normalcy, out of doors, wood hauling, and chickens

I am finally starting to feel, during this, the seventh week of Zoralee's life outside the womb, normal. There was a fog over the surface of my brain for the first six weeks; I'm not sure how else to describe it. I wasn't necessarily overly weepy or troubled (most of the time), just tired and foggy, and there was a lowgrade doubt that it would go away. I thought, "If this is motherhood, I'm in a bit of trouble."

But the sun is breaking through. One day last week I swept, mopped, and vacuumed all the floors in a single day. I think I got a load of laundry done too. But wait. Before you start applauding, I also cleaned the bathroom and the half-bath. I know. I know. I am amazing. And more importantly than productivity, I am feeling alive again! This is due in no small part to the facts that Z cries for no apparent reason a little less now and also we are starting to understand her schedule. She is sleeping in 4 and 5 hour stretches at night sometimes too, which is a big bonus. Big, big bonus.

Over the past few weeks, when it's not below zero, I have felt motivated to get outside again. The fresh air does a world of good for my psyche. Here are Z and me on a walk to the mailbox today.

snowshoeing last week

I fell

but while I was down there...

chopping down and hauling dead trees

to replenish the supply for the wood stove

Wood hauling is one of my all time favorite physical activities. I get nostalgic over it, as we hauled a lot of wood while I grew up. The smell of freshly cut logs, the crunch of snow underfoot, thermoses of coffee and hot chocolate, the sense of familiarity you develop for that one small spot of woods in those few hours. And when the chainsaw stops its slicing, you really notice how quiet the forest is.



I heard on the radio the other day that throughout history, some people have viewed nostalgia as a mental sickness that should be remedied. Especially those in the field of psychology in the 19th and early 20th centuries. People have historically been pretty weird.

In other news, chickens!! The forces of the universe have coalesced to allow us to finally have chickens. These forces include being at my folks' place where there is ample room, and having a daughter who looks like a baby chick on account of her fluffy hair and dark eyes.
Knowing this, Jason has been breathing, dreaming, thinking, and snorting chickens for a couple weeks. He's reading books and magazines, visiting online forums, talking to the old-timers. If I expect him to hear me, I have to cluck cluck at the beginning of my sentences. Yesterday he placed his order; 25 chicks will be on our doorstep next week! 10 will be egg-laying hens (Barred Plymouth Rocks), and 15 for meat (Cornish Rock crosses).

The chicks'll need to remain inside for awhile, in a feeding trough under a heat lamp, so we're getting the spare room ready. For those of you who know my mother, you'll know how excited she is about this. "Oh children," she cries to us day and night, "I won't rest until we've found more barnyard animals to keep in the spare room."

Zoralee at eight weeks

It's the middle of the night, and Zoralee is having a rough go of falling asleep. Why do they fight it? Why? The one thing they need is to fall asleep, but it's the one thing they won't do. Odd. So while Jason's caring for her, it's a good time to post a few pictures. Here's Zoralee making up for her fussiness:

Don't you want to kiss them lips and nibble them ears?!

Last week's fun activity was Jason tying a string to Zoralee's arm and tying the other end to a string of Christmas lights. Everytime she moved her arm, the lights moved. It's entertainment for Baby and teaches cause and effect. Plus it gets Mama and Papa laughing real good and going on and on about how their baby controls the stars in the sky, etc. etc.



News too on the potty scene if you care to read. First, some background. We've wondered for some time if it was possible to avoid keeping babies in diapers all the time (and simultaneously avoid shampooing your carpet once a week). Jason used to say that whenever we had kids, we'd devise a pen for them to roam about in naked, and it would be outfitted with a drain so that we could hose the pen and the kids off nice and easy. When we got pregnant (we being me), we happened to talk to a gal who'd been to Africa and had seen that the women somehow know their babies need to go potty and hold them out into the street for it. Even little tiny babies.

It didn't take us long to figure out that Zoralee hates to be in a wet diaper. Through happenstance, I keep running into references to "Elimination Communication," known as EC. The main idea is that you can learn your baby's cues for elimination, particularly since there are common times they do it - after naps, after nursing, etc. We're just not accustomed to watching for it. Evidently, a minority of people worldwide (including Americans) train their children to pee and poo in their pants. I gather that the point is not early potty training, though that is an indirect result. It's to get you in tune to your kid and to allow them to be diaper free more often, thus reducing or eliminating rashes and discomfort, and saving diapers and diaper changes.

So, I've been giving Zoralee a code word and sound for a month now and gotten her to pee on command several times. And in the last two days, she has done it twice in the sink! You'd like to know what the code word is, wouldn't you? I'm afraid my smart alec brothers would read this and scheme to say the word to Zoralee at inopportune times. Ha! But suffice it to say, the word or sound can be anything. You could say rhinocerous, I suppose. A few times, Jason the Skeptical Scientist was in the room for the pees, so he is becoming convinced these aren't merely anecdotal positive results. There is a book, "Diaper Free," I'd like to read to fine tune the process, but I'm excited for this development!

I'm not for sure that Zoralee realizes I'm connecting with her in a special way, since she smiles just as heartily at the overhead light as she does at us. It's a little frustrating, actually. I know the light looks like a giant (how to put this delicately) bosom in the sky, but she acts like it's her best friend. And as far as I know, that light doesn't give a rip when and if Z pees in the sink.