Op CIO has, so far, been sucessful. I will admit the first night was hell. The second a bit better and by the third we had it worked out. Now if Henry wakes in the middle of the night gtting him back to sleep is as simple as me going into his room to find his pacifier, pop it back into his mouth, give him his lion to snuggle, and cover him back up in his blanket.
My time spent up and awake is less than 3 minutes. Huge thanks to Shannon for encouraging me to do it and assuring me I wasn’t going to damage Henry.
The vet was out here yesterday to look at our #8 ewe. She has been rapidly losing weight and has scours. Our vet seems to think it is coccidiosis, a small parasite that affects the ruminant. #8 is on a short course of treatment and, if correct, we should see a marked improvement in about 5 days.
I find myself laying awake at night as more information about the Air France disaster is released. Last week I read that an 11 year old boy was travelling alone back home to Britain. I was at work when I read this and it took everything I had not to sob out loud for that boy. I am sure he was terrified and have visions of him crying out for his mum. In my mind I picture him as one of my boys and it’s this that keeps me up at night.
Will, the 16 year old, has been up to his usual misguided shenanigans. A few weeks ago there was a dance at the school and he had a couple of friends over for the night. The next day while I was at work they thought it would be a great idea to take out the van for a ride in the countryside. I found out about the adventure because Will had posted a video of the event online and bragged about it to his friends on MSN and even had the balls to say I wasn’t smart enough to know how to read chat logs and find the link. He no longer thinks I’m a techno idiot and is doing hard labour. Living on a farm has its advantages when it comes to punishing a teen.
Parenting Tip Of The Day
If you want to stop your teens from bickering with one another threaten to walk about the house in only your bra and knickers. Be fully prepared to follow through on that threat if the call your bluff.
The countdown to Sgts return is on. Today marks 28 days until he is home again. 28 days until I can abandon the solo sex and get the clean sheets dirty with crazy, monkey lovin’.
I have not made it a secret to anyone that I had always wanted a little girl. Someone I could dress up in pretty clothes and have tea parties with. Someone who would be just as frustrated with toilet seats left up and hockey sticks left about.
When I was trying to get, and subsequently stay, pregnant with our third child I often dreamed of what she would look like. I imagined a tiny little thing with big blue eyes and blonde curls like me. I though having another girl in the house would soften things up a bit. When the fifth pregnancy looked like it was going to stick I was looking forward to the 20 week ultrasound so I could get a glimpse of who I was carrying. When the technician told us we were having another boy I will admit for a brief moment I was a bit disappointed. Visions of ballet shoes and frilly frocks were replaced by soccer cleats and grass stained jeans. I realized just how stupid I was being and I should be grateful for a healthy pregnancy and eventually a healthy baby boy.
Sgt always seems to be away when a crisis arises so I have had to rely on myself a lot. One time my dishwasher went on strike halfway through its cycle and spewed water all over the kitchen floor. Because I realized how much I loathe washing dishes by hand I grabbed some tools, took it apart and fixed the problem. I was also too cheap to call in a repairman. This tour he left during our lambing season. I rely on the older boys, Will and Charlie, to lend a hand with the docking, and castration of the lambs. The latter being a bit difficult for them to watch but they do so because they know how much I need them when their dad is gone.
This week I was clearing out the garage and asked bribed the boys to help out. While cleaning out the cupboard where we keep the painting supplies we came across this beast.
I handled myself with dignity and grace jumped and ran inside the house screaming like, well like a girl, while the boys pissed themselves laughing. Later that night I thanked my brave boys for saving me from the dead vermin and I knew at that moment why I was chosen to be the mother of sons and not daughters. A daughter would have screamed and ran with me leaving the rat corpse in the garage until Sgt came home in July.
Henry is just like his brothers. Rough and tumble. He swings a hockey stick with uncanny accuracey, digs in the dirt and pulls out worms for me to see. He brings me pebbles and sticks that he has found so I can carry them home for him. He loves being in the barn helping with the evening chores. I can only hope that one day he will be able to save his mom from a dead rat.
Most people have a plan for when they win the lottery like what the first big splurge will be. Mine is a week in Hawaii sitting on a beach and having some hard bodied 20 something bringing me tropical drinks and applying my sunscreen.
What most people have not planned for is the loss of their partner. Sgt and I have had many frank discussions about this because his career brings the harsh reality of something happening to him while deployed overseas. I know what to expect, what I am entitled to and where he keeps his offshore loot. He has a will in place along with powers of attorney so all of his wishes are known. Sgt has all the bases covered.
I do not.
If something was to happen to me poor Sgt would be up the proverbial creek. Other than a couple of life insurance policies I have nothing. No will, no power of attorney, nothing. Like most women I take care of all the financial matters, I book appointments, I know who the kids doctors are and when their last dental check up was. I know that the baby likes to watch In the Night Garden before going to bed and that we have to read the same four books every night. I know I know our oldest needs me to be engaged in another activity (like dishes or driving) when something important to him has to be discussed. I know our middle son is so damn funny he should have his own one man show. I know if something was to happen to both Sgt and I our sons would be raised by my family.
What I don’t know is if something happened to me would Sgt run into issues with Henry, our son conceived through donor sperm? Sgt is registered on the birth certificate and we had signed all of the documents produced by both our clinic and the company we purchased the sperm from but what does that really mean? Is there some sort of clause I need to have written into a will to ensure Sgt does not lose our son? I have tried Google but the only results it comes up with are the rights of donor conceived children, nothing for the rights of the parents who are not genetically linked. I’m not sure if there is specific Canadian laws or if the laws are provincial. I know I should contact a lawyer and have this looked into but the thought of writing a will scares me. It’s like I am acknowledging that I will die one day and if I do it will happen soon.
I ask you my fellow www’s who have donor conceived children … do you know what your rights are?
Several month ago Sgt and I discovered our oldest son had been suspended from school. Five days for smoking pot. We were shocked? To be honest, not really. We had suspected he had smoked a little green a month before at a party.
The most difficult part of this situation was the fact the both of us had partaken in a little (or a lot) of weed smoking when we were young. And our son knew it.
I have always been open with the boys and any question they ask always gets an honest answer. This seems to have come back to bite me in the ass because now when I pull out the At Home Drug Kit I get the oh so familiar “But you did it when you were a kid Mom.”
My question for you internet peeps is this. When the time comes (or if it already has) and your son/daughter asks you if you had partied like Michael Phelps what is your answer going to be?
A while ago some family members found my old blog and I found myself editing everything I wrote there.
I hated that. It is not who I am.
So here I am. In a new place with a new name.