The Lumberjack's Wife

Here is the definition of stress:

1.  You live 45 minutes from town.
2. You have to leave around 6:35am to get kids to school on time.
3.  The time is 6:27am.
4. A child shouts out that one of the calves is out of the cow pasture.
5. You call your husband to inform him of said calf, and he wants to let you know to drive slow because the roads are icy.

All I can say is thanks goodness for Handsome Dude.  As soon as he heard the shout that the calf was out, he hollered out “Got it!” and shifted right into Mini-David mode.  He ran out and got the job done in about 10 minutes.

He is getting pretty handy to have around.  And sweet.  He has all of his Halloween candy hidden away, but he knows I like Twix bars.  So this is what I see each night by my pillow:

Anyways, back to the stressful morning-the roads were indeed icy.  I saw three flipped cars on the way to school.  I drove much slower, and somehow, no one was tardy.

#winning

The heat is broken in my new car.  (#notwinning)  For some reason it is taking forever and a day for this to get fixed.  It is quite sad for us.  We are to be pitied, myself and the four Maliblahblah children.  David is not to be pitied.  He has heat in his work van.  The children and I must drive all around the world with blankets atop us and try to stay warm.  The heated seats in our fancy rig have been a life saver.  We just finished up the entire Little House series on audio books, and it was a great way for us to feel a connection to Laura Ingalls Wilder.  When she would travel by wagon she would put a hot iron at her feet and bundle up with blankets.  It really put us in the moment.  So there you go.

Life is, as usual, crazy busy.  All four kids are on a basketball team.  Teaching is busy.  Everything is busy.  I am tired.

I have this student.  We shall not say his real name, for that would not be cool.  We shall call him Norman, because I have always wanted to name an animal Norman and I keep forgetting.

Norman is quirky.  Oh, I love him.  He will bring me vast amounts of entertainment.  He is hilarious.  But he is coconuts.  Here is proof:

A) He tries to pick up my classroom phone because he wants to call his dad and say hi.

B)  When our class is traveling through the school, he gets turned around and joins other classrooms on the way to their destinations.

C)  Whilst swinging, he belts out, “I believe I can fly!” in his most bestest singing voice.

D)  He can read.  However, I had to do a nonsense word test with him (blahblahblah) and so the word is “tif”.  The student should say “t-i-f . . . tif.”  Norman says “t-i-f . . . bahnahnahnah.”  For all of them.

E)  I asked the class what plants need to grow.  His answer?  Water, sun, and oil.

F)  One day, I lost him.  Had to do an all call for him and everything.  (Teacher of the year!)  He was supposed to get on the bus, but he was nowhere to be found.  I ran to the bus, asked the bus driver to please wait as I had lost Norman.  She was less than impressed.  I ran through the building, checked the bathrooms-no Norman.  Found him soon after happily waiting and singing to himself at car pick up.

Me:  Buddy!  Why didn’t you get on the bus?

Norman:  I missed my dad and want him to pick me up instead!

Me:  Oh, dude.  It doesn’t work like that.

G)  While reading a story that had nothing to do with flooding-

Norman:  There was a flood in Casper, Wyoming!
Me (remembering he had recently moved her from out of state):  Oh, is that where you were from before you moved here?

Norman (looking at me as if I were an insane, crazy person):  No!  I’m from Cah-rad-do! (Colorado)

I have recently discovered Norman loves me.

Allow me to expand:  with the class, I was modeling how readers make connections with the text to themselves.  The kiddos then went off to read in their own books and see if they could make a connection with the text to their own lives.

Norman:  I have a connection!  In this book it looks like the girl wants to kiss her teacher!  Just like me!

As of late, Norman has asked me on many dates.

Norman:  Mrs. M!  Does Mr. M.  ever take you to the movies?

Me:  Sometimes.

Norman:  Does he buy you popcorn?

Me:  Sometimes.

Norman:  Wanna come to my house?  I have popcorn for you!

Here are the other “dates” I have been asked on by my pal, Norman:

“Mrs. M?  Wanna come to my house?  I have lots of orange gatorade.  You can have some!”

“My dad’s house is so so so fun.  Wanna come over and play on my Playstation?”

One day while coloring-

“Mrs. M, this is so fun.  You wanna come to my house and color with me?”

And yesterday-“Mrs. M!  Do you wanna swing with me?”

And I did.  And now I know that I am super old because it made me so dizzy.

Yesterday was a hard day at school (minus the swinging date, of course).  I had texted David that it was a bad day, but that was just about it.  At 4:00, he showed up to the school with coffee and switched me cars.  He told me to go home and he would pick up all the kids and come home later.

What-the what?!

So, of course I obliged.  I was so tired and had cried most of the morning.  (Teaching-not for the faint of heart).  Plus, David’s van has HEAT.

He later came home with pizza (the true key to my heart), chocolate, and flowers.  So that was amazing.

Between David and Norman, I am like the most romanced girl in the world right now!

Happy Saturday!

We have lived out here on our property for a bit over 8 years now.  People usually have one of two reactions when they hear where we live:

1.  They think we are crazy.  This is because we spend the majority of our time in town driving our kids to and fro and hither and thither and yon.
2. They are jealous.  They dreamily say, “Oh, don’t you just love it?  It is my dream to have some land!  How wonderful!”

And yes.  We are crazy and spend way too much money on gas.  But let us examine reaction number two, shall we?  Let us discuss the dream of living out in the county on a bit of land.  I will let you in on a little secret, friends:

Weird things happen.

Last night, David and I went to bed early.  As we are wont to do.  Our house was super hot.  We are having a GORGEOUS October.  The mornings and evenings can be chilly, but the days are sunny and warm.  We had mistakenly kept a fire going in the wood stove all day. Not because we were cold, but mostly because we find rebuilding fires at night to be loathsome.  And by the time it was bedtime, our home was a sweltering jungle.  So we opened our bedroom windows before we went to bed.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I heard screaming.  I was sure it was Handsome Dude yelling help.  So I shove David.  Which was completely reasonable.

Me:  David!  GET UP!  HD!  We need to find him.

(I say find him because three of our children sleep in many different places.  The only child who actually sleeps in her bed each night is Sweet Pea.  The other three might make a bed on the floor of a room, sleep in the loft, sleep on couches.  I don’t know why.  I have no time to fix it.)

David:  What?  Huh?

So we both jump out of bed and start panicking.  The sound was horrible.  I stopped at the bathroom because I have given birth to four children.  But then I kept panicking and trying to find the source of the noise.  I realized the sound was not a human.

Me:  David!  Is it a cat?  Is it a hen? Is it coming from outside?

David:  I don’t know!

Me:  What is going on?

David:  I don’t know!

The noise stopped.  David closed the window.  We went back to sleep.

It wasn’t one of our kids=we no longer cared.

This morning, I took the dogs on a walk.  I stopped at the chicken coop and discovered what I believe was the source of that horrific sound.  Right by the fence was a-

Now, dear readers.  You will have to excuse me.  I have lived in the country for too long now and sometimes I get “the look” from townsfolk.  Townspeople do not get country life.  They do not understand how many animals I have seen dead.  How many bones.  How many random body parts.  It is like a horror flick out here. Flashback to a conversation I had awhile back:

Friendly person:  Taylor!  How are the boys’ ducklings doing?

Me:  Ducklings?

Friendly person:  Yes!  Last time I spoke to you the boys had just gotten ducklings.

Me (thinking for a bit): Oh!  The ducklings!  Yeah, they died.  Didn’t live long at all.

The look of horror on Friendly Person is a look I am just too used to seeing.

But remember!  We are living the dream life of owning our own land!  Anyways, forgive me.  I mean not to scar you for life.

Anyways, right by the fence there was a dead hen.  It looked like something took her head clean off.  What took it off?  I really can’t say. Her head was nowhere to be found and her hen friends were happily pecking the ground all around her.  Not one bit phased by the fact that one of their kin had suffered a horrific beheading during the night.

I saw the hen and felt a bad for it, but then continued on my walk. If I had to guess, a coyote grabbed at it though the fence and tried to pull it though, but only made off with part of the hen . . . if you know what I mean. Anyways,  I love walking around our property, and our dogs love it, too.

That’s Tank.  He is 10 now.  He’s my fave.

David bought another cow yesterday.  I haven’t named her yet.

She is in the middle there.  Matilda is on the left and Rosie is on the right.  They are all three expecting.  Or so we are told.

David is off to fetch two more pregnant cows today.  Because he is crazy. So that means we own  pregnant cows (Matilda, Rosie, and three  Unnamed Cows), three steers (Stupid Steve, Houdini, and unnamed steer-formerly known as unnamed bull calf), and one Bessie who is being bred on another farm.  So after David gets these two, we will have 9 head.  We would have had 10, but my poor baby Tiny Tim didn’t make it.

I am telling you!  Things die!  A lot!  Out here!

Don’t be jealous.  Seriously.  Live your life in town and be happy you didn’t see a beheaded hen on your morning walk.

Happy Sunday!

David left the boys and I home for a bit while he went to get some work done.  He left the boys with the chore of pulling the 4-wheeler and trailer into the cow and horse pen, filling it with sticks, and dumping it in the burn pile.  They were told to fill the trailer twice.  I was told to check their work.

Handsome Dude (trying to hold it together):  But, Dad!  We can’t do that!  It’s full of big animals in there!  They will attack us!

David:  They are cows and horses.  They will not attack you.

HD:  But, Dad!

David:  You are fine.  Get it done.

And off David went.  And I was left with ensuring the not-so-manly boys got their job done.

Also, we need to talk about David and sticks.  Personally, I do not think it is a big deal that there are sticks on the ground.  In fact, I find them handy when I , myself, have to go into the pen and need to whack Stupid Steve. We have lived here for over 8 years, and for over 8 years, David has been picking sticks up the ground.  Off of all 20 acres. It consumes him.  But, I digress.

I was keeping an eye on the boys from the kitchen.  I watched them hitch the trailer up to the 4 wheeler and successfully move it into the pen without letting any animals loose (always a win).  I watched them drive the 4 wheeler/trailer to the area that David had instructed them to pick up the sticks.  And a few moments later, this is what I saw:

All horses and cows gathered around the 4 wheeler and trailer and no boys in sight.

HD:  Mom we can’t do it.

Me:  Sure you can.

HD:  No, the animals will get us.

Me:  No, they won’t.  You are fine.

(Let’s ignore the fact that I have to carry a stick in there at all times to protect myself from the viscous beasts.)

So, the boys have decided they will wait until David gets home.  I have advised against this.  They are not heeding my advice.  I wash my hands of it.

***

Little Dude took 5th place at a recent cross country meet.

So now I know he CAN move fast.  And I will hold him accountable to that.

He was beyond proud of himself.  He has been living in the shadows of his much faster older brother for far too long.  Now his brother is at a different school and LD can be the fastest Maliblahblah in elementary school.

***

Sweet Pea went to Homecoming.

Again, I cut others out of the picture.  I always have excellent photographs on my blog.

Can we all admit that the dances and formal wear are getting excessive?  It seems like every post I write includes one of my girls in formal wear.

Happy Sunday!

Goodness.  When school starts, it STARTS.  I am beyond exhausted.  David estimated that I drive 90 to 100 miles each day. It’s a bit much.
Sweet Pea was the first to start school. Her school starts a bit earlier than the others around here. She is now in 10th grade.

The rest of us started soon after.

–

Handsome Dude started a new middle school and is in 6th.  I am now in my 5th year of teaching.  I am teaching 1st for the 3rd year in a row.  Little Dude is in 5th at the school I teach at.  Although he looks a tad disgruntled in the above photo, he was actually the most excited to start school.  Daisy Mae started a new high school and is in 9th grade.

So, yeah.  45 minute commute to town . . . and then 4 schools between the 5 of us.

After school is full of volleyball, cross country, and basketball practices, youth groups, and church activities.

Handsome Dude was a bit worked up to start middle school.  His new school is big, he doesn’t know many kids that attend there,  and it has a locker with a combination lock.  At open house, his locker was not working and the school promised to have it fixed by the first day of school, but it brought him anxiety because he was nervous he would not be able to open it on the first day.  Plus, he had to ride the bus to my parents’ house after school, and he had never done that before.  And he would be home alone.  This was all like the perfect storm for him.

He arrived safely to my parents’ house and proceeded to contact me, David, my mom, and my dad to let us all know he had made it.  I was still teaching my class at the time, so of course he continued to call me until I could talk.

Me:  Hi, I still have kids in here waiting for buses.  I will call you when I am leaving.

HD:  Ok.

Me when leaving . . .

Me:  Hi, I am leaving.  How was your 1st day?

HD (irritated):  *sigh* Can I just talk to you while we are driving?

Me:  Yup.  I am getting Sweet Pea and then I will get you.

20 minutes later . . .

HD:  WHERE ARE YOU?

Me:  About 10 minutes away.

HD (irritated):  Are you serious?

Me:  Yup.  Be there when I can.

3 minutes later . . .

HD (Beyond irritated and sighing every 2 seconds):  Well since you are taking forever and I am BORED I guess I will talk to you about my day  now.  I picked out a guy who I wanted to be my friend and said hi.  I was hoping he would sit by me at lunch, but he didn’t.  But that’s ok.  After I ate I asked him what field he was going to be on.  He said, “You are with me, buddy.”

Me:  Well, that was nice of him!  What is his name?

HD (sounding like I am a complete idiot):  Well, I have no idea!

So, yeah.  Within about an hour, HD called me about 7 times.  So no cell phones for him for awhile.  No one can handle that nonsense.  I picked him up and he fell asleep in the car immediately.  When we got home, he stumbled to the couch and fell asleep, and continued to sleep until I woke him up at 5:30 the next morning.

Look at him.  He is a giant Handsome Dude now.  And middle school kicked his hiney.  I am happy to report that by the end of week 1, he learned his new friend’s name.

Daisy Mae’s year has gotten off to a crazy start.  High School volleyball is no joke.  Practices or games daily and late late nights when they play away games.  She went to homecoming with some of her girl friends.  Here is a photo snapped by a friend’s mom:

Ha.  I cropped the friends out because I am not sure they want to be in my blog.  But any-who, she looked cute and had fun.

And now we must discuss my 1st grade class.

They are exhausting.  And precious.  But really exhausting.  Here are some cute moments to share with you-

*One day I was wearing a sweatshirt.  A boy came up to me and asked if I was wearing anything underneath it.

*Same boy asked me later on how much my wedding ring cost.

*One boy has a weird obsession with trash.  He keeps trying to save it by stuffing it in his mailbox.  I told him he needs to put it in the trash can.  Later on I found him stuffing the trash into his pants.  No joke.

*While I am literally teaching them a lesson, one boy comes up to me and this was our convo . . .

Boy: Want to come to my birthday party?
Me: Buddy, I need you to sit down. I am teaching right now.
Boy: But I want you to come! It will be at a hotel and we are staying the night!
Me: Oh, wow that sounds fun! But I am so busy with my own kids and I probably cannot make it. Please sit down now.
Boy: Sure you can come! It is on a weekend!

*Another convo . . .

Me:  Honey, did you have an accident?
Girl: No!
(I can smell it. She did)
Me: I think you did. Let’s get that taken care of.
Girl: No, I didn’t!
Me: Ok. I want you to close your eyes and really focus for a minute. Do you feel wet at all in your pants area?
Girl thinking really hard: Well, maybe a little!
Me: Ok. Let’s clean up. And next time, please tell me you need to go potty.

*One day, I just got done going over directions and asked if there were any questions (rookie mistake) . .
Boy: There was a flood in Casper, Wyoming!
Me (remembering I had heard he had just moved to our area a couple weeks ago) Oh, did you live there?
Boy: No! Denver!

Oh, yes.  This is going to be an entertaining group.

******

Meanwhile, back at the ranch . . . .

Just when I thought haying time was over, David found a “sweet deal” on hay on Craigslist.  Our barn is already full, so now he is just stacking hay in the front of our property.

Me:  David.  It is like you do not understand the concept of “curb appeal.”

David:  But you used to get mad because I have a bunch of machinery parts and junk stacked in the front of the property.

Me:  Yup.

David:  Well the hay is blocking that from view now!  And would you rather look at junk or hay?

Me (defeated):  Hay.

Here is the truck with load 3 of 7.  We normally get square bales that are smaller and lighter.  These ones needs to be unloaded with his bobcat.  It is way easier on his body.  I told him I was going to be the boss pants and make him only get these giant round bales from now on.  He told me no, he was still going to get square bales.  So I am not the boss pants.

The cows and horses fight over the hay and we need to separate the hay out over many areas of our pasture to keep the peace.  Here’s a picture of Little Dude driving the 4 wheeler slowly while David drops off sections of hay around.

Ha.  I thought it was a cute picture.  David has no idea I took it.  Like most pictures I take of the farm and ranch.

In my last post, I mentioned that the horses and Stupid Steve were picking on Tiny Tim.  So, we moved Tiny Tim, Bessie the milk cow, and the other bull calf to an empty pig pen.  Things were going better and from my bedroom window I could see Tiny Tim nursing.  (Because everyone longs for a pig pen view from their bedroom window)

One night when I came home from school, Tiny Tim looked dead.  He was laying in poop and mud and would not get up.  I was still in my dress and went to check on him.  David was not home and I was trying to get him to stand up.  It was quite difficult and getting dark outside.  I had to pick him up off the ground, which is not easy.  Plus I was getting pooped smeared all over me.  Which is always pleasant.  He would not get up.  I had HD and Daisy Mae make a bottle and I tried to feed him while he was down because I was worried he was weak and not getting enough food.  He would not drink it.  Finally he stood up and I was able to walk him up to Bessie and the other calf and he went into the shelter and fell asleep.

After that, he seemed to be doing ok, but he was still pretty weak and not really putting on weight.  But I could see him nursing every day.

David wanted to take Bessie to be bred by a bull.  You might recall that Matilda (along with Houdini) and Rosie were off on the field trip for cows to be bred.   Last Sunday, David loaded Bessie, Tiny Tim, and unnamed bull calf and took them over to our friend’s place.  This friend is our farrier and he has the bull that will impregnate all our lady cows.  Everyone needs a friend who is a farrier and owns a bull.  They are quite handy to have around.

I didn’t want him to take Tiny Tim.  But he insisted.  In all honesty, I have no time to take care of Tiny Tim now that school has started.  But I wanted to keep an eye on him.  But, he took them over and then brought back the others and is hopeful the gals are pregnant.

Also, I saw David looking up cow pregnancy tests.  So that was different.

Our farrier friend called David on Thursday to tell him Tiny Tim had died.   I am actually  quite sad about it all, which is silly.  I guess he got really weak and he wouldn’t get up and eat.  Our friend tried to lift him up but he just wouldn’t. I don’t know why.  It was a huge bummer.  I think the most frustrating part about this experience was just that I didn’t know what I was doing.  Maybe if I was more knowledgeable about cows and calves, I would have done a better job?  I do know that I did everything I knew to do and I tried for many, many hours over the summer to help him survive.  I really thought he was going to make it.  He lived about 11 weeks.

Sorry to end on a sad note.  Happy Weekend!

Handsome Dude is turning into a Mini-David.

Me to David as they are both searching on Craigslist for great deals on heifers:  I don’t think I can handle two of you.

The child cannot handle idle time.  He is actually quite annoying if he does not have tasks to complete and he enjoys life much better when I give him an extra chore list.

For example:  today.

Today, all the planets have aligned and it is just he and I at home. All. Day.  Long.

I informed him at 7am, 8:15am, 9:00am, 11:00am, 11:15am, 1:00pm, 2:00pm, and 3pm that “No, we are not going anywhere.”

Ruiner of life, I am.  Oh, I have chored him up.  He has vacuumed.  He has tidied.  He has cleaned nesting boxes and filled chicken waters.  He has cleaned out cow manure and laid fresh hay down.  He has fed the horses and bovine.  He has given water to the horses and bovine.  He has killed flies inside and out. He has gathered dirty laundry and trash.  He has brushed his teeth in the middle of the day simply because I told him to (all 11 year old boys need all the extra brushing they can get).

Why am I the ruiner of life?  Because I have shot down his two most favorite options for today:

1.  Go float in the lake (sounds lovely, but I am switching to teacher mode and I got stuff to do, man) (Like try to plan out my Science lesson plans for the year and then switch to blogging)
2. Get on the Bobcat and pull out tree stumps in the back of the property (um, wait until Dad gets home for that one, bud.)

I just got in trouble because the only instrument we have in the house is a dumb piano (?) and he  just asked me if tomorrow is going to be as boring as today.

Well, I surely hope not.

***

Let us discuss Tiny Tim, shall we?  Yes, my calf.  David told me last night that we should have put him down a long time ago.

I know, friends.  I know. But, we must forgive him for his comment.  Perhaps he was hangry?

Last night, while David and HD were, wait for it . . . pulling tree stumps out of the back of the property . . . I decided to go and encourage Tiny Tim to nurse.  This is my new life.  My old life was feeding him two bottles a day.  My new life is stressing out because I don’t seem him nursing often, and now that I am old and 37, I fret about calves getting enough nutrition.  Honestly, it was easier to bottle feed.

Tiny Tim is kind of dumb.  There.  I said it.  It’s like he doesn’t know how to be a cow.  Probably because he had me for his mother and I don’t know how to be a cow either.  It is like every day, you must invite him to eat.  Like the thought would never occur to him on his own.  I have to go find him and lead him to the mama cow.  I have to orchestrate the nursing meet up.

Meanwhile, in this same pasture, I have 2 large horses, Bessie the mama cow, Stupid Steve the Steer (more on him later), the bull calf, and Tiny Tim.

In this photo from left to right, you will see Tiny Tim, the unnamed bull calf, and Stupid Steve the Steer.  Stupid Steve is about to headbutt the bull calf.  We aren’t fans of Stupid Steve.

The bull calf sometimes gets a bit possessive over Bessie.  Stupid Steve jumps on top of Bessie all the time.  He also jumps on the bull calf and head butts the bull calf and my Tiny Tim.  It can get a bit chaotic out there.

So, last night as I was trying to orchestrate the nursing meet up, I had trouble with Stupid Steve head butting my calf and trying to head butt me.

Oh, yes.  He tries.  I whack him on the nose with a stick when he tries that nonsense with me.

Stand down, Readers!  You would do it, too!  He headbutted Little Dude once and he was thrown against a horse water tank.  It was no good.  So now I must walk softly and carry a big stick at all times during the orchestration of the nursing meet up.  Do you see why I prefer bottles yet?

So, I find David on the bobcat and tell him I need help.  Basically I want David to whack Stupid Steve on the nose and watch my back while I lead my calf who is lacking “street smarts” to the udder.

This was annoying to David and he wonders when we are going to give up on the calf and let him “sink or swim.”

I know, I know.  Again-maybe he was hangry?

Maybe he is right?  I don’t know.  But I will tell you that I did not lift that calf up every day to feed, hold his tongue in place, drive him to the vet in my car, and tube feed him to give up at this point.  I can’t help but wonder if Tiny Tim would do better if Stupid Steve wasn’t around Bessie and maybe he would nurse better.  But seriously, what do I know?  Truly nothing.  No idea what I am doing.  At all.

So, this morning.

This morning, I looked out the window and saw the black horse nudging Tiny Tim.  Tiny Tim looked dead.  So I hurried out and when I got out there, the black horse was biting him and picking him up by his neck and leg about 5 feet in the air and then dropping him.

Over and over! It was awful.

I ran out there and threw sticks at the horse and got him away.  I stood there keeping all other animals away.  With my big stick, of course. For about 20 minutes, Tiny Tim just laid there, but I finally got him to stand up and I got him penned up away from all the other animals. He doesn’t seem to be badly hurt over his ordeal and I totally chewed out the black horse.  That’ll show him!

When I called David this morning during my “event”, he was kind and loving about the situation (obviously no longer hangry) and when he gets home tonight, I am under the impression we are moving Bessie, the bull calf, and Tiny Tim to an empty pig pen area to see if that will help the situation.

So, there’s that.

I start back to work Monday!

Sweet Pea starts TENTH grade Monday!

Daisy Mae starts NINTH grade at a new high school in a couple weeks.  She tried out and made the volleyball team!  Like a champ!

Handsome Dude is still driving me nuts!  Oh, and he is starting a NEW MIDDLE SCHOOL soon!

Little Dude is starting 5th grade!

No one has time to care for cattle!

The End.

If you have been following along, you are aware that I have been bottle feeding a calf.  And falling in love with him.  Not in a weird way.  In a totally normal, healthy, human-calf love relationship.

Well.

I was scheduled to take the children out of town for a few days, which meant David was going to have to bottle feed the calf.  I just about cancelled the trip because David is not capable of a human-calf love relationship.  It was totes stressing me out.

But I decided that David got us into this mess, and David has a financial interest in this calf, and therefore and henceforth, it would be ok for me to leave the calf’s life in his hands.

I left Wednesday late morning.  I fed Tiny Tim (the aforementioned calf) a bottle before I left town.  David’s first bottle feeding shift was scheduled for Wednesday evening.

Me (sounding like an annoying 80 year old):  Now, David.  You must try to feed the Tiny Tim before 8pm.  He gets fussy in the evenings and won’t eat if he is tired.

David:  Mm-hmm

So, of course, on Wednesday night I am checking on him.  And boy, was I panicked many miles away when I realized it was 9pm and my calf had not been fed because David was not yet home.

What was he doing, you ask? Oh!  Well, I am glad you asked.

He was buying more cattle.  As people do when their wives are on vacation.

Allow me to flashback to a convo between my mama and I in May:

Me:  Well, David went to a pig auction today.  He bought weaner pigs (not WEINER pigs.  Keep up, people!) and a cow.

Mom:  A cow?

Me:  Yes.  It was news to me, too.  Apparently we are doing cows now.

Mom:  Oh, my.

Me:  Mark my words, Mom.  In one year from now, we will have about 10-15 cows.  No joke.

Mom (shocked):  No!

Me:  It’s like you don’t even get my life.

***

So, yes.  On day one of my vacation, David went gallivanting all around the rural country side and purchased an 8 month old steer, a 4 month old bull calf, and a jersey milk cow.

While I was many miles away fretting about my Tiny Tim getting his bottle too late, David sent me a photo of Tiny Tim nursing on the new milk cow with the caption,

“How do you like them apples?”

So, yes.  David was apparently not one bit interested in this bottle feeding nonsense.  He went and bought a milk cow.  For many, many, many dollars.

So, I bought myself a commemorative t-shirt at the gift shop and chose to not feel one iota of guilt about the $25 I spent.

So that was a clever idea on his part to avoid bottle feeding. And I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a bit sad and replaced that I am no longer the mama to my cute baby cow Tiny Tim.

However.  It is much better that he has a cow mama who feeds him and will hopefully protect him.

I have named her Bessie.  Because Bessie is an excellent name for a nice cow who feeds rejected calves, don’t you think?

Here is a picture of our cattle out here on the homestead:

From left to right:  8 month old steer, Tiny Tim, Bessie, 4 month old bull calf.

The observant reader might remember we had other bovine friends.  Missing from this picture are Matilda (Tiny Tim’s mean mama), Houdini (Tiny Tim’s twin who thinks he is better than Tiny Tim because he has his mother’s love), and Rosie.

Rosie and Matilda are off to be bred by a manly bull.  It is like a field trip!  For cows!  The bull is pleased to keep their company, and little Houdini is just along for the ride because he is still nursing off of Matilda.

So, there you go!  More calves are coming! And we currently have 7 head of cattle.  Which is completely reasonable and normal.

Happy Tuesday!

Well, I apparently I am a farmer-person of calves.  Because that is what I live for at this time.  I am not meant to live this life, and I doubt I am very skilled at it, but it is what I have been called upon to do for such a time as this.

We got home from the vet on Monday, and Tiny Tim seemed to be doing so much better.

But then Thursday happened.

I went out to feed him his morning bottle, because this is my new calling in life.  Now, this calf is a bit needy when it comes to the bottle.  You would think he would be all ready for it and excited and eager.  But no.  I have to pull him up to his feet and pry his mouth open.  Sometimes, I even have to hold his tongue in place and squeeze his mouth up and down to get him going.

Did you read what I just wrote?  I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, regularly hold a calf’s tongue in place.  Send help.

Well, on Thursday, he just would not eat.  I tried several times between 6am and 11am.  I was leaving the house at 11 and would not return until 9pm.  I was getting a bit panicky because I knew I had to feed him two bottles a day, and his morning bottle just wasn’t happening.

So, I tube fed him.

Never in my life has a more stressful event occurred.  My first tube feeding attempt was with Sweet Pea as my helper.  For some reason, it wasn’t really working out and Sweet Pea was over the whole situation about 10 seconds into it.  She is 15 and full of sass and sighs.  We got a bit of milk into him, but then something didn’t seem right, so I decided to stop.

Me:  Ohmygoodness, I hope I didn’t put the milk down the wrong pipe!

Sweet Pea (annoyed):  Mom.  If you put it in the wrong pipe, we would be watching him choke to death right now.

She had a valid point, but I was still worried.

This is my new calling in life:  worrying about a calf.  It consumes me.

I went back out again with Daisy Mae.  Daisy Mae is 14, can be sassy, but never sighs.  Oh, I am sure she wants to sigh and roll her eyes, but she contains herself.  This is why she is now my new right-hand-man when it comes to tube feeding my baby.

Daisy Mae and I got the job done.  We tube fed that poor calf all 2 quarts of his bottle.  He did not choke.  He did not die.  He did nothing.

And then we went to town.

When we came home, I could not get him to drink his second bottle.  I did not want to try tube feeding again, so I just went to bed.

Friday morning, I went out, expecting the worst.  He was still alive, but I started watching him a bit and decided that maybe the little splints David made his legs were bothering him.  The calf was born with his front feet “knuckling” under.  Apparently, it is very common.  So, I took the splints off and helped him stand up.  And then he ate!  I mean, he chugged that bottle down.

Now, when I come in to feed him, he stands up when he sees me and he starts drinking his bottle without me even having to help his weird-o tongue stay in place.

I am a total goob now.  I love this calf.  I am pretty sure he loves me.  I took out a bucket of soapy water out and scrubbed dried poop off of his tail.

Nobody told me I had to.  I did it out of love.

You see what I mean?  I am weird.  I think I should change my name to Ethel.

This morning after his feeding, he followed me out of his little pen.  And I have had to be worried all day about how he is doing in the big pasture area with the two horses, Matilda-his mama cow who rejected him, and his twin brother who probably thinks he is better than my Tiny Tim because he was accepted by his mother.  I keep going and checking on him, because apparently I am a helicopter parent, and he is doing well and still alive and no one has beaten him up yet.

Me to David:  Let’s just keep him forever!  We won’t take away his manly parts and he can be a happy bull and live with us for many years!

David:  Nope.  That’s gross.  He can’t breed his mother.

Me: I know that! (Lies! We all know I know nothing!) But let’s get rid of Matilda then. She is a meanie-pants mom anyways.

David: Nope. He had weird feet when he was born. We don’t want him to be a bull.

*sigh*

David is just a silly boy who doesn’t get life.

Here’s a picture of my cutie-calf yesterday on his two week birthday.

Alright.  Happy Sunday!

Love, Ethel.

When we bought the new car, I made foolish declarations such as:

“There will be no eating in the Infiniti.”

I am bound and determined to keep this rig tidy!  So, we are not eating in the Infiniti . . . but transporting a calf to town for the vet?

Sounds perfectly reasonable.

Hey.  I am bound and determined to save this calf.  I am giving it my all.  THERE IS LITERALLY NOTHING MORE IN MY POWER TO DO FOR HIM.

Anyways.  We went to the vet. Sweet Pea, Little Dude, and I loaded him into the new car atop a tarp and a camping blanket, if you can believe such a thing.  I used all of my muscles and it was very exhausting.  I treated us to ice cream after.  WITH THE CALF STILL IN THE CAR AND WE ATE IN THE NEW INFINITI.  I am a destroying all hopes of a clean car.  But what could I do?  We loaded a calf and drove it to the vet!  And Tiny Tim will probably live!  Ice cream for everyone!

He was starting to fail over the weekend and refused to eat, which is what led to the vet visit.  They showed me how to tube feed him and gave him a few shots, but they said he actually looked pretty good!  And as a result of the shots . . . I think he might be on the up and up! And I have not had to tube feed him!

I am starting to love him.  This is not going to end well.

Also, he might be cleaner than Little Dude is in the Infiniti.  Are we surprised?

No.  No, we are not.

***

When I was younger, I watched the movie “City Slickers.”  There was a calf named Norman.  I thought that was an EXCELLENT name for a calf.  I figured I would never have a calf, but I promised myself I would at least name a dog Norman.

I realized on the way home from the vet that I had two boy baby calves in my life, and I failed to name either of them, “Norman.”

If Tiny Tim survives, I am going to rename him, “Norman.” Because I can.

***

One of my daughters, who shall remain nameless, might be getting involved with a boy.

Mmm-hmmm.

His parents called a meeting.  I named it “The Meeting of the 4 Parents,” because I am a dork like that. His parents, who are clearly more mature than us, felt it would be good to set some ground rules.

Before “The Meeting of the 4 Parents,” the aforementioned daughter started pop quizzing us with questions.  And David and I found ourselves to be hilarious.

Daughter:  Can we hold hands?

Me: Perhaps if you are praying before a meal?

Daughter:  Mom!  Stop being so immature!

Me:  You want to always make sure you don’t get too close.  Leave room for the Holy Spirit!

(Yes, I went to a Christian school as a child.  Why do you ask?)

Daughter:  I am not talking to you anymore.

So, we went to the meeting.  It was good.  Sorta awkward at times.  Pretty sure I want to just send this daughter back to preschool or something.

Fast forward to a few days later when the aforementioned boy joined our family for fireworks.

Little Dude:  Mom!  Dad!  They are holding hands!  And they are not holding hands the NORMAL way.  They are locking their fingers . . . like this! (and he shows us, looking HORRIFIED)

Me:  Ok.

Little Dude:  OK?!  MOM!  It is dis-TURB-ing me!  It is making me UNCOMFORTABLE!

Me:  I don’t know what to tell you, bud.  It was determined at “The Meeting of the 4 Parents” that holding hands was allowed.

Little Dude:  It’s weird.

***

And yes, it is all weird.  I am not ready for this.  My girls are growing up and I am not sure if I can handle this unknown territory.

Sweet Pea got a DEBIT card this week.  And tomorrow, she gets a driving permit.  And she wants to drive us home.

From town.

All 45 minutes of it.

Pray for me.

Happy Wednesday!