Showing posts with label grandchildren. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grandchildren. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 12, 2019

Alexa: Earmuffs

My niece, nine-years-old and pretty as the day is long, emerged from my old bedroom at Mom and Dad’s farmhouse not long ago. 

“Alexa, what time is it?” she asked. Not a sound followed, except my mom shuffling through cattle registration papers downstairs. Marlee stretched and raised her voice. “Alexa, what time is it?” Again, no response. She tried another question. “Alexa, what’s the weather?”

My mother, extremely confused, stood at the bottom of the steps and asked, “Who are you talking to, Marlee?”

“Your Alexa, Grandma. Where is she?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t even know anyone named Alexa. If you need to know what time it is, there is a clock in the bathroom. It’s about twenty minutes behind. If you need to know the weather, there are four windows in that bedroom. Look outside.” 

Marlee became quite confused, as the generational gap widened. 

For those who might not be familiar with Marlee’s friend, Alexa, she is Amazon’s virtual assistant. She (it) can sit on a table or kitchen counter and pick up simple voice commands, such as turn on the lights, give a weather report, turn down the thermostat, play desired music or add something to the grocery list. She is constantly listening to your household commands. In my opinion, Alexa is much like the super creepy cousin at reunions who doesn’t talk but only observes. 



Recent reports have come out revealing that Amazon is recording conversations with Alexa, on the basis of determining sound quality and interpretation. Anyone who understands modern marketing probably knows that Amazon is likely using these recorded conversations to understand buying trends to better market to certain lifestyles. 

I can be in the same room with my husband and ask him what he’d like for dinner, and he may respond with, “Rain the next three days.” I can ask my toddler if she needs to go to the bathroom and she may respond with, “Mommy. Do you need go to bathroom?” I can tell my 10-month-old baby I love him, and he then bites my shoulder. I don’t need to invest in a nosey robot to misunderstand me in the unbelievable way my family can. 

I think if we did have an Alexa, and she began listening to our family conversations, she’d probably need a vacation. 

Typical day: 

Cody: “Don’t forget. The Brazilians are in the high plains next week, so I fly out Sunday night to Bozeman. East to North Dakota. I’ll fly out of Sioux Falls on Saturday morning. 701 and 3601 may cycle into heat so take the kids out and check them before you guys go to bed if you can. Feed comes Wednesday. Those papers need to be signed by Tuesday, but you can do an electronic signature and just email them.”
Me: “Got it. I need to check my email. I haven’t in days. Do you need dry cleaning done before then? I thought 3601 was bred? Will you be home for supper Saturday? We still need to talk about if I’m flying with the kids or driving to Kansas for the sale. I can do it….If they sleep for twelve hours of daylight. When will you take the cattle?”
Cody: “Not sure yet. Still a way off. About dinner: I’m flying Southwest, so yes, probably.”

Or this:

Caroline: “Mom what’s check heat. Cows hot?”
Me: “No, honey. Cows are in heat when they give piggyback rides. It means they need to be bred.”
Caroline: “Old bread, Mom? Green bread? Like our bread?”
Me: “No, bred means they’re going to have a baby.”
Caroline: “Brother or sister?”
Me: “You mean bull or heifer…….We’re getting into the weeds. You’re only two.”
Caroline: “Weeds itch. Yuck. I don’t like weeds. I am two. Good job, Mom.”

I think sweet, simple Alexa would probably ask to have her batteries removed in order to be put out of her misery. 

We live in such a strange time when people would actually buy something like this to make their life easier. As if taking 37 seconds to turn on the stereo (do those still exist? They do outside Economy, Indiana) and adding toilet paper to the grocery list hanging on the refrigerator was too much work. And perhaps I’m old school. I have, in fact, been wearing mom jeans since I was fifteen. 

Regarding privacy and technology: You all know how I feel about Alexa listening to your dinner table chats - don’t even get me started on Apple watches. The only difference between an Apple watch and a probation bracelet is the watch doesn't alert authorities when you take the trash out. And DNA heritage tests....Nope. Nope. Nope. I'll keep my DNA to myself, thank you. 

I guess if I wanted strangers to know the dirty details of my family, where I am every week or what goes on within the confines of our family home….I’d write a weekly blog.

Wednesday, May 8, 2019

The Travel Journalist

I’ve had many aspirations over the years, and in my mid-twenties I loved the idea of being a travel journalist. At that time the only thing I had to spend money on was a mortgage for a small home in Greens Fork, dog food, gas to the airport and airline tickets. I traveled often during that phase of life, always with a Nikon camera and journal.


In my mid-thirties I travel with a lot of dry Cheerios, plastic grocery bags for any sort of urgent disposal and a smartphone that typically always runs at 23% battery. 

We went to Kansas last weekend, and I often get asked how long it takes us to travel to the family ranch. We’ve made it there in anywhere from 10 to 12 to 24 (the unbelievable Christmas trip of 2016) hours. This trip was fun because we made the voyage for a family wedding in which Caroline was a flower girl.

Facebook Caroline

Real Life Caroline

She cleans up pretty well for a tot who prefers mud over make-up. She did wonderfully in her dress and fancy shoes, but once we got back to the ranch she found mud and actually lost a shoe in the muck. It was good to have her back. 


Traveling with two under three has its own challenges, but nothing that prohibits me from suiting up to go again; we have airline tickets bought for June. This trip I introduced Caroline to the I Spy game and that was a big hit. Except she would tell me the color she wanted to find, already having her item spotted. It somewhat defeats the purpose of the game, but certainly doesn’t ruin the fun. We found the same orange ink pen clipped to Dad’s visor six times in thirty minutes.

Somewhere in Illinois we passed three school buses full of children and would you believe none of them were on electronics? They actually waved to us as we passed by and this was definitely a trip highlight for a toddler. She asked me where they were going and I told her probably a field trip. This started the “Why” game that lasted until St. Louis. I’ve never been so glad to see the arch. 

It was outside Columbia, Missouri that we stopped in the pouring rain for double diaper changes. I’ve mastered the art of in-truck changes for little Cyrus while he’s still small. Caroline is still curious about this process, but this particular change almost knocked both she and I out. So there I was: a belly-laughing, half-naked 9-month old across my lap, a 2 ½-year-old gagging out the window with the rain coming in our truck and a mess up to my elbows…literally. I wrapped it all up and asked Caroline to sit back so I could throw the mess out the window. Cody was still inside the truck stop, and I’d have him throw it in the trash upon his return. I tossed the 45-pound diaper out of the back seat window of our truck, and then looked across to see a man at pump five watching in disbelief. I wanted to explain myself and that I wasn’t littering, I was trying to save my daughter from throwing up on her brother, but I didn’t have the energy to do so. I just rolled up the window and hoped Cody would return before the judgy guy left. 

We stayed in a beautiful hotel in old town Wichita that was previously a cannery in the 1920s. Both kids slept well and filled up on all the junk food and toys that travel with grandparents they see four times a year. The grandparent’s room was like walking into the aftermath had a tornado hit a toy store and candy store in one swipe. There was a lot of candy wrappers and miscellaneous parts to toys we’ll probably never see again. 

I forgot my razor and had to get one at the front desk. Talk about a massacre. Despite my best efforts, I went to the wedding wearing a leopard print dress and my legs looked like I had to kill the actual animal I was wearing. 

The wedding was beautiful, the flower girls were cute as can be and the reception was a ball. We got a family photo that didn’t show my legs, both kids were well behaved and as I write this column, we’re sitting in traffic on the west side of St. Louis. We should hopefully be home by the time the blog goes live on Wednesday.  I consider all of these things signs of another good trip west. 


I don’t travel much with the Nikon anymore because it just won’t fit in the diaper bag. And I never did see my writing in the magazines they stuff in the airplane seat backs, but sometimes I get into the local Nettle Creek Gazette, so that is something. 

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Making the Ordinary Come Alive

I heard the following three lines - or something much like them - several times over the last two months:
Big party planned for Caroline's first birthday?
What's the theme of her party?
You probably have a Pinterest Board completely dedicated to her first birthday bash. (<- That person obviously didn't know me well.)

And then Cody began asking what our plans were. I was quite honest with him right out of the gate: I don't want a party, I just want to enjoy the day. 
He was all in.

Caroline spent her first birthday having bananas and milk, and a graham cracker or two. 
She checked cows with her dad and watered the garden with me.
We read books we'd not yet cracked opened from her baby shower more than a year ago.
Her cousins came over and she had help opening pretty wrapped presents. 





We swam (splashed) in the kiddie pool for just a bit before an inch of rain came over the farm. By the way - we've had 10 inches of rain in the last 12 days. 


Then the cousins left and we took a tour of the yard and barn lot in the wagon (better known as a utility cart) that we got Caroline (or, me. Think of all the buckets that bad boy can hold!) for her first birthday. 




After a solid nap, we headed to Bowman Superior Genetics to celebrate with one set of grandparents.

And Midge. 


Lots of crawling - it's faster than walking right now

 I made cupcakes for the occasion 
and made enough to send 6 home with 
Mom and Dad's help, James. 

This is probably the same tissue paper 
I used when wrapping Mom's Christmas gift. 
I get it honest. 

Who loves who more?

This wasn't a gift, but it's sure fun to ride 
when we visit Grandpa and Grammie's. 

"You're going to blow out the fire stick 
before I have to eat that, right?"



She always lets us know when it's time to head home. 

We wrapped up the day checking cows again (this time with a graham cracker in hand) and one last wagon ride for the day. 



We didn't really think this part through. 

One day we'll splurge. 
And we'll go over the top. 
And we'll invite family and friends. 
And I will spend more than $4.17 on her party food (cupcakes and icing).
And I might even have a Pinterest board of ideas and must-dos. 
But I don't know when that will be. 
Perhaps her wedding?

For now, Cody and I are spending our time exploring life's ordinary with Caroline. 


No question that - for Caroline's first birthday -
we made the ordinary come alive. 



Wednesday, June 15, 2016

What Dad Really Wants This Father's Day

Father’s Day on the farm can be tricky. It’s a day to celebrate a man who typically doesn’t enjoy the three things that encompass the holiday:
  1. Being the center of attention
  2. Celebrations when there is work to be done or
  3. Receiving Hallmark cards that make his nose burn,  his eyes water and a mysterious tennis ball develop in his throat.

Father’s Day on the farm can also be tricky for the rest of us. What do you buy a man who has everything? Or, at least knows how to use bailing twine and WD-40 to fix/create whatever he needs?



To Get All of His Tools Back

You can buy Dad all the 101-piece socket sets you want, but what he really wants for Father’s Day (and Christmas and his birthday) is just to get his tools back.
To where they belong.
In one piece.
He doesn’t need a 1/47th,  3/734th or 8/39290 th socket.
He needs to open his toolbox and find his 1 1/16th wrench and a pair of pliers that still cuts wire.  
Just bring it back…all of it.
And don’t “borrow” it again.



A Gate Opener

This Father’s Day, give your farm dad the gift of a gate opener. Someone who has the intuition to know where he’s traveling to next. Someone who knows what gates can be left open and which ones need to be shut. Someone who knows how to do two things, well: hustle and pick up a gate, rather than drag it on the ground. Relieve Dad of this familiar, time-consuming scenario: Stop the truck or tractor in front of the gate. Climb down. Open the gate. Walk back to the truck or tractor. Drive it through the gate. Then stop the truck or tractor behind the gate. Climb down. Close the gate. Walk back to the truck or tractor. And finally get to work.



To Work With His Kids, No Matter The Age

Farm Dads kind of miss their help when they grow up, even if said help isn’t that much help, at all. He may miss the tiny shadow following his every move and mocking his every word (this can be dangerous most days). This Father’s Day, give Dad the gift of companionship and conversation while he works towards the success of the family farm. Sometimes he doesn’t need a tie; sometimes he needs his buddy by his side while he does what he loves. 

 



An Inch of Rain

(Unless, of course, they are in the thick of wheat harvest or baling hay)
I understand you can’t exactly “gift” someone a perfect day of weather (no one would ever create a wedding registry at Bed Bath & Beyond if that were the case), but you can do some things to guarantee a mid-June rain shower. For the perfect Farm Father’s Day gift, follow these easy steps:  
  1. Pray for rain
  2. Wash your car
  3. Mow hay
  4. Leave all the windows open – vehicles and home - and go somewhere far away
  5. Pray for rain





May your tie count be short but your tool count be exactly where you think it should be. 
Good luck keeping track of that. 




Wednesday, April 13, 2016

A Different Kind of Firecracker


An Oklahoma State onsie, a Certified Angus Beef bib and a pair of cowboy boot patterned socks: That is absolutely as far as we’ve gotten.
Seriously.

Since I’m in the third trimester and Momma continues to ask if we’ve considered buying a crib, we thought now might be the time to share with you the best news we’ve ever had:

Our first child is expected 
to shake up life as we know it 
on the 4th of July.



Cue Shooter Jennings:

Kinda destined to be a firecracker: Double bred crazy.

A lot of names float across my mind as I write this, this morning:

Bob and Barbara Jean
Larry and Melva Jean
Paul and Marie
Ralph and Martha Jean
And after them come Chris and Sharee, Phil and Linda
We have just a little bit of pressure to raise a great American, much like their grand parents and great-grandparents.
A well-grounded, cattle-committed, rooted-in-faith, humble-and-kind, kid.
I hope you’ll help us.

No, we’re not asking for a babysitter before they even hit the ground (figuratively speaking). We’re asking that you help keep this child on track at the 2031 Junior Nationals and you’ll encourage them just a bit if you ever notice they’re having a bad day.
It takes a tribe to raise a good kid and you’re part of our tribe.
We promise to do the same for you.

I’ve absolutely loved being pregnant, though I’m not clueless to the fact that the tough part lies ahead. Ask me again in June when I can’t see my boots and the Dollar General is out of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
Side Note to the Losantville Dollar General Customers: You’ll leave the entire stock of mint chocolate chip ice-cream in the freezer case if you know what’s good for you. And Cody.

We’re almost done with our childbirth classes and that experience has produced weeks of blog-worthy stories. Just wait. I didn’t realize just how awkward Cody could get in certain situations until we sat him in a room full of 8-months-pregnant strangers and exercise balls. 

There are so many things I want to share with you about the hopes we have for this child. In fact, much of the six years of content inside this blog is reflective of things I knew I wanted to pass on, but wasn’t sure if I ever would. The news of an Independence Day baby has greatly changed my perspective.
And my sleep schedule. There have been Tuesday nights when I’ve fallen asleep mid-keystroke and never finished  five sentences of a weekly blog. Now you know why.


We’re often asked when the gender reveal party will be. 
We've approached parenthood - and enjoyed it - like it's 1995. Leaving it off Facebook allowed us to tell folks when we saw them and share that moment of excitement. There are no neck hugs on Facebook. And I really like neck hugs. 
Secondly, this is a baby, not a movie premier.
Thirdly, the party will be at the hospital. On the day of the birth. 
But please, don’t show up. 
Unless, of course, you're thinking of bringing a gift:



We could guess the gender now, but we would only have a 50% chance of being right. 
I think I better wrap this up; I'm getting hungry (shocker).

Thanks for sharing in our joy with us - 
We couldn't be happier.