Wait, We Didn't Post This Week?

This month.

This quarter.

Well, farming is kind of a busy life. I work days, so the wife is the real farmer. I sit at a desk all day and just try to be useful between the time I get home and the sun goes down. I dig the post holes and do most of the hammering, but she's the one who really runs the place. Thank goodness for the teen daughter. We call her the OLSD: Organic Labor Saving Device. It's GOOD to have a farm hand, even if she is barely a hundred pounds if you don't count the hair.

We homeschool. I handle the math and Latin, Mom handles - as usual - everything else. Some days I take the DD (that's Darling Daughter for those of you who didn't know) to the office and stick her in an empty cube, which is more productive for her math and Latin, but it means she's not around to help Mom by feeding critters, making lunch, or wrangling the little parasite (the boy, that is...he's 4, not exactly a contributor yet).

She's great at keeping track of where she is and what she needs to be doing in her coursework. Maybe not so great at actually doing it without a hot poker prodding her now and then, but in general she very mature and conscientious. So far we have decided to let her live despite the encroaching hormonality of teen-ness.

When not doing math and Latin, she does history, science, lots of reading... but she also does a lot of stuff that is much less traditional, like archery. She looks like Merida from Brave out there firing at a hay bale. She studies Falconry, and hopes to get her license this year. She writes, and is currently in the process of creating the script for a comic book, is taking classes where she's storyboarding it, and drawing animation backgrounds. She's taking a history bonus class that requires her to play Minecraft and built historical reproductions on the servers.

Meanwhile, the little one stands on his head on the couch with an XBOX controller in one hand, playing Godzilla, fighting Mothra and Megalon and MechaGodzilla. He never wants to eat until it's time to put him in bed, and then it's "I'm hungry" and "read me a story." He plays educational games on the computer, and carefully, consistently chooses all the wrong answers first before picking the right one, so that he gets to see all the animations. He *is* learning to sound out small words, though.

All this time, the Mom is sprouting wheat to fodder the goats and pigs and rabbits, tossing the ones that didn't sprout to chickens and ducks. Collecting eggs, which we need to eat faster (Quiche, anyone?) Training the new karakachan as a herd guard, and trying to find kennel housing he can't escape. Checking the horses' hooves to make sure the rain and mud isn't causing problems. Crocheting me hats and a shoulder-slung phone pouch. :)

Oh, yeah, there was supposed to be some blog posting somewhere in there. (Yes, boy, I'll go outside and swordfight with you in a minute, can't you see I'm trying to...oh, ok.)

*sigh*

Hold that thought, will ya? :)

Adventures of Khavien Farmling

So on this fine Sunday morning the four year old is taking a bath. He's predictably splashing and having a good time, though I am somewhat surprised at the minimalism of the actual mess. As I sit to watch and chat, I put a toy boat into the tub with him; it's just a single piece of molded pink plastic, but he likes them.

He grabs it and starts using it to stir the water, them leaves the poor thing listing and adrift. I pour the water out and set it back aright. "If you put water in it it doesn't float upright. See? Now it's a boat."

He grins and starts splashing water directly into the boat. My son the hurricane. I just smile and shake my head, and let him play as he likes, but after a minute he tells me the people are swimming in their clothes.

"In their clothes? That's not good."
"Can they not swim in their clothes?"
"Well, they can, but it's hard. It's not good."
"They're swimming in their clothes."
"Well, okay then."

He splashes a few more times.

"Oh, no! The monster is coming to get them!"
He points at the sadly listing and waterlogged pink toy.
"Uh oh," I say, and look around. A rubber ducky is lying forgotten by the base of the toilet. I grab it and lob it in to land between him and the boat.
"There he is! It's a monster!"

His little face breaks into a gleeful grin as he grabs the ducky and proceeds to maul the boat.

"Papa," he says, "where's the baby monster?"
"Just a minute," I say, and look around some more. The rubber ducky was part of a set with three smaller ones, but none of those are available. I find a pelican that one can fill and squeeze to squirt from a hole in his beak, and toss that in.

"There it is!"

He picks it up and looks it over, then turns his little eyes up at me with a sigh and a mildly disdainful scowl.

"Papa," he says, "that's not a baby monster. That's a toy."