Me Before You

Time flies when you spend your evenings pulling corn cobs from the crisper drawer of the refrigerator.

Caroline turned two years old on Sunday and in 24 months' time I've learned time passes more quickly when you're living for something beyond yourself. I mean, I thought recess went fast decades ago, but motherhood moves at lightning speed. 

Very few songs you'll hear on the mainstream radio keep my attention for two full minutes. But the current song that garners my full attention when broadcast is Brothers Osborne's "I Don't Remember Me (Before You)". It's a song about a guy who - despite seeing pictures or hearing stories - can't remember himself before he met the love of his life. It is spellbinding.

Although there are ways I can relate to that song, I certainly do remember life before I loved Caroline. 

For instance, 

Before Caroline my Amazon searches consisted of must-read books, Liverpool jeans and kitchen gadgets that allow me to open and aerate wine more quickly. 

Two years in, and my Amazon searches consist of toddler water shoes, Pull-Ups and gummy vitamins. 

Before Caroline, Cody and I could talk about anything, anywhere, any time. 

Two years in, and our breakfast conversation goes something like this:

"I have to breed C-O-W-S first thing this morning. Your plans?" Cody asks.

"When we get home from town I'm going to fill the P-O-O-L. Have you charged the J-E-E-P?" I respond. 

"Yes. It's behind the T-R-A-C-T-O-R." 

Our adult dialog is a constant spelling bee to avoid losing track of the tasks at hand. 

Before Caroline I never gave a second thought to the pigment of the outer edge of my drink ware.

Two years in, and I realize you can ruin a person's entire morning by pouring milk into the wrong color cup. 

Before Caroline I enjoyed showers. 

Two years in, and I can shower, shave and moisturize in less time than it used to take me to undress. Motherhood is a prime case study of survival of the fittest efficient. 

Before Caroline I could get into the refrigerator and simply select what I needed then promptly shut the door to keep the cold air in. 

Two years in, and I find myself giving a diaper diva a four-minute synopsis of the practical uses of every condiment on the door shelves, followed by a 30-second lesson on energy and appliance efficiency. She never seems to care about the energy lesson because I repeat it five times a day. 

Before Caroline I could try on clothes in a dressing room without saying a word....other than, "The hell? Did I grab the wrong size?"

Two years in, and I find myself saying these phrases on repeat:

"Do NOT unlock that door."

"Stand up! Do NOT peak under that wall!"

"I appreciate your self-confidence, but please stop licking the mirror."

Before Caroline I would spend my evenings doing chores and focusing on heat cycles, levels inside the creep and mineral feeders and pasture growth. 

Two years in, and I find my feeding time twice as long because I have a chore pal who thinks cows in standing heat is hilarious,  enjoys getting her hands in bags of feed to explore textures and likes picking forage samples and showing me every red clover she can find. 

Before Caroline my time was my own. 

Two years in, everything takes twice as long, but is one hundred times over more gratifying. 

There are days when I'm not sure who is learning more, Caroline or her parents, but let's keep that between us.

And while I'll never be a mother that claims to not remember the me before her, despite the self-doubt and dry shampoo, I like this version of myself a whole lot better. 

Playing Second Fiddle

Two weeks ago my sister and I surprised Mom by taking her away - off the farm - for a weekend in Nashville, Tennessee. We had a really wonderful time together celebrating Mom's 65th (6-5!!!) birthday. I can't remember the last time the three of us shared a hotel room, but it brought back fond memories. Mom still put the unused hotel soaps and lotions in her suitcase so the staff would restock each day. Old habits die hard. 

We ate well over three days and didn't sit still much. In fact, I think the longest we were stationary was during a 2-hour show at the Grand Old Opry. One day we walked over five miles checking out the Music City attractions. We did take Mom to Broadway St. so she could experience the crowd, live music from the "next great ones" and stale beer smell. She didn't seem overly impressed, but I think she enjoyed the people watching. 

One stop we made on Broadway was to The Second Fiddle, an old honkytonk with a small stage and large assortment of historic Nashville memorabilia along the walls. 

We sat and watched a small band play a few old, recognizable classics. The lead singer obviously had the attention of the crowd with the microphone, but not without the talent of the few behind him. They truly were playing second fiddle at The Second Fiddle, I thought to myself. What a way to spend a Saturday. 

Each band member played passionately and loud, waiting for someone to drop a couple dollars in the tip jar next to the stage speakers. I noticed almost all of the band mates were wearing wedding rings. I wondered if their spouses were playing at a bar next door, or perhaps even waiting tables there. When they were done playing, they packed up and left so the next small gig could move in. But the band seemed to split, and all seemed to go separate directions. 

I thought about how I spend my time, where I invest my energy and where I might play second fiddle. Sometimes after my husband folds the towels I desperately want to re-fold them the way I prefer (with crisp, even folds), but in a rush to mark the next thing off my list, I put them away without doubling the effort, thankful for his contribution to our “band”. 

And while we were in Nashville for three days, I was constantly expecting Cody to call asking questions about how to prepare one of Caroline’s favorite meals, or what to give her for teething or how to properly put her hair in a ponytail, following her natural hair part. And do you know what? He never did. The only time he called me in three days was to ensure we weren’t at a Waffle House on Sunday morning when it made national news. 

Semen tank and open fire: 
Dad/Daughter bonding, I guess

The truth is, not all of us can lead the band at all times– though I think often as women we have a hard time realizing that. We have an instinct to lead all areas at all times with our hands in everything, and quickly become overwhelmed, stressed or short fused when things don’t go just as we planned. 

If you look around, you’ll find a large group of folks who are perfectly content playing second fiddle, doing what they need to do, to make a business work, a family function or an event go on without a hitch. You'll find people take care of small details quietly, and doing it well. You’ll see classmates who need not be the center of attention, custodians who never once complain (even during flu season…) and men who don’t drive the bus, but they sure keep it running. Those are the “second fiddles” who actually make the band sound great. Those are the people who play smaller roles to make life’s band grand. 

Those are also the people who don’t consider refolding the towels after someone else already has, they just put them away without another thought. Studies show that most second fiddle players are not mothers. I do all my own research. 

I guess if there was no one to play second fiddle we wouldn't have much of a band. Or church. Or school. Or business. Or home life to raise our families. 

So I return from Nashville with a new perspective, a new outlook on my role within our home and community and newfound respect for those perfectly content in the back row. 

You make life’s music worth listening to.

Save me a seat. 

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. 

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 4^th 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. 

 

Fifty Years Apart

Today is a very special Wednesday.

Two of the most important people in my life

celebrate another year of influence.  

This beautiful blonde, The Original Jean,  turns 85 

And this courageous cowboy, my husband,  turns 35

On March 11, fifty years apart, 

my destiny was shaped in a special way. 

Checking cows last night I wondered about the greatest lesson The Original Jean and Cody have taught me. 

Put grandkids with solid lung capacity in the trunk to avoid admission costs at the Preble County Fair? 

Nope.

Hold on to things for ten years, then see if they really matter?

Nope. 

When I was young - I'm talking like six years ago - Grandma's kitchen table was the safest place. It was only there that I felt comfortable enough to tell her about the changes, disappointments and searching I faced in life. Though she married young, she didn't seem to judge, she just listened. Her advice was never gushy or deep or even Biblical. Her advice always referenced patience and was typically this:

"You don't have to marry the man. 

Just let him take you to dinner."

Yeah, thanks Grandma. Because of that advice I went through about 403 first dates and started a few fires that nearly burned me to the ground. I also ate a lot of really good meals. Hence the fat jeans/skinny jeans drawer in my dresser. 

I also sifted, because of The Original's advice. 

What I believed was real. 

What I selfishly prayed for. 

What I expected. 

All totally wrong, but silently I kept The Original Jean's advice in my back pocket. 

I don't have to marry him, 

just enjoy the company without expectations. 

Really shoddy long-term advice for a gal who grew up playing M.A.S.H.

Anyway, on March 11, 1980 there was a new kid on the block in Kansas. He looked like his Papa Laflin and had a restless spirit like his dad, Chris. 

Papa Laflin and Cody

And despite giving him the wrong phone number, he still treated me to the dinner that The Original Jean encouraged.

For the record, it was the Worst. Food. Ever. 

But the company sure made up for it. 

He is a passionate man. Made of grit and contemplation. 

He generally doesn't say much, asks plenty questions and his mind never shuts off. 

He constantly evaluates, processes and projects. 

I just typically repeat my question because he takes too long to answer. 

Patience. 

If these March 11 babies have taught me anything, it is patience. 

They've taught me that worrying does nothing. 

They've taught me to let go of expectations and see where life fearlessly leads. 

They've taught me that life happens when you put down the map. 

They've taught me to be careful what you pray for. 

They've taught me that yelling louder doesn't make someone understand what you just tried to explain. 

They've taught me that just because they think they did, doesn't necessarily mean someone remembered to latch the gate. 

They've taught me that sometimes it doesn't pay to to buy the cheap stuff. 

They've taught me that "expectations" is "get a life" spelled backwards. 

Just kidding. 

They've also taught me this:

The best things happen when you're not looking. 

So put away the grand plan and let life go where it will. 

I trust you'll learn that 

the best surprises are the ones 

that had nothing to do with all of your worry.

 

Happy Birthday, Grandma & Cody!