tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34445386143208386042024-03-06T15:03:27.437-05:00Jean's Boots Are Made For TalkingOne Wife's Quest Through a Life of Turquoise and Farmer's TansJeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.comBlogger444125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-68094857870291516002023-12-20T05:00:00.001-05:002023-12-20T05:00:00.133-05:00The Magic of Christmas<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The magic of Christmas is alive and well in our home. Our
oldest loves reading the advent calendar daily to her brother and our youngest
enjoys squeezing the empty stockings each morning to monitor a change in
weight. I am trying to relish in every moment. Even the weird ones.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Like when Cyrus woke up in hysterics one night because there
was a Christmas fish swimming in his humidifier. Cyrus claims he was red, and
Caroline is convinced the room has smelled like fish ever since. The magic of
Christmas. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Last week the elementary school hosted a Holiday Shop, where
students had the opportunity to bring a small amount of money to school and
shop for loved ones. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I worked in Indianapolis that day, so Cody managed the
morning routine. This worked greatly in the childrens’ favor because I planned
to send them each with a five-dollar bill.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Caroline went to school with $20 (!!). She came home with
three gifts for people she loved and $12.50 in change. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Cyrus went to school with $10 (!!), feeling like a king. He
came home with one gift for someone else, a toy jet for himself and $.25 in
change. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He went on to tell us that his buddy bought the same toy jet for his father (what a thoughtful little boy) and Cyrus let him know that if his dad didn't want the jet, he could just bring it back to school and Cyrus would add it to his fleet. The magic of Christmas.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMFZeQMlseYnzP_Fuc4AJll2vihyphenhyphen_olo6aUNNFCNj8Ht2TBb4ccftRfGAZu1Ch1NSirajxaq-QfkyKk_bPo6tNLgDj49lCAbe6H205JdUgshLmoBDgk_0Asm7AXO6Ln8WDwLjKfEJdAkRHEgrJ8I3ZX1dC5_YyesFxnb0WoZZ1mUFcywPcrmGqIsqx0k/s4032/IMG_9919.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMFZeQMlseYnzP_Fuc4AJll2vihyphenhyphen_olo6aUNNFCNj8Ht2TBb4ccftRfGAZu1Ch1NSirajxaq-QfkyKk_bPo6tNLgDj49lCAbe6H205JdUgshLmoBDgk_0Asm7AXO6Ln8WDwLjKfEJdAkRHEgrJ8I3ZX1dC5_YyesFxnb0WoZZ1mUFcywPcrmGqIsqx0k/s320/IMG_9919.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">We made our annual trip to Kansas to share the holiday with
my in-laws. The stomach bug and strep were both running rampant through the
elementary school, and Cyrus recently fell victim. In an effort to curb
anything that may came come Caroline’s way, I made a preparedness kit including
Tylenol, ibuprofen, two trash bags, washcloth, towel, wipes and spare clothes.
Still, just before leaving the house I had this nagging feeling that I was
forgetting something. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">We made it three hours into the trip before I had my own Home
Alone moment. You know the one, where Kevin’s mother sits straight up on the
airplane and screams, “KEVIN!!” after realizing the one thing she left at home
was her son. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Well, I didn’t do that. But it was at a Love’s truckstop in
central Missouri that I screamed “AMOXICILLIN!!” In a quiet home in the
refrigerator sat half a bottle that Cyrus still needed to ingest. But don’t you
worry, I remembered my five pairs of earrings and two lipsticks. </span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">2023 Mom of
the Year!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Cyrus makes a game of observing semis, guessing what they’re
hauling (95-percent of the time his guess is candy or toys) and then turning around
to check out the grill to determine the manufacturer. I assumed by the time we
reached the Greenfield exit his back would be sore from the break-neck action,
but that wasn’t the case. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">His personal favorite is “Fra-gee-lee” trucks, which he is
certain are hauling leg lamps such as in the movie, “A Christmas Story”. It
will be a big day when he does learn to read and realizes “Fragile” is actually
pronounced Freightliner. The magic of Christmas. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Caroline hasn’t mentioned a Barbie Dream House this year,
but she hasn’t given up on the campaign for a horse. Cyrus is relentless about
a new bulldozer with greater horsepower. Been a tough argument explaining that
the one he currently has is run solely on the force he uses with his own two hands.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">We’re less than a week out and need to finish and practice our
Christmas reading for church, go see the lights, bake cookies, go to the
grocery and finally wrap gifts I remember buying but cannot find. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The magic of Christmas. May we never forget that the real
magic happens when we forget everything I wrote above, and focus on what’s in
the manger.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrXd-2EdBAq5DHc7plAJS54ScwG1XrZX6dwIFgUCv3YYfEK-2CUMRcb3C7-_1qq3bmGYAshu-kbv-vJlnzd5cTgc4Q4HN6c_xl_pt4SxIahBmbdKC_a2y1tABEbwPf_Hvj8Ku0tzxdLCa-UBEAHRWHB25FAt9ig-e9w4CclXf4KWe2n6UL8yl8c7wwzYs/s4032/IMG_0153.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrXd-2EdBAq5DHc7plAJS54ScwG1XrZX6dwIFgUCv3YYfEK-2CUMRcb3C7-_1qq3bmGYAshu-kbv-vJlnzd5cTgc4Q4HN6c_xl_pt4SxIahBmbdKC_a2y1tABEbwPf_Hvj8Ku0tzxdLCa-UBEAHRWHB25FAt9ig-e9w4CclXf4KWe2n6UL8yl8c7wwzYs/w640-h480/IMG_0153.HEIC" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-56550714803019493662023-11-10T05:00:00.015-05:002023-11-10T05:00:00.134-05:00Parent/Teacher Conferences<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkIbcTQquJCJN-SHEJzgVpJ291n2w4_ko0D-5DbhYbju_ruNgFTpr-diaPxacEPBM1sFhqmhMbTcVNcwwieuK1Fm3yDz7X-SaOP450AOKhz1dqPH3pp9mJM0TX2m3bBxVe_8A40zIiLc2pVkp0lLhpooOTo9a5PW_lwM2kxq7BANA6hWdghtElbvkEhCc/s4424/dlm-20642.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2583" data-original-width="4424" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkIbcTQquJCJN-SHEJzgVpJ291n2w4_ko0D-5DbhYbju_ruNgFTpr-diaPxacEPBM1sFhqmhMbTcVNcwwieuK1Fm3yDz7X-SaOP450AOKhz1dqPH3pp9mJM0TX2m3bBxVe_8A40zIiLc2pVkp0lLhpooOTo9a5PW_lwM2kxq7BANA6hWdghtElbvkEhCc/w601-h351/dlm-20642.jpg" width="601" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">If there was ever any question about the differences between
our first and second child - though in my experience there never has been - that
question could be quickly answered in how they address school. Cyrus, now 5,
started preschool in the elementary school building this fall, while Caroline
began second grade.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Our daily after school conversation goes something like this:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“How was your day?” I ask as we take off jackets.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Caroline jumps in, “Great day! We started a thing about
apples that goes along with our field trip, and you know I love apples. We did
cheer the whole time during recess until our legs got tired but it was good
because the teacher came over and told us we couldn’t stunt. So that was ok. I
really wanted to stunt then I remembered I had a skirt on so we didn’t stunt at
all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ate all of my lunch and drank
most of my water. My water bottle opened in my backpack and it's like, really
wet. We got new spelling words today. Do you see this bug bite on my leg? It
itches and the whole time we were reading all I did was itch it. Ms. Emily told
me she liked my black and gold sweater. Did that cow have her calf yet? When we
were coming up the road on the bus, she looked like she was still pregnant.
Unless I was looking at the wrong cow. They’re all black so they all look the
same. Well, most of them. Briella let me sit with her on the bus. It was a
great day!!!”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopl5kcNe_twXLZ_8kcfxdwx_vYEoohUW77eFXtOXa22wBdsgpnG6AvN4zxmOXPliVzYsGj03QEcjaso0H63FkgEAZn5fAnEswFP2dzsKzdXBCNg7p1YTIOeKJxZn1QTNQMFZ8lwmXDbRtgk_b3ZvUL3qdayachS02Bs-IDkBDrdp7DkcGOAKrlRXcy10/s5043/dlm-17912.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5043" data-original-width="3810" height="603" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopl5kcNe_twXLZ_8kcfxdwx_vYEoohUW77eFXtOXa22wBdsgpnG6AvN4zxmOXPliVzYsGj03QEcjaso0H63FkgEAZn5fAnEswFP2dzsKzdXBCNg7p1YTIOeKJxZn1QTNQMFZ8lwmXDbRtgk_b3ZvUL3qdayachS02Bs-IDkBDrdp7DkcGOAKrlRXcy10/w456-h603/dlm-17912.jpg" width="456" /></span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“Cyrus, buddy. How was your day?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“Good.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">And with that, he walked into the other room to carpet farm.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">All summer he tried to convince us that “farmers don’t go to
preschool.” That kicked me into gear to tell the farmers we encounter: If
Cyrus asks, you went to preschool. The majority of them were not willing to
lie for my cause because learning to color inside the lines hadn’t advanced
their farming career. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">To our surprise, he has enjoyed preschool. It helps that
they’ve done units on farm animals and equipment, so the curriculum is right in
his wheelhouse. Still, every day when he gets home, he acts agitated that he
had to attend because he still has so much farming to do. It doesn’t help that
the school bus has been passing multiple combines and grain carts in the
afternoon trips. Everyone always beats him to the field. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">We have no idea how he acts at school, though we’ve received
no negative reports, so our assumption has always been good. He has mentioned
new names of children; we know he’s talking to and playing with someone. Hopefully,
they are not invisible. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Earlier this week Cyrus overheard Caroline and I visiting
about the approaching Parent/Teacher Conference. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“What is a Parent/Teacher Conference?” he asked while
unloading beans at his carpet farm. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Big sister responded without hesitation, “It’s where Mom and
Dad go to school and the teacher tells them how you act when they’re not around.”
Oh, the dramatics. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Cyrus froze. “I don’t think you should go, it doesn’t sound
fun.” He reported upstairs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">He’s was curious about this “meeting” all week, asking
questions about how long it lasts, who is in the room, if he can come. Cody and
I began to get a bit nervous, wondering what we were going to walk into. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">On Friday morning I went upstairs to wake him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“Is this the day?” were the first words out of his mouth. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“What day?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“Parent/Teacher Conference.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“Yes, that is today.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">He slowly whispered as he watched the ceiling fan, “Today is
going to be the <i>worst </i>day.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I’m happy to report there were no alarming behaviors discussed,
in fact they said Cyrus does well in school, though he has let the teacher know
his aversion to coloring. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I guess some kids just can’t stay inside the lines.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh09B-f00_MMYx8GWwHITrVKGXHeM3YasMzND9F85YzAZZ0h7pHMv8YLLdO3ZN3p_sby_216tZpptODHuuFbSYzIcUusqRgqjrxU8DO4MzaiYrO71sQQ98JaYkB_pP0E-QTZOyHSSoWk9m1y_NtOrIxH1vV3fx78Tln_ZqvrozJ9wp8uvqwAUge9FgWqyA/s4333/dlm-18152.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3413" data-original-width="4333" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh09B-f00_MMYx8GWwHITrVKGXHeM3YasMzND9F85YzAZZ0h7pHMv8YLLdO3ZN3p_sby_216tZpptODHuuFbSYzIcUusqRgqjrxU8DO4MzaiYrO71sQQ98JaYkB_pP0E-QTZOyHSSoWk9m1y_NtOrIxH1vV3fx78Tln_ZqvrozJ9wp8uvqwAUge9FgWqyA/w642-h506/dlm-18152.jpg" width="642" /></a></span></p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-40290887451914824282023-08-02T05:00:00.001-04:002023-08-02T05:00:00.137-04:00 Barbie Dreamhouse<div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Two days before her seventh birthday, Caroline met me in the
kitchen.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Do you know what I want for my birthday this year?” she
asked me while I cooked ground beef. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Well, we’re having this conversation a little late, aren’t
we?” Her gifts were hidden, unwrapped, in the luggage closet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“A Barbie Dreamhouse. Remember?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">How could I forget? Every parent I know that has purchased
one has advised against the massive piece of plastic with 250 accessories that
end up in registers and vacuums. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“What do you mean, ‘remember’?” I was stalling. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Remember. Dad told me last year, when I turned 6, that I
couldn’t have one because our house was kind of like a tent,” she continued
with gentle persuasion. I then flashed back to living in a tent for 12 months
with two kids and three grown men. One, of course, being my husband. The other
two were there to work on the house.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“But now that our house is done, and I have a bedroom, I can
have one. Right, Mom? Dad said that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Oh, Daddy,” I sighed. “He’s funny.” I picked up my phone to
text him in a fit of rage. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>TEXT CONVERSATION:</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Me:</b> You failed to mention that you told Caroline she could
have a Barbie Dreamhouse for her birthday now that the house is done<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Cody:</b> SILENCE<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Me:</b> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Cody:</b> Did she bring that up?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Me:</b> Just now. 2 days before her birthday<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Cody:</b> Thought she’d forget<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Me:</b> Has she ever forgotten anything? Every time we pass the
Love’s truck stop in Booneville, Missouri she reminds me that’s where she puked
up a Happy Meal. It’s been 4 years. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Cody:</b> SILENCE<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Me:</b> So now what do we do?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Cody:</b> Have you gotten her anything yet?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Me:</b> SILENCE <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It was two days before her birthday. All purchases were
made. They would be wrapped after the kids went to bed that evening. And when
Caroline opened the gifts, Cody would be just as surprised as the birthday
girl. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Me:</b> Yes. (rolling my eyes)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Cody:</b> Any toys?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Me:</b> No. I got her shoe polish and
an iron skillet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I deleted and didn’t send that
last text. I put down my phone. It was time to stop the madness. Caroline had
already left the room to tend to her babydoll. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">She didn’t get a Barbie Dreamhouse
for her birthday two days later, and if it crushed her, she covered it well. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rb5KRioAektrHJveNoViKFRZKz9bFUC6AOEeX-o4mXsQd-u5g1nSohnpjD-XdWoLMTIbsATxyQhdvdKybbRYjmoAZ-z43h9N1N6dmocavX9NyKoAigXpX8CS7kltiWYEBI92UKV7YZEg79xhV1OsEBfMsN_0mATmUe4nla355oM-8TAmMN4zmDgirI4/s4032/IMG_7099.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rb5KRioAektrHJveNoViKFRZKz9bFUC6AOEeX-o4mXsQd-u5g1nSohnpjD-XdWoLMTIbsATxyQhdvdKybbRYjmoAZ-z43h9N1N6dmocavX9NyKoAigXpX8CS7kltiWYEBI92UKV7YZEg79xhV1OsEBfMsN_0mATmUe4nla355oM-8TAmMN4zmDgirI4/w480-h640/IMG_7099.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I really struggle with more
plastic in our home because I’ve seen our children the most delighted outside.
Carrying sticks around a pasture fighting off pretend coyotes. Building forts
from straw in the hay mow. Finding rocks they just know I’ll love. Catching and
holding hostage lightening bugs, frogs, and inbred kittens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">During birthdays and Christmas, I
try so hard to remember that our job isn’t to put every marketed toy into the
hands of our children (though, by the looks of their rooms you may not believe
that). Our job is to teach them the joy of eating a tomato straight from a
garden they helped plant. Our job is to give them the freedom to experience the
feeling when you find the perfect stick to make a cowboy’s pistol. Our job is
to let their imaginations run wild in hot, humid or freezing cold air. It’s
quite easy to get swept away in wanting to make our children happy through
buying, buying, buying. We just need to shove them outside and tell them to
stay off the road.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfGvOyEeB7opEgr5pjFQ4XRv5oW5AuYFbZt8-b7zBDzy9fSRQUArBCWSp9-DLmDLyE5WzYJtETkwodg_Jt7Rb2am48xHMM5nVV6tSHNt_q-7QF9lO-HR4Qq9rpvtuONN7onl7ClW5ZuLu2GZGiSSDL4RAEUrMRxs0nMIvAMc8xZfT8PqOPw7emrBeO2zs/s3264/image_6483441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfGvOyEeB7opEgr5pjFQ4XRv5oW5AuYFbZt8-b7zBDzy9fSRQUArBCWSp9-DLmDLyE5WzYJtETkwodg_Jt7Rb2am48xHMM5nVV6tSHNt_q-7QF9lO-HR4Qq9rpvtuONN7onl7ClW5ZuLu2GZGiSSDL4RAEUrMRxs0nMIvAMc8xZfT8PqOPw7emrBeO2zs/w480-h640/image_6483441.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The night of the mother/daughter
kitchen conversation I later bathed the kids. There was a ring around the tub
after it drained, grass and dirt swirling. We’re living in the good old days. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Caroline spoke up while I brushed
out her hair. “I was thinking. If it’s too late for a Barbie Dream House, is it
too late for a horse?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We looked at each other and laughed.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 45.85pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“What?!” she asked laughing. “We
already have the barn!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWL-cKW2eYZJOGHZBANH6n_BFaJLf-5K5aZU9MndvuWgranvb-49bzAp4eulzu5VbgeEmfibIabvYGUHqopbjlb-I50wRD_UqGRSCOT-lVZFnyb6xRt5IJMbt6in2Ile54xWE6ibwpS2faHzFe0Bd-QWyxcizl4uBj71K1v6pW8P5h_HavkP6UGJRBPbM/s3744/IMG_7158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3744" data-original-width="2808" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWL-cKW2eYZJOGHZBANH6n_BFaJLf-5K5aZU9MndvuWgranvb-49bzAp4eulzu5VbgeEmfibIabvYGUHqopbjlb-I50wRD_UqGRSCOT-lVZFnyb6xRt5IJMbt6in2Ile54xWE6ibwpS2faHzFe0Bd-QWyxcizl4uBj71K1v6pW8P5h_HavkP6UGJRBPbM/w480-h640/IMG_7158.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-45946299464422430642023-06-14T05:00:00.003-04:002023-06-14T05:00:00.143-04:00The Fall<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It’s been one month and one week since I fell.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It was a short fall, but an extremely hard hit and it left
me with deep cuts and swelling. “There might be areas of your face that just
won’t heal the same,” the ER doctor told me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Darn it, I thought. In my late thirties I was just coming to
terms with my face. It certainly wasn’t perfect, but it was mine and every sunspot
or laugh line was earned. I have beat myself up for a month over this simple
but impactful fall. How could I be so careless? It’s truly changed my mindset
regarding many things, the biggest being how quickly health can change. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Our children didn’t look at me for days. In fact, Cyrus
wouldn’t be in the same room with me until day five. That hurt worse than the
open wounds. But in defense of the four-year-old, I didn’t like to look in the
mirror. On the fifth day he called out for help in the bathroom. It was music
to my ears. “Yes! Mommy can help you!” I said from the other side of the door.
“I can come in there with you?” I asked permission before entering. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">He paused. “Yeah. You can come in…just don’t look at me.” Pretty
demanding for a kid who still wears Velcro shoes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After day four Caroline, the natural encourager, would give
me a daily update on how I looked, as though the stranger squinting back at me
in the mirror was lying. “Eww. Nose still looks scary. But I can kind of see
one eyeball today, Mom. You’re getting better!” She’s the only child allowed to
choose my rest home. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This fall has made me consider grace. Not just grace in a
way that if I had more of it, I wouldn’t have these scars on my face today. But
showing grace towards a person. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Grace: We’re usually very free to give it. Maybe in our
homes with young children, we’ll always clean up their mess. Or with aging parents,
we’ll always give them more time to finish a task. Or even new recipes that
just didn’t turn out – we make notes along the page to improve it for next time.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Maybe we freely show grace in our careers as teachers, or
loan officers, or line supervisors. We value that time as teachable, coachable
moments. We extend grace and expect better next time. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Often, we freely extend grace to erroneous cashiers, mixed
up waitresses or doctor offices running on their own time. Everyone has a bad
day now and then. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We even show grace to the weatherman. He’s wrong fifty
percent of the time and we still watch him faithfully every single morning! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We show grace to so many, why is it difficult to extend it
to ourselves? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Perhaps your to-do list constantly looms over you, or you’re
feeling overwhelmed by the demands of your day-to-day routine. Maybe you’re
just sick over how a conversation went, reeling from a failed relationship, or a
missed opportunity you can’t let go. Maybe your health has changed, or even your
hair color. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Give yourself grace. The same kind of grace you would extend
to a stranger. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>If they deserve it, why don’t you?</b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpYz_VBcusDyaD9uCwepDVutwXmlNAPbDG5qW6imZF6tFRw5kLuUFSQ2QPHqbD-O04o9_lOa32X2KhJd-OAEdkRWwIumzMRqSE-X18aMMstTNirRfPFDwDWOYX1QQZe6lb8NELR1vI_H-SxxJuru6BTxHvVpL_HqbpZA0QA97BDDVHvrBxr2oBWk3x/s4032/scars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="575" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpYz_VBcusDyaD9uCwepDVutwXmlNAPbDG5qW6imZF6tFRw5kLuUFSQ2QPHqbD-O04o9_lOa32X2KhJd-OAEdkRWwIumzMRqSE-X18aMMstTNirRfPFDwDWOYX1QQZe6lb8NELR1vI_H-SxxJuru6BTxHvVpL_HqbpZA0QA97BDDVHvrBxr2oBWk3x/w431-h575/scars.jpg" width="431" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Cyrus captured this photo after the fact, while we packed T-ball treat bags. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I was strategic. </span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><br /></b></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A month later, we’ve settled into a new normal which
includes a lot of Mederma, doctor appointments, and ball cap wearing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Last week I tucked the kids into bed and left the room.
Cyrus called me back. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Yeah buddy?” I asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Will we be able to have a birthday party this year?” he
asked softly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Of course – why wouldn’t you?” I responded. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">He put his hand up and motioned in a circle all around his
face, referencing the mess I’d made of mine. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“CY-RUUUUSSS….” Caroline groaned as she rolled her eyes.
“Just because Mommy hurt her face doesn’t mean we can’t have a birthday.
Besides. She’s not as ugly as she used to be.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">See? </span><i style="font-family: arial;">Grace.</i></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-76739993372759967992023-05-03T05:00:00.004-04:002023-05-03T05:00:00.163-04:00Work Calls from the Farm<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The world of virtual learning and meetings have exploded in
the time our children have grown from infants to early school aged children. I
cannot count the threats made, bribery conducted, or clinched jaw instruction
given during that time. <i>It’s been a joy.</i> Our children don’t remember a world
where Mom couldn’t visit face-to-face with someone in California at the click
of a button.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXiIOfCUMhEq5o8GLcgZOwAvULuIpej4mYQFktSgGBMRMXqHIUEdp-hl4E7sBHyPuP2oqt183eu3zTGlN8qq3hf1da3MO9j7cvdvAwgFjvGTBxHznK_Yxy3_2MmHGHus6bK6RXuEkAAjQLdJzzFxLvlRxWdOczyP0gpcvWzlkWn67I8d7GGMSK632S/s4032/IMG_3786.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXiIOfCUMhEq5o8GLcgZOwAvULuIpej4mYQFktSgGBMRMXqHIUEdp-hl4E7sBHyPuP2oqt183eu3zTGlN8qq3hf1da3MO9j7cvdvAwgFjvGTBxHznK_Yxy3_2MmHGHus6bK6RXuEkAAjQLdJzzFxLvlRxWdOczyP0gpcvWzlkWn67I8d7GGMSK632S/w544-h408/IMG_3786.HEIC" width="544" /></span></a></p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The children were recently home on spring break and I was
spending my days in a delicate balance between providing them with a fun spring
break and keeping up with work deadlines. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“OK kiddos! Day Two of Spring Break at Sankey Angus!
Yesterday you got all the stalls cleaned out. What would you like to do today?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b>“Go to grandma’s.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Having them home meant I took a lot of video calls uncertain
of what might bust through the door at any moment. That is an unnerving
feeling. I appreciate it when they agree to be quiet little soldiers for me,
but then worry what they’re getting into that has them so fascinated. Play
dough in the carpet? Glue sticks on the new white walls? Teaching the dog to
drink out of the toilet - with demonstrations?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Recently I was on a Teams video call with folks from our
corporate office in Indianapolis. I had my door shut but could hear excited
conversation on the other side of the house. Then I heard the door to the
mudroom open, then screaming, then running across the house in my direction,
then the footsteps getting closer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Like the professional I am, I instantly shut off my camera
and muted my microphone. Whatever was about to bust through the door did not
need to be seen or heard by anyone but Mommy. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“MOMMY!!” It was Cyrus. “SADIE IS HAVING BABIES!!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Cyrus! Quiet, buddy! I’m on a call.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“PUPPIES, MOMMY!” he continued oblivious to my instruction. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Cyrus, Sadie is not having puppies. She IS a puppy. She’s
not even bred,” I tried to explain to him. Sadie, our Australian Shepherd puppy,
had just turned one days prior. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“YES! She’s having puppies and I need to pull them out with
a show stick!” and with that, he turned around and rushed out of the room. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Would that work for you, Lindsay?” a coworker on the
computer asked me. I had no idea what she was referencing, I could only think
about Cyrus, unsupervised, using a show stick (long, metal stick with a hook on
the end to place cattle’s feet in a show ring) to extract Lord knows what out
of our dog.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Repeat the question, please. I got off track,” I requested.
They kindly did. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">We made a few quick decisions and set a date and time to
visit again about the upcoming event. I was in the mudroom with the kids in a
matter of seconds once the call concluded. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Caroline appeared mortified, while Cyrus couldn’t contain
his enthusiasm for the mess on the concreate floor. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Sadie was not having puppies. She had, however, gotten into
a pile of afterbirth from the pasture and was now sick. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I explained the situation and began clean up, we all gagged,
Caroline patiently put the dog outside while Cyrus took photos on my phone to show
Dad, smacking his knee at the fun. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">On this family farm, we all have a job. Some just do theirs
better than others. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKz9Xh8gOFEyM9Tdkcw8W1_-RV3wEQCJCt0TQCxQ3ucsb6qNmtL2gYBdb80HNQw-AlHApFcn1hTeh4ZkqmmFueCuwVW6q4mO4NH0v2bdrzSBM2xgCdvTB4cyo7V4oPnf7l4KBPWw7e_H7XBaFmYtvGZfhaVToPgykccDb5meXZcTE2EqvQER0YsUp/s1976/Cyrus%20&%20Sadie%20and%20Farm%20Dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1976" data-original-width="1170" height="815" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKz9Xh8gOFEyM9Tdkcw8W1_-RV3wEQCJCt0TQCxQ3ucsb6qNmtL2gYBdb80HNQw-AlHApFcn1hTeh4ZkqmmFueCuwVW6q4mO4NH0v2bdrzSBM2xgCdvTB4cyo7V4oPnf7l4KBPWw7e_H7XBaFmYtvGZfhaVToPgykccDb5meXZcTE2EqvQER0YsUp/w481-h815/Cyrus%20&%20Sadie%20and%20Farm%20Dog.jpg" width="481" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></o:p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-4925235744080148272023-03-22T05:00:00.007-04:002023-03-22T05:23:55.718-04:00Calf Hut Conversations <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLq7V1_0xdBaooEhXW99A9vwHv5uvLY8Y5GpFhTR4UJC6ZFc_QN_xMj-K9hqWGrg_ZmyfMKryefqmpbPcxUe6aQlmtAAcAbhB2sVPZcJfYWNEzMbLfq74R_5yNNi9m_XLct78jjB8APt8gY_WmVqlzCwPHDBTL2UGw_XrpVrHwy7RmpcPYtQ2zcl5/s4032/calf%20hut%20(1).jpeg" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLq7V1_0xdBaooEhXW99A9vwHv5uvLY8Y5GpFhTR4UJC6ZFc_QN_xMj-K9hqWGrg_ZmyfMKryefqmpbPcxUe6aQlmtAAcAbhB2sVPZcJfYWNEzMbLfq74R_5yNNi9m_XLct78jjB8APt8gY_WmVqlzCwPHDBTL2UGw_XrpVrHwy7RmpcPYtQ2zcl5/w640-h480/calf%20hut%20(1).jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Every so often I find an Amish man at our door in the wee
morning hours.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">While his early morning knocks are startling, I’m always
more concerned about his intentions. When a craftsman such as Ben arrives, it
always costs money. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Cody!” I yell across the house. “Ben is here!” I continue
packing lunches, thinking for a second. Why is Ben here?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">A construction project was about to begin. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Remind me why Ben is here?” I asked Cody as he entered the
kitchen and threw on a jacket. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“The calf shed. The one me and you and the kids built. He’s
going to take it apart and rebuild it….better. The thing is falling apart, and
we really need that space.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He was right. We are outgrowing the huts we have along the
windbreak in the far west pasture. More calves, less room. During these cold,
winter months vulnerable calves need a place to safely rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I drove to work that morning thinking about that shed. That
simple scrap tin shed. I became a bit emotional driving across the interstate. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The kids were so small while we built it. Cody and I had to
crouch down to drill in the screws, while toddlers ran wild inside. I remember
being thankful for a new playpen, if only for an afternoon. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Then the shed was moved to the pasture to take care of 70-pound,
Angus and Shorthorn babies. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b>It became a sanctuary. </b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b>Place of prayer. </b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b>My breakroom. </b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I remember the shorthorn bull calf. I found him 8 hours later
than I probably should have; I worked in the city that day. He was tucked away
in a corner, cold, hungry but without the gumption to find his momma. I worked
to warm his sides, checked his eyes and nose. Checked his mother’s udders to
see if he’d nursed. After no positive signs, I called the vet. I prayed over
that calf until she arrived. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I remember the Angus heifer calf. We really looked forward
to the arrival of this one because of her genetics. It was quite cold when she
was born but it warmed up shortly thereafter. She developed a respiratory
issue. I remember a presentation I’d help develop during my time at Elanco
about the cost of one dead calf. It was real money. Money that isn’t thrown
around on a farm. I prayed over that heifer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">As a farm wife, I prayed so many prayers inside that tiny
metal hut. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">There was weight on my shoulders not even realized then. I remember
many times resting along the solid tin, warming up a calf, and wondering if it
was the first time I’d sat down that day. I remember bedding it with fresh
straw and wondering about the last time I changed our own bed sheets. I
remember returning to the Kubota to find a crying toddler and a sleeping baby
and feeling like the worst mother, ever. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5CHGO1B6XSxs9muAOS1vSBehx7n06XnghRaKq9O3bPGPB-44Wbr869trOp5KXtSGqFe8GW7jgZtl8fWOzmmjfxvU6uUeq5Y8xXXkuqL_QzeInDqPf0X5tAGlHvylVrycXbznOT1wzC8pxw0vkLoZkSTyQdrpLEEdyePrHnU5F0AAQfr6f_e3r36H/s4032/long%20day%20on%20the%20farm%20(1).HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5CHGO1B6XSxs9muAOS1vSBehx7n06XnghRaKq9O3bPGPB-44Wbr869trOp5KXtSGqFe8GW7jgZtl8fWOzmmjfxvU6uUeq5Y8xXXkuqL_QzeInDqPf0X5tAGlHvylVrycXbznOT1wzC8pxw0vkLoZkSTyQdrpLEEdyePrHnU5F0AAQfr6f_e3r36H/w480-h640/long%20day%20on%20the%20farm%20(1).HEIC" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Then Cyrus got sick. </span></h2><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJtc-i9DM1zke-YaaKFVTIBlNsH2GNdAApv6qeO4PVWVLZe4DHWpqdrxK7DFhOGk_6mui-1yRuqRAB06athYthMA7zlPjhSyl4YIE4Vl_JnAxvD8ZVl0GIlMNRx_hUIArTbJnUhjRuUkn7apepQdbj1slgrAijkqkzf6taGRWa4LoOzT2l2eyB0tF6/s3747/IMG_2692.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3747" data-original-width="2545" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJtc-i9DM1zke-YaaKFVTIBlNsH2GNdAApv6qeO4PVWVLZe4DHWpqdrxK7DFhOGk_6mui-1yRuqRAB06athYthMA7zlPjhSyl4YIE4Vl_JnAxvD8ZVl0GIlMNRx_hUIArTbJnUhjRuUkn7apepQdbj1slgrAijkqkzf6taGRWa4LoOzT2l2eyB0tF6/w434-h640/IMG_2692.jpg" width="434" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">And we spent six days at the children’s hospital, three days
at home, then five more days at the children's hospital, and finally 18 days at
home with a PICC line in his tiny arm. Talk about perspective. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b>Calf hut conversations changed. </b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It certainly isn’t that I didn’t care about the cattle we
were left to tend to on a thousand hills (Psalm 50:10) – that would never be
the case. It was that human health became so much more relevant. We could go on
if we lost a calf over a respiratory issue. It no longer compared to a sick
child. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Calf hut sessions focused on God’s will, not mine. Calf hut
sessions focused on everything outside the tin hut, not within. What a simple,
quiet place to reflect. Calf hut sessions focused on taking a break, if even
just to gather myself. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Mom once told me about a lady that lived on mom and dad’s
farm many years before they bought it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This woman would walk out to the pasture and sit on the same large rock
daily to read her devotionals.That rock still sits on the farm today, more
than 60 years later. What a place to connect. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Our calf hut came down and has now been reconstructed into a
sturdier building that houses more and is more functional. We had a sick heifer
two weeks ago and we found her in the calf hut. Cody held her while I gave her
three boluses then we turned her loose. I was encouraged by her effort to run
from us. I thanked God for her energy. I thanked God for healthy kids watching
us from the Ranger. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I guess we all find God in different places. </span><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0Economy, IN 47339, USA39.974986 -85.090867111.664752163821156 -120.2471171 68.28521983617884 -49.9346171tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-16785902738985090042023-02-22T05:00:00.010-05:002023-02-22T05:58:26.652-05:00Reunion in Washington, DC<p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid4O9SuBYkXMExAoM40VOieRfMVeyFpATBBiv42ULSQ8nzURoUyTlXamg2qbdTkYqs5Nx28oyvxrMUlgKCKn_xyhgcMsRmDCRNnXnS304VhdAtJ7JvkGPwAlhRu8fjVBTpXSCtoDW3aZcdaxvsQXP4I_gLKLMc8XdG4ZN1JYeu1NO0ZE2YQ9K4_Xgv/s1193/chuck%2006.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="877" data-original-width="1193" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid4O9SuBYkXMExAoM40VOieRfMVeyFpATBBiv42ULSQ8nzURoUyTlXamg2qbdTkYqs5Nx28oyvxrMUlgKCKn_xyhgcMsRmDCRNnXnS304VhdAtJ7JvkGPwAlhRu8fjVBTpXSCtoDW3aZcdaxvsQXP4I_gLKLMc8XdG4ZN1JYeu1NO0ZE2YQ9K4_Xgv/w640-h470/chuck%2006.png" width="640" /></a></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The summer between my junior and senior year of college was
spent interning in Washington, DC through Purdue’s College of Agriculture. My
role served as the liaison between ConAgra Foods (at the time) and the USDA,
though not limited to food science. At one particular event I was tasked with visiting
with a congressman regarding the fuel tax on corporate air travel.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9LYAdfIOH_EBwbec13HVanrM7EHYx0EX4TBA4prmxl6n7pLlsJRqFSxl9OBnyK9Kuycwm_ATRVJDGy6sgqz1RgBMVtmmUNwHL2o_LLfr9iJuBhu_lu-t3cxR_H2mwo5bmSY_o5YYIcV6R5sm4cTu7S9dgNVZr4msDD_47OvDQgs8uizDT25zhHzL/s4032/IMG_5081.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="580" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9LYAdfIOH_EBwbec13HVanrM7EHYx0EX4TBA4prmxl6n7pLlsJRqFSxl9OBnyK9Kuycwm_ATRVJDGy6sgqz1RgBMVtmmUNwHL2o_LLfr9iJuBhu_lu-t3cxR_H2mwo5bmSY_o5YYIcV6R5sm4cTu7S9dgNVZr4msDD_47OvDQgs8uizDT25zhHzL/w435-h580/IMG_5081.HEIC" width="435" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwr6Pf5NcyPe0bBwgKsLnQhqEJFxtrSgYwH0zHxWWaFNYP8MMRiHPb7vRvlf2io5hyhb1NlX6-E84lUNG_LaKYetSLBSORg53nenWxjF85sEglpwmf22mKxMFHgVWHk1tbh6ugM7EZ_gP-UqlOtu7rk5j2WrvG5VVbGRMesdSSwTlcsJTRdFFY9syc/s4032/IMG_5076.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="599" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwr6Pf5NcyPe0bBwgKsLnQhqEJFxtrSgYwH0zHxWWaFNYP8MMRiHPb7vRvlf2io5hyhb1NlX6-E84lUNG_LaKYetSLBSORg53nenWxjF85sEglpwmf22mKxMFHgVWHk1tbh6ugM7EZ_gP-UqlOtu7rk5j2WrvG5VVbGRMesdSSwTlcsJTRdFFY9syc/w449-h599/IMG_5076.HEIC" width="449" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">That summer I got to know the three other Purdue College of
Ag interns so well. The four of us, three coming from Indiana farms, one raised
closely to Indiana agriculture, defined “when country comes to town”.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">We lived
on the Georgetown Law Campus in the heart of DC. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">We tried everything and went everywhere. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Asked
all the questions. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Got ourselves in really odd situations and engaging conversations.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCrzZirGsCMBCugeIc7rlEdYfUbqSemENP4PK3HmfcHnTHa1hmUjkeTse2sjXaClb3-TZJ-x_9RY6c5cmWC9KzP337U_ni6RjnV66QCyooy4ysnclslRaHswB2JiNJgss_ix2RfnrNs_YWyQQAl6CbBW8C6BmK-tp4LhHLudIB9LxOYfYF-76cVHD/s4032/IMG_5078.HEIC" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCrzZirGsCMBCugeIc7rlEdYfUbqSemENP4PK3HmfcHnTHa1hmUjkeTse2sjXaClb3-TZJ-x_9RY6c5cmWC9KzP337U_ni6RjnV66QCyooy4ysnclslRaHswB2JiNJgss_ix2RfnrNs_YWyQQAl6CbBW8C6BmK-tp4LhHLudIB9LxOYfYF-76cVHD/w434-h578/IMG_5078.HEIC" width="434" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">We drove the wrong way down one way
streets, ended up on the wrong side of the city when the metro shut down for
the night, and learned how to prepare meals on a dime. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">We navigated without
GPS, sent postcards home to our parents (because we were trying to conserve our
cell phone minutes) and attended every political fundraiser to which we were
invited to ensure we’d have supper that night.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">We took photos with a camera because we were still operating off flip phones. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjONlUJyYk5bmBVR77TWgeBsHs2qZvryesOf9DfdI64KgGxilHNlZYVOBsrfcRkF598pjJfFp5M6lGu9xBQwzdMWdljJ7ue5SaqFo-U3zFKsAPR4Wu75IQhYMWo4phP-oQoJ9FX8iCbPxIGgf2qL6y8C8GxnaUMZJBhiY6VEXhJre56yYXimRZlYMH/s4032/IMG_5079.HEIC" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="584" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjONlUJyYk5bmBVR77TWgeBsHs2qZvryesOf9DfdI64KgGxilHNlZYVOBsrfcRkF598pjJfFp5M6lGu9xBQwzdMWdljJ7ue5SaqFo-U3zFKsAPR4Wu75IQhYMWo4phP-oQoJ9FX8iCbPxIGgf2qL6y8C8GxnaUMZJBhiY6VEXhJre56yYXimRZlYMH/w438-h584/IMG_5079.HEIC" width="438" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">On Saturday night we’d visit bars where we couldn’t speak
the language and on Sunday morning we attended churches that none of us were
affiliated with. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">We grew tremendously. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">All four of us went broke that summer,
but the good news is that August came back around (much too quickly) and we had
jobs waiting for us back home – all including livestock and farm machinery. By
September we were back on Purdue’s campus studying agriculture. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>It was one of the best experiences of my life. </b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sixteen years later, I was texting with one of the four who
spent that summer together. Today, she spends her time travelling the world as
a manager of digital aftermarket deployment for John Deere. My life of babies,
blogging and beef is about as opposite of hers as one can get. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was high time we reconnected to visit the
city again. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">You can probably imagine what it was like telling our
children that Mommy was leaving for a couple days – 48 hours to be precise. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Why are taking a dress?” Caroline asked while I packed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Because Chrissie and I are eating at a restaurant where
sports coats are required.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">“So….why aren’t you packing a ports coat? ….What even is a
ports coat?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Cyrus was less curious about my suitcase and more concerned
about my intentions. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">“When will you be home?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">“In two days. When you get home from church on Sunday, I’ll
be here,” I assured him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Is that before Christmas? Will you be home for Christmas?”
he asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Give me a break! I was leaving for 48 hours!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">A trip of such brevity required an agenda. So in August we
began planning the excursion: what to eat, what to see, where to sleep. You must
know my friend Chrissie to understand the necessity of an agenda. She travels internationally
quarterly, drives to the Moline, Illinois headquarters on a whim if she thinks
she wants to discuss something with a coworker face-to-face. She does not let
the grass grow under her feet. She also walks incredibly fast. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">By 8:15 AM on our first morning in Washington DC my Apple
watch asked if I wanted to begin tracking my workout. I declined the offer as I
was not working out; I was simply trying to keep up with Chrissie while on
vacation. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGbNgrJGXsRPYAQxVikpqHj8wDKw6u-ROGBJHM66zzGc86v2JOKIZjrFpS3D3d6svA97G5u71F__eM8r1i-XWOw5x_x_Y8sMTkpJZf8PSmccyLnAiVsvh7mKvz429rwC1l261yFRjWSB_y0vh5Omh1Wz9PuA6yAD1oQZCGOgqT18H5GyS4s2PCjju/s2208/IMG_2850.JPG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="1206" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGbNgrJGXsRPYAQxVikpqHj8wDKw6u-ROGBJHM66zzGc86v2JOKIZjrFpS3D3d6svA97G5u71F__eM8r1i-XWOw5x_x_Y8sMTkpJZf8PSmccyLnAiVsvh7mKvz429rwC1l261yFRjWSB_y0vh5Omh1Wz9PuA6yAD1oQZCGOgqT18H5GyS4s2PCjju/w350-h640/IMG_2850.JPG" width="350" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">We ate breakfast at a hole-in-the-wall diner just off
Pennsylvania Avenue. The syrup bottle on our table was labeled “non-fat”.
Chrissie called over to the waiter and asked for full-fat maple syrup (this is
why we’re friends). The gentleman proceeded dump the contents of the non-fat
bottle into a bottle labeled “Original” from the adjacent table. He slammed it
on the table and mumbled something about marketing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">The diner, the building where Chrissie once interned, The
Georgetown Law campus to see our old apartment, The United States Postal
Museum, Union Station, The Capitol Building, The Ronald Reagan International
Building food court with approximately 800 field trippers, the National
Cattleman’s Beef Association (my first place of employment following
graduation), Freedom Plaza, The World War 1 Memorial, The White House, Hotel
Washington and CVS: All places we visited before 2:30 PM on day one. We walked
over nine miles and spent $7.36 on Band-Aids for our feet at the final stop. We
were in bed by 9:30 PM.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2C6L9OGr92nBw-J4pnCG3X9yrIrmgcRywDX-mJfLET2zyOWALCgFAqf3TO3yL7EPEq7qvcFlrawQK7LQs4v_7_BFRZ3DXSDtWNCNCGJKyUq38J3mQJn-To4pUGUm_7KEvh0hinqV8f1jKNj3Fnj7rEgCLRhtBlS3o3_9g3lbYOYnJIPlyrbQIG6Ft/s2208/IMG_2818.JPG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="1206" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2C6L9OGr92nBw-J4pnCG3X9yrIrmgcRywDX-mJfLET2zyOWALCgFAqf3TO3yL7EPEq7qvcFlrawQK7LQs4v_7_BFRZ3DXSDtWNCNCGJKyUq38J3mQJn-To4pUGUm_7KEvh0hinqV8f1jKNj3Fnj7rEgCLRhtBlS3o3_9g3lbYOYnJIPlyrbQIG6Ft/w350-h640/IMG_2818.JPG" width="350" /></a></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhogbsceN7ekEoNjB-LNtFZX59yqHfxs-n8zdzFlSUpI62Ub818xHT06KUnH0cS6VAfyH-6LzBrz7FNhD9FbOBZfWsguPOp99Z4-9m-LaZSAd_HQoQDaMdybGIXVuknP1apJnjRATWY3wCBqqMsAqNbXVM8K5KoLD09Cu7rVINznQjGUXAj2T-d3Y/s4032/68688790586__8EAF7EBD-5F3A-47B7-A565-C4A980ECE802.HEIC" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhogbsceN7ekEoNjB-LNtFZX59yqHfxs-n8zdzFlSUpI62Ub818xHT06KUnH0cS6VAfyH-6LzBrz7FNhD9FbOBZfWsguPOp99Z4-9m-LaZSAd_HQoQDaMdybGIXVuknP1apJnjRATWY3wCBqqMsAqNbXVM8K5KoLD09Cu7rVINznQjGUXAj2T-d3Y/w300-h400/68688790586__8EAF7EBD-5F3A-47B7-A565-C4A980ECE802.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">The next day we knew our limits, mostly because our body was
quickly revealing them. We took it a little slower, enjoying brunch then shopping
in Georgetown, a city with magnificent architecture. While there we stopped in
a quaint cupcake shop. A man held up the line because he wanted to ensure his carrot
cake cupcake had vegan carrots in it. Chrissie and I exchanged “GET ME BACK TO
INDIANA” glances.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLK4XxY2fiYfJO-3h3TW1PaxeTr9dEwWtqndGvGczuj9pztjetQZ_2V6fOJLk0YPu3EwffGtBIyg1iQFrCAg8Md-yzgnpBO1W6mGqaXVXJTJR-tAY9Kd4M6rmc1NhsRpxF6e6fWQ9XbYsbV1wK6cWKjdTC-pZzr8Y5_CJxKcKf4tBEX8C_VfNawoUU/s4032/IMG_2800.HEIC" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLK4XxY2fiYfJO-3h3TW1PaxeTr9dEwWtqndGvGczuj9pztjetQZ_2V6fOJLk0YPu3EwffGtBIyg1iQFrCAg8Md-yzgnpBO1W6mGqaXVXJTJR-tAY9Kd4M6rmc1NhsRpxF6e6fWQ9XbYsbV1wK6cWKjdTC-pZzr8Y5_CJxKcKf4tBEX8C_VfNawoUU/w640-h480/IMG_2800.HEIC" width="640" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Our old apartment building on the Georgetown Law campus</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHCjjFP6Xs8O1euUhctseqvmhGWr7E_fiimMDTkExkv2AMj_ily49rKNhW43Hkr9QAD3mX9un5QNDwZRLmcPXIY55czTlV3iFjjF6QUfudodKbMsLY76xGoYIWWwf9TVwChD5u1I9phaDI5hkrK6I3wVkEHu1bwbTKEabo_j_L4DlrEsFMtyiFx1Dk/s3088/IMG_2488.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHCjjFP6Xs8O1euUhctseqvmhGWr7E_fiimMDTkExkv2AMj_ily49rKNhW43Hkr9QAD3mX9un5QNDwZRLmcPXIY55czTlV3iFjjF6QUfudodKbMsLY76xGoYIWWwf9TVwChD5u1I9phaDI5hkrK6I3wVkEHu1bwbTKEabo_j_L4DlrEsFMtyiFx1Dk/w480-h640/IMG_2488.heic" width="480" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Out where the ports coat was required</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">By 6:00 AM on day three we were on an airplane headed home. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Cody welcomed me home with a nearly spotless house, Caroline
welcomed me with open arms, and Cyrus greeted me with, “That wasn’t long.
What’s for supper?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Turns out, mom can leave the farm occasionally, after all and no one freaks out. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Except for mom. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-55363872104670825072023-02-15T05:00:00.001-05:002023-02-15T05:00:00.187-05:00Phone Storage Space<p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Every so often my phone alerts me I’m out of storage space.
I find this rather annoying because I’ve downloaded apps to aid me in these
efforts, where I can upload my photos to the cloud (don’t ask me the details on
the cloud, it sounds dark) and then delete them off my device.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In theory, this should work. I should have plenty of space. But
I also have a six-year-old.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Receiving the alert that I’m out of space triggers to me to check
out my media album to see what kind of gems I may discover:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><u>Exhibit A: Cat breeding video, Total time: 8 min. 12 sec.</u><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">At some point, the children got ahold of my phone and
discovered some interesting action out the south windows. The shaky video
camera finally focused long enough to spot two cats in a predicament. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The scene pans around the backyard, stopping sharply out by
the cattle corral system. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Cyrus! Come look at this!” Caroline yells. You can hear the
patter of his feet come to the window. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“What they doing?” Cyrus asks, perplexed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Piggyback rides,” she matter-of-factly explained. “Cats
play too.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The scene keeps rolling and the cat racket can be heard on
the film. Both kids giggle. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Gasp!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Gary Gray Tail (probably should have named her Greta) does
not like <i>that</i>!” After a few minutes, the children lost interest and left
my phone on the dining room floor. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Minutes later you can hear me asking where my phone is. Both
children deny knowing. Recorder shuts off. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG6XVZ-OtIurypDvbZ5ezIg9HU30hcRQk1cWHSzef0j3I5Yw4JghS-I7sh_f0DIo3ZxvKVrExTobiaCWi-0Pp-z9Xy1Rq8qV7ud3sfulZIUTJBpOqqQAo86yQkVXVDTg9wtWSa1W4BXlgMaAeMlSt5n43BLBzq2SUGcypmNZvJ7Zv1f_eNr3c6h0CA/s1480/cats.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1480" data-original-width="900" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG6XVZ-OtIurypDvbZ5ezIg9HU30hcRQk1cWHSzef0j3I5Yw4JghS-I7sh_f0DIo3ZxvKVrExTobiaCWi-0Pp-z9Xy1Rq8qV7ud3sfulZIUTJBpOqqQAo86yQkVXVDTg9wtWSa1W4BXlgMaAeMlSt5n43BLBzq2SUGcypmNZvJ7Zv1f_eNr3c6h0CA/w285-h468/cats.png" width="285" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><u>Exhibit B: Teeth Brushing Tutorial, Total Time: 9 min. 2
sec.</u><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">At some point, Caroline got ahold of my phone and decided to
put on a tooth brushing tutorial which included a whole lot of spit. She
covered basic principles such as getting the tops and the bottoms, counting to
one hundred while brushing (she got distracted at 24), and how – if you’ve made
too much of a mess – it’s best to use 400 Kleenexes to clean up the counter
rather than the washcloth mom has provided for such events. That tutorial was followed
by an abbreviated synopsis of her morning routine, which included brief, but
not rare, footage of Cyrus eating breakfast without using any silverware. The
video was only brought to a screeching halt when you hear me yell “KIDS. FOR
THE THIRD TIME. GET YOUR BOOTS ON, NOW!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Not my finest work. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvg8YI93b1Rcw7cc4-yYkkT8NisxntvLQWEWxBJJz2gIDJibx6g0dYAeaBfecrIvy5zPhBe6Ydsbhuc4yLZlgBRsURhcI3dEdFekqxJG5czuriczORbrSNKPWWzfNxjKiAh_6NTtwE0z0UjcnVII99lDMSZ9oYPQm4qFOeScQEg6hj3KJzKbtkH_u/s1863/teeth.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1863" data-original-width="1170" height="583" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvg8YI93b1Rcw7cc4-yYkkT8NisxntvLQWEWxBJJz2gIDJibx6g0dYAeaBfecrIvy5zPhBe6Ydsbhuc4yLZlgBRsURhcI3dEdFekqxJG5czuriczORbrSNKPWWzfNxjKiAh_6NTtwE0z0UjcnVII99lDMSZ9oYPQm4qFOeScQEg6hj3KJzKbtkH_u/w366-h583/teeth.JPG" width="366" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><u>Exhibit C: Walk Through Home Demolition, Total Time: 6 min.
48 sec.</u><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">This Academy-worthy piece took place last summer, when we
were in the trenches of the home renovation. I, again, set my phone down
somewhere and tiny hands with the swift ability to get to the video function found
it before I did. Caroline recorded a walk-through of the current progress of
the home. It was a disaster zone, full of insulation, tarps, plastic wraps,
lumber, sawhorses and wiring. Every so often Cyrus would move across the
screen, hauling plaster and lath on a trailer across the wooden floors. He’d
dump it down the in cracks within walls, which had been exposed by the demolition.
Caroline talked of what used to be where. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“So…this is a bedroom. Or, it was. Grampie and Grammie used
to sleep in this room when they come stay. But now it’s just this bad
area….so……...,” she’d find herself questioning just what kind of dusty,
disorderly mess we’d found ourselves in. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Weren’t we all?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVQOdKCTkS2fzyeMmqIIoxqrDZpr1dgrrKosJIn5TaDWHlc49-dsnpK_2VJZMUVWqlLS4fvylRQxgPkwb7ntchdT8HWZlXaBsXrWacyv7kk1OyI0kmZMCWTpcqEAv0F7_n2B2ZVNZmuoNapoqdcMMcIGsw2NUkVNSuAIlVdT_ohwuoTsNrTFdOyo3c/s4032/IMG_8448.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="639" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVQOdKCTkS2fzyeMmqIIoxqrDZpr1dgrrKosJIn5TaDWHlc49-dsnpK_2VJZMUVWqlLS4fvylRQxgPkwb7ntchdT8HWZlXaBsXrWacyv7kk1OyI0kmZMCWTpcqEAv0F7_n2B2ZVNZmuoNapoqdcMMcIGsw2NUkVNSuAIlVdT_ohwuoTsNrTFdOyo3c/w479-h639/IMG_8448.HEIC" width="479" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qr4x0liOjNW1QI3KY7WbJeek0ACxTZlv_k2oNl53Ceu6F_bCL4zJp6oMMrfAYxRx0wsZyNyTxD7_LBaTTBMIfVkV9zsXwVaF-d2bTHrUhG_ed38wq3tj4c7hIIe4m2l4dKncZ-0Mj9Zcp9JmhdiwgkHEzwANMx2Ta85Vtvnp5B7KRqpc26Vc2_7E/s4032/lath2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="547" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qr4x0liOjNW1QI3KY7WbJeek0ACxTZlv_k2oNl53Ceu6F_bCL4zJp6oMMrfAYxRx0wsZyNyTxD7_LBaTTBMIfVkV9zsXwVaF-d2bTHrUhG_ed38wq3tj4c7hIIe4m2l4dKncZ-0Mj9Zcp9JmhdiwgkHEzwANMx2Ta85Vtvnp5B7KRqpc26Vc2_7E/w410-h547/lath2.jpg" width="410" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC96F9qKQSRozEPUOLLwYs9yTJEH58B-YTbXaeUlN_kTeEo0bd_CMn-2dMYEMwOw8E6x-Rm7z9j-1ErISDAdqhhpPTis6LcmNQ7Dl5ShZbzHNNYUdWh2nuzG4mwnym3cSaF1WtUBcb_CzG6BkhYcEnih-nRhLZEIE7aQB6lbEEUMtJur572Pg3NWbs/s4032/lath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="680" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC96F9qKQSRozEPUOLLwYs9yTJEH58B-YTbXaeUlN_kTeEo0bd_CMn-2dMYEMwOw8E6x-Rm7z9j-1ErISDAdqhhpPTis6LcmNQ7Dl5ShZbzHNNYUdWh2nuzG4mwnym3cSaF1WtUBcb_CzG6BkhYcEnih-nRhLZEIE7aQB6lbEEUMtJur572Pg3NWbs/w510-h680/lath.jpg" width="510" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Today, I sit on the couch and delete photos and videos off
my phone, in awe of how our home turned out, keeping us warm on this February
day with a wind advisory. Not too long ago we’d feel a draft move through the
living room on days like this!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBfMqjItiWDswU-7LYVyybNxvFsNGhY4W3YZ7O_4Jk3R2ccJd7DeMxm5ZZv-0sMmi8MZNI5rYDPesD69sZrvH8BoY8wjbjhQB4KHSQ5cr_Q3c5M_MHcgO3ACB5jWsvUIT2q82N9kSMADLj72Ha8iTHmhIENCF7rcO_abIRD9HYna6RoKkiLBv7rMNJ/s4032/IMG_4871.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBfMqjItiWDswU-7LYVyybNxvFsNGhY4W3YZ7O_4Jk3R2ccJd7DeMxm5ZZv-0sMmi8MZNI5rYDPesD69sZrvH8BoY8wjbjhQB4KHSQ5cr_Q3c5M_MHcgO3ACB5jWsvUIT2q82N9kSMADLj72Ha8iTHmhIENCF7rcO_abIRD9HYna6RoKkiLBv7rMNJ/w621-h466/IMG_4871.HEIC" width="621" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><b>I’m also in awe of the number of cats running around this
farm. </b></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">But now we know the rest of the story.</span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b> </b></span></o:p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-53985120048195151632023-01-23T05:00:00.017-05:002023-01-23T05:00:00.196-05:00Home Renovation: Time Capsule<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_b9YWxCNezcgnumra9CTH2XDv9QE1nYTJB7PGOswkce5P6n7UUUojZ61uMpcNobiT7fzicgIKaUEH7tit85ojotnTjdpXMEFWfbKHBVlHeIAl-HPYCQOFEGFW5-dEeC4W-PzBhwYzoVq5z77WIdWfW5csrmR0O5Apmc_TV80kgAcWkd0Qy_e9eLNI/s4032/IMG_9015.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_b9YWxCNezcgnumra9CTH2XDv9QE1nYTJB7PGOswkce5P6n7UUUojZ61uMpcNobiT7fzicgIKaUEH7tit85ojotnTjdpXMEFWfbKHBVlHeIAl-HPYCQOFEGFW5-dEeC4W-PzBhwYzoVq5z77WIdWfW5csrmR0O5Apmc_TV80kgAcWkd0Qy_e9eLNI/w640-h480/IMG_9015.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I always wanted a black front door. <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">And wouldn't you know? I came home one day <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">and Uncle Rex had finally made that dream come true. </span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">My parents did a complete remodel of the house I grew up in
during the late 80s, early 90s. Some of my best childhood memories smell like
saw dust and stain. Within the walls torn down, they found a lace-up buckskin
child’s boot, a calendar from 1919 and a bottle of homemade wine. They still
have these three artifacts today.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmRMrGPh49PPnNDjDqN6eVUna7TR5lAYf5zrw2MYdj02-hEJ8XvJuDPWZerGCez58EG1-DmjcfncIWTXlNS7D-sGZRDaXiJzJrV7-sl0BDLrVII3KMtFX-NMtIN4LGpvqBeRtNJg6udPiLNYKtct0sEzEvImsk1qjZG_yZiQ0cklpQGssHdfnM_Pq/s1952/ps_2012_09_25___17_34_00.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1323" data-original-width="1952" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmRMrGPh49PPnNDjDqN6eVUna7TR5lAYf5zrw2MYdj02-hEJ8XvJuDPWZerGCez58EG1-DmjcfncIWTXlNS7D-sGZRDaXiJzJrV7-sl0BDLrVII3KMtFX-NMtIN4LGpvqBeRtNJg6udPiLNYKtct0sEzEvImsk1qjZG_yZiQ0cklpQGssHdfnM_Pq/w640-h434/ps_2012_09_25___17_34_00.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjljM8Jg8hAv9JnCTDfZNDogWTd_PSGeDZarfDB5ogNuD16BB7Jnf3xvB_UCaaOxWxTSxJyDjQrDCSUO3fWjpMo_BirqerTGWZ6lpPf0SHlNqR1VO46AV70to7W049KT8c6l_aiDG3U0XsCcmU4Xo4RFl2QXG3EnrFPLoeN0TKg_ArzX7GXf5YB5TSt/s640/25456_968534821428_2513079_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjljM8Jg8hAv9JnCTDfZNDogWTd_PSGeDZarfDB5ogNuD16BB7Jnf3xvB_UCaaOxWxTSxJyDjQrDCSUO3fWjpMo_BirqerTGWZ6lpPf0SHlNqR1VO46AV70to7W049KT8c6l_aiDG3U0XsCcmU4Xo4RFl2QXG3EnrFPLoeN0TKg_ArzX7GXf5YB5TSt/w640-h480/25456_968534821428_2513079_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">You can imagine my delight when our contractor began finding
things in the walls during our total home renovation in 2021-2022. Weekly he’d
set aside treasures that had fallen between the cracks of a floor or along
walls: Ornate glass bottles, hair barrettes, playing cards, and handwritten
recipes for Washington Pie and Orange Cake. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhLvkhw8JNoSVVuxheN20XsEWPZiuxTmdQ6rt3EcJj9kpQ6tuMc5LRetOSU0_YTU1DgXqwhKNHECrS9k6xJF9QNE4l7pYC7yjsEZcmSzExoP3ghzyLDE3FGEEjEmprxM8_mHCQrA7KB1EUbk6BrsUJ9cJ5FNTS3fVbOI9vvT9h06Rb_iYghfSim7lC/s4032/time%20capsule-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhLvkhw8JNoSVVuxheN20XsEWPZiuxTmdQ6rt3EcJj9kpQ6tuMc5LRetOSU0_YTU1DgXqwhKNHECrS9k6xJF9QNE4l7pYC7yjsEZcmSzExoP3ghzyLDE3FGEEjEmprxM8_mHCQrA7KB1EUbk6BrsUJ9cJ5FNTS3fVbOI9vvT9h06Rb_iYghfSim7lC/w480-h640/time%20capsule-1.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">He even found a multipage booklet from
the Eighth Annual Wayne, Henry and Randolph Counties Agriculture Association
event, held in Dalton Township, Wayne County, Indiana on September 6 – 9, 1887.
And we were told our house was built in 1920!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I value history, stories, and junk, so naturally, when it was
our turn to replace walls I was ready to create our own time capsule of sorts.
The way this house was reconstructed, I expect it to stand at least another 150
years, but when someone finally decides this space isn’t suitable for their
family, there are a few things we strategically placed for the next occupants
to find. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">When the internal walls were not yet drywalled we wrote many
scriptures along the studs. Just think: if someone does tear down these walls
in 150 years, the message within the scriptures we left will not have changed;
they’re everlasting. In the dining room I wrote out the words to Surely
Goodness And Mercy, a hymn sung before every meal when our large Bowman family
gathers. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-5dHyz8a2JKe9x0RMRwiDmEeSuUCehE3RhjuIL-ZCRGjRtUN7ILLcm9dD9nvv7sWDTlh-m7z7AH8x8So-jpzcJHMicdYdUEUDUJ3HfcOgwpc8SaEDnjqzPzKHA_ll6b75Nz3KYhJXqSpQRmFGFA8QIuWM2hYkHzw28ufuSzG6YG9VqjecFYQBNnp/s4032/time%20capsule-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-5dHyz8a2JKe9x0RMRwiDmEeSuUCehE3RhjuIL-ZCRGjRtUN7ILLcm9dD9nvv7sWDTlh-m7z7AH8x8So-jpzcJHMicdYdUEUDUJ3HfcOgwpc8SaEDnjqzPzKHA_ll6b75Nz3KYhJXqSpQRmFGFA8QIuWM2hYkHzw28ufuSzG6YG9VqjecFYQBNnp/w480-h640/time%20capsule-2.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The contractor's notes at the top of this photo reveal </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">where this reminder in scripture was written.</span> </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqBjn3AEJIQLf54et19vR427x4R_9E0VjzjMGCTwPAQfDpN69g0ayZq3SOuoUuBzsDcqfk2Xpz33Fvop3xYnjNvXyGubYqVoBSkqKRLWub_CdxBXtHM3ZzcJE5qTOJsD_AnIDsAxv_wrIwgfbaGS3VXJlO8L_u1DBHnjF8GhVa11zyx-ijIHfuMMEs/s4032/time%20capsule-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqBjn3AEJIQLf54et19vR427x4R_9E0VjzjMGCTwPAQfDpN69g0ayZq3SOuoUuBzsDcqfk2Xpz33Fvop3xYnjNvXyGubYqVoBSkqKRLWub_CdxBXtHM3ZzcJE5qTOJsD_AnIDsAxv_wrIwgfbaGS3VXJlO8L_u1DBHnjF8GhVa11zyx-ijIHfuMMEs/w480-h640/time%20capsule-3.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In a small Rubbermaid tote we collected small pieces that
tell the story of our family and the renovation: A current family picture where
Caroline was pretty as a doll and Cyrus was scowling at the camera. A 2022 Bell
Contracting wall calendar to identify our builder and the current year. I
placed copies of Western Wayne News in the box, and these particular issues had
my writing in them. We included a sale catalog that provided insight into the
breed and type of cattle we raise. I wrote a 3-page letter describing the
modifications made to the home, our family, our farm, the current state of the
world and the price of gas, groceries and oddities. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIPeKfeb3Fwa08HYnHyPu99HyTgyeYXCkZA3_lFCEVpk3u96k_kGpdCXf8j0rIuogKwWvH4yo-7d5f2qBJWTvmiWSIoAJqKMBisqV5axBwF16EHX4yVYuYgNjfHUHHpy7I16fIOG3jp5BinoOJ7O77I5gy0BXFBGkIYGD4k8NXzi9zUC9vIhAkSS9_/s3252/time%20capsule.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2485" data-original-width="3252" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIPeKfeb3Fwa08HYnHyPu99HyTgyeYXCkZA3_lFCEVpk3u96k_kGpdCXf8j0rIuogKwWvH4yo-7d5f2qBJWTvmiWSIoAJqKMBisqV5axBwF16EHX4yVYuYgNjfHUHHpy7I16fIOG3jp5BinoOJ7O77I5gy0BXFBGkIYGD4k8NXzi9zUC9vIhAkSS9_/w640-h490/time%20capsule.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I asked each child to put a tiny toy in the box and you
would have thought I asked them to donate an arm. It took 6 days for each to
decide on what they could part with, which is disturbing considering the number
of toys they have. Cyrus committed a tiny tractor with no rear tire and
Caroline gave up a tiny foal that was the victim of the lawn mower in 2021. I’m
sure the kids who find such “gifts” will be startled by such generosity. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We sealed the tote and the contractor placed it under the
landing of the stairway before enclosing it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Of course, my hope is that this house never comes down and
it remains well-loved forever, as it is today. I hope the walls remain strong
and white (Who am I kidding? There are already handprints on the door frames as
the kids use them to stabilize themselves during high-speed chases), displaying
family photos and children’s artwork. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQkorjeBHF9_FdoCVDZXHwE9NcEniLUZLoBgjugnWWsCgyvQ8M26c890HGYZJmNkvRscC3P9RbGbm-Z7anakacx8hymkZXLuaj0WVZFYNiV5orZi7chtVcjYo_kNWiXN03nyXChZOw-6h7b8a1nezDH76TVwWOGiP5DsgaHlW9ULlguZxQhRhPwY3/s3643/IMG_3427.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3643" data-original-width="2732" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQkorjeBHF9_FdoCVDZXHwE9NcEniLUZLoBgjugnWWsCgyvQ8M26c890HGYZJmNkvRscC3P9RbGbm-Z7anakacx8hymkZXLuaj0WVZFYNiV5orZi7chtVcjYo_kNWiXN03nyXChZOw-6h7b8a1nezDH76TVwWOGiP5DsgaHlW9ULlguZxQhRhPwY3/w480-h640/IMG_3427.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">But if they do come down and another family with big dreams decides
to renovate this home, at least they’ll have a broken tractor and a three-legged
foal to get them through the chaos. </span><o:p></o:p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-13107370331566210272022-12-21T05:00:00.001-05:002022-12-21T05:00:00.201-05:00Counting Down the Days<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Our children are six and four this Christmas. They’ve been waiting
for December to come back around since December 26, 2021.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">We have several ways of tracking the countdown to Christmas
in our farmhouse. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">The <i>Scenes from Kansas</i> wall calendar is the most
obvious. Now that both children know numbers (for the most part, as Cyrus
consistently skips seventeen) and months, we’re crossing off the days before
even getting into our footie pajamas of an evening. I personally think it’s bad
luck to cross off a day before it is over, but I’ll lead the charge on any
routine that gets them in bed by 8:00 PM. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">The advent calendar is my favorite. We always had a simple
paper advent calendar growing up and I loved the anticipation of The Greatest Story.
Today we have the same in our home. But today you can buy advent calendars with
chocolate, wine, toys and even dog treats in them. Every day is a new offering.
My friend Chrissie (remember, the world traveler with no children) bought our
kids an advent calendar two years ago that was full of farm toys. Every day,
for 24 days, a new toy was in the hands of children who rarely picked up the
toys they already had. It was nearly the end of Chrissie and I’s friendship. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Who can forget the paper chain from church that hangs on our
tree? Each morning, the children shove one another down the hardwood steps,
swing around the banister nearly ripping off the garland, and push their way
across the vinyl flooring to see who can get to the paper chain first to break
the daily link. They rip with such force that two or three come off at a time. It’s
a true lesson in practicing the fruits of the spirit, including love, joy,
peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and
self-control. None of which either child displays between 6:30 AM – 8:00 AM,
daily.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIliiF0IY4pcFqLSh2WFm4Hs4Vcsttueu_7NdgwPMUKpI-oNFkJnf50YCtDW1CD80wHacW6biqlRiGKwHOHAi000vNQ3vDPkggjGDcI8FN643TtxyhbeAIXxcxPDYE3QkK4Yu4GCWjwlAK3qWe-sCUvYSvcscc0mRN1S0KW8OoMQy8drtv3AHkb6q/s4032/IMG_3902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="523" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIliiF0IY4pcFqLSh2WFm4Hs4Vcsttueu_7NdgwPMUKpI-oNFkJnf50YCtDW1CD80wHacW6biqlRiGKwHOHAi000vNQ3vDPkggjGDcI8FN643TtxyhbeAIXxcxPDYE3QkK4Yu4GCWjwlAK3qWe-sCUvYSvcscc0mRN1S0KW8OoMQy8drtv3AHkb6q/w392-h523/IMG_3902.jpg" width="392" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">The amount of pine needles found in inappropriate places
tells me we’re getting closer to the 25<sup>th</sup>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I washed my face Sunday and plucked a needle
out of my washcloth. Caroline was howling two nights ago because there was a
pine needle wedged between her toe and sock. Cyrus, on the other hand, has been
quite resourceful with the needles. He loads them into his dump truck, and when
he gets a full load, he dumps it down the register. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">A friend recently visited and asked what pine air freshener
I used. Imagine her surprise when I revealed that the scent was a mixture of
propane heat flowing through a register vent, heating the Christmas tree needles
organically in the comfort of our own home. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">She didn’t ask for a refill on her coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">How many days until Christmas?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdnVzdMEwQh4KxuOtI0cTeBeI2KrI88-qB4aK4Y-4xCGAXKDQsqJ7SIdd4IWGjmQFAshalbiXj9a6LNjcxb0pkqF8f1ajbzu3K4gAdAGZUpXCup3lfKa-IHnlCUqCFWYFWMHpccukudnmy27rfQnOIoo3uRzV9uGBPVLAu_gxXdXdEfkdIqSN_mwR/s4032/IMG_3876%20(1).HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdnVzdMEwQh4KxuOtI0cTeBeI2KrI88-qB4aK4Y-4xCGAXKDQsqJ7SIdd4IWGjmQFAshalbiXj9a6LNjcxb0pkqF8f1ajbzu3K4gAdAGZUpXCup3lfKa-IHnlCUqCFWYFWMHpccukudnmy27rfQnOIoo3uRzV9uGBPVLAu_gxXdXdEfkdIqSN_mwR/w480-h640/IMG_3876%20(1).HEIC" width="480" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> We made the voyage to Kansas last weekend. </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;">Check out these grandkids with Grammie Sankey</span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-61143569467323237122022-10-05T05:00:00.001-04:002022-10-05T05:00:00.196-04:00Irvin King<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">We’ve had some interesting characters show up at our
doorstep over the years:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The man who showed up in the middle of the night begging for
diesel for his mustang, offering me Monopoly money.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The girl, not in her right mind, <a href="http://jeansboots.blogspot.com/2019/02/saving-grace.html">who rolled her car</a> and was
more worried about the suspended license she was driving on than the baby in
the back seat.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">And how could we forget about <a href="http://jeansboots.blogspot.com/2019/01/spanky.html">Spanky</a>, the trucker passing
through from Kansas, who as fate would have it, worked on Cody’s grandparent’s ranch
30 years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Most recently there was Irvin King.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">It was about the best Friday night we’d had this summer. The
humidity was low, the sun was setting, the weekend agenda wasn’t full. The kids
and I had just gotten done choring while Cody was at a south pasture checking
cattle and fences along the river.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The kids played in the backyard while I put clothes away
upstairs. As I carried the laundry basket up the stairwell, I stopped at the
window to enjoy the view. How long have I waited to be able to look out a
window and see our kids enjoy the property?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Except, there weren’t only kids. A man had made his way up
the sidewalk and was talking to the children. At first glance I thought it was
my dad, in work pants and worn belt, t-shirt tucked in. But after a few seconds
I realized the person visiting with the kids was a stranger. I dropped the
clothes basket and raced downstairs.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Instantly, he reminded me of my grandpa Bowman, who died in
1989 when I was just 4 years old. Gentle nature and soft spoken.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The man told me his Cummins motorcoach had broken down on
the side of US-35 and he asked if he could simply pull it off the highway into
the access drive into our hayfield. This sounded fine, except we don’t own the
land across the road. I called the neighbor to the north and he didn’t
hesitate; he permitted that they park there overnight, no problem.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Of course, I couldn’t just let this stranger that had walked
onto our property leave without some questions. Nothing out of ordinary Lindsay
protocol: Name? Home state? Reason why you’d drive through Economy, Indiana?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The man I was visiting with was Irvin King. He is in his
eighties, still farming row crops and cattle in West Virginia. He was passing
through our area because of a more important detail: He used to race. In fact,
Irvin is also known as the Flying Farmer.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">He revealed to me that he and his wife were on their way to
a race when they broke down. Irvin is a name in sprint car racing, though you
wouldn’t know it by visiting with him. He was more interested in our cattle and
kids than he was talking about his history. But there is nothing a little light
internet stalking can’t uncover.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgexFF9Hex__m9xzdvPdf41GBPcdvz_wPXVqWP_ODS6RW_LMysDmF9DGCXW2vP80SAFdLF01WDBA2578Moc9jQN-AiUxiV_ukJwFsgBAJ1X6_1yKU2OadGdImVhpePbanW-WlGB6JROUO3LLNI-HwmeWHHQGu1drFZKCu2CngEusVfAW4AtKjNj1a9Q/s600/king.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="600" height="558" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgexFF9Hex__m9xzdvPdf41GBPcdvz_wPXVqWP_ODS6RW_LMysDmF9DGCXW2vP80SAFdLF01WDBA2578Moc9jQN-AiUxiV_ukJwFsgBAJ1X6_1yKU2OadGdImVhpePbanW-WlGB6JROUO3LLNI-HwmeWHHQGu1drFZKCu2CngEusVfAW4AtKjNj1a9Q/w640-h558/king.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Irvin King is a Sprint Car legend. People today are still
commenting on race websites about watching him race and dominate the sprint car
world in the 1960’s and 70’s. You can buy photos of Irvin off eBay, Amazon and
collector sites, all of him in the winner’s circle, standing proudly next to
racing machines he built and won with.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The kids stayed close while we visited briefly. I asked if
he and his wife would stay for dinner; he declined. As the sun sat, Irvin
walked back down the side ditch and loaded back into his motorcoach.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlUb-7JdiKLR5rh7o36BxfNSAot-jR4PbhyFduqeeHak5CztYW-NxWYwQAgbu5VaPLXWPTZjVoi_FpU7vcHTT8a0ZYr5xGF7lzBQHHW6ANU8mVlikd_FNVxo8KYQV0vYUVssVzZsjTx7188xtUdcYi3-2NoaPTVScmdgzcKeYoyydmpjLnbhf58xJ/s4032/Flying%20Farmer%20in%20Economy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlUb-7JdiKLR5rh7o36BxfNSAot-jR4PbhyFduqeeHak5CztYW-NxWYwQAgbu5VaPLXWPTZjVoi_FpU7vcHTT8a0ZYr5xGF7lzBQHHW6ANU8mVlikd_FNVxo8KYQV0vYUVssVzZsjTx7188xtUdcYi3-2NoaPTVScmdgzcKeYoyydmpjLnbhf58xJ/w640-h480/Flying%20Farmer%20in%20Economy.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I regressed 30 years and began acting like 8-year-old
Lindsay. I felt as though a celebrity, maybe Reba McEntire, was camping in our
yard and I just wanted her to befriend me. All evening, all night, and for the
next 48 hours I looked out the window waiting for him to reappear. He never
came out of the coach.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The next morning I asked Cody if we should take him coffee.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“No.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">That afternoon I asked Cody if we should take him towels.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“No.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">That evening I asked Cody if we should take him a meat and
cheese tray. WHO DOESN’T LOVE A MEAT AND CHEESE TRAY? </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“No.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The next day I asked Cody if we should invite him to the
kid’s birthday party we were hosting in 36 hours. I bet you can guess Cody’s
answer.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Mr. and Mrs. King were parked across from our farm for two
days. We never visited again.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">But the kids sure ask about him. Because they hang on legs
while adults visit, they picked up on his racing story. We’ve Googled “Irvin
King race” time and time again to look at his successes and his story. Quite remarkable
that such a character ended up broken down (of all things) in front of our
farm.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">That was July. More than a month later, I went to the
mailbox to find two autographed photos of Irvin King himself. He had traveled
back through the area and was kind enough to leave these keepsakes for our
children. An interesting character we won’t soon forget.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCbNLNVYp1vYLmWRVeo3nDB9BrUIjTxbHAEvFuLqilw9HGvehTYNeOGwMTMEa6fII9RC6Nx-LvFhX0wBbwk0xZZyIja-ibDN82HOu5tkOW7YQmkLWwES4A6lvdMjimoZS6p0bRvus2Hn-0AQ45yczRQZM5uNQcf95NtMhGz6Sn3xVFb3QpuxS41Bel/s4032/IMG_2444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCbNLNVYp1vYLmWRVeo3nDB9BrUIjTxbHAEvFuLqilw9HGvehTYNeOGwMTMEa6fII9RC6Nx-LvFhX0wBbwk0xZZyIja-ibDN82HOu5tkOW7YQmkLWwES4A6lvdMjimoZS6p0bRvus2Hn-0AQ45yczRQZM5uNQcf95NtMhGz6Sn3xVFb3QpuxS41Bel/w480-h640/IMG_2444.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I don’t love living on a highway, but I do love the
opportunities if affords our family. Our puppy Sadie likely wouldn’t say the same.
<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-23807289764455725022022-09-14T05:00:00.001-04:002022-09-14T05:00:00.181-04:00The Souvenir <p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">After we wed nine years ago, many evenings were spent in our
small home on the edge of town trying to stuff all his Kansas/Angus/ranch memorabilia
into an Indiana/Shorthorn/farm house I’d lived in alone for five years. Our
styles were so similar: rich in history and stories of days and people gone by.
What I didn’t consider was what it might be like to marry a fellow collector.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59YCjnY6lPpHzbszb42EpVqYJue7FuqY7nO3jr9By3xvXcs6gI5UrF1tSeCCbBBBcTPS6iiZQ8s-zs2liQzFTNQoSiOHFM05JaM0ZFLsQo5SNvgxZzGsc1DLtB2ChnsEmGxsV7Po_Iobmw2vRJ6Hw-V6vGbqDgmZnprRCP3MCABh1l_JYWocEeapZ/s604/fireplace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="532" data-original-width="604" height="485" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59YCjnY6lPpHzbszb42EpVqYJue7FuqY7nO3jr9By3xvXcs6gI5UrF1tSeCCbBBBcTPS6iiZQ8s-zs2liQzFTNQoSiOHFM05JaM0ZFLsQo5SNvgxZzGsc1DLtB2ChnsEmGxsV7Po_Iobmw2vRJ6Hw-V6vGbqDgmZnprRCP3MCABh1l_JYWocEeapZ/w550-h485/fireplace.jpg" width="550" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>Too late now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Nearly a decade later and we’re still passionate about what
does and does not belong around our farm. Does it have a story? Does it belong
in the family? Was it once living? All questions we ask ourselves as we
continue to make this homestead our own. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">So you can imagine my surprise when I came home from work to
find a five foot headstone erected in our front yard a couple weeks ago. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">While
most families return home from vacations with sunburns, t-shirts and keychains,
we came home from our trip to Kansas City with a headstone that boldly displays
someone else’s initials.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">It was an honor for husband Cody to be asked to judge the
Bred & Owned (bred and raised on your farm, home grown, not purchased from
anyone else) show at the National Junior Angus Show in Kansas City. To add
extra sweetness, he was able to ask his father to be his associate judge.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmNmHabAA4-no1XLFEdI98dFa7L4kDxfaX0xJ9CD9uznh3-hDHPCfJkK0EcNyV4_mv6Vxm66vdqabm3JuNFFK9FtK-CJKQiBBhJ2zh0R_8hHOcjlAtiCy8XyIVLZTMm1DZm1tKvdHS9kIXQToXjxZaa0teuB1k3M1ABU2XdAqCr6vDLl9h0hS64PW/s4032/36E3A38D-254E-49EF-A61E-F22197FA1B5A.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmNmHabAA4-no1XLFEdI98dFa7L4kDxfaX0xJ9CD9uznh3-hDHPCfJkK0EcNyV4_mv6Vxm66vdqabm3JuNFFK9FtK-CJKQiBBhJ2zh0R_8hHOcjlAtiCy8XyIVLZTMm1DZm1tKvdHS9kIXQToXjxZaa0teuB1k3M1ABU2XdAqCr6vDLl9h0hS64PW/w667-h500/36E3A38D-254E-49EF-A61E-F22197FA1B5A.jpeg" width="667" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The entry way to the prestigious show ring was flanked with
two tall flint rock monuments commemorating the event. Throughout the few days
we were at the show while Cody judged, I did notice him study the monuments. He
touched them. Tried to rock them. Mentally judged their weight. Studied how
they were free-standing. Never in my right mind did I think we’d haul one home.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Finally, it was time to pack the four of us back into the
truck and head east to Wayne County. Cody walked over while I was saying
goodbye to Missouri friends, “Did you see those stones by the ring?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“How could I miss them? It’s like the Kansas Stonehenge.” He
didn’t appreciate my joke. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“Well, they put them up on the silent auction for folks to
bid on throughout the week…” he continued like a kid about to explain how he
ended up in the Principal’s office. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“You didn’t. Please. Please tell me you did not bid on
those,” I pleaded. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“Well just once or so and turns out no one else wanted
them!” by his excitement I knew how this story was going to end. “I only bought
one. The other will go the to Angus Hall of Fame.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“Of course no one wanted them! They look like headstones!” I
was not believing my ears. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Cody was so excited about this souvenir to commemorate the
opportunity to judge the bred & owned cattle with his dad, that he didn’t
even sense my frustration. “Did you bring the joint check book?” he asked with
a pep in his step, as though he’d won the grandest prize of all. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“No way, pal, this is coming from your personal savings. Buying
your headstone was not in the budget this year with the home renovation. Wait. Doesn’t
it have words on it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“Letters. NJAS ’22. National Junior Angus Show 2022. It’s a
souvenir. The year I judged with Dad,” he remarked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Ugh. Now he was tugging at my heartstrings. “I thought they
gave you coolers as keepsakes. Couldn’t we have stuck with the coolers?” I
asked as he walked in the opposite direction. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHyEGlmWIARyh_W2zvi_gJF581oet77NSAkskCT9TdDxa3x3JkI9lritm2F9S7o6FKyRbnDj84dro_0wkvgMG6ypu61L8JvpAcTUvU-7HFCyjp5Vmavzykca_0qNHXjowR5gywbf_dawfLlBt00MdFJktRJqzEgzMWJVBMG6R6mEmZxgSdqI75_fut/s1860/IMG_1399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1860" data-original-width="1206" height="788" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHyEGlmWIARyh_W2zvi_gJF581oet77NSAkskCT9TdDxa3x3JkI9lritm2F9S7o6FKyRbnDj84dro_0wkvgMG6ypu61L8JvpAcTUvU-7HFCyjp5Vmavzykca_0qNHXjowR5gywbf_dawfLlBt00MdFJktRJqzEgzMWJVBMG6R6mEmZxgSdqI75_fut/w510-h788/IMG_1399.JPG" width="510" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">One pallet, two skid steers, three state lines and four
weeks later the rock (headstone) landed outside beautiful Economy, Indiana. He organized
a team to help him place it on our farm before I got home. Not his first rodeo.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">For four weeks now I’ve mowed around the headstone and roll
my eyes each time. What a souvenir we’ll have to will off to our kids. I just hope
Cyrus one day marries someone more patient that his own mother who can
appreciate the free standing family headstone. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Last weekend we sat outside admiring the freshly mown yard,
an Indiana sunset and American flags blowing in the breeze. Life is good in
rural Wayne County. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“I just have one regret,” he said. Of course, my ears perked
up. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">“I wish I would have bought both of those stones. To balance
things out around the milkhouse.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>Friends, if you drive by our farm and see fresh dirt under
the NJAS ’22 souvenir, think nothing of it. <o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b> </b></span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p style="height: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">x</span></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-23365151257106201122022-08-17T05:00:00.004-04:002022-08-17T05:00:00.199-04:00'22 Junior Nationals: A Log<p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">My husband grew up traveling from coast to coast with his
family of four, taking turns napping on the floorboard of the truck as they
traveled from one national cattle show to the other. When the child on the
floor would get hot, they’d switch with the child sprawled out across the back
seat.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">He yearns the same experience for our family. I prefer car seats.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Actually, he desires the family-of-four-traveling- to-exhibit-home-raised-cattle
experience. I can more get on board with that idea. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I too grew up showing cattle, but the road trips I remember
involved never stopping unless we were 15 miles to empty, a cooler in the back
seat containing of a gallon of whole milk to keep us full and bing cherries to
keep us regular. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Fast forward 25 years and it was my turn as the parent to
pack the cooler. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For our cross-country
cattle adventure I packed raisins, apples, sunflower seeds, and water. The only
items touched during our entire trip were the bottles of water, and those were
only used to wash faces after the kids devoured oreos from the gas station. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We traveled to two national junior cattle shows this summer
as a family, one in Louisville, the second in Kansas City. Both had their
excitement:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><u>Trip 1, Day 1:</u><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Caroline did a fantastic job giving her speech about the
tools she uses to take care of her heifer. This resulted in a 4<sup>th</sup>
place win.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Cyrus got drug out of a crowded women’s restroom and told
all the reasons why he can’t use such a place to hide during hide-n-seek. This
resulted in a humiliated mother. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjynIzwCrBZEILBiM4TxncpiPQjKhtyZuvN1Szj4Kbo_fSYE-AquYNPZz_DqcdJ1C6F2-Wj7WB5aEnfDHukeViqb78E0dnVOahuPMHVyO6M7XzTJhfQVuZJWoj5J_LF0kZIHZCbdvnoLZMv8bxw_xK-CGWh_qd-afV7g5A_sJ8PMgFVhARNOu9_RSTQ/s2048/4%20cousins.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="573" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjynIzwCrBZEILBiM4TxncpiPQjKhtyZuvN1Szj4Kbo_fSYE-AquYNPZz_DqcdJ1C6F2-Wj7WB5aEnfDHukeViqb78E0dnVOahuPMHVyO6M7XzTJhfQVuZJWoj5J_LF0kZIHZCbdvnoLZMv8bxw_xK-CGWh_qd-afV7g5A_sJ8PMgFVhARNOu9_RSTQ/w429-h573/4%20cousins.jpg" width="429" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Cousins Caroline, Bayler, Cyrus & Maddie </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">just before the two older girls did their speech contests</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><u>Trip 1, Day 2:</u><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Caroline goes on a 20-minute self-guided tour of the
facility and mom panics a bit. That afternoon we sit down with the kids to go
over why we don’t just wander away from the stalls in a place this big. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Kids, you can’t just walk off with people you don’t know.
Just don’t talk to people you don’t know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Dad,” Cyrus said. “I don’t talk to people I don’t know,”
then he paused. “But Dad, I don’t even talk to people I do know,” said Mr.
Congeniality, Age 3.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xGioSqOvgXEqKIbWK96Ag4AbdbstIlRyY42teghL3PsKHSebwrQQiYBmMX-mrUDEVqhQ9IScQGddEzfhfsB16dRRT33XbgBSz4tGCoxAFo89hgKLaI3ztDjrtWUAcLep7xCWfI3GF-UuRqnk6YYfZNn54Cn2WQyQoLWTqjIUY7H7oLb6oorcdUQK/s1163/IMG_1061.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="1163" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xGioSqOvgXEqKIbWK96Ag4AbdbstIlRyY42teghL3PsKHSebwrQQiYBmMX-mrUDEVqhQ9IScQGddEzfhfsB16dRRT33XbgBSz4tGCoxAFo89hgKLaI3ztDjrtWUAcLep7xCWfI3GF-UuRqnk6YYfZNn54Cn2WQyQoLWTqjIUY7H7oLb6oorcdUQK/w456-h342/IMG_1061.jpg" width="456" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Cyrus telling the Conley brothers from Oklahoma how much corn (wood chips) he's hauled to-date</span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><u>Trip 2 Day 1:</u><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">After listening to John Denver’s, Country Roads Take Me Home
on repeat for 40 miles Caroline asked, “Mom. How far from home was this guy if
he should have been home yesterday?” We then rolled into Kansas City blaring
the National Anthem, which is the kids’ current favorite tune. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEE5f7aoNlpHh9zZc1gxsq9LZFrT1JNA8mqK13Dfvmj3A64dWIWEZepCTFKOzDKKArNzyiuqU2SCDwvEs3f5_Sm6jnkrlWAqPUgU63PzT7I2H6AUUckehhCirLErSxkpCZvxIP_1OWfrD7Hq2nu8BsmAEm12zUXy--V7iCB1TS3jFh_crruVZN0Voh/s4032/unnamed%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEE5f7aoNlpHh9zZc1gxsq9LZFrT1JNA8mqK13Dfvmj3A64dWIWEZepCTFKOzDKKArNzyiuqU2SCDwvEs3f5_Sm6jnkrlWAqPUgU63PzT7I2H6AUUckehhCirLErSxkpCZvxIP_1OWfrD7Hq2nu8BsmAEm12zUXy--V7iCB1TS3jFh_crruVZN0Voh/w547-h410/unnamed%20(1).jpg" width="547" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Front row seat to see Dad & Grampie judge the bred & owned Angus cattle in Kansas City</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><u>Trip 2, Day 2:</u><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I took the kids to the hotel pool and stayed in my street
(barn) clothes. I sat pool side and never once jumped in to save someone who
didn’t need saving.<b> BIG WIN. </b><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVCmDxH2qK_TU7MnA8s8-W6VXHu2rUvf3px_9InYeIaiyBMqGe1MgmIaEhwLaRM1yrA2ZB1V5MYnIuUF9NIJFBDDfgZ8yybarBH5vykiiibDMOAognbCtXKNXq5c1RXERtz-2WsvbA2IZrpln0QtT_EMUkJWrjk4otVu2eEbs49XHb-jMsVbUEAqji/s2134/unnamed.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2134" data-original-width="1164" height="658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVCmDxH2qK_TU7MnA8s8-W6VXHu2rUvf3px_9InYeIaiyBMqGe1MgmIaEhwLaRM1yrA2ZB1V5MYnIuUF9NIJFBDDfgZ8yybarBH5vykiiibDMOAognbCtXKNXq5c1RXERtz-2WsvbA2IZrpln0QtT_EMUkJWrjk4otVu2eEbs49XHb-jMsVbUEAqji/w360-h658/unnamed.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><u>Trip 2, Day 3:</u><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Cyrus had his first, hopefully his last, run in with the police.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In a rush to get to the show ring to watch Dad judge the
cattle, Cyrus got locked in the truck. Which wouldn’t be such a bad deal if he
wasn’t also strapped into his car seat, unable to reach the lock. And also if
it wasn’t a spicy summer in Kansas City. We were very lucky in that this incident
took place early morning and it was not yet hot outside. Had it been, a crowbar
would have gone through the glass in minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I called one lock smith who hung up on me after politely
saying they’d call back within 30 minutes with a price quote. I didn’t care
about a price; I needed my child out of the truck. I next called the American
Royal facility (where the show took place) who sent out a security guard. I
knew when he walked up to the truck with his thumbs tucked in his polyester
pants that we might not get very far. Sure enough, he said he had the tools to
get into the truck, but he couldn’t (wouldn’t) use them due to liability and
possibly getting sued. You can imagine how this went over with ol’ Mom. The
security guy then called the grounds maintenance man. This man was great at
getting me calmed down. He was a grandfather and recognized the urgency in the
situation. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Cyrus did fine during all of this, but he was very confused
as to why I wouldn’t just open the door and get him out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Finally, the Kansas City Police Department was contacted and
they came out, also unable to get into the truck due to the type of lock on the
truck. KCPD quickly called another locksmith. Within 3 minutes of the locksmith
arriving, Cyrus was out of the hot truck. The ordeal lasted 45 minutes and
Cyrus’s shirt was soaked by the time I pulled him out of the car seat.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWYiCQ-cEau5CLHGjtRZeALzo4gkO37bmLm0TPmc33I4K4_ex77dYGnEAZju4FAAaO2USHijJmbPTYTpZVm3kX5AtaAORYHj9tmhHn2Seu4dluL3UHUV-0qscVlCuVQdTgeAMSECwsu9e2HueeWNiGxHnYnZ4SAw6mhqAEq-0BUZ4OIm4fGjI1oioD/s872/IMG_3534.jpeg" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="628" height="594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWYiCQ-cEau5CLHGjtRZeALzo4gkO37bmLm0TPmc33I4K4_ex77dYGnEAZju4FAAaO2USHijJmbPTYTpZVm3kX5AtaAORYHj9tmhHn2Seu4dluL3UHUV-0qscVlCuVQdTgeAMSECwsu9e2HueeWNiGxHnYnZ4SAw6mhqAEq-0BUZ4OIm4fGjI1oioD/w427-h594/IMG_3534.jpeg" width="427" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Both trips were fun, exhausting and memorable. Our hope is
one day the kids will look back and want the same experiences for their
children. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Except for the women’s restroom ordeal.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> Or the Stranger Danger. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Or
the locksmith situation. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Maybe they’ll take their kids to the beach. </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRK-ehU-iHdRBn9Opd0FnuUNvEWSgd-IqBrM_AkEMKmNLLs9idHdaYaeBc3fvUsx5LdiHC1sTSdeqbF2vUPsDJGHSP_NM_LEyRTEtkQXghp1NKW4_r7fmSPZZNZCxcZgz-cp2JpJRFcVt3B8sh2yir0YrWkNMfLQumm_OydKU1GZDjgA02porhM2k_/s7654/93297668-MMA53638.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5105" data-original-width="7654" height="367" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRK-ehU-iHdRBn9Opd0FnuUNvEWSgd-IqBrM_AkEMKmNLLs9idHdaYaeBc3fvUsx5LdiHC1sTSdeqbF2vUPsDJGHSP_NM_LEyRTEtkQXghp1NKW4_r7fmSPZZNZCxcZgz-cp2JpJRFcVt3B8sh2yir0YrWkNMfLQumm_OydKU1GZDjgA02porhM2k_/w551-h367/93297668-MMA53638.JPG" width="551" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-53335320554558075322022-07-20T05:00:00.001-04:002022-07-20T05:00:00.191-04:00Swim Lessons, Part II<p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">On week two of swim lessons I was more aware and prepared
myself for the day ahead. It was still cold then; I wore boots, jeans, and
under-eye concealer to hide the fact that I don’t actually sleep, but merely
worry with my eyes closed.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We arrived at lessons and both children were excited to be
back. I wish I could say the same. I only wanted us to get what we came for: learning.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">While Caroline’s class swam, Cyrus and I watched, and vice versa.
It was this week that Cyrus noticed the kiddie pool. Just off the main pool was
a large, shallow pool painted with sea characters. He asked if he could get in
and my heart sunk. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Cyrus doesn’t fear water like I do. Cyrus doesn’t fear
anything except being drug to my home extension meetings and sitting still
while we discuss current events and volunteerism.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I told him he could get in the water, then I proceeded to
pace the edge of the kiddie pool. There was another family enjoying time
together. Cyrus started off slowly, cautiously, trying to figure out balance in
a body of water alone (remember: no bathtub at home). Then he got confident. He
began running laps around the pool, splashing, embracing the freedom. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Suddenly he slipped on the bottom of the pool and couldn’t
find his footing. His arms flailed back and forth. His whole body was under water.
This lasted for about 6 seconds which was plenty. I yelled for him but of
course he didn’t hear me. The mother sitting on the edge of the pool leaned all
the way into the water and grabbed his arm. She brought him back to a place
where he found his footing. I couldn’t thank her enough, but tried.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Minutes later Cyrus was back in the pool. Having that under
his belt, he was ready to move on. That made one of us. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It was not ten minutes later that the scenario repeated
itself. This time, he was across the pool from help. He flailed, he sunk, I
screamed. My heart was in my feet. Then I did what any mother would do. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Fully dressed, I jumped into the pool and ran (is it still
called running when in water?) to him. By the time I reached Cyrus, he’d found
his own feet was already above water. Using two hands to wipe his eyes, he was
unsure of why Mom was in the pool in jeans and a sweater. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“What you doing?” he asked out of breath. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Helping you, buddy!” I said, more out of breath. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“I was playing shark.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Well of course he was. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I waded back to the edge of the pool and had one heck of a
time getting my body out of the pool with my jeans, sweater, and everything
else completely saturated. I tried to play it cool but the family ushered their
kid to the locker room, confused as to what just happened. Weren’t we all? The
lifeguard, paid and trained to do what I just attempted, re-focused her
attention back on the big pool. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I’d publicly transitioned from Bathing Suit Mom one week to
Fully Clothed Baywatch (more like River-look) mom in front of a whole group of
people. I just wanted to be the mom on the sidelines watching her children
learn to swim. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I found a chair and wrung out my pants then switched kids;
Cyrus got in for a lesson, Caroline came to sit poolside with me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“What happened to your clothes?” she asked, drying off with
a mermaid towel. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“I went swimming,” I told her while rolling my jeans like
Tom Sawyer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">There was a long, judgmental pause with observation. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“If you wanted to swim you should have worn your bathing
suit again.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">S.O.S.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-37820808041507785152022-07-13T05:00:00.001-04:002022-07-13T05:00:00.165-04:00Swim Lessons, Part I<p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Swim lessons are finally over, so I’m willing to talk. There
was a time when I wasn’t sure I’d ever be capable.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I’m afraid of water. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I grew up running through nettles in order to play in the
Greens Fork River, and I’m afraid of water. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3UVIwDMErEL6da3z2ssDSnkY9P9Ue6yAkRcfLIyCNBtrSrHP6GepM8NezQc_7FNZFDciieaHe6KErOan2eWsUKQOtlhAkoRruDikKmhiokt88lFbHrlbeBMM5BgWnOMc6Mxj_0IDiuVUe1VB6Nk9-hz_LAR0zX9Y7P12WFBurog0qxvY8uzeavhji/s1600/river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3UVIwDMErEL6da3z2ssDSnkY9P9Ue6yAkRcfLIyCNBtrSrHP6GepM8NezQc_7FNZFDciieaHe6KErOan2eWsUKQOtlhAkoRruDikKmhiokt88lFbHrlbeBMM5BgWnOMc6Mxj_0IDiuVUe1VB6Nk9-hz_LAR0zX9Y7P12WFBurog0qxvY8uzeavhji/w640-h426/river.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large; text-align: left;">I took swimming lessons at the Splash Club in Hagerstown and
jumped off the high dive, and I’m afraid of water.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I passed PE in high school which required swimming, and I’m
afraid of water.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">When the Golay Center opened enrollment for youth swim
lessons, I knew it was time to enroll both children. Caroline was in infant
swim lessons five (!) years ago, but that was before she could understand the
aqua world around her. It was time for both kids to get acquainted with the
waves. And it was time for me to get brave.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1eKyEnWomwqdDJn6-kboSA1vaHa97zy_xfaAmdmLCv0hp-CkMdZrv5rQKFfMpsA06h40sJ3-Gi4HvPCxB6s_G2MoAVkXpTkXvQPeTccSBk_vtxPP8WcW2tvbZSfiu7WZ0RS5VmODahigiETdASoj6hZwW-qbIqlmSujfAhBRbdZWHjoVZFViD1Gus/s1600/swim%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1eKyEnWomwqdDJn6-kboSA1vaHa97zy_xfaAmdmLCv0hp-CkMdZrv5rQKFfMpsA06h40sJ3-Gi4HvPCxB6s_G2MoAVkXpTkXvQPeTccSBk_vtxPP8WcW2tvbZSfiu7WZ0RS5VmODahigiETdASoj6hZwW-qbIqlmSujfAhBRbdZWHjoVZFViD1Gus/w300-h400/swim%201.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbrXxEs8bG9-QMB6sM9kHyqqqklByQEeRZ4KaiL_OBqmygsRD54EHe2Dd3r0s_ZBDSOkjcguDVMBfPnSbb0Mg0_arGKLQpOzKcHohwwy9XDpLX2AMo9CO4YD6Wy7naOyehHhVbZyhFBLk7aC1ifRPC2fh35ao3Gcd1brcyf2xhkHvgHOE3zQCFQtB/s4032/swim%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbrXxEs8bG9-QMB6sM9kHyqqqklByQEeRZ4KaiL_OBqmygsRD54EHe2Dd3r0s_ZBDSOkjcguDVMBfPnSbb0Mg0_arGKLQpOzKcHohwwy9XDpLX2AMo9CO4YD6Wy7naOyehHhVbZyhFBLk7aC1ifRPC2fh35ao3Gcd1brcyf2xhkHvgHOE3zQCFQtB/w300-h400/swim%202.jpg" width="300" /></a></div></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Five days prior to the first swim lesson I began laying out
materials: trunks for Cyrus, a suit for Caroline and nothing short of a body
bag for myself. With no ability to recall the last time I frolicked in a body
of water, I was having a hard time finding anything suitable for myself to wear
to such a lesson. I settled on a top and bottoms, both with elastic older than
my barn socks. That’s old. Really old. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We arrived to the Saturday morning swim lesson and all three
of us reported to the women’s locker room to get undressed and changed into our
swim wear. I was nervous as all get out, anticipating fully that the discomfort
I was about to feel in the water was a complete sacrifice for our children to
learn how to take care of themselves in any crisis situation. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It wasn’t until we walked out into the pool area that I
realized I was in a crisis situation, myself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">There were parents sitting poolside. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">There were parents sitting poolside on their phones. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">There were parents sitting poolside on their phones fully
dressed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">There were parents sitting poolside on their phones fully
dressed and in full make-up. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">There were parents sitting poolside on their phones fully
dressed and in full make-up, enjoying coffee from <a href="https://www.facebook.com/cafeneocc" target="_blank">Café Neo</a>. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I was, in fact, the only parent in the facility who was in
swim wear, hanging off my left leg as though a dog had shredded the tired elastic.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">When the lesson prior to Caroline’s was over, I oh-so-non-discretely
walked over to the edge of the pool and asked the instructor in a whisper,
“Don’t I need to get in the water with them?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Only for infants. Are they infants?” she responded with a gentle
smile. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">My “infants” (forever in my eyes) stood upright next to me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I sent the children into the water took an awkward seat next
to the other parents. There was not a towel big enough to conceal the
awkwardness I felt. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The kids did fine during lesson one and seemingly 58 hours
later we all reported back to the women’s locker room. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Mom. Why did you wear that swimsuit today If you didn’t
have to learn how to swim?” Caroline asked me while I tried to shimmy undies up
her half-dried legs. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Well,” I tried to reason within myself, “Mommy was trying
to be prepared but I didn’t read the directions, I guess,” I responded somewhat
surprised she even noticed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">“Yeah, Mom. That was weird,” Cyrus remarked, putting the
final nail through my drowning heart. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Stay tuned. That was only week one. I regret to inform you
that it gets worse. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-29316406679957439592022-03-30T05:00:00.001-04:002022-03-30T05:00:00.242-04:00Oreo, A Tribute<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">We’re parents of
a little girl who longs for a pet. Something to hold and love and take on
adventures. Basically, the opposite of her brother. She adores any dog that
comes onto our farm when folks show up to trade cattle. During Valentine’s Day
she drew us a picture of a 4-legged creature inside a heart; I asked her what
it was. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“It’s the dog you won’t let me have. It’s in my heart.” Talk about marketing!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">We haven’t made
the commitment to a dog on a US highway (yet), but my parents lovingly brought
three male barn cats to our farm last year. Since then, we’re on litter number four
from those original three “males”. Truly, the gift that keeps on giving. It was
in litter number two that Oreo (black, white, and round) arrived.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9wsTbDECYLbqPxnTKYWdHVg20hQu2b66SSdIndUOJnE_FxKY9-Kk3Ak8C2oJ-MZ3aerdm0RLJHUU36IwExQrxRRsMQgioDxc9jasnJ4NlZbBpvLydMMbcQvUNytlzYuul6lYy0wC1UIAEqma0zZDa0dQd9QO09gf6dvQslLOD0nlpG91zvYGpuTHH/s2017/IMG-7507-Original.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2017" data-original-width="1206" height="690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9wsTbDECYLbqPxnTKYWdHVg20hQu2b66SSdIndUOJnE_FxKY9-Kk3Ak8C2oJ-MZ3aerdm0RLJHUU36IwExQrxRRsMQgioDxc9jasnJ4NlZbBpvLydMMbcQvUNytlzYuul6lYy0wC1UIAEqma0zZDa0dQd9QO09gf6dvQslLOD0nlpG91zvYGpuTHH/w412-h690/IMG-7507-Original.jpg" width="412" /></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Oreo was…not
right. He would sit in the middle of a busy barn lot and stare at the sun. He’d
eat out of the cat food bowl by burying his head in the feed then looking straight
up to the sky and sway back and forth like Ray Charles while he chewed. But
Oreo wasn’t blind; we know because we did a sight test. Don’t ask. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Because Oreo
didn’t run from the kids when they came to the barn, he became an instant farm
favorite. This kitten experienced a whole lot of life with Caroline and Cyrus.
He took many ATV rides. He was pulled in a wagon for hours. He was a frequent
guest of the swing set clubhouse. He was carried around in a small Igloo
cooler, full of grass, rocks, and cat food, so he could quickly go anywhere
Caroline’s day took her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFeHoHhevV-pNCCOdAX2iSn7YGAlztTX-o-fgYCSQo6wQZDboUdrQ1VZzcljlc5fBGq2ntIQI0mgESuRHpRRjr_GzUcgNJQUhyxU8feOJYs1wuM5uWeQ6U0u2O8vetQI7SLuKk-7U5pjj19pEdQVpwlgWUb6lo3aqM-7TKEgpEEoxhiX8MKVoF55Z/s3356/IMG-7310-Original.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3356" data-original-width="2231" height="774" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFeHoHhevV-pNCCOdAX2iSn7YGAlztTX-o-fgYCSQo6wQZDboUdrQ1VZzcljlc5fBGq2ntIQI0mgESuRHpRRjr_GzUcgNJQUhyxU8feOJYs1wuM5uWeQ6U0u2O8vetQI7SLuKk-7U5pjj19pEdQVpwlgWUb6lo3aqM-7TKEgpEEoxhiX8MKVoF55Z/w515-h774/IMG-7310-Original.jpg" width="515" /></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In December we
traveled to Kansas for Christmas with my in-laws. Upon our return, Oreo was
nowhere to be found. This didn’t particularly surprise us, as we (Cody and I)
knew the cat was vulnerable. In fact, we even told our chore help about him.
“We have a slow kitten the kids love. You can’t miss him. He looks for ways to
get killed in the barn lot. Do NOT run over this cat.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">For days we searched
for Oreo in the haymow, the pasture, the barns, the rockpile and stock
trailer. And we prayed for Oreo’s safe return from “hunting”, Caroline
suggested. Of course, as parents we knew Oreo was not away on a hunting trip. Oreo
was easy prey and Oreo was gone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">After about two
weeks of mourning, which included morning and night prayer sessions and incessant
talking about the missing cat, Cyrus had enough. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClU140cllsMPE1e4DREt95k8Ef8vbiSmYubf0wPlmHsJWyvdLAqVq-WJUyuLMRBZinasrkg_X3bpA3WXYomo1pganRzBZ4l_gJl1CqMwErkjCOZfh182sMNJwx060Mc49j8ioICYo0yjUuCU5RwDi7HrJfC6qQeiAoLhJN_p8USPmZlFKOV-A3FFa/s1405/IMG-7261-Original.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1405" data-original-width="950" height="721" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClU140cllsMPE1e4DREt95k8Ef8vbiSmYubf0wPlmHsJWyvdLAqVq-WJUyuLMRBZinasrkg_X3bpA3WXYomo1pganRzBZ4l_gJl1CqMwErkjCOZfh182sMNJwx060Mc49j8ioICYo0yjUuCU5RwDi7HrJfC6qQeiAoLhJN_p8USPmZlFKOV-A3FFa/w487-h721/IMG-7261-Original.jpg" width="487" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">We were feeding
cattle one evening when Caroline started talking about Oreo again. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“CARE-O-WINE!”
Cyrus yelled, sitting next to her on the Ranger, unable to handle the cat talk
any longer. “IT GOT ATED! IT GOT ATED BY A WOLF!” he screamed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Caroline sat in
silent shock. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I thought to
myself while filling buckets, “Finally someone had the guts to tell her.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Of course, this
brought tears, and yelling back at Cyrus that he was wrong. The back-and-forth
went on a few more seconds until he took it a step further:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“OREO GOT ATED BY
A WOLF AND HE BIT HIS HEAD OFF!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Cyrus, Cyrus,
stop buddy! We don’t need to hear the details!” I tried to slow the roll he was
on. Caroline was in tears, begging me to tell him he was wrong. I couldn’t. I
told both that we have no idea where Oreo is, but we probably will never see
him again. I also reminded them that we don’t have wolves on our farm. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">There was not
another word. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Until about five
days after that day, when our building contractor asked me out of the blue, “Hey, are
you missing a cat?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I stopped in my
tracks. The contractor revealed that he showed up to work on our house one day
while we were in Kansas and saw a black and white kitten in the barn lot, dead.
Not smashed, no blood, just dead. He disposed of it before we got back. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">He probably
deserved a large Christmas bonus for sparing us that sight when we returned
home from our trip. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">While Cody and I
hated to hear Oreo had indeed died, we were glad to have some finalization to
the matter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">After laughing
and talking about all the ways that kitten was an unwilling friend to two
rambunctious farm kids, including but not limited to wagon rides, gator rides,
cooler rides, heavy petting, swinging, sliding, over-feeding and constant welfare
checks, it’s cause of death was finally determined: </span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><b>exhaustion</b></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">.</span></span></p><p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-71984121720847154512022-03-16T05:00:00.003-04:002022-03-16T11:17:16.735-04:00Home Renovation: Part 3<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxDWgWaCMW25m2WBc6ZhEE49wKqXnew-NTrC3ORQypCz_4Slwr0k5GGTvnsLZoJZXBgM0MlVgs6wMOUzweUNS1szsmn60U-wIvkjl3iJ19HOT9Sh8u8LOmP3tvFBVhc4rfdwWBzh5Wt4vGdYgDXetcR67uDnL2fN_6ulhM_G1z5aOEoJtdAluhwjif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1612" data-original-width="1210" height="715" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxDWgWaCMW25m2WBc6ZhEE49wKqXnew-NTrC3ORQypCz_4Slwr0k5GGTvnsLZoJZXBgM0MlVgs6wMOUzweUNS1szsmn60U-wIvkjl3iJ19HOT9Sh8u8LOmP3tvFBVhc4rfdwWBzh5Wt4vGdYgDXetcR67uDnL2fN_6ulhM_G1z5aOEoJtdAluhwjif=w537-h715" width="537" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;">I was only there for two avocados.</span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“How’s that home renovation coming along?” a stranger asked
me in the produce section three weeks ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I quickly wondered to myself if I should be thrilled that
one person read my contribution to the paper or if I should invest in better
blinds? I watch too much Dateline. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Due to my nature, I enthusiastically answered his question, “It’s
going great! We still sleep in our own beds, I still have a kitchen and a
working bathroom. The crew shows up five, sometimes six, days a week. We really
haven’t been displaced yet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">That was three weeks ago.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJhxm_2cSMFGtaHqT0cyX01ixvdH2ouMcgAc0Af2OZiM43z9M3n2PfvgUIUU-OZy6T-yiA0nbC8q0Lxo246MXQ_h0QhrJzTMlv31YJrCKM6fB2eGyhY0o-P_UuPhlb507pIaqlh-_N1cpqJZKX9hRIxEgaNncDlOL_fGxD-m_0e4AvL6k8LmAjLKja=s2208" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="1206" height="851" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJhxm_2cSMFGtaHqT0cyX01ixvdH2ouMcgAc0Af2OZiM43z9M3n2PfvgUIUU-OZy6T-yiA0nbC8q0Lxo246MXQ_h0QhrJzTMlv31YJrCKM6fB2eGyhY0o-P_UuPhlb507pIaqlh-_N1cpqJZKX9hRIxEgaNncDlOL_fGxD-m_0e4AvL6k8LmAjLKja=w465-h851" width="465" /></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Last week I was working in our dining room/office/living
room/toy room and Cyrus said something to his sister that stopped my typing. I scolded
him and told him to not repeat it. He repeated it, while looking me in the eye.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“That’s it, buddy. Go to your room right now!” I instructed
as I put my laptop on top of the potted plant, which was resting on top of the
sewing machine, which was resting on top of plywood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The three-year-old paused and looked around. “I don’t have a
room,” he said softly, blue eyes starting to get wet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Darn it. He’s right. His room is currently full of horsehair
plaster and lath. But I wasn’t going to back down to those baby blues. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“OK, Cyrus. Then go to your bed,” I commanded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Seconds passed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">He softly said, “I don’t have a bed.” Again, not wrong. Darn
it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“OK, Cyrus. Please go to my bedroom and sit on the bed.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Both kids looked at me like I was the 21-year-old substitute
teacher. Nothing I said made sense and everything was up for debate. I was
vulnerable and they both knew it. We were all treading water. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8D-kdG0eLvm8dfryoMJtZALSlhtSJUDbDE4wlKn0rqBA0DSKr3WplRTO0jArtcNmvJIHmpHmgFXw804dg2lig-nFfWpP4klD39f0IFYYp5YlnwAqjQ0dMB7ECrVY0qYu0bZuvqAR7TFdYP70lpI4GyWfx-gCrk0xCeonMQUu6wjHIgH2gHFV9spZl=s3807" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2855" data-original-width="3807" height="447" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8D-kdG0eLvm8dfryoMJtZALSlhtSJUDbDE4wlKn0rqBA0DSKr3WplRTO0jArtcNmvJIHmpHmgFXw804dg2lig-nFfWpP4klD39f0IFYYp5YlnwAqjQ0dMB7ECrVY0qYu0bZuvqAR7TFdYP70lpI4GyWfx-gCrk0xCeonMQUu6wjHIgH2gHFV9spZl=w597-h447" width="597" /></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">There was a war raging within the stripped-down walls of
this farmhouse. Being the peacekeeper, Caroline grabbed his little hand and led
him to our bed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“I think Mommy wants you to take a nap here,” she said. He immediately
laid down. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">May we never forget the value of bossy big sisters in crisis
situations. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBYabEVqZ1t4vDuHeEWIDke_VAfsBJOA5xuYmYNWbkZKiXl---KN7tR3vUM3ObHh3YEp83iytUbx5mEy6jPch99fVcpJJrrPPjmuE-LxX-3-akLpZjYByhHWHp1kPoSLrCfbf6kb9r4wy0XMylyxy028hKx7LFixChCjPwlx09GoMnBBmcA3GTNVZI=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="591" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBYabEVqZ1t4vDuHeEWIDke_VAfsBJOA5xuYmYNWbkZKiXl---KN7tR3vUM3ObHh3YEp83iytUbx5mEy6jPch99fVcpJJrrPPjmuE-LxX-3-akLpZjYByhHWHp1kPoSLrCfbf6kb9r4wy0XMylyxy028hKx7LFixChCjPwlx09GoMnBBmcA3GTNVZI=w443-h591" width="443" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I’ve watched home renovation shows on television for years,
but I think I’m living in the outtakes. I never once viewed an episode where
the mother stepped out of bed onto a child because she has nowhere else to
store it. We’re running out of Rubbermaid tubs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Never before have our children migrated into our bed in the
middle of the night at this pace. If they roll north, they hit a dresser. If
they roll south, they roll under our bed. They’ve figured out that a bit of
extra effort will land them between mom and dad. We’re exhausted. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">We came home two weeks ago and saw dust was covering every
visible surface. The smell stopped my constant on-the-go mentality; I stood in
the moment. I have so many fond memories of sawdust, grit, stain, square nails,
lumber, caulk, saw blades running, shingles, splinters. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOz0LXjJMRpV1ise32QTg3y1nHVxzxhn5MEMyH_XAaaRH6RXASzfvQQbHdCq8vqDWqpLfAv4Aoh-y8s8n0uBgqCOH89glP-KzCQicqVgNyzqUxlMa9ZVwJrqulHO0tk8QlOksVfhsjbQLjlwstb9xT1lFerqIxiV52vcIsGCKAjH5st8h200grB1kP=s1854" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1314" data-original-width="1854" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOz0LXjJMRpV1ise32QTg3y1nHVxzxhn5MEMyH_XAaaRH6RXASzfvQQbHdCq8vqDWqpLfAv4Aoh-y8s8n0uBgqCOH89glP-KzCQicqVgNyzqUxlMa9ZVwJrqulHO0tk8QlOksVfhsjbQLjlwstb9xT1lFerqIxiV52vcIsGCKAjH5st8h200grB1kP=w530-h376" width="530" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brother Luke and I,1980s</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">But because I’m now the
mother, none of these things sound fun. They sound like a ticket to the
emergency room. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I opened my eyes and
bounced back to reality, quickly.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“KIDS. THERE IS PLASTIC OVER THE DOORS,” I announced.
Neither child knew the relevance here. They had no idea that the house they
remembered when we left at 7:30 AM was no more. (De)Construction had escalated
while we were gone for the day. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“From now on, do not sit down. Do not touch anything. Do not
take off your shoes. There are splinters everywhere. There are rusty square
nails just waiting on your tiny little feet to find them. In fact, until Mommy
says, you need to wear shoes in every part of this house. Except the new part which
has new, clean floors. Always take your shoes off in the new part,” I
instructed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">At five and three, they were confused. This was probably a
day, and a side of their mother, they’ll never forget. Regrettably.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Today, we’re still living in the saw dust. Every day we come
home to find what is gone, carried out into the large dumpster in our yard.
Yesterday it was the floor. I could look down and see my old washer and dryer
in the basement.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">So, to the very kind man who asked how things were going
three weeks ago: I wish to change my answer. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“It’s going great! We sleep four deep in our bed, I pack
sawdust in the kids’ lunchboxes daily and every day is a new adventure.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And I’m not sure I’d change a minute.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFhdsNXpcfu3GxyUh3S1BUh1kGVdw5wMRisks103bNuWGmfm8SFFbmuIbyaA9rWmhL2tweNcCsHx7pGbUX2lfenb4hZ2A6aZ8vNG3NFMsf0uEZrNpefHFEYl2gehRHQta_sdGv_uuNPzWeg1gtHr9vpvlQPJLb2_Ojh-A2guHCDo-pUPcMmwthInzo=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="700" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFhdsNXpcfu3GxyUh3S1BUh1kGVdw5wMRisks103bNuWGmfm8SFFbmuIbyaA9rWmhL2tweNcCsHx7pGbUX2lfenb4hZ2A6aZ8vNG3NFMsf0uEZrNpefHFEYl2gehRHQta_sdGv_uuNPzWeg1gtHr9vpvlQPJLb2_Ojh-A2guHCDo-pUPcMmwthInzo=w525-h700" width="525" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-40173601876027337612022-02-02T05:09:00.001-05:002022-03-16T11:17:38.977-04:00What Goes Up Must Come Down<p>Newton’s theory stating, “What goes up must come down”
certainly applies to gravity, but I have my own experience with that idea. In
our family, when my husband goes up (in a plane) the temperature must come down.
<span style="font-family: courier;"><b>Hard</b></span>.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhq1aV9-fOdluGOzgN04QuJBqn2CdU5TM28y5nv_WiPIHxPhKfbVgekVmbm1N2c-ftVxC1QgoTTjLbSQxUmzuJnlBPknKcAHDG2sxx_QudRxV0em9-7eH3jh19FRnrI-WBuhve4szunIHmNQIXzoMm2Td4k9krI8Od4D1um1m5mf-t1LuCh6CbKH6By=s1334" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhq1aV9-fOdluGOzgN04QuJBqn2CdU5TM28y5nv_WiPIHxPhKfbVgekVmbm1N2c-ftVxC1QgoTTjLbSQxUmzuJnlBPknKcAHDG2sxx_QudRxV0em9-7eH3jh19FRnrI-WBuhve4szunIHmNQIXzoMm2Td4k9krI8Od4D1um1m5mf-t1LuCh6CbKH6By=w360-h640" width="360" /></a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Inevitably, when Cody is home, it’s 40 degrees and clear.
When he leaves for an extended work trip to the wild west, the temperature
drops drastically, and everything freezes. His last out-of-state trip did not
disprove my theory; it was 37-degrees while he packed his suitcase and a mere 3-degrees
four days later. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The good news is I love cold weather; the best news is our
kids are very patient. They whine very little when getting bundled up, even
with sticky Vaseline on their dry cheeks and hot chocolate in their plastic cups.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbzkKqpfzBiyGJk_E57OdlP0vWWEehQ9VxsVwIG7lo8iToP1_uAdUuqX04_T5Oqj_4LIkuLxxY1PuUi_cfBDkdPzR-Tf2Xytq2U6NLmtHnVDd6kdYs-K8VV7bQI6KLwI608r3DblplP0NbZ3iaR4jklNf0ek9OsBp-IRprc6tgj1wdBFRM3KxjSY3s=s1930" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1930" data-original-width="1206" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbzkKqpfzBiyGJk_E57OdlP0vWWEehQ9VxsVwIG7lo8iToP1_uAdUuqX04_T5Oqj_4LIkuLxxY1PuUi_cfBDkdPzR-Tf2Xytq2U6NLmtHnVDd6kdYs-K8VV7bQI6KLwI608r3DblplP0NbZ3iaR4jklNf0ek9OsBp-IRprc6tgj1wdBFRM3KxjSY3s=w400-h640" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<p class="MsoNormal">We drove north to check a pasture that about 25 cows are
wintering in, only to find that the automatic waterer was completely empty and frozen.
Nothing was in the tank but a 3-inch layer of ice. The pump house (a cinder
block hole dug into the ground) was about 100 yards away, so we walked over to
investigate. The heat lamp, which should have kept everything thawed and
running so water would continuing filling into the tank as cows drank it down,
was burned out. Everything was frozen. Even the hydrant wouldn’t produce water.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I called Cody to explain the situation, he asked many
questions to diagnose the problem and find a solution from time zones away. I
told the kids it might be a long while before we got into the house that
evening and that didn’t bother them a bit. Cyrus was made for mechanics and
Caroline just wants to be a helper. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We drove back to the home farm and got a ladder, an
extension cord, a heater out of the calf box (a wooden box we would put a
newborn calf in if we were experiencing sub-zero temperatures to save it from
freezing), a spotlight, a socket set (no idea why, it seemed like a good idea)
and two popsicles. You must always feed the help. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNkoVclODmuM1Uc-giXqsSlLQHRO-BNtz9aoa_4sZ-NLcqgv3FJbNud_9O0dCyzDr1gep1bVWN0ykMxPuk4BBNNuv7yu6QqW87_2eo2vbvCRLOYDj4hvHSnT_vhzUK1nD6qcfM_7ixSOYTeiMEVp25aesAy_LKHzXPbwo6I-X4y0LpNyw9se1LINRV=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNkoVclODmuM1Uc-giXqsSlLQHRO-BNtz9aoa_4sZ-NLcqgv3FJbNud_9O0dCyzDr1gep1bVWN0ykMxPuk4BBNNuv7yu6QqW87_2eo2vbvCRLOYDj4hvHSnT_vhzUK1nD6qcfM_7ixSOYTeiMEVp25aesAy_LKHzXPbwo6I-X4y0LpNyw9se1LINRV=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Guys. We have a big job ahead of us and I need you to be
helpers,” I told them in the truck. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What do we get to do?” Caroline asked. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hold the spotlight when I crawl down in this hole so I can
see what I’m doing. The light burnt out and it’s dark down there.” I left out
the part where I’m scared of the dark and super anxious in tight spaces. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Can we bring popsicles?” Cyrus asked, clearly unconcerned
by the situation.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Sure, Cyrus. But if Mommy gets into trouble I need you to
call Daddy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What’s Daddy going to do? He’s not here,” the empathic
child reasoned with me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re right. Don’t touch my phone. Unless I scream. Then
call 911.” I was starting to freak myself out. It was getting dark, I was going
down in a hole that housed a lot of electrical and I didn’t have much
experience in any of this. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjU_vN3TtN5CG94dLT0SZKtC-HKHdhaAzT8g2wfg86xGF7TeHwxcgn03Xe_YQ-9SC8FmPeOQbbQEBTZLez_-V-mWpyp9UMQGtFizyar3AuEHT-_tPaTbAK85djlmNQAyOmnQrbUjBHNnspECwkiqTt87A4BTQ7UmV614t2zodA08zt-n3fJMbM90ord=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjU_vN3TtN5CG94dLT0SZKtC-HKHdhaAzT8g2wfg86xGF7TeHwxcgn03Xe_YQ-9SC8FmPeOQbbQEBTZLez_-V-mWpyp9UMQGtFizyar3AuEHT-_tPaTbAK85djlmNQAyOmnQrbUjBHNnspECwkiqTt87A4BTQ7UmV614t2zodA08zt-n3fJMbM90ord=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b>My view from the hole</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For the next twenty minutes I asked (commanded) Caroline to
move the spotlight to the left, Caroline complained that her hand was getting
tired, and Cyrus asked repeatedly, “Now can I call 911? Mom? Can I?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No! Put my phone down. We’re fine. I’m fine. We don’t have
an emergency!” I repeatedly shouted up from the hole.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“But the cows are thirsty,” he responded with a burning
desire to get a fire truck and a lot of tax dollars on the scene.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We got the heater set up in the pump house, the burnt-out
bulb removed so I could go to the hardware store and buy a replacement, the
cords all re-strung so they wouldn’t melt, and I climbed out of the hole without
a broken hip or torn ligament. Small victories win battles. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVpvTPmux_ZWlMG5em9hkBw5I1e9QTo6qpXAVObbK0eNgMdTO9KOZS9Mmlsq5_zhTCsVLN0FtL-QVGrJqQnQzQyleeGPC1DO_qufnRzjP-C9yJcpwk3I6FhJWeqOPqI8cKSSeaR9G4O_P9DZXsbMipWu6sk0FIrltczXXEmDocUCX3JlqFH8WIgkwO=s3065" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3065" data-original-width="2481" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVpvTPmux_ZWlMG5em9hkBw5I1e9QTo6qpXAVObbK0eNgMdTO9KOZS9Mmlsq5_zhTCsVLN0FtL-QVGrJqQnQzQyleeGPC1DO_qufnRzjP-C9yJcpwk3I6FhJWeqOPqI8cKSSeaR9G4O_P9DZXsbMipWu6sk0FIrltczXXEmDocUCX3JlqFH8WIgkwO=w518-h640" width="518" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b>My view from the hole as Caroline continued to help and Cyrus had lost interest</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The kids earned two more popsicles upon our return home and crunched
them down quickly, despite complaining about frozen hands. The next morning, we
drove up to find the heater had worked! Kind of. The hydrant was working, but
the electric waterers still were not. We hauled a tank to the pasture and ran a
long hose from the hydrant to the tank, so the cows had something to drink. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As I pen, this my husband is packing another suitcase and
talking about the approaching temperature drop in Rapid City, South Dakota. He
believes that by the time he lands there, that cold snap will arrive in
beautiful Economy, Indiana. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: courier;">That gravity theory just won’t leave us alone.</span></b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-81192356260674202742022-01-12T05:00:00.001-05:002022-01-12T05:00:00.185-05:00Big Rocks in Little Boots<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">On her first day of kindergarten, I stood in an empty
afternoon parking lot and texted Cody, “No one is here???”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">He responded seconds later, “Of course not. You’re 45
minutes early.” Sometimes his common sense drives me absolutely nuts. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I sat on the bench anyway, wondering if Caroline had been
worried sick about me all day, as I had been about her. Turns out, she didn’t
even know I was gone. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Months later and when my schedule allows, I love parking on
a side street and picking her up from school. She typically talks so quickly
and with such enthusiasm that I know all about her 8:20 AM – 2:40 PM day by the
time we get back to the car. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">But this day was different. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Why didn’t you give me pants with pockets today?” Caroline asked
me as I kissed her head and grabbed her little hand. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I looked down to see what she was wearing: leggings. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“I don’t know,” I told her. “I thought you liked stretchy
pants?” I tried to justify my 6:00 AM wardrobe selection for her. Who doesn’t
like stretchy pants?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">She suddenly stopped on the sidewalk and held my hand
tightly as she tried to keep her balance. One at a time, she pulled each cowgirl
boot off and dumped them out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Well, I’m sure glad you came to get me ‘cause I found these
for you today and I didn’t have pockets so I just put them in my boots.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Three rocks fell out of her boots and onto the sidewalk. She
slipped her cowboy boots back on. “Ah. That’s better.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The child had walked with rocks in her boots all day in an
effort to please me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Caroline. Honey, you did not have to save those for me.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“But I’ve never seen any like them! I found them during
recess.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Morning or afternoon?” I asked, not that it mattered. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Morning. I didn’t find any after lunch.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In five years of motherhood, I’ve been gifted approximately 400
rocks, most off our farm. Many get shoved in pockets and later removed from the
washing machine, but there are a few I’ll keep forever: The one she brought to
me when I was in the hospital with Cyrus as he battled RSV at 6-weeks-old, the
one she gave me when I was at Riley with Cyrus for his appendectomy and
critical infection (sure sounds like a sickly little boy, doesn’t he?), the one
she found in the barn lot that she is absolutely positive is Jesus’s tooth, and
of course, I’ll keep these rocks, too.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgnzRLpP-QH2KPfVQpjQEs15oVmFYK6YWY7LRu5lidLAnQFX9ptIjskre_txP1xpe2y1EbL3DFRTIrIJB6sup1nTBh2Fsguk2kw8QJwDVxaiDC4Y2p3Ar3Lc8y3J6AR4Uf9Yg9jVfTbYcH9ZNuocuDhvOx_x41cEU0CDCQsS_gXFOlHAabi7zAiHNOM=s1334" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="742" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgnzRLpP-QH2KPfVQpjQEs15oVmFYK6YWY7LRu5lidLAnQFX9ptIjskre_txP1xpe2y1EbL3DFRTIrIJB6sup1nTBh2Fsguk2kw8QJwDVxaiDC4Y2p3Ar3Lc8y3J6AR4Uf9Yg9jVfTbYcH9ZNuocuDhvOx_x41cEU0CDCQsS_gXFOlHAabi7zAiHNOM=w417-h742" width="417" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Caroline with the rock she brought me, </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;">sitting outside Reid hospital </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier;">when infant brother Cyrus had RSV</span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Because these rocks awakened me to the lengths Caroline will
go to please me. What an eye-opening set of rocks! What a tender heart (and
tough feet) she has to find such an object and want to share it with me, no
matter the cost. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I praised her for the rocks. I studied the rocks and held
the rocks and even showed the rocks to Cyrus. I’m sure this will shock you, but
he could not care less. “What ‘bout ‘em?” he asked, confused as to what the
fuss was all about. Caroline stood with such pride for being the gifter of
greatness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">These little rocks in tiny boots taught me a lesson that
day. Our kids are watching. They’re watching how we react to little victories
and favors. They’re watching how we visit with them during the unremarkable
conversations in the barn or on the couch. They love to watch our eyes light up
in the same way we love to watch theirs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: courier;">I was reminded of this advice from Catherine M. Wallace,
Author: “Listen earnestly to anything your children want to tell you, no matter
what. If you don't listen eagerly to the little stuff when they are little,
they won't tell you the big stuff when they are big, because to them all of it
has always been big stuff.” </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And these rocks in a little Ball jar on top of my dresser,
they may fit in a size 9 toddler boot, but they’re big. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Really big. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-9861918046203079442021-12-22T16:22:00.000-05:002021-12-22T16:22:25.249-05:00Colors of Christmas<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Mommy. Your hair looks so pretty with the red and blue
lights in it,” Caroline calmly said from the back seat while she pushed her
rose colored glasses back up on her nose.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjieQiclNjoVpoGC5h1oHXFgXw13xAptg45QCF8V01DYQOxQLUph8P1WLM_SG4I211TndD4JDqKOFQS_P2YGbnylbf9WEEl9T2WuLydq0zglxbum4XsjxILRdKxecE-VsmVcBCz2-9ixclehy9EvGz7iJkFEs-tkJnIRLjeu1Vxa-fzIpac_I8p-Gn8=s960" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="960" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjieQiclNjoVpoGC5h1oHXFgXw13xAptg45QCF8V01DYQOxQLUph8P1WLM_SG4I211TndD4JDqKOFQS_P2YGbnylbf9WEEl9T2WuLydq0zglxbum4XsjxILRdKxecE-VsmVcBCz2-9ixclehy9EvGz7iJkFEs-tkJnIRLjeu1Vxa-fzIpac_I8p-Gn8=w430-h286" width="430" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; text-align: left;">“You goin’ to jail?” Cyrus asked without regard, more
worried about where his lunch might come from if mom was headed to the pen.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">According to the state trooper, I was going 63 in a 55,
already late for school. He was a kind man and gave me a warning, but not
before pointing out my plates were expired. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My mind raced. Expired plates?? There is no way I could have
missed this. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Or is there?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I was sure I’d renewed my plates a month ago. I logged into
the BMV website and sure enough, the new registration was in my “cart” but
never officially purchased. I took care of the registration and drove ten miles
per hour under the speed limit for the next week until the proper paperwork and
a little magic sticker arrived. I have never been so paranoid in my life. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Talk about a mother running on empty. ‘Tis the season to
feel a little overwhelmed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">For more than a week the children begged to put up our
Christmas tree. I was ready for it too, although I had no idea where we were
going to actually place such an object during a remodel. Much of our house is
boxed in plastic totes, shoved against a wall, or outside in our “storage unit”
(the unused chicken coop). The home renovation project is floating from room to
room, as certain pieces come in while others remain delayed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We finally fed cattle early one evening then went to cut
down a Christmas tree. Talk about an experience. Caroline wanted to bring home
every tree to ensure no one was left out and everyone felt special, Cody carried
a tape measure and wanted to get the exact measurements of every tree considered
to ensure we were maximizing our space, and Cyrus could not care less. Every
time we’d stop to evaluate a tree, he’d sit in the grass and fill the bucket of
his toy excavator with dirt. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We walked to the farthest corner of the tree lot (more like a
100-acre wood when you’re the one pulling both kids on the tree cart!!) to
ensure we did not cut corners and miss the perfect tree. When we finally got to
the back corner, it was determined that the white pine would not hold our heavy
ornaments, so we retreated back across the tree lot (100-acre wood) to find
something more stable. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">At this point I would have settled for Charlie’s Brown’s spruce,
but I was the only one with that sentiment. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Suddenly, the sun broke through the clouds, the golden rays
poured down onto a tree and angels began singing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Until we got closer.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“This is it!” Cody exclaimed. “Perfect size, perfect shape.
What do you think?” he asked Caroline and I. Cyrus was 20 yards away digging a
hole. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We studied the tree, seeing that the interior needles were
completely orange. The tree appeared to be half-dead. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Why is it orange?” Caroline asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Because the sun is going down,” Cody quickly remarked, but we
weren’t convinced. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Look at the inside, closest to the trunk. All of those
needles are orange,” I directed him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“No they aren’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Yes they are.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“No they aren’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It quickly dawned on me that I was in fact arguing with
someone who is red/green color blind. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Caroline quickly chimed in, letting Daddy know the needles
were orange and this tree wasn’t the one. We moved on to the next. Aren’t
daughters great?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikhpOybS5DziyCrL8poKcL-z3HLE2RZRVdL__d7WPUtqUrMf8xSY45SC1glHaKEGy6CYoWXN5Y7bPJWO13cqOAV4a37U0IH_E4ObNdAnuTytR8zPzWklgr8_N7VaLYxcEZng0sIrSQPOX0HxZsb66uKArb-Mh5qqIXukOmZafIQOOgTfRr1OUKUOWE=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="579" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikhpOybS5DziyCrL8poKcL-z3HLE2RZRVdL__d7WPUtqUrMf8xSY45SC1glHaKEGy6CYoWXN5Y7bPJWO13cqOAV4a37U0IH_E4ObNdAnuTytR8zPzWklgr8_N7VaLYxcEZng0sIrSQPOX0HxZsb66uKArb-Mh5qqIXukOmZafIQOOgTfRr1OUKUOWE=w434-h579" width="434" /></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We finally found one, smaller than we’re accustomed to but
perfect for this unique year. It was decorated a day later (that’s a column in
itself) and the kids have been quite diligent in keeping it, and the carpet, watered.
<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEig21NmVdvolp0T9Y9hpicHBiB-P7nMJHqQevDuIo-spDU1OuR5EbowZ2xvtphYGtk0PVR9Z0NYKWZ3p62cAsjbypyx6hZBBDTM27aurQSSKqj3wkdZgOLJwYin2gJt4b9rYqIQeoRhL7cxblVXVIvHjQLfDjl9KaI7Dd-0OcmxfnCWrukDn__X88O1=s2739" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2739" data-original-width="2496" height="513" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEig21NmVdvolp0T9Y9hpicHBiB-P7nMJHqQevDuIo-spDU1OuR5EbowZ2xvtphYGtk0PVR9Z0NYKWZ3p62cAsjbypyx6hZBBDTM27aurQSSKqj3wkdZgOLJwYin2gJt4b9rYqIQeoRhL7cxblVXVIvHjQLfDjl9KaI7Dd-0OcmxfnCWrukDn__X88O1=w468-h513" width="468" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Though a rare year for our family, I’m certain we’ll look
back on this one and smile, especially in the simplicity that a we’re experiencing.
I’m slowly learning that the colors of Christmas aren’t supposed to be flashing
red and blue (oops), glowing, blinding or distracting. Perhaps the most
wonderful colors of Christmas are simply The Light.</span><o:p></o:p></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-54171627566458252952021-11-17T05:14:00.001-05:002022-03-16T11:18:19.692-04:00Home Renovation II: Party Time<p>“You hung streamers today?”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Caroline seemed pleasantly confused as she walked in the
door from school. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Are we having a party?!” her eyes danced with excitement. I
didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so I hung up the kids’ tiny coats and
gave them both an after-school kiss just beyond the cheekbone. Cyrus proceeded
to the living room without a word; rain was forecasted, and he had hours of carpet
farming ahead.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But oh, to be five again and view the world in such a way
that you believe the multiple strands of fly tape hanging from the kitchen
ceiling, bathroom ceiling and living room ceiling is party streamers.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxNoLm4pTeIlFW6yxT2Y_iCgugDG3y9gCzxsjeCqnXH8JSrw5o0zz6RUB9roqtuRVQLUu_RX6D2ooQm5tflompPi7eGMXiJKpCM8TDocwdgeVjp_BDbJFbrJqWjJLdMiPY1rlk2T4a_I/s2048/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxNoLm4pTeIlFW6yxT2Y_iCgugDG3y9gCzxsjeCqnXH8JSrw5o0zz6RUB9roqtuRVQLUu_RX6D2ooQm5tflompPi7eGMXiJKpCM8TDocwdgeVjp_BDbJFbrJqWjJLdMiPY1rlk2T4a_I/w515-h386/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" width="515" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Caroline on the only horse we'll welcome to the farm at this time. </div>
<p class="MsoNormal">Last week was an active week of the home renovation project,
though I wouldn’t exactly call it a party. The builders worked on the roof and ordered
cabinetry; the HVAC expert came and installed a new furnace; the local,
farmer-owned cooperative set a new propane tank, trenched the line, and hooked
up the system; and the electrician began marking outlets and asking a lot of
questions I don’t know the answers to. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">How many outlets does one laundry room need? I have no idea.
My current laundry room houses two sump pumps and a tank of bull semen so I don’t
believe I can accurately assess how a real laundry room should function.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We only went without heat for 36 hours while the new furnace
was installed and the kids loved every bit of our camp-out (more like glamp-out,
as we slept in our own beds). They begged for a fire in the fireplace and
smores, but it was a Wednesday and I try not to start disasters mid-week. They
settled for a Curious George story told by flashlight.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With all those guests over for a “party”, the influx of
flies in our farmhouse was natural. Though, that didn’t make it any less
annoying. Flies in the shower, flies over the produce, flies swirling around
the kitchen sink, flies buzzing around the Halloween candy jar (this was the
only time the children even noticed them), flies stuck in the curtains, flies
in the hot-wax burner, our coffee, my hair. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, I asked Cody to pick up a remedy the next time he went
to the hardware store. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He returned with eight rolls of fly tape, and you know how I
don’t like to let things go to waste. Eight rolls of fly tape can canvas a 1000-square
foot home quite thoroughly. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">We may not spend our Saturday mornings in a tree stand like avid hunters do this time of year, but Cyrus has really taken to checking
the fly tapes every morning when he wakes. They’re high enough that he can’t
touch them, but he can count the flies caught. He asked one evening if we could
take the flies down so he could haul them in his grain cart to the elevator. I
reminded him that he’d get docked for pests and foreign material. He quickly went
back to hauling stale Cheerios. I do appreciate his interest in diversifying his
farming operation. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I survived a major home renovation in the ‘80s, but I was
Caroline’s age, so the mess, displacement and lack of order didn’t phase me. Survived
isn’t even the appropriate word; I thrived in it. Every day was an adventure in
which I was actively engaged. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZtT5VuwdsRj4IT3BXiKEeUa7N_m1thiblaRW14HFpM54Kcs3YGXMndcMTTmo56cNJftsh6UzVu-xSM1a1zIvPFJfpPJ2HM7Y0oK9HKNmlR00_aoB1XAmf8yG8mor3hQtlvbJuxX3BmE/s1329/ps_2012_09_25___17_33_13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1329" data-original-width="918" height="581" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZtT5VuwdsRj4IT3BXiKEeUa7N_m1thiblaRW14HFpM54Kcs3YGXMndcMTTmo56cNJftsh6UzVu-xSM1a1zIvPFJfpPJ2HM7Y0oK9HKNmlR00_aoB1XAmf8yG8mor3hQtlvbJuxX3BmE/w401-h581/ps_2012_09_25___17_33_13.jpg" width="401" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtKdbybWDHaEaSNY1J62BsCG-7SL2Hd4tuyNnJmBliW-gwpm5l-aa4Dy1c3qT58ovlZ9o7uzXPwcrfAQLzrTvNbMdoneqR9Gh164uSZMdGBowGJnXcB3AJaE2TPeHGTuSX362aOxg3LV4/s1854/ps_2012_09_25___17_35_54.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1314" data-original-width="1854" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtKdbybWDHaEaSNY1J62BsCG-7SL2Hd4tuyNnJmBliW-gwpm5l-aa4Dy1c3qT58ovlZ9o7uzXPwcrfAQLzrTvNbMdoneqR9Gh164uSZMdGBowGJnXcB3AJaE2TPeHGTuSX362aOxg3LV4/w486-h345/ps_2012_09_25___17_35_54.jpg" width="486" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal">I remember my grandmother coming over
periodically to view the progress. She’d walk in (usually through a wall
because we didn’t have doors for a long time), look around and mutter about
what kind of mess her daughter had gotten herself into. I remember her hands in
her pockets. I remember clearly that Grandma rarely sat down, and she never
took off her coat.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">More than thirty years later, my mother showed up to our
farm recently and wanted to walk through our home renovation progress. She walked
right into the kitchen, then stopped and put her glasses on. “Do you have fly
tape hanging up in your kitchen?” she asked with a teaspoon of judgement.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes. And the bathroom. And the living room,” I revealed
without hesitation. If she was going to judge our living arrangement, I might
as well air all our dirty – fly specked – laundry now. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The woman didn’t say anything more, she just zipped up her
coat. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-72596547919530389372021-10-29T06:00:00.001-04:002022-03-16T11:18:55.965-04:00Home Renovation: Part 1<p><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We’ve begun
a small home renovation project.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Long
story short, I got tired of wearing mud boots and waders to the farmhouse
basement to begin a load of laundry, then praying I didn’t get electrocuted
when I pushed the start button. Cody got tired of reading the Angus Journal in
his recliner with a February wind blowing through the living room. Caroline got
tired of sharing a 7’ x 10’ bedroom with a little brother who has no respect
for toy horses. And Cyrus was just ready to see someone else tear the house
down and not get reprimanded.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We’re early
in the process.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">The
renovation is taking place feet from the kid</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">s’ playset in the backyard. They’ve spent hours swinging and asking questions. If the builder doesn’t finish on time, it won’t be due to delay in supplies or lack of labor; it will be because Cyrus questions their every move and he’s got a bit of a speech barrier. It takes the little guy a full minute to ask the question, three minutes for the workers to translate it, and five minutes for them to explain the work to him. The crew gave him a hat and a foremen’s pencil, so Cyrus is working his way up the management ladder, which is a pretty big deal for a kid who still wears Velcro shoes.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpy3RY1JqWMWer4OnkQQC2jgtCAgUstnYinpUnm8-yLm-_gzUYpWwjrTjuP1qEwO3ViW2j6xSrDvNOnciGD-ZJth5_YavQd6J2TmNH3s59QqOOZzIUlEsKsj7VsiLUvjuxtP0P9PGktiQ/s2048/unnamed+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1740" data-original-width="2048" height="544" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpy3RY1JqWMWer4OnkQQC2jgtCAgUstnYinpUnm8-yLm-_gzUYpWwjrTjuP1qEwO3ViW2j6xSrDvNOnciGD-ZJth5_YavQd6J2TmNH3s59QqOOZzIUlEsKsj7VsiLUvjuxtP0P9PGktiQ/w640-h544/unnamed+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">Caroline
has shed many tears about this renovation. She doesn’t understand why we would
want to make changes to a homestead such as this. She appreciates having carpet
so worn out and stained that when she often forgets to take off her chore boots
- and tracks (who knows what) across the house - her muddy prints can barely be
seen. She loves that she can load her horse trailer in the kitchen and the
floors are so uneven that it will roll on its own to the living room. She looks
forward to helping me load the washer in
the basement and watch frogs jump across her boots. She adores the fact that
when the north winter wind blows in, the windows open on their own and offer
her fresh air in her bedroom. She is an eternal optimist who sees the beauty of
every situation…except home renovations which threaten familiarity.</div></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwP82Nj49lPNW1JJB0o7yyj_bGS4eqAxGtASSBDJUvS8zKy_z9rGCYKyjmbsTxmAEg9zWO_2G0QelpF47Iu2ram7BsfgAePtWkTvvy_A9EgbnbCh9rfVeUDDHcl39H4tAHG16s1y8rysk/s2048/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Helvetica; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwP82Nj49lPNW1JJB0o7yyj_bGS4eqAxGtASSBDJUvS8zKy_z9rGCYKyjmbsTxmAEg9zWO_2G0QelpF47Iu2ram7BsfgAePtWkTvvy_A9EgbnbCh9rfVeUDDHcl39H4tAHG16s1y8rysk/w640-h480/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">County
records indicate that our house was built in 1920. Six weeks into the project,
a postcard dated 1885 was found in the northeast wall. No wonder the basement floods!
This place was built on Miami soil and dinosaur bones. The hand-hewn beams and
wooden pegs have withstood many weathering years atop this hill, bearing
witness to change, very few family names, and a whole lot of livestock. Today,
we’re making a couple improvements to more so enjoy the place we call home.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thus
far we’ve explained in great detail septic tanks, wet t-shirts on grown men
(it’s been a warm fall), and when it’s appropriate to hammer through a wall,
versus when it is not (CYRUS!!). Caroline is currently in hysterics over the
project because she came home to find windows gone and plywood in their place. <br />
<br />
“You can’t even look out these new windows! They gave us wood windows!” She is
five. I have little hope age fifteen will offer less passion and emotion.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We were
so close to getting Cyrus completely potty-trained, then this renovation
project began and now he just can’t take care of business while there’s men
walking and talking on the roof above the commode.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Can you
blame the kid? Stay tuned. We’re just getting started. </span><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-49608744245028449122021-10-13T05:00:00.001-04:002021-10-13T05:00:00.254-04:00The Bike Race <p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">We were vaccinating steers and heifers on Saturday morning when an unfamiliar truck with Ohio plates pulled into the driveway. A couple got out and I suddenly realized it was beef customers from Hamilton, Ohio. They buy freezer beef from us annually and make it a point to drop off the payment in-person. I always enjoy the brief visit; they often have many good questions about farm life.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">They mentioned that there was a bike race going on just down the road and it looked like quite an ordeal. I hadn’t left the farm yet that day</span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">,</span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> so I didn’t know what they were referencing. I did mention that Highway 35 isn’t necessarily a road bicyclists should be traveling! They went on to say the entire road was blocked off to</span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> traffic</span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">After they left, we finished our vaccination work and turned everything back out </span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">to their respective lots</span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">. I mentioned the </span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">apparent bike race to </span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">Cody</span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> and we decided to go see what all the commotion is about. We loaded up into the ranger and drove to the intersection of Highway 35 and State Road 1. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A “bike race” might have been an understatement. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">The shoulder was lined with vehicles with out-of-state plates. There were hundreds of </span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">bicyclists </span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">passing through the intersection as bystanders cheered them on. There were countless American flags</span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> </span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">and</span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> collegiate flags being waved</span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">. “The Eye of the Tiger” was blaring from some </span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">far-off</span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> place and there was a tent with dozens of workers passing out water. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpxOp5UhBfKVeIsu_MjB-r1kbEBTX45xYJo4JLDvMfV6oDvd8h3_PqS-399sX-Fn68dmY8tW1p2z5GC7eMZgj9nOTT_z74SaT0owGuP7tEBKRtOSA3HssszVAJukMoCzaMYqBEcgufqco/s2048/3F98EB1B-4E0B-4048-9ABC-293B1F376950.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpxOp5UhBfKVeIsu_MjB-r1kbEBTX45xYJo4JLDvMfV6oDvd8h3_PqS-399sX-Fn68dmY8tW1p2z5GC7eMZgj9nOTT_z74SaT0owGuP7tEBKRtOSA3HssszVAJukMoCzaMYqBEcgufqco/w533-h400/3F98EB1B-4E0B-4048-9ABC-293B1F376950.jpeg" width="533" /></a></span></span></div><p></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What in the world is going on here?” I asked as all four of us watched with our mouths open. It was quite the event in northwestern Wayne County!</span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What are they doing?” Caroline asked. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I guess they’re racing their bikes,” I responded, though not totally sold on my answer as the bike traffic was moving both directions.</span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">“Why </span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">dey</span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> do </span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">dat</span></span><span class="s2" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">?” Cyrus asked in his broken speech. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">“Because they’re nuts,” I told </span></span><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">him</span></span><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">I got out of the ranger and walked over to a couple sitting in lawn chairs, holding encouragement </span></span><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">signs</span></span><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">and eating donuts. I asked them about the spectacle. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Do you know what this is all about?” I asked. “We farm just down the road and we drove down to see what all the excitement was about,” I explained. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">The man began, “It’s a </span></span><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">triathlon</span></span><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> today.”</span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">And the lady next to him quickly followed up with more impressive details. “This is the Iron Man!” she exclaimed</span></span><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">. “Swim, bike and run all in the same day.”</span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">A lady next to her, wearing an Ohio State sweatshirt</span></span><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">,</span></span><span class="s3" style="font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">finished the details explaining, “</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">They already did a </span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">2.4-mile swim</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> at the reservoir</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">, </span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">this is the</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> 112-mile bicycle </span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">ride,</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> and </span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">they finish with </span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">a 26.22-mile run</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">.”</span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I almost passed out this trying to process this information. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">I thought we were doing pretty good, having already had breakfast, </span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">chored</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> and processed </span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">25</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> head of cattle in a morning. These hundreds of strangers were pushing their body to the max </span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">in the name</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> of personal health and </span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">apparent enjoyment of pain</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We sat and watched the event for a long time, in awe of the bikes, attire and cheering clubs. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I think if I was going to swim across a lake and then ride my bike for a hundred miles, the last thing I’d want to see is my family eating a box of donuts in a lawn chair with my face on their sweatshirt,” Cody said, still in disbelief of what we were witnessing. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There was not a single person that appeared to be tired. If I was in the race I’d have to pull over and pretend to check the air pressure in my bike tires every five miles just so I could catch my breath. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And don’t even ask me to swim in a reservoir. I get nervous in the bathtub. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">The sun went behind clouds</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">,</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"> and it began to get dark. Caroline became instantly worried about the bikers who were about to get rained on. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Can you even think about riding a bike in the rain?” she asked. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Sis, I think the rain might feel good on them. They’ve got to be hot doing all of this exercise,” I tried to calm her concern. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Check the radar,” Cody said as we drove up the hill, heading back home.</span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Are you worried about the bikers, too, Daddy?” I asked. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">“</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">I was more worried about if you and I can still grill out tonight</span></span><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;">.”</span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p style="line-height: 21.600000381469727px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s4" style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 12px;"><span class="bumpedFont20" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Folks, those are words of affirmation. </span></span></span></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-47437440434720369212021-09-15T05:30:00.004-04:002021-09-16T06:38:04.129-04:00 Kids Discover Encyclopedias<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My parents made a major investment in the education of myself and two older siblings years ago. It wasn’t a trust fund or science camp, but rather a set of World Book encyclopedias.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDpQQPtYGNSmxpSX1dkNCxAzNTJqRN2HviweYOU4LEyzTHuzbRx9v6a7NbZXg2pysLProOy3-wjRSpDw5p9lDtLZRoLglZcAkkd3skl_f_HaNHlzlFZxk1s4gD3Ttk-RsoJvLn_TYjrqg/s1600/_DSC0207.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="413" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDpQQPtYGNSmxpSX1dkNCxAzNTJqRN2HviweYOU4LEyzTHuzbRx9v6a7NbZXg2pysLProOy3-wjRSpDw5p9lDtLZRoLglZcAkkd3skl_f_HaNHlzlFZxk1s4gD3Ttk-RsoJvLn_TYjrqg/w621-h413/_DSC0207.jpg" width="621" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I still remember the day they arrived. Dad gave us a 30-minute tutorial on how to properly utilize the green, white, and gold-foiled volumes and Mom gave us a 20-minute tutorial on all the ways she’d kill us if we touched them with dirty hands. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">It was an intense short course on academia.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">We sure got their money’s worth. We leafed through those pre-internet pages to learn about invertebrates, the Kennedy assassination, and the four hemispheres. I still remember sitting on the couch looking at photos of tornado destruction, internal organs, and umbilical cords. Who can forget the countless leaf collection leaves that were pressed between the pages of those books and a sheet of wax paper? We’re still looking for an Acer palmatum (more commonly known as the Japanese maple) which my brother swears he pressed in the letter M.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">During pre-school our daughter began to identify letters everywhere we went. One afternoon at her grandparent’s house she became curious about the lettered books on the shelf. I was thrilled to explain to her what encyclopedias are, how they’re used and all the things we could learn by flipping through the pages. She’d recently learned about a set of birds, and we quickly read all that we could about the Blue Jay, Cardinal, and Red-winged Blackbird.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRYxWmbMfCbUJwUmiE25vPY8NPsEFh6ZekiqjS4QVIKJiWnw7UTehGxTIv5rzQm98MeXAzW2uqPwPgzNHl72LZg7sy7bpMBTptncsN1x-aAr6p2TeP5CldxecDNpdgNvmLgVHlfqmtBY/s2048/IMG_3477_Original.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="624" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRYxWmbMfCbUJwUmiE25vPY8NPsEFh6ZekiqjS4QVIKJiWnw7UTehGxTIv5rzQm98MeXAzW2uqPwPgzNHl72LZg7sy7bpMBTptncsN1x-aAr6p2TeP5CldxecDNpdgNvmLgVHlfqmtBY/w468-h624/IMG_3477_Original.jpg" width="468" /></span></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Sometimes when the kids visit, they just enjoy getting out volume F and looking at the graphic of all the feet. This is how kids <i>should</i> learn, I believe. Not by an iPad or screen, but by exploring until you find something that urges that tiny motivator in the mind to know more. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Encyclopedias were verified, proofread, and authorized. As a parent, I get concerned about the amount of information thrown at early learners that isn’t accurate or even solicited. Heck, I get concerned about the amount of information thrown at educated adults that isn’t accurate or even solicited!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Today, we can enter a question or a word into a search bar and get millions of results. How do you quickly verify what is true? Or, we can talk about needing (ha!) new fall boots and minutes later advertisements for fall footwear begin to appear in the margins of our web pages (quite alarming). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">What might the younger generation see when they don’t even have the desire to learn more? What might show up that will take them down a long, dark path in just a couple clicks?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Goodness, I miss those treasured encyclopedias. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">They taught us how to spell, study, research, and learn based on fact, not opinion. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Decades following the arrival of the World Books into our homestead, I’m now a parent myself and completely convinced Mom and Dad made the astronomical investment in order to streamline the number of questions coming into the parental call center:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“How are babies born?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Go look it up in the encyclopedia.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Why do moles have pig noses?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Go look it up in the encyclopedia.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Who shot JR?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Go look it up in the encyclopedia.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;">I never could find the answer to that last one. </span></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3444538614320838604.post-39969371323171920662021-06-23T06:01:00.002-04:002021-06-23T06:03:42.411-04:00 Ants Came Marching In<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The ants are back. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And not the fun aunts that bring dinner two weeks after you’ve had the baby, fold your underwear without judgment and let you nap for 20 minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I’m talking about the kind of ants which interrupt your weekly viewing of Dateline to show you they can in fact carry a week-old French fry across the coffee table in perfect time. I don’t know if I hate them more for their coordination or their intrusiveness, but I hate ants.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt045K8xZpDdKGEZxBB5ZeD6kRJchSBW_iveEe87j3atpJ42ei_JDRW8kOU4CUrx-TZsRBck9_7aPNr007CGCXgRIIV6REtJnueVQuJh-Ybzsm4ATHt6hVr7iykj2367SSZqwLwLwQ1s8/s612/istockphoto-1069103566-612x612.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="576" height="437" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt045K8xZpDdKGEZxBB5ZeD6kRJchSBW_iveEe87j3atpJ42ei_JDRW8kOU4CUrx-TZsRBck9_7aPNr007CGCXgRIIV6REtJnueVQuJh-Ybzsm4ATHt6hVr7iykj2367SSZqwLwLwQ1s8/w411-h437/istockphoto-1069103566-612x612.jpg" width="411" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I always thought it was fresh mulch that brought the ants to our farmhouse. This year, they arrived two weeks before we landscaped. Maybe they’re just competing with the cicadas. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I did warn the kids that anything left on the carpet had a very real risk of being carried off by an army of ants and that sure kicked them into gear. They hustled to pick up everything left touching the carpet, though I had to draw the line when they both threw out their backs trying to carry daddy’s recliner to the toy box. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">That night, peacekeeper Caroline prayed for Jesus to make the ants “nicer”, and warpath Cyrus prayed that Jesus would kill all the ants take them to the back pasture with the coyotes. We’re raising two very different children.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The employees at Nettle Creek Hardware are good about not asking questions. They’ve sold me a plunger, numerous mouse traps of different method (traditional wooden, easy-to-release-while-I’m-gagging-and-crying-plastic, sticky, etc.), a dozen different paint colors for a 1,100 sq. ft. home, masking tape, duct tape and superglue (all three in the same afternoon), and more bargains from the bin than I care to admit. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">So when I marched in on a mission to get the intrusive marchers out of our house, not a question was asked. I was prepared to lie and tell them the ant traps were for Cody’s outside office, but they probably already knew they were going straight to the kitchen. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Local hardware stores are intuitive. And invaluable. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">We have two boxes of latex gloves leftover from the PICC line antibiotic administration Cyrus required in March, so I got creative. I told the kids that the ant trap instructions required glove use and both children were thrilled to be included in the action. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">They followed me around the house, both wearing purple latex gloves that went to their shoulders, instructing on where they thought I should place the ant traps. One went in my aloe plant, the next on top of the commode tank, third under the couch and the fourth trap rests proudly on our mantle. With a light shining upon it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The next morning the first words out of Cyrus’s mouth: “We get ant, Mom?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I’m not proud that insects now consume our son’s dreams, but at least it gives him a taste of adulthood. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Just wait until he learns about taxes. </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p>JeansBootshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07293773738140625108noreply@blogger.com0