Milo spent a good 30 minutes this morning vigorously washing the inside of our windows that were dripping with condensation. Good little helper! Unfortunately, the dirt really only got smeared around, but if I armed him with a window spray and paper towels I bet we’d actually make significant progress. The slightly encouraging bit about this chilly damp morning was that the windows I sealed with a cheap kit sent from the U.S. (basically double sided tape and thin plastic) weren’t wet.

It rained Saturday. It rained Sunday. It rained Monday, today, and it’s predicted to rain the next two days following. Saturday Milo and Jeremiah went gutter-splashing for a little while to expend some energy. It’s no use trying to line-dry laundry with rain and 100% humidity, so with the stinky (literally!) laundry mounting I finally cranked up the fitful little drier we bought off Trademe. You don’t appreciate what you have until you loose it–and that includes static-dry winter air and a fully functional drier that can both heat and blow air simultaneously. When we first moved here and saw the common-place towel heaters in the bathrooms I thought it was a strange foo-foo weakness for folks who don’t even use central heating, but I’ve since come to realize that in chilly damp winter houses, towels never dry. The heated towel bars are actually a necessity to prevent moldy towels.

One of Jeremiah’s hunting buddies invited us down to spend a weekend at his aunt and uncle’s house 2 hours south of Christchurch, in Temuka. The guys planned to hunt some ducks and butcher a couple sheep while they we were down there, and I was pleased at the prospect of a hunting weekend for Jeremiah that didn’t involve me and Milo being left behind in Christchurch. On the way we made a stop at a hunting and fishing store in Ashburton, conveniently located next to a coffee shop. Milo chugged his chai tea and begged for more. At some point he’ll have to learn that expensive cafe drinks don’t grow on trees (so to speak).

Kevin, our friend Damien’s uncle, walked out into his farm-yard and picked up a rock. “We don’t have many of these around here, so when I see one in a field I save it–they come in handy.” I chuckled. A lack of rocks is a foreign concept to southern tier NY farmers who sometimes have more rocks than soil! Milo sure enjoyed rattling these little stones down the corrugated iron slope.

Here’s Damien’s aunt Shona and Anna walking with Milo to bag up some potatoes.                            When we arrived we approached Shona’s house through a carefully manicured garden and entered through beautifully-etched glass patio doors, but as soon as she opened her mouth I relaxed. Our spunky two-year-old was even more welcome in their lovely home than we were, and the first thing Shona did (even before she put the kettle on!) was to pull out the stash of kids’ toys and make Milo welcome. Walking in the muddy farm yard? “No worries, Milo can use the John Deere gum-boots to stamp in the puddles.” Had a potty accident? “No worries there either, it happens! Milo can take a bath and when we wash out his clothes, they’ll dry in front of the fire in no time.”  Shona was lovely and obviously enjoys children.  I never felt like I had to apologize for any of Milo’s antics, so my weekend was relaxing too!

Pull Milo! The hose was set up for rinsing ducks, but Milo enjoyed rearranging it a bit.

The farm grows potatoes (for chips) and carrots (for juicing), as well as raising sheep. Their tractors are all John Deere green, and Milo is just starting beginning the tractor-fascination phase of his life. He got to clamber up into this one with Kevin.

Look at the little guy, pleased as punch with his John Deere gum boots in the bargain!

Milo recognized Jeremiah coming down the lane with Damien, and he ran to him gleefully shouting “Daddy!” How gratifying!

Milo is definitely not squeamish. He’s just as pleased with a dead duck as a living one!  I’m sure I wasn’t like that as a kid, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing.  He patted the sheep before then got butchered, then quite cheerfully commented “meat!” to the hanging carcasses and “mess!” to the blood on the floor.  It’s beyond me how we as humans can be so tender and caring one moment (like Milo putting his teddy bear to sleep), and blatantly callous regarding animal’s lives the next.  I’ve certainly seen myself get less and less sympathetic to the animals with each one that goes into our freezer. 

Kevin says last weekend they shot about 100 ducks by the creek, but this weekend the guys just got three. They said the gorgeous sunny clear weather is actually not good for duck hunting (they go out to the ocean where they’re safe rather than hunkering down to shelter from wind and rain in the creek bed), but I’ll not complain about a sunny warm day! Besides, after seeing the process it takes to pluck a duck by hand, I can’t imagine processing 100.

Shona encouraged Milo to stomp through the puddles, and I realized that I’m probably a bit too concerned with him getting wet and muddy than I should be. Not that I think that it’s bad for him, but it does make more work for Mama….. Still, I have fond memories of puddle stomping at our White Street house when we were little, and I would want Milo to have the same enjoyment.

Guess what this green weed is blanketing acres of this paddock? Spinach. High quality hybrid spinach, to boot. The other crop Kevin and his son Simon grow are specialty vegetable seeds. New Zealand’s southern hemisphere location and Canterbury’s dry climate makes it ideal for producing Asian vegetable seeds for the following season in Japan (such as Bok Choi), spinach, and other veggie and grass seeds.  Apparently the harvester lost a lot of spinach seed and the whole field is now a carpet of perfect high-quality baby spinach. Kevin and Shona eat the stereotypical farmer diet–meat and potatoes–and Kevin is going to turn the sheep into the spinach.  I snagged a big bag first, but couldn’t convince them to try a baby spinach salad for supper. 

Being a teddy-parent takes a lot of effort….at least that’s how it sounded from the grunts and sighs emanating from Milo’s room last night. He decided that his baby bear needed to go to bed, so he arranged the turtle pillow, proffered the chewie (pacifier), and smoothed the blankets over the resting bear. Once he had everything sorted (as they say here in NZ), he turned out the light and closed the door, “shushing” us so the teddy would have the quiet he needed to drift off peacefully. Curious, I asked him if crocodiles eat bears…. this time he said “No!” He was unwilling to feed this baby to the crocodile. That’s a step forward, I’d say!

This past Saturday Jeremiah planned a bike ride from our house (sea level) up to Gebbies Pass, along Summit Road and down Dyers Pass. I don’t know how many feet of elevation it is, but the route went along the top of the port hills up to 480 meters with panoramic views. I actually got off my bike and walked a section near the top, but Jeremiah resolutely pedaled on all the way to the summit, towing Milo behind him. Phew! Then he blasted down Dyers pass at over 45 kilometers per hour, Milo snoozing the whole way. Now Jeremiah is sitting on the couch watching you-tube videos about extreme biking and epic bike trips, plotting our next adventure.

Mondays after work Milo and I have a standing play-date with Canadian friends Jen and her son Tristan. Last week we met at Hagley park to crunch the fall leaves that are thick under the big deciduous trees in the arboretum. On the way back we walked through the NZ garden, and I don’t know what this plant is dwarfing the boys, but it sure is impressive!

For some reason, Milo and Tristan can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. Milo will randomly (and silently) run up, bear hug and tackle Tristan. Tristan then responds with a predictable (and must be highly pleasing) high pitched “No Milo!” and the Moms break it up. Then Milo might run past Tristan, who sticks out a hand, swiping Milo. Milo will retaliate with a shove, eliciting another “No Milo” and shove in return. And on and on it goes. I wonder what would happen if the Moms didn’t interfere. I imagine there would be some tears, some bruises, and eventually a pecking order would develop that needed few challenges to maintain. Amazingly, they both still like each other. Here each boy has a niche in this giant “gum tree,” a species of Eucalyptus, far enough away from each other to avoid the inevitable squabbles.

This past weekend we got together with Tristan’s parents for a walk at a park, starting with an adventure playground. The flying fox was a hit!

A door in the woods. There’s no fence it passes through, just a lintel and a door, red on one side and bright purple on the other. It’s actually really interesting to watch our group pass this part of the trail. We hiked with two extra kids, ages 8 and 6, and all the kids (including Milo and Tristan) instinctively passed through the door, closing it behind them. The adults walked around. Something about the vivid colors and absurdity of a door to nowhere appealed to the kids’ imagination, but as adults I guess our minds are elsewhere. Shame.

The dads passed through the door on request, to pose for a picture.  Milo’s out cold.

Milo is posing with the Summerfield girls (a lovely British family in our neighborhood) and Tortoise.  They’re all sporting their actor-signed programs! 

This evening Milo put his giraffe on the potty to go pee, wrapped it in a blanket and put it to bed in his room, closing the door so it was nice and dark and urging us with finger to lip to be quiet–his baby was sleeping. My heart thumped with maternal pride as I imagined what a tender and caring big brother he’ll be some day. Later Daddy played the crocodile and came looking for the giraffe to eat, and Milo and I hid him somewhere safe to save him from the crocodile. Then Jeremiah told Milo that crocodiles eat baby giraffes, and Milo carefully brought out his baby and laid it in front of the hungry crocodile, without a hint of regret or sorrow.  Ach!  Hum, I guess that next child had better beware after all.

You know you’re walking in tree-less terrain when your son starts using cow plops as landmarks! Poop is something we talk about a lot right now, mainly because we’d really like Milo to put his own in the potty rather than in his undies. Animal poop seems to be a particular interest of Milo’s, and on our walk today we encouraged him onward by pointing out several sizable specimens. Milo and I went walking with our friend Jennifer (Jeremiah is out hunting this weekend) on a path along Pigeon Bay, out on the Banks Peninsula towards Akaroa. It’s all steep pasture for cattle and sheep now, though at one time it was woods.

There’s something about a wrinkled towel that Milo finds irresistible. He spent a good 20 minutes this evening going round and round the thing, tugging out the corners, smoothing out the sides, trying to get it to lay perfecting flat, while panting and huffing with the effort. He worked on it for quite a while upside-down before he decided to flip it over. And he didn’t want any help–when we asked he just said “Me!” and gestured with a waving hand for us to keep away. Hopefully this bodes well for tidy bed-making in the future….