The Hamster

Have you ever kissed your husband goodbye while trying to get a hamster unwedged from his wheel? That’s pretty much how my day started today. Let’s begin with the hamster. I think I’ve spoken of him before – he’s the $10 hamster that I took in for a $48 vet visit. Don’t you start too – I’m getting flack from all sides. You tell me though, what you would do when your beautiful, sweet, little daughter comes to you with tears in her eyes and says, “There’s something wrong with “Butterscotch”.”

Let me clarify how “There’s something wrong with Butterscotch” was a gross understatement. “Butterscotch” has a tumor the size of a golf ball on his hindquarters. A golf ball – on a hamster!! When we presented ourselves to the vet she flipped him over and said, “Oh! Wow, that’s HUGE.” Very reassuring… The vet also listened to his heartbeat. With a stethoscope. Sit with that a minute. Can she really count that fast? Doesn’t it just sound like a drum roll? Anyway, I tried to lobby the vet to just put the hamster down (how much does THAT cost?) right then and there but she said, “Well, if he’s eating and drinking ok, there’s really no need”. So not helpful. I even discreetly said to her, with the kids in the room, “What are we looking at for a timeline here? Days, weeks, months?” She said to me, and I quote, “It should go pretty quickly”.

A month and half a later, the hamster still lives. My morning routine now incorporates walking past the cage to see if he’s still breathing. I feel bad for the little guy even though he is just a hamster. I certainly don’t want him to suffer, which he doesn’t seem to be doing, but really, how long will this go on? Joe suggested that we start feeding him veggies from the garden to see if we could reverse the growth of the tumor. A friend from work suggested giving him Tagamet – it works for her horse. Instead, I Googled “How to euthanize a hamster”. A word to the wise – don’t Google that. It’s a political hotbed.

Between caring for Butterscotch, rehabilitating a sick chicken and situating the new pot-bellied pig (Phineas), it’s no wonder I can’t get the laundry done. Now, about the pig… I know, I know, like we don’t have enough going on, right? Why take in a pig? Well, because it needed a home. And he’s pretty cute. I think he bit me the other day though, which is kind of bummer, but I can’t be sure because I’ve never been bit by a pig before. He might have just kind of put his mouth on my hand…

Anyway, they say that pigs are really intelligent. They jury’s still out on that in my book because all I’ve seen him do is eat and dump over every water bucket that I put out. The kids have decided that they’re going to train him to do dog tricks like “sit”, “lay down” and “speak”. If it keeps them out of my hair this summer, I totally support it. Anyone else looking for a pig?

Blessed

My life is so blessed. Even though I may whine and complain (only occasionally and always for valid reasons) I really do have it good. The people in my life are so wonderful to me. Whether it’s Lesia being selfless and making Zoe’s day or Jan always, always coming through for me. I’m feeling very lucky and very grateful today.

Earthquake??

An earthquake? In Ann Arbor? On top of the storms that are expected this afternoon? Just sitting here waiting for the locusts to appear...

Lesia strikes again!

Just when you thought it was safe to answer the phone.... Lesia is at it again and we now have a pot bellied pig on our farm to prove it. I think she has some strange psychic connection to the animals of the world and that they can actually call out to her. Remember Aquaman, the dude who could talk to the whales and dolphins? Lesia is like that but with domesticated animals. I'll have to work on a nickname that is reflective of her skills (it may change and morph in the next few days as we adjust to our new addition...) Still, the pig is cute and we're going to give it a whirl. Afterall, what's the worst that could happen?....

Not so "Lucky Chicken"

I’m rehabilitating a chicken (this from the girl who hates anything with wings). Still, the chicken needs me so I guess that outweighs my fears. “Lucky Chicken”, which is what I call her now, recently survived an attack of some sort - we think it was a raccoon. We’re pretty sure that Joe interrupted the attack and, in essence, saved “LC”. The damages were pretty severe – the critter was gnawing on her head and neck so she’s missing a lot of feathers in that area and we’re not sure if she’ll be blind or not. She also has a strange little tic which causes her head to move to the right sometimes. She’s also missing part of her upper beak. Despite all that, I’m feeling very confident in my abilities to save her but you can never be too sure when it comes to chickens. Every day I take her out and feed her water mixed with antibiotics and I try to get some food in her as well.

Zoe has also been very involved in the process and loves to help out.
There is something very meaningful about caring for an injured animal. I see it in Zoe’s body language as she leans in to gently dispense the water or as she uses the towel to wipe off "LC’s" feathers. She talks quietly to her and gently reassures her.

When the rooster moves in, however, she’s a screaming demon. The rooster has tried to kill “LC” a couple of times and no, I am not being at all dramatic about that. There is nothing amorous in is approach – he’s out for blood. Zoe jumps up and chases the rooster away swinging whatever she happens to have in her hands.

So proud that she is turning out to be such a wonderful, little farm girl.

Uncle Greg

Whew. Uncle Greg has arrived!! Uncle Greg is Joe's younger brother and the kids ADORE him. Truly, almost to the point of worship. He's fun, energetic and he gets them. He's like a kid himself really and the kids intuitively know that and respond to it. He's patient with the kids to the point of sainthood and he never yells at them (not saying that I do either, at least not all the time...). He's come over today to work with them on their 4-H projects for the fair. They'll be making lawn ornaments (there isn't a category that DOESN'T exist in 4-H). Last year he helped Max make this amazing dragon out of logs and sticks. The judges were positively blown away and Max was SOOOO proud. This year, Zoe's been talking about making a unicorn or a cat. Max wants to make a sculpture of a person. (I asked if the person was me and he said no. Huh.) Anyway, can't tell you the joy it brings me to see the three of them working together. Being the parents, Joe and I don't always have the time, energy, or, lets face it, interest in doing these special projects. That's why it's so nice to have Greg. Everyone needs an Uncle Greg in their lives. It really does take a village...

Summer Panic

Is the panic of summer setting in yet??? I'm feeling it for sure and I've been at work the last two days. Luckily, I'm at work today as well. Whew. Sitting here in my quiet, air conditioned office I actually get lulled into a false sense of hope that this summer will be different. That I'll run and play with the kids in the sprinklers, that we do a fun craft, that we'll have a lemonade stand. Riiiight.

I actually called a family meeting last night (complete with agenda) to discuss exactly how this summer is going to go. We negotiated bed times and punishments for name calling. We decided that we would set daily schedules so that everyone would know what was happening on any particular day. For instance, if the schedule says that we're going to the lake at 4:00, you don't need to start asking me at 9:00 am when we're going to the lake. It's at 4:00.

How are you faring on your end? Is your voice 2 octaves higher than it was when school was still in session? How many times have you heard the kids say "I'm bored"? Have you given up cleaning the kitchen altogether because someone ALWAYS wants a snack (even if it's right after a meal) and it's silly to clean when it will just get dirty again?

I need to make a "sanity plan" that involves sitting under a big, shady tree sipping iced tea while the kids play together (at someone else's house). If some vodka happens to fall into the tea, well, so be it.

It's all in the details...

I think I’ve mentioned before that I’m not much of a detail oriented person. Here’s the weird part, I’m a crazy, mad planner. Especially in the summertime. Kind of. The overall summer schedule is a big deal at our house. A really big deal. I have things set up to run like a well oiled machine. I work part time outside of the home so I’ve got to be sure that the kids have care while I’m gone. Along with that, I’ve got the guilt of working so I feel like I have to schedule super fun activities for the days I’m not home. The kids are signed up for various camps and workshops all summer long. Getting them to and from these camps and workshops requires planning, precision and a steel trap memory. I live with the constant fear of forgetting to pick one of the kids up from camp (which has not happened thus far). I have days set up where it may actually be impossible to get everyone where they need to be on time. That’s just the way it is.
On the daily schedule though, things are a lot more loose. Maybe too loose. I can plan out my day to include laundry and cleaning the house but if a friend calls and wants to go to the lake, I’m all in. Some would say that this is a bad thing (Joe). That I should be more focused on getting my list checked off and making sure that the house is in order. Still, when the lake calls, the lake calls. Will my kids remember that they had clean and perfectly folded shirts or that Mom was flexible enough to chuck it all and take them to the lake? I’d prefer the latter.

Is it really that bad?

We need a new couch. Badly. The current one is in pretty rough shape and has certainly seen better days. The springs are completely shot and you’re never quite sure if it will hold when you sit down. There are creaks and groans coming from all parts of it whenever someone dares to sit on it. Two of the cushions have holes in them where the stuffing is shoving itself out (Note to self: when the kids aren’t making noise you really should go check on them). On the back, the staples used to hold the fabric to the couch are sticking out causing a nasty hazard.

We bought the couch 13 years ago, when we were first married. It was one of the first major purchases that Joe and I made as a newly married couple, so there’s a bit of a sentimental value to it. And when you sit on the couch it kind of wraps itself around you – in a good way. There is something so comfortable about this couch even though it’s all broken down and beat up. We have another couch in the living room which is more attractive but when people come over they’re drawn to the old couch. The kids prefer to sit on it to watch movies and Saturday morning cartoons. I love to sit on it and read. My brother-in-law swears that he can’t sit on it without falling asleep. There’s something a little bit magical about it despite its “unrefined” looks.

Over the years I’ve looked at other couches and dreamed about owning one. One with soft, comfortable, non-torn up cushions. Maybe something with a built in recliner and cup holders! But here’s the thing. I tend to be the kind of person who’s just happier with stuff that isn’t brand new. I get kind of nervous around “new” things. I am constantly worried about the first scratch, dent or break – always just waiting for it to happen.

And I don’t want to be the kind of mom who loves her couch more than her kids (though some days it’s a close call…). It’s not that I let the kids tear through the house without regard for my things, I just don’t like to have to worry about every little thing. There isn’t a room in the house that isn’t “lived in”. I remember, as a kid, that no one was allowed to go into the living room. Ever. That was a sacred room that was always neat and clean. I used to think that was pretty crazy – to have a room that no one used – but the older I get the better I understand it. I can imagine my Mom saying, “At least this room looks nice.”

I drive by Designers Cover in Dexter pretty frequently and have considered asking them to reupholster the couch (I’ve heard they do a fantastic job), but I’m afraid they might gently tell me that the couch is too far gone. Which it is. It has not escaped my attention that I’m more connected with the couch than I should be. Perhaps, as I’m dumped unceremoniously into middle age, I’m thinking about my own creaks and groans. About how I’m not as sturdy and attractive as I once was, but I am more comfortable with myself.

Still, the couch is going to have to go pretty soon. But I guess I can keep it just a little longer, at least until I find the perfect replacement…