Fall Mom

Fall Mom…

I am such a great Mom in the fall. After the craziness of summer, I’m so happy to get back to a routine and some free time away from my beloved children.

Summer just about brings me to my wits end every year. It always starts out well. I’m relieved to not have to pack lunches or return homework on time. Summer is a time of freedom, fun and childhood. We can swim, play outside, go for picnics and watch the stars. But by the next day, I’ve had it. What is it about children today who have a constant need for entertainment? If you say, “Go play” they’ll ask you what you want them to play. REALLY??? I can’t imagine that it was that way when I was a kid because my mom would have killed me!

And don’t get me started on the “Can I have a friend over?” and “Can I have a sleep-over?” By mid summer I’m not even sure who’s sleeping in the kids’ bed anymore. I see strange kids at the breakfast table and wonder who they belong to. I always said that I wanted to have the house where all the kids wanted to hang out – you know so I’d know where they were and who they were with. It sounds good in theory, but I wouldn’t mind sharing that blessed burden with someone else sometimes. At least until I can get a cup of coffee in me.

So summer is now behind us and I’m working hard to forget some of the darker moments. Then here comes fall – my favorite time of year. Beautiful colored leaves, crisp air, bonfires and apple cider. Did I mention that it’s also the time that kids go back to school? We shop for new clothes, back packs and lunch boxes. I’m pretty shot from the challenges of summer so I try to do this shopping without the kids. It does have a few drawbacks (“Mom, I’m 9 years old, I do NOT want a Bob the Builder lunchbox!”) but they usually outweigh the benefits (no one bugging me during shopping). With enough magic markers I’m convinced that I can make Bob look like a Transformer.

I love the forms that come home from school, I really do. I love to sit down at the table, get my best pen and fill everything in. It makes me feel efficient and organized if only temporarily.

Allergies, Food Issues, Emergency contacts, Special needs (this one is especially useful), Doctor’s name and number and “tell me a little something about your child”.

Check, check, check. I fill them out then put them right into the back pack to be returned the next day. Won’t the teacher be impressed with me? See what a good parent I am? Haven’t lost a form yet (one day in)! This is also where I get very enthusiastic about my volunteering abilities. I’ll sign up for any committee or classroom opportunity that comes my way. Three hours a week to help with reading club? No problem. Organize the class Christmas party? You bet. I’m sure the teachers know this because that’s why they ask the questions early – while the shine is still on the new backpacks. If they were to ask two weeks into the school year they would probably hit a wall of stony silence.

I forge onward, gracefully accepting my commitments, eagerly awaiting my turn to help in the class. This is usually when the cracks begin to show - small at first, then quickly gaining momentum. It starts when my youngest child comes home in tears.

“Mom, today was red shirt day and I’m the only one who didn’t wear a red shirt.”

Ok, for starters, really? She’s the only kid whose Mom didn’t have it together enough to remember this day? I highly doubt that. Don’t they have extra red shirts stashed somewhere for those of us that forget? Does my daughter even have a red shirt? Back to the crying child. Focus. Focus.

“The teacher said she sent the note home last week.”

Oh did she now? I’m full of self-righteous indignation at this point. I go to my handily placed basket that has been clearly labeled “action items”. I dig to the bottom, throwing aside $0 balance notices for the lunch accounts (need to get on that), countless book orders and a picture day order form (oops). There I find it, at the bottom, screaming out “RED SHIRT DAY”. Dang. What has happened to the system? I began it with such organization and good intention only to have it all fall apart two weeks later.

I suppose that I should be happy that I even received the note at all. If this involved my son, I would not have seen the note until much later. At the end of the year when I’m cleaning out his backpack, I would have found it there. Wet, slightly moldy and tinged a weird green color. I should be thankful for small miracles.

So I add “buy a red shirt” to a post it note and drop it into my action items box. Let’s see if that gets done… And so we mothers bravely push ahead ready for the challenges of the new school year. Sure, we know there will be moments of panic and agony. We know the kids will tell us at 11:00pm the night before that they need to bring in 32 Rice Krispie treats. We’ll rise to the challenge and stay up all night baking, covered in marshmallow goo. The children will be briefly thankful and we’ll be exhausted. It’s just what we do as the selfless mothers that we are. Still, just to be on the safe side, if you see me in the grocery store at 11:00 pm with nothing but boxes of Rice Krispies and Marshmallows in my cart, you might want to steer clear.

Down with the farm

Let me begin with a little background before I get into this article. Joe was a “lake kid”. He was raised on a lake and grew up swimming, fishing, catching frogs and turtles and ice fishing. His ability to swim through seaweed without shrieking like a girl was one of the first things that impressed me about him.

I was raised as a “farm kid”, but I really have to use the term loosely. My Dad used to say that he was a “gentleman farmer” which I guess meant that you didn’t do the really hard core stuff like crops and cows. My sisters and I had horses and our family grew and baled our hay for them. I will often scoff at those who think I can’t do something physical and claim that I am a “farm girl” and well used to hoisting bales of hay. I’m starting to let that go a little bit though because my back just isn’t what it used to be…

Joe and I have decided to live on a little farm outside of town (swimming through seaweed does indeed make me scream like a girl). The farm’s not huge but it’s enough to keep us insanely busy and very happy. Our farm consists of 15 acres (graciously afforded to us by my late Grandma Arnold), five goats, eighteen hens, one rooster, three cats, a schnauzer and a llama. I’ll get to the llama later.

We started with the schnauzer and things kind of snowballed from there. Next we got two baby goats – Fruit Loop and Cheerio. They were the absolute cutest things you’d ever seen!! Joe had built the Taj Majal of goat enclosures for our new babies. He spent weeks making sure the fence was level and solid – we wanted nothing more than to keep them safe. We purchased the goats from a nearby farm and brought them home in the minivan.

The goat pick up was the first clue that Joe was not actually a “farm kid” like I was. We took the two babies, fully weaned, from their screaming Mom. It was very emotional, I’ll grant you that, but I think Joe was more emotional than the goats. He even asked if we could buy the Mom as well just to stop all the shrieking (his included). Lucky for me she wasn’t for sale.

We brought our little treasures home and gently released them into their new pen – from which they promptly escaped. If you’ve never dealt with a goat before I can tell you this – they are nothing if not unpredictable. The only real chance you have of catching them is by using grain or brute force (if you’re quick enough to get your hands on them). That being said, we’d never really dealt with goats before so we did what anyone would do. We panicked.

Everything turned out fine and we were able to secure the baby goats and learn a valuable lesson. You can plan all day long but the animals will pretty much decide how things are going to go.

We have this good friend, Lesia, maybe you know her? She is a true animal lover and will rescue ANY animal that she can in any way that she can. She has saved horses, dogs, cats, goats, rabbits and even a pot bellied pig. If you run into her on the street one of the first things she’ll say to you is, “I’ve got the cutest little bunny/cow/pig/goat on the PLANET. She would be perfect for your farm!!” Lesia may be the reason that caller ID was invented because she will do whatever it takes to get animals placed in good homes. Lesia is also the reason that we got another three goats (Blue, Rita and Cammie) and the llama (Manny). She called and asked if we might like a few more goats and this llama. I told her that we might take one goat but we’d have to see, so she dragged us out to the place to look at them. Turns out that the three goats and the llama had been together as a family for a really long time and she couldn’t bear to see them separated. Couldn’t we just take them all?? You won’t even believe this but there was a duck in the mix as well and I flatly refused to take it. Ducks, chickens, geese and swans all kind of freak me out so my sister ended up with the duck.

So next thing you know, we’ve got this llama. He’s a total sweetheart as long as you don’t touch him. Seriously. Do not try to pet the llama. You know the bit about how llama’s spit when they’re angry? It’s true and it’s not pretty. Mostly he spits at the goats when they get in his way and try to eat his food, but there have been occasional humans caught in the crossfire. Namely, me. The part that really irks me about the “spitting incident” is that I was actually trying to help him and therefore didn’t deserve to be spit at, but the fact remains that I touched him and he spit. A lot.

Another thing that we’ve learned about llamas is that you can’t hardly catch the darn things (probably because that involves touching) even when you need to. The only time that I really need to catch him is when it’s time for shearing (you wouldn’t believe the spitting that goes on then). There was this one other time though. I’m not going to name names but someone left the gate open one day and all five goats AND the llama got loose. Since Joe was the only one home (hmmmm) he had to figure out a way to catch them all. Mostly that consisted of running down the middle of Island Lake Road, swinging a lead rope (cowboy style) and swearing profusely. The great part about the story is that nobody seemed to have a problem with that (although the swearing may have been a bit off-putting). Luckily there weren’t a lot of drivers on the road at that time, but those that were, slowed way down and patiently inched their way around the roaming herd. A few motorists actually stopped and offered to help Joe collect all the animals. Catching the animals requires you to kind of crouch down with your arms spread wide and walk slowly toward the goat/llama. So picture a bunch of people in the middle of Island Lake Road crouching down and walking slowly toward a group of frantic goats and one wide eyed llama. Thankfully, no one bothered the police with this – only in Dexter, right? Joe finally decided to go back to the barn and get enough food to lure them back. It worked like a charm and all were safely deposited back in the pen.

Our next foray into the world of animals was to get some chickens. Did you know that they actually just send them through the regular mail? I had no idea. The post office then calls and asks you to (quickly) come and get them. Once you enter the building you understand their wish for a speedy pick up – the chirping is deafening. We had some definite missteps in our chicken adventures, namely escaped chicks and the kids loving them just too darn much (before we get phone calls let me clarify that there were no deaths from the overabundance of love, just near misses). It took some doing but we have now built up a decent chicken operation and we collect and sell over a dozen eggs per day. That’s a lotta omlettes!!

Joe is also an avid gardener. He loves to get down in the dirt and plant, weed and grow things. He loves to plot out the garden and he constantly reads about ways to improve it. He religiously turns the compost pile and spreads the beautiful black dirt on the garden to make it strong. The vegetables that he grows are tasty and beautiful every year. He even does some canning, freezing and dehydrating.

As for me, well, I’m a “big picture” kind of girl when it comes to gardening. Not so much into the dirt, bugs and weeds. Oh and I don’t like the heat too much either. All and all, I’m really kind of useless in the garden. I like to say that I provide moral support but I’m not even good at that when it’s really hot out. The whole thing really falls to Joe in the end and he seems to be ok with that. Perhaps he’s onto something, he always looks so peaceful out there as I’m chasing chickens, chasing kids and trying to figure out how that lawn chair ended up in the pine tree!

I spend my time growing flowers (lot less pressure than vegetables) and dragging the kids back and forth to 4-H meetings and “chicken showing seminars”. As for the 4-H thing, well it’s just a hoot. If you’ve never seen a kid “show” a goat, you’re really missing something. The kids are usually very serious about the whole thing – they keep their eyes on the judges, they make sure their outfit looks nice and that their goat is really well groomed. The goat, on the other hand, could care less. They will do all manner of things that they ought not be doing in the show ring. The way I see it 4-H teaches kids not only all about animal husbandry, but it teaches them patience as well. It’s a fun and safe environment for kids to learn about the world around them and the animals that share it with us. Plus, it’s pretty funny to see a kid being dragged around a show ring by a goat.

Sitting here on a cold February day looking forward to summer. Actually, looking forward to spring because it’s not as hot….