Zoralee's Conversation

Here is a little over two minutes of really important conversation.

winner of the "Guess Stuff About the Baby Contest"

Before Zoralee was born, I held a "Guess Stuff About the Baby" contest. In the 9 weeks since her birth, I've been getting emails by droves of people experiencing anxiety attacks over who the winner is. Yuckity yuck yuck. In truth, no emails. This may be because a) people have lives, b) no one was a strikingly accurate guesser and therefore didn't think about claiming a prize, c) the prize was brazenly slated to be practically worthless monetarily. Otherwise, you've got to admit: this was a kick-pants contest!!

Anyway, because no guesses were dead on, and because I hadn't figured out which features of the guess would hold more weight and which less, this took some serious calculating. In the end, it was a VERY CLOSE match between Autumn and Laura, who both guessed "girl." Neither guessed the exact right date and time, but Autumn's guess was 35.25 hours past when Zoralee was born and Laura's was 34.5 hours before; score one for Laura. Autumn's weight guess was 2 ounces too light, while Laura's was 3; score one for Autumn. Finally, Autumn's guess for length was 2 inches over and Laura's was only .5 inches; score another for Laura. Do you see what I mean? They don't teach you this kind of practical life stuff in school; that's for sure.

So, without further ado, I hereby declare the winner as......LAURA!! Laura was a co-worker of mine at the University in Anchorage. Our cubicle land made it seem like children wrote the script for the show, "The Office;" we have an arsenal of bizarre memories. I never laughed very heartily at Dilbert jokes until I worked at UAA. One lady, named (to us) Fern, sprayed her ferns daily with a very loud squirt bottle that resonated through the office. Another lady walked her rounds holding THE EXACT SAME CONVERSATION with people every day. One guy stood by your desk eyeing your snack food until you offered him a bite. I love people, but I don't love offices; offices pull the weird out of people, turn it into downright cooky, and put it back in. All of that to say, "Way to go, Laura, who now lives back in her home state of North Carolina!"

Also, for our runner up, Autumn: she and Dan just received recent news that their long-awaited adoption of sweet Mezmur from Ethiopia went through, so I feel a little ridiculous saying, "No, I will not send a prize to you, even though your guess was only 1/2 hour different than Laura's and only .5 units off from Laura's when you add the height and weight together," as I think any contest officiant would agree. So, there's a chance they'll get a little prize too. I think Autumn could use something knitted....let me think....

Zoralee Meets Chick

I recommend clicking the white triangle at the bottom right corner and then "HQ" to watch in High Quality. It's much, much better that way!

the chicks now, plus Zor, plus the chicken house

Yesterday was day 5 of having the chicks, so we took the broilers' food from them last night, as Jason read that he should. This morning when he gave it back, woooo-eee were they excited. They lined right up and commenced to pickin.

We've got the two flocks separated now into two brooders. They have already grown so much! It's interesting to see how the two breeds interact differently with us. The dark ones, our egg layers (Barred Plymouth Rocks), are quite sociable. If you stick a hand into their brooder, they run up to it to see what will happen. The yellow ones, the broilers, scatter.

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Here's the first close-up encounter between Zoralee and Henlee this morning. Get it? Hen. Henlee, like Zoralee. And actually, this one may not keep the name Henlee. I want the chicken who is most like Zoralee to get that name, and this one is way too laidback.

further progress on the chicken house

(a.k.a. guest house)

precarious

Have you ever bought those sherbert deals from Costco that are inside of real fruit shells? This used to be one of those, but is now our soap dish. It falls into the sink all the time on account of having a round bottom. I don't care though; I like images of precariousness, because they seem the truest of images.

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I'm sorry to report that little Bonus found himself in Chickie Heaven a bit earlier than his comrades. He put forth a strong effort, initially improving by leaps and bounds from how he arrived. But by the end of his second day here, it was clear he wasn't going to make it. Bonus didn't realize that the quickest way to get someplace is to walk forward as opposed to backward, and he attempted to sleep standing up, with his beak down to the ground for stability. He continued to lay down in his water instead of drink it, getting weaker and weaker until he was an object of pecking by the others. He was, eventually, a very pathetic sight.

When I saw this button on my nightstand, I thought of Bonus, who at the time was still alive but on the edge. Unfortunately, when I grabbed for the button, it fell to the ground. Despite our best attempts, Bonus fell too. Everything falls. Everything is precarious, most notably you and I. Which is, I suppose one reason why we need grace and should readily bestow it upon each other.

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Last Saturday my family went to the Penguin Plunge in Whitefish, a fund-raiser for the Special Olympics. My Pops jumped with the Police Dept, as he is a Chaplain. Each group took its turn standing on the edge of the dock and jumping into ice cold water.

My very favorite moment was when the Special Olympic team stood preparing to jump. The crowd did the usual count of One - Two - Three! but they just stood on the dock. "Three!" we all yelled again. Pause. Pause. "Three!!! Jump!!!" Finally they did, all but one. She stood in her ill-fitted swimsuit and looked at the water, face wrinkled in a cry. We waited. Soon we began to cheer. "Come on!! You can do it!" A long minute went by. It could've gone either way. She could've walked back down the dock and gotten into her warm clothes. But she jumped. In she went, mouth agape with surprise. And of course, the crowd went wild.

the frozen lake

Our Chicks: Day of Arrival

They're here!

Well folks, one little call from the Post Office at 7:30 this morning, and we became the owners of 26 baby chicks!

- the box they arrived in -

- back home in a horse trough

with a heat lamp and starter sugar water -

It was quite a family and neighborhood event getting these chickens! We haven't all been awake together (we three plus my parents) at that time of morning for.... well, ever. I guess we were two months ago when Zoralee was born. Anyway, Mom was texting photos to people. My grandparents came to visit. Okay, they were coming anyway, but the neighbors came specifically to see the chicks. Jason stopped at the top of the hill to say hey to the kids at the bus stop, and one boy said, "There are 25 chickens in that box?!" I think he was envisioning full grown chickens.

Look at Z's face in this one.

We ordered 25 (10 Barred Plymouth Rock to lay eggs and 15 Cornish Rock Cross to eat, called broilers). They sent two extra broilers, which is typical, as they expect some in-transit fatalities. The hatchery must have their stats down pretty well, as exactly two appeared dead upon arrival. One really was, and one was like 90% dead. Remember Billy Crystal's insight in Princess Bride: "He's only mostly dead." He was sprawled out with a limp head, limp legs, limp everything, so was originally placed in the garbage sack. But some weak-kneed bleeding heart wretched in and rescued him, and throughout the day, whoever came in to visit the chicks tried getting him to drink water. His name is now Bonus. It isn't clear how long he'll be among us. He has improved a great deal but now toward day's end isn't doing much to help himself, i.e.; he lays in his water dish. Wet chicks are not the same thing as hydrated chicks, little Bonus.

- introducing Bonus to water -

more chickies

- checking all the chicks for pasty butt this evening -

One little gal, one of the first we inspected, had a particularly dirty bum, so we really scrubbed and tugged at the goo to get her clean. Whatever we did, we could not find her bum hole. Finally we did, but it wasn't exactly where we'd been scrubbing. I guess we'd been messing with her little woman parts. Listen, learning to farm has its traumatic moments, both for the humans and the critters.

- changing tactics with Bonus -

- more progress on the chicken house -

coffee, fits, posterboard stars, horse hairs, chicks en route

I wonder if the tidbits of coffee I consume concentrate themselves in the milk I pass off to the kid.

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I do mean tidbits - mere sips of Jason's or maybe 1/2 cup of my own once a day. I am not an addict; I could stop sipping. But coffee seems to be a direct manifestation of Jesus' love, and I like to get all of that I can. Last night Zoralee threw fits for a couple hours, and then sat awake chattering up a storm with Jason. I used to think, "Oh great! If she's up late at night, she'll sleep late the next morning." even though that hadn't played true. Come to find out yesterday in an email from babycentral.com that when babies are over-stimulated and don't get to sleep soon after they show signs of needing it, they sleep more fitfully.

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Tonight she threw a good fit, but it wasn't long lasting, thanks to Gripe Water and Papa inserting a few G-forces into her little life. If he spins around with her briefly or makes her swing go pretty fast for about 30 seconds, she calms right down. We were discussing how it's like a computer re-start. Quite handy.

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Zoralee's world was at one point in time our bedroom, Jason's and mine. Now we're guests - here, as my mom said, to feed and entertain her. At first she just had the one wall that her bassinet and dresser were against. It bore a simple decopague art series about the night time. Now, above our bed hangs a star quilt she got from great gpa & gma, and all around the room are stars cut out of posterboard and painted in bright designs. Yes, it's my doing, because I've wanted her little brain to be stimulated. But it may be too much. She smiles at the quilt; it's in a new place but it's a familiar item. The posterboard stars, however, she eyes very suspiciously and sticks her bottom lip out toward.

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Yesterday was Zoralee's 2 month birthday. In celebration, here are a few photos. Can you imagine? More photos of our firstborn child.

- matching hair dos -

- my view of Zoralee in the front Snugli -

- Zoralee, Molly, and me -

Light skates across the frozen meadow,

illuminating on the barbed wire fence

iced-over hairs of unknown origins.

Ooooh! Doesn't that sound like the first line to an eerie story? In this case, I believe the hairs are of those of horses. But I must've walked by this fence 100 times and have never noticed them. Or if I did, it wasn't significant enough to devote to memory.

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In chicken news, they shipped out yesterday and are supposed to be here tomorrow. I have been worried, because they are so suseptible to temperature extremes right now. The hatchery makes special boxes for them to be shipped in, and they include enough to keep each other warm (there are minimums you have to buy for that reason), but all it takes is one postal worker along the way to not shut a door to a room or to accidentally leave them in a truck for too long. We're all set up with the brooder indoors, and Jason is starting to build the coop outside, for which they won't be ready for several weeks.

Here's the start of skids, which the coop'll be atop of.

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.