New Carpet Vs. Four Dogs

On Friday, our new carpet was installed. Praise GOD! I can't even begin to tell you the difference that it has made in the house. No more mystery stains and smells in the carpet left behind by the previous owners who lived with an indoor zoo. No more hee-bee-jee-bee feelings. We are finally over the hump of disaster and on our way to moving in completion. It feels good, not to mention super squishy soft on the toes.

With just over a month left to go before Baby Hope arrives, Tom Builder has discovered that I will move heaven and earth (or king sized mattresses) singlehandedly with or without his help to finish the job indoors. I will not be stopped. Unless it comes to rebuilding the closets, and then I am admittedly at his mercy. But I can make the grand announcement that nobody is sleeping on the floor anymore. After five months, The Queen's Grace and Sir Bugga-lot have their bunk beds and can say Adieu to sleeping with mattresses on the floor.

That's the good news in the cleanliness department. The bad news, is for ten days we have inherited three additional doggies. They're good girls, but included in the bunch is a live wire puppy on a course of destruction through our house while my brother and his good wife are on a Carribean cruise. I'm beginning to realize how good we had it when Maggie, our beloved now in doggie heaven Golden Retriever was a puppy. Since Saturday, Ms. Sadie the Bloodhound puppy has sought out and destroyed:

1 Pacifier
3 Markers
1 Red Uniball Pen (which of course exploded all over the hardwood floors)
3 Strips of weather stripping for the doors
3 Stuffed animals (with stuffing carried throughout the house)
2 Wooden Beads
1 Window Screen
1 Baby Gate
1 Bowl of Mini Wheats

And that is only a short list of things that were left behind with a remnant for evidence. I can't imagine what foreign objects lie within the bowels of this canine...

We're on Day 4 or 5 of the trip. I ALMOST put them all in the outdoor shed after the Red Uniball explosion as that was the result of a third escape from the sunroom at 6:00 am. The escape was accomplished by pulling at the weather stripping underneath two closed doors, which then pulled the doors open and released the hound to do her bloody red business...so to speak. Her life would have been extinguished if she had decided to carry the ball point pen over to the freshly carpeted side of the house.

The first escape took place sometime during the morning hours of Sunday, when all three dogs busted through a window screen, and then busted a hole through a baby gated deck. Dogs are much harder than kids. I don't know how my sister-in-law does it. But I can tell you that 4 dogs, plus 3 kids, plus toys and homeschooling supplies strewn around the house is a disaster from the get go. You just can't win with that formula.

Here Comes Rubble

"It felt so good to have a day off today."

This coming from Mr. Incredible after nine hours behind either a sledge hammer, rototiller or a Bobcat. I am learning, that what my husband really wants to do in his free time is be a twenty first century gladiator. To destroy, or build, that is the question. I'm also learning he is really good at doing both.

Tom Builder has a full week with a rented Bobcat. What this guy can do with a Bobcat in thirty minutes is a wonder. On Wednesday evening, on my way to drop the kids off at AWANA, I drove between two gaudy fortress-like structures that buttress either side of our entrance to the property. Tom Builder and I have always disliked these things as they scream with their white stucco and lion topped heads "Welcome to the Fortress. Don't touch anything." We wanted our property to have a more inviting feel that matched our family's personality and said something more along the lines of "Welcome to our Home. Take a load off and stay awhile." Upon my quick return, I was greeted with "The Fall of Rome"...


The picture above was taken a day later, when most of the stucco and concrete had been transported by Bobcat to the second entrance to the property that goes down to the barn. Tom Builder's plan is to lay all of this rubble down on the farm road, crush it, and then pile pea gravel on top of it. Meanwhile, he spent the rest of the day yesterday, smoothing out the entrance with dirt so that he can start laying pallets and pallets of sod at the entrance today. Did I mention we are also getting our new carpet today?? Did I mention that we could be watching up to 4 additional dogs for a week beginning tomorrow? The next few days are going to be CRAZY!

But as long as Tom Builder has a smile on his face, and is so loopy about driving a Bobcat that he can act goofy with his hat...it is all worth it.

The Storm Before The Calm?

You know when you are trying your best to get organized over something, and how for a moment (or months in our case) things look even worse than when you had started? That is exactly where we are with this moving in and onto the farm process. And honestly, when you are gaining on a month away from delivering a new baby, the aisles of piles can start to make you a little crazy. I am so tired of trying to feel my way through mazes of unhung picture frames in the dark, just so I can get to the loo in the middle of the night. I should be wrapping up my nesting now for the little one, and instead I am inching my way around endless piles of wood and unfinished business.

We ARE making progress. It just doesn't quite feel like it yet. For instance, we have made the farm safer, by having a number of giant, but sick or dead trees felled. We had a magnificent 50 year old pine growing right by the side of the barn, but it was clearly ill, and would have squashed our barn and whatever else into mere splinters if it had crashed down on its own. In addition, there were already about 15 large logs piled up on the property. The pine has been cut into campfire sized seats, but as for the rest of it, we are surrounded up to our ears in bad wood. Mr. Incredible and I have dreams of hosting an October bonfire with friends, but alas, there will be no bonfire with a burn ban that threatens to last until 2010. So here it all bakes in 100+ temperatures.


Everyday, I have to walk by this ugly mass on my way to the barn, and I'm starting to think to myself, "And who lives here? I wonder what small animals are multiplying or slithering under that pile? The very same pile that was here before we moved in, but we continue to add to it...":


Walk around to the back of the pile, and it is a crying shame. Beautiful cedar wood from the sauna that the previous owners decided to build in our master closet. We tried to take it apart gently, but it was no use. The wood is gorgeous, and smells wonderful, but we really have no idea what to do with it in this state. And so it sits threateningly on one of many burn piles that encircle the property.

Inside the house, we have encountered an entirely new monster. Disgusting carpet and walls in need of TLC means new carpet and new paint. Sounds lovely doesn't it? However, putting the plan into action is an entirely different beast. Everything we put away when we moved, gets pushed back out to paint.

And then, me and dreamy self decide after all the painting is done, that it sure would be nice to have the closets painted as well. "I mean, now is our chance Honey. Our closets will feel so nice! It will help me want to organize. It's now or never." So I talk my patient Tom Builder into "Now", sweet man that he is, and all Closet Maid stuff has to be unscrewed from all of the closets so we can paint the walls of the closets. We were going to have to tear apart the closets anyway, to get the new carpet installed, so my pleas for painted closets weren't entirely ridiculous. However, the interim result is the center of our house gets stacked 5 feet high with pressed wood, along with everything in every closet. But the empty freshly painted closets are beautiful. :)


And here we sit. Waiting for our carpet to arrive that was at our house two weeks ago, but had to be returned due to a color mix up. This really would be fine and dandy, if it wasn't for the giant reminder in front of me outside and inside that the place is a disaster. And the other reminder that occasionally contracts into a hard beach ball, telling me that it is almost game time. Everytime I pull into our drive, I am in humble awe over the property the Lord guided us to. A tree filled treasure we now call home...even with the piles of junk everywhere. But for a moment ladies, I JUST WANT TO NEST LIKE A PREGNANT HUMAN. Instead I feel like the animal that must be trying to multiply under that burn pile outside.

The Simple Life....NOT

There is so much going on in our household right now, it is absolutely dizzying. Thanks to my brother, sending a sweet, hardworking man and his wife our way, the farmhouse is getting a complete makeover with paint, interior and exterior. New carpet is ordered and just around the corner. Boxes are still in every room. Chickens have long since outgrown their little brooder and flap their wings about in a giant TV box in the kitchen. Nana and Papa Don have come and left. My computer is still out of commish and getting sent into Toshiba tomorrow. And lastly, our new school year is to begin again in just over a week.

Craziness.


The chickens. THE CHICKENS. Oh my goodness, they can grow like weeds! The kids and I take them out of their cardboard brooder once or twice a day to practice free ranging in our front yard. Usually we manage six chicks at a time, which is much easier to keep track of rather than twelve. I've decided that chicks are cheap entertainment. I could watch them and their chicken antics for hours. And as they feather out, their new little chicken suits intrigue me. Above is one of our Silkies, and below is "Ginger", an Ameraucana, whose sproutin' tail feathers are cute as ever.

Faith greets all the chickens with a fairweather "HI!" every day. She loves them all and carefully flat hands their heads for a friendly pet. She knows she can not pick one up or hold one, and so she follows them around the yard at time with her hand shaking above them making long grunting sounds as if they were too heavy to pick up.


The Queen's Grace is forever asking to hold a chick, and gets a thrill out of giving them veggie goodies, which sends the chicks into cackling fits of madness and glee. I have to admit, it is really a funny site to see them go nutty over a little tidbit of this or that. The winner of any prize will quickly make her tasty treat known by all, which sends the entire flock on a mad chase after her to try and steal the prize, which eventually turns into a giant game of chicken "keep away".


I'm getting very nervous about putting the chicks out in their coop soon. The barn cat has made it clear that she would love to get her mitts on a chicken dinner. And the animals that have been around the farm as of late really have me racking my brain on making sure all is predator proof. Just tonight I walked in on a raccoon in the barn raiding the kitty food. I watched him collapse his body through a 3 inch gap at the top of the barn under the roof. Three inches!! And not that it is a chicken predator, but this week, I also came face to face with a beaver on our property. The animals are coming out of the woodwork.


The kids are ready to be back at it for schooling, but I'm still trying to muster up the strength to start a new year. I know once we get back into the swing of things, the moving in will go even slower than it has. But Baby Hope is on her way, and I'm starting to feel the squeeze on available time, so we'll press on, a box at a time, and hit the books in August again.

Cluck, Cluck, Neigh

I should have been focused on the arrival of our baby chickens in two weeks. And I was to a degree. The makeshift Rubbermaid brooder still needs to be fully assembled, but I'm close. Nothing a pair of tinsnips and a few screws won't take care of. The feed, feeders, heat lamp and shavings are on standby. The only animal I should be losing sleep over right now are chickens. But I'm not. Prepare for a raging rant...

Instead, it's horses. I've mentioned before how we have given the horse boarders (who were boarding their horses with the previous owners residing here in March), the notice that we would not be boarding on the farm. All of them have heeded that notice and the last boarder left two weeks ago. We should have no animals left on the farm right? Nope. Two horses are still left. Five deadlines have been made and broken, by none other than the lousy owner herself.

Not anybody earns the name "lousy" from me. But this lady is down right LOUSY. Never returns a phone call. This week topped it all for me. Follow me carefully: The last boarder to leave (I'll call her Mrs. Sweet), actually was the one who fed Mrs. Lousy's horses for her. Mrs. Lousy has only shown up once in the last three months to see her own horses, and that was because of a deep wound one of her horses had incurred on the farm (lot of blood) and the vet had to work with the horse quite a bit. That's it. ONCE.

So...when Mrs. Sweet left, there was no one to feed the remaining horses. Mrs. Lousy, knew Mrs. Sweet had left. But Mrs. Lousy never came by to feed her own horses. For FOUR days. And for THREE days I called her six times letting her know that I was growing concerned that her horses were not being fed and there was no alfalfa hay available at all. Now, of course, I'm not going to watch horses starve on my own property, so I fed them with the remaining grain and pellets. But she didn't know that. Never once did she call back. Until today.

All of a sudden, she leaves a message on the machine that someone is coming over to look at the horses, and by the way, she was feeding the horses. A bald faced lie. But to be sure, I made sure to be down at the barn when she came by. We chatted for forty minutes after the man decided that he wasn't interested in a sixteen year old flat footed thoroughbred and a spitfire mean miniature stallion for his wife. After some warming up, I apologized for all of my repeated calls that she never answered regarding the welfare of her horses, and then lined up the bait and switch. "We must have been just missing each other. You must have been coming by in the afternoons." (I had been at the house almost constantly all week, but for the last four afternoons we had been on the property outside). "Yes...(her eyes dodged), in the afternoons sometimes and also at night I'd park on the street and walk down to the barn."

Two minutes later, as she walks down to the barn to "feed" the horses, she asks, "So how are we doing on our grain level?" And I watch as she checks the four garbage cans where the horse food is stored. She sifts around, "We still have some senior equine in there, and enough beet pulp..." For a person who has been feeding her horses for the last four days, she sure did a lot of checking, and asked some odd questions. I could tell you with my eyes closed and hands tied behind my back how much of everything there was in those bins. My blood was boiling.

So here's the kicker. She moved her other horses off of our property to next door over a month ago, but she doesn't want to pay for the last two to go over there. So we are stuck with two horses, the owner neglects, and who rarely you can get a hold of, because she doesn't want to pay for boarding all of her horses somewhere. And we walk this fine line tight rope of what in the world do we do? We can't charge her boarding fees, because then we become a horse business and insurance must get involved. So she sits here for free. I am a finger dial away from calling a horse rescue place, but then their web site has a blip about how they are looking for more available stall space and has over twenty horses already listed. And I just don't know if we can call them truly abandoned yet.

How do you make someone take their animals off of your property when they weigh hundreds of pounds? It is the most frustrating situation I have ever been in with someone. And we're dealing with an unreachable bluthering idiot who is prone to lie badly. Tom Builder keeps telling me that he is two weeks ahead of me in frustration and anger. He still thinks the best solution is to park the remaining two horses in the parking lot of her town home. If I didn't have a heart, I'd do it.

Oh Sheesh It's June Already

ACK! I hate it when I do this. I go AWOL on the blog for a few weeks, and then I feel overwhelmed about trying to get all of the stuff I went AWOL on, blogged about, which turns into a vicious cycle of avoiding the blog.

Then there is this weird anxiety over it. I tell myself that I started the blog for our family, to log in on life and capture memories that my mind would normally dismiss over time. But there is a bit of high school mentality left somewhere inside me that worries that an extended absence will discourage readers and they'll stop visiting. Not that the place is hopping with comments. And that was never what this blog was about in the first place, but suddenly it begins to matter. And then I scold myself for being ridiculously childish, and remind myself that if I don't want to blog, than I shouldn't blog that day. WHAT IS THAT???

There were many factors in my latest absence including the never ending move, exhaustion, exciting travels and celebrations, chicken research, and my latest debacle...cheerios. I will be addressing all of this at my leisure in the coming week, but I do stress "leisure". More of a forced leisure.

I so unwisely decided to bring my laptop to the breakfast table to look up some chicken stuff. And then Grace became enthralled with the chicken stuff and managed to drop a giant sloppy spoonful of cheerios and milk onto the keyboard. An hour after that...the computer has gone on strike. No computer for me. I feel like I have lost a limb. The laptop is an extension of my body for at least three hours a day. It is my cookbook, my library, my mailbox, my photo album, my news, my homeschooling tracker, my blog.

But I leave you with good news...The chickens are coming! Which is why I am up to my neck in chicken research and books. Ten one day old baby chickens will be arriving in the mail (YES...in the mail) at the end of this month. Isn't the Internet amazing?Every single one, a different breed. And hopefully, as ordered, every single one a female. No roos please! We'll have a rainbow of chicken ladies and eggs on the farm. How fun is that?

But again more on that later...

Home Alone Again

(insert Willie Nelson tune of On the Road Again)

Home alone again
Just can't wait to get Tom Builder home again
It feels like this moving thing is never going to end
And I can't wait to get on with life again

Home alone again
He's gone and left me with these kids again
Crumb crunching children who undo organ-i-zation
Mom has gone and lost her head while home again

Home alone again
I've got two more weeks of on my own again
Who were we kidding
So much for middle May
We'll be lucky if we're ready by Christmas Day

Home alone again
The belly's growing large and round again
Bending, lifting, and climbing stairs are not my friends
Summer heat, and napless Faith confirm
I'll never move again

Home alone again
Just got to keep the faith and think "Little Blue Engine"
Oh, I can't wait to get on with life again.
Oh, I can't wait to get on with life again.

I'm A Pooped Pooper Scooper

Day FOUR. One more to go. It's been four days since Mr. Incredible left me with three wiggly children who have not been homeschooled for two weeks. I don't know what it is about homeschooling, but it sets the pace of the day, and gives the children a feeling of accomplishment. It also must give them a sense of freedom when the work is done, because the bickering is much less. But after two weeks of school break and now four days of the "alpha male" being absent, not to mention the incessant moving duties, I'm about to chew my left arm off.

By 4PM all I can think is, "I can't wait until I am tucking every last one of you in bed, and I have a moment of peace." Translation..."I want to hit the farm alone." And for over a week, that is exactly what I am doing. After a full day of managing the home, I am more than willing to get outside in the cool evening and manage the farm. I've been bonding with the miniature horses, who will soon be finding a new home (we are told) at a center for disadvantaged children. With their winter woolies coming out in tufts, and with their current owner never showing up on the premises to pay much attention to them, I made it my mission this week to get reacquainted with horse care and grooming...ehem...starting in miniature.

I only have a year of riding under my belt, and that was back in college. And I'll admit it has taken me a bit to find my self confidence and relearn how to become part of the herd. Believe it or not, the most difficult horse on the premises is the miniature stallion. He can turn at a moments notice and give you a drive by charge. Being preggo with Baby Hope, I've been extra cautious, but still determined to bond with the little dynamo. My heart, however, is set on the gelding. He and I have turned into buds. He patiently lets me harness and lead him, or spend hours grooming him, and in return he gets to visit a green bit of pasture instead of his dirt pen.

Tonight I shoveled miniature horse poop. How cute is that? Horse poop in miniature. The horse poop piles had turned into horse poop lanes, so I decided to get out there and get my hands dirty. Three large wheelbarrows full of the stuff. But it was lovely. Just me, my shovel, the horses, and poop. Nobody said a word. Tomorrow, if someone gave me the choice of 8 hours with my children or 8 hours with a shovel...I think I'd take the mute and well behaved shovel.

But then again, shovels don't give adorable forehead kisses.
Tough call.

What A Moving Day

What is better than "Two Men and a Truck"? TWO crews of "Two Men and a Truck"! Two trucks. Four men lifting all of our heavy furniture up and away. And NO disasters.

This would have been the day, where I signed my kids up for a Mother's Morning Out at the church or something, but that would require more than half of a functioning brain. So, after an hour of The Princess of Wails being constantly in the way of men holding heavy furniture with white knuckles, and trying to stuff as many boxes as we could to avoid more car trips, I surrendered in retreat. The children and I headed back to the new place, while Mr. Incredible and the men endured stifling heat and box stuffing alone for the next couple hours.

It really was a chaotic day. Picture four moving men, a crew of six painters and three children standing in open doorways meant for four moving men. At two o'clock, all of the furniture had been loaded and the men where heading to the farm with the two trucks.


There are no words to describe what it feels like to finally have furniture in the farm house after living with just a table set, and mattresses on the floor for over a month. Each room in the house transformed into a cushy haven of rest with the warmth of wood along the walls. It was amazing to watch, and like Christmas to unwrap the shrink wrap on the furniture and not discover a single ding or scratch.

Tom Builder had the ingenious idea of numbering each of the main rooms in the house with a sheet of paper. Normally, one might shout to the mover that this or that box goes in the family room, but when there are two of everything, it gets a little more complicated. So the number system worked really well, and Mr. Incredible just shouted out a number as each item passed by. When all was said and done, some rooms were filled and complete, while a couple stood empty. Isn't that how it should be when you move into a house with a round belly? Maybe that is where the term "Wiggle Room" comes from.

The unfortunate fact, is we still need to go back to our house of seven years, and clean out more closets, storage, a garage, and a workshop. Not the most exciting stuff to stay motivated over. I just want to stay here and nest for the next two years (which is how long it will take me to go through these boxes of random junk). But the job is not over.

Tom Builder and I, after many MANY days, finally had the treat of watching a movie on a TV screen, in a comfortable couch on a Friday night. I could at last prop my flattening feet on top of a coffee table, and think about something other than moving for the next two hours. Normalcy is near. And THAT is what keeps me moving.

Confessions of a Do It Yourself Woman

This week was officially declared by Tom Builder to be "moving week". Hence the sans blogging on my part. It has been an exhausting week with sunny visits inbetween. Tomorrow, the movers come to pick up all of the big heavy furniture. Today, the painters come to paint the house going up on the market a neutral color. And this morning, we interviewed our second interior designer to help us with the new house.

Yep...you read that last part right. For two die hard do-it-yourself-ers this is a big step in acknowledging that we can't do it all ourself on this one. Two houses all connected together is a bit much to coordinate. It is also a large step towards swallowing some major pride as a woman. These days, there is great pressure to be Martha Stewarts and do everything by hand. Beautifully. Creatively. Simply. (And then of course for the conservative homeschooling mother, we should be grinding our own grain.) But I'm biting the bullet, and keeping an open mind. As we delve further into the interior deco world, I'm getting more relaxed about the entire thing.

It would take me years to accomplish what an interior decorator with a good hand and reliable contractors could do in hours. And I need to face the fact that what I could whip up 10 years ago (not that I was any good folks), is not happening with land, babies and schooling. I mean, I honestly haven't had the chance to go get my unibrow waxed and my hair cut in almost over a year. Poor Tom Builder has been dealing with scrubs material, for pete's sake. Look at that hair! This is my head all day every day - twist and a clip. (Thanks to my wonderful sister-in-law Kristy who made us an amazing handmade made desk calendar with family photos, I've been staring at the oh-so younger version of me and Tom Builder in our engagement photos this month. It's getting to me.)


But honestly, when am I going to have the time to decorate two kitchens, six bathrooms, and six bedrooms?? I want to dream and plan over chickens, horses, a rip roaring garden, and an adorable baby we'll know the gender of on Monday...and perhaps get my tail back into a salon. Not fuss over fabrics and finishes. Can you tell I'm trying to talk myself into this?

To give you an idea of how controlling I am with things of the home, I would never, NEVER, participate in a Trading Spaces episode. Love to watch the show, but would never want any room my house to be the brunt of someone else's style and creativity. I wouldn't be the one that cried because I hated it, but you can bet I'd be at Home Depot that evening picking out the paint color I'd be using to paint over the newly decorated walls. For me, hiring an interior decorator is equivalent to a person afraid of heights deciding to walk along The Great Wall of China.

We'll also be looking into hiring a landscape design service...another major gulp of pride for me the gardener girl. I must stress this is all rolling out in phases over many years. But this is now our home for decades out, and we want it to feel like a retreat away from home for our friends and family. It needs a professional touch. Someone who does this for a living. It is just really hard to admit that person should not, and couldn't possibly be me the control freak. {gulp}

About This Moving Thing

Honestly? Cards all laid out on the table...This is really hard. How do people with kids who stay at home ALL DAY move? Is there a temporary public school out there that just takes kids for about three weeks while Moms make sixty thousand trips with overstuffed minivans? By the time I take all the children with me and trek back to the old house, and grab our school work to tackle while we are there, I've got a passenger side seat and a trunk available. Its ridiculous. Then there are my really stupid days when I let the dog come with us.

Ken bought one of those nifty WorkSport trailers that hauls a boat load of stuff, but that would require me to be a braver animal then a chicken to haul things with it. And so I creep. Along. Agonizingly. Slow. Each kitchen cabinet in TWO kitchens, needs thorough wash downs to disintegrate the grime and the kitty hair left behind. Meanwhile the baby is found scribbling with four markers on the freshly painted walls of the new playroom, or can be found swishing her hands around in the closest toilet (for the third time that day). And then of course there are all of the daily requirements that don't disappear when you move: the groceries, the cleaning, the laundry, the yogurt, cocoa puffs, ketchup and juice spills in the last 12 hours, dinners. The demanding baby who has discovered how to whip up screaming temper tantrums and is tired of being fifth string, wanting her Mom to just sit and be still.

Add a deadline to the mix of May 15th for placing our old house on the market, that needs its own TLC, and its paralyzing. I feel like I am trying to run in water. So in case you started to think we were all tip toeing through the buttercups, and toe dipping all day in the crystal blue water, this is what is REALLY brewing 95% of the day.

We really do live in paradise though...check out the double rainbow smack over our farm from last week.

Bedazzled In Buttercups

I was not exaggerating when I mentioned that the farm is dazzling. Wildflowers have taken over the farm, and it has all of us feeling like we have stepped into a child's dream, or a TV commercial for allergy medicine...depending on the day. More specifically, we are bathing in buttercup pollen. 300 Google parts per million would be a conservative guess. These are not just your ordinary buttercups, these are brilliant gold Globeflowers.

We have learned in our homeschooling research, that ironically, Globeflowers are quite special as they are endangered in at least 7 states. When Tom Builder heard this report he quipped, "We're the one's in danger!" Guessing this week could only be peak week (does it get more beautiful than this?) we headed out to the back five acres and snapped gobs of cuteness pictures.


Faith was taking her morning snooze back at the house, so the kids and I continued on our trek along the creek. About six weeks ago, we stuck to the edge of the creek and wandered onto our sweet retired neighbor's back property to do some further exploring. To our delight, we found what we now call "our secret spot". And when we have time, none of us can resist visiting it. The creek takes a bend along the property line, which leaves a wonderful bar of sand and silt for the children to wander along. Everything about the place is southern. From the giant leaning sycamores, to the sounds of the birds and bugs.


I can sit on the sand in peace, and watch my children build sand castles, dig for clams, and spot animal tracks. And I can find equal amusement as I watch Hatch practice swimming in the shallows. The place is absolutely enchanting and safe. I half expect to see The Rabbit and Alice in Wonderland running by.


The return back from the creek has become an amusement. Wet feet squeak in rubbery shoes, and we soon look like giant bumblebees with loads of pollen stuck to our legs. The children usually have their hands full of clams and new wildflower bouquets. On the return, my eyes always scan the two things that have me very excited: budding wild roses lining the creek, and blackberry bushes...EVERYWHERE. I have my own grown up dreams that include friends and families with buckets in hand for blackberry picking in July.


The buttercups bring us home, slowly becoming less and less as we get closer to the farm. Because they are bitter, the horses avoid the plants. Horses. A few horses remain. We gave the word a month ago that we would not be boarding. Two of our favorites are still around, and we are tempted to keep them on site. They have become friends we visit every morning and evening. It continues to be a hard decision. But I think we will stick to it and enjoy their gentle personalities until they find a new home. One day, we'll have our own gentle giants. But we'll start small...

When the horses mosey on out, we'll be placing our first order for "The Chicken Project"!!!

Who Flu The Poop?

There is only one thing that keeps me from blogging for over a week. Not moving. Not homeschooling. Not chasing after three kids and trying to grow another. And not trying to do all of those things at once. What keeps me from blogging is Faith, the flu, buckets of curdled sour milk on the way back up, and amazingly rancid diapers that have MOAB military like capabilities when they detonate.

Flu + Faith = Stale Blog.

Six days of the flu bug for my poor little one. By day three, she was shuffling her feet along the floor like an old lady. By day four, we had the worst blow out in Knucker Hatch history. By day five, I was praising the steam cleaner for it's vomit devouring capabilities on hardwoods. By day six, the laundry had washed The Princess of Wails' sheets and blankets 12 times.

And now...Tom Builder appears to be Mr. Flu's next possible victim. Good times.

However, we are making progress on the house. The play room is freshly painted, and neatly organized which has made everyone in the new house cheerful in spite of the stench o' flu. I'm sure there is an old adage somewhere that says, "If the playroom is happy, everybody is happy."


There is much more I have to share with you from last week. Not all of it was doom and gloom. In fact, the farm is dazzling. And just as amazing, we've discovered that Mr. Incredible can turn slime into sparkling pool water. Just in time for almost 80+ degree weather. A many pictured post to follow tomorrow (as soon as my camera battery recharges and recovers from my trigger happy finger.)

Wind In The Willow

I love taking pictures of The Queen's Grace outside. Her hair is always catching the sun, and she looks as if she's been dropped out of heaven when she is knee deep in cushy nature.

After a full day of rain yesterday, we all couldn't wait to get back out and enjoy the spring sun today, and the WIND. Oh the wind! I finally got myself a Flickr account, and figured out why everyone has one of those new fangled thing-a-ma-jigs on their blogs. Now I get it. Way cool. So come on down to the farm, and visit some pictures from our romp this afternoon: Exploring The Farm.

And in case you're wondering, if it wasn't for the pest control woman who was working around our home today, there would be one brown mangy dog with a bee-bee in his tushy today. (I do note the irony that I couldn't find it in myself to haul out the bee-bee gun for chasing off a pesky dog when the pest control woman was there.)

The Great Dane

So I haven't told you about my experiences yet with our neighbor's dogs on our property. This is a doozy.

It started out with just a rapidly beating heart as the children and I were on a walk around the land one day. We were close to home, and well on the property. Our trusty, friendly dog, Hatch was also with us. When the ugliest dog I have ever seen, an old tumor ridden mangy hunting dog, trotted down the lane toward us, woofing along the way. I was paralyzed as I watched with trepidation Hatch head out to greet the dog. There is that moment when dogs stand nose to nose with tails up and stiff that you know things could go either way. Faith was wrapped on my back and the children were beside me, and I had this moment of sudden surrender as I knew if the dog didn't get the right vibe from smaller Hatch, he would be the least likely candidate to win the dog fight. And I would not be stepping in to help. But thankfully, they decided that neither one was a threat, and they made friends. That was the first dog.

Two days later, as we were piling out of the van, and getting ready to go inside the house for schooling that morning, I happened to turn around as I was getting Faith out of the car seat. My heart dived into the pit of my stomach, as my eyes tried to make sense of what was before me. A Great Dane staring us down less than 10 yards away.

A GREAT DANE.

Hatch was climbing out of the car, but the Dane was so still that Hatch thankfully didn't see him. I hurried everyone immediately into the house.

Houston, we have a problem.

I call the Great Dane - Ghost. Ghost is stealthy, quiet, and amazingly quick. You don't know he is there, until HE IS THERE. And he is bigger than life (as all Great Danes are). Ghost is a problem. Hatch, does not like Ghost. Ghost does not like Hatch. Hatch never growls, but Hatch growls at Ghost when he suddenly appears on the property. Worse, Ghost growls at Hatch. Once Jack opened the door to go outside, and instantly turned tail white faced in time for me to see Ghost 5 yards from the door, head low, growling at Hatch who instantly was at Jack's side growling back. Sometimes it feels like we are in some bizarre horror flick. None of us like the idea of the jaws of death sauntering around the land unchecked.

Yesterday, confirmed that fear. I was heading out to the bunny pen to feed our almost newly inherited bunny. The bunny was left by the previous owner, and word on the land was she would most likely be leaving it with us forever. The previous owners have a reputation for unfinished business. Which was great news for our family, since I am a rabbit fanatic, who has had to be reformed after my marriage to Tom Builder. No more college bunnies. But now was my chance to give my children the bunny sickness. We were all looking forward to taking care of Casey. In fact, we were planning to rescue Casey from her outdoor cage, and give her a much bigger run or the safety of a small enclosed shed to roam in with a few other friends. A Bun-Bun House. The future was looking bright for Casey.

Until the Great Dane decided to spend the night of Easter terrorizing Casey as his jaws of death chewed through the wire bottom underneath the lifted cage. He chewed a 12 inch round hole in the bottom of the cage, and seized the rabbit (who quickly became no more). Dead Casey was dropped upon the driveway of his owners as a trophy. After a phone call to Pam (the bunny owner) we have since learned that this is the THIRD bunny who has met this same fate with the Great Dane. Rumor is, the owners have four Great Danes. I don't know who I'm madder at...the Great Dane owners, or Pam. So Tom Builder and I spent yesterday evening discussing our options. One thing was made clear, as we were still hanging out on the farm that afternoon. If the kids saw the Great Dane, they were to tell Mr. Incredible immediately.

And then Ghost came. We were in the house, and we watched as he glided down the long driveway and came right up to the porch. Tom Builder was summoned. And we all stood nose to window as we watched wide eyed at the scene before us. Mr. Incredible opened the door and stepped outside, grabbing two large sticks with pink pony heads attached to the top of them (junk still sitting on the porch from the previous owners.). Yes...you can start laughing.

Mr. Incredible in his nice slacks and handsome shirt brandished two pink ponies at Ghost shouting GIT!. For a moment, the dog cocked his head, as if to say, Who is this Pink Pony Ninja?. But then Mr. Incredible made it clear that he meant business. He chased the giant dog off the property, slinging a pink pony at the dog, and running with the wind blowing in his hair after the fleeing Dane with the remaining pink pony. OH I WISH I HAD MY VIDEO CAMERA. All of us were laughing hysterically and quite relieved that Ghost hadn't decided to challenge Mr. Incredible. Even Tom Builder, when he realized what he had grabbed for weapons, had a sheepish grin on his face.

But today, we will be guarding our property with something more accurate than a pink pony. The bee-bee gun from Tom Builder's glory days is cocked and loaded. Personally, I'd rather watch the Pink Pony Ninja in action again. Pink ponies, or bee-bee guns, we realize we do have a serious problem that needs addressing.

Simply Happy

Happiness is having the most comfortable seat in an empty house and a cushy lap to share it with.

Happiness is doing our school reading outside underneath the cool shade of massive trees.

Happiness is a fuzzy barn cat insisting to sit on top of the book Mom is trying to read from aloud.

Happiness is having a new excuse for a poor narration.

Canine happiness is chasing down barn cats and bumblebees.


Happiness is pure dizziness after your sister swings you in circles ten times...until you walk straight into a solid wall.

Happiness is when you suddenly have access to every puzzle mom has had locked away in the school closet. But now you have endless square footage to piece them together upon.


Happiness is our first home cooked dinner filling up the rooms with the delicious smell of chicken fricassee and couscous.

Happiness is for just one hour, being able to smell something other than the thick aged stench of "cat" in the farm house with my super-bionic pregnancy nose.

Happiness is finding that your jean legs poof with puffs of farm dust when tapped.

Happiness is a warm shower and a wet soapy baby squeegie-ing the shower door to her little heart's content.

Happiness is three kids tucked in bed for the next 11 hours.

Greener Pastures

My dogs are hoarse from barking after three days of vacuuming, steam cleaning, scrubbing floors, peeling tens of stickers off bedroom doors, and moving school supplies into the school kitchen. We have already spent hours spit shining the house, and there are hundreds of hours ahead of us, but it is easy to keep a smile on my face through the exhaustion. It is sinking in...this farm is our farm. We are moving to greener pastures.


It is funny what you decide to move into a new residence first. For me, the school room/playroom begged to be rescued in our current house. We have been schooling at the kitchen table for months, which has worked wonderfully as we've moved beyond Montessori into Ambleside curriculum. We will be using the second kitchen, cabinets and the adjoining sunroom as both our morning and lunch eatery and our schooling area. Last night, I moved a little kid table and a patio bistro set into the sunroom and it worked perfectly for our first day of school today in the new house. All of us found that, at least for the first day, having giant windows begging us to come out and play rather than school were a distraction, but we worked through it.

The property is greening up and the pastures catch you longing to get lost in their tiny purple and white violets. In the afternoon, the children headed out to explore the back 10 acres with Dad who had stopped by to check in. Our newest member of the family, Domino the barn cat, decided to accompany the troop on their journey...


After watching from a far as they walked out there together, I could take the suspense no longer. Until today, I had yet had the opportunity to go out and visit the back 10 acres. All I knew, is what Ken had taken in pictures. And that was when it was freezing and brown out. When the family returned, I asked for a crack at exploring the property myself. The children headed out with me, eager to show me around, and Hatch, the happiest dog you've ever seen in the last two days, was just as game for a leash free jaunt.

The scene was breath taking. The closer to the creek we got, the greener and more lush the invitation. This is the tree line along the creek...


On an 80 plus degree day, the sound of rushing water made it feel like I was walking into an oasis. Hatch had similar thoughts, and couldn't resist jumping in for a cool swim. The trees were amazing. Those fascinating kinds of trees that have been around for many years and show their age in their odd shaped branches that invite a climb or a sit.


Happy wet dog looking back over the last five acres and an old grove of six barely there trees that surely have stories of their own to tell...


The horses perfect the tranquil setting on the property. Their large glistening bodies are like moving canvases on the property. Always rearranging themselves, adding definition to the land. Making us laugh at times, or stand in awe. Ken and I are agonizing over the horses. If we allow the horses to continue to be boarded, we sacrifice a privacy that we longed for on this type of property. Almost always there is a boarder or two or a trainer and trainee on the property with cars driving in and out. Saturdays and Sundays too. Many of them have been very kind. If we nix the boarders, the horses obviously go too, at least for a couple of years. Not to mention the issue of insurance and liability. It is a hard decision, but luckily not one we have to make right away. So for now, I drink it in...


The children have tickled me with their enthusiasm and gradual realization of what moving really means. Jack is still trying to figure things out. Today he asked, "How many houses do we have to live in before we get to heaven?" Not sure where I went wrong there, but he's clearly mulling over things in his mind. Grace, on the other hand, is in nature walk heaven, bringing in toads, kitty tales, and minute by minute exclamations of how she loves this paint color choice or how great the knobs from our old house look on the new house cabinets. Faith is having a blast running from room to empty room as her little padding feet echo throughout the house. We all turn into little kids when we explore empty houses, don't we?

Holy Haystacks, We Bought The Farm!

We closed today! It really happened. Thirty minutes before the closing appointment, I checked in with Tom Builder to verify that we were not going to close today. I was going to lay Faith down for a nap. He looked at me and said, "I'd keep her up. We're closing." Oh good heavens!

Tom Builder and I went in the office prepared to walk away. Certain stipulations had not been taken care of as previously signed and agreed upon. At one point, I thought we were going to leave the table over twenty stinkin' dollars. My heart was pounding, listening to my husband and the other man get heated over how much money should go in escrow over a broken hot tub and jetted lap pool. The man even had an open consultation with his ex-wife suggesting that maybe they should go with the higher offers. Higher offers??? (Note the plurality.) And over twenty dollars in interest. If there were higher offers, everybody knew we wouldn't have been there in the first place. I stared hard at my hands willing the twitching muscles around my mouth not to betray my amusement and my pride in Tom Builder at my side.

Tom Builder had discovered another problem this morning upon inspection of the house. The washer, dryer and fridge had been removed from the old house. Three brand new appliances that the ex-wife had verbally agreed would stay. I was very proud of The Incredible Tom Builder. He stood firm and resolute on his escrow offer and the appliances (which he is now retrieving from storage with the owner). Mr. Incredible was logical, concise, and unwavering. The only thing the man could do was say, "Ok. But then you're not getting the tractor." As mentioned before, the tractor was very old and crippled without a steering wheel, needing repairs every year before it would start. Not much of a loss considering that one of our stipulations stated the tractor would either be fixed or removed. And it was no longer on the property.

The emotions I have at this very moment are remotely familiar to the day after our wedding. I know with my mind that it has happened. I know that on paper, the farm is now ours. Our future dreams are waiting for us there. But it will take three days for my heart to relax from the build up. To accept that this place is our new home, and the dream is not going to be pulled out of our hearts at the last minute.

This is the part in the story where there is a blank page. A marker of silence. The beginning of a new set of chapters. A new season. The page turns, and the chapter of the second act begins...

"In the warm spring of 2007, when new green glistened at the tips of every winter worn branch, our family moved from the only home we'd ever known to twelve wide open acres of pasture land..."

A Day From Closing

Tomorrow we are supposed to close on the farm. Both of us are chomping at the bit to get inside of the house and start painting, patching, and steam cleaning the carpet we will rip out. Every move in-er has it...the need to wipe every surface clean. And it is not just a woman thing. Even Tom Builder gets the heebee-jeebees over old bits and crumbs being left behind in kitchen cabinets and carpet stains that are not our own.

We are scheduled to close tomorrow, but we won't. We've learned some valuable lessons over the years. When they have their money, they leave. Job is over. Even if it is not. And while the small list of things on our punch list is getting done (an old truck has been removed from the property, all house plans and warranties are now sitting in a pile), there are other things that still need to be done. The tractor is still missing a steering wheel, two pools aren't filled to demonstrate that they are functional, and perhaps most importantly, there is still stuff piled on the porch and in the garage.

So as much as I wanted to christen the home with soap and a sponge this weekend, I'll have to wait. And I'll have at least one more week to obsess over the giant Behr paint fan I purchased to help with our paint color selections. We are so close! We've waited a long time to find a place like this. What's one more little week? However, if I'm still sitting on my swelling duff in two weeks, I might be singing a different tune.

Minutes Away from Mosaic Meals

Remember when I received all of those beautiful broken spanish tiles? The goal was to mosaic our old family dinner table, and create something really unique and ours...a Knucker Hatch original. Well, finally, FINALLY, the table is almost ready to be grouted and sealed. What a job that was! When I count the hours around the table where actual work was being done, it probably will have taken Ken and I about 10-15 hours. But getting myself to work on the table after a full day of managing the motherlode, was more difficult than I anticipated. So here is what the table looks like sans grout:


The real question Ken and I keep on going back and forth on is what color to do the grout? We love the bright colors, and we don't want to overpower the piece, but because there are so many colors in the tiles, the choice is harder. I originally thought light brown, but we smeared a bit between some tiles and it just looked like concrete. So then we thought terracotta (the actual underside color of all of the tile), but now we are not so sure. Another option that might work is a pewter color...but will that look like concrete again? I hate to screw this whole project up with a poor grout choice. The pressure! Any ideas??