Not All Bad Days

We've had a run of bad luck lately in our household regarding sick kiddos.  My husband and I try to keep it in perspective though, as there are many who have it much, much worse.  RSV, colds, flu, pinkeye; the list goes on and on.  

There have been some peaks amidst all these valleys, however.  Not every day has been a bad day.  

During one of the many cold spells/ice storms I let the boys watch a kid's yoga video.  I highly recommend something like this to combat cabin fever.  The boys loved it. 

It doesn't matter if the temperature is only 30 degrees, if there is no wind and your dad asks you go help him clean a pond, you help him clean a pond.  

Seeing these PVC pipes that Wes was going to place in the pond dam brought back a flood of memories for me.  My dad had some PVC pipes down at our barn for a horse waterer that he was installing.  Somehow, my older sister convinced me to stuff myself in one of the pipes and she stood on top and started to run.  During this unfortunate log rolling incident several of my fingers were rolled on and as a result I lost some fingernails and then we had to make up some elaborate lie to tell my mother.  I believe the best elaborate lie we could muster was "I fell." (Really?  You tripped and fell and that's why your fingernails are purple and bleeding?  I believe her response was something like that.  We totally fooled her.)

Although my heart skipped a beat when I saw John standing next to these pipes, we are safe thus far as the next generation cannot yet read about this log rolling incident and have the seed of mischief planted in their brains.  Probably next year. 

We read quite a few books at our house.  It's one of my favorite 'go-to' parenting strategies.  (Right up there with 'go outside'.)  Look bored?  Read a book.  Don't feel good?  Sit on the couch and read a book.  Hungry?  Read a book to pass the time until supper. 

Sometimes the stars align and all the kids play nicely together.  These little five minute chunks of peace and contentment are the highlight of my days.  

Just woke up and Mom refuses to turn on cartoons?  Read a book. 

Same story, different pajamas.  Wake up, read books. 

Waiting on Mom to serve lunch?  Read a book.  (I wasn't kidding folks.) 

Improvisation at it's finest.  I HAD to run some snap tests for Wesley, pronto.  Kathryn refused to nap and felt the need to be near me the majority of this day.  Therefore my sidekick had to settle for sitting in her highchair with toys, watching me work away. 

Speaking of snap tests, my helper is absolutely DEVASTATED when I deny him the chance to help his mom with work.  I admire that about him and hope he keeps that attitude up.  

Not every day of our winter has been terrible.  Occasionally there has been a sunshiny day where we can open up the shop doors and have a picnic for lunch with the men.  We live for those days.  There are few things in life better than fine dining on a milk crate table. 

On some of these rare, wonderful, sunshine filled days we've played outside every waking moment while the cattle looked on at our construction site.  Dozers, backhoes, dumptrucks... these boys accomplish some pretty substantial work while playing.  

Okay, this one was a bad day.  It is never enjoyable when your child is hospitalized.  On the bright side; however, this was also the day when our child was diagnosed with Kawasaki disease and proper treatment could begin.  It was the best, bad day possible.  

We're ready for a spring filled with our best, great days possible!

Sweet, Sweet Revenge

I was talking to my mother on the phone last week and she just sounded... different.  Giddy?  Smiling?  Giggly?  Smug?  Perhaps she was feeling a bit of all these things.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Oh nothing." She replied.  "I'm just still smiling from Kenyon's comment." 

Ugh.  Kenyon's comment. 

***

Several Sundays ago was a really nice day weather-wise and was also one of the few days this winter that a majority of our household has not been sick.  Wes took advantage of the situation and asked Kenyon and myself to help him process a load of calves that had come in that morning.  Neither one of us had to think very long or very hard when answering. 

We let Kenyon push cattle up the alleyway while I stood on one side of the chute where I put in eartags, poured wormer and gave a shot.  Wesley stood on the other side of the chute to run the chute controls, brand and implant the calves. 

Wes and I have always been really great partners when it comes to working calves together.  I've never understood the jokes about 'sorry for the things I said to you while we were working cattle.'  (Put me in a tractor with him shouting directions from the ground?  Totally different ball of wax.  I will purposefully try to run him over.  It's terrible, I tell ya'.) 

Things went very smoothly as we ran through the first 10 or 20 calves.  Occasionally I would peer through the pipes of the alleyway to watch Kenyon work and my chest would puff up with pride.  It is so heartwarming to watch your kid become a hand.  He caught me glancing at him once and took the chance to have a short conversation with me. 

"Hey, Mom, you know what?" He asked.

"What's that?"

"You're actually pretty good help." 

With one foul swoop he sucked the air from my lungs, cut me at the knees, ripped out my heart and stomped on it. 

Actually?  ACTUALLY?  I wanted to tell that little punk that I'd worked tens of thousands more cattle than him and I had spent years of my life gaining a post-secondary education in animal science, all to be told by a four year old that I was no longer THE stupidest person on earth when it came to processing cattle.  Thanks, bud. 

So, after 31 years my mother finally had her sweet, sweet revenge.  I finally understood that perhaps she knew a little something all those years ago when Dad would let her come along to work cattle and I would roll my eyes as far back in my head as possible. 

So now I'm adding to my resume that I'm actually pretty good help.