safe

In an effort to make the most of the last few weeks of summer, this morning we went to a drop-in class at the children's gymnastics center. They always do a good job at making the experience both fun and educational. Today's theme was safety. During circle time there were introductions and each child was invited to answer the question: What are some things that help you stay safe?

There was a discussion about bicycle helmets and looking both ways before we cross the street. I always feel a secret glee when I get to listen in on my own children's comments, like a spy gathering information. What do they know and what will they say? Since they don't ride bikes yet and we live out in the country where there aren't many streets to cross, I was curious which connections they were making.

Sommer's turn came. What are some things that help you stay safe? She gave a fairly typical two-and-a-half year old's unrelated answer, "We have a trampoline at home!" Yes, she was more focused on the trampolines she saw around her than circle time. The teachers were skilled, however, at bringing it back around and they talked about trampoline safety.

Annike's turn came. What are some things that help you stay safe? She looked shy, then evangelized her class, "I pray to Jesus quietly in my heart."
Preach it, sister. Liberal Santa Cruz may not listen to me, but they will listen to you.

Responses like these are the reason I have named this blog "A Child's Eyes." I learn so much from the innocent perspective of my children. Over the years my contribution to a discussion on safety has been programmed to include something like: "Don't talk to strangers." But children only know what they know, without all of the programming.

This morning was one of those rare mornings when I was feeling brave enough to take three children on a summer outing by myself. The past few months with all the kids at home has tested and challenged me in this area as I have discovered the hard way that no matter where we go, I still can't predict the outcome of any outing where the ratio is 3:1. Hoping this will change shortly.

Gymnastics class went well, but like I said, I had an abnormal surge of bravery and decided to take the kiddos for treats at a local bakery. On the way out, because hot chocolate and a fruit parfait had clearly not sufficiently filled her tummy, Sommer ate "a green bean" from a mysterious plant by the doorway. I didn't see her do it of course because I was maneuvering the stroller through two swinging doors while corralling my children onto the sidewalk instead of the street, carrying three half-drunk cups of hot chocolate, attempting not to spill any on the baby or run over the toes of other guests.

When we got to the car Sommer told me, "My breath tastes spicy because I ate a green bean from that plant."
"You WHAT?!!?"
Approaching her I realized her "spicy" breath was actually the smell of vomit.

It left me acutely aware that while wearing seat belts and obeying traffic laws are all very safe and good choices, it is Jesus alone who keeps us safe when the child who should know better eats a poisonous plant. At the end of the day, it is He who holds our whole lives in His hands.

On the car ride home, Annike prayed quietly in her heart for Sommer's safety while I called Poison Control. It turns out that this plant causes gastrointestinal discomfort, hence the vomit, but in small doses most likely isn't toxic. We don't need to have her stomach pumped.

In the meantime we thank God for His grace to see us safely through another day.

Trust in the Lord and do good;

dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.

Delight yourself in the Lord

and He will give you the desires of your heart.

Psalm 37:4-5

Our family hands in cement.

ice cream

We have so many delicious blackberries growing in the fields around our house, I got it in my head that I wanted to make homemade blackberry ice cream with Annike.

Doesn't that just sound heavenly on a warm summer night?

And, we have this homemade ice cream maker we were given as a wedding gift. I am pretty sure we have used it twice, right? ...nine years ago when we were first married.  Definitely at least once. When I came across it recently taking up shelf space, Christian wanted to get rid of it.  And I cried "No! I promise I will use it!!"

That was 6 months ago. Today we got it out and I am remembering why we didn't use it all that often.  Even with the ice cream machine, it is still a 3 or more step process to make the ice cream from scratch. There is this internal bowl that you have to remember to freeze for at least 24 hours before you want to make the ice cream. Then you mix up all of the heavy whipping cream and eggs and sugar and you practically boil them on the stove.  So that takes almost a day to cool in the refrigerator before you can add it to the ice cream machine.

We were finally ready to add our cooled ice cream mixture to the machine today.  Annike and I went down to pick a bucket of blackberries to go with it, and let me tell you that is a labor of love. Between the brambles and the thorns in my arms and clothes and boots, and the poison oak, and Annike eating them almost as fast as I can pick them, I definitely understand why berries cost so much in the store.

But we made it back to the kitchen with energy to spare, hyped by the anticipation of finally getting to eat our ice cream tonight.  I pulled the dusty machine off of the top shelf of the laundry room... you know, the shelf where we keep things we never use because they are so darned hard to reach up there.

You may see where this is going. I had every necessary piece and even the instruction manual, but after nine years of occupying precious kitchen space, the useless machine would not work!! It hummed and buzzed in a broken machine kind of way, but simply would not crank.

I did what every good mom would do. I hit the machine with my fist. I flipped it over and stuck a knife through each and every opening (unplugged, of course). I tried to force the rotation with a wrench. All to no avail. I am now convinced that the ice-cream-maker-making industry is a complete scam. Ninety five percent of the time they only need to produce a machine that will work twice. Most people never pull their machines out again.

It wasn't a complete loss because we stuck the cream mixture in the freezer and it came out just fine without all of the mixing, which brings me back to the ice-cream-maker-making industry scam thing. Plus Annike's favorite part turned out to be sticking her fingers in the cream and licking them off while I was beating up the broken machine.

Meanwhile, Sommer was being a little angel in her high chair, helping in her own way by making sure the ingredients were of the highest quality. She went straight into the bathtub after this kitchen experiment.

I thought it would be fun to make homemade ice cream with Annike because, well, isn't that what good moms do with their kids on a hot summer day? I was just trying to be a good mom. And, even though it is tempting to say that I feel bummed about the outcome of our endeavor, I am happy to report that I still feel like a good mom. My daughter and I bonded over blackberry picking and mess-making in the kitchen, and more importantly, we created a memory. We just didn't end up with the ice cream machine part of it.

FYI, the machine is going in the trash. I won't be buying another one. If you have one that works, I may ask to borrow it in another nine years.

our latest adventure...

Let me preface this post by saying that my husband's spirit of adventure was one of the reasons I married him. I love him for it, though it has gotten us into trouble more than once. Today might be one of those off days when I could have lived with a little less adventure and a little more normal.

After a sleepless night with our daughter, I awoke to find my husband missing from the bed. Waking up slowly, I stumbled out for some coffee and expected to see him in the kitchen reading, or watching t.v. The house was empty. Glancing out the kitchen window hoping to catch a glimpse of him, I had to rub my eyes and pinch myself. Might I still be asleep? Out the window, not 20 yards from our house, were hundreds, possibly one thousand, chickens. No exaggeration.

Amidst the hundreds of brown and white birds, pecking on the ground, climbing on the wood pile, running around under our cars, was my husband making a futile attempt to herd them away from the house. Stopping in the middle of a pack of chickens that seemed to have no fear of him, he looked up and saw me in the window, staring wide-eyed in my bathrobe. We were both thinking the exact same thing: "What did we get ourselves into??!" And in that moment as we stared at each other through the window, we both began to laugh. A deep belly-aching, side-splitting, tear-inducing hysterical laugh. It was the kind of laugh that comes out when you are not sure if you should laugh or cry, so you attempt to do both at the same time.






Life is an adventure. We have a choice to fight it, or laugh at it, however unexpected the situation.

The arrival of these chickens was not completely unannounced, though in my sleepy state I had completely erased any knowledge of the birds. We have been planning to rent our land out to some free-ranging organic chicken farmers who will also be moving into the cottage on the property. The chickens will be penned in different areas of the agricultural land. However, moving day this morning happened to be one of those mornings when things just did not go as planned. In the wee hours of the morning while it was just beginning to grow light, the chicken trailers arrived and got stuck in the mud. Somehow, the chickens began to escape out of cracks in the doors on the trailer. They came pouring out, one after another, and made a bee line for the greenery around our house. These animals are impossible to herd - it is hard to explain, but after trying it multiple times, I understood why the chickens were everywhere.

Oh, and the electricity was out all morning due to a motor vehicle accident. And we have ants all over our Christmas tree. Some days are full of the unexpected. We can try our hardest to stay within a plan, within certain boundaries of expectation, but when life takes over, sometimes we just have to laugh.

P.S. All of these pictures were taken after the majority of the problem was managed. Imagine 4 times the chickens when I first looked out the window. These are the straggler birds that were exceptionally evasive when it came to herding them back to their pen.

boots

A Tale of Things That Happen When Living on a Farm
These are Annike's favorite pair of shoes. She refuses to wear anything else.


It's no wonder that she likes them because everywhere she goes someone comments. Plus, they are so soft and fuzzy inside. You would like them too, if you were one and a half.

Last week we drove to Salinas to do some shopping and drop in on my mom at the school where she teaches. Of course Annike wanted to wear her boots, so I put them on her in the morning before we left. At the end of a long day, I set Annike in her car seat for the drive home and decided those boots must be awfully hot. Removing them, I noticed a black smear on her left foot.

Strange, I thought. We didn't play in the mud. We were in stores all day long. Pause. There must be something inside of her boot.

In telling this story to others, I have heard numerous conclusions about what was inside of the boot - everything from a spider, to rat feces, to Annike's feces. The answer is far far worse.

As if in slow motion, I looked inside of her boot, and resisted the urge to scream. I saw a flattened lump of fur with a tail, and some entrails. An adult mouse was squished dead on the inside of Annike's left shoe.

How did this happen? I have no idea. The facts I do know are these:
1) The boots were left inside overnight.
2) She had worn them the day before, and there had clearly been no mouse inside either shoe.
3) By the end of the day I periodically noticed a foul odor coming from what I thought was Annike's diaper. Because it was empty, I attributed the smell to bad gas.

I assume the mouse was in the shoe when I put it on her that morning. The only logical conclusion is that Annike killed it when I put her foot into the shoe. Christian thinks the mouse was already dead, but how does a dead mouse get into a shoe?

Either way, Annike walked around for an entire day with a dead, flattened mouse in her boot. She may have killed a live mouse with her bare foot, or squished a mouse that had crawled into her shoe and died because it was sick. Neither option makes me feel good.

I came close to throwing the boots away, but because of Annike's great love for them, I threw them in the washing machine instead. Mouse actually washes out pretty well.



The boots are so soft and fuzzy inside. You would like them too, if you were one and a half, or a mouse looking for a cozy place to die.