Ribbon Cutting!

Well.  It's official.  We opened a farm.  Had the ribbon cutting ceremony today.  It was remarkable.  I gotta say *clears throat* some mega scissors and some majestic music and an audience...*clears throat* and some ribbon would have made it really remarkable.  But.  None the less.  Welcome!  (arms spreading)

Yup.  I named 'er.  You kinda have to.  Haven't you ever seen Sarah Plain and Tall?  You have to write your name in the dirt.  I wrote mine in letters from Porters, some barn paint, and wood.  But the essence is the same.  We named it Crooked Row Farm because upon planting our first seedlings this year with the kids... nothing was straight.  Nothing looked clean and pristine like I pictured it in my head (or how I sketched it in the agricultural blue print.).  So.  I embraced it.  And then made this sign.  It's about to blow up Pinterest.  Every one is gonna be naming their backyard. 
In March we got 5 chicks.

They became my little beebees.  They were soft and cuddly.  And poofy!  And would peck little food seeds out of my hand.  I was always checking in on my chickies.  I worried about them and would get out of bed in the middle of the night to make sure they were warm and okay.  They were literally like my newborns.  But heavens to Betsy...have they grown fast.  Just like my real human chickies.

They went through a weird phase...Can you see the resemblance?

They kinda turned into crabby old bitties.  It was always something with them.  I never had their water just the right temperature.  They wanted their meal at 5:30 not 5:15.  Fresh bedding twice a day not once a day.  So.  I built them their own place where I couldn't hear them squawk.

 I know what you're going to say.  It needs a little wreath about the door, huh?  Or a house number.  Or a plaque.  I keep telling The Kenmo, "I want to name the chicken coop."  But the only name I can come up with it Pollo Fundido.  And that's what he orders at Garcia's.  PLUS!  With that name I'd have to stucco this whole thing- add some blue tile... it could get pricey.  And naming a chicken coop seems to be beyond Ken's level of tolerance.  So.  Probably a wreath.  And flowers will go in with warmer weather. Naturally.

Every good running farm has a farm dog.  So...Check!

Dook at doze eyez.  We adopted Oreo four days after we got the baby chicks.  It was an animal overload for the first 36 hours.  But turns out Oreo is about the lowest maintenance dog in existence.  I have to beg him to take a walk with me because all he ever wants to do is snuggle.  Which I love.  I love dogs for their unlimited snuggling capabilities.  The only down side to Oreo's snuggling is sometimes he Steamies me.  A Steamie is when a dog (or Ken) is really close to my face and then breathes hot air breath onto it and a muggy warm layer of thin condensation forms on my cheek.  Worst sensation.  A Steamie.  Do it to somebody.  They'll hate it.
We started seedlings when we were deep deep in the Winter Doldrums  and have slowly been moving them into the Great Outdoors as we've slowly moved out of our Winter Doldrums.  And we plugged about 30 raspberry starts out there. 

 

 It is such a feeling of accomplishment to see growth.  A little plant that will provide food for your family.  It's incredible!  I guess Mother Nature's real name is Patty Poulsen.  And, don't worry, to ensure that feeling of accomplishment and triumph persisted through the Spring, Summer, AND fall- I planted ONE HUNDRED strawberry plants!  A Hundy.  (If those were dollars I'd be rich.)

But they're not dollars they're strawberry plants.  Ha-rumph.  I did get to thinking though.  Even with all the Cool Whip in the world; can I eat all the strawberries 100 plants will produce?  I don't doubt much about myself- but this is indeed doubtful.  So!  I had the greatest idea to sell my surpluses at the local Farmer's Market!  I got into a late night text cahoot with my friend about a booth we'd start with my berries, her honey from her backyard swarm, and maybe some crafts or something.  We were drawing up our business plan and designing our logo to put on our jars of homemade preserves when Ken asked me what I was so excited about.  "I'm going to sell all my extra strawberries at the Farmer's Market!  We can use all the money I earn to go on vacation!"  Ken stared.  I squealed "Isn't that fanTASTIC?" in response to his silence.  He said, "You might have 2 pints of extra strawberries from your strawberry patch.  It's not as big as you think."  PSHZzzzzzzuuuuuuuuuuuueeeeewwwww. <--- That's my dreams deflating.
At any rate.  I'm so proud of my farm.  It's becoming a lifestyle for me that I am so comfortable in.  I love working in the dirt all day.  Tending to the land.  And teaching my boys how to become self-sufficient. I feel like I am on a good and well trod path.  It's idyllic and romantic and makes my heart beat harder.  Or... it could be all that shoveling and tilling that is making my heart beat faster...

I can't dig a hole without kids climbing in!

 

Yup.  Those are mine.
I'm really into Duck Dynasty right now.  And these really are extremely functional.
And East Coast Yuppie Meets Farming For The First Time with a Martha Stewart thing going on.

Come on by anytime you want.  Admission is free.


P.S.  I am considering an egress from Facebook.  If you want to keep up on the blog posts- subscribe!   Right over there on the right-- there's a button. 

Goldfish: Past and Present

I had goldfish as a little girl.  I remember when my Dad took me to Kmart and bought me a 10-gallon aquarium. He let me pick which rocks I wanted (azure blue) and which statue I wanted (a magenta and purple grotto) and finally which fish.  Out of the tank of 89-centers I picked my fave.  And named him Goldy.
When Goldy died, I got Goldy 2.
Followed by Goldy 3.
And then Goldy 4.
And the suffixed numbers in their name were pronounced.  If someone asked my fish's name I would tell them, "Goldy Three." 
After Goldy 4 my next fish was Neptune.  He was also a goldfish.  Maybe it was a break of the Goldy Curse but I had Neptune so long and he go so big I called and donated him to the Pittsburgh Zoo.  He needed a bigger habitat than I could provide.  As an adult, this story seems far-fetched.  I was 10.  I had a goldfish I thought was outgrowing it's aquarium so I called the zoo.  And with my altruistic heart, donated my .89 cent fish to the zoo.  What a philanthropist!

When we moved back to Idaho Falls, this past Thanksgiving, I took the boys over to see my neighbor Lee.  He and his wife are also from da Burgh and live right behind us.  In his basement he had 3 huge 'UGE aquariums.  The big 55 gallon monsters.  The boys were mezza-merized.   The next day Lee called and said he was gonna give the boys one of his aquariums for Christmas if I was okay with it.  Psht.  Hell Yeah!  Lee kept his fish and we got one gorgeous tank.  In time (after the proper bacteria had accumulated) we got three little fish of our own.  I named mine Ari Gold, Ken named him Gilligan, and Kole was at a loss on what to name his.  I started naming some names he liked; "Gordon," "Thomas," "Scotty," "Koley," "Charlie," "Tony,"
At which point Kole yelled, "Yeah!  PONY!"
So Tony became Pony and we had our fish named.
Now little Pony had some birth defects.  He looked like a hunchback goldfish.  His poor fin was stunted and he looked like he'd been picked on a lot.  I felt bad for Pony.  There goes that over-sized heart again.  I did my best to treat Pony well...nay.  I did my best to treat Pony way better than the other fish.
Which, I mean, is hard to do with fish.
But I'd put in extra food in where he was swimming and... well... that's it.
Come on.  What other ways are there?
I did always tell Kole and Joey to be nice to him and not talk about his funny fin.
He was our fish. And we were happy to have him. And we loved him no matter what.
I really felt good to have Pony safe in our tank.
Where no other fish could pick on him.
Or call him mean Fish Names behind his dorsal.  Or post rumors on their Fish Facebook pages.  Or unkindly mimic his crooked swimming.
He was safe from all the bullying in my tank.  Under my aquatic maternal wing.
Things were calm under the water.
But then one day, at dinner time, I noticed Pony chasing Ari and Gil away from the food.  He'd just swim real fast by them and kinda surprise them so they'd swim away.
I was shocked!
"Pony!  Be nice to them!"
Which probably sounded like "OOOnnnnnnN!  Ooouu gauoouuu mmmm!"
You know.  *clears throat* Under water sounds weird.
I tapped on the glass by him as a warning.  You know.  I'm in charge, Pony.  You listen up!
Needless to say my disciplining had no effect WHATsoever!
Pony just kept pestering the other fish. And not just at breakfast and dinner.  He was bullying them for pleasure.

 The drilling is Ken working on our shelving- but it kinda fits the scene.  Does it not?

When I discussed the issue with Ken- he was completely flippant.
"They're fish, babe."
"Yes.  They are.  And one fish is mistreating the other fish."
He didn't seem all too bothered by it.  Where's your heart, man!

I stayed up thinking about Pony:
He was probably bullied at some point in his life.
He looks weird.  He swims funny.  I bet he's been made fun of.
He's probably had a hard time making friends.  He's just passing it on.  He doesn't know any better.  This is how bullies are.
Maybe he comes from a single-parent home.  Maybe he's missed out on loving relationships.
Maybe he's suffering from depression or anxiety.  Maybe he misses the big tank at the pet store.
Maybe he views himself negatively and just needs steady positive reinforcement.

At this point I started dreaming up my business cards:
Patty Poulsen, PhD
Fish Psychologist

For 3 days I watched Pony bully my other two fish.
I watched Ari and Gilligan try to make themselves shrink and swim in smaller and smaller circles.
No amount of glass tapping and above-to-underwater scolding was reaching this dang fish!
One morning.  I woke up.  And Gil and Ari were hiding in the plant while Pony swam circles around them occasionally nosediving at them.
That was it!  I could justify his behavior...NO MORE!
I got a Mason jar.  Filled it up.  And scooped Pony into it.
"You're in Solitary Confinement today, Mister!  That's right The SHU!  Get used to it, Meanie!"


My next step was obvious.
Call the pet store.
They told me their policy for aquatic animals was 14 days for full refund.
So, after the kids went to bed, and after a full day in The Box for Pony I toted him back to Petco.
Their first question after realizing he wasn't dead was "Is he sick?"
I explained he was perfectly healthy and that he was just mean.
The two men just stared at me.
"What?," I said.
"You are returning him... because... he's mean?"
"Yeah." (I was not getting their surprise.)  "He's a bully.  And he's terrorizing my other fish and I don't want him in my aquarium.  He's too mean."
They just kept staring at me.  Mouths a-dropped.
So I continued, "Your return policy stipulates 14 days.  I'm under that mark.  I no longer want this aggressive fish.  I am returning him.  I have my receipt."
At which time I handed over Pony.  In the jar.  With my receipt.
And you bet your butt I got my dollar sixty-five back. Psht.  I also told the pet store people they should let prospective buyers know about Pony's past.  But I think they quit listening after they handed me my change and dumped Pony back in the tank with 35 other one-inch goldfish.

A few days later, after Ari and Gil felt comfortable swimming in the open water again we got 3 more fish to complete our aquarium.

And, thank heaven, they all seem to be getting along swimmingly.

Harvey

Gilligan (Gil)

CiCi

Shelby

Ari Gold

A Fundamental Code

"[Their] instant liking for each other had been rooted in their mutual recognition that the other was a woman like herself....  They shared a fundamental code, and were therefore secure in each other's company in a way that they were not with other women."
-A Casual Vacancy, J.K. Rowling

I've just experienced this in my life.

It doesn't matter that you like chocolate and candy in your icecream and she prefers fruit.
It doesn't matter that you're 4 or 9 or 13 years younger.
It doesn't matter that you never exercise and she runs marathons. (And halfs.)(And 5ks.)

It doesn't matter that you recommend book after book and she doesn't read.  Ever.
It doesn't matter that you root for opposing teams in sports, politics, and Twilight.
It doesn't matter that you don't like any of her favorite TV shows.
It doesn't matter that your kids are different ages and genders.
It doesn't matter that you love the smell of cigarettes and she is appalled by them.
It doesn't matter that your house is smaller, your car is older, and your bank account is tinier.

It doesn't matter.

She is like me.
And realizing that means I'm like her...(sigh) made my heart explode.

Double Duty: Dentist and DMV

I had to go to the dentist yesterday.  Cavities love my mouth.  I mean, I love candy, cakes, cookies, pop, caramel, taffy, pop tarts, brownies... so maybe one (Kenmo) would think I have it coming in the cavity area.  But my defense is, doesn't everyone love those things?  And I am the only who gets cavities all the time?  I guess if I have to get cavities so the rest of the world can enjoy sweets so be it.  I've always been the martyr-ing type.  So there were the cavities, and that root canal I never got crowned.  That chipped.  Mostly.  Off.  It was way in the back and I was thinking along the lines of... $1200 for a tooth no one even sees is such a waste.  So I told Ken I was just going to have it pulled.  And he told me I wasn't a hillbilly. 
I married up. *wink*
So, yesterday I spent an hour and forty five minutes in the dentist chair and although I've always considered myself a good sport when it came to dentistry, I felt severely beat up afterwards.  He filled two cavities, and... laser-ed off part of my gums that had grown too far down.  I didn't know that happened or that it was bad (or that it was legal to put a laser in someone's mouth).  But I do know what melted flesh taste like now.  So, win win.
Here's the kicker to the story.
In order to qualify for in-state tuition I had to have a Utah driver's license by May 1. 
Yesterday being such date, kids already at a sitter, I plotted over to the DMV after I finished up at the dentist.
Not yet realizing the complete stupidity.  I just figured it would be kinda a sucky morning.
I pulled into the DMV and whipped out my lipstick.  I pulled down my mirror and went to put on my lipstick and....Werrrrrrt.  Couldn't really stay in the lip lines.  I was numb.  Half my face was numb. 
This is when it hit me.
I'm completely numb on 50% of my face.
The good outfit I picked out isn't going to cover the fact that I look like Two Face.
Typical Patty Move.
I laughed which looked ridiculous and made me laugh even harder.  And drool.
After I wiped the lipstick off my side chin I went in and the first thing they wanted to do was take
my picture.
I figured- just go straight face.  Serious... and Mysterious.  Perfect.
But the little DMV lady said, "Why don't you smile?"
So... I did.
Well half my face smiled and the other half Quasimodo-ed.

Her eyes got real big and she said, "Oh!  You don't have to if you don't want to."
I started laughing again and told her I came over from a dentist appointment.
She laughed and told me I was dumb.  Which made me laugh harder.  And drool more.  Old people can just say that stuff.  She handed me some Kleenex and said she'd try a couple shots until we found a good one.

Yup.  That's the good one.  It doesn't even show my cute sweater or killer necklace.  I tried talking her into letting me have the one where I really Quasi-ed it up- but she said that would be inappropriate. Claiming "SANCTUARY!" only confused her.  God Bless The Outcasts.

X, Y, Z It's Spring.

Spring makes me feel excited all over. 
When I'm inside I've been opening closets and cupboards and saying, "Ok!  Let's do this!"  I grab some empty diaper boxes and a Hefty bag and tear it up.  And I'm giving it to Goodwill.  Not the DI.  (Please.  Hold your applause until the end.)
When I'm outside I'm donning the gardening gloves (makes me less scared of bugs (applause would be appropriate here)) and digging.  I'm making mini-walls, creating flowers beds, and transplanting everything around here that's in the wrong place. 
And... in a way.  I feel like I'm transplanting myself.  Things within me that were in the wrong place, are being righted.
Has that ever happened to you?
It gets warm and breezy.  You spend the whole day in the sun...helping the Earth.
And after you're done working you lay on the grass and look up....
And you're blossoming into someone new?

Last Years A to Z:
X is for Xiphoid Process.  A little anatomy lesson. 
Y is for Yurt.  I know xiphoid process... yurt?  How many weird words do I know!  A plethora of them.  Ken wants to renounce humanity and live in a yurt.  Save me. 
Z is for Zeal  This post was about a bad day/week or so with Koley-Roosk.  (Did time really stop for a year?)  It is honest.  And lovely.  I loved re-reading it.  And I loved reading the comments.  I've got some good readers.

Intrusion

I was getting ready to take a shower (read: without attire) and Kole walks into the bathroom.  I was surprised for two reasons.  1.  He was supposed to be with Ken.  Where was Ken?  2.  It's always surprising when a little person sneaks up on you.  Midget or toddler... same surprise level.
I said, "Go find Dad.  Mom is going to take a shower now."

Kole:  Are you taking a shower, Mom?
Me:  Yup.  Go get Daddy and build a train track.
Kole:  Moooom!  I can see your big boobies.

I blushed and grabbed a towel.
Why are you looking?  Why do you call them boobies?  They're not big.  That's gross.

Me:  Well... I am going to take a shower so... yup... I'm not dressed right now. Go get Dad, okay?  Ken?!  KEN?!
Kole:  There's your big stinky Mom Butt!
Me: (*Sigh.*  Self esteem just went from zero to negative ten.) That's not nice to say.  Go find Dad. (Kole doesn't know what an actual Mom Butt is.  But I do.  And that was a mean jab.)

I start to usher Kole towards the door.  Where's Ken?

Kole:  Mom.  You don't have a wiener.
Me:  Nope.  KEN!
Kole:  Oh.  That's sad.
Me:  It's not sad.  It's just different.  Boys and girls are different.
Kole:  What happened to your wiener?
Me:  I don't have one.
Kole:  Because you lost it?
I was so not ready to talk about all this.  He's two!
Me:  KEN!!

All day I kept thinking:

1.  Well!  Can't take showers while Kole is awake.  He's only 2.  But I was embarrassed all of the sudden.
2.  Do I have to talk about girls and boys and private things now?
3.  Doesn't the dad have that talk when it's a boy?
4.  When do you draw the line?  Now?
5.  Does anyone else have kids that walk in on them?

Am I over thinking this?  Is it different if you're a mom and your little daughter comes in? 

One Year Ago

On this day last year I got the MRI results that confirmed my brain tumor. It seems like a long time ago.
I remember when the doctor first told me she thought something was wrong. She didn't know what it was but she confirmed my feelings that something wasn't right. I was given order after order for an executive panel of procedures and tests. I arrived at Quest Diagnostics for the first of my tests. I was ushered back to the lab room. I saw the needles. Somewhat longer and thicker than ones used for normal tests. As the nurse rubbed iodine on my arm I asked, "Will it hurt?" She wasn't truthful and told me no.
Looking back I have thought if before I came to Earth if I asked Heavenly Father, "Will it hurt?" He would have said, "Yes, it will hurt."
I have learned that life hurts. Sometimes something happens. And your heart breaks. Something happens that threatens all sense of logic or hope or certainty... sometimes- even faith. You don't feel like a whole person. Something happens and no matter how you emerge, nothing will ever be the same. Your life is changed forever not only by the pain but by facing your need to heal. Healing hurts. Healing beings only when we face the hurt in its full force and then grow through it with all the strength of our soul.
I need to be healed. I am learning that you cannot simply take a day off and return healed. Although I wish I could. Healing is a 5-step process. Maybe more. I'm up to 5 so far.
The first thing I have learned is healing is active.
I have to participate. Ken, my mom, my friends cannot do it for me. You have to face the problem. And the pain. To begin healing you must acknowledge and feel the hurt. You must realize that Heavenly Father is going to help you. That was my first hurtle. I have always had an intense faith in God. Never shaken. I knew God still did miracles. I had seen it happen to other people hundred of times. But had it ever happened to me? Why would God help me?
I found a scripture in Mark.
Mark 9:24- "And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief."
I went to God in tears with the same plea. Help thou mine unbelief. Please. The world was silent. I waited for God to help me. And, in time, He did. Once God confirmed that He would help me I was ready to be cured. I prayed for God to cure me. I asked for a blessing so God would cure me. But the blessing I received said nothing about being restored to perfect health. I was blessed with a knowledge that God loved me and was aware of me and was well pleased. I was blessed with patience to deal with the doctors I would see. I was blessed to stay strong and to be able to endure what lied ahead. I was blessed to rely on my husband. The blessing did not even allude to being cured or healed. Curing and healing are not synonymous.
Cure is medical. Clean, scientific, relatively quick.
Healing may involve a lifelong process of recovery and growth. In spite of- or perhaps because of- enduring physical or emotional pain. It requires time. I prayed for a cure when I really need healing. Whether for cell reconstruction, for emotional recovery, or for spiritual forgiveness, we all need healing. And it takes time and energy.
The second thing I have found is healing is private.
The hymn, "Lord, I would Follow Thee" describes "hidden sorrow" in a "quiet heart."
When I was diagnosed- I didn't want to tell anyone. I didn't want help. I didn't want sympathy. It was a terrible blow. I was so afraid. Afraid of what was going to happen. Afraid of how people would react. Afraid of how my life was going to progress. Or not progress. I couldn't even say the words. The small words brought fear into my life I had never experienced before. I spent a lot of time with hidden sorrow in my quiet heart.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell taught:
There is, in the suffering of the highest order, a point that is reached- a point of aloneness- when the individual must bear it... alone. Even the faithful may wonder if they can take it any more or if they are in some way forsaken.
I first had to face the pain alone. I had to face the hurt alone. I had to face the truth... alone. It was absolutely necessary to do so. I would look in my mirror at home and tell myself my diagnosis and all the facts I knew about it. I wrote it down. I repeated it in my head like a mantra. I kept it inside of me and I faced the pain. It was weeks before I could talk about it. Once I could I felt ready to venture out. I wanted to tell someone. I felt a need to share my hurt. But I didn't know how and I was still too afraid. Hurt is personal. So personal the thought of sharing it literally paralyzed me with fear. I came across my next stepping stone scripture in John.
John 14:27
Peace I leave you, me peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
...Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
My heart swam with confidence. Confidence in God and in myself. I was healing again. Instantly. I was healing again. Healing happens quietly, while you face the pain. It happens over time as you live, work, study, and accept from others. I do not think private healing can happen without the help of others.
This was the third thing I learned.
Once Heavenly Father calmed my troubled heart I opened it to those around me. The outpouring of hope and love was beyond my belief. It was sincere. People honestly cared and possessed the faith I needed to see to carry on. Help came through phone calls, notes, e-mails, blog comments, messages on Facebook, photos, visits, packages, gifts, and my favorite--- treats! I needed people. Friends. To help me heal.
When we have a terrible loss... Or pain. We try to get back to normal. Back to the way things were before. But they will never be the same. Pain changes us.
But, Healing changes us. The fourth thing I leaned is Healing changes us. Healing can help us become more sensitive and awake to life. Healing inspires repentance and obedience. Healing invites gifts of humility and faith. It opens our hearts to profound complexities of truth, beauty, divinity, and grace.
Orson Whitney said:
No pain that we suffer is wasted. It ministers to our educations, to the development of patience, faith, fortitude, and humility. All the suffer..., especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable.
When you feel pain or hurt or loss, and you make it past the initial shock or fear. You see your life in a new way. I saw my life in a new way. My life is a gift not a burden. Not a trial. I am in charge of my life. I call all the shots in my life. Am I calling the right ones?
Then, change that.
Become new, and fresh, and lovely again.
The fifth thing I have learned is I'm not the only one hurting right now. Someone is hurting. Someone is afraid. Someone is disappointed. Someone feels inadequate. Someone needs a friend. Someone needs to be noticed. Someone needs healed. Sometimes I think that "someone" is only me. But it's not. I can help that someone heal. I can give encouragement and hope and love to that someone just like people are giving it to me. It is necessary for me to help others in order to heal myself.
When Jesus was on this earth his mission was devoted to healing. When He called the twelve apostles, He specifically gave them the power to heal and told them to use their gifts freely. Use the gift to heal freely.
It doesn't always feel that way though, does it?
Now, after a year of medical treatment I wasn't cured like the doctors though I would be. I'm not healed either. Maybe the curing and the healing are going at the same pace. It's hard. Sometimes I feel like I just got the news for the first time. But I'm working on it. Every day. I am working on it. I know that Heavenly Father is going to heal me.
I know because of this scripture:
2 Kings 20:5
"... I have heard thy prayer, I have seen thy tears: behold, I will heal thee."
I will be healed.
I know God lives and I know He will heal me.