Three

Numbers are an integral part of our daily lives.  I'm sure everyone else is just like us in the ridiculous number of numbers that you encounter every single day.  We have phone numbers, house numbers, passwords. We even have a digital lock on our house with a number to make it open so I don't have to keep up with the key. 

At least once every few weeks, one of our kids will get on a kick about "favorites".  We answer questions about favorite foods, movies, books, colors, and numbers.  The number three has a special place in the list of favorites at our house.  Dale Earnhardt drove the number three car before he was killed.  As early as February 2002, the first NASCAR race after Kennedy's birth, our kids have enjoyed (or endured) countless hours of NASCAR and conversations about Earnhardt and Junior.  Needless to say, when Kennedy was asked what number she preferred on her softball team last month, she immediately answered "three!". 

The number three is significant to Chad because of his hero and Kennedy because she adores her daddy and has been brainwashed.  Taylor is excited about third grade next month.  We do have three kids and are currently living in our third house as a family while I work my third job since college.  However, the number three is my least favorite number! 

BADkid is three.  I love that child with every fiber of my being.  However, she is three.  I can't even recall the number of times (maybe 33,333) I have thought and said, "I don't remember three being this bad before".  Is it because she is the THIRD child?  Maybe it's because I'm in my 30s?  Maybe it's a combination of all of the above? 

Blake Alayne is an affectionate, tender, loving child for about 20 minutes of each week.  Beyond that, she is wide open and will test every single thing you say to her every single time.  If you've seen her in action, you probably said something really disgusting like "she's so cute".  You probably heard me say something really honest like "only because she doesn't live at your house".  Seriously, I love her, but she is wearing me out.

Here's a tiny glimpse into my morning at the grocery store.

Get out of car and unbuckle kid who has taken off her shoes.  Tell her to put her shoes on.  Take doll and blanket away from kid and repeat that she must put her shoes on her feet.  Wait 2 minutes because she has decided to squeal "my caint!" instead of bend over and pick up her shoes.  Explain to kid that she can take either the doll or the blanket into the store, but not both.  Give up reasoning with kid.  Throw doll and blanket back in car and head for the entrance.  Hold kid's hand in a death grip across parking lot as kid tries to pull hand away and continuously repeats "I big girl.  I listen!"  Get buggy.  Explain to kid that she must hold buggy.  Kid darts off away from buggy.  Put kid in seat in buggy as kid demands "I big girl. I listen. I walk."  Pick shoes up off floor and toss into back of buggy.  Quickly zip through store and buy only the necessary items while repeating the phrase "sit down" at least once every three minutes and resorting to spanking.  Check out, open car door and let kid get in while putting groceries in the truck.  Return buggy to holder, tell kid to sit in her seat to buckle.  Kid tries to climb into front seat of car, grab kid, explain danger of playing in car, put her in seat, turn around because someone spoke, kid tries to escape, grab kid, hold into seat while buckling as she screams, "My do it my se---elf!!"

In our world with the three year old, everything takes three times as long and requires more patience than I can accumulate in three weeks.  Some days I feel like the only time I can relax my guard is when she is sleeping, which only happens briefly.  My BADkid spends so much time and energy getting into mischief and demanding things be her way that when she finally crashes, she is "throwed outta gear" like this.  (Yes, those of us living life with a transmission mechanic actually hear and use phrases such as that).

I do love this BADkid.  I sometimes even sit and chuckle as I think of all the cute, precious, funny things she says and does.  As I was finishing this post she woke up from her brief nap.  She stretched, climbed up in my chair, hugged me and said, "I wuv you sooo much."  Of course I said, "I love you soooo much too" as I silently thought "One day she will be four and "they" say I'll miss this, but right now I'm thankful we only have to endure 365 days of THREE!"

Things I Ponder When I'm Home Alone

Chad and all three girls have been gone most of the day.  Yes, this is a rare occurrence for me to be home alone.  I've enjoyed every minute of it.  I dedicated the first couple of hours to a nap!  Then I decided that if I was  a "good girl" and did productive things that maybe I would get rewarded with another day alone sooner rather than later.

I started with the garbage.  As I was walking around the house picking up the garbage from the various cans as well as the random pieces lying in the floor, under the edge of a piece of furniture, and on the counter, I noticed (not for the first time) that we are "trashy" people.  We aren't dirty people.  In general, our home is what most would consider "neat enough".  I think that requires us to use the trashcans often.  That use causes us to have a large amount of trash.  And, as many things as I love about this house, the fact that the "designer" (Joe Akin) didn't include a nice, cubbyhole place for a trashcan really bothers me.  We now have a small kitchen trashcan under the kitchen sink.  For many people that might work wonderfully.  However, when the can gets close to full, I have developed the habit of removing the bag and placing it in the kitchen floor.  I hate to "waste" the bag by not filling it to capacity, but if I leave it under the sink, the trash always winds up in the cabinet under the sink instead of in the bag.  I know this is a serious problem in the real world, right?

So, while I was enjoying the peace and quiet and could actually think without the "Mamma!" and "Taylor kick my lip!" I had a brilliant idea.  In general, we as a family make decisions for the "benefit of the most".  For example, I wanted a Corvette.  However, it only had two seats so I opted for the Camry instead.  It could comfortably seat all of our family members--benefit of the most.  Or on our recent trip to Corpus Christi, I could have spent another day just lying at the beach with a good book.  However, the kids really wanted to go see the U.S.S. Lexington and the Texas State Aquarium.  My natural thought process was, as a whole, we would all get to see/do/touch something that was new and exciting at the aquarium and aircraft carrier museum.  On the beach, they would be satisfied, but not excited.  So, once again--benefit of the most.

Back to the trash issue.  I was looking around the kitchen trying to figure out a solution for this trash problem.  It was almost an audible voice (surely it was God!) that spoke and said, "benefit of the most".  I had a plan.  Chad and I are the only ones who use the oven.  Mostly me, but he does cook breakfast on the weekends.  Kennedy, Taylor and Blake are never allowed to use the oven without supervision.  So, what if we have the oven taken out and replace it with a trash compactor?  It's so obvious!  I'm willing to sacrifice my oven so that all five of us can have something that will obviously benefit the most!

Chad and the girls just drove up!  Can't wait to share this brilliance.  I'll let you know how it goes over with the family.

My Miracle Whip

The post about our wild and crazy April ended on a note about April showers bring Miracle Whip. It's true! 

On May 1, when the girls and I got home after school, we found a young calf lying in the back yard. She was frail and I honestly thought she was dead. Thinking out loud, I asked, "How in the world did that calf get up here in the yard, and where is its mamma?" Kennedy and Taylor immediately developed their version of the story. Naturally, they assumed our old dog Hershey that's never noticed other life and our 12-13 year old crippled, one eyed (with cataracts) dog Buckwheat must have "stolen the baby from its mom and drug it to the house for us to see". Yes, it kind of reminded me of the little girl on Higgleytown Heroes who comes up with the most off the wall ways to solve problems.

So, I took a couple of pictures of the sweet baby and tried to stand her up to see if she could walk. I quickly noticed several gashes in her back near her hind quarters, and she just stumbled around. I called Daddy. He is actually the farmer. He was in Longview and told me to call my Uncle Tim. Tim came down, and he and I began to discuss the possible ways this calf with gashes wound up in the yard without a mamma cow even looking for her. He hauled her long, lanky body out to the shade tree in the pasture where all the cows come up and sniffed her. None of them acted overly interested in the baby.

She stumbled toward the pasture and fell. Later determined that's "Mom"

 After a couple of hours and no rescue by "mom", we decided to bottle feed the heifer. She did not like the bottle, but she was so weak. During all the chaos and numerous sessions of trying to figure out what in the world happened to this calf (that was not newborn), a man in the oilfield approached the house. He asked if I found a calf on my porch. I said, "Well, I found her in the yard. Did you put a calf on my porch?" He chuckled and said that while driving by they saw buzzards on the calf (literally eating her alive) and knew they would kill it. They knocked on the front door and then walked around to the back and saw all the toys and thought anyone with kids would try to ave it. He again chuckled and said, "I could tell the calf was safe from these two ferocious guard dogs but thought they would at least keep the buzzards off the calf here by the house." I'm pretty sure Kennedy and Taylor were offended that he didn't think our dogs could/would drag a calf away from its mom to put on the porch! We were relieved to know how and why the calf was out of the pasture.

 Remember that lists of "dreams" I wrote about here a couple of months ago? I saw my chance and jumped on it. Anything that we were going to bottle feed had to have a name. The girls and I went through thousands of names. I finally said her name needs something to do with May since our journey together began on May 1. Mayo quickly became Miracle Whip. We all agreed that only a miracle could explain her being alive and in our care.

 5:00AM May 2, 2013 I was trying to bottle feed the calf while my dad was puking in the pasture but was determined that I might need some help. Again, Miracle Whip was not happy about the experience. We were finally able to get some milk down her, but decided that tubing her would be the next option if she didn't learn to accept the bottle enough to keep her alive.

 5:00PM May 2, 2013 I was fighting a stronger calf who still was not at all interested in the bottle. Daddy finally tube fed her. Randomly in Texas, a cold front moved in and the lows for the night were predicted to be in the lower 30s with rain. I couldn't stand it, and decided to move the dog pen to the carport and put out blankets, etc. to keep Miracle Whip warmer and dry.

BADkid brushing Miracle Whip

 
 5:00AM May 3, 2013 Calf was stronger from the adequate supply of milk through the tube and got a little more active and resistant to the bottle.

 3:00PM May 3, 2013. Daddy took Miracle Whip to see Dr.Lori Cavitt who gave her some 'miracle' concoction of medicines. She said that she seems healthy and had probably been injured by being stepped on and then couldn't get up or keep up so mom abandoned her. Miracle Whip continued to improve.

 May 4-5, 2013 Miracle Whip had ups and downs. It was similar (though much less traumatic) as a baby in NICU. One afternoon I would think we had turned a corner, and by that night I'd be in tears thinking she was going to die. It was the craziest experience. The girls began to love on the calf and brush her, etc. She was so sweet, but every single morning she would refuse to get up, stand up, etc.  I hoped that her serious regression was too to the abnormal cold/wet weather each night.

 8:00PM May 5, 2013 Miracle Whip declined. She would not take bottle. She would not do anything cooperative. My hope was that by the morning, she would be hungry and cooperate.

 5:00AM Monday May 6, 2013,I tried to bottle feed the calf without any significant amount of milk going down. Frustrated I decide to tube feed her. She fought that too. She was healthy enough and recognized the tube so that I could no longer manhandle her alone to get the tube in correctly, open the valve, etc. I came in the house and threw all the stuff in the floor of the utility room and told Chad to just go shoot her because she was going to die anyway. I cried and cried. He made the same attempts at feeding her. He finally said, "Well, she will either live or die, but we've done all we can do." I called Daddy and made arrangements for him to come try to help tube feed the calf that evening...if she was still alive after 36 hours without significant milk.

 3:30PM Monday, May 6, 2013 I came home from school and put the leash on Miracle Whip to try to get her to walk around (per Dr.Cavitt's suggestions). The other cows were up in the front pasture. Miracle Whip immediately headed toward the other cows and tried to get through the fence to get to them. I opened the gate and let her in. The cows were curious about her, but obviously a little skittish with her bright red collar, bright red leash, and human attachments. I finally let the leash go so that she could approach the cattle. I knew that if I needed to, I could catch her with the leash so I wasn't very concerned. The mamma cow let Miracle Whip try to nurse. I watched them for a while. I finally decided that I should get Miracle Whip back. And, the fun began.

 As I tried to sneak up and grab the dangling leash, she ran. I ran and she ran some more. I tried to corner her in a section of pasture and she ran and jumped and kicked like a healthy calf. I decided to rest a while and get a better plan. I herded all the cows to a smaller section of pasture and tried to sneak up on her and grab the leash again. She saw me and jumped and ran and kicked and ran and ran and ran. When she stopped and looked at me her tongue was hanging out. That meant that she was tired and ready to give up, right? Wrong, she continued to run if I even thought about approaching her. My three kids were sitting on the trailer out of the way cheering and yelling "You almost got her!" and "She sure is fast Mom!" It was a circus. 

After admitting defeat by the "sick calf", I called Daddy and said that I didn't need him to help me feed her, but I needed him to help me catch her to get the leash. We were finally able to pen her in the corral and get the leash off of her. We turned her back out to the pasture with her goofy mom and hoped for the best. It was such a bittersweet moment. My kids are too young to leave the nest, but it must be a tiny glimpse into that experience as a parent. I was so proud that she was able to be a cow and hoped she was strong enough to survive, but a part of me really wanted her to need me and come back to let me love on her some more. Every single day for the next few weeks, I went out and looked for Miracle Whip. She was always there and always doing okay. She was easy to pick out with her red collar. I'm sure the other cows were jealous of her bling!

Miracle Whip sporting her red collar in the pasture with "Mom"

 Finally, last week Daddy, Chad and I had to pen her up in the corral again to get the collar from around her neck. She had grown enough that it was going to cause a problem in the near future. Again, it was bittersweet.

 She's been back with her mom for over a month. She is growing and being a normal cow.  Even without her red collar, she is easy to pick out. Remember her tongue hanging out because she was tired? Well, apparently she's got some kind of problem. Her tongue is always hanging out. I asked Dr.Cavitt if she was retarded. She said, "I would say neurological".  She may be "neurological" but she's My Miracle Whip!