Evolution of the Blog

As the year's end is days away, I'm reminded to reflect and evaluate, which I come by naturally. I started this blog almost three years ago and visit it occasionally just to read what we were doing when the children were three years younger with two less siblings. When I visit, I'm reminded that three years isn't all that long of a time period when compared to someone's life, and at the same time become overwhelmed with the amount of things that we jammed into those years.

My first blog was written the day I resigned from teaching. With a little over a month left of teaching, I documented each day. Those thirty two blogs helped me get through the end of one career to start another. It also helped me realize that I love writing. I've never been one for journaling, but this is what started three years of documentation.

That first year saw over 112 blogs, which were mainly focused on the children's activities. I wrote about experiments and art projects; trips and birthdays; baptisms and holidays. Our preschool like schedule meant that everyday we were doing activities, and I wanted to hold on to every moment. That year the kids weren't in school and I wasn't teaching. We were free to just be together.

The second year was the year of changes. Our two oldest started preschool, 3-year old and 4-year old, which meant I shuddled them around. I was pregnant with our fourth child, which meant I was doing everything not to vomit all the time. Then we moved to a different town on our little piece of land, and livestock followed shortly thereafter.

This last year we welcomed our baby boy, and settled into farm life. It has seen fewer and fewer blogs, which is because I know the kind of environment that I write well in, which doesn't include farm work, house work, or the children. I have had so much to blog about this year that its been hard for me to focus.

In the coming year, I'm hoping to blog more giving equal attention to family life and the farm, LimeStone Station. I see blogging as writing my own history book for our family. Its become a hobby that I see value in. So here's to the New Year, and more for the history books.

Harvey

I was rushing to the teacher's lounge with my lunch in one hand and my phone in the other, when I saw that my husband had left a voicemail. In typical fashion, I skipped the voicemail and went straight to calling, which saved some of my precious twenty minutes for lunch.

As I slid into my seat at the usual table, I informed the other teachers that we were the proud owners of a pig. They bombarded me with questions, to which I could barely answer. A friend of a friend at my husband's work found a pig on the side of the road, and it needed a home. We said that it could come to our house, which started a new round of questioning because we lived in town.

My 6'8 giant of a husband had this little piglet in his Carhartt coat snuggled against him. The piglet was all scrapped up, which resembled road rash. His deafening screams when I touched him made me think the poor thing wouldn't survive. We put him to bed in his straw nest that I had penned in with Rubbermaid tubs in the garage.

Like parents putting their baby to bed, we started talking softly so he wouldn't be disturbed. My husband explained that he was found in the country where a gravel road intersects a blacktop with a four-way stop. His rescuer was on her way to work and noticed him beside the stop sign. We spent the rest of the evening speculating how he got there.

I predicted that the farmer was weaning him by moving the piglets to the nursery in a trailer, when he did a Houdini act and jumped out through the slates in the trailer. With that reasoning, it was hard to imagine how the fall from the trailer hadn't killed him or how he hadn't been run over.

After two weeks, he was thriving like Wilbur from Charlotte's Web. He was even mischievous like Wilbur when he got himself stuck in the arm of my old fleece coat that I had donated to him to keep warm in the cold spring weather. However, he was too cute and too stinky for us to keep, so we packed him up and took him to my parent's farm.

We never named him because we knew he was destined for the freezer. However, my mom had no qualms and immediately named him Harvey. My parents had operated a farrow to finish operation for over ten years but sold off everything in the mid 90's. Aside from my siblings and I raising animals for 4H and FFA, my parents were out of the business. This stray pig brought them back into it, and started a partnership with us.

Harvey sparked our passion for providing the highest quality of meat with the best conditions for the animal. We saved Harvey only to kill him for our freezer, but he gave us the realization that our food should be personal. It should cost more because it's a life. Harvey woke us up to what the food system could be. After Harvey, we started doing the marketing for my parent's pigs, which they started raising in their pasture. Then we bought our acreage, and started raising them ourselves. Now the same customers that bought from us in the very beginning, buy from Limestone Station. Harvey is where it all started for us. Eight years later, we are still perfecting the art of producing pork.


Visit, www.LimeStoneStation.com
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LimeStone Station

Our rented light blue Toyota Camry kicked up a tornado of red dust as we sped down the narrow dirt road into the Outback. The cloudless sky added to the endless horizon where red met blue. Aside from the occasional goat or donkey wandering through the bush, we were alone. As my thoughts drifted looking out the window, I couldn't help but wonder, “What kind of a farm tour were we going to have with such sad looking land and roaming goats and donkeys?”

As we drove through the rusted gate, my husband was very excited to see abandoned vehicles and their parts littering the yard. We knew then, that Limestone Station was our kind of farm.

In the shearing barn, we watched as the sheep baaed their complaints while they waited to be wrestled. The state of the freshly shorn sheep was pitiful, like a proud lion getting it's mane shaved off. As they were led outside to the paddock, they seemed embarrassed to be naked.

Leaving the barn for the fresh air and blazing February Australian summer sun, we came to a pre 1940s flathead Ford V8 engine with aluminum heads and an aluminum intake. I imagined we found it exactly how it looked when it was pulled from its owner. It reminded me of home, of the exact engine that my husband and I purchased months earlier, only ours had a truck to go with it.

As the tour moved to their olive and carob trees, we discovered their methods for raising produce in such extreme conditions. Their white pots gave me goosebumps as they described the huge poisonous spiders that could be seen by birds, which would otherwise go unnoticed on black pots. The birds gladly lending a sharp beak.

As I wandered through the rows of potted plants under the black shade cloth, clicking pictures of the interesting carob plants, I heard my husband ask about a motorcycle. I glanced at the open garage door and saw a V8 engine on a long wheelbase with a seat and handlebars, which looked nothing like any motorcycle I had ever seen. As I walked into the garage, the smell of oil and junkyard rust reminded me of our garage at home. The owner detailed his plans for his land speed motorcycle, which was quite impressive. Even more impressive, when he explained that he would race later that month on the salt flats of Australia.

Ten years later, we purchased our small farm with it's black dirt, green pastures, and 83 ¾ feet tall white pine trees framing the northwest corner of the property. It's apple and pear trees that attract deer all year long. The pig paddocks that permit wallowing, running, and rooting. The laying hens that run wild through the garden in the sunshine and roost in their coop at night. While we molded our farm this first year, we took great care in naming it. It was only appropriate that we name our farm LimeStone Station. We have molded our farm to meet our needs and drive our passions just as its namesake has.  

Limestone Station combined our greatest loves: agriculture and engineering, our passions for producing food while building something new with something old. They did all this in the middle of the Outback with so little resources. This place was an inspiration for my husband and I, which is why our farm is it's namesake. Our farm is Limestone Station's baby that grew up to live far away from it's parents and didn't want to be like them, but realized that it had it's parents to thank for everything and started to act like them. We were on the other side of the planet and it still felt like home. Limestone Station was where it all started for us, and ten years later we are paying homage.

www.limestonestation.com

Daddies Change Diapers Too

Five years ago, after a long day of teaching I walked into the high school office to fill out a trip request form when the secretaries asked me how my sons were. At the time, they were still babies, so talking about crawling, walking, and eating habits were pretty common. My principal came out of his office and said that he was babysitting this weekend. Everyone was quiet waiting for him to explain his comment, and I was just hoping that he wasn't going to say he watching his own kids. He did indeed confirm my suspicion that he was "babysitting" his own children when he said that his wife was going to be out of town. I will never forget that conversation. I remember being angry that a dad would say that, but so grateful that my own husband would never do that. How do I know my husband would never say that? 

When our first son was born, it was pure joy. When our second son was born it was profound harmony in our family. My husband did everything I did. When the baby woke up in the middle of the night, my husband would get out of bed, tip toe to his crib, and bring him to me for his 3am feeding. When he was done eating, my husband changed his diaper, swaddled him, and rocked him back to sleep. When it was time for me to go back to work after maternity leave we didn't have daycare yet, so my husband took vacation to stay home with our son. 

When I was teaching, my husband was forced to be more involved because I was expected to be married to my work. Since I was in a man's job, it was expected that I spend the majority of my time building an excellent Agriculture program. I spent even more time with that program making sure it was a success because so many people expected me to fail because I was a woman. My husband never complained that I was working too much or missing out on all the important things. I was pregnant with our third child before I realized that I would never give up trying to be the best Agriculture teacher, which meant I couldn't be the best mom. So I gave it up. 

Now I get a little irritated when old ladies at the grocery store praise my husband for being able to get groceries and handle all four kids all on his own, or when they say how lucky I am to have such a helpful husband. I roll my eyes and think where the hell is my parade?! My husband knows that I'm not upset with him, I'm pissed as society. The same society that thinks it's okay for fathers to call watching their own children "babysitting."

My husband doesn't babysit, he co-parents. He is raising his children. He is being the best example of what a father, husband, and parent should be. My friend once told me that I got one of the good ones, referring to my husband. I would say that if every father taught their sons how to be a father then every husband would be a good one, not just mine. 

4th child: 4th baptism

As I was tucking my 5-year old into bed, he asked me if he was baptized. I said yes. Then he asked me if his brother and sister were baptized. My yes only encouraged him to keep listing extended family members. When I had to stop saying yes and move into the "I don't  know" category, he said he would talk to God about it. He ended the conversation by rolling over in bed, which was my cue to leave and be thankful he would be asking God the hard questions.

The baptism of our then 5-month old son prompted my 5-year old to ask these questions. Bracing myself for the all encompassing, "Why?" I started making a mental list of the reasons we baptized our children. He never got to that question, but here are the reasons:

1. It's tradition. The church where our baby boy was baptized was the same church my husband was baptized, where we were married, where my in-laws were married, where my husband and I received first communion and first reconciliation, where we were confirmed. Our sons wore the same baptismal singlet my husband wore.

2. It's a welcoming ceremony. It gives our children a sense of belonging, belonging to our family, belonging to the church, and belonging to our community. It gives them something mysterious and magical, kind of like Harry Potter. Not really, but it does make them believe in something bigger than themselves.

3. It's a starting point. They can believe whatever they choose, but we are the ones to give them their first lesson in beliefs.

4. It gives my babies more support. What could be better than having another set of "parents?" For that matter, who doesn't want to be a Godfather or Godmother? Add a raspy voice to Godfather, and it's a sweet movie impersonation or wings and a wand to the other for making all your dreams come true. Our siblings have all been wonderful Godparents, gangsters and fairies.

5. We celebrate. A baptism is always cause for a family party. We eat meat, potatoes, salads made with cream of mushroom soup or with mayonnaise, and big cakes. We usually entertain special guests like the priest that did the baptism or family members that flew across the country. Family members all dressed-up eating and drinking together is my favorite.

Leading up to the baptism, I was scrambling around making food better, making cakes bigger, and making my husband crazy. With this being our fourth child, it occurred to me that if this was our last baptism we better make it the best yet. With that in mind, I made three cakes, three different flavors, three different frosting flavors, and three different frosting decorations. We had prime rib, but thinking that wasn't enough we added pork loin. I put Baby's Breath on the tables as centerpieces. I asked my parents to bring their portable air conditioner to put into my in-laws garage, which is where the party was held. In my defense, I had gone a couple of weeks without air conditioning, and I wanted everywhere I went to be freezing. My parents did not indulge me.

I'd like to think that if I had made this list before we baptized our son, I wouldn't have been so focused on the extra things. Regardless of the food or the cake or the pictures, the outcome was the same. We baptized our baby boy.

Santa

As my husband parked our blue mini van at the local farm store, I explained the plan. "I'll distract them with the go carts, you go get the cat food, and we'll meet back up at the front."

My husband rolled his eyes like we don't need a strategy for taking our four little kids into the farm store. Last time our 2-year old was climbing all over the sacks of feed like a jungle gym, while my 5-year became obsessed with a $100 carpeted cat house. He tried to carry it around the store with us all the while pleading his case for the farm cats.

As soon as we walked through the sliding glass doors, the kids ran to the yellow and red go carts. The boys immediately hopped into the driver's seat, twisted the wheel, and gurgled out engine noise. My daughter walked past the go carts and climbed onto the seat of a mini bike. As I watched her grab the handle bars and crank the throttle, I thought, "Everything they drive will have a roll bar."

Upgrade the battery powered tractor

I was giving a polite smile to another stranger that remarked how I had my hands full, when my husband took the car seat with our 5-month old son out of my hands. He secured it to the red cart with the cat food signaling towards the exit. I told the kids we had to leave and no one moved. I just kept walking beside the cart and said goodbye to my three Rugrats. They quickly ran to catch up to us.

The drive home was 15 minutes of my sons trying to convince us to get a go cart. We explained that it was too much money, and more money than they had in their piggy banks. Then they started thinking of jobs they could do to earn money just like Curious George did to buy a kite.

The following week was spend brainstorming money making ventures for my 5 and 6-year old. This was quite a challenge, but raking leaves and picking up walnuts were among the ideas.  However, my 6-year old found a loop hole.

"I don't want to buy a go cart, I want Santa to bring it. That would be much easier." He said this while we were laying around on the couch watching TV.

Our entire plan of teaching the kids about hard work and the value of a dollar went right down the drain faster than Santa can guzzle milk. Their earning potential was so small that it would have taken them years to save enough and by then they would be old enough to be thinking of a vehicle instead of a go cart. Our carefully planned plot was short lived all because of a fat man in red.

My husband told the kids that Santa doesn't usually bring really big gifts, but I knew that was going to lead to a lot of questions that I didn't want to answer. Luckily, it was time for bed when the Santa conversation started.

My plan is to keep pushing the work ethic on them and go to the farm store without them.

If you have suggestions, send them our way.

Farm Love

“Steeler and Oreo are kind of like you and Dad.” My six-year said about the tom cat, Oreo, mounting our mama cat, Steeler. He described it further as hugging and kissing like mommies and daddies. While my husband and I watched the cats have sweet, sweet kitty love in the driveway, my mind raced to come up with an explanation that didn't require any detail.

My mind went another way, “Seriously! How many litters is Steeler going to have this year? Based on the last kittens colors, I would say Oreo is the baby daddy. Oreo isn't even ours, he isn't tame, and he is only around at dawn and dust, typical tom cat. They couldn't even wait until dark when the kids would be asleep! Effing Cats!!”

I had forgotten how unfettered a farm can be. Now combine that with little boys that think poop is hilarious, and a chicken's butt is watched more than Caillou on public television. So how do you explain farm love to kids? Just keep quiet, let them draw their own conclusions, and hope for the best or be very technical and when they get a little older get out the diagrams.

Keeping quiet and letting them come to their own conclusions is pretty difficult for me, but the technical method hasn't worked out very well. I tend to over explain things and put a different spin on it, which is one that I feel is acceptable for them. I explained chicken butchering to death (pun intended), but I was at a loss for words about sexing animals and reproduction. I taught inappropriate high schools about the different penis shapes for animal species, actually an entire unit, but I avoid explaining the difference between boy pigs and girl pig.

“The boy pigs have penises by their bellies, and that's where the pee comes out. The girl pigs pee by their bottoms.” My husband informed the kids while we were all standing by the gate watching them. I guess it wasn't too difficult. I don't even think my husband paused to think about what he was going to say.

When my son compared cat copulation to my husband and I, I was pretty concerned that he had seen something he shouldn't have. Then I realized that he really didn't know what he was seeing the cats do, so hugging and kissing was completely acceptable. He only knows what he sees and then relates that to what we tell him. We just need to be the first ones to tell him things and not TV or other kids at school.

I am thankful that the boys can see how animals act, which triggers questions which otherwise wouldn't be thought of until they are tweens and too embarrassed to ask. I guess this is one of the perks of living on a farm.

June: Gone too Soon

It has been one month since summer vacation started and, surprisingly, I'm not counting down the days until they go back to school. I deliberately did not enroll my kids in any summer programs. “Why?” You might ask. Because I wanted to cherish a quiet summer together without rushing around to their activities. What would you do with four little kids during the long summer days?

I'm a believer in boredom. When the kids get bored they come up with the best games and pretend play. I get the pleasure of seeing their imaginations. (However, mud slide runoff wasn't a pleasure to clean-up.)

I love having all the kids together. I gave them the best gift in each other, so why wouldn't I make them spend all summer together? I want them to have memories of playing with each other. I'm also forcing them to problem solve their own squabbles, which usually involves my 2-year old girl yelling at her older brothers.

I want my kids to think of summer break as summer recess. I want them to do things that are completely different from school. So it might surprise you to hear that I do a calendar each day. The calendar is more for me to keep from turning on the TV. It doesn't take much imagination to turn on the TV or iPAD, so when I write science on the calendar I plan things like putting Coke and Mentos together. Things that they haven't seen at school yet, but might in the future. I want to be the first person to show them.

When we moved to this homestead last year, I didn't realize the great opportunity it was for our children. I can't imagine what our summer would have been like living in town. The exploring means they find butterflies, caterpillars, toads, deer tracks, and sprinklings of flowers. The pig, chicken, and kitty chores every morning and night is just icing on the cake.

My kids are growing up fast enough, I don't need to enroll them in summer activities to speed that along. Once they start activities there is no turning back. I'm not prepared to start at the age of 6. They will have plenty of time for that in the years to come.

To The Mountains

Imagine you are in a van with an infant that needs to be fed every three hours, a two-year old that likes to have everything within reach which means she is covered in toys while sitting in her car seat, and a 5-year old and 6-year old that like to have dinosaur fights so loud that they drown out the radio. Now imagine driving 12 hours like this with no electronics, no iPAD, no Kindle, no DVD player, no laptop, not even a Leapfrog. This is how we went to our summer vacation to the mountains.

Actually, we avoided this by driving at night. We packed the car, put the kids in pajamas, snuggled them in with pillows and blankets, and were on the road by 9pm. I drove the first half which got us to the middle of Nebraska and the first gas stop. So in the wee hours of the morning, everyone woke up only to request an oatmeal cream pie. It was the start of vacation, so why not? After the sweet snack, I got cozy with the breast pump to feed our infant son while my husband drove back onto the interstate. We drove straight to my sister's house for her homemade breakfast of eggs and bacon.

My niece's graduation in Colorado was the perfect occasion to go on a family adventure. I told the boys the week before we left that we were going to the mountains. The day I told my 6-year old he told his Kindergarten teacher he would be missing a couple of days of school. How responsible? I waited as long as I could to tell the boys because I didn't want to hear, “Are we going to the mountains tomorrow?” everyday. Once I started packing, I had to tell them, or have them think that I was moving them out.

Day one of vacation was pretty laid back. We visited with my sister's family, checked into the hotel, napped, went swimming, and ate supper with my whole family, which included my parents and my other sister and her family.

I'm always amazed at what my kids remember about vacations. The free hotel breakfast is one of those things. My 6-year old son called it junk food, which really meant that they had a lot of sweet things. I think that was the highlight of day two for him. Well, that and playing with his
cousins. We got up early and went to Garden of the Gods, which is where they got to climb on rocks and “mountains.” I went with my sisters and parents to my niece's graduation, while my husband stayed with the kids. The graduation reception followed where all the cousins tired each other out.

The last day of our trip was spent in a lot of different places. We started the day driving to the Royal Gorge and exploring the suspension bridge. The Gorge was obviously awesome, but the kids spent more time at the playground area and looking at rocks. The rocks were such a success that we stopped at a rock store where they picked out their souvenirs, geodes.

We spent the remainder of our vacation eating. We went to my brother's for lunch and my sister's for supper. We said our goodbyes and talked about the next time we would see each other, which would be another year.

We spent Memorial Day driving the 12 hours home, which was not at night. The first paragraph is a direct reflection of this daytime journey home.

Our adventure to the mountains was a great start to our summer. It was also a great confidence booster. If you can take 4 kids all under the age of six on vacation and everyone has a great time, you can do anything. I can rule the world. 

Making History

Everything from yesterday is in the past, and therefore its part of history. I happen to love history, which is probably why I document and record our family's history.

I started this blog over two years ago. Those of you that have stuck with me, thanks. I started this blog to help me get through the days when the only adult I was speaking to was my husband (besides myself of course.) I even documented my last days of teaching, which seemed tedious when I wrote it but now it makes sense in the progression of things. This blog made me accountable to my children. When I stopped teaching I was so concerned with the day to day activities. Really I was worried that I would use the TV as a babysitter melting their brains, so my solution was to set up a schedule that included crafts, experiments, and outside. I blogged weekly capturing those memories, and I'm so grateful I did.

Most everyone thinks of their day to day grind as mundane and not worth mentioning; however, they are dead wrong. Its those days that make history, your family's history. Ten years from now I won't remember that my 5-year old got his first loose tooth today and that he asked his big brother how his day was at school. I won't remember that my 6-year old told me to remember to tell his teacher that he won't be in school on Friday, how responsible. I won't remember that my 2-year old kept writing in this blog post by pressing the keys, running away, and giggling. I won't remember that my 3 month old kept rolling over for the first times only when I left the room. Figures, just when I have to pee he rolls over. If I don't write it down what will sustain me when I'm 80 in the nursing home?

When I took a hiatus from the blog when I was horribly sick carrying our 4^th baby, my husband asked when I was going to start up again. My sarcastic answer was probably something like, “I'll leave the computer next to the toilet, so between dry heaves and vomiting I might write something clever. All while taking care of the other three children.” However, that was the first time I realized that even if no one reads this, it still matters to my family.

When I got a new phone last week, I wasn't happy about loosing my old phone. But when my husband said I could take epic videos I started vlogging. That's right, I have my own YouTube channel. I know you are probably thinking what took me so long, but now I can document our homestead activities for our kids in the future. If I had a video of my parents or grandparents explaining their chores on a daily basis it would be worth more to me than anything.

So when each of my children graduate I will compile these blogs in a book for them. I might even make a video compiling all my vlogs. As high school graduates it might not matter to them then, but it will matter, someday. It's our family's history.

 

 

 

 

I'm 5

“Is my birthday tomorrow?” Was the question my 4-year old kept asking after we questioned him about what he wanted. This went on for about a month.

He knew exactly what he wanted, which was a Wild Kratt's suit with creature powers. I'm very familiar with the public TV show, which always leads me to the theme song replaying in my head. Gonna go wild is right, wild crazy.

My son picked three of his friends from his preschool class to invite along with his grandparents, cousins, and friends of the family. As everyone pulled into our drive way, they were greeted to a giant bouncy house on our lawn. We splurged on the bouncy house because I didn't want to plan games for the kid's entertainment.

Two days before the party I called the rental company to reserve the bouncy house, the giant obstacle course was the only one left. I went to the store to buy party favors, food, and decorations. The night before the party, I cleaned the house. The morning of the party I made the food for the 11am party, which didn't include the cake because there was no time. My husband picked up a cake when he picked up the bouncy house. I hung a couple of balloons on the mailbox, which was about it for the decorations.

Right before the party I was stressed and I felt like the party was going to be a disaster based on my last minute planning. I was scrambling around the kitchen when I looked out the kitchen window and saw a blur of kids in the bouncy house. Their screaming and laughing was enough for me to realize that my son and the other kids won't remember the food or the cake. They didn't care if the house was clean or if they streamers were hung. They will remember the fun they had, and my son will remember how special he felt on his birthday.

My husband and I will remember eating the hell out of that cake after the kids went to sleep at 7pm. Birthday success!

Tooth Fairy

“My tooth hurts.” My 6-year old son whined.

 

I looked at the offending tooth and wiggled it. I must have made a disgusted face because my son immediately shut his mouth and pushed my hand away. I smiled and said that he was going to loose his first tooth. He was so excited because his friends in his class had already lost some of their teeth.

 

A couple of days went by before he finally decided it was time for the tooth to be gone. He ate an apple and it came right out. I'm still surprised he didn't swallow it, it was so tiny. He put it on the window sill in the kitchen and forgot about it.

 

I started looking up the going rate for a tooth, which was crazy. The internet had the tooth fairy giving a couple of dollars to a crisp hundred dollar bill. I really wanted to do something different, which led me to discovering a company that sells animal teeth that the tooth fairy can trade for human teeth. My husband said he could just go out back and pull a tooth out of one of our pigs that had kicked the bucket. I'm still not sure if he was kidding or not, but the idea of pulling dead animal teeth gave me a shutter and a quick “No!”

 

The internet gave me the next idea of giving a quarter and a coin from another country. I loved that idea because we had a jar with foreign currency just collecting dust. At least it could collect dust in my son's piggy bank.

 

Our night time ritual went by and my 6-year old still didn't mention his tooth. I asked if I should go get it for under his pillow. He simply said no and rolled over in bed. I was disappointed because I was ready for the tooth fairy to come. I had done my research and even had some glitter to top it all off. The next night was the same, followed by the next night, and the next, until my husband said he will when he's ready. The next morning I asked him why he didn't want the tooth fairy to come, he explained that he didn't want her to take his tooth. Whew! I was so relieved that he didn't say he was scared of a little mosquito like creature that would fly into his room and his bed at night to take something that belonged to him. Yeah, because that's not scary.

 

That night my 6-year old wrote a sweet note asking the tooth fairy to leave his tooth. My husband helped him make a lego box with a lid to store his tooth and any future teeth, which was gently placed under his pillow.

 

Bright and early the next morning my son ran into our bedroom to show us what the tooth fairy left, a quarter, an Australian coin, and a note with glitter on it. We found Australia on the world map, which is where the tooth fairy had just come from before she made a visit to our house.

 

This ritual continued until the tooth fairy didn't make it to our house when he lost his third tooth. He was so disappointed in the morning, but the next night she explained what had happened. She was in Korea and had to stop across the ocean because of a thunderstorm. With her note and a quarter, a Korean coin that had 100 on it was left. My son was very excited that he had 100, which made up for any storm. (It just so happened that my brother was stationed in Korea when he was in the Army.)

 

A friend asked me what will happen when we run out of foreign currency, after all that is a lot of teeth between all four of our kids. I said, “The tooth fairy will just have to go to the bank to exchange her currency.”

Feed Them, Feed Us

"What is that sound?” I asked my husband at 3am when I was feeding our son. He grumbled that is was thunder. It had been so long since I had heard it, I didn't even recognize it. The thunder was followed by downpour rain. I elbowed my husband, and we both checked the weather on our phones. It was above freezing, but two hours north it was below freezing.


We had our Saturday all planned out. We were getting up early, putting the sleepy kids in the truck, getting breakfast on the way, and driving two hours north to the locker where our 10 pigs were done being processed. My husband had mapped out the journey to deliver all the pork to our 14 customers across 5 counties. Mother Nature sent rain, sleet, and snow.

I was driving while the kids were sleepily eating gas station donuts washed down with juice. I constantly caught myself checking the temperature in the rear view mirror, above freezing. I was speeding down the highway when I heard my 6-year old yell that his little sister was getting sick. My husband used her blankie to mop up the mess as I continued to drive.

We had to make an unexpected stop at my parent's house to clean up my girl. My husband went ahead to the locker and loaded up the meat as I got the kids cleaned and settled. We watched cartoons while the weather continued to get worse. We watched sleet pelt the windows, and heard the thunder snow. When my husband picked us up it was snowing heavily.

My husband maneuvered the truck through the snow, sleet, and eventually rain as we made our way south. I navigated and contacted our customers to give them ETAs. It was awesome to put half a hog in our customer's freezer at our first stop. Then the second and third deliveries, twenty minutes away. It was so worth it to see customer's faces as they looked through their boxes of meat, and even better to see my 4-year old shake their hands.

It was a family affair that lasted 12 hours and over 500 miles across Iowa. This is the ultimate farm to fork with transparency on all levels. These are the pigs that my sons named, and the pigs that my sons helped put into freezers. Yes, they made the connection that these were the same pigs, and it doesn't get any more personal than that. Food should be personal without any disconnection.

The day was made complete when I heard my 6-year old son say, “We feed them, and they feed us.”  

Teacher vibes

“Are you guys teachers?” The car salesmen asked my husband and I. When we both gave each other puzzled looks he followed it with, “You just give off that vibe.”

 

I thought it was such a weird thing to ask, but my husband thought it was great. He explained that the car salesmen was highly qualified because he had been in the business long enough to see all types of people and read them very well. It was pretty impressive that he had us figured out shortly after introductions.

 

So what are teacher vibes? I'm a former teacher, and my husband has a background in education for a corporation, but how does that translate into teacher vibes? With four kids, maybe the salesmen is confusing teacher vibes with parent vibes. The spit up smell, tired eyes, and unease in a quiet environment could have been the parent vibe we were giving off, which really isn't that far off the teacher vibe. The only difference would be giving off a paste, musty, earth smell instead of spit up, otherwise, I stand by tired eyes and unease in a quiet environment.

 

I hope all parents give off teacher vibes. After all, they are their child's first and most influential teacher. A parent teaches their child how to eat, how to dress, and how to speak. In our case, if the parent swears, the child swears; if the parent dresses in booty shorts, the child dresses in booty shorts (I have to talk to my husband about those booty shorts); if the parent wipes their mouth with their sleeve, the child uses their sleeve as a napkin too.

 

So here are the 10 things that we were doing to give off that Teacher/Parent vibe:

 

1. We weren't wearing sweatpants. It was a Saturday, and we were both wearing jeans. I usually don't get out of stretchy pants, but if I have to go somewhere I break out pants without an elastic waist.

 

2. We drove up in a mini van, and we were looking at an affordable, practical truck with a topper. The guy (With his Dad) in the office next to us was rollin out with a brand new Hummer. He was not a teacher.

 

3. We smiled and were polite to him. I'm sure he was surprised we weren't a-holes that told him to take his price for a truck with a cracked windshield and shove it.

 

4. We walked at a normal pace. Walking extra slow, says that you have all the time in the world or that you need a wheelchair. Walking extra fast, says that your a busy body or that you aspire to be a track star.

 

5. We did not ask stupid questions. Many teachers say there aren't stupid questions, but there really are. Come to think of it, we didn't ask any questions because we have smart phones that tell us all the answers in the world.

 

6. We didn't use slang. We know that saying, “How are ya, brah?” is the ultimate lazy wording. Your too lazy to say brother, so you shorten it to bro, then shorten it to brah because saying it is shorter than bro, but writing it is longer. It's a slang for a slang, dumb.

 

7. We know word definitions. We know that saying, “I literally died when I saw that truck.” isn't accurate, even if the Kardashians say it is.

 

But now I have to give off the mom vibe because the baby just woke up from his nap, and I just heard my 4-year jump down from the top of the bunk beds. It sounded like the ceiling was going to collapse all around me, which brings me to my 8, 9, and 10. Kids, kids, and kids. He couldn't miss our 4 kids with us that probably made him assume we like children. All the aforementioned qualities matter, but not as much as those kiddos.

And Baby Makes Six

“Maybe you guys could have another baby, so we could get another movie.” My six-year-old son announced at supper. He was given arrival gifts from his new baby brother, which included a movie. Maybe it would be easier to just have another baby, at least in the eyes of a six-year-old.

 

With the birth of our fourth child, our son, there are two questions that people constantly ask. I've come to expect them because they are the same questions I was asked when I had our other children. “How are the big brothers and sister taking to him?” and “How are you feeling?” My automatic reply is “They are good.” and “I'm fine.” These are the polite conversation reply’s because no one wants to hear about the gruesome details. However, I thought I would document them here for posterity. Also, I know you all reading this are interested.

 

Seven weeks ago, my husband dropped me off at the hospital to get checked into registration. He went back home to take our 6-year old and 4-year old to school, while my mom stayed with our 2-year old. She arrived at our house early that morning to manage the circus while we were away. Many of the nurses I passed in the hall gave me a pitying look, which I imagined was because I was alone. I felt compelled to tell them why, which we had decided was much easier than my mom taking them all to school. I was led to the delivery room that I was so familiar with and to the awaiting nurse. I smiled and felt so relieved that I gave Loretta a hug. She is the nurse that was there for my first two labors and deliveries. I requested her, but the midwife was unsure when she was going to be working. Loretta started the IV and went through all the necessary paperwork. The midwife checked me and tried to break my water. She gave me the sorry smile because she couldn't do it. The baby's head was blocking my tipped cervix. My husband arrived as I was getting the Pitocin. Loretta spent the morning getting the equipment ready because she said, “I don't trust you. Once that baby moves its head, it is coming out.”

 

By noon, I was unplugged from the many hoses and tubes and was walking the halls. When we got back to the room, my husband had a velvet bag laying on the bed. I opened it to find a pair of pearl earrings. He smiled and helped me put them on. I had some chocolate ice cream and water for lunch, while my husband had Sub City. The midwife came back to check me with little results, but enough to break my water. It was a trickle because the baby's head was still blocking everything. I went a couple of hours on the birthing ball and pacing the room. By 5pm, I was really concerned that I wouldn't deliver by 7, which was the shift change for the nurses. I also hurt like hell with no epidural. I was holding out because I thought the baby would have moved his head by then. I ordered the epidural, which upon completion was followed by my midwife declaring that I was ready. Before I started pushing my husband gave me another velvet bag with a pearl necklace. He helped me put it on and said that now I was ready to deliver our baby. With each push the midwife had to move the baby, who was facing the wrong way and had his arms chicken winged out. I pushed three times with a lot of finagling from the midwife, we welcomed our son. After a while I noticed the room was completely silent. The nurses had wheeled out all the carts and took the chaos with them. My husband took that time to give me the third navy velvet bag, which held a pearl bracelet. He was helping me put it on when I saw a nurse out of the corner of my eye walk in and turn around. She later said she didn't want to interrupt such a wonderful moment.

 

That night, my parents brought our three older children to meet their new baby brother. They each held him and were given their presents. Once the presents were given they lost interest in the new baby. They did ask when we were coming home, and we had to explain that they were so lucky to have Elmo and Papa (my parents) there to take care of them. Each day they visited the hospital, and loved it so much that our 4-year old didn't want to leave.

 

The love that the older siblings have shown the newest member of the family always amazes me. My oldest son likes to give him his blanket, his paci, and tell me when he needs to be fed. He is forever the helper. My second born son likes to hold him, sing to him, and pray to him. He imitates what I have done for him since he was a baby. My daughter loves all the baby things. She loves to hold him with her other babies. She tells me to “get him” if I'm not holding him, which she thinks he belongs in my arms forever. If he cries, she shshsss next to his ear. She is my mother hen. They all take such good care of him.

 

Having our fourth child cemented my belief that we are giving our children the greatest gift in each other. They will adventure together, imagine together, learn together, make trouble together, and fight together. Through it all they will forever love each other.

 

Dear Rosina

My sweet baby girl, Rosina,

 

Tomorrow we will give you a younger sibling, and you will have to give up your title as the baby. As we prepare for tomorrow's arrival, I can't help but think about all the wonderful moments that you blessed us with. You won't ever remember these little moments, but I will forever hold them dear. With everything about to change, I take solace in knowing that these moments will never change. My rose colored glasses will forever stay in place when I think about all the naps we shared, all the hours I spent holding you, and all the books we read.

 

I didn't think our third baby could change our entire world, but like your older brothers, you did. The moment that you entered the world, you enchanted us. We spent most of the first day of your life in tears by just the sight of you. Your delicate features and your trusting gaze were enough to disarm us. We had been blessed with a healthy, happy, baby girl.

 

When you were born, I set a goal for us. I whispered to you in the wee hours of the morning in my hospital bed that I would feed you for the first year of your life. You looked at me with those big blue eyes and that sealed our agreement. I nursed you at the zoo, at the park, at the pool, and at your first birthday party. With that goal met, you made me feel like an accomplished mother.

 

Your older brothers and I spent most of our days just watching you. We were in awe of your little hands and feet, which were constantly being mauled. Your bows, frills, and pink things were a little frightening for us all, but your brothers insisted that you wear them.

 

While your brothers were engaged with dinosaur fights, I adorned you in crystals, faux pearls, and glass beads. I was charmed by the jewelry of my grandmother when I was a child. I never new the woman that wore it, but watching you happily wear the pieces of costume jewelry makes me feel the connection like nothing else has. I dream of the woman you will become-elegant and wise, graceful and bold, determined and stubborn.

 

When I realized that I was carrying your little heart in my body, I made the decision to stop my career. I have never regretted that choice. Everyday when I look at you and your brothers, I know it was right for us. You have never known daycare, which means I was always the lucky one to get your snuggles, your kisses, your smiles, your laughs, and your “I love yous.” I didn't have to jealously hear about any of your firsts because I was there to experience them. I was there cheering for you every wobbly step at a time. You will never know how much you have given me with your presence. I am the lucky one that gets to be with you.

 

I catch myself staring at you, wondering whose carefree spirit has imprinted on your heart. Your ballerina twirling and horsey hopping has such a sweet contagious feel that I can't help but join in. Your smile is like a corner of sunshine after the long snow that requires everyone to smile back. You make everyone around you happy. Your a wild child that I would be ashamed to tame.

 

When you call yourself “Big girl, Sina,” it startles me to see how grown up you are. I still watch you curl up in your big girl bed and fall asleep with those same baby sighs that I remember. I still smell your head and will your hair to grow just like I did when you were an infant swaddled in my arms. You may get bigger, but I will always try to solve every problem with a hug, a kiss, and a cookie.

 

I will never get tired of watching you play. I will never get tired of brushing the hair from your face. I will never get tired of painting your little toes. I will never get tired of smelling your head. I will never get tired of returning your smile. I will never get tired of watching you wrestle with your brothers. I will never get tired of kissing your owies away. I will cherish these moments until you feel you are too big for me to do them. I will keep trying them no matter how old you are. I hope you will never drift away from me as you grow up.

 

Your family will always be there for you, to love and support you, my sweet baby girl, Rosina.

 

 

Dear Graham

My beloved son, Graham,

You lift my shirt and respond to my puzzled look with, “I want to talk to the new baby.” I can't ever argue with that reasoning; however, I do pull my shirt down and say that you have to talk through the shirt when you do it in the grocery store. You whisper sweetly to my extended belly so I can never hear your words, but you always end the conversations with a kiss. The new baby is so lucky to have a big brother like you.

With the new baby's arrival days away and so many changes inevitable, I remember all your wonderful moments that I hold just for you. All the things that you don't remember, but I will never forget. All of the beautiful words that came out of your mouth when I once prayed for you to talk. All of the times we spent alone together in the middle of the night. All of the places you went without any fuss. All of the brotherly love you shared with your older brother. All the things that will never change.

You don't know how we worried about you even before you were born. We were so scared when we were told you had a cyst on your spleen when I carried you in my belly. I was so scared during your delivery because it was taking so long because you turned out to be a big strapping boy at 9 pounds 9 ounces. I was even more scared about who would be responsible for you when I went back to work. The daycare we used for your older brother was closing about the same time that we had you. I had such nightmares about trusting people to watch you. I didn't even trust myself when it came to watching both you and your brother alone. I didn't know how to work the zone when I was trained for one on one.

You don't know how I took you everywhere with me. The day we were released from the hospital we went to the school to help my substitute teacher get a handle on plant sales. We went their almost once a week to see that the plants in the greenhouse weren't being murdered. When the weather got warm, we spent a lot of time in the school field making sure that the corn and soybeans were planted. Many community members referred to you as an honorary FFA member. I'm so grateful that you cooperated. You charmed strangers, which you are still able to do.

You don't know how I walked through Thomas Jefferson's home, Monticello, carrying you. You slept the whole time. You were swaddled in my arms while we road a hay rack in the rain to tour an east coast alternative farm. I made my "best woman" speech at your uncle's wedding with you sleeping in your car seat beside the table. You made me feel like such an accomplished parent when I could feed you wherever we went, which meant we became familiar with most family restrooms from here to Pennsylvania. 

You don't know how often I reminisce of the 2am feedings. At the time I didn't understand why you were still waking up at night when your brother was sleeping through the night at six weeks. That magic time when it was just us is so special to me. Maybe that's why you were waking up, so it would be just the two of us.

You don't know how I could look into your chubby baby face, and see those mischievous eyes reveal your next plot. I always found myself giggling with you when I couldn't resist kissing those cheeks.

You don't know how amazed I am that we created you. We created something so wonderfully magical and great. Everyday you render me speechless with your new ideas, stories, and accomplishments. You make me laugh with your exclamations like, “Hold onto your biscuits!” Whenever I turn a corner in our mini van.

You don't know that I watched you sleep, smelt your head, rubbed your chubby cheeks rosy, and kissed your little hands. I still smell your blankie that is your constant companion. The baby blanket that is ripped, stained, and smells like a baby that's been playing with a dirty dog. It reminds me that you are still my little boy. I loath to take it away.

You don't know how I catch glimpses of myself in you, which frightens and delights me. You may be a man child that has your daddy's size, but you have my stubborn streak. I love identifying your qualities because everyday you show me more. You are so sensitive and perceptive to others feelings. You make me want to cry when you tell me that I have made your day. I just had to feed you a homemade chocolate chip cookie and play Crazy 8s.

You don't know that I see all your love for your siblings. I love watching you grow up, and seeing that love evolve. You are your brothers best friend, and your sisters rock. I feel so lucky to have you as my child. I see that you bear the burden of being the middle child, but you hold that distinction proudly.

I know that your family will always be there for you, my beloved son, Graham.