GAYS MILLS - I’m cruising right along into week three of this Sheltering from Home business.
The sun is shining, the weather is sweet, the daffodils are popping up in all of the long-forgotten corners of my yard.
We spent a couple hours after dinner the other night, raking and raking all of the gigantic oak leaves that had been scattered across our space since last fall. Filling up the wheelbarrow and trying in vain to dry up some of the soupy, sloppy black mud that is filling up parts of the hog pen. Luckily, Horsefly, Chorizo and Fox don’t seem to mind it as they continue to run, jump, and bark like excited puppies through it. Their cloven hooves doing the work nature intended.
As they get bigger and fatter, joyously eating wads of peanut butter and sunflower seeds, rooting around for whatever bugs they can find as a special treat, I find myself wondering if all of that work getting through spring mud is adding to the deliciousness of their hams. But I digress....
I kind of feel like I am stuck in this weird part of the spring–where, I am equally happy that it has sprung, but also ready for it to hurry up to the rich heart of spring that is the tipping point into summer.
I know some of this is pushed on by several things floating around in my own head. By a big moment personally for us that is right around the corner, (but more on that in the coming weeks), anxiously awaiting my notification that my small fortune of seeds from Jung and Seed Savers Exchange has shipped, being ready to set up our own little baby chicken haven, but also, to get some news that we have overcome the peak of this whole COVID-19 moment and we are prepared to slog toward a normal life once again.
Let’s not dwell on that anymore. It seems like, already, everywhere we turn, it’s there.
Today as I write this, I have a special helper instructing me along.
Chasca is home from his job and has went to lay down Sheriff Waylon for his mid-morning slumber. The ‘Little Rotten Turd’ as his brother has taken to calling him has completely exhausted himself chasing his Thatcher around and demanding all of his possessions, snacks and general attention.
Now, left alone, Thatcher has curled up next to me to watch me type away, assuring me “Don’t worry mom, I don’t want to work, I just want to snuggle.”
Thatcher of all people has seemed to particularly enjoy sheltering at home. Aside from being unable to see his beloved Mawkie, Janey and Papa he has reveled in waking up each morning and having a “Mama and Dah Dah Day!”
I’ve finally taken on some of the educational duties that I had left in the hands of his far more trained professional teachers at daycare and things are going alright.
Luckily, we aren’t into anything too strenuous for my brain, just the basics of letters and attempting to write his name.
When we decided to give him the name Thatcher, Chasca’s only hesitation was “When he goes to learn to write it, it’s going to be kind of hard for him, it’s a lot of letters.”
I thought that was simply absurd at the time. But now, as ‘The Mom,’ trying to teach him to write his name that has entirely too many letters, I’m kind of glad I didn’t opt to stick him with a double last name too.
Watching the way his mind works with attempting to write his name and the letters that comprise it has been fun. He has been mostly accurate with some additional creative elements.
We’ve also developed a morning routine of writing and sending correspondences to our friends and family.
I’ve allowed him to dictate whatever comes to mind that he’d like to say to his people and the results have been pretty hilarious to say the least.
The other day, he decided to send a get-well card to his uncle who had fallen ill with some stomach issues. When I explained to Thatcher what his Uncle Hoot had going on, he decided to ‘write’-
“Dear Uncle Hoot, I hope you feel better soon and have a fun time. I hope you don’t explode. We wouldn’t like it if you exploded. Look for Northern Sea Gulls.
He also included his own artistic interpretation of a man getting flushed down the toilet (a very popular selection lately) and a drawing of his Uncle after his Sweetheart got eaten by a dinosaur.I wonder how people would react if I just started sending them letters with drawings of themselves after their Sweeties were eaten by a dino? Probably not great. Just another reason being almost four years old is way better than adulthood.