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.

 

 

Car Seats

My husband was recently pulled over when he was driving our 4-year old son home from preschool. He was driving our vehicle of choice, the mid nineties hunter green Chevy Tahoe. The seats in the back were folded down to accommodate the latest machine we acquired. A broken brake light was the reason the police officer gave for stopping them, but the conversation ended up being about my 4-year old son sitting in the front seat. The police officer said he needed to be in the back seat, to which my husband said that it wasn't a law because it was based on height and weight requirements. Afterall, the airbag was off. The officer replied that it was safer in the back seat. My husband wisely didn't argue because no tickets were given. So on the side of the road he moved the machine around, flipped the seat up, and our son climbed into the back.

My husband is 6'8 and a slender 310 pounds. I'm 5'10 with a weight to match my big bones. Together we produce bigger than average children. My 4-year old has been called a man child and could eat most 6-year olds. Our 5-year old and 4-year old are bigger than the height and weight requirements for a car seat, and are cleared for front seat riding. However, their age makes it not acceptable.

My husbands solution to the issue is to start driving our 1966 Jeep J3000 truck with no back seat. It doesn't have air bags, and it's built like a brick shit house. I would feel more comfortable with our kids in our collection of Jeeps than a compact car.

We are responsible parents and have researched the national and individual state requirements for car seats. I did notice a pattern for the states. The less populated states have less strict requirements. The more densely populated areas have more traffic which means more probability of accidents. I also noticed some other political patterns in the states, but I won't get into it here. Iowa, being where we live, has reasonable requirements, unlike some states that have kids in car seats and the back seat until they can drive.

The commercials that advertise rear facing car seats for toddlers and beyond are a little too much. Car seat manufacturers are making a killing because what parent would sacrifice the safety of their child when they could just spend hundreds of dollars buying a car seat every other year. I don't like marketing ploys that prey on parents fears and paranoia. All three of our kids are in the appropriate car seat, but I'm still aware that accidents are inevitable.

Now go research the car seat requirements and make informed decisions, and don't judge other parents like the polite police lady.

 

 

Gender Reveal

I'm over half way through this pregnancy, which means we had the ultrasound to reveal the gender. So is it a boy or a girl? We didn't find out.

We were the only couple that didn't find out the gender during birthing class six years ago with our first pregnancy. The teacher warned us that not knowing could lead to disappointment when the baby is born. I thought the teacher was dead wrong because your more apt to be disappointed when your pregnant than when you give birth. Who could be disappointed with a newborn?

This is our fourth pregnancy, and we didn't find out the gender with any of our children. Once you know the gender then you know the name. A 3D ultrasound can show the baby's face, so where is the mystery or surprise?

As for gender reveal parties or Pinterest inspired blue or pink crafts, it's cute and fun for the day; however, it invites opinions about the  gender, name, and even the baby's personality. For example, if this baby is a boy, family and friends would predict that our only girl would be tough and spoiled. If it's a girl, she'll be the best playmate for her older sister. I'm not ready for other's opinions when I still have 19 weeks to go.

I still like predicting the gender. I usually have dreams about the baby's sex. So far my dreams have always predicted males, so I've been right the first two times and wrong the last time. What is your prediction?