One of my mother's favorite phrases is, "Revel in your idiosyncrasies." I think the first time I heard her use the saying, I was about 13. "Revel in your what?" was my reaction. I had no idea what idiosyncrasies were, but they certainly didn't sound like anything I wanted to revel in.
Eventually I learned that idiosyncrasies are the little quirks, mannerisms, and personal peculiarities that make each of us unique. A light bulb came on.
"A-ha," I thought. "No wonder Mom wants to revel in her idiosyncrasies. She has a ton!"
My mother is to earrings what Imelda Marcos is to shoes. She speaks fluent Pig Latin, has her own rubber vomit, delights in collecting Halloween costume accessories, strikes up conversations with strangers standing in line at the grocery store, and is the best pie-maker in northern Utah. And she's proud of it.
You might think my Mom sounds like a nut. She is. You might also wonder how all of this ties into parenting. I'll tell you.
Parents who revel in their idiosyncrasies send their children the message that being different isn't just okay, it's wonderful. This, in turn, can give kids the ability to accept, even celebrate, their own unique traits and abilities.
"All right," you say. "So we each have idiosyncrasies. But when do busy parents who are usually focused on their kids get time to revel?"
Truth is, it takes time, planning, and a little patience.
Just ask Kathryn Stevens, mother of 11 children. As a high schooler she participated in the annual Powder Puff Derby -- an all-girl drag race held at the county fair. This, combined with the influence of older brothers who meticulously cared for their cars, left her with a love for classy automobiles.
The summer before she got married, Kathryn worked in Ann Harbor, Michigan, and before coming home she bought a brand new '67 Pontiac Firebird direct from Detroit. It was her first love.
With marriage and children, however, the car soon spent more and more time parked in the garage. Eventually, the Stevens sold the car and bought a vehicle that would fit their growing family. In spite of this, Kathryn never stopped loving her '67 Firebird.
A few years ago Kathryn tracked down her beloved car, now greatly in need of repair, and she bought it. It has been restored to its original glory, complete with candy apple red paint, black vinyl top and red interior.
Every year Kathryn enters the car in a local cruise-in and enjoys seeing people do double-takes. Perhaps they're asking themselves, "What is a mild-mannered housewife doing with a car like that?"
The answer is simple. She's just reveling in her idiosyncrasies!
We named our place after the huge garden and 22 fruit trees that fill our bellies, and our spread is just over an acre. Oh, and sometimes we bellyache. But mostly we enjoy our semi-rural lifestyle. You can email us at bellyacrefarm@gmail.com
Friday, June 15, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Fun Ways to Get Fit (for kids and families)
jump rope
have a hoola hoop contest
play hopscotch
have a relay race (we like the "old clothes" relay)
have a hippity hop race or obstacle course
run through the sprinklers
go for a family bike ride
put on fun music and dance like crazy!
go for a listening walk
jump on a trampoline
rollerblade at a park
play tag (freeze tag)
go for a hike as a family
play kickball
walk your dog (or your neighbor's)
play night games
have a water fight
play frisbee
go for a bug hunt
play with a balloon--don't let it touch the ground
go swimming
play catch
practice your favorite sport with a friend
play laser tag
make a village in a sandbox
Not so fun activities, but good for fitness
(to add an element of fun to the below activities, have participants wear comical hats or gender-bender accessories -- i.e. have Dad wear a woman's hat or a feather boa)
work in the garden
vacuum
wipe mirrors or windows
sweep the garage
src="http://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/show_ads.js">
have a hoola hoop contest
play hopscotch
have a relay race (we like the "old clothes" relay)
have a hippity hop race or obstacle course
run through the sprinklers
go for a family bike ride
put on fun music and dance like crazy!
go for a listening walk
jump on a trampoline
rollerblade at a park
play tag (freeze tag)
go for a hike as a family
play kickball
walk your dog (or your neighbor's)
play night games
have a water fight
play frisbee
go for a bug hunt
play with a balloon--don't let it touch the ground
go swimming
play catch
practice your favorite sport with a friend
play laser tag
make a village in a sandbox
Not so fun activities, but good for fitness
(to add an element of fun to the below activities, have participants wear comical hats or gender-bender accessories -- i.e. have Dad wear a woman's hat or a feather boa)
work in the garden
vacuum
wipe mirrors or windows
sweep the garage
src="http://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/show_ads.js">
Trenches / Chapter 1 / Nothing Short of a Miracle
On December 6th we welcomed a new little life into our family. When I heard her first startled cries, my heart skipped a beat. "Oh! A baby. I have a baby!" Somehow the recent months of friendly tummy taps and watching my middle expand hadn’t exactly prepared me for this moment.
Even a week later I found myself holding a little bundle wrapped in pink and marveling that she was mine. The little rosebud mouth, the thick brown hair that was a departure from the Hansen norm, the long slender fingers–all belonged to my daughter.
As I rocked little Natalie and continued to examine her tiny features, I found myself thinking of my sister . . . Feeling grateful to even have a sister.
Most people are a little puzzled when I tell them that my sister and I are only five months apart. Sometimes I let them noodle over that fact a while before I explain that Sherri is adopted.
Growing up, I thought I knew what it meant to have a sister who was adopted. Basically, instead of bringing baby Sherri home from the hospital, Mom and Dad flew to California and brought her home from there instead. Although the story of how she came to be in our family was different from my own, I didn’t consider it extraordinary.
Having children, however, has altered my perspective. As I held my newborn daughter, awed that she belonged to me, I realized that years ago another mother had also held a tiny daughter–a daughter that would be hers to cherish only momentarily.
What must Sherri’s birth mother have felt, knowing that the infant she had just given life to would soon spend that life cared for by another? Although I will probably never be able to fully answer that question, I do know that sticking to her decision was anything but easy.
When faced with an unplanned pregnancy, a woman may decide to terminate the pregnancy, keep the child and raise it herself, or give the baby up for adoption. Living with any of these options creates challenges. Only one of the choices, however, made it possible for me to have a sister.
I often find myself holding my precious newborn and thinking of Sherri’s birth mother and others like her. Their decision to have a baby and choose adoption is nothing short of a miracle.
Even a week later I found myself holding a little bundle wrapped in pink and marveling that she was mine. The little rosebud mouth, the thick brown hair that was a departure from the Hansen norm, the long slender fingers–all belonged to my daughter.
As I rocked little Natalie and continued to examine her tiny features, I found myself thinking of my sister . . . Feeling grateful to even have a sister.
Most people are a little puzzled when I tell them that my sister and I are only five months apart. Sometimes I let them noodle over that fact a while before I explain that Sherri is adopted.
Growing up, I thought I knew what it meant to have a sister who was adopted. Basically, instead of bringing baby Sherri home from the hospital, Mom and Dad flew to California and brought her home from there instead. Although the story of how she came to be in our family was different from my own, I didn’t consider it extraordinary.
Having children, however, has altered my perspective. As I held my newborn daughter, awed that she belonged to me, I realized that years ago another mother had also held a tiny daughter–a daughter that would be hers to cherish only momentarily.
What must Sherri’s birth mother have felt, knowing that the infant she had just given life to would soon spend that life cared for by another? Although I will probably never be able to fully answer that question, I do know that sticking to her decision was anything but easy.
When faced with an unplanned pregnancy, a woman may decide to terminate the pregnancy, keep the child and raise it herself, or give the baby up for adoption. Living with any of these options creates challenges. Only one of the choices, however, made it possible for me to have a sister.
I often find myself holding my precious newborn and thinking of Sherri’s birth mother and others like her. Their decision to have a baby and choose adoption is nothing short of a miracle.
Monday, June 11, 2007
There's a lot of work to do! (Get help)
After posting quite a few of my "Trenches" columns, I’m realizing that they probably won’t ever make it into a book. So enjoy them for what they are. Instead, I’m hoping to use the title "I’m Not Your Slave – I’m Your Mother" to possibly write about how to get kids helping out around the home. I’m even thinking that this one might have a decidedly LDS slant. We’ll see.
In the meantime, I loved our Relief Society lesson yesterday! It was from the President Spencer W. Kimball manual – chapter 11 on provident living. It made such an impression on me that I read the following paragraph to my kids when we got home from church:
We want you parents to create work for your children. Insist on them learning their lessons in school. Do not let them play all the time. There is a time for play, there is a time for work, and there is a time to study. Be sure your children grow up like you know they ought to grow up.
I’m afraid I didn’t make it all the way through reading that paragraph to the kids without a little giggle of glee after the first three sentences. Whee!
"See," I told the kids, "we’re doing just what we’re supposed to be doing." Their response?
"We know. Dad read us that same passage too."
Now, like any other principle of spirituality, it’s the actual DOING that’s hard. So, if you’re unconvinced that having your kids help out is really worth it, or if you’d like ideas on age-appropriate tasks, job charts, reward systems – you name it – I’ve tried it. I wish that my technology arrangement here at home were better, then I’d simply have a website with Adobe files you could download and print out. (Kid Kash, charts, wheels, tokens, etc.) Until we get our new computer set up, I guess we can just do things the old-fashioned way. You can e-mail me with your needs, and I’ll e-mail you some ideas and encouragement.
In fact, I think that encouragement is just what all parents need when starting to have their kids help out. ‘Cause kids will complain. And complain. And complain. (That’s why we call our place Belly Acre Farm – because of all the bellyaching that goes on.) But don’t give up or give in.
Sure, your kids will act put out, but they will actually be building their self esteem. The more tasks they’re capable of doing on their own, the better they’ll feel about themselves. And the reverse is true. If you’re currently doing everything for your kids – especially little things they could be doing themselves – you’re sending them the message that they’re not capable, or that you don’t think they’re able to do things.
Perhaps you feel that childhood should be for relaxing and playing. I think so too! Many hands make light work. Once you’ve taught your children how to help out with the jobs around the house, EVERYONE will have more time for relaxing and playing – especially you. And kids love to spend time playing with their mothers!
In the meantime, I loved our Relief Society lesson yesterday! It was from the President Spencer W. Kimball manual – chapter 11 on provident living. It made such an impression on me that I read the following paragraph to my kids when we got home from church:
We want you parents to create work for your children. Insist on them learning their lessons in school. Do not let them play all the time. There is a time for play, there is a time for work, and there is a time to study. Be sure your children grow up like you know they ought to grow up.
I’m afraid I didn’t make it all the way through reading that paragraph to the kids without a little giggle of glee after the first three sentences. Whee!
"See," I told the kids, "we’re doing just what we’re supposed to be doing." Their response?
"We know. Dad read us that same passage too."
Now, like any other principle of spirituality, it’s the actual DOING that’s hard. So, if you’re unconvinced that having your kids help out is really worth it, or if you’d like ideas on age-appropriate tasks, job charts, reward systems – you name it – I’ve tried it. I wish that my technology arrangement here at home were better, then I’d simply have a website with Adobe files you could download and print out. (Kid Kash, charts, wheels, tokens, etc.) Until we get our new computer set up, I guess we can just do things the old-fashioned way. You can e-mail me with your needs, and I’ll e-mail you some ideas and encouragement.
In fact, I think that encouragement is just what all parents need when starting to have their kids help out. ‘Cause kids will complain. And complain. And complain. (That’s why we call our place Belly Acre Farm – because of all the bellyaching that goes on.) But don’t give up or give in.
Sure, your kids will act put out, but they will actually be building their self esteem. The more tasks they’re capable of doing on their own, the better they’ll feel about themselves. And the reverse is true. If you’re currently doing everything for your kids – especially little things they could be doing themselves – you’re sending them the message that they’re not capable, or that you don’t think they’re able to do things.
Perhaps you feel that childhood should be for relaxing and playing. I think so too! Many hands make light work. Once you’ve taught your children how to help out with the jobs around the house, EVERYONE will have more time for relaxing and playing – especially you. And kids love to spend time playing with their mothers!
Trenches / Chapter 1 / Happily Ever After
Who says you need a wicked step-mother and ugly step-sisters to make you feel like Cinderella? Two young kids are enough for me. From when they wake up in the morning until they fall asleep at night, Jared and Amanda keep me hopping.
The first words out of Amanda's mouth most mornings are "high chair." She wants breakfast, and she wants it now. Jared, four and very opinionated, informs me he'll have a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of juice. Well, they're just going to have to wait until I get a batch of laundry started--Jared’s nose bled in bed again.
Halfway through breakfast I'm on my hands and knees mopping up Amanda's cereal. Moments later Jared spills his juice down the shelves of the refrigerator door. After I finish cleaning up the fridge and breakfast dishes, I discover why it's been so quiet the past few minutes. Both kids are in the bathroom having a "water experience."
Where is a fairy godmother when you need her? I'm in need of some major bibbity-bobbity-boo!
The reality is that no wand-wielding fairy is going to help me live happily ever after. Much as I'd like it to, fairy tale quackery won't alleviate any symptoms of Cinderella Syndrome. There is hope, however. In my search for a cure, I've come across some real-life remedies -- small breakthroughs that help me survive rough days of parenting.
One way to focus on the positives of parenting involves capturing the wonders of childhood -- the cute, funny, and often embarrassing things kids say and do. This doesn't require anything fancy. A notebook and pen are my favorite recording devices. Reading the following entry from Jared's notebook works like magic, transforming me back to my usual self:
July 28, 1996 -- Grandma asked Jared, "What do you eat that makes you grow big and strong?" Without hesitation he responded, "Red popsicles!"
Another attitude aid I use is a gratitude journal. Each night before going to bed, I review the day's events and find five things that I'm grateful for. Big or small, I write them down. One night I wrote, "I'm grateful Jared didn't throw-up more than once today." More recently I noted, "Happiness is a spur-of-the-moment trip to the park, pushing the kids on the swings, feeding the geese and ducks, and kicking the leaves along the sidewalk."
Keeping a gratitude journal not only helps end the day on a positive note but also provides a needed dose of perspective when Cinderella symptoms flare up.
I still cook, clean, and do laundry, and Jared and Amanda continue to create challenges. But by making an effort to capture the magical moments of childhood and cataloging my blessings in a gratitude journal, I'm happier. In fact, I'm discovering that when I stop and notice, every day contains pieces of happily ever after.
The first words out of Amanda's mouth most mornings are "high chair." She wants breakfast, and she wants it now. Jared, four and very opinionated, informs me he'll have a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of juice. Well, they're just going to have to wait until I get a batch of laundry started--Jared’s nose bled in bed again.
Halfway through breakfast I'm on my hands and knees mopping up Amanda's cereal. Moments later Jared spills his juice down the shelves of the refrigerator door. After I finish cleaning up the fridge and breakfast dishes, I discover why it's been so quiet the past few minutes. Both kids are in the bathroom having a "water experience."
Where is a fairy godmother when you need her? I'm in need of some major bibbity-bobbity-boo!
The reality is that no wand-wielding fairy is going to help me live happily ever after. Much as I'd like it to, fairy tale quackery won't alleviate any symptoms of Cinderella Syndrome. There is hope, however. In my search for a cure, I've come across some real-life remedies -- small breakthroughs that help me survive rough days of parenting.
One way to focus on the positives of parenting involves capturing the wonders of childhood -- the cute, funny, and often embarrassing things kids say and do. This doesn't require anything fancy. A notebook and pen are my favorite recording devices. Reading the following entry from Jared's notebook works like magic, transforming me back to my usual self:
July 28, 1996 -- Grandma asked Jared, "What do you eat that makes you grow big and strong?" Without hesitation he responded, "Red popsicles!"
Another attitude aid I use is a gratitude journal. Each night before going to bed, I review the day's events and find five things that I'm grateful for. Big or small, I write them down. One night I wrote, "I'm grateful Jared didn't throw-up more than once today." More recently I noted, "Happiness is a spur-of-the-moment trip to the park, pushing the kids on the swings, feeding the geese and ducks, and kicking the leaves along the sidewalk."
Keeping a gratitude journal not only helps end the day on a positive note but also provides a needed dose of perspective when Cinderella symptoms flare up.
I still cook, clean, and do laundry, and Jared and Amanda continue to create challenges. But by making an effort to capture the magical moments of childhood and cataloging my blessings in a gratitude journal, I'm happier. In fact, I'm discovering that when I stop and notice, every day contains pieces of happily ever after.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Trenches / Chapter 1 / Are We Rich?
Are we rich?
My son returned from kindergarten the other day and asked me, "Mom, are we rich?"
Us, rich? Ha! Just a few hours earlier I’d written out a bundle of checks to cover our monthly bills. I felt anything but rich.
But over the next few days as I went about my usual activities, my son’s question remained at the back of my mind. Are we rich? Upon closer examination, I may need to change my answer.
Although the words "high fashion" will never be used to describe my wardrobe, I have a closet full of clothes. So does my husband and our kids. Are we rich?
We still sit on folding chairs around a hand-me-down kitchen table, but at mealtime there is always plenty of food on our plates. We never go to bed hungry. Are we rich?
Our car is ten years old, but it is reliable and paid for. When the tank gets low on gas, we simply fill it. Next summer we’ll buy a minivan. Are we rich?
I grumble to myself as I write out the check for the doctor’s co-payment. Fifteen dollars to find out that, no, her ears aren’t infected. She’s just teething. We have decent health insurance coverage, and ear infections are our most serious health concern. Are we rich?
Catered black-tie galas are beyond our social reach. Instead, we invite family and friends to informal sweatshirt and blue-jean affairs, asking them to bring casseroles or Jell-O salads. After everyone has eaten too much, the men swap hunting and fishing stories, the women exchange recipes, and the kids play tag in the backyard. Are we rich?
I drive by grand mansions and gated homes and wonder at the wealth. Ours, in contrast, is a modest home. Instead of living in an exclusive community, we’re part of an inclusive neighborhood – one where we refer to our neighbors by their first names. Are we rich?
I’ve pinched my share of pennies, and funds are always tight at the end of the month, but my husband has stable employment. We always know where our next paycheck is coming from. Are we rich?
Childbearing has forever changed my body. My stomach sags. My hips are wide. I can’t afford a personal trainer and even just getting out for a walk most days is difficult. My friend just told me about her brother and sister-in-law. They’ve been married for six years and seem to have everything. Everything except the one thing they most want – children. Are we rich?
Immeasurably.
My son returned from kindergarten the other day and asked me, "Mom, are we rich?"
Us, rich? Ha! Just a few hours earlier I’d written out a bundle of checks to cover our monthly bills. I felt anything but rich.
But over the next few days as I went about my usual activities, my son’s question remained at the back of my mind. Are we rich? Upon closer examination, I may need to change my answer.
Although the words "high fashion" will never be used to describe my wardrobe, I have a closet full of clothes. So does my husband and our kids. Are we rich?
We still sit on folding chairs around a hand-me-down kitchen table, but at mealtime there is always plenty of food on our plates. We never go to bed hungry. Are we rich?
Our car is ten years old, but it is reliable and paid for. When the tank gets low on gas, we simply fill it. Next summer we’ll buy a minivan. Are we rich?
I grumble to myself as I write out the check for the doctor’s co-payment. Fifteen dollars to find out that, no, her ears aren’t infected. She’s just teething. We have decent health insurance coverage, and ear infections are our most serious health concern. Are we rich?
Catered black-tie galas are beyond our social reach. Instead, we invite family and friends to informal sweatshirt and blue-jean affairs, asking them to bring casseroles or Jell-O salads. After everyone has eaten too much, the men swap hunting and fishing stories, the women exchange recipes, and the kids play tag in the backyard. Are we rich?
I drive by grand mansions and gated homes and wonder at the wealth. Ours, in contrast, is a modest home. Instead of living in an exclusive community, we’re part of an inclusive neighborhood – one where we refer to our neighbors by their first names. Are we rich?
I’ve pinched my share of pennies, and funds are always tight at the end of the month, but my husband has stable employment. We always know where our next paycheck is coming from. Are we rich?
Childbearing has forever changed my body. My stomach sags. My hips are wide. I can’t afford a personal trainer and even just getting out for a walk most days is difficult. My friend just told me about her brother and sister-in-law. They’ve been married for six years and seem to have everything. Everything except the one thing they most want – children. Are we rich?
Immeasurably.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Trenches / Chapter 1 / Help Wanted
Local start-up family is seeking a first-class family manager to join our team. Looking for an optimistic, dependable, mature person who enjoys working with children. Full-time position available for mornings, days, evenings, nights, weekends and holidays. Must have flexible work schedule and be available for diaper changing, story reading and tear wiping at a moment's notice.
Applicant must have a current driver's license and dependable car to provide transportation of children to school, sporting events, piano lessons and other activities. Additional duties and responsibilities of the position include: settling sibling disputes; light housekeeping such as making beds, cleaning bathrooms, fixtures, furniture, and carpets (windows negotiable.) Will also run errands and plan, organize, direct and monitor meal service.
We're looking for a self-starter who's not afraid to work. Successful candidate will have experience in creative fiscal management, grass stain removal, potty training, and lullaby singing. Stress management experience a plus!
Qualified applicant will have excellent interpersonal and organizational skills, be able to incorporate teaching moments into everyday life, and have a soft lap and a listening ear. Ability to speak with an authoritative voice also a plus. Although a college degree is not required, a high degree of tolerance is. reference given to those with nerves of steel.
We offer no insurance, retirement, or sick leave benefits, and there is no salary associated with this position. Other compensation, however, is provided. Receive countless hugs, kisses, even love notes from adorable children. Re-experience the magic of childhood as you watch youngsters take their first steps, taste ice cream for the first time, and ride a bike all by themselves.
If you are interested in this position, apply in person.
Applicant must have a current driver's license and dependable car to provide transportation of children to school, sporting events, piano lessons and other activities. Additional duties and responsibilities of the position include: settling sibling disputes; light housekeeping such as making beds, cleaning bathrooms, fixtures, furniture, and carpets (windows negotiable.) Will also run errands and plan, organize, direct and monitor meal service.
We're looking for a self-starter who's not afraid to work. Successful candidate will have experience in creative fiscal management, grass stain removal, potty training, and lullaby singing. Stress management experience a plus!
Qualified applicant will have excellent interpersonal and organizational skills, be able to incorporate teaching moments into everyday life, and have a soft lap and a listening ear. Ability to speak with an authoritative voice also a plus. Although a college degree is not required, a high degree of tolerance is. reference given to those with nerves of steel.
We offer no insurance, retirement, or sick leave benefits, and there is no salary associated with this position. Other compensation, however, is provided. Receive countless hugs, kisses, even love notes from adorable children. Re-experience the magic of childhood as you watch youngsters take their first steps, taste ice cream for the first time, and ride a bike all by themselves.
If you are interested in this position, apply in person.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Trenches / Chapter 1 / Not Your Slave
During the course of the day, I assume many different roles: Laurie Laundress, Clara Cook, Ella Entertainer, Betty Book-Reader, even Nellie Nag. On one particularly trying morning, I seemed to be Polly Put-it-away more than usual. After depositing my son's pajamas in his drawer one too many days in a row, I turned to him and said, "You need to put your own pajamas away. I'm not your slave!"
"What's a slave?" he asked. "A slave," I explained, "is someone who has to work but doesn't get paid for it." This simplistic answer seemed to satisfy his curiosity while summing up my own feelings.
The rest of the morning I worked like a slave--or at least I felt like one. I cleared off the breakfast table and grumbled. I loaded the dishwasher, wiped the counters, and swept the floor. Even while dressing my daughter and changing her diaper I remained mopey. I think the only thing I took pleasure in that morning was my shower. And that was interrupted half-way through by both kids pounding on the bathroom door. They were thirsty.
After putting my daughter down for her afternoon nap and quietly slipping out of her room, I turned around. There in the hall was my son, holding a handful of coins, pennies mostly, that he'd collected from his grandparents. "Here," he said, giving them to me. "Now you're not a slave."
I thought about it for a minute and decided he was right. For a total of 13 cents, he bought my freedom.
Reviewing the morning's activities, I realized that my feelings of self-pity had affected more than just my attitude. By considering myself a slave, I had unwittingly cast my children as the loathsome taskmasters. How much of my resentment for my work-load had been carried over to them? Not much, I hope.
So now that I'm emancipated, how do I go about my day? Reality is that I still have all of the same jobs to do. How do I keep from feeling like a slave?
For starters, I've begun think of myself as a volunteer. Together with my husband, I made a conscious decision to have a family. You could say that I volunteered to be a mother. On days when motherhood is a bit more than I bargained for, I find it helpful to remind myself that I chose this lifestyle.
Another way to feel liberated hinges upon service. Who has the time to ladle soup at the local soup kitchen? We all do. Only we have to stop thinking of the soup kitchen in strictly traditional terms. Why not think of it as our own homes? The very things that can make us feel like a slave--doing laundry, cleaning toilets, picking up toys--when viewed from another perspective, can be acts of service.
Of course, now that I'm beginning to get the hang of home-based volunteerism, my son has other ideas for me. Just the other night as I was sorting the last pair of socks, he approached, more coins in hand. "Take these," he urged. Once I was holding them he said, "Now come with me. I need help picking up my room."
"What's a slave?" he asked. "A slave," I explained, "is someone who has to work but doesn't get paid for it." This simplistic answer seemed to satisfy his curiosity while summing up my own feelings.
The rest of the morning I worked like a slave--or at least I felt like one. I cleared off the breakfast table and grumbled. I loaded the dishwasher, wiped the counters, and swept the floor. Even while dressing my daughter and changing her diaper I remained mopey. I think the only thing I took pleasure in that morning was my shower. And that was interrupted half-way through by both kids pounding on the bathroom door. They were thirsty.
After putting my daughter down for her afternoon nap and quietly slipping out of her room, I turned around. There in the hall was my son, holding a handful of coins, pennies mostly, that he'd collected from his grandparents. "Here," he said, giving them to me. "Now you're not a slave."
I thought about it for a minute and decided he was right. For a total of 13 cents, he bought my freedom.
Reviewing the morning's activities, I realized that my feelings of self-pity had affected more than just my attitude. By considering myself a slave, I had unwittingly cast my children as the loathsome taskmasters. How much of my resentment for my work-load had been carried over to them? Not much, I hope.
So now that I'm emancipated, how do I go about my day? Reality is that I still have all of the same jobs to do. How do I keep from feeling like a slave?
For starters, I've begun think of myself as a volunteer. Together with my husband, I made a conscious decision to have a family. You could say that I volunteered to be a mother. On days when motherhood is a bit more than I bargained for, I find it helpful to remind myself that I chose this lifestyle.
Another way to feel liberated hinges upon service. Who has the time to ladle soup at the local soup kitchen? We all do. Only we have to stop thinking of the soup kitchen in strictly traditional terms. Why not think of it as our own homes? The very things that can make us feel like a slave--doing laundry, cleaning toilets, picking up toys--when viewed from another perspective, can be acts of service.
Of course, now that I'm beginning to get the hang of home-based volunteerism, my son has other ideas for me. Just the other night as I was sorting the last pair of socks, he approached, more coins in hand. "Take these," he urged. Once I was holding them he said, "Now come with me. I need help picking up my room."
My Book is Coming to This Blog . . .
Don’t look now, but I’m posting a serialization of the book I hope to someday have published: I’m Not Your Slave – I’m Your Mother: Parenting Wit and Wisdom From the Trenches.
There are five chapters, each with approximately eight essays. (I’ve selected 40 of my best columns from my three years of weekly self-syndication.) I’m hoping to post a new essay on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I’ll title them something like . . . Trenches / Chapter One / Truncated Title. You get the idea.
As I’m hoping to run this same material past future prospective publishers, please give me feedback on what you think. And feel free to share my blog address with whoever you think might enjoy hearing another parent’s perspective from the trenches.
Enjoy your summer!
Christie
There are five chapters, each with approximately eight essays. (I’ve selected 40 of my best columns from my three years of weekly self-syndication.) I’m hoping to post a new essay on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I’ll title them something like . . . Trenches / Chapter One / Truncated Title. You get the idea.
As I’m hoping to run this same material past future prospective publishers, please give me feedback on what you think. And feel free to share my blog address with whoever you think might enjoy hearing another parent’s perspective from the trenches.
Enjoy your summer!
Christie
Friday, May 25, 2007
72-hour kits . . . finally rotated
Don't look now, but our family's emergency 72-hour kits are nicely loaded and now sitting down in our cold storage room.
That's a minor miracle, because since the first of April, they've been on the bar in the kitchen, on the floor by the half wall, and most recently out on the back patio waiting for the "emergency food" that needed to be loaded into them.
Hubby thought it would be great to have the entire family go shopping for the emergency food and then all help to load the back packs. Well, I finally pointed out that his plan wasn't working. It had been close to two months, and there was no food to put in the packs. So I finally up and went shopping. And after the emergency food sat for another week or so on our kitchen counter, today I finally just loaded them all up by myself.
We're somewhat new to rotating 72-hour kits. We only just put ours together this past fall. Our plan is to rotate the food, clothing and anything else that needs swapping out during our church's semi-annual General Conferences. (Note: This is also the time we change the batteries in the smoke detectors. Or at least think about changing them.)
If anyone is interested in a list of what we put in our 72-hour kits, drop me a line. (hansenchristie@yahoo.com) I also made and laminated cards for each back pack that has 1) the person's name, 2) a list of what is (or should be) in the pack, 3) a menu for 3 days, and 4) a copy of our family's emergency plan which lists such things as our out-of-state contact, a meeting point should it be impossible to return back to our house and other handy information.
I must say that despite the planning, shopping, nagging and effort that went into organizing our family's emergency kits, it feels great to have them finished.
Now I'm crossing my fingers we won't need them -- ever!
That's a minor miracle, because since the first of April, they've been on the bar in the kitchen, on the floor by the half wall, and most recently out on the back patio waiting for the "emergency food" that needed to be loaded into them.
Hubby thought it would be great to have the entire family go shopping for the emergency food and then all help to load the back packs. Well, I finally pointed out that his plan wasn't working. It had been close to two months, and there was no food to put in the packs. So I finally up and went shopping. And after the emergency food sat for another week or so on our kitchen counter, today I finally just loaded them all up by myself.
We're somewhat new to rotating 72-hour kits. We only just put ours together this past fall. Our plan is to rotate the food, clothing and anything else that needs swapping out during our church's semi-annual General Conferences. (Note: This is also the time we change the batteries in the smoke detectors. Or at least think about changing them.)
If anyone is interested in a list of what we put in our 72-hour kits, drop me a line. (hansenchristie@yahoo.com) I also made and laminated cards for each back pack that has 1) the person's name, 2) a list of what is (or should be) in the pack, 3) a menu for 3 days, and 4) a copy of our family's emergency plan which lists such things as our out-of-state contact, a meeting point should it be impossible to return back to our house and other handy information.
I must say that despite the planning, shopping, nagging and effort that went into organizing our family's emergency kits, it feels great to have them finished.
Now I'm crossing my fingers we won't need them -- ever!
Friday, May 18, 2007
Microwave Smores Kids Will Love . . .
Loula Belle’s friend next door introduced her to a new treat – microwave smores. The neighbors make them by putting marshmallows on chocolate graham crackers and warming them in the microwave. But I’ve developed a different twist.
This week I read in my Martha Stewart Living magazine about Nutella – the hazelnut and milk chocolate spread that was invented in 1946. Apparently it came about because of the chocolate rationing that took place during World War II. Its inventor was trying to stretch his chocolate a but further and added hazelnuts. Nutella spread was born.
(Note: I’m not guaranteeing the facts in the above paragraph. I went back through my Martha Stewart magazine looking for the Nutella ad, but then remembered that I’m obsessive about tearing out advertisements/cards from new magazines. So the facts are probably at the recycling center by now.)
But back to smores. When I bought Nutella with the handy coupon from the magazine, I also had graham crackers and marshmallows on my shopping list. Ding! That's when I came up my my own version of microwave smores.
Using honey graham crackers, break two graham cracker rectangles into squares. Spread each with a light amount of Nutella spread. Place on a microwave safe plate and top each of the squares with a large marshmallow. Microwave on high for approximately 12 seconds. (Watch closely! The marshmallows balloon to amazing proportions if left too long.)
You can top each square with another graham cracker square . . . or for extra chocolatey smores, spread the top crackers with Nutella before placing them on the marshmallows.
Keep a napkin handy. This treat is both delicious and messy! Enjoy!
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This week I read in my Martha Stewart Living magazine about Nutella – the hazelnut and milk chocolate spread that was invented in 1946. Apparently it came about because of the chocolate rationing that took place during World War II. Its inventor was trying to stretch his chocolate a but further and added hazelnuts. Nutella spread was born.
(Note: I’m not guaranteeing the facts in the above paragraph. I went back through my Martha Stewart magazine looking for the Nutella ad, but then remembered that I’m obsessive about tearing out advertisements/cards from new magazines. So the facts are probably at the recycling center by now.)
But back to smores. When I bought Nutella with the handy coupon from the magazine, I also had graham crackers and marshmallows on my shopping list. Ding! That's when I came up my my own version of microwave smores.
Using honey graham crackers, break two graham cracker rectangles into squares. Spread each with a light amount of Nutella spread. Place on a microwave safe plate and top each of the squares with a large marshmallow. Microwave on high for approximately 12 seconds. (Watch closely! The marshmallows balloon to amazing proportions if left too long.)
You can top each square with another graham cracker square . . . or for extra chocolatey smores, spread the top crackers with Nutella before placing them on the marshmallows.
Keep a napkin handy. This treat is both delicious and messy! Enjoy!
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Thursday, May 17, 2007
No more to-do lists
I don't know about you, but sometimes I hate to-do lists. They just remind me of what I'm not getting done. After a week of seeing "clean toilets" on my job list, I could about puke. (Okay, so maybe it's not the list that's causing me to wretch.)
Today there was no more putting it off. The house (and toilets) needed immediate attention. But instead of making a to-do list, I just dug in and got started. I put my favorite classic rock CDs in the stereo and turned up the volumn. In about an hour and a half the house was sparkling.
Feeling great about what I'd accomplished, I decided to write an "it's-done" list -- an inventory of all the tasks I accomplished. It went something like this:
unloaded/loaded the dishwasher
emptied and re-lined the kitchen, bathroom, office and laundry room garbages
cleaned both upstairs toilets
cleaned both bathroom sinks and countertops
scrubbed the master bathroom shower
scoured the kitchen sink
polished all the upstairs mirrors
cleaned both sides of the window on the patio door
shook all the upstairs rugs (6) -- vacuumed them too
swept the hardwood and bathroom tile
vacuumed the stairs
vacuumed all the upstairs carpet (including my closet)
Whew! Now when my kids complain about the jobs they have to do I can pull out my "it's done" list and say, "Oh yeah! Well look at all the work I did. Quit your bellyaching!" And when my husband asks me what I did today, I'll actually have an answer.
And hey, who knows what tomorrow's "it's-done" list will say. Maybe something like:
read 100 pages in Gone with the Wind
took the dog on a looooong walk
visited with my grandma
filed some magazine clippings
took a little nap
thought about making supper
decided to let everyone forage for themselves.
Today there was no more putting it off. The house (and toilets) needed immediate attention. But instead of making a to-do list, I just dug in and got started. I put my favorite classic rock CDs in the stereo and turned up the volumn. In about an hour and a half the house was sparkling.
Feeling great about what I'd accomplished, I decided to write an "it's-done" list -- an inventory of all the tasks I accomplished. It went something like this:
unloaded/loaded the dishwasher
emptied and re-lined the kitchen, bathroom, office and laundry room garbages
cleaned both upstairs toilets
cleaned both bathroom sinks and countertops
scrubbed the master bathroom shower
scoured the kitchen sink
polished all the upstairs mirrors
cleaned both sides of the window on the patio door
shook all the upstairs rugs (6) -- vacuumed them too
swept the hardwood and bathroom tile
vacuumed the stairs
vacuumed all the upstairs carpet (including my closet)
Whew! Now when my kids complain about the jobs they have to do I can pull out my "it's done" list and say, "Oh yeah! Well look at all the work I did. Quit your bellyaching!" And when my husband asks me what I did today, I'll actually have an answer.
And hey, who knows what tomorrow's "it's-done" list will say. Maybe something like:
read 100 pages in Gone with the Wind
took the dog on a looooong walk
visited with my grandma
filed some magazine clippings
took a little nap
thought about making supper
decided to let everyone forage for themselves.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
How to be comfortable in your own skin
Isn't that a great title for a blog entry? Have you ever felt a bit uncomfortable in your own skin? (Have you noticed that I like to ask questions? The delivery nurse when I was born said of me, "She looks like she wants to ask a question.") I wish that I had all the answers instead of constantly coming up with all the questions. But hey, maybe then I wouldn't be me.
Anyway, today I found day-changing encouragement in the waiting room of a local oil lube / state inspection place. I picked up the February 2007 issue of Real Simple even though I'd brought Gone with the Wind for my reading material and came across an article entitled, "Dare to be different," by Gail Blanke. She's the life coach for Real Simple magazine, and while I've been ambivalent about life coaches in the past, Gail had great advice on staying true to yourself.
Gail writes, "Most of us are afraid to be controversial, or even too intensely who we are. We're like lemonade with too much water in it and too few lemons. We dilute our 'flavor' so we won't offend anyone. And, in the process, we give away our power, the essence of who we are that makes us unique and unforgettable."
A few paragraphs later I got the extra encouragement that I needed. She said, "Truth is, the world belongs not to the one who fits in but to the one who stands out. In music, art, architecture, entertainment, literature, politics, and business, it's the maverick, the one who gets 'carried away,' who wins the day. OK, so you may not want to rule the world or win public office or even be the next American Idol. But to get whatever is it you do want, the principle is the same: Be unabashedly yourself."
Gail Blanke maintains that, "... if enough people love you, the one's who don't, don't matter." While that's a nice sentiment, I'm not sure I subscribe to it. I'm still affected by loved ones opinions of me.
Anyway, today I found day-changing encouragement in the waiting room of a local oil lube / state inspection place. I picked up the February 2007 issue of Real Simple even though I'd brought Gone with the Wind for my reading material and came across an article entitled, "Dare to be different," by Gail Blanke. She's the life coach for Real Simple magazine, and while I've been ambivalent about life coaches in the past, Gail had great advice on staying true to yourself.
Gail writes, "Most of us are afraid to be controversial, or even too intensely who we are. We're like lemonade with too much water in it and too few lemons. We dilute our 'flavor' so we won't offend anyone. And, in the process, we give away our power, the essence of who we are that makes us unique and unforgettable."
A few paragraphs later I got the extra encouragement that I needed. She said, "Truth is, the world belongs not to the one who fits in but to the one who stands out. In music, art, architecture, entertainment, literature, politics, and business, it's the maverick, the one who gets 'carried away,' who wins the day. OK, so you may not want to rule the world or win public office or even be the next American Idol. But to get whatever is it you do want, the principle is the same: Be unabashedly yourself."
Gail Blanke maintains that, "... if enough people love you, the one's who don't, don't matter." While that's a nice sentiment, I'm not sure I subscribe to it. I'm still affected by loved ones opinions of me.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Favorite Family Author -- Richard Peck
I just finished a great book that my Mom loaned to me, On the Wings of Heroes by Richard Peck. It chronicles the life of young Davy Boman, his friend Scooter and the Boman family before and during World War II. I was sad to reach the final page and have the story end. In fact, that’s how I gauge all the books I read. If I’ve loved the book so much that I don’t want it to end, it goes into my list of all-time favorites.
Looking back through my book journal recently, I noticed that Richard Peck books are almost always part of my all-time favorites. And the fun part is, they are books our whole family enjoys reading.
When our children were a bit younger we used to choose a book to read aloud as a family before bedtime. Even though there weren’t pictures to look at, we found that our kids rarely wanted to stop at just one chapter. It could be that they wanted to extend their bedtime, but mostly I think they were drawn into great stories. If you’ve been looking for some books that are great to read aloud to your kids, here are some great ones by Richard Peck.
A Long Way from Chicago: Readers of all ages can relate to this book. Our kids were aghast at the antics of the grandma in this story. I also loaned it to my own grandmother, and she found it to be deliciously funny. A neighbor of mine used to work for an adult daycare center. She read it to the folks there. They couldn’t get enough of it! It really is a must-not-miss book!
A Year Down Yonder: This is the follow up book to A Long Way from Chicago. Same great characters but with a year’s worth of antics. We read it as a family and loved it so much that most of us re-read it on our own.
Fair Weather: The story of a farm family during the Depression and their trip to the World’s Fair. (The grandpa in this tale is a scream!)
The Teacher’s Funeral: Russell Culver, a young farm boy living in the early 1900s, goes to a one-room school with the rest of his community. When their old teacher dies, he’s mortified to find that his sister, Tansy, takes her place. This book even adds a little romance and kept me guessing as to which suitor Tansy would end up with. A great read to get a taste of what school and life were like near the turn of the last century.
Here Lies the Librarian: Jake and PeeWee run a small garage in a small town at the start of the automobile age. This tale chronicles how the town library is brought back to life by four college educated librarians from Indianapolis. I can’t give it away, but there’s a big community stock car race and Jake and PeeWee enter a car. Let me just say that you’ll be surprised by the outcome.
So there you have it – five great reads for families. If you have other stories that your family enjoys reading, I’d love to hear about them.
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Looking back through my book journal recently, I noticed that Richard Peck books are almost always part of my all-time favorites. And the fun part is, they are books our whole family enjoys reading.
When our children were a bit younger we used to choose a book to read aloud as a family before bedtime. Even though there weren’t pictures to look at, we found that our kids rarely wanted to stop at just one chapter. It could be that they wanted to extend their bedtime, but mostly I think they were drawn into great stories. If you’ve been looking for some books that are great to read aloud to your kids, here are some great ones by Richard Peck.
A Long Way from Chicago: Readers of all ages can relate to this book. Our kids were aghast at the antics of the grandma in this story. I also loaned it to my own grandmother, and she found it to be deliciously funny. A neighbor of mine used to work for an adult daycare center. She read it to the folks there. They couldn’t get enough of it! It really is a must-not-miss book!
A Year Down Yonder: This is the follow up book to A Long Way from Chicago. Same great characters but with a year’s worth of antics. We read it as a family and loved it so much that most of us re-read it on our own.
Fair Weather: The story of a farm family during the Depression and their trip to the World’s Fair. (The grandpa in this tale is a scream!)
The Teacher’s Funeral: Russell Culver, a young farm boy living in the early 1900s, goes to a one-room school with the rest of his community. When their old teacher dies, he’s mortified to find that his sister, Tansy, takes her place. This book even adds a little romance and kept me guessing as to which suitor Tansy would end up with. A great read to get a taste of what school and life were like near the turn of the last century.
Here Lies the Librarian: Jake and PeeWee run a small garage in a small town at the start of the automobile age. This tale chronicles how the town library is brought back to life by four college educated librarians from Indianapolis. I can’t give it away, but there’s a big community stock car race and Jake and PeeWee enter a car. Let me just say that you’ll be surprised by the outcome.
So there you have it – five great reads for families. If you have other stories that your family enjoys reading, I’d love to hear about them.
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Sunday, April 29, 2007
Patience Report #5: Soccer Game Blow-up
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Did you wonder if I’d given up on my personal patience plan? I must say that the idea is often tempting. Especially when I’m coaching my daughter’s soccer team. Take yesterday for example. We played a game in Logan at 2 o’clock. It started out fine, but between the sun beating down and the coach of the other team, I guess you could say that I got a little overheated.
Mr. Coach’s two older kids had refereed the previous game at the field, and a couple of the referees for our game were their friends. No problem. The problem was that the referee on the side of the field where they were and where I sat was a new ref. This was only the second game he’d reffed, and Mr. Coach and his children seemed to constantly question his calls and even went to far as to tell him what to call.
Now, I know that many fans at sporting events like to tell officials how to call the game, but in this case, the poor ref caved-in to their tactics. Mr. Coach asked if the ref was going to call off-sides on an indirect kick. The young referee looked baffled and after Mr. Coach told him that you can’t call off-sides from an indirect kick, the referee said he wouldn’t call off-sides. Mr. Coach then yells at all his girls to head toward the goal – even though the kick is from mid-field.
I couldn’t stand by and let Mr. Coach misinform our ref, so I said, “You’re kidding, right? Stop coaching the ref and just coach your girls. And don’t play dumb. Of course he’s going to call off-sides.”
If that were all I’d said to the other coach I wouldn’t be writing this patience report. No, as he continued to coach the ref, I asked him again to please stop coaching the ref. My tone of voice wasn’t nice. I was disgusted. In fact, you could say that he brought out the mother bear in me. Here are my girls running their guts out in the hot sun, really playing with heart, and the other team’s coach is getting the ref to make calls totally in his favor that aren’t even correct. I felt it was unfair to my players.
What really sent me over the edge was when one of Mr. Coach’s players kicked a ball off our goal post and it rolled in front of the goal line. (My own daughter was the goalie. That might have had something to do with my reaction.) Mr. Coach and his off-duty referee kids immediately began yelling at the ref that it should have been a goal. I became flabbergasted when play stopped and it looked like the refs might actually reconsider their original call of “no goal.” I was livid. “Just
SHUT UP!” I yelled. “It’s not your call. Quit telling the refs what to do.”
While I directed my comments to Mr. Coach, both his kids and the parents of his players responded to my anger. Let me just say that it was a very hostile environment. I tried to explain my frustration at having calls changed because the coach was telling the ref what to do, but no one from the other team seemed to care. They just looked at me like I was going postal.
I heard one woman say, “You’ve really got a temper problem, but at least you don’t take it out on your girls.”
Ouch.
I left the game feeling awful. To some extent I was uncomfortable with the reaction my comments had stirred, but mostly I was disappointed in myself for having lost my cool. Really, if I had been coaching from the other side of the field, would I have said those things? Did what I say change the outcome of the game? And what kind of an example was I setting for the eleven- and twelve-year-old girls that I coach? Let me just say that I went home riding a roller coaster of emotions.
Once home, the big item on my to-do list was prepare my gospel doctrine Sunday school lesson. Great. Nothing like losing your temper to set the right tone for teaching a lesson about the life of the Savior. I gave myself a little time, took a shower, called a friend, and eventually sat down to organize a teaching outline for Sunday’s lesson. The words of the scriptures began to soften my heart, began to even out my emotions. I read in John 8:12, “. . . I am the light of the world: he
that followeth me shall not walk in darkness . . .” and my outlook brightened.
Fast forward to this morning. I’m getting ready for church. Thinking about the lesson that I’ll give. Still bothered by my actions from the soccer game. Remembering my plan to practice patience this year and conceding another failed attempt. I acknowledge that I have yet another wrong to repent of.
There was a part of me that wanted to be right. Wanted vindication. Did I really feel sorry for my outburst? Was I truly repentant? I decided that I was, and as I thought about taking the sacrament in a little over an hour I realized that repentance involves more than just feeling sorry. I also needed to make restitution. The thought came that I ought to call Mr. Coach and apologize.
I can’t say that once I hit upon the idea of calling to apologize that I felt better. If anything, I felt worse. It reminded me of the time from my childhood that I’d taken candy bars out of the neighbors freezer and then had to go and confess my deed and pay them back for the candy bar. Standing on their front porch made my stomach churn, and reaching out to push the doorbell scared me to death. When their mom answered the door I thought I’d die of embarrassment. But somehow I got my confession out and paid my quarter.
This morning was no different from when I was four years old. My stomach felt unsettled as I searched through the papers of my soccer folder to find Mr. Coach’s number. I dialed it and wondered if he’d even be home, almost hoped that he wouldn’t be. He was, and when I had him on the line I felt dumb and a bit nervous.
I came straight to the point. “Hi, this is the coach from the team you played yesterday. I just wanted to call and apologize for my behavior. I’m really sorry.”
The man was very nice. He even tried to make me feel better by saying that competition can bring out the worst in anyone. I assured him that when we met again I’d do better. He said that he would too.
The experience was so positive that I used it to end my Sunday school lesson. We’d just spent class talking about Christ being the light of the world. We’d read where he’d said, “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. . . . Verily, verily I say unto you, Whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin. . . . If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.” (John 8:32, 34, 36)
I can honestly say that after making that phone call this morning, I felt lighter. It was as if a weight had been removed. I no longer was plagued with dark thoughts of doubt about whether I’d been in the right. I wasn’t weighed down by regret. I felt free!
I’m grateful for the process of repentance and the miracle of Christ’s atonement. Because of it I can use Saturday’s loss of patience as a learning experience. I can remember how I felt before repenting and contrast that to the light and freedom I felt afterwards. I’m sure I’ll still struggle with patience, but through Christ I can repent and eventually overcome my weakness.
Stay tuned. It may take a while.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Annie Investigates -- The Cow Who Thought She was a Dog
Welcome to the first installment of Annie Investigates – a series of entries by my puppy Annie. As a puppy, she is curious about everything. To help focus her investigative instinct, I’ve given her the assignment to look into strange stories and tell us whether they are true or not.
Annie’s first assignment -- verify whether or not a cow from Manti, Utah really thought she was a dog.
Annie’s Report
Rumors, like gossip, spread like wildfire. By the time I heard the story about the cow who thought she was a dog, it came through my boss, who heard it from her husband, who heard it from his neighbor who claims that the said cow belonged to his aunt and uncle. As Manti, Utah is a bit far for a puppy to roam, I decided to start with the neighbor. See what he could recall about his aunt and uncle’s strange cow.
I found Mr. C to be very cooperative during my interview. Turns out that he actually met the cow in question. Later in the cow’s life Mr. C’s family purchased her and converted her from a dog-cow to a milk-cow. But that’s the end of this story. Using Mr. C as my eye witness, let’s start at the beginning.
Dan and Susan ran a small farm in Manti, Utah. Their milk cow gave birth to a female Holstein calf which they named Taffy. Because their farm was small and isolated, Taffy was given more freedom then most calves. In fact, Dan and Susan’s German Shepherd, Sadie, adopted Taffy as her own offspring. Details are sketchy, but it would seem that Taffy the cow imprinted on Sadie the dog, and thus began her life’s adventure.
For starters, Sadie the dog slept on the front porch. Naturally, Taffy did as Sadie did and took up occupancy on the front porch. A small calf sleeping on the front porch with the dog is no big deal, but a full grown Holstein sleeping on the front porch with the dog is, well . . . a really BIG deal! Using the front door soon became a hassle, but Dan and Susan’s family slept soundly at night knowing they were protected by one German Shepherd and one very large Holstein.
Mowing the lawn soon became all but impossible. No one, it seems, wanted to pick up the dog doodle and cow pies before mowing, and mowing over them was strictly out of the question!
Mr. C says that the most disturbing habit Taffy picked up from Sadie was chasing cars. As Mr. C told me about this, his eyes gleamed with mischief. “Well,” he said, “my aunt and uncle lived a ways out of town. Some people who drove past were probably lost, and you can imagine their surprise to look in their rearview mirror and see not only a large German Shepherd, but an even larger black and white cow chasing after them too. That’s when they really hit the gas!”
Apparently Taffy’s lifestyle as a dog became a bit much for her family. They eventually decided that she needed to revert back to her genetics and spend her days as a milk cow. Knowing her attachment to Sadie, however, they thought it best to sell her and separate her from her adopted mother. (You can cry a little if it will help you feel better.)
In the end, Mr. C’s family bought Taffy. Unlike their other cows, Taffy had to be kept in very secure confines. It seems she’d picked up the dog habit of swimming, so fences that stopped at the edge of a pond couldn’t keep her in. And like a dog, she sometimes tried to go under the bottom strand on barbed wire fences. Only the very best enclosures would do.
I know this tale seems hard to believe, but I’m calling it like I see it. Everything hangs on Mr. C’s testimony, and as a dog I consider myself a pretty good judge of character. I say he’s telling the truth.
There really was a cow from Manti, Utah who thought she was a dog. Case Closed.
Annie’s first assignment -- verify whether or not a cow from Manti, Utah really thought she was a dog.
Annie’s Report
Rumors, like gossip, spread like wildfire. By the time I heard the story about the cow who thought she was a dog, it came through my boss, who heard it from her husband, who heard it from his neighbor who claims that the said cow belonged to his aunt and uncle. As Manti, Utah is a bit far for a puppy to roam, I decided to start with the neighbor. See what he could recall about his aunt and uncle’s strange cow.
I found Mr. C to be very cooperative during my interview. Turns out that he actually met the cow in question. Later in the cow’s life Mr. C’s family purchased her and converted her from a dog-cow to a milk-cow. But that’s the end of this story. Using Mr. C as my eye witness, let’s start at the beginning.
Dan and Susan ran a small farm in Manti, Utah. Their milk cow gave birth to a female Holstein calf which they named Taffy. Because their farm was small and isolated, Taffy was given more freedom then most calves. In fact, Dan and Susan’s German Shepherd, Sadie, adopted Taffy as her own offspring. Details are sketchy, but it would seem that Taffy the cow imprinted on Sadie the dog, and thus began her life’s adventure.
For starters, Sadie the dog slept on the front porch. Naturally, Taffy did as Sadie did and took up occupancy on the front porch. A small calf sleeping on the front porch with the dog is no big deal, but a full grown Holstein sleeping on the front porch with the dog is, well . . . a really BIG deal! Using the front door soon became a hassle, but Dan and Susan’s family slept soundly at night knowing they were protected by one German Shepherd and one very large Holstein.
Mowing the lawn soon became all but impossible. No one, it seems, wanted to pick up the dog doodle and cow pies before mowing, and mowing over them was strictly out of the question!
Mr. C says that the most disturbing habit Taffy picked up from Sadie was chasing cars. As Mr. C told me about this, his eyes gleamed with mischief. “Well,” he said, “my aunt and uncle lived a ways out of town. Some people who drove past were probably lost, and you can imagine their surprise to look in their rearview mirror and see not only a large German Shepherd, but an even larger black and white cow chasing after them too. That’s when they really hit the gas!”
Apparently Taffy’s lifestyle as a dog became a bit much for her family. They eventually decided that she needed to revert back to her genetics and spend her days as a milk cow. Knowing her attachment to Sadie, however, they thought it best to sell her and separate her from her adopted mother. (You can cry a little if it will help you feel better.)
In the end, Mr. C’s family bought Taffy. Unlike their other cows, Taffy had to be kept in very secure confines. It seems she’d picked up the dog habit of swimming, so fences that stopped at the edge of a pond couldn’t keep her in. And like a dog, she sometimes tried to go under the bottom strand on barbed wire fences. Only the very best enclosures would do.
I know this tale seems hard to believe, but I’m calling it like I see it. Everything hangs on Mr. C’s testimony, and as a dog I consider myself a pretty good judge of character. I say he’s telling the truth.
There really was a cow from Manti, Utah who thought she was a dog. Case Closed.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Wheel Barrow Polo and Marriage Enrichment
Need some ideas on how to add a little fun to your marriage? Take a page out of Ron and Nancy’s book and gather your friends for an evening of familiar games given a crazy twist.
Ron and Nancy are our neighbors to the back. A week ago my husband and I received an invitation from them to a date night for couples. All we knew was that we needed to bring a wheel barrow and two large garbage bags. I wondered if we were getting roped into some sort of yard clean up activity. What else could we use garbage bags and a wheel barrow for?
On Friday evening, we found out. Ten couples attended and were divided into two teams. It turns out that the garbage bags were for us to wear . . . while our blind-folded spouse fed us spaghetti, salad, garlic toast and our beverage. Keep in mind that it was a race. The men fed the women first, and although we needed to use a fork, some men simply used it to push the food from the plate into their wive’s mouths. Hubby and I took a more genteel approach but managed to finish in good time. We did great until it came time for him to help me drink my cup of water. I think more went down my shirt than down my throat.
After the women had successfully fed the men their dinner, we went outdoors to use the wheel barrows. . . not for work, but for an exciting game of wheel barrow polo.
Each woman selected a whacking stick (a plastic stick with a large foam hitting area covered with a sock) and then climbed into a wheel barrow. Her husband’s job was to cart her to where the foam ball was so she could hit it into her team’s goal.
I wish that I were more technologically gifted so that I could down-load the video from our match and post it on my blog. But, alas, I’m not. You’ll just have to use your imagination. Imagine ten men pushing ten wheel barrows with a woman wielding a stick at the helm of each. Some women, like me, were seated on their rears with their legs hanging over the front of the wheel barrow. Others knelt down. I liked to swing my stick from side to side during breaks in play while trying to make light saber sound effects. Susan, on the other hand, enjoyed holding her stick straight out as if she were a knight on a charging steed.
Joe and Lisa seemed to be the fastest couple. Someone would whack the ball up-field, and off Joe would go, pushing Lisa into excellent batting position. A couple time the wheel barrows collided. Jennifer has a bruise on her upper arm from where it smacked into an opponent’s wheel barrow while she was trying to whack the ball. Turning sharply was another problem. John tipped Cristyl over. Ditto Matt and DeeAnn. The only couple immune from tipping problems was Brian and Jennifer. They were equipped with the only 2-wheeled barrow on the field.
After 20 minutes of play, most of the men started slowing down a bit. And with good reason. Running up and down the field while toting your wife in a wheel barrow is hard work! Katherine was the first woman to switch positions with her husband. (Quinn had gotten her attention by lying spread-eagle on the grass and moaning.) Soon most of the other women followed her example and began toting their husbands around the field. This, of course, slowed the game down even more, and after only five minutes or so, most of the men had resumed the carrying responsibilities.
After over 30 minutes of playing time, the game ended in a tie. (Bruce may have been a bit disappointed as he tried anything and everything to win.)
Next we played three-legged California kick ball. Not only did we have to coordinate our running, but each couple had to use the legs that were bound together to kick the ball. Kevin and Susan played as if they’d been practicing being a three-legged couple for months. Joe and Lisa, on the other hand, provided the comic relief for the evening. After kicking the ball together, he went one way and she went the other. The most spectacular move of the night went to Ron and Raquel. While they were cruising in to score, they somehow got out of sync and fell head over
tea kettle. Jennifer said it looked like a rolling ball of arms and legs. Fortunately, only their pride was hurt, and they were able to get up and complete their run before the other team could hit them with the ball.
I can’t remember the final score for the night, but that’s okay. The main thing is that we all had fun. We laughed and laughed, took a few tumbles, maybe even got a few bruises, but everyone enjoyed an evening with their sweetheart that they won’t soon forget!
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Ron and Nancy are our neighbors to the back. A week ago my husband and I received an invitation from them to a date night for couples. All we knew was that we needed to bring a wheel barrow and two large garbage bags. I wondered if we were getting roped into some sort of yard clean up activity. What else could we use garbage bags and a wheel barrow for?
On Friday evening, we found out. Ten couples attended and were divided into two teams. It turns out that the garbage bags were for us to wear . . . while our blind-folded spouse fed us spaghetti, salad, garlic toast and our beverage. Keep in mind that it was a race. The men fed the women first, and although we needed to use a fork, some men simply used it to push the food from the plate into their wive’s mouths. Hubby and I took a more genteel approach but managed to finish in good time. We did great until it came time for him to help me drink my cup of water. I think more went down my shirt than down my throat.
After the women had successfully fed the men their dinner, we went outdoors to use the wheel barrows. . . not for work, but for an exciting game of wheel barrow polo.
Each woman selected a whacking stick (a plastic stick with a large foam hitting area covered with a sock) and then climbed into a wheel barrow. Her husband’s job was to cart her to where the foam ball was so she could hit it into her team’s goal.
I wish that I were more technologically gifted so that I could down-load the video from our match and post it on my blog. But, alas, I’m not. You’ll just have to use your imagination. Imagine ten men pushing ten wheel barrows with a woman wielding a stick at the helm of each. Some women, like me, were seated on their rears with their legs hanging over the front of the wheel barrow. Others knelt down. I liked to swing my stick from side to side during breaks in play while trying to make light saber sound effects. Susan, on the other hand, enjoyed holding her stick straight out as if she were a knight on a charging steed.
Joe and Lisa seemed to be the fastest couple. Someone would whack the ball up-field, and off Joe would go, pushing Lisa into excellent batting position. A couple time the wheel barrows collided. Jennifer has a bruise on her upper arm from where it smacked into an opponent’s wheel barrow while she was trying to whack the ball. Turning sharply was another problem. John tipped Cristyl over. Ditto Matt and DeeAnn. The only couple immune from tipping problems was Brian and Jennifer. They were equipped with the only 2-wheeled barrow on the field.
After 20 minutes of play, most of the men started slowing down a bit. And with good reason. Running up and down the field while toting your wife in a wheel barrow is hard work! Katherine was the first woman to switch positions with her husband. (Quinn had gotten her attention by lying spread-eagle on the grass and moaning.) Soon most of the other women followed her example and began toting their husbands around the field. This, of course, slowed the game down even more, and after only five minutes or so, most of the men had resumed the carrying responsibilities.
After over 30 minutes of playing time, the game ended in a tie. (Bruce may have been a bit disappointed as he tried anything and everything to win.)
Next we played three-legged California kick ball. Not only did we have to coordinate our running, but each couple had to use the legs that were bound together to kick the ball. Kevin and Susan played as if they’d been practicing being a three-legged couple for months. Joe and Lisa, on the other hand, provided the comic relief for the evening. After kicking the ball together, he went one way and she went the other. The most spectacular move of the night went to Ron and Raquel. While they were cruising in to score, they somehow got out of sync and fell head over
tea kettle. Jennifer said it looked like a rolling ball of arms and legs. Fortunately, only their pride was hurt, and they were able to get up and complete their run before the other team could hit them with the ball.
I can’t remember the final score for the night, but that’s okay. The main thing is that we all had fun. We laughed and laughed, took a few tumbles, maybe even got a few bruises, but everyone enjoyed an evening with their sweetheart that they won’t soon forget!
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Monday, April 09, 2007
Silk "Tie-dyed" Eggs
1. Purchase colorful ties at second hand store, or raid your husband’s closet for reject ties.
2. Cut ties into pieces to wrap around raw eggs.
3. Use larger pieces of cloth to tightly hold tie pieces against the eggs. Secure outside cloth with twisty tie.
4. Put eggs in a saucepan and cover with cold water. Add 1/4 c. vinegar. Bring eggs to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat, cover and simmer for 20 minutes.
5. Remove pan from heat and run cold water into the pan until the water is cool. Drain eggs.
6. Remove cloth and behold . . . tie-dyed eggs!
Note: Once the eggs are dry, oil them for an extra fancy look.
2. Cut ties into pieces to wrap around raw eggs.
3. Use larger pieces of cloth to tightly hold tie pieces against the eggs. Secure outside cloth with twisty tie.
4. Put eggs in a saucepan and cover with cold water. Add 1/4 c. vinegar. Bring eggs to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat, cover and simmer for 20 minutes.
5. Remove pan from heat and run cold water into the pan until the water is cool. Drain eggs.
6. Remove cloth and behold . . . tie-dyed eggs!
Note: Once the eggs are dry, oil them for an extra fancy look.
Natural, Onion-dyed Eggs
The following instructions create beautifully dyed eggs. They aren’t brightly colored, but are a warm, amber color.
1. Boil dried onion skins (as many as possible) in 4 - 6 cups of water. Simmer for a couple hours and then let cool. (This step may be done days in advance. The longer the onions soak in the water, the darker your eggs will be.)
2. Use raw eggs. Be sure that they have no oil or residue on them, as it could hinder the coloring process. For fun patterns on eggs, press flowers, baby breath, ferns, etc. against egg and use pieces of nylon stocking to keep the greenery pressed tight against the egg. Tie tightly with a twisty tie.
3. Place wrapped eggs in a large saucepan. Pour in cool onion skin water to cover the eggs. (If there’s not enough onion skin water, add cold water until eggs are covered.) Add 1/4 c. vinegar.
3. Bring eggs in water to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat and cover, simmering for 15 to 20 minutes. Remove pan from heat and add ice cubes to stop cooking. Let sit for 10 - 15 minutes.
4. Remove eggs from pan. Cut off nylon and remove greenery. Let eggs dry on a paper towel for 5 minutes. (Don’t rub to dry as color may rub off too.) Once they’re dry, oil the colored eggs. (I like to use a sandwich bag as a glove and pour the oil onto the bag. Then I simply rub the eggs.)
5. Result . . . Beautiful Natually Dyed Eggs!
1. Boil dried onion skins (as many as possible) in 4 - 6 cups of water. Simmer for a couple hours and then let cool. (This step may be done days in advance. The longer the onions soak in the water, the darker your eggs will be.)
2. Use raw eggs. Be sure that they have no oil or residue on them, as it could hinder the coloring process. For fun patterns on eggs, press flowers, baby breath, ferns, etc. against egg and use pieces of nylon stocking to keep the greenery pressed tight against the egg. Tie tightly with a twisty tie.
3. Place wrapped eggs in a large saucepan. Pour in cool onion skin water to cover the eggs. (If there’s not enough onion skin water, add cold water until eggs are covered.) Add 1/4 c. vinegar.
3. Bring eggs in water to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat and cover, simmering for 15 to 20 minutes. Remove pan from heat and add ice cubes to stop cooking. Let sit for 10 - 15 minutes.
4. Remove eggs from pan. Cut off nylon and remove greenery. Let eggs dry on a paper towel for 5 minutes. (Don’t rub to dry as color may rub off too.) Once they’re dry, oil the colored eggs. (I like to use a sandwich bag as a glove and pour the oil onto the bag. Then I simply rub the eggs.)
5. Result . . . Beautiful Natually Dyed Eggs!
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Pharmacy Patron of the Month
I just got back from the pharmacy. I was there yesterday as well, and during yesterday’s visit I referred to myself as their patron of the month. Well, as I walked in today, they remembered and asked, “How is our patron of the month?”
I just laughed. The folks there know me by name – without looking at the computer, written prescription or my check. In fact, on Monday when I went in to pick up the re-fills I’d called in earlier, the attendant had recognized my car and had them ready for me. I go there so much they even know my car. How embarrassing.
Those of you who read this blog already know I’m nuts, but you’re not the only ones. The pharmacy employees are on to me too. For years they’ve filled my prescriptions and been privy to almost as much information as my primary care physician. I think they may know more about me than my bishop does.
Anyway, today I felt especially chatty. I was talking with the pharmacist and bemoaning the fact that my husband never gets sick and hates to take pills even for a headache. I’ve finally gotten to the point that I’ve told him, “if you haven’t taken something for your headache, you can’t complain about it.” I went on to vent about my current pharmaceutical dependency just not seeming fair.
The pharmacist said, “Well, you sure seem perky today. Are you sure you really need these pills?” (They were anti-depressants.) I assured him that unfortunately my depression is chemically based, otherwise I’d happily give up the pills. He also got the shortened version of my “if you need medication, take it” talk. I briefly explained my pet peeve of people with depression trying to do anything about it except taking medication. “You know why I take medication?” I asked him. “For my family. I’m a whole lot easier to live with when I’m on medication.” Just for
kicks I finished up with, “And besides, if I have to take medication, everyone should have to.”
The pharmacist laughed, took a phone call and another employee finished helping me with my purchase. As I was walking out I thanked them. As an afterthought I added, “And my family thanks you.”
Really, when you think about it, being able to take the medicines I do is a blessing. If I’d have lived 100 years ago with my current health challenges, not only would I likely develop diabetes, but I’d be spending my best years as a thin-haired, ornery, uptight, overweight, nagging housewife. I may not have even been able to have children. Poor Hubby. And poor me.
As it is, my family only has to put up the with nagging and occasional monthly emotional outbursts. Do they realize how lucky they are?
I just laughed. The folks there know me by name – without looking at the computer, written prescription or my check. In fact, on Monday when I went in to pick up the re-fills I’d called in earlier, the attendant had recognized my car and had them ready for me. I go there so much they even know my car. How embarrassing.
Those of you who read this blog already know I’m nuts, but you’re not the only ones. The pharmacy employees are on to me too. For years they’ve filled my prescriptions and been privy to almost as much information as my primary care physician. I think they may know more about me than my bishop does.
Anyway, today I felt especially chatty. I was talking with the pharmacist and bemoaning the fact that my husband never gets sick and hates to take pills even for a headache. I’ve finally gotten to the point that I’ve told him, “if you haven’t taken something for your headache, you can’t complain about it.” I went on to vent about my current pharmaceutical dependency just not seeming fair.
The pharmacist said, “Well, you sure seem perky today. Are you sure you really need these pills?” (They were anti-depressants.) I assured him that unfortunately my depression is chemically based, otherwise I’d happily give up the pills. He also got the shortened version of my “if you need medication, take it” talk. I briefly explained my pet peeve of people with depression trying to do anything about it except taking medication. “You know why I take medication?” I asked him. “For my family. I’m a whole lot easier to live with when I’m on medication.” Just for
kicks I finished up with, “And besides, if I have to take medication, everyone should have to.”
The pharmacist laughed, took a phone call and another employee finished helping me with my purchase. As I was walking out I thanked them. As an afterthought I added, “And my family thanks you.”
Really, when you think about it, being able to take the medicines I do is a blessing. If I’d have lived 100 years ago with my current health challenges, not only would I likely develop diabetes, but I’d be spending my best years as a thin-haired, ornery, uptight, overweight, nagging housewife. I may not have even been able to have children. Poor Hubby. And poor me.
As it is, my family only has to put up the with nagging and occasional monthly emotional outbursts. Do they realize how lucky they are?
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