Isn't she kind of young for this?

Tonight, after Ana decided which book she wants to read before bedtime:
Mom, you get Maisy, I'll hold the drinks.

It's been a busy week at the shire.

Ana has come down with the flu, which has slowed her down some. But not entirely. She still manages to squeek in some silly antics and cute moments even amidst her "bad tummy". Toby hasn't shown any major signs of it yet, be we have him on an anti-viral medicine just in case, what with his whooping cough still hanging on.

Dan has been busy getting his Catechism class started at St. Ed's and trying to find renters for our condo. Last week he took the entire week off of work to take care of a multitude of tasks around the farm. Many trees were chopped, a kennel was found and purchased, half a garden was cleared, tilled and filled with chickens. A strawberry patch was mowed and mulched. A father-in-law informed us that the strawberry plants will rot if we mulch this early. Mulch was removed. Bread was baked. Kids were played with.

It was a good week.

Here's a couple of photos of the children:

Everyone else in the house is sleeping. And I'm in the kitchen baking bread, the sun just beginning to rise. A wonderful moment to impress and remember.

Blessed are we.

Truly, a gift from God.

Ana finally figured out how to "hold it" and is now potty trained (fingers crossed so hard my knuckles are bleeding).

And for the second day in a row, Toby has put himself down for a nap. I lay him down in our bed. He plays for 15 minutes and, conk, he's out. No pacifier, so special blankie, no nuthin. Well, I guess just being in our bed could be construed as a transitional object. But, whatever. I ain't complainin. Granted, two weeks ago, he couldn't go to sleep without being on top of me. So, things can change again very rapidly. But for now, I am truly relishing a small taste of relative freedom.

Yarn Man.

Today Dan said "skein".

The transformation is complete.

Weekenders.

What a weekend. Well, what a Sunday and Monday I guess I should say.

My sister Mary brought her East Coast boyfriend home for a few days to meet the fam and spend some quality time with us at the shire. Landon fit right in. Even Dan, he who was most discerning, was won over.

It was wonderful to bask in my mother's most excellent cooking and be in the company of my family, whom I love with all of my heart. I only wish that my brother's family could've made it. You see, in typical Prescott fashion, we forgot to invite them.

Whoopsy.

Enjoy the photos!

In this photo, Landon is driving a tractor for the first time. Taught by none other than my father-in-law, Dan Sr. Landon does a decent job. But then, in tractor hubris, runs over all the chickens. And Lucy. And the rest of our tomatoes not even yet ripe on the vine.

Mary, Landon, Dan and Dad help Ana get her kite get "super high"!

And and Yi taking a nap. Can't you just feel the annoyance through my mom's closed eyes?

Ah, but my favorite part of the weekend. Mary couldn't sleep one night too well and was awake when Toby got up at 6am. We took the two chillen' out for an early morning walk to the pasture. Ana on my back, Toby in Mary's sling (he was asleep with his head tucked in), coffees in hand.

And not to forget, when you have two professional pianists in the house, you get LOTS of free entertainment. They just can't keep their fingers off those things! Here is a taste of Landon's jazz repetoire ... My Funny Valentine.

Bambi. Works every time.

A face only Dan could love.

I am most certainly a cat person. Dogs have always eluded me. Sure I can appreciate their attributes. They're cute, loyal, smart, and all that. But, I just haven't been able to really love a dog.

And after yesterday, I'm pretty certain I will never, ever love a dog.

You see, we have (well, had) a sick chicken. She's been not feeling well for some time. And it became obvious to me that she needed some real TLC when she hobbled into the coop for the night only to get chased under the feed box by the other chickens. Poor thing. She could hardly even jump the four inches up into the coop.

So, yesterday, with the help of my dad and Ana, we construncted a nice hospital bed for her in one of our barns. Just three sides of wood about 2 feet high, enough to keep out the predators and to keep her in. We lined the floor with soft, clean straw. And Ana gathered some rotten tomatoes for her to feast on. She seemed to really dig her new quarters. So, we headed back inside the house for a bit.

An hour later, Dad and Ana went outside to climb some trees. I heard Ana excited say, "Mom, come here! The chicken fell down!"

What? I thought. How did the chicken get all the way to the house?

I poked my head out the door. And there, by Lucy's "post" (ie under the bush by our door) was the poor little chicken, turned chew toy for Lucy.

What crazed creature hunts down a poor sick chicken just to play with it? You can imagine my state.

When Dad saw me, he sternly said, "Now Joy, you can't be mad at Lucy. She's just a dog."

"I'm not mad at Lucy," I explained, hands in fists. "I'm mad ABOUT Lucy."

For Lucy's sake, it's a really good thing Dan has a special place in his heart for canines.