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.

Dear Nash

My darling son, Nash,

As I sit on the couch with you beside me snuggled into my arm, your little hand resting on my extended belly, I can't help but imagine the kind of big brother you will be. Your little hand presses harder as the new baby kicks it. The bond between oldest brother and new baby has been cemented.

With all the new changes that will arrive with the new baby, I wanted to tell you all the things that I will forever remember and hold dear. All the things that will not change because there will forever be a rose colored cloud around them.

One morning I heard stomping outside the front door, and I stopped picking up to listen. You were shaking yourself off before coming into the house. All the snow caked onto your boots, snow pants, coat, scarf, hat, and gloves was left outside. You came inside sweaty with a sniffling nose. My first thought was that nap time was going to be great for everyone. But when you unwrapped your scarf your radiant smile caught me. You couldn't wait to tell me that you shoveled the driveway by yourself. I was speechless, even more so when I looked outside. You had taken your little plastic shovel and had cleared the 2 inches of snow off the driveway. Your love to help, to do things that need to be done without being asked was driven home for me that day. My need to keep you little started warring with my need to have you be a big boy with chores.

The 12 weeks I took off from teaching to stay home with you after your birth was the best decision I could have made. We spent day after day just the two of us. I held you memorizing the lines of your nose and your little stubborn chin. We snuggled as I read western novels to you. Sometimes when I would look up from the book your dad would be there listening in. It was a peaceful, magical time that still held much uncertainty for me.

We read books about feeding, diapering, swaddling, baby's health, and even one about the proper way to shh. But you were our greatest test. We accomplished the cloth diapers. The first time I had my hands in the toilet I realized I could master the world for you. My grossometer doesn't exist anymore, whats a little poop or puke.

You were such a patient baby. We didn't know what we were doing, but you didn't get angry. I didn't know how to feed you, but you rarely fussed about it. You just had this undeniable trust in me, and it changed my whole world. Your sweetness enchanted us, and made us want to have more children.

You were chauffeured around in school vehicles meeting many different students, parents, families, and their livestock, which I'm forever thankful for your cooperation. You were held by my high school students; you were put face to face with pigs and cows; you rode a horse, and even played on the floor of the high school greenhouse, all for the sake of my career.

The nine months of constant sickness was little time at all in comparison to a life time of togetherness. It thrills me to see you be the leader of our small clan, your siblings. When you came out of the kitchen carrying a plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the afternoon snack, I was so proud. I was about ready to burst when you badgered your brother and sister into eating them with your reasons being that you did it all by yourself. You were meant to be our first born son.

I'm so lucky to be able to watch you grow up. Your every smile, every frown, every hug, every kiss, every story, every skip, I cherish.

I still watch you sleep and brush the hair from your forehead. I still pray to God everyday that He will protect you, especially your soft heart.

My greatest fear is that I'm not qualified for the job of being your mom. I'm afraid that I won't know if I've succeeded or failed until you are an adult.

Your family will always love and support you, my darling son, Nash.

Christmas Card

I bought stamps for our Christmas cards at the local gas station, and the cashier, a former student, asked me why I didn't send Facebook cards. I told her that an electronic card wasn't any fun. Going to the mailbox and seeing cards from friends and family is the best. My sons get excited to open the cards. The boys even got a card from Santa.

Last year we started writing a poem instead of a letter. This is our Christmas poem this year:

Merry Christmas family and friends.
As twenty seventeen quickly ends.
We wrote a corny poem for good measure.
With a picture of us for your viewing pleasure.

Rosina talks to her baby.
With her no I say maybe.
She turns 2 on the twenty-first.
She fights her brothers-it's the worst.

Graham likes to introduce himself.
He climbs to reach the sweets on the top shelf.
He is a man child for four.
He likes to give her siblings what for.

December marks Nash's 6th birthday.
He's excited to play soccer come May.
His play tactics are daredevil.
He leads his siblings to another level.

Terri is pregnant with baby #4.
With no dishwasher, it's quite a chore.
The move to the farm allows for hogs.
Chickens too, but those were eaten by dogs.

Jeff has become a gentlemen farmer.
He had to wrestle the pigs-quite the charmer.
He started a new job with the same company.
He runs a quad laser abundantly.

To good business,
And no sickness,
With good wishes,
Merry Christmas.

Happy Pigs

The doctors office receptionist was reviewing my information when she asked if it was correct that I was unemployed. I guess when I wrote couch potato on my forms she interpreted it as no job. That was the first time I've been referred to as unemployed. Usually I rotate between labeling myself as a child wrangler, people maker, and more seriously as a substitute teacher.

Now I have finally settled on the label pig farmer. Today fifteen feeder pigs arrived, which is just the beginning. I found myself just watching them with the kids. This is the first time the pigs have been outside in the dirt with room to run. Their pigness is fascinating to watch, which I found similar to a toddlers. They root around in the dirt, chase each other, and fight to be the leader. I think that sums up my own children. After watching them, I realized that this was why we bought the farm. I may not have a dishwasher, but I have land to raise animals.

I'm reminded that we are doing this because it's frustrating to watch market prices fall when the meat prices at the grocery store are up. That means less profit for the producer and more for the marketer and retailer. That has always pissed me off because the quality of that meat lies with the producer, who carries all the risk. So how do producers make a full time income, they go big or have a job to supplement the farm. For us, we decided long ago that we will be the producer and marketer setting our own prices.

It makes me happy to produce happy pigs directly to the consumer. I love being able to give my kids chores where other living things depend on them. The cycle of life, meaning we eat them, is just an added bonus.

Who done it?

My kitchen chickens were killed over the weekend. We had them since March as baby chicks. They even survived the neighborhood cats in town only to be moved to the farm where a predator killed them. They were great egg layers and are sorely missed as we ate the last of their eggs. Now I will give you all the details, so you can help deduce the killer.

Friday morning I did the chores as usual. I moved their pen to a new spot on the grass (behind the garage); I checked their food and water; I gave them the leftover Cherrios from the boys' breakfast; and I collected their eggs. Friday afternoon a hunting dog showed up with a collar and was pretty friendly. My husband took him to the animal shelter, which is just down the road. Then early Saturday morning the neighbor dogs showed up and were running around. When my husband went outside they ran back home. My husband went to do chicken chores when he saw the carnage.

The chicken pen was in shambles. The chicken wire on the sides was pushed in, the plywood on the top was chewed on and collapsed in, and the wood around the base was clawed with digging marks in the grass. The carcasses were strewn about with feathers everywhere. Only four out of the five chickens were there with no outward marks on them. No blood, no guts, no missing heads, etc.

Whatever predator got to my chickens didn't bother the rabbit or the mama cat and her litter of kittens. I tend to think it wasn't the dogs because they weren't here long enough to do a lot of damage, and they didn't have any feathers on them. The dogs would have probably taken a chicken with them.

I don't want to get more chickens until we take care of the predator. However, I'm not sure what the predator is. A couple of live traps might help, but not if it's a coyote. So my question to you is, who done it?

My husband's response to the chicken killings was to say that he should have put up the gun rack sooner. I rolled my eyes at him, but then I agreed. I told him I would shoot anything that got near my animals. He hasn't put the gun rack up yet because I think he's hesitant to have a crazy pregnant lady with a loaded shotgun. I was too enthusiastic.

Note: We are responsible gun owners. We are both certified trap shooting coaches, and have been through gun safety courses. So if your reading this worried that I will accidentally shoot something be assured that I'm qualified to handle a shotgun. I will most definitely shoot a wild animal intent on my animals.

Unconventional

A friend of mine was riding through Amish country when she saw that it was laundry day. Countless farms had their dark colored pants and skirts hanging in the sunshine to dry. She relayed this to me with the point being that the Amish laundry day reminded her of me. I laughed because that comparison was pretty accurate.

When we moved to the farm, appliances were not included in the sale. We splurged on a clothes washer and borrowed an older refrigerator from a friend. This was a temporary solution until we found the right appliances. We lived like that for six weeks.

My husband strung up a clothes line between the garage and shop, far away from the gravel dust on the road. He even made a wagon for me to haul the laundry basket back and forth to the line. All the tiny toddler clothes were so cute on the line but so time consuming to hang. Not to mention my 3-year old's obsession with changing his clothes, which meant a lot of laundry. I definitely wasn't used to stiff, lint covered clothes. I adjusted with the thought that it wouldn't last forever.

I even adjusted to cooking and baking with a crockpot, grill, and electric cooktop. I baked a cake in the crockpot and gave my non-working oven the finger.

The dishwasher is harder for me to go without. Our brand new dishwasher is currently stowed in the garage where it will stay until we can decide which kitchen cabinets to take out. The kitchen wasn't made with a dishwasher. Washing dishes for five people is not ideal and hell on my pregnancy nails. Now that we do have a kitchen range, I produce a lot more pots and pans. It makes sense that one appliance compliments another.

I heard on the radio the top ten conveniences that people can not live without. All appliances were on that list with number two being your phone and number one being internet. We don't have internet, and haven't for almost a year and a half. We have it on our phones, which is how I'm writing this now. Our phones, however, are iPhone 4's. My husband and I like to be stubborn and not conform. I would describe it more as refusing to be dependent on anything, including TV. My husband even goes in spurts when he gives up coffee.

I'm not saying go Amish, but if you can't live without something challenge yourself to give it the finger. I'd rather be interesting (not in a weird way) than have five TVs in my house and an iPhone 15 with all the latest apps to keep me entertained.