About Time

I had to walk to the barn one evening last week and happened to see this calf standing at the water trough with one of God's great sunsets framing him.  I'll never tire of seeing a great sunrise or sunset.

During this parenting adventure I find that I am constantly either looking forward or backward, but not relishing in the moment nearly enough.  

For instance, if I leave the house with all the kids now and feed them at 11:30, I have enough time to pick up parts, groceries and run to the bank and be home just in time for naps so I can run snap tests on cattle while the baby sleeps and then start supper during snack time.  Perfect.

Or planning for the week: We can help work cattle these three days and skip naps, and then schedule me picking up feed on Thursday afternoon at 2.  It's a 45 minute drive which will work perfectly for the kids to nap in the pickup. 

Or, you can plan everything perfectly, lay exhausted kiddos down for a nap and then your husband decides to dry fire his implant gun in the house multiple times to test it and now everyone is awake and cranky.  (I cannot even make this stuff up.  That happened as I was typing the previous paragraph.) 

As you can see, my life primarily revolves around working for my husband and then fitting the children in around the cattle and crops in our life.  

***

I feel like this is how we operate in agriculture as well, always looking forward or backwards but rarely taking a moment to enjoy the now.  The kids were helping me grocery shop last week and I grabbed a package of multiple cans of wasp and hornet spray to throw into our cart.  Kenyon asked why I was grabbing that already as technically this is still winter.  My answer to him?  "It's about time to think about shipping calves."  

From his perspective I was being absolutely ridiculous, but in middle-aged parent math I feel this timeline checks out.  

It's about time to start calving, which means its then about time to turn cattle out on grass, then about time to burn, then about time to work calves, about time to bale and haul hay all day, then play baseball all evening, then about time to finish projects for the fair, then about time load trucks at all those pens with angry hornets and wasps.  

Yes, sir.  About three good blinks and it will be the end of summer.  Then it'll be about time to chop sileage, wean calves, preg check cows, survive the dreaded holiday season and BOOM.  It's 2025.  I feel like I should say Happy New Year, but at this point I don't know if I'm dreadfully late for 2024 or incredibly early for 2025.  

Fall Recall

I often wonder how our children will recall their childhoods.  Will they think back fondly on how they ran rather feral through pastures or will they remember chores and fixing fence?  

Will weaning calves bring back smiles or mild cussing when they think of how filthy they were and how tiresome it was to roll out and set up pens to sort cattle time and again?  Will they remember their mom cussing each time a momma cow came after them?  

Will they remember the endless pasture picnics, the days their plates nearly blew away in the fierce winds?  Will they wish they had eaten more meals around the table I built them in the house?  

It seems many days our table is almost
exclusively used for schoolwork.

Will the kiddos recall pausing for paperwork and chasing down scale tickets or are those memories pushed aside and viewed simply as extra time when they played rock-paper-scissor and argued on who would back up the next truck?  

Will they lament because their jungle gym was covered in manure? 

Only time will tell.  I'm anxiously awaiting to hear someday what they recall. 

Yellowstone

These past few years it seems like I hear the word Yellowstone, the popular ranching drama set in present-day Montana, at least once a day.  I read articles concerning countless spinoffs from online news sources, see shirts or feedcaps with the Yellowstone brand or hear someone utter a popular phrase from the show.  Normally something regarding a train station, which, to be honest I still don't understand but maybe someday I'll finally get to watch some of those earlier seasons and know what is going on.  

Also, while we're on the subject I wish I had a nickel for every time I saw photos of couples dressed up as popular characters Rip and Beth for Halloween last year.  Clever?  Yes.  Humorous?  Certainly.  Original?  Not even close, although they and hundreds of other middle aged white women with faux fur coats and a bearded significant other looked amazing.  

But I digress.  I have enjoyed the handful of episodes we've watched and small snippets we've seen online.  The one liners are humorous and the drama looks intense.  A common complaint I've heard among the agriculture and rural community; however, is the lack of a believable plot.  "That sort of stuff just doesn't really happen."  Fair enough.  I can't tell you the last time I beat a rattlesnake to death with my boot while my dad was off chasing someone down through the desert (or something like that).  I find those plot lines entertaining and an escape from reality.  

I, too, would argue that Yellowstone is not an accurate portrayal of agriculture lifestyle, but for entirely different reasons.  

Can you guess?

THERE IS NO SECRETARY.  

Correct me if I'm wrong because we've not seen many episodes, but I have yet to see a haggard middle aged woman who desperately needs to brush her hair and teeth lurking in the shadows, chasing down the boss to sign papers, calling the vet clinic for health papers to ship cattle, endlessly filing VFDs and making sure the truck mileage matches the loads that were shipped last week to the yard.  You never hear the soft, steady utterance of curse words under her breath as she resubmits dig claims, makes appointments that will undoubtedly be rescheduled countless times and trades emails with other secretaries of several businesses they are connected to in various states across the nation at 6am on Monday mornings.  Perhaps I've missed the episode where aforementioned secretary rearranges her day to haul hay or cattle or help process calves or run for parts or buck bales.  Tell me there aren't at least six seasons worth of compelling stories RIGHT THERE.  I can't think of much better. 

When I see that part of the show I'll agree that it is more realistic.  Until then, for myself and nearly every other ranch wife in the country, it shall serve as nothing more than an entertaining escape on Sunday evenings after the kids go to bed.  

Sometimes

Sometimes, well, all the time, I worry about our children.  I think that's normal for most parents, of course.  We lie awake at night and strategize about what went wrong, what went right and what we need to do better the next day.  My husband and I often remind ourselves that our mission is to make good kiddos right now because 'it's easier to raise a good kid than to fix a broken adult'.  Amen.  This is no lie.  Cannot stress this shit enough.  

We have unique concerns about each of ours, but then sometimes I'm reminded that maybe they'll be okay (at least for the near future).  

Kiddo #1: 

He used to make such sweeping generalizations that drove us absolutely insane. 

    Everyone does it.  It's always like that.  This always happens every time.

Now I often feel as if we live with a lawyer.  

    Mom, I hate to tell you but technically, that's not correct.  Not EVERYONE actually does that.  

I secretly love it when he corrects me like this.  It gives me hope for the future.  

Kiddo #2:

We ask him questions that make him utilize his mental math skills and he struggles.  

    And then we ask him to play blackjack and suddenly he knows his mental math like a genius. 

Kiddo #3: 

She likes pink.  She has beautiful blonde hair.  When asked a hard question she tends to giggle and deflect with her good looks.  We worry about her becoming a superficial girl that uses her good looks to gain attention and not put in actual work.  

    Last week I was standing at the sink washing dishes and gazing out at the yard and pasture.  I noticed out of the corner of my eye a small blonde child bouncing down the middle of the road.  I could see that she was lugging something along but couldn't tell exactly what it was.  As she got closer and started to march through the yard I could finally tell what it was.  She had a fresh, bloody deer leg slung over her shoulder that she had found and was dragging home for the dogs to snack on.  Kind to her animals and a country kid okay with blood.  We breathed a sigh of relief.  

Kiddo #4:

    We simply worry about her.  She's the last child and at this moment is very advanced for her age in the language department.  We carry on long, full conversations with deep meaning versus simple yes/no questions.  We've made the mistake of carrying on adult conversations in front of her more than once, thinking we were in the clear only to find out hours later that she absorbed every. single. word.  Sigh. 

Pray for us and prayers that we raise good kiddos! 

If You Give a Girl a Brahmer Bull

July 2021

If you give a girl a Brahmer bull, no good will come of it.  

You must realize you've given her one of God's most stubborn creatures, even if they are rather adorable with their distinctive features. 

She'll quickly learn to dig in her heels and stand her ground, stand up each time she's knocked down.  

She'll become independent and self sufficient with no time for clowns.  

Chances are she'll become rather gruff, with very little patience for fluff. 

Honestly, you'll likely alter her entire disposition by giving her such an acquisition.

Therefore it's likely someday she'll find a man not prone to coddle, stubborn as her with no time to doddle. 

The ensuing battles will be epic when they disagree but most days they'll work together in sweet harmony. 

So by all means - go ahead if you want to ruin her life, cause her blistered hands, early mornings and late nights

But please realize there are rather serious implications when giving your daughter one of God's most stubborn creations. 

So I hate to sound the alarm but realize you're causing irreparable harm.  

In short, please heed my advice before you alter the course of her life.

If you give a girl a Brahmer bull, no good will come of it.  

July 1994

Seven

Sometimes we forget he's only seven.  

He's gotten up at 5:30am multiple times this week to ship cattle.  I often ask him to babysit his three siblings while I mow, or run to the field, to deliver lab supplies or a whole host of other things.  

He has his own pocket knife to cut hay bale strings.  (I, too, thought this was a bit much when our neighbor gave their son a pocket knife at a young age, but now I totally agree with them.)  

He enjoys taking photos with a 'fancy' camera.  After a brief tutorial he was cropping and editing photos like a pro ('pro' meaning poor misguided housewife that taught him).  

One of his first female loves will undoubtedly be his heifer.  He does a good job for his size and age at handling her.  I enjoy watching their bond.  He teared up just a bit this morning when we discussed turning her out to pasture after the fair. 

He's a good role model for his siblings..... most of the time.  They enjoy going to 4-H meetings as well and are chomping at the bit to get their 4-H careers started as well. 

He is a creature enthusiast and can provide some sort of fun fact for many different creatures.  (Major shout out to the nature show Wild Kratts on PBS.) 

He's beyond excited about his projects for the fair (as am I).  I cannot tell you how many times I've openly bawled this week when he told me 'Mom, I've got it.' 

His western wear outfit melted my heart. 

There are a whole host of things that make me forget he's only seven.  Which often seems silly because so many of his friends are country kids as well and they are held to the same unusual set of expectations.  It is so terribly cliché, but I remember just yesterday when we had him.  We finally were wheeled back into our suite around 3am and the nurses helped us get settled in.  The sweet woman swaddled Kenyon, laid him into his bassinet and then smiled as she said goodbye, shut our door and headed back down to her station.  Wes and I stared at each other with terror in our eyes because neither one of us knew anything about birthin' babies. 

And here we are, seven years later.  We know quite a bit more about babies and we're all learning to roll with the punches as this oldest child grows up.  It's been quite an adventure and we're excited to see what the future has in store. 

Video Games

An oldie but goodie from several years ago. 
This child fell off the top of a panel
and didn't have such a great landing.

Our kids get hurt a lot. 

It bears repeating:

Our kids get hurt A LOT.  

One is currently waiting on a fingernail to grow in after it was smashed by a brick (But Mom, the brick was already starting to come down when he slid his hand right in the way!), one child has a nail sliced in half from a nasty lead rope accident with his show heifer and we just got done doctoring an unenviable case of hives.  We had more concussions than I'd like to count.  Fallen off the top of trailers, top of panels, been kicked, been stepped on... staples, stitches, casts... the list is endless.  

Through all this, my husband and I buckle down and do our best to triage and treat each case and run to the appropriate medical facility if necessary.  However, we try not to get mad at our kiddos for getting themselves into a bind.  

Why?

It could be worse - they could be inside playing video games.  

We knew a kid once that was welding on a panel and managed to burn down an entire machine shop.  Equipment, tools and supplies were all destroyed.  It was rather devastating.  However, a friend stopped by one day to chat and reminded the family that things could have been worse - the kid could have been inside playing video games.  We've clung to that wisdom and repeated it endlessly over the years.

They will learn about gravity not from Mario Brothers (is that even still a thing?) but from dropping bales from a barn loft.  

They will learn about pulling weeds not from Farmville (again, sorry for the dated references but this is all I can think of) but from busting their backsides in the garden. 

And they'll learn how to run from snakes, well, from me.  That's my favorite contribution.  Running from snakes to find a long shovel and 'relocate' them (to heaven).  I whisper that last part so my husband doesn't hear me.  

We hope we're giving them a childhood full of old fashioned experiences that allows them to have stories to tell when they grow up and fills them with wisdom to help them be functional adults.  

Wisdom comes from experience.
Experience is often a result of a lack of wisdom.
-Terry Pratchett

One Dog, Two Dogs, No Dogs

There's some old saying about having dogs and that if you have one dog, you might have a dog, but if you have two dogs you have no dogs at all.  The gist of it being that two dogs lose all ability to think rationally and instead run away and play.  

And kids.  The same is true with kids.  

This afternoon I found them at the bottom of a hill in a corner of a field playing in these old tires that were previously used to feed silage to cattle in. 

I'm sure she thinks I was joking, but I recently asked a neighbor if I could borrow the GPS collars her husband uses with their coon dogs.  I could fashion them into a neat super-hero type belt and the kids would think they were so cool and never take them off.  Problem solved, right?  

This is a much better suggestion than my husband's.  "Well, I sure hope you don't run over one of the kids' legs so they start staying home."  In my defense, it was an accident, it was ONE TIME and Laurie still looks majestic even with three legs.  

So now I utilize all sorts of master hunter/trapper skills to find my kids each day.  I look for the dogs, as usually they are babysitting the kids.  I watch the cattle as often they are looking at the kids wondering who turned these monkeys loose and why are they swinging from the top of a trailer.  Today I found them because even though I couldn't see them the wind was out of the right direction and I could hear them talking to each other as they crawled around in the spacious old tractor tires.  

I've had Loopie longer than I've had a husband.  When she goes to heaven someday I'm going to need to visit the looney bin for quite a while.  She's pretty wonderful. 

Long story short, if you see one of my feral kiddos running loose, please wipe off their dirty faces, help Kathryn fix her windblown ponytail and send them back home.  Thanks in advance. 

Little Hands

It seems as if there is always something amiss around here.  Currently we have a bucket calf that keeps bloating up.  He was sick approximately 10 days ago and my husband doctored him.  The medicines he administered also did a number on the microbes in this calf's rumen.  When the microbes aren't working on digesting food properly, bloat can occur.  

But that's neither here nor there.  Long story short, we have a calf that we have to 'air out' often.  And yes, I made that term up.  Getting a three year old to properly say 'debloat' is difficult, so we just say what we want.  It's how we roll around here.  

When we told the kids to run the calf into the chute they knew just what to do.  They set gates just right, helped make a wing, blocked holes where there was no fence so the calf couldn't run off.  I was proud of them for being such good little hands.  Make no mistake, it makes for a crazy, intense, chaotic, near sh!t show of a time, but each time they get the job done.  

I don't want to brag on them too much, as there are still tons of things they do (or DON'T do) every day that make me pull my hair out.  But I do love that these kiddos have a passion for their animals and mimic how they see the guys around here act.  

One night when the kids and I were done with the calf I looked up to see this sunset.  We were all muddy messes, I did not have supper ready, the baby needed fed and had been sitting rather patiently in her carseat for 30 minutes.... I could go on and on about the crazy things that were making me frazzled that evening, but this sunset helped calm all of that.  I think the world needs to just take a time out and look at a few more sunsets like this, right? 

 

A Decade

Ten years ago today I left Texas and moved back to Kansas to be a Greenwood County girl for the rest of my life.  I remember leaving College Station and I began to get a bit teary eyed.  Wesley glanced over at me and instantly got mad.

"Nope.  Not gonna have it.  I just spent two years on the phone with you every night, listening to you bitch about how much you wanted to leave.  You're not gonna cry now."

Although I was taken aback, I knew he was right.  I was done with Texas.

When I moved here we lived in a house we now affectionately refer to as the 'snake house', although that's another story for another day.  Wesley was the quintessential bachelor and thus had NOTHING in this house besides his clothes.  No food, no cleaning supplies, nothing.

The next morning I drove to the nearest Walmart 45 minutes away from our little house in the hills armed with a shopping list a mile long and his checkbook.  I filled that shopping cart to the gills with all the essentials for our new life as we played house.  Food, cleaning supplies, toiletries and the like.  Every item on my list was something I would consider 'essential'.

On the drive back home I kept noticing the ditches were filled with the most beautiful orange lilies.  I pulled that old chevy feed pickup over and picked a huge bouquet that I then balanced precariously on the mountain of supplies I'd stacked in the passenger seat of the single cab pickup.

Upon returning to the house I worked feverishly to create some semblance of a home.  Cleaning was towards the top of the list - especially the kitchen.  I found a mason jar in a cabinet, arranged the ditch lilies and placed them front and center in the middle of the kitchen table.

It was official.  I was the perfect housewife.  Wes would come home, see his beautifully clean house, eat a gourmet meal courtesy of Hamburger Helper and undoubtedly ooh and aaahhh over the flowers that I'd so lovingly picked for him.  This day was perfect start to our perfect little life.  Everything was PERFECT, I tell ya.

I made supper and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  And nearly two hours after he'd said, he finally walked through the door.  Now, I was no stranger to this lifestyle having grown up in a ranching family, but I was always the one WITH my dad... not the one waiting on him.  Turns out, it is terribly frustrating.  Who knew?

When he walked through the door I was a bit disappointed that he didn't scan the room to notice how much time and effort I'd put into cleaning and arranging things nicely.  He walked into the kitchen, grabbed the store receipt off the counter and his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw the total.

"$323???  WHAT IN THE WORLD DID YOU BUY?!"

It was then that he started to scan the room, trying to find the gold plated accessories I surely must have purchased that might justify such an expense.  It was then that he noticed the ditch lilies.  The lilies that I lovingly picked and arranged.  The lilies that were supposed to serve as icing on the cake; the cherry on top; the crowning jewel of my master homemaking skills.  This was supposed to be the beginning of our most perfect little life together and instead things were headed downhill rather quickly.

I remember him shooting daggers as he stared at the bouquet.  "How much did THOSE cost?"

***

Things are a bit different these days.  I don't drive a feed pickup as often anymore.  The perfect housewife/perfect life thing went out the window loooong ago.  I can cook more than Hamburger Helper these days, but the kids enjoy it so it's not totally off the menu.  Now, every time I drive down the road in early summer and see the familiar orange lilies lining the ditches I get nostalgic.  We get a laugh and still tease each other every time the kids or I pick a bouquet of wildflowers and I make a pretty arrangement for the kitchen table.  "How much did THOSE cost?"

What Else Ya' Got?

It's been a spring to remember around here.  Even six months ago we knew it would be a crazy spring to remember.  We knew the baby was going to be due at the tail end of calving, in the middle of burning pastures, dumping calves on grass, tornado season, yada, yada, yada.  Spring is a busy time around here and having a brand new baby on top of it all makes it that much more difficult.

Then life began to throw 'extras' at us.

A global pandemic.

Schooling at home.

Friends with cancer.

No birthing coach at the hospital with you.

The doctor is in quarantine for visiting Florida.

You're mom can't spend time with you after the baby is born.

It just seems like one thing after another.  Sometimes you feel like breaking down, but what good would it do?  Answer: absolutely none.  I come from one of the most pragmatic families I know, and we just don't play into hysterics or dramatics.  So sometimes I allow myself a few moments to shed a few tears and then you just plow forward and think of things that are manageable and going right.

Calving is (knock on wood) going swimmingly and I haven't had a calf in the house yet this year.

No one I know is actually infected with this blasted COVID-19.

Friends are getting the best of care and making strides in treatment and we couldn't ask for more right now.

It's my fourth kid, so while I WANT someone to coach me through contractions, surely I can manage without.

Same with my mother not being able to come up after the baby's birth.  While I most certainly WANT her here, I've prepped meals and filled my freezer for the past several weeks and stocked up as much as possible and I will survive without much outside intervention in my kitchen.  I tried to have a small pity party last night and sent my mother a text telling her as much.  Her reply?  Millions of others are in the same boat and separated.  We'll manage.

Every time my husband calls and needs me to cook lunch for a crew of men and take it out to the pasture and I'm right in the middle of homeschooling and a million other things I say the same thing to him: we'll manage.

Every time I feel a bit overwhelmed about having 4 kids in a little over 6 years I remember that many women have managed to have more children in less time, and manage life with more children total.  I just remind myself, we'll manage.

Like I said, we don't do dramatic.  I am fortunate to have my mom, in laws and friends only a phone call away when so many don't.

Sooo…. the crib is built, the laundry is almost caught up and I have a few meals of leftovers in the fridge right now.  I'm ready for this baby to get here!  I have a picture in my mind.  Five years from now this child will sit on my lap and while we rock I'll tell them about this crazy spring and they'll never believe it.

In the meantime I'll just keep my big girl panties pulled up, look the devil square in the eye and ask what else ya' got?

Life Lately

I've not written in quite some time and the comments from friends and family (okay, like two of you) have been growing more concerned.  Thus, a blog full of life updates.  Of which we may have one or two....

 I just want to do a quick recap.  The picture below is what the children looked like last week, or so it seems.

And now I have these large creatures and I don't know what happened, much less WHEN this happened.

They are old enough now to drive themselves around, which is handy.  

Every Halloween we go to a friend's house where they have downhill power wheel races.  Best. Thing. Ever.  All of these power wheels are old and don't work.  The gears are stripped out of them so the only thing that powers them is gravity and a strong push from someone at the top of a steep hill that contains large rocks.  The kids don't run the full course, but participants roughly 10 years and over race down a hill more than 100 yards long and occasionally run into each other, do somersaults, run off course and into trees, etc.  My belly hurts terribly every year from laughing and this year was no exception.  It is good, clean fun.  No video games, no whining, no bitching and moaning.  Just some good smack talk and the occasional bruise or scrape.  It warms my heart.  (And if you happen to have any old power wheels that you would like to donate to the cause, let me know.  They typically don't last more than a season or two for obvious reasons.) 

Kenyon LOVES school, which came as quite the shock to me.  He has the most wonderful teacher ever, so I didn't anticipate a problem there, I just never imagined he would take this newfound job so seriously.  He enjoys the constant challenge that each day brings - like reading.  I cannot believe he can honest to goodness READ.  He is verrrrry serious when he gets off the bus each day and comes to my desk to lay out his paperwork.  He explains to me exactly what each worksheet entailed, some of the challenges and what was 'totally easy, Mom'.  I love that he loves to learn and hope it continues throughout his life.  My dad beat education into our heads.  'People can take most anything away from you, but they can never take away your education.'  Words to live by, folks. 

John is.... just John.  The kid cracks me up.  He has blossomed in his newfound role as 'top dog' now that Kenyon is gone all day to school.  He lives to make folks laugh and enjoys attending the school of hard knocks most every day with his dad.  

Kathryn is a pretty little girl, with her long, blonde flowing locks.  Her biggest downfall is that she has a fairly good idea that she's pretty.  I'm alright with this as long as she never plays the dumb, pretty girl card as she gets older.  I'll not stand for that.  She enjoys talking incessantly, wrestling with 'my boys', seeing 'my Justin' and being treated like a big boy.  While she does wear a pretty dress most Sundays to church, the rest of the time she's a filthy little animal that runs feral just like her brothers.

Wesley is doing well.  He works too many hours and has too many projects going all at the same time but he doesn't complain as he knew what he was getting into when he was born.  We both talk about how things are tough now but hopefully if we keep our heads down and keep working one day we can sit on the porch in rocking chairs and relax.  Then we laugh, heartily.  If we didn't enjoy it we wouldn't do it, right? 

And then there's me.  Pregnant, again.  But if we didn't enjoy kids we wouldn't keep having them, right?  I'm due in the spring, which is perfect as that's typically one of our slowest times of the year.  *Insert eye roll here*  I've never had babies born this far apart, so I'm at a bit of a loss on what to do when you only have one in diapers.  Sometimes I kid myself into thinking I'll have all sorts of free time on my hands, and then I remember that the oldest are now able to be enrolled in t-ball, swimming lessons, school activities and all the other fun things and then I realize we'll be just as busy as ever while toting this little one around.  

It is always an adventure around here, that's for sure. 

One Thing

Do you ever have a day where you'd like to accomplish ONE TASK from start to finish within a reasonable time frame?  This is becoming one of my loftier goals in life these days it seems.

Yesterday morning I had the kids loaded up in the car and driving to town 30 miles away at a fairly early hour.  We drove 10 miles down the road before John decided to throw up all over himself and the car seat.  This caused us to turn around and drive back home.  I called into the meeting on my phone, turned on the speakerphone (and most importantly the MUTE button) and proceeded to shower my child and tear his car seat apart all while listening to great ideas from the group during their meeting.

Later that morning I walked outside to check on my other kids to realize I had a pile of puke-covered clothes lying in the driveway that I hadn't touched yet. Anther chore to get to.  While trying to carry those into the house very gingerly my phone rang... a neighbor needed me to run BVD snap tests on some new cattle he just got in.  No problem, we'll add that to the list.  I went into my super-duper fancy lab (aka utility room) to set up my supplies but remembered that I can't run snap tests until I switch around loads of laundry.  You see, the top of my washing machine also doubles as my lab workspace.  Not a problem.  I set down the puke covered clothes in a pile on the floor while the first load of laundry finished and moved onto another task.

I moved into my office area and started calling businesses and ordering supplies.  I called the vet supply man and ordered things I needed for next week.  Called the vet clinic and asked for health papers to be written so the men could ship cattle first thing the next morning.  Sent off all needed info to the clinic and waited.  While the fax machine was ringing and the health papers were being sent through I heard a knock on the door... the neighbor with the snap tests.  I bounded through the house, answered the door and spoke with the neighbor for a whopping 30 seconds while he laughed at the hot mess he had encountered.  Boys wrestling (how do they have energy after being sick?!), my daughter riding her trike right through the middle of them, and everyone yelling at the top of their lungs.

I took the snap tests inside to run.... only to be hit with an awful stench of puke covered clothes that needed to be washed.  I had to switch around laundry before I could do anything else.  Added the clean clothes to a mountain that was already on my bed.  I like to put my laundry there as it FORCES me to actually fold it and not just let it lie on the couch for 1-3 business days.  So I got the laundry switched around and just started to lay out supplies for the snap tests.  A child came into the house to complain about being hungry.  I looked down at my watch and, sure enough, time for lunch.... or 30 minutes past the normal time.  Whoops!  I made lunch for them and an extra bologna sandwich for myself.  While they ate at the kitchen table I ran snap tests at my washing machine and occasionally leaned over to grab a bite of sandwich off the plate sitting on the dryer.

My husband walked in the house and needed a ride out to the field to get a baler and tractor.  No problem.  I got the kids loaded up, grabbed the last of my tests that needed to finish 'cooking', and proceeded to drive everyone to the field.  I looked down at the console of my vehicle to check the tests and, sure enough, one was positive.  While my husband and one kid loaded up in the tractor I stayed behind in the field momentarily to text two neighbors about the sick calf I had just discovered through the test.

We got home in time to strip everyone down to their underwear - my daughter so she could take her afternoon nap and the boys so they could play with waterguns outside.  I spent the next nearly two hours trying to play catchup.  Cleaning up after lunch, folding laundry, paying a bill or two, scrubbing the curdled milk mess off the straps of the carseat, etc.  My husband walked in the house when there was still 30 precious minutes of naptime to be had.

"Let's go haul hay before it starts to rain."

Yes, let's.  That sounds like fun.  I had a list of sarcastic comments running through my head but kept my mouth shut. I filled a water bottle, grabbed a bag of animal crackers and threw clothes on all three kids in a hurry.

For the next nearly 2 hours I drove a pickup and hay trailer around, chasing my husband on the tractor who kept giving me bales.  The boys and I would drop them off at the hay yard and drive back to Wesley and Kathryn who would then load us up again.  John was tired as he was the kid who had been sick that morning.  Bouncing around in the field got the best of him and he proceeded to fall asleep with his head on my lap.  His drool was warm and uncomfortable on my leg but I could tell his little body appreciated the respite.

We arrived back home a bit after our normal supper time.  I quickly heated up some chicken nuggets, threw some fruits and veggies on the plate and called it a sufficient meal.  Then jammies, prayers and off to sleep.

*****

A few weeks ago I complained to my husband that I felt like I had cinder blocks on my feet.  By the end of the day I physically was unable to move any more and I had diagnosed myself (courtesy of WebMD) as having low thyroid levels.

I called the doctor's office and spoke with the nurse who agreed perhaps we should test my blood levels and 'oh by the way did you know you haven't been to the doctor since you had your last baby over two years ago'.  Whoops, my bad.

As I sat on the edge of the exam table in my little dressing gown the next week I explained to the doc that day how I was so tired these days and what was wrong with my body?  She knows our family pretty well at this point, and she giggled.  "That's life with three kids that are always with you and a husband and a farm.  I'm guessing your thyroid is fine."  Touché.

Not all days are quite so hectic, but days like that certainly make me thankful for mornings like this one where I can listen to a thunderstorm outside while sipping my coffee and letting the kids sleep in an extra ten minutes.  Today, my goals are simple.  Today, I would like to accomplish just one thing from start to finish in a reasonable amount of time.  Wish me luck.

Get Ready

Last night while sitting at the supper table I heard that oft heard, oft dreaded phrase once again uttered.

"Well, get ready" he said.  "It's fixin' to get busy around here for the next six weeks."

Really?  Like the last six weeks haven't been busy?  Or the six before that?!

I rolled my eyes when I heard this.  It's one of my least attractive qualities and one of the reasons I wear sunglasses so often.  As my eyes turned towards the heavens; however, my gaze landed upon a book that has been sitting on my bookshelf for years:

This one - she gets me.  We're kindred spirits born 125ish years apart.  We've both had to bust our tails on the same soil.  Both probably rocked babies and wondered where in the world our husband was at and when he was coming home.  I saw the pooch in her belly and wondered if she was 4 months pregnant or just had acquired a permanent 'shelf' like mine after having 3 kids in 3.75 years.  It's not lost on me the countless ways my life is filled with more creature comforts than hers, but I appreciate the biggest commonality we share - we're both just trying to raise good kids and eek out a living.

I wondered if she breathed a huge sigh of relief when someone else offered to take her kids to the nursery during church so she could have 30 minutes a week without being in charge of someone else (but let's be honest, she probably didn't) and then I wondered what she would have done for self care, a phrase that's become so over-used and abused that I've come to despise.  Truth be told, we're probably looking at it in this photo.  She got 30 minutes to herself and decided to pick up cow chips for firewood and she was relishing in the quiet until someone interrupted her solitude and asked to take a photo.  I feel you, girl.

"Are you listening?  Hellllooooo?" my husband asked as I snapped back to reality.  I didn't realize how many moments I'd been lost in my thoughts with this prairie woman.

"We've got it.  We're ready.  Bring on the next six weeks of haying and shipping and fair and life."

Now that I've 're-found' this book on my shelf I imagine that I'll be glancing upward at her quite often for a little inspiration.

Rules

I guess I should preface this blog post by stating that I think my children are decently behaved when we are in town settings.  It's when we are at home and running wild that all these opportunities for mischievous deeds present themselves.  I never knew I was going to need to make so many rules, yet here we are...

• Don't body slam your sister, she's only one year old.
• Don't body slam your brothers, I just had a talk with them. 
• That's called a headlock and it's not nice. Please let go of your sibling. 
• When it is less than 40 degrees outside you may not 'help' your brother take an outside shower with water from the rain barrel. 

And then there are some rules with more than one focal point to them.  (These are reallllly difficult to follow.) 

• First, please don't climb on top of the cake feeder on your dad's pickup.  Second, if you're up there you sure as hell don't get down by jumping onto the top of his cab, his hood, his grill guard and then the ground.  Sigh.

My personal favorite, thus far:

• No, you may NOT rope a dead critter and hang it over the fence.  That is NOT actually a piñata, contrary to your interpretation of my now least-favorite PBS show. 

Ages and Stages

This is, without a doubt, the most fun stage with the kids thus far. 

This is, without a doubt, the most exhausting stage with the kids thus far. 

God bless child photographers.  They must be alcoholics.  I am a pro at getting one kid to smile, one kid to grimace and one to find a rock.  Every time.  

Kenyon is five with the soul of a 65 year old man.  When you talk to him he'll normally ask, "So, what've you been up to this morning?".  He likes a lot of cattle, a little bit of farming, a little bit of mechanicing and a little bit of woodworking.  He also enjoys playing, as most five year old boys are wont to do, but playtime usually consists of gathering and processing play calves with his brother.  He asks 100 questions an hour easily.  If you've ever met him you know that this is in no way an exaggeration.  He's starting to recognize and grasp some bigger concepts about life and so there are some deep conversations as we drive down the road and he stares out into the pastures. 

John is now three and is blossoming nicely.  He has some quiet, sneaky, middle-child tendencies.  For example, we caught him sitting at the supper table one evening trying to stuff little bites of steak into his arm cast so he could have them for a snack later when he went to bed.  

He is much like his older brother and loves the outdoors, animals, pretending to spit chew.... you know... man stuff.  Along those lines, he is also fearless with a poor grasp on the inner workings of gravity and thus he is also our injury prone kiddo.  He got an arm cast off last week and is doing marvelously now. 

Sweet Kathryn is one.  Although she looks like a girl, please don't be fooled.  She is a little boy and does absolutely everything that her older brothers do.  One of her favorite things to do currently is stand in front of a toilet, tree or tire, lift her shirt up and thrust out her pelvis.  When she is done pretending to potty she lets out a satisfied 'ahhhhhhh', lowers her shirt and walks away.  It's slightly disturbing, but really adorable at the same time.  She is starting to talk and I need to record it.  Her voice is light and airy and a little slice of heaven.  At night she tells her brothers "night, night.  Love oooh" and it melts my heart.  I will never tire of hearing that.  

Like all siblings, there is a fair amount of fighting.  For instance, we see here the classic "MOM WHY IS HE STANDING SO CLOSE TO ME?" face.

Which 87 % of the time is followed by the classic 'I'm gonna hit you with my face in retaliation' move.  That'll teach him, kiddo.  Good move. 

This picture perfectly sums up how most of my days go.  One child needed help buttoning his jeans after relieving himself so I turned my back for one moment to assist him.  I then heard a shriek from Kathryn who had managed to get herself stuck in the middle of the only mud puddle in a 40 acre trap.  

Here we see Kathryn mimicking her mother's classic WHAT IS WRONG WITH ALL YOU KIDDOS? face.  She's seen it once or twice, tops.  (Insert hearty laugh here.) 

These days a blur, but I'm sure one day I'll look back at these pictures and smile.