Phyllida, Philander, and Phineas

This was the best picture of the bunch.  It's hard to take pictures through a slightly messy window!

Remember Phillip and Phoebe, the sweet pheasant couple that lived here before us?  We got to meet three of their babies today, in most unusual circumstances.

This morning, Em bursts into my room, trembling with excitement.

"Mom!  Mom!  There are three baby birds in my window well!  Come see, come see!!"

I hopped out of bed and hurried over to the girls' room.  Sitting on Em's bed, which is next to the window, are Gee, Hebs, and Yummy.  (Zee was already at school, and Daddy comes home tonight.)  When the kids see me, they start up their own clamor.

Looking out the window, I see one...two...three baby birds.  They have spiky feathers (pin feathers?), with just a few downy-er looking ones.  Peering up to the sky, I can just make out an adult bird head bobbing anxiously around.  Knowing absolutely nothing about birds, I have no idea what kind of chicks they are, but one thing is clear:  Although they take turns frantically flapping their wings, the highest any of them get is about three inches off the ground.

Our window wells on that side of the house are six feet deep.

Trying to calm the kids down, I let Em take some pictures, and then send her and Gee off to get ready for school.  "Don't worry," says I.  "I will figure out a way to get the baby birdies back to their mommy."  How, I've only got the foggiest of ideas.  It has to do with calling Animal Control, the animal shelter, or, as last resort, my friend S.B.Z. who works for Hogle Zoo up in SLC.

The animal shelter doesn't open until 9, and we have fifteen minutes till then.  Firmly telling the kids to stay inside, I crept out to see if I could tell what kind of bird Anxious Momma was.  I didn't want to scare her away, so I started on the other side of the house and tiptoed around the fenceline.

It was Phoebe, the female pheasant.  She was nervously pacing around the window well, looking down every so often.  Phillip was over in the park, lingering on the edge of our property.

I went over to Mema's to ask if I should wait, or try to help out in some way.  She agreed with me that waiting fifteen minutes wasn't unreasonable, and--of course--came down to Em's room to see the birdies.

Getting a distracted Em ready for school and out the door was a job in itself, but I convinced her that the babies would be just fine, and I would tell her ALL about it once she got home from school.  Shooing Em and Gee out the front door, and cautioning them to be quiet and quick about getting over to the park, I went back to the phones.

Finally I was able to reach the animal shelter.  They recommended I call the police to ask for Animal Control, and gave me the number.  The nice woman at dispatch took down my information, and promise to send someone out.

 Hebs, Yummy, and I sat in the front room to wait for the police officers.  Hebs noticed that Phoebe was over in the front (rather than the side) of the house, herding at least five-six other little chicks across the street.  The little birds scurried across the street, but Phoebe stood, irresolute, in the middle of the yard.  I swear, her head was turning first to the other chicks in the weeds of the empty lot across the street, and then it would swivel back to the house where her three babies were trapped.  It about broke my heart.

Fortunately, just then, a police SUV pulled up.  Hooray!  Phoebe ran across the street to her other babies.  The police officer (I neglected to get his name) hopped out, we talked for a moment, and then he pulled some long poles with grabbers on the ends.  I walked him over to the window well.

"Whoa!" he said.  "That's a deep window well.  These won't work.  Let's see, do you have a five gallon bucket around?"

I sure did. (We've been using them to pick up trash, rocks, and to mix paint in.  Handy things.)  He picked one up and climbed down into the window well, very gently.

The three little chicks all ran to hide under the fairy garden I made for Em's birthday.  (It's propped up a little so she can see it from her bed.)  This actually worked to our advantage, because he blocked one end of the garden, and put the bucket at the other end.  Hebs and Yummy watched the whole time from Em's bed. While he was doing this, another police car shows up, and another policeman came over to see if help was needed.  (It wasn't, but he got in a little gentle ribbing to his "bird rescuer" buddy.)

In very short order, one...then two...then three baby pheasants were scooped up, hoisted out, and gently dumped out.  Two of them ran in the direction of Mom, and the third (perhaps slightly slow? just kidding) headed for the spare 'oom window well.  Fortunately, he avoided it, and ran to the weeds in the backyard.  I'm pretty sure that Phoebe and Phillip rounded up their wayward chicks eventually, because I saw Phoebe's head pop out of the weeds when we got the first chick out.

I profusely thanked the police officers, who both allowed that it was a nice change from their usual work.  It was a nice change from our usual morning routine, as well!

Voir Dire

I had my first experience with jury duty today, and it was pretty painless and even fun.  I'm enough of a nerd to have been really excited to be called up.

I wasn't chosen for the jury.  I'm a little disappointed, but not, if you know what I mean.  I have a lot of responsibilities here at home right now.  In a couple more years--and I'm off the rolls for the next two years--it would be really awesome.

The trial was a criminal trial, and the charge is witness tampering.  So, interesting stuff, but the part I did this morning was boring.  Fill out this questionnaire, watch this video about jury duty, wait wait wait...then get sworn in, and start answering questions.

• Do you know anyone in the courtroom?  (No)  
• Do you know anyone in the jury pool?  (Yes.  A girl I used to VT when I lived in Orem.  We were both basement dwellers, and I threw a baby shower for her before the birth of her daughter . It didn't matter that I knew her, because it wouldn't change my ability to make up my own mind.) (Not much does, to be honest.)
• A police officer will be testifying.  Can you give his testimony the same weight as any other witness?  (Yes)
• Have you or any close family member or friend ever been the victim of a crime?  Have you or any close family member or friend ever been charged with a crime?  (Yes--LaDale's house was burglarized; and No--at least not to my knowledge.)
• Do you know any police officers?  (Yes--but it was Mema and Daddy's friend that was the undersheriff in Las Vegas years ago.  But I disclosed it anyway.)

And so forth.

I was prospective juror #34 of #35, and the number of jurors needed was eight (plus one alternate).  After dismissal for cause (I know one of the witnesses, I don't think I can be impartial, I want to discuss this in chambers), each side had a certain (unknown) premptory challenges they didn't have to have cause for. They filled out a piece of paper alternately, crossing off the names of those jurors they didn't want. This part was confidential--meaning I don't have any idea if my name was crossed off or not.  (I suspect not, because I had such a high number.)

So then the court clerk asked the following people to stand, and they would constitute the jury.  Juror #1, Juror #2, Juror #6 (several in between were challenged, presumably, because their names were not called), Juror #8, etc.  The last juror called was #21, and then they had a full jury + alternate.

So I didn't even get close to being chosen, and my friend (#28) wasn't, either.  Neither were the two women I'd been chatting with--much to their relief, because the state playoffs for High School baseball are today at 4:00pm, and both women, coincidentally, had sons that were pitching for their teams.

So, all told, I was there at 8:10 and left at just before 11.  Much to Mema's relief, she won't have to watch  my munchkins all day today, and possibly tomorrow or beyond.  :)

Maybe next time I'll get to experience the whole thing, but even the small part I played was pretty cool--and very civic-ally enriching.

Two (adults) against Two (years old)

Today Mema and I were at the store with an angelic six-year-old Gee, a sweetheart of a four-year-old Hebs, and a very cranky, slightly feverish, tempestuous two-year-old Yummy.

It was the two grown-up moms against my very opinionated girlie.

We lost.

Trip cut short, we dashed for home before another temper tantrum.  We'll try again tomorrow.

If we get our courage back.

Backyard Dreaming

Now that we finally have the grading finished on our lot, we can start figuring out landscaping.  Fencing, sprinklers, and grass are the three biggies on our list.

We went from living on a tenth of an acre in Spanish Fork to living on a half-acre here in Lindon.  A half-acre isn't very big for a lot of people (I have friends on 10 acres, five acres, 400 acres), but for us it is HUGE.  The lot is vast, and the possibilities endless.

(The money for those possibilities?  Less than vast and endless. But such is life.)

We know we want garden boxes for square-foot-gardening.  We want some grass.  We want a place to park extra cars when family comes to visit.  We want fruit trees.  We want flowers.  We even probably want chickens.  (I go back and forth on this.  Chickens!  So very domestic, so very provident-living-ish.  So very needy, and sometimes noisy, and I haven't the first idea what to do with chickens!)

I've been playing around with Illustrator the last couple of days, trying to get an idea of what our "dream" backyard would look like.  My drawings are totally amateur (and, by the way, that word amateur?  Is impossible for me to spell), but it's been a good exercise.  My next step will be to take the tape measure and spray paint and start marking out areas in the dirt, because I don't have a good grasp on dimensions.

Who knows what it will ultimately look like, but we're having fun.  :)

Sweet Little Tender Mercies

Our van has been giving us a bit of trouble since Saturday.  When you move to shift it out of park, sometimes it gets stuck.  Twisting the steering wheel doesn't unlock it, nor does lifting on the brake.  Turning it on and off only works sometimes, and sometimes pumping the brake works.  We never know what to expect.  The upshot is, we need to take it to the mechanic.

But we haven't yet, and today I was at Costco with Hebs and Yummy.  We had finished our shopping with twenty minutes to spare before Gee got out of kindergarten.  Plenty of time...so I thought.

It wasn't until I went to shift into reverse that I remember that this might be a problem.  The gear shift wouldn't work.  I tried everything that we had tried this weekend, but with no success.  The minutes ticked by.  Trying everything again, I called Bradley at work for advice.  He had none beyond what I was already doing. 

It was now twelve minutes until kindergarten got out.  Mema is at my sister's today, helping her, so I couldn't call and ask Grandma to pick up Gee.  I'm finally getting to know people in the ward, though, and thankfully I knew of at least one mom who could pick up Gee with her son.  Before I gave her a call, though, I decided to try one last thing (although it probably should have been my first effort):  Pray.

I told Hebs (who was confused as to why I wasn't going anywhere) that we were going to pray to Heavenly Father to help us.  He asked, "What good will that do?"

Oy.  Clearly there are some theological gaps in his current understanding.

I explained that we should always ask God for help.  Sometimes He will answer our prayers the way we want, sometimes not, but we should always ask.  I then asked if Hebs would pray with me.  He agree to close his eyes, but didn't want to fold his arms.  Fair enough.

As soon as my short prayer was over, I tried to move the gear shift.  It immediately moved smoothly into reverse.

On the way home--and we weren't late picking Gee up--Hebs and I had a nice conversation about how the Lord loves to bless us.  It's hard to know how much a four-year-old can understand, but I'm grateful to the Lord for getting us moving again, and teaching my Hebs a good little lesson in the process.

Final Grade

When we moved into the house, we were given a certificate of temporary occupancy, because certain things that have to be done couldn't be done in the severe cold snap we had the entire month of January.  The sidewalks couldn't be inspected (eight inches of ice and packed snow), the roof couldn't be surveyed (ditto), and the ground couldn't have the last bit of leveling (also known as final grade) done.  Because it was frozen solid.

We were given until mid-Spring to get these things done.  Actually, the only thing we needed to get done was the final grade.  Oh, and schedule a time for a city inspector to come out to look things over.  And finally--finally!--the grading company was able to come out and do the work.

It's amazing what a difference it makes.  I neglected to take a before picture, but the whole yard looked something like the front of the house still does.  (Only less steep.  But with just as many weeds.)

We didn't have to grade this part for the inspection, so since we haven't decided whether to terrace or not, we just left it alone.

Pathway for our someday drive to the detached garage/workshop.

The gently sloping backyard.

I have BIG plans for this area.  Can't wait to sketch them out and start work!

 Princess Yum-ma approves of the work.

Yummy, asleep

My two-year-old Yummy has eschewed formal naps for the last nine months.  If I tried to put her down for a nap in the afternoon, she would a) scream like a banshee until she threw up, or b) scream like a banshee until she fell asleep, and then wake up like a little demon and stay up until 10:30 pm.  After several months of this,  I gave up.

This doesn't mean she doesn't take naps.  They are just naps on her own terms, and they happen about twice/three times a week.  For example, if we get into the car for any length of time in the afternoon, she's asleep.  Sometimes she'll curl up on my bed and take a brief nap.  But more often, I will find her in odd places, sleeping, around five in the evening.  (Last night she fell asleep on the bottom shelf of the coffee table.  Didn't get a picture, sadly.)

(Of course, ninety percent of the time she still wakes up a little demon.  I'm told I was the same until...well, adulthood.  What can I say? She comes by it naturally.)

Here she is, asleep in the rolling chair, last October.

This was sometime last summer.  The book, in case you were wondering, is "Victims", by Richard E. Turley. It's about the Mark Hofmann forgeries.  Light reading.

And this is from the other day.  My favorite touch, besides the pretty pretty princess dress?  The remote control in her hand.