Resolutions

It's that time of year again; time to make some lofty goals for the upcoming year.  Last year my list of resolutions progressed really stupendously for the first month or so and then was derailed by my pregnancy.  This was not a 'slight change of plans' but more like the train jumped the entire track and left the station.

With no immediate goal of adding to our family, our plans for this year will look a bit different.  Let us begin:

• Less contractions.  Hundreds less contractions this year.  No, THOUSANDS less contractions this year.  I'm looking forward to their absence.  
• Similarly, less vomiting and morning sickness.  Again, I'm looking forward to its absense.  
• A better garden.  Anything is better than our feeble attempt from this summer.  
• I will be a bit more organized.  I make great strides on this each and every year, but it is something I feel everyone could always improve on.  A little more kon mari never hurt anyone. 
• I want Kenyon to become potty trained.  We'll see how this one goes.  I've never heard anything but horror stories about potty training boys, so if you have a miraculous success story please feel free to share it with the class. 
• Spend more time outside.  I feel this one will be super simple.  No pregnancy, no contractions, no 'suggested' bed rest to keep me cooped up inside.  Easy peasy.  
• Expand my cooking range.  Although the husband doesn't seem to mind my simple menu of about 10 standard items, it is starting to wear me out.  I am a simple person just like him, but mama needs a change, STAT.  This should be pretty simple as well.  My sister gifted me with the newest Pioneer Woman cookbook for Christmas.  Good call, Liza.  
• Send more handwritten notes to folks.  Snail mail that doesn't involve bills makes a soul feel good I've come to realize.  
• Drop at least one pant size.  We're not shooting for a Victoria Secret model body, just something with a little less junk in the trunk.  We'll see how this one progresses, especially since I just mentioned that I got a new cookbook.  Hmmmmm.
• See John begin to walk.  Of all my goals, I feel the 'no contractions' and 'John walking' will be the most achievable.  Both goals are also directly attributed to him as well.  
• Grow a thicker skin, especially when it comes to the 'little things'.  I am very good at handling large scale, end of the world disasters with a level head, but I will spend days over analyzing an off-handed comment from someone.  Really, my house is messy?  Really, I have weeds in my garden?  Really, my kids have a speck of dirt on them?  These are the things I must learn to let go of.  Again, if you have a miraculous success story you'd like to share with the class, feel free to let me know.  
• Less screen time for both parents and kids in our house.  I shudder when I think of how many children these days are not capable of carrying on a conversation with either their peers or adults.  The hubs and I are bound and determined not to let our kids get sucked into this hole, and as a result we hope to always be the 'awful' parents that won't let our kids have a tablet, ipad, gameboy, etc.  Less electronics and more dirt, that's our hope.  

Someone help hold me accountable, and good luck and Godspeed to those of you setting goals for yourself as well. 

A Sign

We don't get out much.  I know this, my husband knows this, and apparently my credit card company knows this.

Yesterday the hubs and I drove a few hours to the big city and shopped till we dropped.  We bought Christmas gifts, work clothes for the year, kitchen gadgets I'd been pining for, and we even ate a nice steak supper.  It was a wonderful day, and definitely something we are not accustomed to.

We were so far out of our element, in fact, that we sent our credit card company into a frenzy.  I have received a bevy of calls, texts and emails asking for confirmation that we, in fact, were the crazy folks that decided to splurge on a bundt cake pan for $14.37 at the Bed, Bath and Beyond.  Yep, that's us.  I do appreciate their concern, but it does feel like a bit of a slap in the face when they point out the painfully obvious.  You know, that we don't go anywhere or do much of anything that involves crowds, stores or towns.

Fear not, dear creditors.  We will not be attempting such a crazy shopping day again anytime soon.  We will now return to our regularly scheduled, boring, frugal lives.

The Spanking

One kiddo is asleep, one kiddo is occupying himself with toys.  Mama has a huge cup-o-coffee and laundry is in the wash.  Time to whip out a blog story before tackling the rest of the day, right?  (I should always know better than to write a paragraph like this.  That was three days and approximately 478 diapers ago.  Now I am sitting down to finish this darn story.)

Someone yesterday mentioned they were hoping to qualify for an interview and hopefully be accepted to vet school.  It made me think back to my own experience, and the last time I ever got a spanking.  I promise, the two are related. 

Nine years ago this week I drove up to a large college campus dressed in a suit and heels, briefcase in hand, hope in my heart.  I interviewed for vet school and ... well ... let's just say it didn't go as well as it could have.  When one member of the selection committee told me that I was 'the most colorful character' they'd interviewed all day, I knew I was tanked.  When faced with an uncomfortable situation I tend to start cracking jokes and apparently this was neither the appropriate time or place to do so.  My bad.

I felt utterly defeated as I drove back to my parents' house for the night before returning to my college the next day.  I just wanted to sulk in my bedroom and be left alone.  

My dad gave me a bit of time alone in my room before entering and directing me to come out into the living room and tell my mother how everything had gone during my interview.  

I flat out told him "NO."  After all, I was all of 20 years old and I no longer lived in his house on a full time basis.  I was nearly as much of an adult as him, right?  We were surely more like peers than a child/parent relationship, right?

Wrong.  

I could see the muscles in his neck tense slightly and knew I was in for it.

WHAP!  His hand connected with my bottom with the same amount of force an Olympian uses to spike a volleyball during the summer games.

He clarified very quickly that we were, in fact, in a child/parent relationship and not 'peers' as I had hoped.  He again directed me to go talk to my mother which I promptly obeyed.

I won't say that spanking is always the answer, but I will say that it has been nine years since I talked back to my dad.  Makes you think a bit, huh?  

Sugar Cookies

I am one of those odd people who enjoys Monday mornings.  I like to start off the week with lofty expectations in my life.  The world is still full of hope and promise (notice I didn't say 'hope and change' as I'm sure that was probably trademarked during the last presidential election).  

Last Monday, I decided to make sugar cookies.  Darling little snowflake-shaped sugar cookies with homemade frosting and perhaps even some sprinkles.  It was going to be fabulous.  

Monday morning I managed to feed the baby, pump breast milk, cook breakfast for myself and Kenyon, get him out the door to feed cattle with his dad and make a double batch of cookie dough (because I'm awesome like that (or so I thought.  And yes, this is a double parentheses which I'm not even sure is legal.)).  All of this before 9 am on Monday. 

This particular cookie dough recipe calls for the dough to chill at least 30 minutes prior to rolling out and cutting the shapes.  

I made sure we hit that 30 minute mark, and then some.  And then some more.  

Life seemed to hit us all at once last week.  Testing cattle - an average of 75 per day, bills going out, bills coming in, trips to the vet clinic for medicine, never ending trips to get tires patched, and trying to not forget about the two year old and two month old in my care.  It was a long ol' week.  

On Friday evening, after supper and baths, the hubs asked if I was ever going to do anything with the 'frozen cow patties' I had sitting on the shelf in the refrigerator.  By Friday night at 9 pm we finally had the sugar cookies I had begun on Monday at 9 am.  And the frosting happened as well, but screw the sprinkles. 

There is now a notation next to the sugar cookie recipe in my Better Homes and Gardens 12th Edition cookbook.  

*Dough may last for up to 5 days in refrigerator*

Baptism and Dog Water

Baby John was baptized yesterday at church and everything went wonderfully.  Our pastor did something I had never seen before, and thankfully everything went off without a hitch.  

During children's time she had all the kiddos (10 or so), scoot to the side of the steps at the front of the sanctuary and then called our family up to the front to baptize John.  The kids all had a front row seat during the baptism and were pretty well spellbound the entire time.  

I was very glad that Kenyon got to sit up front and witness the baptism and concentrate on what was happening.  Late yesterday evening, Kenyon and I were recapping the day's events and talked more about the baptism.  He was very concerned about why Pastor Laurla (Laura) poured water over John's head.  Nine times out of ten, if Kenyon were to pour water on John's head he'd be in big trouble and headed for a spanking.  I was a bit stumped as to how I should expain it to a two year old, and the only thing I could come up with was to say that she poured 'God's water' over John's head.  

Kenyon gasped.  "DOG WATER?"  

I can see it now: next year during a warm, spring day Kenyon is going to remember how Pastor 'Laurla' poured dog water over John's head and didn't get in trouble.  Great.  Can't wait.

The other highlight of our Sunday: attempting to photograph four boys during lunchtime, ages three and under.  I'm sure these two ladies, my mother and mother-in-law, would have never guessed all the crazy they were in for just a few short years ago.  God bless them. 

Lunchtime yesterday at our house was louder than the noon rush at the food court at the Mall of America.  I guarantee it.  

At this point you just need to study the expressions on each boy's face.  This is priceless.

Kade's contentment cracks me up.  It almost looks like he's twiddling his thumbs.

I love the way Kade is admiring Kenyon's haircut in this picture.  Kenyon was so exhausted and 'zoned out' by this point I think he was oblivious to most anything happening around him. 

And he loved the haircut so much he had to touch it.

John didn't get the memo to smile.  Obviously.

I don't blame Ezra for leaning back.  No one wants to sit next to a crying baby.

The Agony of Photos

It's that time of year again; time to make a calendar.  I dread it each year.

Why do it? you ask.  Good question.  I sort of stumbled upon the idea years ago and gave a calendar to each parent and grandparent in our family.  Everyone said they enjoyed it, and me not realizing that this is just what polite, loving parents say, decided to run with it.  Now, each and every Christmas they are given a calendar that bombards them with photos of our life throughout the year whether they like it or not.

This sounds nice.  You say to yourself.  What a lovely gift idea.  What causes this girl so much pain and agony? 

I'll tell you why.  I have to drink gallons upon gallons of water for days leading up to and following the making of our photo calendar and I still end up dehydrated with a pounding headache from all the sobbing.

I sit at the computer for hours, sorting through pictures and reliving the good, bad and ugly that is our life.  I look at pictures I forgot even existed and stumble across little gems like this:

Look at those cheeks.

And our cousin, Baby Kade.  Back when he was a baby. 

Don't get all indignant.  It's obviously empty and it's hilarious.  He loved the crunching sound of that can.

Soaking up the sunshine on a rare, warm-ish day last winter.

Back when he would hold still long enough to be carried around. 

Back when we could let him play in a pile of dirt and he would actually stay in one spot. 

And these are just the mild pictures.  I skimmed through as quickly as possible because I didn't want to start my cry-fest at 5 a.m.  Can you understand now why I sit at the computer and bawl like only a mother with raging hormones can?  Can you understand why my husband will undoubtedly walk into the house in the near future, see my blotchy face, swollen eyes and pile of used tissues and he'll slowly back out of the house because he suddenly 'forgot to go feed a few pastures'?

This is rough, I tell 'ya.  Rough.  And now I have two kiddos with pictures to sort through.  I couldn't even manage to open the files with John's pictures in them yet.  Perhaps my mom, a nurse, will take pity on me and hook me up to an i.v. if I ask her reallllllly nicely.  She will understand my plight.  Please excuse me while I go make a super-sweet phone call.