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.

 

Of Soap and Shells

My grandma passed away more than two months ago, and I still find myself waking and wondering if I can fit a trip across the state line to see her on that day. She left a void that will never be filled. 

Throughout the years Grandma gave me many things that I’ll forever hold close to my heart. Her cowboy boots, Granddad’s cowboy boots, and old love letters between the two of them written in the 1940s. Since her passing, our large family has worked to clean out her homestead, each family combing through years of memories, collectibles and “stuff”. 

Three generations have gone through closets, looked under beds and cleaned off bookshelves. We’ve taken oak dressers, beloved toys from our childhood, photos of champion Holstein heifers from the 1960s and record players with Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys still in the play position.

I took shells and soap. 

One day the kids and I drove to Grandma’s and began sorting through things that we might want to keep forever. In Granddad’s old room, Caroline dug eagerly (we were on a treasure hunt of sorts) through a filing cabinet and found a bag of seashells. She was elated; I was confused. 

My grandparents were not regular vacationers because they had livestock. When hundreds of animals depend on you for their food (or, their milking twice a day), you do not often leave. You can’t often leave. But there were occasions when Granddad would come in from the barn and tell Grandma to pack a bag, they were going on a trip tomorrow. Sometimes they went to Virginia to visit Charlie Potter, a man they ran cattle with on the rolling green hills of the Shenandoah Valley. Once they drove to western Nebraska and showed up on the ranch house steps of a college friend of mine, only because they wanted to see how farming was different in Nebraska compared to Ohio. And apparently, at least once they went to a beach.

I was surprised to find seashells amongst farm paperwork in a filing cabinet, but I was relieved. 

Because seashells meant he – and grandma – took a break from the work of the farm to enjoy themselves. Seashells meant that he traveled far enough to see new land and meet new people that would become a part of his life’s story. Seashells meant that at some point he rested in between the hundreds of decisions it takes to operate a farm, and maybe even put his feet in the ocean. I hope he at least took off his boots. 

That afternoon, I also took soap. 

I have a habit of taking the unopened hotel soaps (lotions, shampoos, coffee…..what is wrong with me?) home with me when I travel. I figure if the Wagon Wheel Inn outside Lusk, Wyoming offered the goodies, I might as well return home with a souvenir. I get this habit honestly, and while cleaning out Grandma’s house I also found a bathroom drawer (maybe two) full of hotel soaps. Pony Soldier Motor Inn, Urbana-Lincoln Hotel, and one bar that didn’t have a name, but did advertise “wall to wall carpet” and a “24 hour switchboard” – whatever that is. Each ancient bar represents places she’d been, while out on a great voyage off the farm. She kept those soaps, and now I will, too. 

To me, these petite hotel soaps represent the exploration of unfamiliar places where she need not cook for the family and hired help or wash milkers. She simply had to be open to the road, likely interpreting the map, and ready for the next adventure. At some point in her 89 years, these soaps represent her courage to leave the farm – and trust me, it takes courage to leave the care of your livestock up to someone else – and see another part of this beautiful country. Even if they did sleep at the Pony Soldier Motor Inn.

Grandma and Granddad left many legacies, but today I think about the lesson they’ve taught in soap and shells. 

No matter how hard you work, how little quit you have in you, or how hard you find it to disconnect – everyone deserves to rest. To step away. To take a break. To explore. Maybe it is a morning walk in the fresh snow when you can’t seem to focus on graduate school studies. Maybe it is a Sunday afternoon drive to see someone you miss. Maybe it is getting back to a hobby you’ve abandoned because life keeps you too busy. Or perhaps, it’s a cross-country adventure just to discover new land and unfamiliar faces. 

Go. 

The work will be here when you get back, but experiences don’t wait.

And if you do find a place that has something worth packing home, do so. You never when those tokens will serve an entirely new purpose. 

In writing this, our daughter asked what the tiny bars of soap were. I told her they were part of her inheritance. She appeared confused, but hopefully one day she'll get it. 

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.

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. 

First Camp Out

Caroline and I had our first camp out last week. I guess I had just imagined it to be more...fun.

The camp out wasn't planned, rather a last-minute change of Thursday evening plans. We were watching the evening news when she made the decision to make a night of it. 

I certainly wasn't prepared, but like the girl scout I never was (Laura was a girl scout, Luke was a cub scout, I was the third child), I learned to adapt to the situation. Real quick like.

Rather than a waterproof tent, we situated ourselves behind the shelter of a shower curtain. Clean up was easier that way. 

There were no ghost stories to give us the shivers, but I repeated these words in an effort to comfort an 18-month old: "You're ok, mommy is here, we'll get through this." That last part was more for my peace of mind.

There were no s'mores, rather Caroline showed me over and over - and over - again what she'd had for lunch that day. I didn't have much of an appetite after that. 

Rather than a sky full of beautiful stars, when we looked up we saw little flecks of paint peeling off the ceiling above the shower. I'd not noticed them so much before, but when you have an all-night camp out in the shower, you have time to observe more than you do in the 5:00 wake-up hour.

There were no hooting owls or coyotes howling in the far off distance to really make us perk up, but rather every time Caroline's little body made a sound I prepared myself for the worst and was usually met with it. 

Unlike most camp outs, when the littlest camper began crying for their parents, I couldn't just make a phone call and send her home; she was already there. 

I did, however, send a brief text to Cody that said, "This is really bad. Wish you were here." 
A minute later, Cody called from some far away place and asked a stupid simple question: 
What can I do to help? 

I answered that question the exact same way I answered it nearly two years ago when he asked the same while I was in labor. It wasn't pretty, kind or worth sharing with all of you.

Our first camp out was in fact the worst camp out, ever. 

But it is over now, and we're operating on all cylinders at the Sankey homestead. It took a whole lot of Lysol and two full loads of laundry to get our home back from something that was supposed to take place in the back yard. I've tried to eliminate the confines of the sick house and gotten Caroline outside more in the last week than in the whole month of January. 

I think next time Caroline mentions a camp out, I'm just going to send her to Grandma and Grandpa Bowman's. It’s a scientific fact that everything is more fun at a grandparent’s house.