Thursday, August 28, 2008
about God
While I was preparing for our final study for youth group on "Do Hard Things" yesterday. I came across perhaps the most honest, Biblically driven argument against abortion. On his blog, Alex Chediak features a eight-and-a-half minute YouTube clip, reiterating to me that my opposition to this grisly practice that we, as supposedly a civilized nation, have in common with some other rather uncivilized nations, is not just an nice opinion.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
rough
It's been a rough week on the farm here.
It started when Stew-pot, the cat, had six kittens in the stroller in the garage. To protest my moving them to a nice box lined with rags a few feet away, she refused to feed them for a while and three died. She since decided to feed the remaining three and when I checked them yesterday, they were fat and their eyes were starting to come open.
The week continued when Fanta, another cat with a sketchy reputation for caring for her young, had kittens also in the garage. But Priya and the neighbor girl found them strung out around the yard. Mollie, the dog, while being a fabulously, gentle dog with human children, feels no such sympathy for the offspring of cats. For the second time this year and fourth time overall, felt inspired to kill yet another litter of kittens. Cats are a dime a dozen and I'm not terribly distraught that we have four less kittens except for the chore of locating the corpse's and hoping none are still struggling. One was quite alive in this latest round of killings. Besides have several puncture wounds, it seemed to want to eat. It didn't make the night however. Fanta has since adopted another cat's three half-grown kittens from this spring to be her own though.
The week finished when one of the sheep suffered a irreversible injury as a result of an ornery horse. So I am quite confident that while my children may be considered sheltered in some regards, they are very familiar with the death of their pets.
It started when Stew-pot, the cat, had six kittens in the stroller in the garage. To protest my moving them to a nice box lined with rags a few feet away, she refused to feed them for a while and three died. She since decided to feed the remaining three and when I checked them yesterday, they were fat and their eyes were starting to come open.
The week continued when Fanta, another cat with a sketchy reputation for caring for her young, had kittens also in the garage. But Priya and the neighbor girl found them strung out around the yard. Mollie, the dog, while being a fabulously, gentle dog with human children, feels no such sympathy for the offspring of cats. For the second time this year and fourth time overall, felt inspired to kill yet another litter of kittens. Cats are a dime a dozen and I'm not terribly distraught that we have four less kittens except for the chore of locating the corpse's and hoping none are still struggling. One was quite alive in this latest round of killings. Besides have several puncture wounds, it seemed to want to eat. It didn't make the night however. Fanta has since adopted another cat's three half-grown kittens from this spring to be her own though.
The week finished when one of the sheep suffered a irreversible injury as a result of an ornery horse. So I am quite confident that while my children may be considered sheltered in some regards, they are very familiar with the death of their pets.
Monday, August 18, 2008
small town
I was reminded again how small-town southwest Minnesota we really are.
When our kids were born - at least Sam and Anneka - we were the only ones on the birth wing of the hospital (except for the man and 20 of his closest relatives who was suffering from consumption or pleurisy who they moved next door to us because the regular sick wing of the hospital was full). There are a few halls in the hospital - one to get to that wing of the hospital and one connecting it.
Armed with a plant, a gift bag and three children, we headed from the parking ramp toward the wing of the hospital where we thought we'd find the long-awaited addition to the family. In the lobby, there was a big poster of a couple gazing longingly at their new infant. Surely there must be babies in this wing. Nope, after searching several creepy dimly lit hallways, I think we found the ICU and oncology and endoscopy. We met three or four employees as well - unless scrubs and name tags are now en vogue for street clothes - who must have assumed we were out for a Sunday afternoon walk. In retrospect, the wall across from the elevator would have been a fabulous place to put a large clearly marked sign directing visitors to the various wards.
The kiosk with the monitor where lost (in our case) or smart (not our case) visitors can type in the name of the person they are visiting or the room number must be the replacement for signs, that is if you happen across one of them before you get lost.
The big city is fun....to visit. But give me the hospital where the nurse on duty has time to chat and the hall only goes two directions in one straight line.
And while we try to keep hospital visits with our tribe of small children at a minimum, we left on our own accord AFTER our small children met their new cousin and BEFORE they had a chance to organize foot races with the bassinet. It sure was a good reason to visit a hospital. No, let me rephrase that - the best reason to visit a hospital.
When our kids were born - at least Sam and Anneka - we were the only ones on the birth wing of the hospital (except for the man and 20 of his closest relatives who was suffering from consumption or pleurisy who they moved next door to us because the regular sick wing of the hospital was full). There are a few halls in the hospital - one to get to that wing of the hospital and one connecting it.
Armed with a plant, a gift bag and three children, we headed from the parking ramp toward the wing of the hospital where we thought we'd find the long-awaited addition to the family. In the lobby, there was a big poster of a couple gazing longingly at their new infant. Surely there must be babies in this wing. Nope, after searching several creepy dimly lit hallways, I think we found the ICU and oncology and endoscopy. We met three or four employees as well - unless scrubs and name tags are now en vogue for street clothes - who must have assumed we were out for a Sunday afternoon walk. In retrospect, the wall across from the elevator would have been a fabulous place to put a large clearly marked sign directing visitors to the various wards.
The kiosk with the monitor where lost (in our case) or smart (not our case) visitors can type in the name of the person they are visiting or the room number must be the replacement for signs, that is if you happen across one of them before you get lost.
The big city is fun....to visit. But give me the hospital where the nurse on duty has time to chat and the hall only goes two directions in one straight line.
And while we try to keep hospital visits with our tribe of small children at a minimum, we left on our own accord AFTER our small children met their new cousin and BEFORE they had a chance to organize foot races with the bassinet. It sure was a good reason to visit a hospital. No, let me rephrase that - the best reason to visit a hospital.
miriam emma
Miriam Emma Koski arrived Saturday evening weighing six pounds, 15 ounces hoping to add a little more excitement to her parents life and to keep her three cousins in line.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
eating
So here's my theory on my kids and eating (with only 4 years of experience): they need variety and lots of chances to develop their tastes. I heard once that it takes 20 or 30 times of trying something before you can develop a like or dislike.
Life is way too short to eat tasteless canned corn and limp pale peas too many times in a year when there are options like spinach with salad fixings, stir-fried asparagus, mashed sweet and white potatoes and grilled fresh green beans. And that's just the vegetable part of things.
Granted there are things that are more difficult to serve to kids, but they won't learn to appreciate a variety if they are in college when they first try them. It might be too late to develop a varied palatte at that point. Kids will eat beef and broccoli on rice, sprouted wheat bread, plain yogurt, grapefruit and oatmeal pancakes if that what is being served.
What Mary Poppins said about a spoonful of sugar is quite accurate. Sometimes it takes a slice or two of cheese, a sprinkle of parmesan, a little syrup and butter, a squirt of strawberry syrup or a generous amount of jam for the good stuff to go down, but think of the variety one misses when only frozen pizza, fish sticks, chicken wads, pop tarts and cocoa puffs comprise a person's diet.
I'd make a terrible vegan. Grilled steak is too succulent. Sour cream finishes the taste of so many things from chili to salsa and chips. And without cheese, a piece of life would be missing. Completely sticking to everything organic is great in theory until I visit the six-aisles of my hometown grocery store. Not to mention that I'd leave the grocery store with significantly fewer bags and smaller containers considering organic prices. But variety is such a fine concept.
So for right now, my theory is I make no conclusions about my children's definite dislikes yet. I have so many new recipes to try.
Life is way too short to eat tasteless canned corn and limp pale peas too many times in a year when there are options like spinach with salad fixings, stir-fried asparagus, mashed sweet and white potatoes and grilled fresh green beans. And that's just the vegetable part of things.
Granted there are things that are more difficult to serve to kids, but they won't learn to appreciate a variety if they are in college when they first try them. It might be too late to develop a varied palatte at that point. Kids will eat beef and broccoli on rice, sprouted wheat bread, plain yogurt, grapefruit and oatmeal pancakes if that what is being served.
What Mary Poppins said about a spoonful of sugar is quite accurate. Sometimes it takes a slice or two of cheese, a sprinkle of parmesan, a little syrup and butter, a squirt of strawberry syrup or a generous amount of jam for the good stuff to go down, but think of the variety one misses when only frozen pizza, fish sticks, chicken wads, pop tarts and cocoa puffs comprise a person's diet.
I'd make a terrible vegan. Grilled steak is too succulent. Sour cream finishes the taste of so many things from chili to salsa and chips. And without cheese, a piece of life would be missing. Completely sticking to everything organic is great in theory until I visit the six-aisles of my hometown grocery store. Not to mention that I'd leave the grocery store with significantly fewer bags and smaller containers considering organic prices. But variety is such a fine concept.
So for right now, my theory is I make no conclusions about my children's definite dislikes yet. I have so many new recipes to try.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
egg
In March, Priya picked out 10 chicks for her birthday. One didn't make the week, but the other nine happily spend their days eating fallen apples and catching bugs around here during the day. At night, they all crowd into the doghouse they inherited from Molly who has never spent even one blizzard or rainy day in.
They are big now - four brown ("yellow" as Priya calls them) and five black speckled and they are tame in a sort of strange way. When was the last time you walked across the yard and looked down to see nine hens keeping up with you.
But their real purpose is to lay eggs. Yesterday, there was one little egg in the doghouse. Priya and Sam were quite sure it was from the chickens and even discussed the possibility of launching a acreage-wide egg hunt to look for more. On the way home from church, we settled the question of how many eggs each chicken would lay a day. Today at dinner, they discussed some various theories how chickens make eggs.
Unfortunately, we'll have to wait until the next egg is laid to analyze it since the first egg didn't make it back into the fridge after show-and-tell last night.
They are big now - four brown ("yellow" as Priya calls them) and five black speckled and they are tame in a sort of strange way. When was the last time you walked across the yard and looked down to see nine hens keeping up with you.
But their real purpose is to lay eggs. Yesterday, there was one little egg in the doghouse. Priya and Sam were quite sure it was from the chickens and even discussed the possibility of launching a acreage-wide egg hunt to look for more. On the way home from church, we settled the question of how many eggs each chicken would lay a day. Today at dinner, they discussed some various theories how chickens make eggs.
Unfortunately, we'll have to wait until the next egg is laid to analyze it since the first egg didn't make it back into the fridge after show-and-tell last night.
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