I haven’t done an update on the garden lately, so here’s a few photos I took today:
Old MacHolbert had a farm… May 24, 2012
Thursday Reflections March 29, 2012
My middle sister who lives next door to me and owns a dog named Zeke – I’ll call her Vickie to maintain her anonymity – told me this was going to be a hard week *sigh* *mean face* *sigh* (she was kind of mad at me). She was mad because we decided to move the dogs’ invisible fence Monday night, which she thought meant she would spend the whole week training Zeke on the new boundary.
Well, it’s Thursday, and it’s been a pretty darn good week. The dogs are trained. That allowed me to move the rabbits out to their new home in the garden without fear of the dogs eating them. That in turn allowed me to get our new six baby chickens out of my kitchen and into the garage. And I did all of this without our cat killing anyone involved!
I discovered a nest full of eggs in the bird house in the garden. The blueberry bushes and grape vines have new growth. The hostas have popped up and filled out. The honeysuckle is blooming. And I don’t have chickens in my kitchen.
It’s spring, and I can’t wait to get out there and get my hands dirty. To grow vegetables and prune the flowers. This week has me so looking forward to the next few months. Months that will be spent outside with my family and our little farm we seem to have started.
I’m sure there’ll be stories about these chickens. They pretty much freak me out. But, until then, I’ll enjoy watching them like I enjoy watching our two little bunnies hop around. Yep, it’s been a pretty good week.
Mount Maximus February 29, 2012
He does this at the most inopportune times (now that I consider it, though, any time is rather inopportune for this). I can usually see it coming. I’ve learned when we go to restaurants to watch for the nuances in his expressions that let me know he’s about to blow.
And blow he does! It’s not simply spitting food discreetly into a napkin – he spews. He explodes. He erupts.
The worst time I can recall out of the years of this happening in almost every eating establishment we have visited as a family was at Blue Sky Cafe, our very favorite local restaurant where the waitresses don’t even have to ask what we want to eat when we go.
It was a pretty crowded evening, and the setting is cozy anyway. We enjoyed our dinner with no incident. The kids behaved and no one spilled anything, argued, cried, choked, or broke any dishes (not that any of those things have ever happened when our nice little family eats out). We tipped our favorite waitress and got up to leave.
Ronnie decided to carry Max out. He grabbed him around the waist and playfully swung him through the air as he scooted out of our tight table. It was just like a slow-motion reply as I saw what happened. I saw “the look” on Max’s face just a split-second too late.
Max started projectile vomiting as soon as Ronnie picked him up, and because Ronnie was swinging him through the air, the vomit arched through the air with momentum. It was like one of those photographs that captures water in motion. A perfect arch of orangy-colored nastiness stuck in mid-air. If only it could have stayed stuck. Of course, inevitably, it had to land.
Oh dear. This is still so embarrassing to think about. Those poor people who were innocently sitting there enjoying conversation over dinner. I guess I really don’t need to explain what happened.
We sent our waitress flowers the next day.
We really liked the restaurant, after all. We wanted to be welcomed there again.
You know, we get some strange looks from people when we eat out and we scold our son at the table. I know people think we’re odd when they overhear my vehement whispers, “Maxwell Trenton, don’t you dare choke! Don’t you even think about choking. Do. Not. Throw. Up.”
What can I say? He can totally control it (just ask him). And I can’t afford flowers for every waitress in town.
If you hear us out in public threatening our four-year-old about choking, now you understand why.