching TV, destroying aliens, reading, texting. House quiet and cozy.
OK, maybe it's no pop-star lifestyle. But to me it was
Moment of Rejoicing #6

And I'll take it .....



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Come take a look at my full hoppin' schedule in my sidebar, and come join the fun!

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Rudeness disclaimer:

I love all your comments,
I read every one!
But I can't hit 'reply',
I've no time for fun.
Please don't judge me,
Please don't hate.
If you have a question that just can't wait,
Send me an email at farmbeachgal@yahoo.com,
And I'll answer right back because I'm, you know, the Mom.

Farm Friday - A Re-Post

Since I will be suffering in silence agitated misery during my 10 hours on the road with my six sweet darlings dozen and a half minions from hell today, I thought I'd give myself a little break and post something to my blog that has already seen the light of the screen once before.

Please don't judge....


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What the....


Fred: (peering down at a small quantity of brown something-or-other on the floor by the kitchen door) What is that?
Bella: (squatting down and looking real close) I don't know.
Fred: Is it poop?
Bella: (zooming in real close. Picks it up, smells it, puts it back down) Yep. It's poop. (Walks away)



Only in my family.



PS: To clarify, it was a piece of muck from the barn that I tracked in earlier without realizing. Poop definitely high on the list of ingredients, but it makes me feel slightly better to qualify it in this way.

PPS: Yes, Bella did wash her hands.
Yes, it did get cleaned up.





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Thanks!


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In case you didn't know it, I'm like the queen of blog-hoppin' lately. It's kind of like square dancing but without the dated outfits, smelly gym, and elderly caller.

Here's the schedule I keep:
Monday: Homestead Revival's Barn Hop
Tuesday: Heavenly Homemaker's Gratituesday
and Wrinkled Mommy's Tuesday Archive Link-Up
Wednesday: My Life and Kids Finding the Funny
Thursday: A Rural Journal's Rural Thursday Blog Hop
Friday: Deborah Jean's Dandelion House's Farmgirl Friday
Saturday: Camera Critter's Life With Dogs Pet Blogger Hop and Country Momma Cooks Saturday Link-Up

Since today is Friday, that means I'm linking today's post with Deborah Jean's Dandelion House's Farmgirl Friday, but I'll also be linking this same post up with some of the hops listed above in the coming week. Come join the fun!

Inspiration Sunday

A man never stands as tall as when he kneels to help a child.











~Knights of Pythagoras


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Thanks for stopping by.
If you like my blog, I hope you'll be able to take a minute to add yourself as a follower (over on my sidebar).
Come back soon! I'm here every day, rain or shine...

~Anne


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Don't forget, I will love you forever if you throw me a couple votes:

Circle of Moms: click the pink badge, scroll down to my blog (Life on the Funny Farm), and click the thumbs-up button to vote. You can vote every day till June 20th!





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Quote courtesy: quotations.about.com
Image courtesy: jesusofnazaret.com

farm Friday Becomes (for today) Father's Day Blog Hop

With Father's Day around the corner, I thought I'd review a few things about my beloved.

And that would be Fred.

I wrote this about him last year when I first started doing the whole Sunday Social thing, so I'm just cutting and pasting it here.

What. I'm busy, OK?







And there he is. The one with the red hair.














Ain't he handsome?

Problem is, besides being handsome, Fred is the strong, silent, private type. As in, he doesn't much care for me broadcasting all his likes and dislikes and quirks and what-not out to my hundreds of thousands of fans.

Did you just snicker? I heard you snicker.

So what can I tell you about my beloved?



cricket, cricket....



Not much. Sigh.

But I can cheat. I can tell you what I like.....


I like...
A man who is tall and broad and strong.
A man who understands hard work and working hard because he has been there and done that.
A man who is not afraid of changing out a toilet or chopping firewood or running the tractor to plow our driveway in sub-zero windchills after a full day's work.
A man who is probably the smartest person I have ever met with an IQ somewhere out there in the stratosphere.
A man with a very ecclectic taste in music and books and movies and food.
A man who seems more at home and at ease with the salt-of-the-earth folk of his childhood than in the well-to-do circles of his career colleagues.
A man who is an old softie when it comes right down to it, who has supported me in taking in all manner of critters to rescue or foster or bring into our family.
A man who has supported me in the pursuit of all my children, no matter how they came to us, no matter whether they were staying with us a week, or a school year, or a lifetime.
A man who has taught our children what it is to work hard, to appreciate the good things in life, to apply yourself, and to always help those in need.



But don't tell him I told you any of that.

I'm linking up today with SixSuitcaseTravel.com for their Father's Day Blog Hop. Come join the fun!

And I'm linking up with yet another blog hop. Deborah Jean's Dandelion House. Come check it out!


















Thanks for stopping by! Come back soon. I'm here every day, rain or shine.
Anne~


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Don't forget, I will love you forever if you throw me a couple votes:

Circle of Moms: click the pink badge, scroll down to my blog, and click the thumbs-up button to vote. You can vote every day till June 20th!





Top Mommy Blogs: You know the drill by now, don't you? Just click the juggling chick and you've voted. You can vote every day till, like forever.

Thanks!

Hold the Cherries (reposted)

I posted this on my old blog a couple years ago, but since we just finished harvesting our cherries, I thought I'd repost. Enjoy!



The other day Fred went a little crazy pruning some of our fruit trees (cheap therapy). After he came in all sweaty and scratched up, I surveyed his handiwork. Looked like a tornado hit. There were branches everywhere and our poor trees looked like, well, poor trees.

He waved his hand in a sweeping motion to indicate the arborial slaughter and said, "Perhaps you could have the kids pick these branches up tomorrow".

"And do what with them" I inquired curiously.

He hesitated when the proportion of the problem sunk in and then muttered, "Just have them throw them into the side pen and I'll clear them into the ravine with the tractor another time".

Oh, another time. Our famous words. The translate loosely to "It'll never git dun".

But ever willing to serve my darling husband's wishes, the next day I rallied the troops and told them it was time to go move some branches.

"Why, was there a storm?"

"No, your Dad trimmed the trees."

There followed some wailing and moaning of biblical proportions, but they managed to rip their bottoms from the couches and chairs and head outside to survey the damage.
New round of wailing and moaning. But I stayed the course, assuring them they would have No Fun of Anykind until this chore was completed. They slumped their shoulders to the point of defying gravity. Physics would dictate they should fall over with their shoulders rounded forward to such a degree, but upright they remained.

Once they were underway I headed back inside to moan and wail over the chores I needed to start in on. After a bit, as I was cleaning in the kitchen, I saw a bowl of cherries on the kitchen table. Some of the kids had picked those yesterday and weren't they yummy. I popped a couple in my mouth and went about my business, but some nagging issue was starting to solidify in my mind. It started as a vapor but continued to take shape as I moved along, chewing my cherries. Into the trash I spit the pits, and the fog of a problem finally took shape. I picked up the phone and called Fred, who was out at the tractor store.

"When you were trimming the trees, did you happen to cut any of the cherry tree branches?"

"Yeah, some, why?"

"Because the wilted leaves of cherry trees are toxic to goats and horses!" I yelped, revealing that on rare occassions my brain was capable of retreiving pertinent information.

"Well just tell the kids not to throw them into the side pen."

"Too late, they've been at it for awhile now."

"Well then ....."

But I had already hung up the phone and raced outside.

And yep, there were the goats, clambering over the growing branch pile like ants on a watermelon rind, munching happily away. I yelled for the kids to stop throwing branches in, ran into the pen and chased all the goats out.

The kids were staring at me like I had finally lost my mind.

I scanned the ground and found the offending item I was looking for. I waved it over my head for all to see.

"See this? This is a cherry tree branch!"

They were looking sideways at each other now, finding it amusing that Mom was becoming so unhinged right before their eyes.

"We need to go through these piles of branches right now and remove ALL of them."

"WHAT?! We just put them all in!"

"I know, I know, but cherry tree branches are poisonous to goats and horses."

Bella started to cry. "You mean all our horses and goatie-goats are gonna DIE?!"

"No, honey, only if they eat the leaves after they get all brown and shriveled. But we have to get them out of here now before they eat any more."

"But I don't want to touch them if they're POIsonous!"

"No, honey, they're not poisonous to touch. Just if they're eaten."

"But I eat cherries all the time!"

"The cherries aren't poisonous. Just the leaves. And only if they're all brown and wilted. And only to goa..... oh never mind, just get in here and start taking out any branches that have leaves that look like this. And any leaves on the ground that might have gotten ripped off the branches when you threw them in. Pretend it's like an Easter egg hunt."

So the kids now began working in reverse, pulling out any cherry tree branches they had thrown in only minutes before, deconstructing their giant bird's nest. It was kinda like playing Pick-up-Sticks only with giant, scratchy, interwoven branches instead of skinny little colorful sticks. Had I recorded the children as they undid all their hard work, I could have sold it to a movie studio to be used as audio for a scene where family members look thorough a bloody battlefield to find their fallen loved ones all disemboweled and decapitated. The moaning had reached its pinnacle at this point. But I have to give credit where credit is due. They did it. Our side pen was once again a habitable pen for our four-legged friends. Our one-day-to-be-removed-to-the-ravine-branch-pile had now reached new heights and could probably be seen from the town center.

Just then Fred came home and asked how he was supposed to mow the grass with this big pile of cherry tree branches in the way.

I had a few choice ideas of what he coud do with the branches, but it is my intent to keep this blog G-rated, so I'll not post my suggestions here.









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Hope to see you back tomorrow, I'm here everyday, rain or shine...

Anne ~



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I'm linking this post up with A Rural Journal Blog hop today. Come on over and join in the fun!




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Circle of Moms: click the pink badge, scroll down to my blog, and click the thumbs-up button to vote. You can vote every day till June 20th!





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Thanks!

Farm Friday - Table Talk

You know what they say: sitting down to dinner together as a family is vital. It encourages conversation, interest in each other's lives, family commitment.

And we're pretty good about doing that in our family, busy as we are at times.

However, I don't always think the kids would agree that our conversations are a positive thing.

For instance, about this time last year, we had our colt gelded.

And the topic came up at dinner....





Fred: So what did you do today?

Me: Got my hair cut this morning. And Finnegan got cut too. He was transformed from stud to gelding today.

Fred: Oh that's right, today was the day ...

Rosie: Yeah. Dad. You have GOT to do something about Mom!

James: Yeah, Dad, she took pictures of his testicles!

Me: I took pictures of the whole process, what's so wrong about that?

Rosie: But you didn't have to put them on your BLOG!

Julie: That is so gross.

Me: A girl's gotta have something to blog about.

Fred: Did you really blog about his castration?

Me: Yes. In the interest of science I blogged about his castration. Is there a problem?

Patrick: Mom. Mom. Comeon.

Bella: You took pictures of his wha...?

Daniel: His testicles, Bella, his testicles! You know, the man's parts that make a baby!

Bella: Mans can have babies?

James: That is just so wrong Mom. You didn't even ask us.

Me: Was I supposed to ask you if I could have Finn gelded or ask if I could photograph the process or ask permission to blog about it?

James: Yes. Everything you should ask. Is not right.

Daniel: What did you do with them?

Me: With what?

Daniel: The testicles. What did you do with the testicles?

Fred: What do you think you're eating? You didn't think that was chicken in that chicken-noodle casserole, did you?

Kids: Oh that is so gross.
I am going to throw up.
I can't believe I live in this family.
What is wrong with everyone?
Mans can have babies?
Is not right.

Fred: Waste not, want not.

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I'm linking up today's post with the barn hop at Deborah Jean's Dandelion House. Come check it out!














Image courtesy: clkr.com



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Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Sunday Social - Fiona

Next one down on my siggy line...

Anne,
Wife of Fred for 23 years
Mom of:
Patrick (16)
James (16)
Rosie (14)
Bella(14)
Julie (13)
Daniel (12)
My children around the world:
Milly in Taiwan
Eun Hae in South Korea
Felice in Hong Kong
Nadya in Germany
Obrin in New York
And our critters Blue, Sunny, Cindy-Lou, Annabelle, Fiona, and Sophie; Mamfy, Mali and Punkin; Nick; Frog 1 and Horny Toad; Charlie and Dizzy; Minnie and Alice; Elfie, Frex, Crope, Tibbit and Ozzy; Genevieve, Pippin and Finnegan; and a dozen or so chooks.

I'd like to ask God why He allows
hunger, poverty, and injustice
in the world,but I'd be afraid
He'd ask me the same thing ...


Is Fiona.



















She's the newest canine in the group.

She's sweet.

She's awful.

She's a terrible, awful dog.

She's a lovey-dove lap-dog.

She's a terror.

She's a cute l'il l'il baby puppy.

She is exceedingly smart. She shamed all the other dogs in the obedience class.

She was a rescue dog, slated for euthenasia the next day. Probably a Border Collie/Lab cross.

She is a terribly mannered dog that has taken things from counter-tops, gotten on top of the table, chased the cats, gotten things out of the trash, chewed up stuffed animals and Christmas ornaments, ruined her Invisible Fence collar, gotten into the pasture and chased the goats.

We love her.

Sunday Social - Fred

If you'll recall from last weekend, I'm now doing a Sunday meet-n-greet.

Next one down on my siggy line...

Anne,
Wife of Fred for 23 years
Mom of:
Patrick (16)
James (16)
Bella (13)
Rosie (13)
Julie (13)
Daniel (11)
My children around the world:
Milly in Taiwan
Felice in Hong Kong
Eun Hae in South Korea
Nadya in Germany
Obrin in New York
And our critters Annabelle, Fiona, Sunny, Sophie, Cindy-Lou and Blue; Mamfy, Mali and Punkin; Nick; Frog 1 and Horny Toad; Charlie and Dizzy; Minnie and Alice; Elfie, Frex, Crope, Tibbit and Ozzy; Genevieve, Pippin and Finnegan; and a dozen or so chooks.

I'd like to ask God why He allows
hunger, poverty, and injustice
in the world,but I'd be afraid
He'd ask me the same thing ...


Is Fred.



And there he is. The one with the red hair.














Ain't he handsome?

Problem is, besides being handsome, Fred is the strong, silent, private type. As in, he doesn't much care for me broadcasting all his likes and dislikes and quirks and what-not out to my hundreds of thousands of fans.

Did you just snicker? I heard you snicker.

So what can I tell you about my beloved?



cricket, cricket....



Not much. Sigh.

But I can cheat. I can tell you what I like.....


I like...
A man who is tall and broad and strong.
A man who understands hard work and working hard because he has been there and done that.
A man who is not afraid of changing out a toilet or chopping firewood or running the tractor to plow our driveway in sub-zero windchills after a full day's work.
A man who is probably the smartest person I have ever met with an IQ somewhere out there in the stratosphere.
A man with a very ecclectic taste in music and books and movies and food.
A man who seems more at home and at ease with the salt-of-the-earth folk of his childhood than in the well-to-do circles of his career colleagues.
A man who is an old softie when it comes right down to it, who has supported me in taking in all manner of critters to rescue or foster or bring into our family.
A man who has supported me in the pursuit of all my children, no matter how they came to us, no matter whether they were staying with us a week, or a school year, or a lifetime.
A man who has taught our children what it is to work hard, to appreciate the good things in life, to apply yourself, and to always help those in need.



But don't tell him I told you any of that.

History of a Romance

Year 1 Love at first sight. Well. Since we had been in classes together for six years, and had worked side by side for several months at the movie theatre, perhaps not "at first sight". But instantaneous, light-switch-flipped love, how 'bout that? As we gazed at each other over the shoulders of our respective prom dates.

Year 2 Adjust to the whole long distance romance thing. We attended colleges several hours apart from each other.

Year 3 "Will you marry me?" Maybe not on bended knee on a mountaintop with a 4kt diamond, but a simple college student's ring presented without fanfare in my college dorm.





Year 4 The love letters continued to pile up as we wrote to each other several times a week. In the days before the myriad options for how you wanted to contact a person, we were relegated to love letters and Friday night phone calls. We saw each other only a handful of times during the school year, but made up for it during the summers.

Year 5 First comes love, then comes marriage. We finally tied the knot five years and a month from when we began going together. I had at long last finished college and he had both finished college and gotten through his first year of med school.




Year 6 Time to play grownups with our first apartment, a one bedroom 2nd floor unit in East Brunswick, NJ. Mr., Mrs, dog and cat.

Year 7 I worked at my job as an Occupational Therapist, plus a little moonlighting, while he continued his studies at medical school, practicing his stitches on our hand-me-down couch.


Year 8 Medical school cap and gown time! And we loaded up the truck and we moved to Delaware.

Year 9 Fred started his residency, I started my new job, and our friends moved in with us. Our friends, plus their two little children, their newborn baby, and their Great Dane. Good times, good times.....

Year 10 We never found out what our landlord was doing with the rent money we paid him, but it wasn't paying the mortgage. Came home to a sheriff's auction sign in the front yard and so we moved again, to an old farmhouse in MD.

Year 11 An old farmhouse needs a horse to go along with it, and I was happy to oblige.

Year 12 Our first child, our son Patrick, was born. We were spanked hard as we entered the world of parenthood.

Year 13 Fred graduated his residency program as chief resident, and began his fellowship in Trauma and Critical Care.

Year 14 When he was all done being a good fellow, he took a job with this hospital where he did his residency. No moving required.



Year 15 We moved into our first boughten house just weeks before our 2nd child, our daughter Rosie, was born.

Year 16 Marked our 10 year anniversary. "Ten years and never had a fight".


Year 17 Two wasn't enough. One girl, one boy wasn't enough. We had our third child, our son Daniel. We were officailly outnumbered.

Year 18 This boughten house I mentioned? It was a 250 year old farmhouse on 11 1/2 acres. We (meaning I) continued to pour animals into the house, the barn, the fields. We (meaning I) added goats, sheep, ponies, and a pig to the property. For ambience.

Year 19 Kept busy fixing up the old house, mending fences, caring for critters, burying old pets.

Year 20 Kept busy wiping noses, wiping bottoms, changing diapers, cutting sandwiches into fun shapes, arranging playdates, tending boo-boos, nursing babies, learning to function on a 1/2 hour of sleep, and cleaning up after Hurricane Children on a daily basis.

Year 21 Apparently three wasn't enough. Two boys and one girl wasn't enough. We adopted Bella, who turned six one month after arriving in America from Kazakhstan.

Year 22 Apparently four wasn't enough either. We began hosting exchange students. Enter Milly from Taiwan, who spent her junior year in high school living with our crazy family. She also got to move with us as we loaded up the trucks again and moved to our bigger house on a smaller property. Fred laughed nervously and said, "You're not planning on filling up those extra bedrooms, are you?"


Year 23 Exit Milly, enter Eun Hae and Felice, from South Korea and Hong Kong, respectively.

Year 24 Took a year off from adding students to our family, but worked on building up the animal headcount once again.

Year 25 Oh what the heck, I'll take another. Enter Nadya from Germany.


Year 26 Two empty bedrooms means two more kids. We adopted James and Julie, also from Kazakhstan, and when they came home to us they were 10 and nearly 14.

Year 27 OK, no more exchange students. But let's host a Fresh Air Fund kid. A little boy from the inner city to stay with us for a week in the summer.

Year 28 Has it really been 28 years together and 23 years of marriage? Looking back I can see that since we started this romance we've lived in six places, starting in Fred's Dad's attic and ending in our current seven bedroom home. We have cared for countless critters and have 42 currently. We have hosted four exchange students and one Fresh Air Fund child. We have added three kids to our family by birth and three by adoption. We have weathered the deaths of beloved pets. The births and adoptions of our children. We have lived through times with no money and times of comfort. We have attended the funerals of grandparents, of siblings, of parents.

We have sometimes faced adversity head on, rowing our lifeboat sitting shoulder to shoulder, but there were also times we sat at opposite ends of the lifeboat, scarcely looking at each other as we weathered the storm.
But through it all we've grown stronger, closer, more in tune with each other than we ever would have thought possible when we were first gazing at each other over the shoulders of our prom dates that night so many, many years ago.

Doctor Turned Patient

Had to go to the hospital yesterday.

Not to get Fred's medical opinion for one of the kids.

For Fred.

See, James got a dirt bike yesterday. Fred was in the backyard, teaching him how to use it. James was having trouble shifting out of first gear without the bike stalling, so Fred in his infinite wisdom decided to give him a lesson in how to safely shift gears.

No sooner did the sage hop on the bike and get the speed up slightly to shift, then he let the clutch out too fast and popped a wheelie.




I said Fred popped a wheelie.





Yes, that's right.




And the bike went right on over and landed on the ground, pinning Fred's leg beneath it.

He needed help from the kids to get up (I was on my way home from picking Daniel up from school). He needed help to get back to the house b/c he couldn't walk. Got help changing from jeans to shorts (by this time I was home) and saw that the calf muscle on his left leg was hugely swollen and hard as a rock.

And he was in serious pain.

Took him to the hospital where we got him into a wheelchair and escorted him up to his partner's office (no ER slummin' for this doc).

There he got the fun of having all the residents parade on through this tiny office to confirm what they had heard: Boss was in a wheelchair.

We should have strung balloons and streamers from the IV pole of the w/c to make things more festive.

Anyway, Fred will be OK. Nothing's broken. He has a torn gastrocnemius (the aforementioned calf muscle). He needs to keep off his feet, keep the leg elevated, walk with crutches, and use this fancy-schmancy cooling ice pump to reduce the swelling. He's on some hard-hitting pain meds, so he's good. All the docs figured out coverage for the surgeries he already had scheduled and for ICU rounds.

So for now Fred just has to lie back, take it easy, take his meds and keep his leg up while he recovers

FROM HIS DIRT BIKE INJURY.

And you thought I was the crazy one.....

OK, so #43

Honestly, this one wasn't my fault. It wasn't even the kid's fault. It was ....

MY HUSBAND'S FAULT!!!!

I still can't even believe it myself.

We had gone to Starbuck's after Rosie's soccer game last Sunday. Fred went over to p/u his lunch from his favorite Mexican restaurant. While waiting for his food, he popped on over to the pet store and saw a pen full of rescued puppies. One of them immediately grabbed Fred's heart in its little puppy teeth and ran off with it. Fred actually came over to Starbuck's to get me and told me I had to come see this pup.

This is so not like him, people.

And I came, and I saw, and I held.

And yes, she was adorable.

And yes, I had several other children also holding her and telling me the extreme degree of her adorable-ness.

But even so, I knew we had enough.

But at the same time, I am a huge wuss and would not be able to say no if Fred really wanted her.

So I put forth the lamest restrictions possible:

1) I would not pursue this puppy on my own. If he wanted her, he would fill out the application and anything else required.

2) He needed to make good on his six year promise to install a doggie door.

3) He would need to be an active participant in the housetraining of this little poo factory.

And so, a few short days later, the Rescue Lady came to our house with pup in arms to do a quick and dirty "home visit".
I've had to do home visits for approvals for adoptions, for post placement reports, for approvals for Fresh Air Fund kids and exchange students. Now for a puppy?

Anyway, I guess our house was passably clean that evening. She didn't get her foot caught in any bear traps nor did she witness any of the kids juggling knives or feeding the dogs large quantities of chocolate. So she left the puppy, along with stacks of paperwork and medical records and antibiotics to cure a bacterial infection, in our care. She hightailed it out of there, with our check in her hand, before we could change our minds.

Not that we would. She is (have I mentioned it yet?) adorable. Probably a Lab/Border Collie mix.

Sweet? Oh my gosh.

Fuzzy? So very.

Puppy breath? I'm lovin' it.

Now all we have to do is settle on a name. Fred likes Athena. Athena? A Greek name for an Irish dog? I'm thinking no, but this is his dog. We need a name that will knock him off his feet so he forgets he ever even heard the name Athena.

I like Maggie or Molly or Raven, but none of them is knocking him off his feet.

Also, she has a white star on her chest, so maybe something about a star? Like nova or stardust or twinkle, but you know, something GOOD. So please help me out by leaving an excellent (or even mediocre, just anything, please) name suggestion in the comments for me.

A friend of mine suggested the name Carolina b/c she and her littermates were rescued from North Carolina. From a shelter where they were doomed to be put down THE NEXT DAY! Yikes.

But Fred didn't like the name Carolina.

Since she numbers as our sixth dog, we should probably just name her Six.

Or 43.

Spittin' Mad

That's right I got spittin' mad over the weekend.

Mad at the love of my life. The man I've been together with through thick and thin (OK, more thick than thin) for nearly 28 years.

Seems every now and again we don't see eye to eye on stuff, and between the two of us, we've got a lot of stuff. When he refused to see my point of view with the crystal clarity I required, I had to choose between:

a) sitting down to a mature discussion over our opposing viewpoints
b) throwin' down in fisticuffs
c) breaking out in a farsical musical number, ala Glee

Since none of the above options really spoke to me, I chose instead to storm out of the house, work gloves in hand, and go directly to the barn without passing Go or collecting 200 dollars.

After mucking out and feeding/watering, I moved headlong into demolition mode.

If you'll recall, I shall soon be in receipt of about a dozen chicks, and I've gotta get that henhouse in order. I've got a place in mind ready for renovation, and a standing agreement with my neighbor Henry to build it for me, but you know those lazy, shiftless Amish. Can't count on 'em for nothin'.

So I started it myself. Tore out about 200 sq ft of old cobwebby chicken wire, removed boards, relocated untold numbers of gutter pipes, vinyl siding sheets, lumber and plenty of what-not up into the rafters of the barn. Transferred piles of old bricks into the workshop, scraped layers of muck and goo and old feed bags from the floors.

I was out there for days with nothing but a bottle of water (later turned toilet).

OK, OK, so it was really only a few hours. And so what if James came out to help me, doing the bulk of the sawing and hammering and ripping and other physical-type manly stuff? It felt like days and that's what really matters.

When we quit for the afternoon we had accomplished a heck of a lot. Or as us country folk say, a bushel and a peck. Way more than I would have if he had not joined my act of lunacy already in progres.

What's more, my head was a tad cooler when I finally re-entered the house. I took a shower, burned my clothes, and changed into some cozy jams, ready for a quiet evening of watching 3 million dollar commercials, interspersed with brief segments of football.

But now, looking back, I can see the error of my ways. All that anger, all that frenzied chaos in the barn.

Next time I feel mad at the hubs, I will pause. I will breathe.

I will take a couple minutes to draft an orderly to-do list and gather the neccessary tools, that I may magnify my productivity by 50% instead of the paltry 20% I achieved over the weekend.

What the ....?

Fred: (peering down at a small quantity of brown something-or-other on the floor by the kitchen door) What is that?
Bella: (squatting down and looking real close) I don't know.
Fred: Is it poop?
Bella: (zooming in real close. Picks it up, smells it, puts it back down) Yep. It's poop. (Walks away)


Only in my family.

PS: To clarify, it was a piece of muck from the barn that I tracked in earlier without realizing. Poop definitely high on the list of ingredients, but it makes me feel slightly better to qualify it in this way.

PPS: Yes, Bella did wash her hands.
Yes, it did get cleaned up.

Hold the Cherries .....

The other day Fred went a little crazy pruning some of our fruit trees (cheap therapy). After he came in all sweaty and scratched up, I surveyed his handiwork. Looked like a tornado hit. There were branches everywhere and our poor trees looked like, well, poor trees.
He waved his hand in a sweeping motion to indicate the arborial slaughter and said, "Perhaps you could have the kids pick these branches up tomorrow".
"And do what with them" I inquired curiously.
He hesitated when the proportion of the problem sunk in and then muttered, "Just have them throw them into the side pen and I'll clear them into the ravine with the tractor another time".
Oh, another time. Our famous words. The translate loosely to "It'll never git dun".
But ever willing to serve my darling husband's wishes, the next day I rallied the troops and told them it was time to go move some branches.
"Why, was there a storm?"
"No, your Dad trimmed the trees."
There followed some wailing and moaning of biblical proportions, but they managed to rip their bottoms from the couches and chairs and head outside to survey the damage.
New round of wailing and moaning. But I stayed the course, assuring them they would have No Fun of Anykind until this chore was completed. They slumped their shoulders to the point of defying gravity. Physics would dictate they should fall over with their shoulders rounded forward to such a degree, but upright they remained.
Once they were underway I headed back inside to moan and wail over the chores I needed to start in on. After a bit, as I was cleaning in the kitchen, I saw a bowl of cherries on the kitchen table. Some of the kids had picked those yesterday and weren't they yummy. I popped a couple in my mouth and went about my business, but some nagging issue was starting to solidify in my mind. It started as a vapor but continued to take shape as I moved along, chewing my cherries. Into the trash I spit the pits, and the fog of a problem finally took shape. I picked up the phone and called Fred, who was out at the tractor store.
"When you were trimming the trees, did you happen to cut any of the cherry tree branches?"
"Yeah, some, why?"
"Because the wilted leaves of cherry trees are toxic to goats and horses!" I yelped, revealing that on rare occassions my brain was capable of retreiving pertinent information.
"Well just tell the kids not to throw them into the side pen"
"Too late, they've been at it for awhile now."
"Well then ....."
But I had already hung up the phone and raced outside.
And yep, there were the goats, clambering over the growing branch pile like ants on a watermelon rind, munching happily away. I yelled for the kids to stop throwing branches in, ran into the pen and chased all the goats out.

The kids were staring at me like I had finally lost my mind.

I scanned the ground and found the offending item I was looking for. I waved it over my head for all to see.
"See this? This is a cherry tree branch!
They were looking sideways at each other now, finding it amusing that Mom was becoming so unhinged right before their eyes.
"We need to go through these piles of branches right now and remove ALL of them."
"WHAT?! We just put them all in!"
"I know, I know, but cherry tree branches are poisonous to goats and horses"
Bella started to cry. "You mean all our horses and goatie-goats are gonna DIE?!"
"No, honey, only if they eat the leaves after they get all brown and shriveled. But we have to get them out of here now before they eat any more."
"But I don't want to touch them if they're POIsonous!"
"No, honey, they're not poisonous to touch. Just if they're eaten."
"But I eat cherries all the time!"
"The cherries aren't poisonous. Just the leaves. And only if they're all brown and wilted. And only to goa..... oh never mind, just get in here and start taking out any branches that have leaves that look like this. And any leaves on the ground that might have gotten ripped off the branches when you threw them in. Pretend it's like an Easter egg hunt."

So the kids now began working in reverse, pulling out any cherry tree branches they had thrown in only minutes before, deconstructing their giant bird's nest. It was kinda like playing Pick-up-Sticks only with giant, scratchy, interwoven branches instead of skinny little colorful sticks. Had I recorded the children as they undid all their hard work, I could have sold it to a movie studio to be used as audio for a scene where family members look thorough a bloody battlefield to find their fallen loved ones all disemboweled and decapitated. The moaning had reached its pinnacle at this point. But I have to give credit where credit is due. They did it. Our side pen was once again a habitable pen for our four-legged friends. Our one-day-to-be-removed-to-the-ravine-branch-pile had now reached new heights and could probably be seen from the town center.

Just then Fred came home and asked how he was supposed to mow the grass with this big pile of cherry tree branches in the way.

I had a few choice ideas of what he coud do with the branches, but it is my intent to keep this blog G-rated, so I'll not post my suggestions here.

Snowed In

This past weekend we had a huge blizzard. Huge. To the tune of 2'+ of snow, plus lots of wind for lots of drifts. But on Sunday we played in the snow, making snowmen, snow angels, sledding, snowball fights, the works. It was lots of fun. As a bonus, the kids even had a school cancellation on Monday.

Not so much fun was the snowstorm we got Tues night and all day Weds. Though we didn't get such an accumulation as the w/e storm (only about 17" this time), the winds were fierce, causing blizzard conditions with often less than 1/4 mile visibility. The kids really couldn't play in it while it was coming down, though they did try several times. Fred was at work, so the kids and I did need to get out to shovel the snow berm along the top of the driveway so that when he got home he would be able to pull in.

But when Fred got to within about 1/2 mile or so from the house, he was stopped by several cars ahead of him stuck, unable to get past a wall of 3 - 4' drifts across the road. So he had to turn around and try another route. He finally made it home and jumped right on the tractor to begin digging our driveway out from under all the drifted snow. He worked wll beyond nightfall, but he got it done.

This morning, however, he was unable to get to work despite all his efforts last night. He got to the end of our driveway only to realize that our road was completely snowed in, with 2 - 3 foot drifts across most of it. Though I had heard snowplows out several times last night, it looked as though our road had never been touched. The only vehicle I've seen on it this morning has been a team of Amish mules pulling a sled.

So, it looks like we'll have another snow day. Every school for miles around has been cancelled. A state of emergency was declared yesterday afternoon. Our power is still on, thank goodness, so we'll be fine. I just have to keep up with all the perpetually incoming wet snowsuits, gloves, hats and boots, finding places to lay them out to dry before the next time they're needed. I think I have enough firewood left for one more day of fires in the wood stove, so I'll go get that started in a minute.

Yesterday I cooked up a quadruple batch of pancakes in the morning, plus a pot roast with enough mashed potatoes to feed a small army. Seems eight cold and hungry children go through quite a bit of food (two of our kids' best friends have been over here since Tuesday afer school). But that's OK. Like I said, we have power. We have food. We have TV and X-Box and board games. And we have lots and lots of snow outside to play in.

Lots.

A Week of Icky Sickies and More ...

Monday
I had big plans of surprising the kids on their day off school by taking them snowtubing in the Poconos, but the weather was quite nasty. Not cooperating at all. So I had to scrap those plans and take the kids to one of those indoor kid-habitrail places where they climbed, tunneled and slid to their hearts' content for a few hours.

Came home where Fred quickly pronounced his hatred for me. Seems I gave him my cold and he was apparently dying a slow, miserable death. I said, "You mean the same cold I've had for a week?" He looked a pathetic site sitting there with his tissues and arsenal of cold remedies.

Tuesday
Got all the kids to school, but got a call from the nurse an hour or so later that Patrick was sick. Picked him up and took him home where he vegged and recuperated on the couch the rest of the day.

Wednesday
Patrick still sick, so he stayed home.
At one point I asked him to help me get the Christmas tree tossed over the deck for the goats' afternoon snack. Of course he came out in barefeet and stepped on a rusty piece of metal. The thing was about 6" long and about the diameter of a fireplace match. It had gone in through the bottom of his toe and out through the top, on an angle, coming out just next to his toenail. There was about an inch sticking out the bottom and about 4 - 5" sticking out the top. He looked like a distant, mutated relation to Wolverine. Decided I was not gonna touch that thing, so I took him into the hospital where Fred took it out. Patrick was a big boy throughout the whole process and never cried once. Unless you count begging for a milkshake afterwards as crying.
Rosie came home at the end of the day and slept the entire afternoon. We finally woke her up around dinner, but she had a fever and couldn't eat.

Thursday
Patrick back to school (with the metal splinter in an envelope as a souvenir to show off to his friends), but Rosie home sick.
Fred still managing to stumble off to work each day with his cold.
Patrick sick again at night with fever and dizziness.


Friday
Rosie and Patrick home sick.
Rosie has fever, sore throat and swollen glands. Off to docs to check for strep.

Who's Yer Daddy?

Daddy of the Year Award goes to .....

Fred.

Though he would deny, deny, deny that he should even be in the running, to me and my kids he is the obvious choice. Here are a few of his qualifications: