Samaras

So, I should probably explain...samaras are the little seed pouches that you find fluttering down from maple trees.  Some of us call them helicopters, other call them whirligigs, but the proper name is samara.  Samara, as you know, is also the name of my second daughter.  Ever since we named her, I've had this exact photo shoot in my head.  Hope you enjoy.

Another Sign of Spring

Our neighborhood fox, who we haven't seen in several months, has made an appearance today.  Looks like this little rascal found a comfy spot in our backyard woodlot.

Tick Tock

Spring has officially arrived to our area once again, and with it have come the birds, the flowers...and the ticks.  Last year, we discovered that our neighborhood, which borders a woodland lot, is infested with dog ticks.  I found four embedded in B's scalp before realizing the state of infestation.  We battled ticks on her, me and the dogs (Adam was the only lucky one who never found one on himself) before the season ended. 

Our neighbor warned us last week that the ticks were back, and that not only had she found one in her son's leg, but that it was a deer tick, not a dog tick.  While dog ticks can (very rarely) spread Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, the deer tick (also known as the black-legged tick) is infamous now for spreading Lyme's Disease.  Not wanting to deal with that scenario, Adam did the unthinkable (at least to this wildlife biologist): he spread pesticide all over our backyard to kill as many latent ticks as possible. I've been afraid to look back there for fear of finding dead birds all over the place.  So far, however, so good. At least, in terms of the bird community.

Yesterday, we spent some time in the front yard, then decided to take a walk with the dogs along the river trail.  At one point, we stopped at a playground to let B run around, and Adam and I sat with S and the dogs.  Neither of us thought much of it.  Last night, while in bed watching tv, however, Adam suddenly said, "Lauren, this is serious. Do you see anything?"  He tilted his head in my direction and pointed to a spot on his scalp.  Sure enough, a little bugger was latched on.  Now, I got fairly accustomed to removing ticks from B and the dogs last summer, so I'm not overly bothered by them anymore.  I think it was creepy for Adam to actually have one on him, especially since last summer he was spared.  I got out the tick "key" I bought for such removal purposes, as well as a pair of tweezers.  The key didn't seem to work, so I resorted to old school tweezers removal, and voila!, the tick (head and all) came out.  It had a small chunk of Adam's scalp in its mouth parts. I took a look at it in the container, and was surprised to find that it was a deer tick, not a dog tick like the ones we found last year.  Granted, this one likely came from the park we were sitting at, and not our backyard, but this discovery has put us on alert.  You don't want to mess with Lyme's Disease.

Several friends and acquaintances who grew up in rural parts of the country have told me about how "tick check" was a part of their daily summer existence as children.  You just knew that at the end of a day of playing outdoors, you'd have to do a thorough bodily check for the little parasites...no big deal.  I'm trying to acquire that way of thinking.  We as a people, especially as we've become more urban, have become so dissociated with the land, the Earth, that things like ticks become a crisis of catastrophic proportions where once they were just a normal part of life.  I grant you that with the onset of Lyme's Disease, the tick issue has become more complex and concerning, but many people are just "grossed out" by the idea of a parasite to begin with, diseases aside.

I've decided to try to make the necessary tick check process a game this summer.  First person to find a tick wins a prize.  And no, the prize won't be Lyme's Disease.

Our Last Day

This past Friday was the last day B and I had at home together, as this morning she started school.  As much as I oftentimes felt overwhelmed trying to homeschool her while also accomplishing chores and errands (and later, taking care of a newborn), I enjoyed having B with me during the day.  I know it will be good for her to be around other kids her age, and have crafts and lessons to focus on, but I already miss her.  It's only been an hour since we dropped her off.

Since Friday was a special day, I asked B what she wanted to do. The weather was gorgeous, so I knew she wanted to go outside.  We decided to do some birdwatching.  She got some nifty birdwatching glasses for Xmas that she wanted to try out, and with the spring migration in full force, I knew there would be cool birds to scope. 

B's attention drifted after just a few minutes, and she became much more interested in playing with sticks, flowers and dirt than looking at birds, but it was good to have some quality time outside with her, all the same.

 The osprey that hangs out in the dead tree on the hill in our backyard.  It hunts for fish in the nearby river, then brings them back to this tree to feast.

 Harbinger of spring...my favorite bird of all time, the American Robin. 

 The osprey in flight, heading toward the river to collect its next meal.

 B wearing her birding glasses.  Not sure she was actually doing any birding, but she likes the zoom lenses.

 Grackle...not just another black bird.

 Song sparrow.  I've been really surprised how many song sparrows we have in our very urban neighborhood, and how few house sparrows, which are more common and an invasive exotic.  Glad to see the native species winning out here.

 Erie enjoying some time in the shade

 B was more content playing with the rocks, sticks and dirt, with a few flowers thrown in for good measure. My little naturalist.

A nest from last year that's being used this year by a family of song sparrows.

Snippets...on new parenting challenges

While discussing with a new friend the anxiety I've had with each new phase or milestone in my children's lives, I remarked that I've been surprised that I've managed to do all the things that seemed insurmountable...birthing, breastfeeding, diapering, socializing, schooling. ''You get it done because you have to, there's not really much choice,'' I remarked.

She replied with these wise words:  ''Set the bar low. If they're still alive and breathing, then you're doing ok.''

Yes.

Not Sad, But...

This morning, I take the girls to register B for kindergarten. KINDERGARTEN!  How in the world have we gotten to this place, where my baby, my little sweet curly-haired baby, is old enough for kindergarten?

The other day, B told me that her daddy said he was sad that she was growing up.  I corrected her.  "Well, Daddy's not sad that you're growing up, because that's a good thing.  You're supposed to grow up, because that means you're healthy and strong, and we're happy about that.  Daddy's probably feeling...wistful.'
"What does wiss-fo mean?"
"It means that our hearts just want time to slow down a bit, so we can enjoy all these moments with you before you grow up."
That seemed to satisfy her, so in normal child fashion, she changed the subject.

I've kept the thought in my head since then, however. And now, today, as I prepare to enroll my firstborn in school, I'm not quite feeling sad, but...wistful.

On Growing Old Gracefully

One day last week, my mother and sister came to baby-sit my girls while I was out at a meeting. Upon returning home, I found my mother on the couch with the girls, reading them a book. The book was about young Charles Dickens, and the hard life he led as a child before growing up to become a renowned author. The last page in the book featured an illustration of Dickens as a man, accompanied by a brief epilogue recounting his accomplishments later in life. The following exchange between my mother and B occurred:

B: Who's that guy? (pointing to the adult Dickens)
My Mother: That's Charles Dickens. The little boy from the book, just all grown up.
B: But he looks old!
My Mother: Well, he is r older, like me.
B: (wide-eyed) You're old?
My Mother: Well, I'm older.
B: (beside herself) Arent you sad?
My Mother: Uhh, nooo..It's ok.
B did not look convinced...
I almost chimed in with an explanation that there's only one alternative to not growing old, but I felt like her little brain had enough new material to churn over at that moment, so I kept my mouth shut.

Kudos to my mother for the very graceful way she handled this...

Snippets...out of the mouths of babes

B: Mama, what's this brown thing on my leg?
Me: That's just a bruise.
B: A bruise? Like Dr. Bruise?
Me: Dr. Bruise? Who's Dr. Bruise?
B: Dr. Bruise Banner!

(If you're not a superhero junkie, she was referring to Dr. Bruce Banner, alter ego to the Incredible Hulk.)

Snippets...on the same thing all over again

I suppose one aspect of getting older is that you start to have realizations that previously escaped you. You realize that people you care about can be mean, life isn't always fair, even pretty people poop (that was a big eye-opener for me, lemme tell ya...) and that yes, we're all going to die at some point in time.

My most recent realization is that people complain...about the same things...every single year. Snow, heat, bad drivers (notice it's always '[fill in the state] drivers' who are supposedly lacking in basic driving skills?), the return of students to college campuses, long lines at stores during holiday shopping season, the list goes on...

People...winter arrives and with it comes snow. These days we get less snow than folks did 50 years ago, so there's really nothing to complain about. Get over it. Summer is hot. You likely drive just as poorly, if not worse than the person you're complaining about. Colleges are not supposed to be vast empty spaces of land for your personal enjoyment; they are institutes of higher learning and students belong there. Deal with it. Xmas lines? Shop online.

Am I being too complainy?