N-Wording VI

A surprise within our attempts to find a predictable routine within the massive changes that have happened since August is the morning play hour. There have been very few mornings in this storm series where the children have slept all the way to the school wake up hour of 6:30 a.m. In the early going, beginning with the move to protective custody in October 2018, Big Sis waking up to watch the sunrise with me was a "normal" part of her attachment disorder when she was here without Daddy. Daddy was her primary target for the desperate clinging of an attachment disorder. Here at the farm, I am her substitute. My psycho sense says her mother's sister is the substitute at the maternal grandparent house. The attachment disorder seems to be healing. She will accept help from Gampy these days. Prayers ongoing. . .

As her desperate clinging has eased, her following me out to the sunrise morphed into a seemingly contagious early wake-up habit. Baby Sis was the first to catch the bug, followed by Gampy. Big Bro had the most Night Owl training from the other grandparent house and his wake-up dramas were? ? ? Dramatic? Somewhere over the course of moving from the old house to the new house, Big Bro lost those trained dramas and joined the morning play hour. Over the course of this past week, Hubs and I have wondered if the morning play hour is going to grow into the new normal. It sure makes for alert minds on that morning ride to school. I think. Maybe.

Fact is, that while Hubs and I were wondering if the morning play hour was going to have a place in the new normal, Big Bro was having his roughest week yet at school. My sense that he and Big Sis are reliving eviction traumas continues. Big Bro's acting out has been irrational outbursts that have little or nothing to do with the current events. Big Sis's acting out has been extreme fear of neighbor's. Her inner city life was all in apartment settings where the neighbors share walls. The neighbors were the ones who called in the police in the domestic drama which ended with her Mama in jail and she and Big Bro in protective custody with her maternal grandparents. Big Bro didnae know of the incident until a CPS worker picked him up from kindergarten to take him directly to his new "home." I know from personal experience that that is a seriously fucked up way to end a day of "being a good kid."

Working through the ^its^ one guess at a time. A global norm is that ALL families and individuals have problems. On that scale, I believe our little ship of fools started this bizarre voyage more normal than I care to be. Works in progress for the strictly personal normal. Prayers on-going. . . TGIF.

On the feather front, I have neglected the feather babies in favor of the skin babies for long enough that the elder flock has abandoned the coop after a predator attack on the open coop Wednesday night. I havenae had the energy to discover where the surviving chickens made off to. One lone hen began banging on the windows in desperate cries for succor last night. It was a woeful cry, indeed. I gathered her up and took her in search of the surviving hens I had seen her with earlier. No luck. I put her into the rabbit hutch with the younger flock. She verily dived into the feathery comfort of the crowded poults. The poults didnae seem to mind over much. Now to see if there were any flock war skirmishes through the night. I am having serious doubts about whether I can manage flock care and childcare simultaneously by myself. One body only stretches so far. Stepping small and praying big. . . I haven't been able to surf the web sources any further for help. The domestic employment sites still look too much like dating sites and their cousins on the porn/human trafficking sites. More works in progress. . .