Perfection

is about 7lbs 9oz and 19.5in long and arrived on October 28th @ 10:50pm

*pic courtesy of Kacy Cierley Photography

I am Still Pregnant

Can you believe that shit?

I was quite sure that Baby Claire would have made her appearance by now. Apparently my cervix was as well as it's been hanging out at over 4 cm dilated for two weeks now.

Yes, I just posted about the condition of my cervix. My mother deems it necessary to let each of her clients know all about it and send out mass emails to the family about my cervix and Jason seems to think the people in his office cannot comprehend a simple "she's close"; they need the cervical play-by-play, so I might as well give her some publicity myself.

I am 38 weeks and 3 days. I'm already past where I delivered Little at and will be where I delivered Big at in just 3 short days. Perhaps she really has been listening that I would like a Halloween baby. Or she's just stubborn. That could be it too.

So for right now, Baby Watch 2009 is suspended pending a review of cervical conditions on Wednesday.

When will I learn

Seriously. I have been a mom for 9 years now. I've had to go through this toddler phase twice already and have made my bed for a third trip through it. When will I learn? On the whole I think I've learned quite a bit about child rearing and the ways of children in general. I read scores of books on child behavior and discipline. I've had even more experience with 3 year old's in particular- other than my own children- as I was a preschool teacher for several years. I should know this.

Perhaps it's because it is my own child. I fancy my own offspring as above this rule; incapable of being anything but innocent, sweet, angelic beings. Big was an exceptionally well behaved toddler, so in some ways I suppose it's like I'm going through the true version of "toddler terrorism" for the first time. Maybe because of this I choose to turn a blind eye to this particular rule thinking this could be the area in which Little's goodness shines through.

I'm wrong. Every time I am wrong, but it doesn't stop me from hoping. So someone PLEASE tell me the next time I think that my quiet 3 year old is playing nicely that he's not. Remind me that the rule is and has always been "quiet toddlers are up to no good". No exceptions. You would think that after Strawgate of 07 or the Marker Debacle of 08 I would know. But apparently I have amnesia- exacerbated no doubt by pregnancy- and do not think of these shining, case-in-point examples.

In just the past month, here are a few examples of Little "playing quietly by himself":

An entire box of bandaids dumped, opened and stuck to the (dirty) kitchen floor.



Half a HUGE bag of dog food dumped by the cupful on the living room floor (right after I vacuumed BTW)


And this mornings gem. When I said if you were still hungry, I would get you something other than the sour cream and onion Pringles you pulled out of the lazy susan, I did NOT mean you could eat the bag of brown sugar also residing in said lazy susan. As a matter of fact, I am pretty sure I mentioned cottage cheese or some grapes specifically as the only things you were getting to eat this morning for second breakfast. But definitely not the brown sugar.

(Excuse the pic quality on these- taken with the cell as it was what was within arm's reach before I threw him in the shower.)



Yes, he looks high in this picture- 1/4 cup of sugar straight up in a 30lb toddler might as well be speed. We're going to have an AWESOME day.

There is also no photographic evidence of the entire bottle of gummy vitamins dumped (and half eaten) on the bathroom floor (YAY Poison Control!!), or the 1/4 gallon of milk dumped on the floor because my pregnant ass wasn't waddling fast enough to the kitchen to get him some milk, or the bag of fruit loops dumped (again) on the bathroom floor while I was in the shower, or the numerous baskets of folded laundry that have been emptied piece by piece onto the dog hair covered floor because he needs a boat to play in and the other 5 EMPTY baskets are unacceptable.

But you can be sure that they have all happened just since we moved into our new place less than 3 months ago at the hands of my adorable toddler. If that's not birth control enough, I don't know what is.

This is why we are a bug free home

Because when I make exceptions, bad things happen.

Our neighbor has a small vegetable garden outside her house with some tomato, cucumber, green bean and carrot plants in it. The other day she comes over and tells the boys to tell me to get a jar because she found a really cool caterpillar and she thought it might be getting ready to spin a cocoon and that would be fun for them to watch. So I head over there with the boys since in theory, I have no problem with caterpillars. They make butterflies and are generally harmless, so they are a creepy crawly that I can generally stand.

I get over there and she tells me he's covered in these little white hairlike things, so she thought he might be starting to spin his cocoon. I'm not well versed in the process of cocoon spinning, so sure, that could be it. We put him in a tall tupperware thing (with a corner lifted up so he could breathe) because I am lame and don't have a jar. We come home and I spend an hour online trying to figure out WTF this caterpillar is so I can show the boys what it will turn into. I can't find shit, so I give up.

We have been watching him for two days and I started to suspect that all is not well with this bug. He looks like he is quite literally losing his shit out one end and he's not moving much. I talked to Jason tonight and told him I think I'm going to tell the boys that he died and I buried him because I don't think it's going to make it to butterfly/moth stage. He hops on Google and in less than 2 fracking minutes he tells me that he knows what it is and that we have to throw it out.

Why you ask? Because the "little white hairlike things" on it are NOT the beginnings of it's own cocoon. They are tons of little cocoons of the predatory WASP that eats the Tomato Horn Worm (which is what this bastard is). The larvae are feeding off the worm while it is alive and will hatch in about 10 days time. It's already been two days just in my kitchen, it could have been days 8&9. Can you freaking imagine if I woke up one morning to a kitchen full of effing WASPS that hatched out of my children's "pet" caterpillar!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here are the pics of the poor soul who was promptly destroyed far away from the house. In theory, the wasps are good because those caterpillars are really destructive to tomato or tobacco plants, but they have no business in my kitchen.

Revelations

The kid can identify the eating habits, appearance, migration patterns and mating rituals of over 100 different species of dinosaurs, but after 8 years on this earth, this came as a shock to him.

Big: "MOM!!!! There are maggots in the outside garbage can again!"

Me: "Sorry buddy, I just washed the cans out, but I guess a fly got in there when I put the garbage in. There's nothing I can do about it until after garbage day."

Big: "Yeah, well, I don't think you should put the garbage back in those cans anyway."

Me: "Why not?"

Big: "Because they make it smell."

Me: "You mean it makes them smell. Well, it's garbage, it smells."

Big: "No, it wouldn't smell if you wouldn't put it in those smelly cans!"

Me: Qua? WTF is this kid talking about? "What do you mean? The garbage is what stinks the cans up, not the other way around."

Big: "What do YOU mean? *insert 3 second pause* Do you mean that if you went to the store and bought new garbage cans, they wouldn't stink when we bought them?"

Me: "Uhhh, yeah, garbage cans don't come 'pre-stunk'."

Big: "Really?! I thought all garbage cans were made smelly. We should go buy some new ones then."

Me: "Why? Our garbage would just stink up the new ones too."

Big: "Oh yeah. I hate garbage."

Dreams

I know right, 3 posts in one day- now you won't hear from me for months.

When I was 14, I got my first job working on the backside of the horse racing track. I was so excited to be doing ANYTHING involved with horses, I (usually) overcame my deep hatred for early rising and not only rose before the sun, but did so willingly to go and shovel shit. The trainer I worked for a was a good woman who loved each and every one of the horses in her care. She taught me a lot about horses and for that I will always be grateful to her.

For the summer season, we were at a track where the stalls in the barns faced each other over a wide walkway. Directly across from us was a trainer/jockey that we'll call "Mike". Mike was not a nice man and epitomized generally every negative stereotype that surrounds those who handle race Thoroughbreds. The two camps never fraternized much as the two trainers could not have been more different.

One day, Mike came back in swearing and kicking and jerking on the horse he had just worked. The horse was sweating and trembling so bad, the lead line looked like it was made of jello. Mike continued to swear and slam things around while he walked the horse around to cool him down until he could put him in his stall. Anytime the horse got too close to him, he recieved a sharp jab in the nose followed by a string of threats about being sent to the butchers.

Eventually the horse was so wound up that he started rearing a little and knocked a few muck buckets over which only increased his terror. He slipped out of Mike's grasp and bolted for the one small patch of grass he could find.

I didn't bother to see what punishment the horse had received when Mike caught up to him, but about 10 minutes later, he was jerked into the barn and thrown (as much as one can throw a 1,000 lb animal) into his stall. Mike immediately got in his truck and left. Our work was almost done for the day, but since I was only 14, I had to wait for someone to come and get me. Before my boss left, I asked her what was going on with the horse who had been so traumatized this afternoon.

She told me that he was a "frustrating" horse for Mike because despite his fairly impressive pedigree, he was stubborn and not much of a racer. For someone like him who was only in this sport for the money, he seemed to take this as a personal slight from the horse and has always treated him like less than a living being. He called the horse "Heart Attack" because his racing name was something similar, but Heart Attack was always jumpy and fearful of everyone and everything he came in contact with.

After everyone left I took some peppermints from our jar and peeked into Heart Attack's stall. He looked dejected and barely even bothered to notice that someone was outside his door. Soon enough his curiosity and the smell of the peppermints that I was now eating since he had little interest in them lured him over to the door. I talked softly to him and gave him the last of the mints. I told him he was a good boy and began rubbing on his face and neck. It is *SO* cheesy, but a friendship was born that day that I have never forgotten.

Heart Attack became one of the best reconciliations for my inability to get myself to and from work as I would spend time with him while I waited for my ride. Some days I would see if I could get someone to give me a ride over to the track in the afternoons or on my day off just so I could see him.

He would answer promptly at the stall door when I would peek around the barn door and call his name very softly. Sometimes I'd sit on the ground outside his stall and he'd "groom" my hair while I read. I liked to think that our few moments of quiet and friendship made his days just a little more bearable on the track. Obviously, our friendship did nothing to improve his talent, so he went on being hated and bullied by his trainer.

After I got pregnant with Big, I never worked on the track again and lost all contact with the people I had befriended in my youth. Before I left my job, I had my boss promise me that if she ever got wind that Heart Attack was actually going to be sent to the butcher's that she would do everything in her power to stop it. Like I said, she was a good person and agreed to make a teenage girl feel better. I'm sure, however, if she had ever known that his life was in danger that she would have remembered her promise and tried to honor it.

But life on the track is hectic and crazy, people go from track to track and buy and sell horses not only through private sales, but through claiming races that it is very hard to keep up with someone unless you are in direct contact with them.

Still, I never forgot Heart Attack. I always wondered what had happened to him and on occasion would try to search for him online to see if I could find any race reports or anything for him. Unfortunately, while I knew his "barn name", I didn't actually know his registered name- I had an idea of what it was, but could never find anything on him by guessing at his full name.

Wednesday I woke up from my nap with Little thinking about searching the Jockey Club registry for what I thought was his name. I have ABSOLUTELY no idea why on earth I would have woken up thinking about that after all this time, but I did. The registry search would come back with results for all horses with names similar to that, so maybe I could find him that way. I did some sleuthing and came up with nothing, so I tried searching under the trainer's name knowing as always that it was going to be futile. About 11 pages into a Google search, I found his real name under a race result report for the trainer.

I couldn't believe I had finally found his name! Now that I had that, I could really look to see if he had been doing anything lately. I put it in a search and the second result was from an organization that helps owners find new homes for their old racehorses and he was there.

Since I'm a big pregnant ball of hormones, I started sobbing. I really thought that he had been sent to slaughter years ago and never dreamed I would actually find him. I called Jason immediately and told him that I'd found Heart Attack. Because he can be a good husband when he wants to be, he must have been listening at least one of the times that I spoke about Heart Attack and knew exactly who I was talking about.

He said that he would call the woman at the "rescue" and see what information he could get on him (since I was blubbering like a fool, I was in no shape to be talking to anyone). He called me back to tell me that the owners were no longer in contact with the rescue, but the woman was pretty sure he was still available and that she would pass along their information.

We called them on Thursday only to find out he had been given away about 3 weeks ago. The owner seemed genuinely upset that we had missed out. She offered to call the current owners and ask if they would be willing to sell him for what they paid for him. She wasn't sure what would happen, but said she would try to get back with us one way or the other.

Jason has been out of town working all week. I picked him up from the airport today and was irritated with him as I was trying to call him to let him know I was there and he wasn't answering. Finally he came to the car and was on the phone which would explain the unanswered calls.

As he got in, he got off the phone and told me he brought me home an awesome present from New Mexico to make up for his rather shitty gifts he had brought me from he recent travels. (For example, he spent a week in Hawaii and brought me back a bag of sea salt to cook with- I am a terrible cook- and a glitter babydoll T-shirt that said "Hawaii" on it in a medium. I was 5 months pregnant.)

I kind of rolled my eyes wondering what desert rock or Mexican spice packet he had brought me back. He smiled and told me that he just bought Heart Attack and he would be arriving on our farm next weekend.

It is a dream that I *never* expected to come true. It's so weird that I can remember daydreaming when I was 14 about having a nice farm and bringing Heart Attack to retire with me. He is 15 years old now and ready for a nice quiet life which is exactly what I can provide him with.

Luck of the Irish

So, now that I've updated everyone on our amazing new place, I'm sure there are those who noticed that it is missing something. Something of the 4 legged variety that keeps the mowing responsibilities to a minimum if you know what I mean.

We were not necessarily *looking* for a horse. It just sort of found us. I have been watching the Farm and Garden section on Craigslist just to see what is being offered for sale on there, average prices for things we may need one day- you know. So an ad that offered up a gentle, people loving Tennessee Walker for adoption caught my eye one day.

I showed the ad to Jason who fell in love immediately. He's always wanted a big, pretty paint horse and this big baby was exactly what he was looking for. To top it off, the horse's name was Patrick because he was born on St. Patrick's day and given Jason's affinity for all things Celtic/Irish, it seemed like fate to him. We drove about 4 and a half hours to meet Patrick and his owners. They had been using him to babysit some of the babies on the farm due to his extremely gentle and carefree nature.

Everyone in the family was smitten with him and we decided to bring Patrick into our home. His owners couldn't have been happier- Patrick was very special to them, but due to an impending move, they needed to reduce their herd size. They wanted to make sure that he went to a home that would love him and not treat him like a ticket to the winner's circle in the show ring.
Since he is still watching over one of their little ones, he will not be arriving on our farm until mid October when his little friend gets a new buddy more her own size. The boys are always talking about Patrick and even helped me dust the cobwebs out of a few stalls in the barn today! Here is a picture of Patrick, our good luck pony =)