Kuddos to the Kiddo

This kid. Oh how I love her!

Today we decided to do Daddy's farm chores so that he could spend more time studying and reading to them and generally make his life easier, while also assessing our own ability to complete the tasks without him when he travels.

We loaded two bales of hay in the truck, breaking them down first because they weigh 60lbs each and I cannot lift that. Lily busts out her pocket knife and got to work cutting twine, like it was no big deal and what she was supposed to do. I mean, it was, but I didn't ask her or instruct her on that.

Then we filled a bin with water in case the tanks were still frozen. They were not, but better safe than sorry. Fed the pigs, the dogs, and then loaded the little kids up in the truck and headed to the pasture.

Once there, up in the truck bed, Lily and I tossed the bales over the fence and poured the water together into the tank. Fed Zim. Next was to check on the weaker lamb and assess the state of the inside of the shelter. All was fine.

Clean up stray twine left in the grass, lock up the gates.

She was a quiet and helpful chore partner. We will make this a daily outing and I plan on letting her take the lead soon, asking her to assess and make decisions. That's how we roll on the farm, the chores start as just watching, then helping as able, soon helping side by side, and so forth.

Still, she has earned her farm cred today and I thought I'd make note here.

Criticism and Nodding Heads

I am used to people cheering what I do. I have a fantastic support system. I have friends, loyal and sweet, that offer encouragement and do nice things for me. My kids think I am beautiful and smart. My husband thinks I am sexy and smart and dangerous. Awesome.

I am used to criticism. Every semester I get a student or two sending me poorly grammared angry emails telling how I am the worst person to ever teach, should be fired, and the fact that they did 8 of the 40 assignments and paid their own tuition is enough for a passing grade! Oh, I get called many colourful though not imaginative names and accused of many trespasses, and I have come to accept it gracefully and respond kindly and firmly.

I have had fall outs with friends and family, so I also know what it is like to have people I care about think poorly of me or what I endeavour to do for my life work (parenting style, is usually the crux here). I am an outlier and I know what observations come with occupying that territory.

No, the criticism I was not prepared for was none of these.

Re-reading the revision notes from the writer's retreat I found a small box with a note suggesting that I work on sentence structure and get a good grammar book.

Ouch.

It hurt deeply because the line drawn from the box to the comment was not to the age old Oxford comma complaint, nor to anything arguable. It was to a long run on sentence with no punctuation at all. That's how I write poetry, most of the time, e.e.cummings style.

The problem with that is that I am not Edward Estlin. My work has been much improved since taking this to heart. Though, many poems are still suited to that, it is more intentional now instead of just free flowing.

My relationship with revision has been tumultuous. My freshman year in college, when asked to revise, I laughed and said that changing what I had written was a betrayal, an adultery to inspiration and muse. I would not so stain her (my muse's) dress with such ink and blood. Oh the dramatic ego of youth! That particular professor got me to agree to at least pay attention to the strength of end words and then let me be.

No one challenged me after that. Until now. That is a blessing.

That is the problem with having a youthful talent though, it is all impressive intuition and no skill. Now, I can laugh at that impish youthful poet, but it is a sad laugh. Sad, because I walked away from something I loved, something I was good at, because I was stuck and could not master the craft.

Now I know that I can never master such a fancy, but that doesn't mean I cannot enjoy it and improve my aim, brush stroke, and swordplay. Feet on the floor, I lunge and tarry daily now. Sure, fencing imaginary windmills is just that, but at the very least I am training.

So now revision is my training ground, an old lover I am getting to know again. Sometimes it is painful and lonely and full of regret, but here I am.

This is my happy. Doesn't really seem like it should be, right? I am happy to be standing in this harsh light, following a dream I thought was lost. No more regrets. Let's do this.

Tuesday Mornings

Tuesdays are always what feels like off the wall chaotic and busy.

We load up at sunrise and head to town. This morning, chores had to be done: water from a leak cleaned up, pasture check on a lamb that is struggling but still doing fine, stoke the wood stove, load the truck. On the road by 6:30 am. Gas station breakfast and truck maintenance were done too.

Isaac's doctor appointment, then real breakfast, break up girls fighting (sigh) over Holly being friendly with strangers in the doctor's waiting room. It was a mom she knew, but Lily didn't know that and was being very protective. Long quiet talk about appropriate ways to handle situations like that, but not shame her for trying to do the right thing.

Breakfast. iHop free pancake day.

Ballet class. More truck oil checking and filling.

Then to Grampas. The kids were just so happy to see him. They also spent quiet time with great grandma and did not want to leave until 4. That was much longer than I had planned on spending, worried about tiring her out.

Holly cried once we were on the road home, she wanted to stay longer to see Nana.

So, the day goes on and when we arrived at the farm, the concern shifted towards checking on the lamb and playing outside. Early bedtimes were had and three children fell asleep telling a collective story about Dreamland, Prince Isaac, Princesses Lily and Holly, and Queen Mama the bohemian jeans wearing royalty that loved her children all very much.

And there's my happy.

Today's Quiet Moment.

I didn't get a picture for today's happy.

So, here is my list:
Today the meals I made were delicious and appreciated by all three children.
We had fun checking on lambs, shopping, checking on lambs again, and being with each other.
Isaac practised making different animal noises! It was adorable. Quack quack!
I read poetry. Two new books came in the mail today and both are lovely. So far, in each, I have discovered a shiver poem. The kind of lyric that makes you shiver with fear, delight, or just beauty that is found. Delighted to have that be in my day and to have both of those authors in my proximity and path.

Chocolate and Earl Grey tea. Add in a quiet moment, with poetry in hand, and that brief and fleet moment is near perfect. Especially when the quiet was the children snuggled up discovering something new together, yet on their own from me. Oh precious.

Now they are all three sleeping piled on each other, sort of snoring, one laughing in her sleep.  We have an early day tomorrow, but the promise of maybe seeing Grampa got them in jammies, teeth brushed, and into bed early. Oh Holly woke up this morning telling me how much she misses Grampa and Nana and how she wishes she cold spend the day with them every week like last year. It was heartbreaking and precious. If I had video captured the moment, I am quite certain someone would be signing papers and moving here next week. ;)

So I add to my pile of happy, the blessing that my children have extended family that they love so much and that love them back. Speaking of which, I should probably call my brother and his wife and invite them for a visit in the Spring. Their daughter will love the baby lambs!

So that is my happy for the day. (A picture from last week too.....)