Momma Ducks

We've been blessed with an abundance of momma ducks around our house this year.  It is especially exciting because the boys just finished a unit at daycare where they talked all about baby animals and their mommies and daddies.

Monkey and Moose spent several minutes watching a mating pair of mallards drink from our fountain in the front yard and scrounge for grubs in the garden soil.  "Mommy Daddy Ducks" they exclaimed with excitement.

A few weeks ago my dear husband happened upon a hen nesting in our compost bin.  I tried to take a picture, but scared her.  I was able to take a peek inside her nest and saw about 12 beautiful green eggs.  Having my compost bin as a nesting site has made spring clean up a little bit of a hassle, but it has been fun to sneak a peak at the momma every couple of days.  We haven't introduced her to the boys, I figure nesting is stressful enough without double trouble.    I've been really excited to see her ducklings swimming in the irrigation ditch.  I've learned that the eggs are incubated for about 30 days, so I think we might only have a week or so until they hatch.Fortunately for us, a neighbor boy knocked on our door last week to let us know that a hen mallard and her 14 ducklings were in our front yard.  He said that they had hatched the previous morning in another neighbor's yard. Momma and most of the ducklings were sunning themselves near our weigela. Six of the little ducklings were stuck in our unfinished fountain.  The water was four or five inches down from the top of the catch basin, and the baby ducks couldn't get out.  Sweet hubby brought the hose around, and quietly filled the basin, allowing the duckies to escape.  Momma and her brood stayed in the yard for several hours.Moose and Monkey enjoyed watching them.  They really wanted to touch and hold the ducklings.  We told the boys, "Stay back, you don't want to scare the ducks."  They both growled.  We had to drag them kicking and screaming back into the house.  "More ducks! More ducks!" they insisted.

Good Men

One recent Saturday afternoon, my sweet Moose asked about his great-grandmother.  He and Monkey had spent the previous night at a sleep over with his grandparents, and I'm sure that prompted the question.  "Gramma-Great" he said.  I asked him if he wanted to know about his great grandparents, and was surprised when he said, "Yes."

I started with my husband's side of the family, I told him that his "Grandma-Great" lives on the other side of town with "Grandpa-Great" and that they are his grandma's mommy and daddy.  I told him about great-grandpa who lives in Utah, and his great-grandma who lives with Heavenly Father, and that those are his grandpa's mommy and daddy.  "More" he told me. I was surprised at his attention and interest as I talked about his great-grandparents.

I continued on with my side of the family and told him about "GG", who lives in a nursing home in Washington.  I told him about when we visited her, and how excited she was to meet him, even though she didn't know who I was.  I told him about his great-grandpa who lived with Heavenly Father, that I never got to meet, because he died when my daddy, his papa, was just a boy.  I told him about his nana's mommy and daddy -- I talked about granny, who lives in Alaska.  We talked about my papa, his great-grandpa, who lives with Heavenly Father now.  I talked about how lucky I was to have such a good grandma and grandpa, and how wonderful they are and how much they loved me.  I told him how lucky he is to have such wonderful grandparents too, and how much they love him.

I shared with him my belief that his great-grandparents who aren't with us now, were with him and Monkey just before they came to live with us.   Finally, with a little sadness, I told him, "My papa was a good man."  He looked at me, and patted his chest and said, "Moose good man." 

In three sweet words, he summed up all my hopes and dreams.  As the mother of boys, I hope and pray that I can raise good men.

Learning to write again

As I've tried and tried to blog, I've become very frustrated. I have several posts that are in process, yet to be published. Why aren't they published? Because I can no longer write.
I used to write. I think that I used to write well. I used to dream of being an author. Writing children's books or short stories. I used to believe that I had a novel some where in me.

I would write for hours. I had notebooks filled with poetry -- mostly adolescent angst. I loved to journal, though I was never very consistent with it.

Now, I have a hard time putting words into sentences. I can't seem to put my thoughts down on paper. I have a couple of ideas why I can no longer write.

First, I'm out of practice. I've spent the last 10 years writing code. It's simple. It's logical. It flows. It's like a writing a recipe. This part has to come before that part. There is no transition necessary. It's all nicely put together with curly braces and semi-colons. There is no question about whether or not I need a comma. If it's not syntactically correct, it doesn't compile. It's easy, and it's not all that creative.

Second, I stopped reading. And I love to read. I love to read almost anything. I would read until the wee hours of the morning. I would read and read and I wouldn't stop, not until the last page was turned. I didn't get any sleep. So, I made myself stop reading. A couple of years ago, I started reading again. (Goodnight room. Goodnight moon. Goodnight cow jumping over the moon...) And while Goodnight Moon is an excellent book -- one of my personal favorites -- it isn't exactly stimulating for me.

I want to be a better writer. I want to encourage my boys to love reading. So, I've decided to read more. I'm going to dedicate some time to myself during the day to read and write. I'll use my blog as a test ground for my writing.

Bear with me. Hopefully, it will get better.

Teeth are not for biting

I have two wonderful two year old boys.  Each has their own strengths.  We've recently discovered that one of Monkey's strength lies in his jaws.  For the last week, he has bitten Moose at least once a night after being put to bed, as well as biting another little guy in nursery on Sunday.  I worry if that behavior continues, my Relief Society attendance will return to pre-nursery levels.  One bite on Moose's arm drew blood and the bruise still remains.

"No bite" and being sepearted from play during the day hasn't seemed to help, exept when he's caught during the lunge.  I wasn't sure what to do when the biting occurred with the door closed and the lights out.  Until my wonderful sister, who has three boys of her own, recommended the book Teeth Are Not for Biting by Elizabeth Verdick.   After I got off the phone with her, I immediately got online and reserved a copy at my local library.  The next night, after Monkey bit Moose yet again, I told him sternly, "Teeth are not for biting, teeth are for eating apples and crackers."  This, he seemed to understand. 

I picked up the book at the library this afternoon and the boys love it.  I think I've read it 8 times this evening.  The words, "Teeth are not for biting. Ouch! Biting hurts." seem to resonate with both boys.  Monkey looks with concern at an illustration of a crying girl who was bitten.  Though, Moose yells "No!" and smacks the image of the boy who did the biting. (I think we'll have to work on hitting next.)  The illustrations by Marieka Heinlen are bright and cute.

Hopefully, it will help in our home. We also picked up Tails Are Not for Pulling by the same author.  I think our family dog will appreciate it.

Barn Swallow Babies

This spring, we have had the exciting experience of watching a pair of barn swallows build a mud nest on our front patio.
I wondered when we could expect chicks, and just last week, I saw one peeping it's head out of the nest.

I've been careful to leave them alone, though I've been very curious how many little chicks we had. I feared getting attacked by mom and dad, so I mostly stayed clear. Just yesterday, we saw three little heads peeking out the top.

Unfortunately, today when B came home, he found one sitting in the flower bed. It was still there when I brought the boys home after work. Mom and dad seem to be even more protective of this little chick then they were of the nest and eggs. Its siblings still appear to be safely in the nest, so I don't know if this little guy tried to fly, but couldn't. Or did it get pushed out of the nest by it's mates.

I'm trying to leave it alone, though I really want to put it back in it's nest. It seems a little frightened, and it really upsets the folks when I go out the front door. I was able to snap some pictures though.

Any thoughts on what I should do with the little guy?

Spinach Salad with Strawberries

I bought a flat of strawberries at Costco -- which I really hate to do, because I never finish them all before they go bad. After making a small batch of chocolate covered strawberries (hey, it's still fruit!), I had plenty left over.

I made a delicious spinach and strawberry salad to go with dinner last night. I topped it with the following dressing:

1/2 cup Olive Oil
1/4 cup Red Raspberry Vinegar
1/3 cup Sugar
1 TBSP Poppy Seeds
Dash of paprika

Place all ingredients into a dressing shaker, and shake until blended. The dressing is pretty sweet, so modify the amount of sugar to taste. The salad was just tossed baby spinach and sliced strawberries -- everyone loved it.

I also read up on Tray Freezing at a new favorite blog, Make and Takes. I'm definetly going to do that with rest of the strawberries (if any outlast the dressing). It's so much easier than freezer jam, it takes practically no time, and I'll actually do it.

Operation Beautiful

I often find myself talking negatively about myself. It's not actually very much fun, and often throws oneself into a huge pity party. Last time I hosted a pity party, I served myself a whole pan of brownies. Further self-loathing shortly followed.

During a Relief Society lessons, I was told that it takes like 7 seconds for a thought to become a feeling. I'm pretty sure it's not gospel, but I'll take it for what it is. The idea is that when we have negative thoughts about ourselves, we have seven seconds to turn them around, before we start to feel badly about them. Practicing this will keep us from throwing frequent pity parties.

I used to write in dry erase markers things like, "You are beautiful.", "You are worth it." and "You deserve the best." on my mirrors. Then I got married, and thought that B would think that was silly. But it's amazing to me how powerful simple messages like that can be. It's hard to look at yourself and analyze the dimples and creases on your belly when you are staring at the words "You are beautiful."

I found the Operation Beautiful website recently, check it out.

And remember...