her able hands

Yesterday was the kind of one step forward, two steps to the side, three steps backward Barnyard Dance day that makes me want to pluck my eyes out of my head and throw them at my kids, yelling “Do you see how much harder you are making every little thing I try to do?” But that would be gross, and irreversible, and, well, abusive I suppose, so I don’t. But Jeebus on a stick, what a day.

Every third movement was interrupted in order to flick a spider off of the slide, or to wipe the sand from between the chubby toes of the stubbornly bare feet because God Forfend the child should wear shoes outside to play in the sandbox. The teenager needed to stop my flow by ignoring me repeatedly for close to an hour when I asked him to please shut off the computer, put on some day clothes, and get his pasty winter white self outside to give me a hand with some of the heavy work. The ignoring prompted louder requesting on my part, which prompted his mumbles, groans, and snarky explanations of why he needed to stay online playing Rune Scape for the rest of the day so he could be part of the Easter Celebration going on there, and maybe become an egg.

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There’s something deeply satsifying about lifting the recycled window lids on the cold frames in the morning to shower icy, slighty sulfurous water onto the tiny sprouts, soaking their vibrant green ovals and spears. The spinach is coming on like gangbusters after a couple of sunny, but cold days, and the only thing I’m not seeing any of yet is the cilantro, which I forgot to soak first. I’m thinking another four weeks and we’ll be enjoying a rich array of sweet and spicy greens. I’m looking forward to the particular energy that comes from eating something that grew right outside the kitchen door.

The cold frames are the last thing I attend to in my new late-morning routine of hauling a bucket of feed and some scratch, along with whatever kitchen scraps I’ve put aside, out to the chicken tractor. The girls are starting to circle around when they hear me coming, instead of flapping in distress and trampling one another in their slightly retarded race for the corners. It’s a wonder they didn’t all suffocate those first weeks.

They’ve nearly done away with the grass in in the pen, so I picked up a few bales of straw today. In another day or two I’ll need to start layering it so they don’t make the run into a poopy, muddy mess.

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So the building you see my Supah-Hott husband working on in the last post is our stilt house. It’s 10′ x 10′ and 8′ off the ground. The underneath will be enclosed with a ton of the windows we’ve collected in the barn (oh, how I welcome having that space for more practical storage, like straw!) and will be my sort-of greenhouse/garden shed. The upstairs will have a shed roof and should keep the teenager happily away from his bothersome toddler sister when he has friends over.

Here’s a long view shot taken of it from the safety of the porch during our tornado weather last week. See how the treeline is turning pink-purple where the sugar maples are budding out? That makes me happy.

Tyler really wanted to put it in a tree, but alas all of our trees are under 40 years old and couldn’t take the load. Besides we’re looking for multi-purpose.

It will have a second (3rd) floor loft for sleeping, real windows, insulation, and a door that closes. Anybody who wants to spend the night listening to all of the nocturnal creatures is welcome to come and sleep there. Tyler and his buddy B. built a brick, circular firepit, that’s all overgrown with alfalfa and grass. Hopefully next year we’ll begin digging the pond to the left of the building. We’ll also set barrels to catch the rain and Tyler can use that to water the magical garden he’s planning for out there.

We think about moving a lot because we spend so much time driving, but when I look at what we’re doing, and how much space we have to do it in, I think I must be nuts to want to leave. That thought probably won’t stop me from picking up the latest Harmon Homes when I grocery shop on Friday, but it’s good to remind myself that where I’m at is good enough.

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Lila’s constantly asking everybody if they’re “alright,” and she recently came up with the Family Well-Being Lines of Demarkation:

“Mommy, you awright!” Pokes me in the chest.

“I’m fine!” Stabs self in chest with finger several times.

“Ty’s okay!” Points towards wherever Tyler happens to be at the moment.

“Daddy’s Supah Hott!” Said while cradling my face in her chubby hands and looking deeply into my eyes to make sure I understand her. “Daddy’s Supah Hott!” One more time just to be clear.

She’s right.*

* I think he got me all aquiver, just look at that jagged picture. Must find the tripod.

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We’re under tornado watch today, and I gotta say these skies are unlike any I’ve seen. Pictures aren’t doing it justice, so I won’t bother…but wow. And the wind. Sideways shearing wind.

Gotta go get Tyler to put his kite down and get in the house.

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