I often think that I am THE MAN. I consider myself quite capable of most things farm, ranch, horse and home related. The other day I was driven by desperation, desperate to do the dishes no less, to great new heights. I tackled plumbing.

I hate plumbing, most any job that requires touching gross things and getting dirty for that matter. Let me make it clear that horse and cow poop are not gross, oil, grease and anything under my sink are.

The sink was not draining and the dishes were piling up so I pulled up my big girl pants and looked under the sink. My dad is a carpenter and all around handy man, I know what a P trap is. Putting on my rubber gloves I quickly had it dismantled cleaned out, it was rather full, and with some trial and error put back together. I was awesome.

The next day it wasn’t draining anymore. I was not the man.

After working a full and very busy day and coming home to greet his child with love attention and play, my much beloved husband got the battery charger on the car whose battery I had been solely responsible for killing. Did I mention that I hate batteries, chargers and most things electric? He then ate a quick supper and got down to some real plumbing.

I though I had braved the disgusting depths of our sinks bowels the day before but he dove deeper. And dirtier. And worked much longer and harder at it. As The Goblin Child and I played and watched T.V. he sweated in the filth and stench of the drain cleaner. As time passed and things worked slowly or not at all bedtime came, the child slept and I looked over his shoulder wishing that I could somehow ease his load.

Finally for no apparent reason, other than working the snake through to its full twenty five foot length, the water started to drain. He then scrubbed the sink clean. Now that is THE MAN.

My delusions of independence and self sufficiency are time and again proven to be just that as The Goblin Child and I wait breathlessly for him to get home. By the ease with which I allow him to take over chores that are too hard or too gross and I don’t want to do them. We depend on him completely for everything. Poor guy.

Same to my brother who works hard full time and comes home to remodel their house in his “spare” time. His latest project, I understand, involves crawling into a dark cramped hole under the porch to rebuild the footings. In our most recent conversation he was unable/unwilling to identify the things that crawl on him while he is under there. What a man.

It rained. During wheat harvest. The skies all around us were blue but overhead a little cloud dumped rain down, then a little hail but mostly lots of rain.

It was beautiful.

The child and I stood at the door watching the downpour. She stepped outside dipping a foot carefully into the stream of water running past. With a sound of dismay she headed back into the house. I stood to watch this rare and beauteous occurrence a moment longer than turned to follow. I met her coming back up the stairs towards me carrying, what else but her mud boots. She knew what she was supposed to wear to play in the rain. Throwing on my sandals quickly to keep up with her we headed out into the deluge.

Happily we ran and splashed in the temporary rivers that flowed down the drive way. The rain falling gently on our heads. The rain died off as did our rivers and sadly, reluctantly we headed back to the house.

First our poor darling beloved Daisy broke her leg. I let her come ride in the combine. I KNOW it’s a bad idea, those steps are dangerous for little dog legs. But she likes to. Too often I use that as an excuse to let all my little creatures, and not so little ones do things they shouldn’t. Daisy jumped off the top step and hung her right hind leg in the step grate.

After an after hours visit to the vet for a splint and pain pills she is doing well. She hobbles along quite well on three legs and with luck will be back to chasing coons and catching rabbits in no time.

The goat, not Jenny the new one, went to live out with the horses. One morning, a day or two after Daisy’s incident, She wasn’t standing upfront with the herd. The Goblin Child and I took the four wheeler and searched the pasture, we drove every fence line, searched the high weeds and even drove through the cows in case she had gone to visit them. Nothing. Giving up we headed out the gate only to look back and see the goat limping towards us from the direction we had just come.

Apparently a horse had stepped on the bulb of her heel. There is a scuff mark and some swelling to her right hind, something may be broken in there but not much that can be done in that location. We brought her up to live in the yard again so she has less walking to do until she heals up a little.

Driving in to town today I noticed an unusual noise coming from the car. I checked the dash and sure enough the low tire pressure light was on. I pulled over onto the side road instead of a friends driveway directly across the street because I was planning on finding a tire a little low, we would then finish driving to town and put some air in it.

The tire was completely flat. Left hind this time, right would have been to weird. The people from across the street stopped by to offer use of their air tank. If I wanted to drive the car clear over there on the rim. He however had a semi load of cattle on and couldn’t stick around any longer. It was okay, I had my gallant husband on the phone and he was on his way to the rescue.

The tire was ruined, but we got a temporary replacement and will soon be getting new and we made our doctors appointment on time. That was three, hopefully our string of bad hind leg luck is over.

It is important for me to note the start date. We are always trying to remember when it took place the years before.

Well, today was the day. We went to church this morning and my farmer husband came along because they didn’t think the wheat was quite ready and because bolts were on sale at Bomgaars. Because I was watching the nursery and Ava came along to help so he ran to get the shopping done other than sit and watch toddlers. It was fortunate that he did because the wheat was ready and his dad and the neighbor were jumping up and down ready to get started.

We got home and he headed out, The Goblin Child and I took our naps then went to join him in the evening. She still doesn’t sit well in a tractor.

A quick run down.

More to follow, too much to fit in one post

It seems like a simple enough thing.

I don’t suppose there is really anything wrong with suckers. I find them repulsive, that may be the most of it, other than the sticky mess. What are we to do though when we go into our very nice local grocery store and they carefully guide her to the box of suckers they keep at floor level as a special treat for children? They are so sweet about, it all friendly and talking to her. They are the nicest people.

I can’t exactly say “NO, she may not have a sucker. Stop being nice to my child!”

So she gets a sucker every time.

Today I did say no. The owners weren’t there to get their feelings hurt. I carried her into the store and right past the sucker box despite her protests. We picked up the milk we were there after and headed for the register, where she begged so piteously that I gave in and let her go get a sucker.  She enthusiastically ripped it open and chowed down on it. I paid and we headed out to the car.

Usually she has been working on her sucker the whole time we are in the store, the stick is mostly chewed though and the sucker nearly gone. I take it as we get in the vehicle and toss it into the gutter as I wash her up. (I know, I know littering and all that, seriously it’s one tiny paper stick.) Today as she stood waiting for me to get the door open she crouched down and carefully set her nearly brand new sucker on the pavement then waved bye-bye to it.

My heart nearly broke. I wanted to pick it up and give it back to her. I thought about running back into the store to get her another sucker. In the end I did nothing but vow to just let her get a stupid sucker every time we go in the store, it’s not that big of a deal.

To anyone who doesn’t think their child is watching every single little move they make, be careful they are watching.

Act of God?

Maybe not. Although at first glance it does appear so.

I took The Goblin Child for a ride in her wagon along our usual route to the south to the end of the road and back. As we passed the end of a bale stack I noticed it. I wasn’t really looking around me but it was hard to miss. There was something wrong with the pivot.

I’ve seen pivots that had been hit by a tornado before, this is what they look like. We hadn’t had any tornadoes. The wind blew pretty hard on the fourth, not this hard though. Upon further investigation my father-in-law had turned the pivot on for the first time this summer about fifteen minuets before our walk. My poor farmer husband and I took a walk after supper to survey the damage.

On closer inspection it was theorized that tower three, the one with the tire in the air, failed to stop moving as it was supposed to when in line with the other towers. The end tower is on a timer and moves an adjustable percentage of a minute which regulates the amount of water applied. The end tower moves first, for the allotted amount of time, then the other towers move to align with the end tower. Tower three continued to move dragging the rest of the pivot with it.

That it was able to do so is amazing. The weight involved, between the metal of the pivot and thousands of gallons of water (eight pounds per gallon) should have caused it to spin out. There are safeties built in that should have shut this down many times over. The power that was required to bend three inch angle iron nearly a half inch thick, four per tower, and six towers worth of it is incredible considering how easily they get stuck.

Towers one and two were relatively unscathed because they just follow number three. However they pulled the center nearly off it’s base. They hope the well was not damaged beyond some of the pipe.

All of this in about fifteen minutes. Of course insurance doesn’t cover “irrigation systems”.

Everybody said it would happen. We never thought it would be so soon.

Not so long ago another mother was warning me of the coming peril. I scoffed, thinking no not my child.

Last night shortly after being tucked reluctantly into bed by her doting father the Goblin Child began to wail. Her loving and patient father went to check on her as I worked on laundry. A while later he returned white faced and shaken, she had been waiting for him at her bedroom door.

As I laid her down for the nap she didn’t take that afternoon she had been trying to hook a leg over the side of the crib. That is why she wound up not taking a nap, I thought, hoped, that if she didn’t learn that she could crawl out in the midst of a tantrum that during normal sleep times she wouldn’t try.

So much for that.

Careful loving mother that I am I did move her thick rug along side the crib as padding “just in case”. Nothing was broken it must have helped.

The question now is what do we do? We have the side bar that will help keep her from falling out in her sleep while allowing her to crawl in and out as she pleases. We however are not ready to have her loose to roam the house as she pleases. The thought of it scares me to death. So does her recklessly flinging herself over the edge of the crib though.

It is so difficult to know what to do with the small rotten child.

Our darling crazed Goblin Child has hurt her self many times in the past. Never any thing too bad. This one in particular comes to mind. She banged her lip up, it bled a little.Tonight she was running happily, crazily down the drive way when it happened. We knew it would but what can you do? Never let them run? She tripped over her own feet, again, and crashed into the gravel. We scooped her up and looked for blood. Her palms were lightly scuffed, her mouth was fine. Then we spotted the rock stuck to her forehead. Gently brushing the gravel away we opened the flood gates. Embedded into the skin the very tiny boulder had been staunching the flow.

Blood gushed down her face cascading off her nose soaking her fathers shirt. We hurried to the house, gathered supplies and staunched the flow of blood. She cried and sobbed.

Untill I let her climb on the dog house she isn’t supposed to climb on. A shriek was interrupted by giggles. We gave her the hose and all pain was forgotten as she chased us and the cat. She’s a tough little thing.