Wiped from weekend gigs (and one night out with friends, amazingly)… working from bed next to my baby girl and her daddy playing under the covers, like ALL morning. #Heaven — with Paul Oberhauser.
#heaven
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Leslie MacPherson Artinian
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Amy Oberhauser Lanigan Fabulous picture! Love the joy in both their faces;-). xx
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That’s a great pic!
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Pure joy!!!
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AllstonVillage StreetFair !!!
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You wanna hear something boring? Redundant at least; So much to blog, so little time!
If I could, I would (share all about):
1) Wiggles surpassing the 4-Week Mark
2) Gavin the Toy Store Window Design Contest Winner
3) Our Tax Preparation “Helper” today (CJ on the floor scissoring essential statements)
4) Just My Cute Kids (last night, asleep and awake, respectively)
5) Tae Kwon Do Boy in General
6) The Pain of the Failure of My Kids to Frigging Get it Together and DEPART After Class Today Whilst Losing My Phone and Ultimately Finding It. (don’t worry, I won’t waste your time on that one. Just feel my pain okay?)
7) Life with Bunnies these days
FORGET about all the media and communication efforts I beat my brains out over at my son’s school. Someone recently proposed we should check to see whether we have permission to check what kids have permission to be photographed. (Yes, you read that right; permission to get permission.) At first I totally chafed. Kinda freaked actually. Then it was like clouds parting: What if -(now that it’s being asked)- the answer is NO, and I *COULDN’T* make such contributions to the school?!?!?!!!! Then I wouldn’t have the sense of DUTY. How frigging LIBERATING!!
[Gosh and not to mention GIGS, come to think of it. The very thing my whole family’s life bends and pulls to accommodate. That I don’t tend to talk about (yet; my web designer swears I should biz blog). That I *DO.* Make the donuts. [Click to play, Time to Make the Donuts, 30 seconds]:
TONIGHT I push old files around and off my old computer (desktop PC, with which it feels like having an affair on my newish MacBook with an old boyfriend or something… I know it so well, and the familiarity feels so good…. but it’s so WRONG).
And I find nuggets like THIS [click to play 2011-06 Penzicat Loves Me (my erstwhile baby, almost 3 years ago… just before he became a Big Bruder, come to think of it), [1min,1sec]:
Meanwhile, DH is out procuring provisions. My kids are being babysat by the TV. I’m taking a quick break from Total Recall Tax Prep to dally *here* on CircusKitchen.com. Am I a bad mom? Hell no. Or if I am, it ain’t because of THIS PARTICULAR inattentive moment. It just IS. BTW, Is it bedtime for the kiddoes yet? Ah; soon. Wish me luck.
ClaraJane [Not yet three, padding into the office]: “Mamma you want to dance wif me?”
Me [Not looking up from this post]: I’m glad you’re feeling better honey.
CJ: No! I haf a booboo on my ‘nee and it riyee hohts.
Me: [Right, sure.] OK!
CJ: Mamma dance wit yo ahms! Yike ‘dis. ‘Woo hoo! Yaaaay! Weeee!’ [Pads back out.]
Later:
CJ [Climbing up on my yap… reaching for the computer and other crap on my desk]: Mommy my yuvvy is on tine-OUT.
Me: Your lovey is on time out?
CJ: Ye-ah.
Me: What did your lovey do?
CJ: My yuvvy yust ‘macked me.
Me: Your lovey just smacked you?
CJ: Yeah. And now I need da timer. [Getting down and padding back into other room.]
Hey, don’t get any ideas. I do not -I repeat, I do NOT- “‘mack” my kids. If I did, I would SMACK them. But I don’t do that either. FTR it is her Dear Bruder who earned the esteemed Tine-Out today, for ‘macking someone at Tae Kwon Do. With his uniform belt.
The tragedy. The comedy. Where’s my beer?
****************************
PPS: Later still, DH is back & spearheading bedtime, bless him. Boy is all wailing in MAJOR protest about his unjust life. DH is calmly letting him. Girl climbs in my lap and talks about “bruder c’ying yike a baby,” (says my current baby).
I agree, adding, “Though we don’t like to see him sad like this.”
She gently rests her head on me and says, “Yes we do.”
Earlier this winter, our local bank (East Cambridge Savings) also had an art contest. There were four age categories with different drawings to color for each (including a *blank* page for the oldest category). I grabbed entry forms for all the kids we had over for Thanksgiving, provided it to them as an activity and submitted their entries the following Monday. Gavin’s was a scarecrow that he colored in. And guess what; he won his age category! The reward was posing for this photo at the bank with other winners, and $125 dollars!
Because he is officially allowed full discretion over 20% of his “income,” (think Balanced Money Formula) Gavin got TWENTY FIVE BUCKS* to spend however he wanted.
After banking the first $100, his father saw to it that Gavin received the remaining $25 in ONES. Gavin promptly bought a bag of chips for $1, and came home with the rest.
All this and a bag of chips!
Great job Babe! (Proud of BOTH my boy AND husband on this one.) (o:
*[OK, the Balanced Money Formula stipulates 30% of income for “Wants,” not 20%. Call me austere. In any case, it comes from the book “All Your Worth” by the incomparable ELIZABETH WARREN and her daughter. It’s very short, incredibly practical, totally readable and basically the only financial book I’ve been able to stomach, if that says anything. Now to just implement all its recommendations MYSELF.]
PS: [WARREN for President in 2020 & 2024! Just sayin’.]
Although I SWEAR I have other stuff to blog about TOO, I bow to the imperative to keep up on the dramatic narrative begun a mere 3 weeks ago. Yes Wiggles continues to thrive!
Wiggles!
Sometime in the last few days, I was lying on the couch snuggling her on my chest. Then after a little while… BLIP!…then back to just sitting. FLOOP!… (quiet). FLIPPITY! (then still again.) And finally… BLOOP! Little blips and twitches as she figures out how to HOP. Ridiculous! Cute.
As I type, our fuzzy hero is actually blipping and flooping all around me and my keyboard; sometimes on my shoulder burrowing into the crick of my neck and hair, sometimes checking out the keys, sometimes blasting out a little sudden burst of speed as if to catch up to something REALLY important all of 12 inches away, sometimes a little scratch behind the ear, sometimes a little cleaning of the face, sometimes just an isolated little hop in place. Actually, she’s just hopping and sprinting and leaping all over the place. I think she’s excited by the tapping of the keys. Well that and her new found ability to DO all this STUFF!
As with my kids, I wish he/she could stay this way forever. Instead I just record stuff all the time and then SOMETIMES manage to post some of it here.
PLEASE pardon the prolongued interlude since the last update, during the “Longest Shortest Month of the Year.” (We had the kids home for the entire February “Break.” NINE solid days; what were we thinking? But that’s another post.) And THANKS to everyone who has weighed in with your interest and support for little Baby Wig’s. So alas the answer is, YES; Wiggles is doing great so far!
As of this writing, Wiggles is TWO weeks old, getting FLUFFY and impossibly cuter every day. I promise to keep posting. I also promise to resume posting about (spoiler alert!) OTHER stuff that ALSO happens in our lives. (Even if -admittedly- all this bunny business has totally dominated my documentation efforts lately. Gah! So irresistible.) Oh, and I *guess* I promise to also ATTEND to other stuff that *needs* to happen in our life (work, life, bills, death, taxes, YAY!). *sigh*
In each of the first two days of this tiny little life, Wiggles the Baby Bunny suffered a devastating fall off the table onto the floor, alone. (At least they are devastating to me.) He had obviously wiggled -or been pushed- out of the nesting box yesterday afternoon, and then wiggled across he table, onto the floor and across the floor until he wedged himself behind this other box. His eyes are still shut by the way, and he was still alive, although kind of listless. I immediately put him on mommy’s belly, holding her, and sometimes holding him. (It’s okay to touch your domestic baby bunnies btw, in case you missed that in a previous post.) Sometime in there I also pull fur from around the rest of the nipples I can find (four altogether). He half-heartedly nurses, more just curling up into a pathetic fetal position, kind of twitching and falling asleep.
After warming and stimulating him as much as I felt he could stand, I relented and made a safe little nest box for him all his own. And I left him there to rest, hopefully not to die. He hangs on for the balance of the afternoon, and at around 9pm we try another feed. It goes pretty well. My mom is there now, and concurs how wonderful it is to see him curling up to nap on mamma’s belly.
DAY III: February 15th 2014
At five this morning we have another go. Little Guy -“Wiggles”- is healthy and vigorous. In fact when I put him on mom’s belly he almost jumped as he squealed three little chirps of excitement before latching on with vigor. A quick energetic feed, another milk coma, and SCENE. He’s looking healthy!
I’m getting nervous about what else might befall him. I’m not trusting Fluff at all, as she’s sometimes pushing his little nest box over. So I rubber band a paper towel over it to keep him in there. Later this morning, she has broken through it, and is protectively sitting on top of him. Nursing maybe? It’s like she can’t make up her mind about motherhood. What a psycho! Or just a regular dumb bunny I guess. (Oh wait, maybe she’s just like the rest of us!) In any case, I’ve secured their shared nesting box a bit better so he can’t wiggle out of a corner. But still, he’s getting more active and I don’t trust the cats to take passive roles indefinitely. I’m definitely rigging a more secure environment for baby and perhaps mommy too today. (It’s Saturday and I actually have time.
I partly hate myself for caring so much. Last night I was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster ride from this tiny little unwitting life, smaller than my finger! The *guilt* of letting something bad happen is deeply taxing though. Ugh!
As I told my mom, if *I* suffered a traumatic fall each of the first two days of my life, I don’t think I would choose to live a third. But Wiggles HAS. What a fighter!
Thanks to those of you who are even reading these Crazy Bunny Lady entries, those who are pulling for little Wiggles’ survival, and to my girl Piper at Payson Road Farm for the encouraging coments the other day. (Thank you; I’m thinking of you every step of the way!) I may be a City Girl now, but I was raised in a proverbial Zoo. You can take the girl out of the Zoo, but not the other way around!
Crazy Bunny Lady Episode III (see previous two posts).
At 4am I awoke, wondering: Just because that bunny didn’t pull her belly fur… does that mean I can’t do it for her? So I did. I got up and held her upside down in my lap, found one of her nipples and gently tugged little tufts of the fuzzy fur from around it. It came out easily and didn’t seem to bother her. Then I put her baby on there, and guess what! He went to TOWN! He (she?) had himself a vigorous little feed, even wiggling his head through her fur to find other nipples in there somehow, making little suckling noises and having himself a time. I waited for the inevitable milk coma I remember so well from feeding my daughter
=> [photo pending] ClaraJane’s post-feed milk-coma (yes, at the computer while working…)
Sure enough, baby snuggled up and passed out, right there on the huge, luxurious bed of mamma belly fur, all safe and warm while mamma’s belly beats rhythmically with her little bunny breaths. Heaven!
So psyched! Also though, with shenanigans like this, it will be even harder to not feel attached to outcome. Being bunnies, we are of course not out of the woods. He was only ONE day old at this point, and plenty of other things can go awry with this little guy.
To wit, after a glorious “boozy lunch” out with my HUSBAND for VALENTINE’S DAY (amazing!), we come home, eager to see the baby bunny. (OK, *I* was eager to see the baby bunny.) And he’s NOT THERE! I dig through the bedding, to no avail. I am prepared for him to be dead, but not *missing*! I look at the cats, suspiciously. They look back at me, sleepily. There’s four witnesses in the house (2 cats, 2 rabbits), and none of them are talking. I move a box out from under the bunny table (it’s supposed to be our *crafts* table btw), and voila. Helpless exposed tiny baby bunny on the floor, cold and alone. CRAP!!!
So this morning I go to change their bedding before getting the kids off to school. It’s around 7am when I bend over to get some fresh shavings and what do I see? A TINY NEWBORN BABY BUNNY ON THE FLOOR.
“OH NO!!!” I cry, using a paper towel to collect this pink, furless, helpless, eye-shut, vaguely wriggling, mouse-like thing up off the floor. I know my bunny is young and inexperienced, and obviously hadn’t gotten any… well, pre-natal support from me. I was warned not to expect too much from this young bun if she DID give birth (or “kindle,” to be precise). But neither was I exactly expecting a single baby chucked out the bunny house onto the floor.
I racked my brain for a small box to separate mom & baby into, settled them in with lots of bedding, food and water, and called/emailed/texted my bunny vendor farmer friend. I keep checking the compost, making sure I had not missed a baby when I changed out their bedding. The kids wake up curious. I start to explain and then see ANOTHER baby on the floor. (Don’t know how I missed it before.) Aaack!! This one is kind of brownish. I add it to the new nesting box, ask Dear Husband for extra help with morning duties, and hit the shower. DH is loving this drama by the way, naturally (not. “Animals!” he grumbles, charitably). I’m waiting for a call back, but of course in my frantic state I misplace my PHONE. I come out of the shower and notice something wiggling on the floor down the hallway; ANOTHER ONE! (Brownish-grey.)
Now it feels like some kind of sick, Baby Bunny Horror film. (Cue PSYCHO music.) So I’m yelling at my son: FIND MY PHONE! And LOOK FOR MORE BABY BUNNIES!”
I finally connect with my new bunny friend and the news is not encouraging. Three is actually a pretty healthy litter size for a bunny this small. (ASSUMING we found them all.) But because she hasn’t ripped out the fur from her belly or made a nest, there is little chance she’ll nurture the offspring. (How are they gonna find a nipple in all that “fluff”?) They might survive six hours or so without her care. And they are nearly IMPOSSIBLE to hand feed at that stage. All the same, if there’s any chance she’s going to get into it, what they need is peace and quiet. So, taking my son to school I explain that the babies are very unlikely to make it; that Fluff is probably not ready to be a mother. “Then why did she get pregnant?” he asks. (!!! Good point, as usual.)
Coming home later, DH has actually done a great job of observing and a bit of minding. Turns out she *had* ripped out some fur (a tiny bit). Also, maybe it was Auntie Nutter who threw them out of the house, Not the Mama. For that matter, Nutter keeps trying to get into the nesting box and Paul did a great job of blockading the two factions of bunnies into new respective places. He also noted that Mamma Fluff tried pushing one baby back out of the nest, herself, and that the little guy wasn’t looking so good. (The smallest, kinda grey one.)
When I got back she didn’t seem particularly bonded to her babies. I moved them into a pile (with chopsticks this time, like little wontons). TURNS OUT, according to more research, that mommy bunnies don’t *sit* on their babies to keep them warm (like a chicken or anything), or even hang out with them that much. They actually nurse their newborns for only about FIVE OR TEN MINUTES in a day! The babies should be in a cuddly pile inside the nest she made. AND, according to one report, they can survive up to 72 hours without nursing! ALSO, it’s actually okay to handle them. So, although I thought they were goners… maybe not! Honestly one of the most encouraging signs -as far as I can tell- is that she has made no attempt to EAT them. Crazy right? But actually pretty common when new mamma bunnies feel threatened. And between Nutter, the cats, me, the kids… Fluff has had plenty to feel uneasy about. Also, a “peanut” baby is a common member of a litter; like a runt but smaller and almost never viable. Do you know how long their gestation period is, btw? Four weeks. Yep! That’s it. No wonder they can “breed like rabbits.” Fluff was 3/4 of the way there when I got her last week. (And my farmer friend felt *terrible* that she missed it; having noticed her belly was “big,” but didn’t seem pregnant. I told her not to worry AT ALL.)
Anyway, this afternoon the boy and I checked in the nesting box. She actually seemed pretty cozy in there. Not trying to get out, and even got defensive when Nutter tried to pop her head in. Two of the babies looked pretty healthy and vigorous! The peanut, not so much. in fact, he was listless, and well, not living anymore. Gavin was interested and not too devastated. We removed it, examined it, and discussed it. While my mind has been inside a cozy, tiny box with fluffy and not so fluffy baby bunnies all day, it has actually be raging snow outside. I suggested the best way to return baby Peanut to the earth might be through the compost. Gavin was shocked, and wouldn’t stand for it. So we got him a tiny box and labeled it and put it in the freezer, purportedly ’til we can bury him in Spring. (I’m sure my chef hubby will be thrilled about that too.)
Aw, Little Peanut Bun
Now it’s 8:30pm and Gavin is checking the nesting box himself. “Mamma? One is wriggling around a lot, and one is not moving. I looked at its head and it’s not moving.”
circuskitchen 