Thanksgiving

It’s a little early, but my mind is on Thanksgiving.

Specifically, the baskets our church will put together and deliver.

I’m making the rough draft of the shopping list tonight.

And I keep getting stuck.

I want to help people, I just don’t know if a cardboard box full of potatoes is enough.

So many people are struggling. I want to help them shoulder their burden. But their burden is being shouldered for me.

The government has so many programs to help. How is the box I pack going to make a significant difference in their life?

I’m afraid it won’t.

People need more than food.

They need us to care. They need us to love.

God has blessed us richly in the ways that matter. His love… The love of His people…

So how do we put that in a Thanksgiving Basket?

I want it to be more than just food for their bellies.

So, I added this list to the bottom of our Thanksgiving Basket shopping list.

Love
~A pretty tablecloth… A nice candle or two… A pumpkin…
A football… A few fun things for the kids… A great magazine…
A pretty serving bowl… A favorite cookbook…
Homemade bread… A jar of preserves…
Copies of your favorite recipes with you favorite
Bible verse and loving words printed on the back…
Fresh fall flowers…

 

Still, it just doesn’t seem enough.

Is there a worthy sacrifice I can make? How can I make them feel God’s LOVE?

Any suggestions? I sure could use your help.

A Good Day…

Some days are just… Good.

My boy read “If You Give A Moose A Muffin,” giggling all the way.

My laundry got done… well, except for that load I meant to hang out. Guess that’ll go on the line in the morning.

My baby boy fell asleep in my arms. I kissed his little nose. A lot.

The sun was shining and my kiddos were playing in the yard. Meanwhile, a certain, very much used and slightly mistreated porch swing got that stain that I’ve been promising it for so long.

Then, after popping some baked beans into the oven to bake, we headed outside yet again. My kiddos played on the giant dirt pile left from the work we had done in our barn. I built a nice little fire in the fire pit.

My honey brought home chocolate bars and a bottle of Oliver Black Cherry.

Then, there were hotdogs. And there were marshmallows with chocolate and graham cracker s’more goodness.

And there were sparklers.

And it was good... A very good day…

Early Fall Bouquet

 

 

  Summer ends

  and Fall begins…

  And the wildflower bouquet

  gracing my kitchen table…

  Bright, vivid yellows

  deep, rich purples…

  And the beauty

  of grasses gone to seed…

  In a canning jar

  Fall’s beauty boasts…

     ~  ~  ~

September

I’m back from my “fishing trip.”

Well, maybe…

I’d like to say it’s been a nice break. In truth, September has not been my favorite month of the year. Some days, it’s hard being a grown-up.

It’s hard to look past the aggravation of the mildew in the basement. I’ve been fighting it for quite a while, wondering why all my cleaning seems to be futile. Finally, I admitted defeat. We started ripping out the carpet. We found a pristine and dry floor underneath. Confusion. And then, we moved the set of cabinets that serve as my homeschool and craft storage. Eww… The mildew epicenter. Underneath the cabinet and where the cabinet touches the wall was full of mildew disgust. Needless to say, cabinets have gone to the barn to either rot or be cleaned and painted with some Kilz. Carpet is gone. Much bleach has been used. Again, and again… I can now go into my own basement without getting a terrible headache. I’m liking it.

We’re also fighting another battle. A traffic one. My poor honey. He’s been getting up early to beat the rush getting to work. We are not, and I repeat, NOT morning people. Far from it. However, leaving the house at five means a one hour commute to make the normally 45 minute trip. Leaving any later means a commute that can take two and a half hours, each way. I don’t know when this insanity will end and our roads will be open again. In the meantime, I’m finding that five o’clock does happen twice a day.

And Mr. Sam… He had another fall. Another trip to the emergency room. And I have more silver in my hair. This kid’s gonna have to get a helmet. He’s fine and healing nicely. A little trivia for you… That connecting thingy that goes between your top lip and your gums will reattach on it’s own when certain accident prone children manage to tear it… But it looks horribly scary.

I feel bogged down by all this. I’ve been eating lots of chocolate. It’s a good thing I take lots of pictures. Looking back at the September photos, I can see beyond the overwhelming stuff. Despite the crud we’ve been through, we’ve managed a lot of joy…

A certain little boy lost his first tooth. A momentous occasion which brought great joy. He had been racing with his big sister to lose his tooth before she lost her loose tooth. But in a moment of frustration, she pulled her very loose tooth and got the thing over with. He was crushed. Totally crushed. It’s not fair to pull the tooth… So I told him that it wasn’t too late to call it a tie. He tried his best to pull that wiggly tooth, but it hurt. So he asked his big sis to do the job. And, she did. Without remorse on either side. Just joy and a bit of blood. Ah, siblings.

 

And speaking of big sis… She’s found a confidence and joy that shows in this picture. She’s become a little lady all of a sudden and she’s growing up too fast for her momma. Can’t stop time, but September will be the month I mark when my eldest went from being a little girl to being “half-grown.”

 

And then there’s this cute little ball of fluff.
Ginger is adorable and the kids can hardly wait to bring her home in October.

Ah, October…. Please be nice to us.

 

And thanks y’all….
for the break…
for the encouragement…
and for stopping by. I missed ya’.

One O’clock in the Morning…

And here I am… Finally sitting down with a glass of strawberry wine finding the words to share with my friends. Five quarts of green beans have been picked, blanched, cooled and frozen. One 4-H project has been completed under the watchful eyes of momma. Five loads of laundry washed, hung to dry, and brought in to be folded and put away. Popcorn is still on the family room floor.

It’s been a busy week, filled with green beans, pickle making, and getting my oldest off to camp and then back, trying to keep up with the never-ending laundry. I’d like to find time to make some of those old-fashioned crystal pickles mom used to make, but I must admit that I’m a bit glad to see the cucumbers slowing down a bit. The corn is coming on fast, with silks that are already turning brown. I expect to be in the kitchen, freezing up a bunch by the weekend.

It seems that the list never ends. And I’ve been craving a bit of quiet, a keyboard under my fingers. It feels naughty, sitting here when I should be in bed sleeping. But here I am. Making the words. Letting them pour out, really.

And I feel bad that my Sunday wasn’t a day of rest. None of my days are, really.

But somewhere in the midst of things that must be done, we snuck in a trip to the beach at a local lake. We spent a bit of time at the playground. We had a family picnic at the lake. I did a bit of yard-sale shopping. We ate ice cream for supper. And honey and I went out, just us, to buy diesel fuel and grab a few sliders at the White Castle.

Our days are full of work, but we weave in fun and memories where we can.

Somehow, it’s enough. It’s rich. It’s lovely. It’s good.

Missed you all this busy week. Hope your week was wonderfully busy, filled with accomplishments and folks you love. :) Hope the upcoming week brings many memories, too. I may be a bit scarce for awhile, but that sweet corn will sure taste good in December.

Thanks for stopping by.

Fatima

Seven Sisters

My kids love riding over the Seven Sister hills. You know the ones… out on Beck’s Mill Road. Those hills “get your tummy” every time, kind of like a tame roller-coaster ride.

I remember the thrill of those hills from my childhood, too. Only, I wasn’t strapped into a child’s car-seat. I wasn’t strapped in at all. I remember standing up in the back of grandma’s LTD and feeling that amazing sensation while trying not to bump my head on the ceiling. It was a different time.

My seven year old finds it hard to believe that we didn’t have car-seats back then. When I tell her that we didn’t even wear seatbelts, she looks at me as if I just told her that dinosaurs were still roaming the earth back when I was a girl. I’m not completely ancient. Really, I’m not.

Those “good old days” were fun, but I sure am glad we use car-seats and seat belts these days. I witnessed an accident years ago, in which a big van and a car collided. The van was full of children, one was a baby, and not one of them was wearing a seatbelt. Thankfully, the injuries were limited to broken bones, bumps, and bruises. Had they been wearing seatbelts, those kids might have walked away from that accident rather than getting their first ambulance ride. Wearing seatbelts does matter. These days, I wouldn’t consider letting my kids ride without a seatbelt.

I want to keep my kids safe. I think all parents do. We start preparing before they are even born. We put plugs in all our outlets, research the safety of cribs, and we move all of our dangerous chemicals out of reach. Some parents even buy foam bumpers to cushion their coffee table. These are good things, but sometimes I wonder if we go too far in our pursuit of safety.

Mom and I were sitting on the porch swing watching the kids play the other day. The kids were playing nice, but some of their “dare-devil” antics were worrying me. I suppose I told them to be careful a bit too much, because my mom told me to quit fussing at them. Now, I’ll admit that I’ve been a bit on edge lately. My baby boy has made not one, but three emergency room trips this year. The boy is accident prone. All the stitches and hospital bills have gotten to me.

The more I think about that day, the more I wonder if there isn’t a happy medium between the super-safety-parenting of today and the rather laid-back-parenting of days gone by. I want to keep my kids safe. I’d do just about anything to keep them from experiencing pain. Safety is good, but it comes with a price.

In keeping them safe, will I steal the joy of learning to ride a bicycle? I cringe every time my boy slams on his brakes leaving a 20 feet long skid mark, but I do remember the joy that comes from riding fast. Should I keep my children out of the woods so they don’t get poison ivy? I could, but then they wouldn’t know the fun of building lean-to houses and hiking. Playing in the creek can be dangerous, too. But if I don’t let them play there, how will they know what the clear, cold water feels like on their feet? How will they find crawdads and watch turtles sunning themselves? I would hate to let the dangers steal the joys of these good, childhood experiences.

I guess the hardest part of parenting is knowing that I have to let them go. I’d like to keep them safe in a secure little world. I’d like to shelter them from every storm, work out every frustration, and give them all that they need. I can’t do that, no matter how hard I try.

I guess we just have to balance safety with letting our kids live their life. Little by little, we give them more freedom. When they are big enough, we take the gates down and let them walk up and down the stairs. We let them swing on the big swings at the playground. We stand back and let them work out some of their own problems. Eventually, we let them go out and play in the yard all by themselves. We get brave enough to let the make a few mistakes. Someday, we’ll even have to let them take the keys and climb behind the wheel.

There is a heated debate raging right now between the “helicopter” or hovering parents and the “free-range” parents. One side advocates close adult supervision and super-safe environments. The other side is pushing back, advocating free, unsupervised play. I find myself somewhere in the middle. I want to keep my kids safe, but I don’t want our generation to be the last to experience the freedom and joy of running through the woods without adults to interfere in our play.

It’s so hard, letting go.  I don’t suppose I’ll ever feel comfortable watching my girl swing upside down from the trapeze bar on the swing set or seeing my boy pop-a-wheelie on his bike. Guess I’ll just keep hovering in the middle, teaching the kids to be safe and giving them the freedom to play and learn. Driving over the Seven Sister hills is just as much fun while wearing seatbelts, after all.

Four is Enough?

If you had asked me years ago about my family plans, I would have said I hoped for two and just maybe three children. I never dreamed of or desired a large family.

And then, Mary was born. It was one of those horror story/happy ending labor stories that should only be shared with those who enjoy such things and never with anyone expecting their first child. After all that, I wasn’t sure I wanted more children.

When I found that our second was on the way, my joy was somewhat overshadowed by fear. I went doctor hunting with a list of questions just like I was interviewing a job candidate. I was thorough... I was tough as nails… And I cried when I met Dr. Dunn. She was an amazing Ob/Gyn. I knew that with her on my side, I would somehow make it through the ordeal ahead.

A few weeks before due date, my amazing doc was thrown from a horse and shattered her wrist. Her office staff called me that day. I was paralyzed with fear. As soon as she was out of surgery, Dr Dunn called me to reassure me that a back-up doc was already found and that I could meet him before birth.

And then, Danny came early, unexpectedly, and with complications. They had to take him fast and by C-section. I met the new doc in head spinning fashion a few minutes before they wheeled me into the operating room. He did a beautiful job delivering my little one with the assistance of my bandaged up Dr. Dunn. She scrubbed in. Less than one week after a terrible fall, she scrubbed in. Just for me. Because she cared. It restored my hope that doctors care about patients.

When we found number three was on the way, I went back to the doctor’s office like I was going to see old friends. When Dr. Dunn said that I should plan on this third c-section being my last, I was okay with it. A family of five. I worked for me. I signed the papers. It’s was a done deal.

And then, after Sarah had cried for the first time and I had kissed her sweet little head, Dr. Dunn told us the good news that things looked good enough for a fourth c-section. We opted to leave everything in working order and make the decision later.

A few shopping trips, a few family functions, and a few birthday parties later… I was sure I was done. Plenty outnumbered and certainly done. I pushed Eric to make the decision permanent.

I bought that last pregnancy test, full of shock and disbelief, wondering how I could possibly keep up with four little ones ages five and under, I dreaded telling anyone what I already knew. I cried. I really did. How on earth could I handle four little ones spaced so closely. What were people going to say? How many corny jokes would I have to put up with? How would I answer those who asked, “How in the world are you going to keep up?"

I was terrified. I felt inadequate. I felt strange to be a mother of so many. I felt conspicuous and odd.

So I kept it all a secret for awhile. Even when a good friend asked if we planned more children, I lied outright and told her that we certainly didn’t plan any more children. I laughed and cried a bit inside as I said that.

Somehow, as pregnancy settled in, I came to peace with my new, improved, ever-enlarging family. And it was okay. We finally told our family and friends. Though there were good natured jokes, it wasn’t nearly as terrible as I feared.

But we still had only three little ones to chase.

All my children had somehow been spaced an even 22 months apart. Baby number four had the kindness to follow the pattern in some crazy act of divine wisdom or coincidence… I’ll never know which.

But what that means in practical terms is that every time I had a two year old (ahem…. terrible two), I also had a newborn to care for. That’s a hard thing. I was so frightened that I wouldn’t be able to do it with four little ones. I was terrified.

I was so afraid to be a mom of many. I didn’t know what it would look like, or feel like, or be like.

But, I found that I could do the job just fine. The job description had just changed to better suit my family’s needs.

I could never do what a mother of one or two can do. I can never be a mom of three. I am a mom of many. Slowly but surely, I found that being this kind of mom means I can’t be the kind of mom some of my friends are. I can’t do all the things for my kids that a mother of two can. I can’t take them to the same kinds of places, because there is a baby to take into account. I can’t spend as much time with just one child. I can’t buy them as many things. I can’t always read their favorite book before bed. I must admit I have felt some guilt over such things.

Slowly and surely, I have seen that success being a mom of many just looks different.

Instead of mother/daughter nights, we have girls’ nights. Instead of having lots of great toys (though they have more than plenty), they have each other to play with. Instead of going to Chicago to see the city, we go camping down the road at a state park. Instead of signing the kids up for individual lessons somewhere, we find things to do together as a family. Instead of always getting our own way, we bend to the needs/desires of the others in our family. Instead of being everything to my little ones, we are everything to each other all at the same time. And my heart grew four sizes times infinity…

And the farther down the road I get in my full of car-seats vehicle, the more that I see the wonder of the gift of being a mom of many. And I thank God for planning to give me my sweet little Sam, just at the perfect time.

And sometimes (even though my body is done having babies), I wonder what it would be like if there were more little ones to love. And I wonder how I could have ever missed the amazing life God planned for me.

Loving life with a full house.
Thankful that God knew better.
I’m happy to be a momma of many.

Let ‘em Struggle

If my children don’t choose to go to college, that’s okay with me. If they aren’t sports stars, great ballerinas, or fantastic gymnasts, that’s fine too. Though I’d love to see my kids enjoy great success in life, there are other things I see as more important. I have bigger goals for them than being successful.

I want them to be good people. I want them to look at others with compassion and love, understanding and kindness. I want them to take care of their families and friends. I want them to love God.

I also want them to be able to do things. As they enter adulthood, I want them to go out into the world with great knowledge of the everyday stuff needed to live life.

We have some pretty lofty goals for raising our children. Besides the obvious goal for our children to be “good people,” I also want them to be capable.

By age 12, I hope our children will have a basic knowledge of cooking, cleaning, balancing a budget, filling out forms, home and car repair, and first aid (among others). By age 16, they should be fully prepared to be self sufficient. The years between 16 and whenever they leave our home will be years to practice caring for their own needs with us here for support and advice.

And all of this training starts now.

It’s telling the two year old, “You must try to put on your own shoe. Do your best.”

It’s watching a four year old struggle to pour her own milk, knowing a mess is likely in the process of learning.

It’s being the “mean momma” when the six year old wants to give up on finishing a job, reminding him to tough it out because the animals or the family is depending on his good work.

It’s letting the eight year old do something big, cooking a meal for the family. It’s standing aside as she struggles. Letting her make a few mistakes. Giving her time to figure it out, and offering advice only when there might be danger or she asks for it.

I have learned to step back from the initial impulse to jump in with help for them. I know that letting them struggle to do something on their own will help them more in the long run.

It’s hard to stand back when you could help. It’s tempting to do things for the kids to avoid messes. It’s not much fun being the bad guy who makes sure the job is complete. It’s not easy letting go of the reins.

But, it is very important.

And so, I let them struggle sometimes. In the struggle, they often find that they can, indeed, do the things that were so difficult. They gain skill, knowledge, and self-confidence.

Though I don’t want them to grow up and leave, I know they will. I don’t want that time to be a struggle, full of mistakes and hard-knocks. So, I let them struggle now in a world where there are hugs and folks who can catch them if they fall.

There’s a lot of love in letting them struggle….

Back in the Swing…

We’re settling back in to life here at home after our short vacation.

Kids have slept late, napped, and finally are finding their old routines.

It was so nice to be away, enjoying family,
swimming, spending time just being together.

And somehow… This is nice, too.

It’s nice hanging the clothes on the line to dry.

It’s rewarding to weed the beans and corn
as the sun slips quietly behind the trees.

It feels good to clean the bathroom.

The kitchen is happy to be re-stocked with good food,
serving my family.

Our hens, the cow and our cat are all happy
to see my little ones playing in the yard.

It’s good to be home. So very good….

Road Trip, 2011

Did you miss us? I must admit, I missed my computer. I’m looking forward to spending a bit of time with a cup of coffee reading my favorite blogs, too!

We spent a long weekend on the road, traveling to Des Moines, Iowa, for my sweet cousin’s beautiful wedding.

Everything went perfectly. At the wedding.

Our trip, well…..  Not so much. ;)

We were scheduled to leave on Thursday. On Wednesday, I got a bad case of cold feet after my washing machine locked up and quit working, leaving me to hand wash two loads of laundry that day. I cried. Then, I went to my husband and asked to cancel the trip while I cried some more. Let’s be honest, here. I was feeling so inadequate that a trip with four littles across hundreds of miles seemed impossible. Crazy. Insane.

My husband talked logic to me. It didn’t work. Finally, he gave up and hugged me. Amazing how that works. I was all better and ready to conquer the world (or at least go shopping for that swimsuit I had been avoiding).

With the swimsuit purchased after trying on many, many suits in more stores than I care to count, I made it home Wednesday night around 10:30 with the supplies for the trip.

I’d like to say that everything was packed and ready to go on Thursday morning, but remember my little washing machine incident?! Thursday morning left me packing for myself and the kids. I rocked. I really did. We had everyone organized and ready to go, breakfast served and cleaned up, car loaded, and hit the road by 11:00 a.m. as was our goal. I was so very proud.

 

We stopped at a state park for a break mid-afternoon. A picnic lunch/dinner and a hike really made a great break from travel.

The kids were happily loaded back in the car, and we were on our way. Some fun travel packs a friend (she’s pretty special) prepared for the kids made the rest of the ride easier. We were cruising along, having a pretty good time.

We were amazed at this wind farm. It was amazing to see the huge windmills that filled the landscape for as far as we could see!

It was somewhere around this part of the trip, when we had been on the road for 6 hours or so, when Eric innocently asked me if I had remembered to load the garment bag with his suit and my dress for the wedding. And the tears came again! I forgot the bag. Truly. We had everything we needed to go to the wedding except clothes. I honestly felt like the biggest failure in the world. Of all things to forget! Why couldn’t it have been something easy to replace like toothbrushes?!

Too late to go back, we pressed on toward Des Moines and arrived in the middle of the night. Kids tucked into a hotel bed, I was so relieved to have made it safely with the only tears of the trip being my own!

Friday, we recovered from the trip. My brother and sis-in-love took their girls to an amusement park. We opted out, in favor of the hotel water-park and shopping for some clothes for the wedding. ;P Breakfast from McDonalds, and a trip to the pool wore the kids out enough that they all napped at the same time!  I took off for the nearest mall, leaving Eric with the sleeping beauties. I shopped desperately for a dress suitable for a wedding. And found nothing. Nothing. What few dresses I found were either cut so low my belly button would’ve showed or looked like something someone’s grandmother should have worn! Again, many tears and a helpful lady suggested a trip to a nearby mall where there were some better stores.

I called Eric, who quite frankly thought I had lost my mind.

Still, he loaded up the kids and drove us to that mall, where we found not one, but two dresses for me and pants, a shirt, and a tie for him in less than an hour! I know in the grand scheme, the clothes and the worries were pretty small potatoes. I know that, at least in my head. But in my travel wearied state, they sure didn’t seem like a little thing. They felt like a great big failure.

We clean up pretty nice…. :) Love this dress!
Makes me almost glad I forgot the clothes… But don’t tell my honey. ;)

Dinner with my Dad and Step-mom, my brother, sis-in-love, and nieces made for a very special evening for my family. We followed that up with a trip together to the water park. It was lovely. Simple, beautiful, and lovely.

The wedding was beautiful, as was the bride. I love a good wedding, and this one had me crying before all the friends and family were even seated! Kate included a poem written by our grandmother in the wedding program. It was such a beautiful tribute to a lady we both adored so much. I cried when her dad walked her down the aisle, and again when I realized that the song playing during the lighting of the candles was performed and pre-recorded by the couple! It was truly one of the most elegant and beautiful weddings I have been a part of.

Daniel was not so taken by the wedding. He looked at me with silent tears streaming down his face and then whispered to me… “Mom, it’s just sooooo boooorriinnnnngggggg! Can we pleeeeaaaaassssse go home now?” Between some giggles, I whispered back, “No! We drove ten hours to this wedding and it’s very important to me to be here. You’re gonna have to deal with it and sit here quietly. Just watch for the kiss. That means it’s almost over.” And he did. You never did see such relief at a kiss in any little boy’s face!

The reception was a delight to all of us!

Mary and her cousin did some serious visiting. Wish I knew what they were saying…

Sarah watched and admired every move made by the bride, and has been playing dress-up bride ever since!

Sam was happy to eat and visit with the other little ones.

And Daniel… who hated the wedding so much it made him cry….
Well, he ruled the dance floor with his cousin! We all stood by and watched as they spun round, danced, and dipped for almost an hour. They were amazing! Truly. This boy of mine will make a catch for some girl some day… If she can get him to make it through the boring wedding. ;)

We enjoyed more time with family on Sunday, and then began the journey home on Monday, stopping along the way for an amazing meal and visit with some good friends. They took us for a walk on a retired section of Route 66. It was a beautiful, and lovely end to our trip.

So now we are home, catching up on laundry (the washer is miraculously working… for now). My garden has grown, my house is a mess, and my kids slept late this morning. Life is good.

So here, for those who care to read them, are my tips for travel with littles.

1. Stop along the way for active play. A lot.
2. Pack healthy, whole-grain snacks and juices for a break from the fast food.
3. Silly games really help make the car ride more tolerable. Bring along some ideas.
4. Be ready for the trip to take much longer than it should. Get there when you get there so that there isn’t any stress along the way, pushing you to go farther between stops than the kids can handle.
5. Be prepared for something to go wrong. It will. And it isn’t the end of the world, it just seems like it.
6. Do stay at a hotel with a pool or water park. It’s amazing the stress relief that comes from splashing in the water with your littles.
7. Make a stop at a local grocery for fruit to bring back to the hotel room. It’s such a lovely and welcome treat!
8. Plan for at least one day of recuperating when you get home. You’ll need it and so will the kids!
9. Be patient with each other. Don’t expect perfect behavior or perfect people.
10. Have fun!

I missed you all. So good to be back home!

A Dreaded Chore

The beans and corn are coming up nicely in our garden. So are the weeds. And you know what weeds do. They grow. Fast. Much faster than any good plant!

So, I went out tonight and got the tiller out of the barn. I adjusted the setting so the tiller would just loosen the top layer of soil and weeds. I followed that tiller, row by row, through our garden… Choking on exhaust.

Then I got out the good old fashioned garden hoe and went to work just like my Grandpa Tuck always did, pulling soil up around the good plants, choking off the little weed starts.

I threw countless rocks to the edge of the garden for the kids to collect later. I swatted mosquitoes. I got dirty, sweaty, tired, and sore.

Soon, the plants will be established enough to compete for their own nutrients and sunlight. Soon, they plants will grow big and tall. Because I have weeded them at this early stage in life, my plants will produce good food for my family. Soon, my garden will be worth all this hard work.

The kids getting our corn ready to cook last summer.
They are very motivated to work when it means getting to eat  fresh sweet corn!

I usually end up thinking about life’s little problems while I work. Tonight, I was thinking about the hard job of disciplining my little ones. Though my oldest is quickly becoming very dependable and trustworthy, my youngest three are still at the stage where they need my attention and my correction throughout the day. I spend a lot of my time breaking up arguments, cleaning up messes made by the youngest, and praying that they will all soon have the “sense God gave a goose.”

It’s a lot of hard, hard work. It’s frustrating. It’s often exhausting. I’m praying it will soon be well worth the effort.

Somewhere between the bean plants and the zucchini, it all came together in my mind.

This early part of raising my babies is a lot like growing my garden. My babies are tender, unable to fend for themselves. They need me to keep them safe, provide for them, and help them know the good from the bad.

These early years are my chance to give them a good start. Just like my garden, my little ones need a rich environment. They also need me to do the hard work of weeding the things that will hold them back.

In due time, they will grow. As the years pass, they will become more and more independent.

But right now… Right now is my chance to make a difference in their lives.

It’s hard work. Some days, I wonder if I’m making a difference. I wonder if I’m doing the right things. Some days, I don’t see much progress.

Then suddenly, they grow. Just like my garden does, they grow.

And finally, I begin to see the good my labor has brought. And I know that the hard work I have done has been well worth it.

So, I’ll go on doing the hard work of weeding my garden and raising my little ones while praying they will thrive and go on to produce much good.

Signed,

The Gardener/Momma

Sweet

Piles of laundry…

Sticky apple juice on the kitchen floor…

Bathrooms need cleaning, beds are unmade.

 

This morning, I didn’t see the blessings…

Lost in things undone…

Sitting here now, I see.

 

 

My baby boy falling asleep in my arms…

His little arms holding a little stuffed owl…

Long dark eyelashes touching chubby little cheeks.

 

My big kids playing back in their rooms…

Baby dolls, house, and tractors, too…

Voices quiet to benefit  little brother.

 

Sweet.

Christianity in the Real World

I once heard someone say that all sin amounts to one thing… Selfishness.

It’s true, too. Think of any sin and you will see someone putting their own needs first.

Christianity is the opposite. Selflessness. Putting others first and then putting yourself in a position to serve them.

It all sounds wonderfully beautiful, getting to be the selfless one who cares for the poor, the hungry, or the sick and minister to the lost.

But in reality, this is messy. It is uncomfortable. Giving in this way can even be dangerous.

It’s so much easier to go to church and promote programs, hoping the lost will find us.

We spent last night in the emergency room of the local children’s hospital.

***Sam decided to eat a bite of a cedar tree branch and it became stuck in his throat near his tonsils. Seems that area is very close to the carotid artery. We spent a lot of time waiting for test results from a cat scan to be sure that removal wouldn’t cause dire harm. All ended well and my little one is on a soft, bland diet for a few days and laying off eating any more trees. ;)

Big city emergency rooms are filled with people in crisis. There were babies crying and toddlers running off while their mommas were attending to a sick little one. There were worried faces. We heard the quick work of the staff when the ambulances arrived carrying some little ones who had been in a car wreck.

We weren’t being nosey. It’s just that in a place like that, you see folks who are hurting. It’s impossible not to care.

We were touched deeply by the pain of one patient’s family member who had followed an ambulance, arriving to find what was, apparently, devastating news. My heart broke for her. I think many hearts did.

The emergency room is a hard place to be.

And yet…

It was also beautiful.

There was this fellow there. We got to know him, as he checked on us regularly. He wasn’t a nurse or a doctor. He was just there to make sure our needs were cared for. He brought me coffee and some graham crackers. He kept us up to date on wait times. He shared smiles and concern. He made a difference for a lot of folks who were in difficult situations, including the heartbroken lady.

I don’t know how I knew he was a Christian, but I did. There was no mistaking from where his strength came. There was no mistaking the Love he was sharing. He was ministering in the very best way possible.

As we talked, he shared that he had been a successful business man and able to retire early and live a comfortable lifestyle. He began volunteering at the hospital and has gone on to work in the ER, touching many lives.

His job is hard. It is heartbreaking. It is messy. It is also selfless and beautiful.

He is an example of what Christianity can be in the real world, but is all too seldom.

 

 

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At Our House

At our house, there is…

A very cool frog living under my flower planter… two actually, but they wouldn’t pose together.

A basket of pretty pink flowers waiting to be delivered to someone special.

A lone purple iris blooming among the white irises in my flower bed.

 

So glad I can see past the laundry pile and the dirty dishes to find such delight in my little world today.

Hope your day has been filled with much beauty, too.

 

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The Storms of Life

We weren’t prepared for the storm that blew through back in 2008. We had a picnic basket ready and plans to eat lunch in the grove after church. The wind picked up throughout the morning, until it was hitting the building with sickening strength. We watched the little ones play as we ate our lunch in the church gym, our faces showing increased concern each time the lights flickered.

As we left the building, we found walking to our vehicles difficult. Little did we know, our 20 minute drive home was going to be a long and scary one. The wind alone made for slow and careful driving, but the numerous downed trees made for one detour after another. My cell-phone battery was nearly dead and our van had only 1/4 of a tank of gas. I spent the trip praying that our van wouldn’t be hit by a falling tree and that each back country road we were driving wouldn’t be blocked like the last.

For over an hour, we were rocked by 50 mph sustained winds with 70 mph gusts. The storm ripped the shingles from countless roofs, took down trees, blew away two barns at my family’s farm, and left our region without power for nearly a week.

And then, things got really bad. Monday brought a severe asthma attack for my little girl. And there was no gas left in my van. And my cell phone was dead. And, oh yeah… I was pregnant and suffering morning sickness.

I loaded the kids in the van, made my way to the only gas station that had electricity and waited impatiently for my turn. With enough fuel to get to the hospital, I threw a twenty at the attendant and ran. Literally. When we made it to the hospital, I carried my one year old, and encouraged the other two littles toward the ER.

My darling girl was admitted and spent much of that week in the pediatric unit of the hospital on oxygen and breathing treatments. My handsome honey took the other littles home to survive the aftermath of the storm in a house without electricity, very much food, or drinkable water. I stayed in the hospital with my girl, watching the news of the economic disaster that was taking place at the same time. It all seemed very scary and it changed my outlook on life.

Up until that week, I really thought that life was pretty stable. I wasn’t too concerned about being prepared for the storms in life. Bad stuff wasn’t going to happen to us and if it did we could count on our neighbors and friends. When the storms hit, we found our world changed. That old tree that sheltered us was ripped from the ground. The things and services we counted on failed. We found the preparations made on sunny days could have sustained us. Too bad we hadn’t made those preparations for the storm.

Throughout history, people have had to deal with disasters and difficulties. Our comfortable and easy lifestyle has lulled us into a false sense of security. That false sense of security is what worries me now. As I read of the flooding on the Mississippi river, I am struck by the fact that the officials have to nearly beg people to leave their homes for higher ground. In much the same way, I am troubled when I think of the economic situation that face our country. I am troubled by a people who are determined to go on living a life with no regard for the future changes that are coming, just as sure as that flood water.

I don’t know what the economic future holds. I pray the future will not be as bleak as some like to predict. I do not believe the future will hold the prosperity to which we have grown accustomed. I pray we will find will find ourselves somewhere in the middle. I can’t predict how big or widespread this economic storm we face will be. We’ve seen damage already and I don’t think it’s over yet. I have no doubt our economic circumstances are changing. A trip to the gas station or the grocery ought to be enough evidence that our financial situation has changed, no matter what the officials say.

So I’m left wondering. With economic changes as evident to us as is the rising water of the Mississippi, will we stubbornly hang on to an unsustainable way of life that will end in crisis or will we make the changes that are needed? Will we do our best to prepare and protect our family from the “storm” or will we wait and depend on the government to send a rescue for us? 

I’m not advocating stowing away a year’s supply of rice, though I do keep enough food/supplies on hand to keep my family for a few months. I’m not advocating quitting your job to homestead your way to self-sufficiency, but that does sound kind of nice to me. ;) It would be a great thing for all of us to be prepared for life’s storms, though. I pray we never need our emergency kits and bottled water. I also pray that we never need to eat our way though all that stored food. All the same, I’m glad those things are there. And frankly, I hope my neighbors have those things so we can lean on them if our house blows away in a tornado.

We can make a difference in preparing for this economic storm by supporting our local economy and community. Shop at local stores. Buy food that is locally produced. Purchase things that are made to last. Get to know your neighbors. Trade and share tools. You get the idea. We can make this new economic reality a lot more palatable by making wise choices about when and where we spend our money. We could all help shoulder the burden of the economic distress by supporting the local companies and farms that are so important to our lives and livelihoods.

As I’ve said before, I’m ready for a change. I want to see our country unite to overcome this challenge rather than continuing to dig our way deeper and deeper into debt. I want to take care of my family and I’ll do all I can to help support local businesses so that those folks can do the same.

What do you think? What does the future hold? What are you doing to create a sustainable life for your family? What do you think our government should do about the problems we face. What should we do as citizens? Am I crazy to worry about such things or to think that we could make a difference?

As always, I love hearing politely expressed opinions even if they are different from my own. Hope you’ll take time to share your thoughts.

Little Men

Snips and snails and puppy dog tails, that’s what little boys are made of….

Boys and girls are different, have you ever noticed? I continue to be amazed at the difference.

At our last birthday party, the little girls (outnumbering the boys 2 to 1) played together so nicely that I might have forgotten they were there. They played dress-up and fixed each other’s hair. They also pulled every My Little Pony and Little People doll out into the middle of the floor and commenced to sorting them by color, pink and purple of course. They played nice, quiet games.

The boys, on the other hand… Well, let’s just say that they were a bit rowdy. It was rainy outside and they were stuck playing in a house that was filled with 30 or more people. They used tinker toys as weapons. They ran through the hallway yelling. They threw toys at each other. They wrestled. They got hurt. Then, they wrestled some more. At least one of them decided jumping off the bunk bed would be fun.

I spent the afternoon, along with my mom, step-mom, and mother-in-law, fussing at the boys to calm down. There’s a time and place for “boys to be boys,” and it wasn’t in my people filled house. I’m so glad the next party is in June. I’m already praying for outdoor play weather and limited injuries. Perhaps I’ll re-stock my first aid kit between now and then as it is probably depleted since the December of Many Stitches. 

All this got me thinking about raising boys. Boys have it rough in our society. I bet many of them spend their days hearing the words “NO” and “Have you completely lost your mind” all too often. Little boys are stuck at home all day with their mommas and their sisters. If they are lucky, they may have a little brother to keep them company. With so many dads out of the picture or working in 9 to 5 jobs an hour away, our boys are without male influence most of their day. When they go to school, they find that many of their teachers are women, they are expected to sit in a desk for hours on end, and are discouraged from doing anything that might cause injury or damage. Our boys are lacking many of the good things they need in order to grow into good, strong men.

I want to be a good mother to my boys, but it’s so hard for me to be the influence they need. My oldest boy wanted to learn to ride a bicycle the summer he turned five. The bike we bought him was a bit too tall for him. So when I saw a smaller one at a yard-sale for $3.00, I happily paid the lady and put it in the van. I unloaded it when we got home and went inside to change the baby’s diaper, telling him that he was welcome to try it out in the front yard and I’d help him learn to ride at naptime. I had only been in the house for a few minutes when he came in to tell me that he could ride his new bike. I didn’t believe him. Yet, proof was easy to see as he coasted across the yard. It didn’t take long before he learned to pop wheelies and leave skid marks in the gravel driveway. He loves slamming on the brakes, sliding the bike sideways, and then measuring one foot in front of the other to see how long his latest triumphant skid mark is. All this boyish risk taking makes me wheeze and have heart palpitations. It’s hard being a momma to a boy.

I’m still finding my way in this frightening territory, but I have learned a few things.

• Teach boys to have compassion for others. The mushy, gushy stuff doesn’t always come easily for them. Sometimes, they need us to explain how their little friends are feeling and help them understand and feel empathy. Besides, it’ll be good practice for when they grow up and get married.
• Let boys have jobs to do around the house and brag on them when they do the job well. Boys (and girls) need jobs to do and they need to feel the the pride associated with a job well done. They also need to be needed.
• Boys need an outlet for their physical energy. Whether they participate in sports, take care of the family livestock, tote firewood, pull weeds, ride their bikes, or climb a tree, they do need to do something active every day.
• Boys need to see their father or some man in their life working. They need to be taken on as an apprentice by that person, learning to fix cars, hoe a garden, drive a tractor, or drive the family car. Boys need to learn how to be a man of worth. Best way for them to do that is to have a man of worth in their life who loves them enough to teach them and spend time with them.
• Boys need to learn how to treat other people respectfully. They need to learn to treat girls as girls, knowing that they are often stronger and bigger and need to be protective of the ladies in their life. They need to be taught to be gentle and respectful to older folks. They need to learn to be quiet and dignified when the situation calls for that type of behavior.
• Boys need to learn manners. I’m not talking about which fork is best to use, but the practice of being considerate of another’s needs and comfort.
• Boys need good books and role models. Most of what I see in the main-stream that is targeted for boys is not, in my mind, appropriate encouragement for what I want my little boy to become. There are good things out there, but they are few and far between. I want my little boys to see strong, compassionate, honorable men who do what is right, say what they mean, and are tough as nails.

I’m still finding my way in raising boys. Truly, it is a challenge that I want to get right!

What have your learned along the way in the process of raising boys? What has stretched you the most? Hope you’ll leave a comment and share your observations and boy-raising knowledge. This momma needs all the help she can get.

Beauty

 

That corn crib in the background….

That was a favorite play place for me when I was growing up.

Like those fancy playhouses in subdivision backyards, only without so much fancy.

But, I had an old broom to sweep away the spiders and dust,

A couple of old crates and boards to use as tables and chairs.

And one very, very big imagination.

Corn cribs and barns are quickly becoming relics of the past, much to my sadness.

They are structures whose current use and value doesn’t always justify the cost of repair,

Being quickly replaced by cold, metal buildings (like the one we recently built).

I mourn the loss of the old barns, with their huge beams…

The smell of straw, and hay, and feed.

The way the sunlight streams in thought the cracks and catches the dust floating through the air.

The momma cat, sheltering her new kittens up in the barn loft.

Family folks working together to stack the square bales in the heat of summer.

The sound of the rain hitting the metal roof.

As I drove home the other day, I paid special attention to the barns along the way.

Each with special stories. Each with an old beauty of their own.

It isn’t just the barns that are fading away,

But also a very wonderful way of life. An old way.

And I wonder what the future will bring.

 

Fatima

Mushroom Hunting!

We took a few hours to go to one of my favorite places, today.

My mom and step-dad’s farm.

This cute little mushroom was NOT what we were looking for…

But this trillium caught our eye and we just had to stop and take a closer look.

The may apples were a good sign that we were looking in the right place.

 

And, well… This log just struck my fancy. I loved the textures of the peeling bark.

When you’re looking for teeny, tiny mushrooms, you see teeny tiny flowers like this one.

And suddenly, you see it! The first mushroom!

But don’t move! Look around first, ‘cause there’s bound to be more!

I guess if you stand on a log, you don’t have to worry about stepping on a mushroom.

Once you start finding them, it’s awfully hard to stop.

See it?

And while you’re taking the time to do some looking, you start seeing all kinds of wonderful, amazing things.

Great beauty in the everyday, simple things.

We went hunting for mushrooms but found so much more.

After the Storm

A sweet gift, from a kind friend with a greenhouse…
Yummy lettuce growing on my deck.

Last week was a bit much, really. Between the sadness of a funeral, a bout with the stomach flu, the crashed closet, poor little Sarah getting her first black eye (due to being hit by a flying My Little Pony, and no, I don’t know why it was thrown in the first place), and the cow getting stuck in the doghouse, we’ve just been taking it easy for the past few days.

Thankfully, that week is over.

We are recovering.

My closet has been repaired, and my sweet, handsome honey even added a bunch of new shelves.

Sarah’s eye is healing nicely and may even lose it’s bruising in time for her birthday party this weekend.

The cow is well and has given us such a funny story to share.

My clothes line sags heavily with blue jeans and blankets.

My kitchen has regained it’s shiny sink, which was thoroughly lost during the past week.

My floors are still sticky, but there is some hope that I’ll find time to mop them today.

My children have slept soundly and napped well, leaving them much more agreeable.

A good friend sent me a card in the mail, knowing that I needed that type of encouragement.

The sun is shining and my curtains are fluttering in my open windows.

Despite the storm that raged here last week, life is good. Very good.

A Tragic Comedy

I was packing for an out of town trip to a funeral when I heard the crash and felt the house shake just a little. I figured it was another wreck on that bad curve in front of the house until the kids came running out of my bedroom.

Kids running from a place they aren’t supposed to be is never a good thing.

There was wreckage. Clothes and blankets all over the bottom of my closet. The brackets that were supposed to hold the shelf were ripped from the drywall.

Chaos.

And a lesson for me… Never put confiscated items on the top shelf of a closet that is not sturdy enough to withstand the pulling of naughty children. Ahem.

Set me back a little bit in my packing, it did. Hard to pack clothes when you can’t walk into your own closet and your shoes are buried under a massive pile of stuff that should have been donated long ago.

Why do I still have all those old bridesmaid dresses from ten years ago?

Somehow, I managed to get it together between disciplining the children and surveying the wreckage. We were only a little late to the visitation at the funeral home.

We made it through the evening and back to the hotel with some snacks. We even enjoyed watching the big basketball game with Eric’s cousin’s family. It was one o'clock when the last kiddo finally fell asleep, but I call that success.

It couldn’t last.

It didn’t. At 4:00 in the morning, my baby boy woke up with a raging fever. Out of town fevers in a hotel are not fun.

Finally, morning came and the fever went down a bit. While Eric got ready for the funeral, the kids and I ventured out to the hotel lobby for some juice.

There is a well known rule that says, “Kids must always puke in the least convenient situation available.” So, Sam puked in the breakfast room right off the lobby.

I do love being a public spectacle.

Poor little guy couldn’t help it, I know.

Thankfully, the staff of the hotel were quick with a mop to clean up the mess on the floor.

Most of the mess was on his pants. So with the grace and etiquette that comes so naturally to me, I stripped him down to his diaper, bundled the mess, and carried him back to the hotel room with everyone watching.

We missed the funeral, but we did make it home without having to pull over to the side of the road. It’s so much nicer having a sick kid in your own home.

Not so nice when momma joins in the sickness though.

I’d ask what else could go wrong, but I’d rather not know.

I might as well share the comedy with you. I know those in the trenches of motherhood can relate.

As my grandma would have probably said, “this, too, shall pass.”