The Magic of Christmas

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.

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.

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.

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.

Caroline went to school with $20 (!!). She came home with three gifts for people she loved and $12.50 in change.

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. 

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.

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.  

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.

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. 2023 Mom of the Year!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

Spanky

Since we're still talking about Christmas....

I watch too much Dateline for my own good. There is something about a real-life murder mystery that reels me in every Friday night (I have a crazy exciting social life), then in turn makes me run as fast as I can from the barn to the house after the 5:00 AM feeding, unsure of what lurks in the early morning hours outside Economy, Indiana. Dateline does nothing for my mental health. 

So, you can imagine the thoughts that went through my head when Cody stood at the bottom of our stairwell on the Wednesday before Chritsmas and said that a truck driver was broke down at the intersection of 1 and 35 and needed a ride to Economy. A few questions I had for him:

1.   Who has ever needed a ride to Economy?

2.   Why did you even tap the breaks when he flagged you down? KEEP DRIVING AND DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT!

3.   Doesn’t he have AAA?

4.   Do you have a weapon?

5.   Do you want me to follow you?

Of course, Cody thought all of my questions were ridiculous. He reported that the man crossed the 1 and 35 intersection to flag him down to ask for help, and Cody felt compelled to do so. 

Ten minutes later, Cody texted me: “This is the wildest trip ever. Wait until I tell you.” 

I hoped he would live to do so. I was packing for our Christmas trip to Kansas with two kids and my feet and anxiously awaited his return home. 

The trucker’s name was Spanky. You read that right. He revealed that he was from central Kansas, and while he typically hauled livestock, this particular assignment to gain some extra cash for Christmas (he was married with children) had him hauling a load of batteries to Muncie, Indiana. The fact that he was from central Kansas certainly made Cody’s ears perk up, as Cody’s family ranch lies in the same western plain. Cody asked for a more specific area in Kansas and Spanky said Great Bend, Kansas, just 140 miles west of my in-laws ranch. 

During the brief drive to Economy, Cody revealed that he, too, was from central Kansas and his family is still there today. More specifically, his grandmother and uncle still reside in Sterling, not far from Great Bend. As irony would have it, Spanky attended college in Sterling, population 2,300. A Kansas town just a bit bigger than our beloved Hagerstown. 

The mechanic that Spanky was trying to find in Economy was nowhere to be found; his truck wouldn’t be repaired that night. He asked Cody for a ride back to his rig, still parked at 1 and 35. Cody gave him one of our Sankey Angus business cards and asked if he could bring him dinner (a double cheeseburger from a local joint – only the best for our guests!); Spanky obliged. But when he looked at the business card, Spanky asked, “Sankey. You don’t know a Larry Sankey, do you?”

Larry Sankey is Cody’s paternal grandfather. 

As absolute fate would have it, while in college, Spanky (I have no idea of this man’s birth name, so we’re assuming it is, in fact, Spanky) went to the small-town bank on business and asked a teller (Cody’s grandmother) if she knew of any places where a college kid could live. She thought they might have a place on the ranch he could rent, and the rest is history. Spanky moved into Larry and Melva’s rental and Larry nearly killed him (his words, not mine) the day Spanky decided to trim the shrubs without asking. 

Thirty-five years later, Spanky breaks down ¼ mile from Larry’s grandson’s Angus operation in Indiana. Small world, indeed. 

Our son woke at 4:00 the next morning, and when he was done eating, we loaded the truck and headed west for Christmas in Kansas. Spanky’s truck was still parked at 1 and 35. We hoped he was sleeping soundly, and would make it back west in time for Christmas. While in Kansas, we told grandma Melva about the trucker and she didn’t really remember him, but she did remember a guy who Larry almost killed because he trimmed the shrubs at the ranch house. Some men are just particular about their landscape, I guess. 

I'm a firm believer that amidst disappointment, God puts people in our lives to make the frustration more bearable. This Christmas, we remembered how He crossed Cody and Spanky’s paths, making the 800 miles that lie between Sterling, Kansas and Economy, Indiana feel just a bit closer to home. 

Eighth Annual Christmas Letter

When I was still under my parents’ roof, we’d always roll our eyes when Brenda's Christmas letter would arrive. This was the 1990s and most families sent generic Christmas cards and simply signed the salutation. Not Brenda. Brenda always typed a full page (+) detailing the wildly exciting year her family had: trips, promotions, home additions and more. Her family seemed perfect, and it was exhausting to muster up the attention span to finish the greeting. One year she wrote about her daughter’s promising career as a “Pigment Solution Specialist” at Lowes; the reality was that she mixed paint at the paint counter. My favorite part of the letter was always the end…when it was over. 

Following in Brenda's splendid footsteps, I too, write a Christmas letter annually and have for eight years. The fact that this is coming out the second week in January should allow you to rest assured that it won’t make you feel bad about your life; in fact, it should make you feel better. I've found there is a direct correlation between the more people that I love and the later this letter gets written. Before Cody, I wrote it in early December. Caroline pushed my deadline to New Year's Day. Cyrus is as spunky as his hair and I frankly forgot about sitting down to write this until two days ago. 

So here we are. 

Let us be the absolute last family to 

wish you Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

We began the year (I'm talking 2018) as we have for the last five years: Cody in Denver for eight days at the National Western Stock Show and I enjoying (no, really) the responsibility of taking care of our stock at home, Caroline included. I don’t remember many big problems or visits from the vet during that time, so I’ll call it a good calving season in the frozen month of January. I can also walk into a room and not remember why, so trying to remember our calving record from a year ago is a bit of a challenge. 

I did fly to Denver for 20 hours to stand with our family as they received one of the most coveted livestock industry honors: Chris and Sharee were selected as the 2018 U.S. Livestock Industry Leaders of the Year. This award has been presented at the National Western annually since 1946 to many prominent industry leaders, and they joined them in having earned this award.

2018 brought big change in my professional career, as I left Harvest Land full time and created Sankey Creative, which allows me to contract communications work while taking care of our children, also allowing for better management of the farm. Has my meal planning improved? Nope; you can still find me at the Hagerstown Market two times a week. Is my house cleaner? Nope; Caroline asked for a bunny around Easter and I reminded her we have plenty of dust bunnies at home. This confused her. Is my stress level lower? Not really; owning a small business is serious work. But I have more time with Caroline, and now Cyrus, and that is what I’ll remember when I think back on this stage in my life. We spend many days outside with the cattle, painting, playing house and rocking babies, both real and dolls. 

Of course, the greatest addition that came in 2018 arrived on our fifth wedding anniversary. Cyrus Sankey joined our family on August 10 with a head full of blonde hair, blue eyes and fair skin. He and his sister could not look more different. We didn’t find out the gender ahead of time because I was certain it was another girl. Perhaps my maternal instincts will kick in by the time they start school. You can imagine our surprise when we were told “she” was a he – what an incredible gift! I’ve learned quickly that there is something very special about the bond between little boys and their mommas.  

Caroline has been an incredible big sister. We didn’t know how that transition would go, but there has been no jealousy, only lots of squeezing. He really does well for being smothered often. She is constantly touching him, stroking his hair that refuses to lay down, shoving food in his mouth and sharing her head cold with him. One day he was babbling and then got very quiet. I entered the living room to find she’d opened my Bible and simply laid it on his face to shut him up. It really is a great brother/sister relationship. 

Cody’s career as Genex Sire Procurement Manager keeps him on the road and professionally fulfilled. This year he traveled from Argentina to Canada, California to Pennsylvania. He sends home amazing photos of his travels and I send him pictures of the kids. My view always wins, and he agrees. 

2018 was a wonderful year, not without its challenges. Starting and managing books for a small business required much more attention to detail and frankly, taxes, than I was prepared for; 2019 will be better. Cyrus spent 4 days at Reid with RSV; 2019 will be better. I had a falling out with a friend that I miss dearly; I commit now to making 2019 better. We still have a mouse problem; 2019 has to be better or I will lose my mind. 

We hope that your family is well and optimistic as we move into another year. If I had any realization in 2018 it was this: Despite the dark circles I’ve acquired under my eyes, toy pile that never stays where it should, constant mud across our kitchen floor and sleepless nights rocking a baby fighting sleep, I am actually living – right now – in the good old days. The ones that one day, when our house is quiet and clean and just home to two, we will long for. And that changes my entire outlook on life.

Until then, here is a look at the
real Sankey family during photos. 

I appreciate you taking the time to read our family update. If you’ve found yourself asking, “Is this the end, yet?” while reading this, you’re suddenly in luck. 

The Sankey Family

Oh, Mary.

At church on Christmas Eve day, our sermon was over the birth of Jesus and how - if we look through a series of events that comprise our life - God is with you, God was with you and God will be with you. 

A particular scripture our minister hit on was Luke 2:16-19: 

16 So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. 

17 When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, 

18 and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. 

19 But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. 

Luke 2:19:

But Mary treasured up 

all these things and 

pondered them in her heart. 

Oh, Mary. 
What an intimate moment for a new mother to reflect. 

Do you know what I was pondering right after I gave birth? Where Cody found the time to get a smoothie before they had cut the cord. 

In an effort to be more like Mary, on the way home from Christmas services I made a quick list of things I'm currently pondering in my heart. I jotted them down in my church bulletin:

1. Where all the dead flies are coming from?
2. What is the true refrigerator shelf life of chili? Also: If I pick out the beans, can chili be used in chef's surprise lasagna?
3. How do we have self-driving cars but don’t have Christmas lights that last more than one season or temperatures below 35º?
4. When will Caroline figure out that she has yes and no mixed up? "Do you love Mommy?" "No!" as she hugs my neck. "Do you like getting your fingers pinched in doors?" "YESH!"
5. Why won’t the livestock waterers freeze when Cody is home, but will become solid ice before he’s 50 miles down the road on a 12-day trip?
6. A big change coming January 1.
7. If trash pick-up is usually Monday but Monday is Christmas...when is trash pick-up? Also: If trash pick-up is usually Monday but next Monday is New Year’s Day...when is trash pick-up? This is like a bad riddle that I cannot solve.
8. Is it appropriate to re-send a Christmas card that was returned due to a shoddy address, though Christmas has since passed? Also, when did our friends move? More importantly, where did they go?
9. Why haven't we had a mouse problem this year? If I question it, will they come?
10. When did I get to the age that my favorite Christmas gifts were wool socks and a cast iron skillet?

Two days later, while trying to recompose our house from the holiday, I found my notes from church. 

I guess in terms of my likeness to Mary I have a way to go.

But that doesn’t surprise either of us, 

now does it?

Shatterproof

Despite my efforts in keeping the holiday simple, I feel overwhelmed by Christmas this year. 

I didn't give anyone a Christmas list for me; I do not need a thing. 

I didn't put up half my regular decorations because of a curious toddler with an impressive reach. Instead, we've watched all the classics such as Rudolph, Frosty the Snowman and Charlie Brown Christmas. 

We didn't make it through Frosty. 

Every other day we have the, "Who do we still need to buy for?" conversation and I find myself trying to think of "stuff" to fill a quota. I think that is where the overwhelming feeling sets in. I don't want to live in a Christmas quota house. 

I bought a container of ornaments two weeks ago to hang on our outdoor wreath and mantle greenery inside the house. Because half would end up outside, I bought the plastic "shatterproof" kind. 

On the same evening that I brought them home, Caroline had the container on its side and was sitting on it like a sparkly pony, bouncing into the next frontier. I was doing dishes, wondering where the draft was coming from, when I heard the bouncing but I didn't think much of it. 

"Lindsay! CJ is on your ornaments! She's riding your ornaments!" Cody called from a room over. 

I didn't react much, I think because the dish water was warm on my cold hands. "Oh, it's ok. They're shatterproof," I called over to him. 

And they are. 

Since purchase, they've been rode like a pony, rolled off a chair, drug around in a bucket, hidden in a toy box, thrown like a fit, tossed in the shower and a few were even hung on greenery. And sure enough, they're shatterproof.

I often think it would be easier - life, I mean - if we were shatterproof, too. So that we wouldn't break when relationships went bad or jobs were unfulfilling or disappointment saturated our soul. We wouldn't know when the ending was bad or the middle was mediocre or the beginning was awkward. 

Shatterproof would be best at funerals and tough first semesters; it would be great when the truck drove slowly down the road never to be seen again or on lonely Saturday nights before "the one" showed up. 

But then I think of all the things we'd miss if we were shatterproof. 

There would be no temporary conversations between dads and daughters, no walks home from the last college class worth any recollection or no more kissing boo-boos.

There would be no more feelings at kindergarten round up, no more butterflies over first glances, no more pride in the graduate. 

There would be no more excitement when the front door opens up, no more joy on the swing set or no more hand shakes worth remembering. We'd not know eulogies, mentors or last first dates. Never again would we experience wonder in a child's eyes at Christmas, the last conversation with granddad or experience an answered prayer. 

We'd have no more Hallmark Channel. And even though the story lines are identical and the kiss always happens in the last 3 minutes, I really like the Hallmark Channel. 

If we were shatterproof, we'd not know the greatest pain or joy, we'd grapple with general, rather than experience the extraordinary. 

So in terms of shatterproof, I'll stick to Christmas bulbs, and remain confident that it is both a blessing and a burden that we're able to feel everything so very deeply.

An exception for the shatterproof? This keepsake Nebraska Huskers bulb from 1995 - it was definitely not shatterproof, though I sure wish it was. Any Husker friends out there know where I can get a replacement?