Chevaliers de la table ronde . . .

"Chevaliers de la table ronde . . .", it's an old French drinking song. Some of my mom's French buddies taught it to me long before I knew the difference between cabernet sauvignon and riesling. Not that I didn't know my colors at the age of 4, but when you're a little half-breed traipsing across the European continent in a 20-year old Peugot with an equally aged tent to you wine is just wine, regardless of the color.
Mostly these days, I'm trying to drink more wine. It's better for my heart, it's better for my initial 2-3 hours of sleep and night, and it's better for my husband that I'm cross-eyed when I swat at him for farting on me.
Tovey doesn't mind it. But what I really should be drinking is dark beer because my breastmilk supply is pitiful. Heineken Dark and a couple of tabs of fenugreek.
I just wanted to check in, say hi and tell you to come back for a visit soon. I'm working on some thoughts, trying to figure out how they'll sound on "paper".
Much love from your glass-is-half-full, hen-loving, mother of four but wantin' more,
Kelly

Cow Girls

There's nothing like watching your babies shed their down and grow feathers.

They're doing a great job at scratching in the dirt, pecking in the grass and they just love to roost.

Nothing like an old rusty Radio Flyer to get a cow girl in the mood to get her roost on.

Now if we could only get the coop finished, er . . . started, and get them out of our dining room.

For Reals

I can't remember if I mentioned this or not, so I suppose I'll tell ya anyway. A couple of weeks ago, Tova was supposed to have her delayed surgery to fix her ears. It ended up not happening because she got a fever and ear infection. It was disappointing and frustrating. Not that I was looking forward to it, but because I really needed that chapter of my life closed forever and ever. I hadn't been sleeping or eating well in anticipation of it, up late at night worrying about Tova's hearing, complications with the scalpel, adverse reactions to the anesthesia and so on. There was a lot of strife associated with the cancellation of the surgery. Dumb stuff, but when you're told your baby could go deaf then you imagine every bad scenario and grit your teeth with each passing moment that goes by.
Her surgery was rescheduled for today. Dr P had recognized that we were stressed, so he got us a much earlier time than the failed May 18th surgery.
At about 5:50 this morning, our poor nanny stumbled into the house to take over with the big kids. Lars and I stole jammied Tovey from her bed and then strapped her into her car seat in our heated car for the drive all the way down to the children's hospital in the city. Tova woke briefly, uttered some confusing remarks and then flopped back to sleep.

Huh?

The walk from the parking lot to the surgical center felt like the walk to the electric chair.

She walked off the elevator all by herself. Note to self: stop using the aperture setting in a dark building on a moving object.

The waiting room was so much fun! She met a friend for life, or at least during the pre-operative wait. Cute little Cole's surgery was about 1-hour before Tova's.

Fun and games . . .

at first . . .

but soon the hunger set in, and that was awful for all of us. We had to keep her with an empty stomach since midnight. She kept doing the sign for milk, which means she wants to breastfeed, clawing at my shirt and screaming. She was jittery and kept falling to the floor. This was by far the worst part. She started having a hard time around 8am, the surgery was scheduled at 9am, but then got delayed 50-minutes due to an emergency. Needless to say, I was in tears.

Reunited! Dr P said the surgery went really well. When we went into the PACU they had her in a crib (which is very new for her), strapped in with a big Velcro seat belt. She was sitting up, looking around the room through narrowed eyes. The nurse gave her to us right away and encouraged us to breastfeed her at that moment. Then she brought Tova a grape popsicle (above). After she was discharged from the hospital, we came home whereupon I had a sudden urge to sleep for a year. All that stress lifted off of me and holy mother of pearl was I tired. Tova and I both fell asleep for hours, but we've made it through the day and for that I'm rather thankful.

Leaving.

Leaving for the hospital in a few moments. Tova doesn't have a fever. Her nose isn't even running. Surgery is this morning, for real, this time. Please send positive thoughts Tova's way.

Due

I'm sure I've told you all the story of my first three children's due date.

I must have.

It's quite funny and goes a little something like this: Petra was due May 10, 2001, Soren was due May 10, 2003. Apparently Soren's due date was a bit of a mystery, but I remember being told he was due May 10. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Annike was conceived without me having a period since before Soren was born, not to mention a lost pregnancy between the two of them. Lars and I had tried for March, then April. I showed up at my midwife's office, we did an ultrasound, a couple of measurements showed May 9, a few showed May 11, and so on. The midwife and the doctor hemmed and hawed until I chimed in, "how about May 10?!".

This is how come my first three children have me celebrating 3-birthdays 3-weeks in a row.

In the moments between gasping for air, there are these episodes where we move in slow motion. The previous year has caught up to me and my angel-headed baby of 4-years has peacefully climbed up to the next rung and voila, she is five.

For her birthday, Annike wanted to go back to Los Angeles to see the La Brea Tarpits. Which we did.

We also went to the candy store at the farmer's market. Everyone got to pick sumpfing.

Mommies, Daddies, you know this face. This is the one that happens right before they ask, "how many may I have?"

"Cuz mostly I schee scheventeen fings I want, ok?" I'd have said, sure baby Mommy wants you to have 17-things. Annike's daddy gets grumpy on birthdays and holidays and candy-buying days, so he barked back that "one is enough." Oy.

"Huh?" She looks at me, hand on hip, eyes saying - "can you believe this guy?" Our eyes connect, she orders blue rock candy on a stick. There's a candy store in La Jolla that legends are made of, we're totally going there someday soon.

The kids and I are breathless at the possibilities. Lars takes aim from behind the camera, "don't get too crazy . . ."

Then, on the shelf at the candy store, what little trip wouldn't be complete without attempts made at a potrait of the Fab Four?

Tova got a candy necklace, cuz she should have candy now that she's 17-months. She was a little perturbed that we would put her candy on her neck, like we were trying to strangle her or something.

Daddy showed her the ropes, though.

A short time later, she had it all figured out seeing that she's so smart and all.

Finishing up at the Pits, where Annike picked out a punch balloon and a tar pits coloring book for presents, I just knew I'm the luckiest mama to have these puddings in my life.

Poor Beanie's back started hurting.

She didn't even want ice cream, which seemed pretty serious to me. Annike loves ice cream and she loves her birthday and she really likes dead mastodons, but she just wanted to sleep or cry. We gave her some ibuprofen and 1700-mgs of kisses, she went to sleep and we ate ice cream in her honor.

Later, on the way back to our piece of rock on the California coast, we stopped at an IHOP. She was happy by then and was still overflowing from having got to buy candy from the candy store.

New Babies!

It's surprising, I fully admit it.

What you don't know is that Lars and I have been scheming for quite some time now about adding to our little family. I know what you're thinking, "Gosh, Kelly, you still struggle to get Soren to blow his nose and Tova's still nursing, how could you possibly have more time for an even bigger family?". We're doing it anyway!

Did I mention that there are two of them? Yes! Twins. It's so exciting.

Girls. Precious baby girls.

Did I mention we've already brought them home?

Did I mention their names are Mildred and Thelma? Thelma is named for Lars' late maternal grandma, a hearty Norwegian farm wife. We thought it was a good start for our little Thelma. Mildred was named by Petra, in keeping with our tradition of Petra naming our babies for us.

The girls are 2-weeks old now.

Did I mention that they're Buff Orpingtons?

Yep, chickens.


Petra, with Mildred, and Soren, holding Thelma.



Annike, making one of the babies walk the plank over her brooder.

They got their first outdoor experience in our vegetable patch this afternoon. They were squealing with delight. Almost right away, Thelma -- the bigger of the two, found a dried up worm. Thelma ran to one of the Brussel sprout plants to have some alone time with her wormy, but Mildred was right on her tail.

Mildred wasn't the only family member right on Thelma's tail. Maggie is quite excited about our two new punks. She's very excited thinking about them becoming fat and juicy spider and compost fed hens. She can't wait to have dinner with them.

In fact, Mildred and Maggie weren't alone in hot pursuit of Thelma's tail feathers. Before they had a chance to escape under the zucchini, Tova made a grab for Thelma's hiney. Tova's a quick little imp, but she let go as soon as we all started screaming at her.

Thelma thought the best of her new digs and opted for a quick escape. She's not so subtle about it. Plus, she can't fly. Plus, she would never leave Mildred.

Stay tuned . . .

Where's Maggie?

Maggie is pretty much in shape with her inner-Zen self. She doesn't find any cause for extraneous activity. She believes in doing what needs to be done in order survive, all the while maintaining a fairly meditative state. Please don't assume that snoring sound coming from her is indicative of deep sleep. Maggie would like it known that Basset Hound snores and Basset Hound ohms are almost indistinct. Of course, Lars and I can tell the difference but it took years of paying attention and a couple of hurt feelings ("Maggie, for Pete's sake, yer not doin' anything!") along the way before we sufficiently trained ourselves to note the difference.

We are talking about meditating dogs now, aren't we?

Sheesh, I can't say for sure anymore.

Mostly, Maggie is meditative.

But sometimes she catches a scent . . .

from over there . . .

and being a hound dog, she feels compelled to follow it.

All too often, before we know it, Maggie and her nose are gone!

We look in all her favorite places, like her queen size bed . . .

her corner of the sofa . . .

and in the little nest she's made in the ivy underneath our orange tree.

The thing about Basset Hounds is that just when you think you know them, just when you go ahead and say something about Basset Hounds out loud -- "oh that little Magdalena Humphindinkleheimer is a creature of habbit" . . . well, you end up being wrong.

Turns out, Maggie Beast likes to shake it up. So, after an hour of searching and tearfully calling for her, she's found in the shade of the trampoline -- deeply meditative.

Although, it's not unheard of to 'lose' her to a pile of freshly washed clothes that are waiting to be folded and put away.