So, I lied about the Sophie pictures. But, I did get all the pics I wanted to post scanned and will do it this week.
Here’s why I have time to blog–because I had just put Lucy and Noah to bed tonight and was going out to move a rooster to a new pen before it got totally dark.
Noah got out of bed, so Lucy got out bed, and they followed me outside (with Ben yelling at them because they were walking on his newly-mopped kitchen floor–remember my love for child slavery?).
When she saw me venturing into the backyard darkness, Lucy was instantly panic-stricken. Her greatest fear was realized: I was going to feed the turkeys.
I wasn’t really. But in her tiny, tiny little three-year-old mind, the only thing I do outside at night is risk my life feeding turkeys. This is because about two months ago, I was coming back from feeding the turkeys and was straddling the wire fence between our back chicken coop area and the landlocked lot where the turkey cage was at the time.
I was still in my work clothes, because I’m a slow learner and was (again) doing farm chores in business casual attire. Ben had just come out to tell me that Lucy wasn’t staying in bed (David was working in his downstairs office). But by the time Ben got to me, she was on his heels, barefoot in the dark and upset. I commenced to get my foot stuck and fall backward over the fence, getting caught in some barbed wire that we’d pinned back from the crossing spot, and landed on my back with my feet tied up in the fence.
Lucy went into hysterics.
I kept telling Lucy, as I lied on my back in the dirt, that mommy was fine and not to worry, but the hysteria only escalated and she ran screaming into the house in horror. Ben tried to get my clothes unhooked from the wires, but in the end, I had to just pull them free to stand up, ripping my favorite “new” (DI) red shirt and work pants.
I made my way into the house and had to comfort Lucy at length while she cried, “Mommy fine? Mommy OK? Mommy NO FEED THE TURKEYS!!”
Then, at least once a day, every day, for at least a month she again counseled, “Mommy no feed the turkeys, OK?” And, if she saw me going out in the yard at night, she’d run out and grab my hand and lead me back to the house, saying “Ah, mommy’s tired, mommy want to go to bed. Mommy no need to feed the turkeys.”
It got to be that, even at mid-day, she’d randomly inquire, “Mommy feed the turkeys? Mommy OK?”
Apparently I’d rocked her world with uncertainty and traumatized her for life. Since then she’s been treating me like a fragile being. It didn’t help that I fell down the stairs a few weeks after that, of course right as she’d wandered out of bed, again, after being officially tucked in, again.
That only fueled her fretting.
So tonight, I shooed her inside while she began getting upset about all the horrific possibilities of mommy going outside at night, worried tears welling up even before we got back to the door. In order to get her to stay in bed, I promised mommy would stay inside.
So, I’m just waiting for her to go to sleep so I can go outside and move the rooster.
How does the story end? The four turkeys, all female, all likely to be well over 20 lbs when dressed, meet their doom on Saturday, because my sweet mother bought me a deep freeze over the weekend.
But somehow I doubt dead turkeys (and the bloodbath that will precede it) will put Lucy’s troubled mind to rest.