Tummy Time

At last she’s tolerating her tummy time.


Today she almost rolled over.  Almost.

She just doesn’t know what to do with that one arm.

It keeps getting in the way.

I don’t mind.

I kinda like looking at her like this anyway.

3 months

My Dearest, Darling Emma Kate,

You’re growing up much too quickly.  You’re no longer a tiny little baby but a whooping 12 pound 6 ounce three-month old.

I’ve had to put away your little newborn sized clothes, and it nearly broke my heart.  I can’t believe how tiny you used to be.   You’ve almost outgrown some of your 0-3 months already!  Slow down!

You are holding your head up mighty fine these days and you like sitting up big and tall and looking around the world.  You are tolerating your tummy time much better and will last about 3 minutes instead of 20 seconds before starting to complain.

You are reaching and grabbing now.  You hold onto my shirt while nursing, you hold on to your clothes if you can get them.  You try to help put your pacifier in your mouth, which I think you are becoming much too fond of, by the way!  You’ve started grabbing fistfuls of my hair and I have to pry your little hand loose. I’m careful not to wear dangly earrings around you for fear of the pain you may cause when you grab ahold  and yank.

You love the book “Pete the Cat. I Love My White Shoes”.


It makes you grin big, as do many other things.  You are quite the smiler these days and your smiles melt our hearts.  Especially when you give that bashful one where you close your eyes and duck your head.  So cute!!!

You are drooling like crazy and sucking on your fingers and fists so much you’ve sucked little red places on your knuckles.

This has been a big month for you.  I had to go back to work when you were almost 11 weeks old and you began staying with a babysitter every day.  You’ve tolerated that so well.   I think of you all day long while I’m working and can’t wait until 4:00 to get my hands on you again.  I’m looking so forward to when school’s out so we can be together all day again.

You are my everything, little one.  Words cannot describe the love I feel for you.  Always know this.  Always know how much you are loved, no matter what.



The Big Cake Switch

“Well, I’m officially thirteen”.

That’s what my sweet niece Ashlynn put on her Facebook status first thing this morning.

We celebrated with a little family party of cake with homemade ice cream and chocolate syrup.

That is,  after we got the cake situation straightened out.

My mom had ordered a cake from the local Supermarket Bakery.  I was to pick it up after school today.  All I knew is that is cost $17 and something and it was chocolate with chocolate icing.

So after school, Ash and I bebopped into the store and said we were there to pick up a birthday cake for Ashlynn.  The lady said, “This zebra cake turned out so good.”

“What kind of cake did you say?” I asked as she placed a small white cake box on the counter and opened it up to reveal a very small round white cake with zebra icing that read “Happy Birthday Ashlynn”.

Ashlynn mumbled something about that she thought it was going to have flowers all over it, and I took the cake with a smile.  My mom must have changed her mind, I rationalized.  We paid for the cake, $17 and something and went home to my mother’s house.

“This is not what I ordered,” mom stated as we showed her the cake.  ” I ordered a chocolate sheet cake with chocolate icing and flowers.”

We couldn’t believe how badly the bakery had messed up, but a cake’s a cake and no one was crying over it.

The cake was rather adorable and we learned later in the day that our cousin was coming over and had made Ashlynn a rainbow cake.  Add that to the 6 pack of cupcakes we picked up after seeing the size of the zebra cake, and we knew there would be plenty for everyone.

Right before the party, a friend came over and mom was telling her about how badly the bakery had screwed up her order, and then she said, “There must be another girl named Ashlynn having a birthday today.”

I said, “Oh, there can’t be. What are the odds of that happ…..” I barely got the words out of my mouth when I shouted.  “There is another girl name Ashlynn that has this same birthday.  She goes to my school.  A fourth grader I think.”

So we called the bakery, and sure enough there was a chocolate sheet cake with chocolate icing and flowers that read “Happy Birthday Ash” waiting on us to come and pick up.

I then rushed to the bakery and made the cake switch.

Now what are the odds of that happening?





2012: The Year of the Moths

There’s seven of them hanging on my living room curtains.  Thirteen dead ones are lying on the floor. (yes, i know someone should sweep around here). Three flew out of the barbecue grill when I lifted the lid tonight.  I watched one actually crawl into an electrical outlet.  They’re in my car, my laundry piles, and occasionally my hair.


Here’s a picture of my front door.  It doesn’t do it justice.

Is it a plague?

What has caused this influx of moths?

Or do you call them millers?

I remember several years back they were in excess numbers, much like this year.  On the ceilings, the walls, swarming around the lights. Everywhere.  My mother called the city.
“I want to know what you plan on doing about the millers in this town,” she complained.

The city officials wanted to know who the Millers were and what exactly they were doing wrong.  They thought she was referring to a family by the name of Miller.

Needless to say, I don’t think any action was taken.

Bad news from the Chicken ranch

It’s official.
It’s confirmed.
The bodies, er, the remains of my three missing chickens have been discovered.

The culprit is unknown. Possibly a bobcat, maybe even a housecat. Who knows. But whatever it is has carried the chickens off to hide out while eating them. Unlike the coyote who was planning on chowing down right in the open pasture. I don’t know if we’ll ever find out.

I’m brokenhearted about my hens. I fear one of them was my good pal Freedom.

All the others are penned up safely and accounted for.

Disgruntled, but penned up and accounted for.

I’m brokenhearted.

T.G.I. F.

I’m so glad my workweek has only five days. I could not stand taking EK to the babysitter one more day this week.

She has a fabulous sitter. A wonderful lady, a wonderful home. I couldn’t ask for better. I know she is taken very good care of.

But I miss her. And I need her.
It has been my first full week back at work. I wish I could say it was easy. It wasn’t. Today especially. She was fussy this morning and we ran late. Every time I tried to put her down so I could get ready, she cried. She has a gunky eye and a stuffy nose and I know I’ve carried some bug home to her from this germ infested place called elementary school.

Added to that, I’m tired in the evenings and feel like I can’t give her the attention we both need.

This weekend I can’t guarentee I’ll do anything except spend time with EK. We will sing. We will read. We will play. We will snuggle. We will smile. And I will thank God for my job, but more so for the weekends.

The Demise of the J&A Chicken Ranch

Well folks, I’m here to announce my flock of 14 birds is officially down to eight.

I’m sad.

The casualties are:
1 yellow chicken killed by a coyote in plain sight
1 yellow chicken found lying dead in the coop in March 2012.  Cause of death: unknown
The remains of one yellow chicken (mostly feathers) found in an abandoned outbuilding in April 2012, obvious murder

2 black and white chickens
1 black chicken

I should have eleven chickens.  I had eleven chickens earlier in the week.  But tonight, I only counted eight.  I scanned the vicinity and found none, so I waited until dusk for them to come in to the coop to roost in order to get a good count.  There are only eight.

I looked everywhere for signs of foul play.  Or would that be fowl play?
I got nothing.  Not a feather, not a speck of blood, not a chicken track.

I’ve questioned the dogs.  I’ve interrogated the horses.  Played a little good cop/bad cop.  They’re not talking.  Not even when I offered a reward of 1 bucket of oats for any information leading to the arrest of person or persons involved in the disappearance of 3 chickens in one week.

It’s a classic whodunit.  Has something bad happened to my three chickens?

Or have these hens simply crossed the road to get to the other side?

I will be interrupting your regularly scheduled program for any urgent news updates.

Stay tuned.




I feel like whining

T minus 10 hours before the clock tolls April 13th. The day I dread. The day I must return to work and leave my baby with a sitter. The diaper bag is packed with everything possibly needed from a change of clothes to a snot sucker. The bottles of pumped breast milk are made with me having not a clue if it’s too much or not enough.

I know she’ll be fine.
I know I’m not the only mother that has ever walked this path.
But it doesn’t make it any easier.
It’s only 7 weeks. That’s what I keep telling myself. 33 days till summer vacation.
But it doesn’t make it any easier.

I have relished the past eleven weeks. Basked in the time I’ve had to hold her and nurse her. Rock her and nap with her. Play with her and love her.

It’s only 7 weeks. 33 days.

But still this mama’s heart is sad.

A Fine Mess

Looks like #15 got herself in a pickle.

J-Dub says she was probably scratching her chin on the tree bark and turned her head just enough to get it wedged in there.  She doesn’t know how to lift her head and pull back to get out.




She messed her eye up pretty good trying to get loose.
J-Dub said she’d been there a couple of days probably by pee and poop around her feet and her skinny sides.

She fought him when he tried to help her, but he was able to use the hay forks on his truck to spread the branches just enough so she could back out.

I can only imagine what those other cows are saying.  She’s probably the laughing stock of there herd.

Oh the shame of it.


A Better World

I  think I’m officially a mommy blogger, as all my posts of late center around my baby.

But how can you blame me?  She has yet to lose that new baby smell as my husband jokingly says.

She is my obsession.
She will always be my obsession.

She is sleeping in my arms as I type, and oh, if only you could smell her!  She’s scrubbed clean, dressed for church, and doesn’t smell like sour milk.  Who knows if we’ll actually make it to church.  It’s so easy to hold her and let the minutes tick past, as if there is nothing more important than this.  Is there?

I find myself struggling with that very thing.  I must now make a conscious effort to find balance, especially in other relationships. I must give my loved ones some attention too.  They’re being neglected I feel.

A mother is a true servant to her children, sacrificing her time, food, showers, make-up, and all kinds of other previously thought important things to meet the needs of her babies.  We are called to be servants to everyone, just as Jesus Christ came to be a servant o all.  If only I could show love to every human being I encounter as much as I show love to this baby in my arms.  After all, isn’t love “action” rather than “feeling”?

I challenge myself to this greater love for others and it is HARD for me.  But I desperately need the world to be a better place for this darling girl to grow up in.  We CAN make a difference in someone’s life.  Let’s all try, okay?

For her.
And all the others.