The Striderling has put on almost an ounce a day since his last doctor's visit (JOY!!), and a drastically revised vaccination schedule has been worked out with his pede to his parents' satisfaction*, and this is quite a relief. His aunty is pumping for him as well, and as she is due in March, what is pumping is colostrum. He gets it along with his milk, and we figure this is WONDERFUL for a number of reasons:
Breastmilk, and I suppose colostrum, produces antibodies to what the mother is exposed to, so the Striderling is getting antibodies to the germs *we* might be carrying.
He didn't get that much colostrum in his first few days of life for various reasons.
It's his AUNTY!
*Re vaxxes: It's not the schedule *I* would have worked out, but, and this is so important to remember, it's not my schedule to work out.
This is not an area of strife or angst. I gingerly stuck in my two cents, my daughter put in her quarter's worth (it's automatically increased in value because she is the Mama), and I ceded the point. I mention this here for a number of reasons. It amuses and delights me to see how similar my daughters' parenting choices have been to mine, and how very, very different. It amuses me because our methods of homeschooling and sheltering were supposedly going to create immature, failed grown ups who couldn't think for themselves. HAHAHAH.
And it delights me because their father and I determined long ago that we were not raising our children to be children, but to be grown-ups, and we are seeing the fruit and we are grateful for it. It seems very good to us.
Blynken and Nod are coming again this Thursday because their mother is going to Florida. Allegedly she will return on Monday to get them. I was in some quandary about this, but the HG agrees that given the circumstances, it was the right thing to do.
The Cherub has discovered, at long last, that dog food is edible. And the Donovan-dog's food, it appears, is not free of her allergens (we don't which ones, because we pured the bag in a tote and tossed the bag). We know it is not free of her allergens because her nose looks like Rudolph's, only more so.
The Grandfather (that's my dad) always did like to experiment in the kitchen. Back when he had all his marbles,and when I still lived at home as a teen, he cooked once a week and we all jostled our schedules around to be sure we were home for dinner the day he cooked. This past week he decided to experiment again. He combined some loose leaf adagio tea mix with peanut butter, stirred it up, and ate it. It seemed to agree with him.
Granny Tea has decided she doesn't want help on Sundays after all. She's asked the man who comes out every other week to groom and bathe him to come every Friday so Gramps will be presentable on Sundays. She was also in some distress that I made her look bad on the blog when I shared that she had said that she was ready to have one of us take turns sitting with him on Sundays instead of her taking him to church. She points out that I have been making this offer regularly for about a year now, and I made it sound like she was pleading when it hadn't been offered. I expect our readers here understood me better than that, but it also seems to me that if she had been pleading and I hadn't been offering, it's not Granny Tea who would look bad, it's me.
The Dread Pirate Grasshopper permitted me to read him a book today- a board book of Mary Has a Little Lamb. Then he permitted me to read it again. And again. And yet another time.
"How long," I asked his mother, "could this go?"
"You really don't want to know," she said. "In fact, we don't know, because we won't go beyond six, and he has a particular book that is accidentally on malicious purpose about to disappear."
The Dread Pirate's Daddy is working nearly full time and going back to school, and he's doing very well at both. He just got a raise at work, too.
The FYB has decided to do a few push-ups each night and each morning. He does one more push-up each time than he did the previous time, and hopes to work his way up to 100. He does some of them with his feet propped up on the trunk in my living room, and I am amazed and a little awed that this tall (taller than me, now) young man with muscles is the lanky lad with spaghetti sticks for arms and legs of just a few months ago, when his pant size was toothpick by stork. It's still stork in the inseam, btw, but I think he's gone up a size from toothpick to soda straw in the waist.
The FYG has developed an uncanny knack for reading people. She always knows who likes whom at church, often before the involved parties are fully aware. Happily, she has also developed discretion, and has become quite an ally.=)
Sadly, she has developed an antipathy to 'the classics,' because, she says, 'everybody dies.' This is what she said about history when she was six.
Pip , figured out how to roast green coffee beans in my hot air popper to a perfect shade of darkness, and then she dipped them in chocolate for chocolate covered coffee beans. Delectable. Did I mention this already? She's also developed a flair for improvisational cookery. Tonight she made an amazing ground beef and vegetable crockpot soup/stew that called for canned tomato soup, which we didn't have, so she rummaged through the fridge, added a bit of this and some of that and a can of tomatoes and a splash of Italian salad dressing- and oh, my, my. It was soooo delicious.
A friend came to visit last month and finished installing the wood stove in our sun room. The HM has been enjoying keeping that full and roaring. We leave the sun room doors open most of the time now, and the down stairs rooms are quite warm. The younger two children like to do their school work out in the sun room. I do not, because the sagging insulation, unfinished walls, and the incredible debris scattered over the floor from the wood disturbs my nesting sense.
We have found a source for raw milk at about 3.50 a gallon, and now have two sources for fresh eggs at 2.00 a dozen. We go through about five dozen eggs in a week, can you believe it? But we only go through two, or at most three gallons of milk in a week. My window sill salad garden is looking very nice, but I am thinking for a family the size of ours I need at least nine ice-cream buckets of salad greens at staggered stages of growth.
Jenny has spent the day in bed with a nasty head cold, and is now cuddled up watching Little Dorrit with Pip. She has been asked a few times recently if she can reupholster home furnishings as well as airplanes, and she's trying to figure out how to set her prices so she can venture out a little further. At the airport she sometimes has more work than she wants, and then there are dry spells.
I progress slowly through Montaigne- I am on the ninth essay. I am reading Jeremiah about once through each week, and I have six times more to reach my goal of twenty readings. Then I will read Lamentations for a break and because it is a companion book to Jeremiah.
In that ninth essay, he speaks of his own poor memory, and then says:
Had mine been faithful to me, I had ere this deafened all my friends with my babble, the subjects themselves arousing and stirring up the little faculty I have of handling and employing them, heating and distending my discourse, which were a pity: as I have observed in several of my intimate friends, who, as their memories supply them with an entire and full view of things, begin their narrative so far back, and crowd it with so many impertinent circumstances, that though the story be good in itself, they make a shift to spoil it; and if otherwise, you are either to curse the strength of their memory or the weakness of their judgment: and it is a hard thing to close up a discourse, and to cut it short, when you have once started; there is nothing wherein the force of a horse is so much seen as in a round and sudden stop. I see even those who are pertinent enough, who would, but cannot stop short in their career; for whilst they are seeking out a handsome period to conclude with, they go on at random, straggling about upon impertinent trivialities, as men staggering upon weak legs.This passage caused me some rueful chagrin


