Family Game Night

Day 9 of 365

The games were piled up on the counter, as Lailah and I sat and played a game of Skip-bo as we waited for Daddy and the other two kids to come in from the barn. I can't say who won the game of Skip-bo because it went on for quite a long time, and we didn't finish completely. I am not even sure we were playing it right. But it was fun, a little game between mother and daughter.

One of my resolutions this year is to spend more time with family. So I am incorporating a family game night. Every Friday night we will sit and play one or two games before the monkeys have to head off to bed. And I hope to continue this throughout the whole year. And then some. Because they grow up too fast and time spent with them is something they are going to remember forever. And hopefully incorporate that into their families someday.

We played a game of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. In which you must go around the board in collect food for all the stages of metamorphosis. The caterpillar first stops at a fruit patch and must collect 5 pieces of fruit before moving on. After the fruit stage, he invades a picnic and must collect 4 pieces of picnic food... I have never seen a caterpillar eat cake.. but apparently they do, according to Eric Carle. :) Then you move onto the stage where the caterpillar eats a leaf and turns into a cocoon. And you must spin a moon in order to move on from there and turn into a very beautiful butterfly. Mom won.... and I didn't cheat. The kids had a blast and after that they decided it was time for bed. In which I was glad because it was well past their bedtime. Maybe next week we will get in more than one game.

Zipped Up Monkeys & Blueberries

As we walked through the store my girls were nuts. They acted like a bunch of monkeys just released from the zoo. Monkeys on sugar. Like way too much sugar. And I knew I had to rush in and out of there or we would be escorted out. I put them both in the cart, knowing this was the only safe way we could get through the aisles without things flying and crazy kids running up and down the aisles. Every cart that passed us Vanessa had to reach over and touch. And as she touched it she had to say "touch", as the passersby smiled at us and said "oh how cute... ". Oh yeah... real cute... or not! Embarrassing children anyways. Lord bless them...

Reaching the checkout lane, I had the girls help me unpack the cart. And that is when it happened... a nice little package of blueberries... as it was being pulled from the cart to be put on the counter. I knew I had no way of zipping around the cart fast enough to keep them from going over. I sat there and watched it go. It spilled. All.over.the.floor.

"Uh oh momma" I heard. And she hid in her jacket, embarrassed of what she had just done.

I told the cashier we just spilled the blueberries and she looked at me like I had just shot her puppy. All blank stares. She mentioned to the door greeter that she needed a broom and gave me the eye. The evil evil eye. And the raise of her eyebrow. The eye that parents get when they have screaming kids in the store. The screaming kids that you can hear aisles across the store... but we only spilled the blueberries. I was embarrassed... as blueberries were rolling all over the floor.

As we grabbed our bags to go out. Vanessa slowly said "I sorry I spilled." And Lailah topped the cake by telling the cashier she really loved her nails. And that they were "oh so pretty." Could have been a nicer cashier though, because she gave them both the stink eye and said nothing. Really... nothing? Come on lady, enjoy your job and laugh at the small things in life!

Bless my girls. They gave me a good laugh tonight, though. As we climbed into the car, all I could do was chuckle. Because those are my kids. All zipped up on something or another acting like monkeys. And they spilled the blueberries. All over the floor. That'a girl! We will forever be known as "those people."

And we had a discussion on the way home about politeness and how the girls rocked that when they said sorry and complimented the lady on her nails. Small lessons learned.

Sanding into the Story

Day 7 of 365

As I cut the sand paper into quarters, it scuffs up my fingers. Roughing them, and priming them for the task ahead. Letting me know that the job will not be an easy one. The sandpaper is attached to the block of wood and the process begins. What was once a white, vibrant piece of "refinished" furniture, an antique, is now going to be my masterpiece. One that will fit well into our decor. The primitive look. The antique look. The place we call home.

Sanding away at the edges, creating a well roughed up look, I wonder to myself. Who would paint something so vibrant, so white, and cover up the history that was once behind it. The history that this piece holds. The stories that every scuff, scrape and blemish would be able to hold. The more paint that is taken off the more the piece once again looks like an antique. Something one would stumble upon sitting at the curb, or by a lone tree out in someones field, scattered with rubber tires and bent up metals. A piece once loved and cherished, only to be tossed aside and replaced by something new and vibrant. But this is what our family enjoys. Decor that tells stories. Not the new and vibrant. But the old and cherished.

I take out the hammer, and remove some aggression on the piece, making dents and scrapes, scratches and blemishes. It is now going to hold our family story. Never to be repainted and brought back to it's vibrant state it was just in. It is now distressed. The well thought out process that has been brought upon it, creating a aged look.

The piece is an antique commode. No, not the kind you sit on. But a commode that once sat in the hall or bedroom. Adorned with a wash tub, soap and a towel hanging from the spindle attached to the back of it. Can you imagine it sitting there? I can, in the historic farm house, by the bedside. The wash tub filled with freshly boiled water that was earlier pumped from the well. A wash rag and soap sitting beside it on the top. Mother washing her face after a long day of cooking and cleaning. Bread making. Cleaning up before she tucks herself in for the night.

The commode before. Notice how bright and shiny it is. How new it looks. Yeah, that doesn't really fit into our decor in our house - at all!

And the finished product. It makes me swoon!

Stories and Piggy Toes

Day 6 of 365

As the girls get washed up and dressed for bed the little shrieks and songs out of tune that come from the shower remind me of how lucky I am to have two girls. Girls that will one day look to me for advice on growing up, friendship, makeup, school, college, dating, finding their love, marriage and raising a family. It saddens me to know that time slips away all to fast, and looking at them each day proves to me that time does really slip away. They are growing up so fast, the years gone by, maturing them into the little ladies that they are becoming. Their own little beings.

Most days they love each other, but we have the girlie fights once in a while too. But for the most part they play nicely. Tea cups, plates, barbies, dolls, books... they scatter their bedroom floors, being tripped over and stumbled upon day after day. Only to be picked up at night, and played with again the next. Scattering the floors again. Proof that girls live here. God bless their little brother.

Last night we, well my oldest daughter, read a story. Out of our Farm Yard Treasury book. Gosh, we love that book. So easy for them to learn to read, but the stories are long enough to count as a "bedtime story." And teaching great values along the way. And there is a "find 'em" in the book too. This story in itself had the find 'em on each page of a little ladybug. The ribbon was placed in the book, to mark the following story, put away on the shelf for the following story time. And the girls were tucked into their beds, ready for the nights slumbers. Another day of school on their agendas for the following day.

Nessa requested that I take her picture as she "pretend sleeps" with her monkey in her monkey PJ's.  

Being Their Voice

Day 5/365

They stood by the pawed down snow, where the bale feeder should have sat. One that would have set empty, their pasture picked down to the dirt under the freshly fallen snow. Ears pinned back ready to pick on the next of their herd that come near them because of the irritation that dwelled inside of them. They could feel the hunger deep inside, hunger that had went on for too long, hunger that they were not able to feed. When would they get their next meal? Who would feed them? Where were they going to get the drink that would quench their thirst that has gone on for too long? One too may days, and the herd was about to give up. Would there ever be a voice for them, one that would speak out, and let the world know that they were starving?
 
The voice came. A neighbor down the road, Laura, who was tired of seeing the hunger and neglectful ways of the human who was to be feeding them, watering them, attending to their veterinary needs. Of the human that didn't care, one that had moved out of the house and left them behind. In the pasture - alone. A phone call to the county humane officer, one that would change the herds lives forever, was made. And the process was started. They would be saved, someone would love them, feed them, and water them. Make sure they got all of their veterinary needs.

The house was long empty. The cars no longer in the drive. Weeks had gone on where no one was home, they had moved on. The driveway was cleared and a path made to the gate leading to the pasture. The pasture that was adorned with a nicely built barn, one that never was used to protect the herd from the elements. As they made their way into the pasture and the trailer backed up. The herd were unsure, afraid of what was going to happen to them. Where they were going. But they showed none of it, the blank stares in their eyes. The hopelessness of life, showing through their faces. And they were loaded up, one by one. All five of them. Starved and dehydrated, ready to give up on life.

And the look of the little filly, who was in the worse shape of the whole herd, was one that would break any one's heart. A look of near death. A look of severe dehydration and malnutrition. A look of "who cares". A look that would remined those that were there that day of their purpose, one that would forever be embedded into their minds. A look that would remind them of the close call that was put onto this herd, if the phone call was a day too late, the little filly would be gone. Life cut too short, at the hands of a human that didn't care. But she was saved, thankful for the phone call that was made.

A big Thank You to Laura and John, Donna and Dave, Rich and the Wood County, Wisconsin, sheriff's humane officer Nancy. If it were not for them, this herd would not have made it. They were the voice that needed to be heard. The voice that saved them.

The little filly, Sophie, has a long road ahead of her. She is still in a very critical state. At only eight months old she weighs right around two hundred twenty five pounds. Severely malnourished, as her mother was not in the pasture and she was reliant on food and water that was never provided for her. I still cannot wrap my mind around not feeding or watering your animals. An average, well taken care of eight month old filly would usually weigh in at four hundered pounds. Her body score is a 1 out of 5. You can feel all the bones in her body as you brush your hands along her fragile structure. Her coat is dull and lifeless. Her little body, full of worms. Her leg, a limp it brings as she doesn't put weight on it. An injury that should have been attended to by a vet, that went uncared for, as did all of her basic needs. Sophie is at my parents house. In a warm barn, as she does not have enough strength to even shiver, to produce her own body heat. A mixture of supplements, vitamins, probiotics, antibiotics, a daily wormer and salt are given to her twice daily. To help her get over her very critical state. Help her regain her weight and get to looking sharp as a little filly should look. The vet predicts this could take up to eight months or more. She has free choice of hay, and water. Something she has never had the privilege to have in her young life. Can you imagine?! Who would do something so horrible?! Someone who had very accessible vet care, that is who... someone who works at a vet clinic, pretending day in and day out that she loves and cares for animals. When in all reality, she does neither. As her animals were not even provided with the most basic of cares. Food. And Water.

The rest of the herd, who were not in as bad of shape as Sophie, but bad shape none the less, are being housed and cared for in the pasture of another person, Rich. Who is also taking very good care of them. Offering them free choice of hay and water, and giving them grain on a daily basis. Along with a dewormer, as they were also all packed full of worms. A stallion, who needs to be gelded, as he should have been a while ago. And three mares, one of which may very well be pregnant from the stallion. The other two, unsure.

I want to take this time to ask any of the readers of this blog, if they have anything to spare, could you please open up your hearts and help out with a donation? Anything will help, anything at all. Vet care for Sophie will be on-going. Enough funds have already been donated to geld the stallion, and the ongoing vet care for him and the other mares that were rescued from this horrible situation. All of this will add up. Donations can be mailed to:

Arabian Rehoming Fund

C/O Laura Pichler

9508 S Washington Ave

Marshfield, WI 54449

or via paypal: westiemm@yahoo.com

Sophie is getting filled with love and kisses. Lots of them.

Her new warm home :)

More posts about the arabs can be read here.

Please note - I was not there for the actual day of the rescue but have heard stories from my mother and her friend, therefore was able to formulate my own narritive. I have actually seen Sophie and the look in her eyes rips at your heartstrings. And makes you wish all animals had a voice.

460 Harriet Street

Day 4/365

{November 20}
As they pull up the driveway the excitement inside me is bursting. Today is going to be a wonderful day. One day as the first of many more to come like it. I can feel the energy as they exit the dingo. Smiles and laughs as they walk up the sidewalk to the door. As the door opens a burst of laughter fills the room. And I am ready. Ready for a day filled with talk, antiques, shopping and time spent together. With my mom. And my aunts. A day that has not happened before, and I now know what we have all been longing for in the past. A common bond to bind us all together, besides family. One that was not there before, and we've missed this. But it is here now and I am so excited to indulge in it, soak it all in and fill my heart with this. Antiques. We walk to the dingo.

The first stop. Sparta New and Used. A shop that is filled with antiques. Top to bottom, corner to corner, just packed full. There is so much in there you can smell the history, see the people of years gone by clinging to their treasures. They are really not there, of course, but you can feel their presence as you sift through their belongings. Begging for them to be taken home, to be treasured again, as they were treasured in years gone by. Decades ago.  Hours are spent in this store, items are purchased and packed into the dingo. Skis that once belonged to a Canadian Olympic skier. Hopps memorabilia. A bicycle. And off we go. Crafting.

The sounds of Christmas songs fill the air, the smell of freshly popped popcorn and the hustle and bustle of people fill the room. There are crafts galore. Mostly Christmas and holiday items, but crafts galore, none-the-less. We spend hours here, filling our list of gifts, one by one. As the hours tick by we mingle through the crowds. Laughter and excitement fill us. One more stop before we go home. Just one more. Treasures on the Corner. Back into the dingo we go, packing in our latest purchases.

There's no city or state. There's no name transcribed with the address. Above the address label is etched with pencil a name that is not able to be made out. It cannot be read. The wonderment of who it belonged to fills me. As I sit there looking at it I am consumed by where it has been, what it has seen, who had once packed it full of their most precious belongings. They lived at 460 Harriet Street. No City or State. I long for it to sit in my living room. My mom makes her way over to me, she can see the excitement filling me. This is what I am getting for Christmas from my parents. This trunk. A travel chest that once belonged to someone. Was carried all over the world, possibly, filled with their belongings. And now it is mine. And it once belonged to someone at 460 Harriet Street, No City, No State.

Today I gaze at it, again, in wonderment. As I always do each time I sit on my sofa. Wishing it would just be able to talk, tell me where it has been or what it has seen. Who had once packed it with their most precious belongings. Because I want to know, but never will... the mystery that revolves around it intrigues me.

Snow and Pinatas

Day 3/365

Blustery winds are howling outside, a reminder of the winter cold that is among us. The thermometer reads 6 degrees fahrenheit, with wind chills to 15 below zero. It won't keep us away though, the girls are bundled up and snow pants and sleds are packed into the car as it warms. The girls and I are headed to Grandma and Papa's house. Daddy and little man will not be going this year, the weather is too cold and daddy is not feeling well. Sledding is on our agenda. And campfires, hot chocolate and chili.

New Year's Day celebration. It happens every year. Family and friends gather for a day filled with winter activities, delicious food and hot chocolate. A day to bring in the new year, Wisconsin style!

The sleds are ripping down the hill, laughter consumes the air. Stories of the years past, as we read the names that are inscribed on the cold tin of the shed. The smell of chili and burning wood fill the air. It is cold. But the over abundance of food and hot cocoa warms us from the inside. And the multiple layers of clothes keep the wind from getting to our bones. A pinata hangs from the trees and the kids over excitement for the day is slowly turning into enjoyment. Enjoyment for the days activities that will more than likely have them tuckered out by the time their heads hit the pillows.

The pinata is whapped, the candy falling to the crispy snow below, and the kids load themselves up. One more time down the hill and the cars are packed back up and everyone heads home. To nod off into a warm sleep filled bliss. But not us, we are staying the night and the kids couldn't be more excited! Into the house we go but there's no sleep for them, as they rip and tear through Grandma and Papa's house. Little footsteps and sounds of happiness filling the once quaint house. Bedtime comes and goes, with the little giggles still lingering while the last bit of friends finally pack up their vehicle and head on home.

The mess is cleaned up and off to our own little sleep filled slumbers. Wrapped into the warm blankets for the night, the smell of a fire in the wood stove consuming us, as we doze off. The sounds and smells of home rushing back to me, lulling me to sleep.