20 times I've felt pretty scared

• One night, there was an orange glow in my bedroom, then I looked out to see flames from the old hay shed. It needed to come down anyway, but still!
• On a cross-country solo flight, I had a pretty rough landing. It was fine, I was fine. I probably just remember it because the whole solo flight was a big deal, and I didn't want to mess up. For more reasons than one.
• I put my arm into my coat sleeve & a mouse jumped out the other end.
• While swimming in the ocean in NYC, I was rescued by a lifeguard. He was at my side about the time I realized I was in the current and might be in trouble.
• When I was little, I dreamed soldiers surrounded our house. One of them bopped me on the head with his sword. I woke up. I had bopped my own head on the headboard. It scared me enough that I remember.
• One day, I was alone hunting, and saw what I'm still sure was a cougar. I mean, I had a gun, but I still felt there wasn't room out there for the both of us. So I walked out. Alive.
• I was burning dead grass down by the old cabin & almost started the whole timber aflame.
• Our house was broken into & cash stolen by someone we had tried to help. Watching the cops go through our house spotlighting all our closets left its mark on my impressionable mind.
• Sitting in a deer stand on opening morning, hearing sirens on the highway 5 miles north is foreboding. Later, I learned one of my classmates had been shot in a hunting accident. He lived.
• A couple summers ago, the roll bar on the mower caught the swingset & pulled the swingset over, on top of me. I got a bruise on my arm.
• My horse was an American Saddlebred.  She had an amazing gait, but if she was startled, she startled dramatically. This was especially frightening when we were riding between a cornfield & the woods & met someone walking around the corner.
• I got (or felt?) lost on the field path between my uncle's & my Grandparents. I was pretty little, and it might be the first time I remember feeling terrified & alone.
• We made a mismove one day while working cattle, and a half-grown steer kicked me in the face.
• Dad was driving the big van home from a bake sale in Des Moines. The roads were slick, and we couldn't make it up "the big hill". Since there was a ravine on the other side of the road, he hooked 2 wheels off the edge of the road on our side & backed down the hill. We took a different way home & got stuck. Someone pulled us out with the tractor. We eventually made it home.
• Flying (as a passenger in a Christian Eagle) inverted across my parents' farm was a little tough on my stomach.
• My patients have periodically made me nervous. One example is walking in & finding my patient in hypoglycemic shock. Watching her wake up while I administered dextrose sticks in my mind as one of the most satisfying "instant gratification" moments of my career.

Since I got married, my opportunities for concern have quintrupled.

• The boys, probably about ages 3 & 5, disappeared over the hill, chasing birds. I thought I knew where they were. When we called them for lunch, there was no response. Craig drove one way around the farm, I drove the other, but we met without the boys. We found them where they had been out of the line of our sight, playing in and around the big culvert that runs under the road. 
• My husband prefers to video nearby tornadoes, to hanging out with the kids & me in the basement. Of course, were it not for those kids, I probably would have been watching too.
• One of the boys got bit by a dog, at least 3 different places on his scalp. It was bloody but superficial.
• Craig nearly amputated the end of his thumb. Being pregnant, I was also afraid I would pass out while watching him be treated in the ER.

Those are *some* of the ones I remember. I often wonder how many more times there are than I even know, when I (and those I love) have been protected. 

Writing all these things reminds me that I am here by the grace & mercy of God. There is a reason I use joytobealive as my blog name & email. Every day is a gift. I want to treasure each day I have with those I love.

Sense-ations of Love

When one of the first sounds I hear in the morning is coffee grinding, and the man grinding it is a firmly acclaimed Coffee Non-drinker, I know- this is what love sounds like.

When I feel those little fingers grasping, gently curling and uncurling around mine, I know- this is what love feels like.

When the smell of that coffee surfs the air current into the living room, just waiting for me to finish feeding the baby, I know- this is what love smells like.

When I look outside, and see lights in the barn because he said that since there are fewer calves again, I don't need to help feed them every single feeding, I know- this is what love looks like.

When I finally get to taste that morning coffee, and it tastes just a little bit better this morning, I know- this is what love tastes like. 

When I find myself spinning in the balance of exhaustion and exhilaration, of wants and needs, of hugs and quarrels, of offenses and forgiveness, of calm and LOUD, I know- this is the proprioception of love.

Now it's your turn! I'd love to hear about YOUR sense-ations of love today!

How did you hear-feel-smell-see-taste-sense love today? 

Bonus material

Obviously, when I wrote this, Morning Coffee was heavy on my mind. I could have written these alternative Sense-ations, as the day progressed:

When I catch a whiff, and go to change yet another powerfully scented diaper, I know- this is what love smells like.

When I bite into that Pancake-egg-meat-cheese sandwich that he made when he came in from chores (because I was neck-deep in several business-related projects), I know- this is what love tastes like.

Featuring KM Architecture and Photography

 

"Look what I built!" He exclaims with enthusiasm.

Cool.

"May I take some pictures?"

Ok, sure, whatever, I don't care.

A dozen (more or less) pictures later, we have detail shots from every angle, each taken about two inches from the object, to enhance the close-up details that may be otherwise missed. This sets his work apart from the more conventional "Big Picture" methodology.

This first one is an aerial perspective of the south side of the structure. Notice the subtle reddish hues in the upper left corner. It's kinda his signature feature: watch for it in many of his masterpieces.

This one brings out the color scheme, and the contrast of the bold colors and smooth texture of the magnet tiles against the smooth colors and bold texture of the carpet. Again, the signature markings in the upper left corner.

This one mostly features the carpet.

Some interesting texture, with a layered effect

Nice color scheme here

Utter darkness

My personal favorite, for artistic design. 

Maybe someday, he'll win a photography contest.

But for now, we'll enjoy the Mini Photographer, and the joy he brings to our family.

Beef up your Thanksgiving!

This little ditty flew off my brain in the middle of the night, when I was trying to write a marketing email for our beef.

If you actually ARE interested in our beef, you can visit millerfamilyhomestead.com

__________

Cows don't fly

And the facts don't lie

The risk of Beef having Bird Flu

Is not very high.

Instead of a Thanksgiving Turkey or Ham

The Millers can help make a better plan!

Roasted Beef Roast, grilled Ribeye, Sirloin or Filet,

Are fit for the In-Laws who come on that day.

Dried Beef & cheese sandwiches, Beef Dogs, and Sticks

Chili and jerky can add to the mix.

Smoked Short Ribs or Brisket-

Oh, how you could fix it!

A big, juicy burger, a big pot of Beef Stew

Would be perfect to warm up the really cold you!

Fajitas with flank steak, Bologna with cheese

You can serve up a feast with the greatest of ease!

Beef bacon for breakfast, Steak for lunch,

Tacos for supper- munch, munch, munch, munch, munch!

We’ll even bring your meat right to your house!

So get gas for the grill, and talk to your spouse.

If you order by Saturday, November nineteen,

We'll bring it to you before Thanksgiving- yippee!

So shoot me an email or give me a call.

Your Beefed-up Thanksgiving will be greatest of all!

The day of the Self-Checkout Monster

 

Ok. I do not enjoy shopping.

I enjoy shopping even less when I have children in tow.

So I avoid shopping.

Mercifully, there are things in my life like Amazon delivery and Walmart pickup.

I also have a Mother-in-law who very graciously does about 90% of our grocery shopping for us. It's wonderful. Everyone needs an amazing Mother-in-law.

But there are days- like today- when I bravely venture into the grocery store for myself. There are days- like today- when I do it with kids. 

The baby carrier mostly filled up my cart. Thankfully, my 5 year old helper was more than willing to push another cart, which we loaded with milk, golden (as indicated by the pricetag) eggs, and fresh produce. We also hoarded all the cheese and a bunch of the yogurt from the discount corner.

So far, so good.

Then we went to check out.

Gulp.

No one had warned me that the Helpful Smile in Every Aisle had been replaced by Beasts, of the species named Self-Checkout.

I will pause my story to say that the Self-Checkout concept is genius. I used to choose to use them. That was pre-kid. I can say with 99.9% certainty that the person who made the decision to go exclusively to self-checkouts does not have 4 kids ages 7 & under, and in the 0.01% chance that they do, they do not take them grocery shopping with them. Even though I only had 2 kids (who were actually quite cooperative) with me this time, by the time it was time to check out, they needed my attention.

I looked around with panic in my eyes, for that one checkout with the long line, that was run by a Real, Live Human. Not finding it, I stepped bravely up to the kiosk.

About 4 items in, I scanned the wrong code on a discount item, so an employee stepped in & corrected it. 

Then came the fresh produce. You can't just scan the sticker, you have to push this button, then key in the 4 digit number, then weigh it. 

Oh, why did I get bananas AND oranges AND apples???

About halfway through, Baby started crying. I paused the slow scanning process to stick her pacifier in and pat her head. At least no one was behind us. 

I contemplated leaving the rest of my groceries in the cart & walking out. 

Then, just as my own tears were about to spill out, an employee came up & asked, "Would you like some help?"

"I would LOVE some help."

Somehow, between the two of us, we managed to get the baby quieted and all the groceries scanned and bagged and paid for without The Mother having a complete meltdown.

The elderly lady one kiosk over was also struggling. She told her assistant, "I really just like to look at a smiling face, not a computer."

Somehow, we got all the groceries and the baby back into two carts, and the 5 year old and I maneuvered everything to the car & got it unloaded from the cart and loaded into the car.

The whole ordeal took way more emotional energy than I had allotted, and it took half the afternoon for my stomach to untie itself.

Meanwhile, I've had some interesting food for thought.

1. My thoughts have progressed from "I'm never trying that again" to "Well, next time I'll KNOW that's what's coming, and I'll not put so many things in my cart" to "This is the world my kids are growing up in" to "I'll just take the 7 year-old- he would think it's FUN."

2. Realizing that my 7-year-old will all too soon be smarter than I am, when it comes to electronics takes me way back to the days when I did my schoolwork in my bedroom and my mom was learning to do email in her office next door. "JOY! Can you come?" I'd roll my eyes but come, feeling very important, and walk her step by step through the process. I finally wrote out step by step instructions, and she could send an email without me.

Now the chant that is running relentlessly through my head, to the tune of na-na-na-na-boo-boo, is "You're becoming your mother! You're becoming your mother!"

3. Na-na-na-na-boo-boo does have a correct pronunciation, and I HAVE been pronouncing it correctly (on the rare occasion it seems appropriate). I looked it up. It also means what I thought. I looked that up, too. 

4. Becoming my mother isn't a bad thing. She's (now) one of my favorite people, and I'd be honored to be like her. 

5. "Hate is a really strong word, and you may not use it until you're old enough to understand fully what it means" is what we teach our kids. This means I'm not allowed to use the H-word either. But I really passionately disliked my Self-Checkout experience today.

6. I really passionately like friendly smiles in every aisle. 

7. The End.

8. Now that I've aired out my head, maybe I can get some sleep :) 

What a Pleasure!!

We hear various responses from people who learn we have 4 kids under age 8.

Most of the responses are the rough equivalent of "Wow, you have your hands full!" It's merely a statement of the obvious, but I try to respond with something like "Full hands= Full heart!

In a random conversation with a customer at Farmers Market this week, I heard my favorite response ever.

"What a pleasure!" She said.

YES!

It absolutely is a pleasure!

Happy Birthday to the Dad I miss

It's Dad's birthday. He would be turning 79 today. I wish I could sit and eat with him, chocolate cake smeared with peanut butter, topped with chocolate ice cream.

Two things I had asked God for was for Dad to be at my wedding and to meet my children. My husband and I said Hello to Dexter 6 weeks before we said Good-bye to Dad.

We didn't lose all of my dad on that December day in 2014, when his body finally gave up the fight. We lost pieces of him, bit by bit, over about 7 years. He didn't want to stay forever in the body & mind that was left. While actually saying Good-bye is unfathomably hard, there was something okay about him finally being freed from the body that trapped him. Yes, his death was hard, but the grief of loss started long before his death.

I'm not sure who made up the thing about "time heals." For me, the more that time passes since his death, the more I remember the Dad of his younger days.  And I grieve the current loss of his presence in our lives.

He was the man who couldn't speak above a whisper but could yell at the pigs. 

That's one of the few scenarios I remember when he was able to force enough air through his vocal cords to produce sound. I also remember a few times the preachers may have been on the receiving end of the vocal emissions, when Dad was defending what he believed with his whole heart to be true, most likely in defense of some young man who was struggling or in resistance to being asked to paint over a very modest two-shades of gray van used for our business. He gave in, and had it painted an acceptably solid red, because if he was going to paint it, it was going to be his favorite color. And that was that.  

I think about Dad sometimes when I'm dry heaving over the toilet. I first remember that sound from when Dad would come home from school board meetings. I guess they were that bad, although I never really knew why.

I just know my dad really cared deeply about a lot of principles, and sometimes those beliefs put him in direct conflict with The Powers That Be.

My dad had a crooked, crippled body, but was known for planting "the straightest rows in Oklahoma." He was also a straight thinker, most of the time.

He preferred landscape where you could see for miles "without a tree in sight to mar the view."

He had some fairly strong food preferences, but he always ate graciously. Our family just knew not to look at each other when he thanked the cook (which he always did) because sometimes he would say, "It was very tasty." He wasn't saying he LIKED the taste! 😆

At market, he was known as "the pie man." Some people would come to buy his pies. Others would come to be encouraged by his big smile (in spite of his pain), or to pour out their hearts to his listening ears.

One of Dad's things was to get half dollars from the bank to use as market change. That's a little way I am able to honor his memory; we also give out half dollars as market change.

He gave candy to kids to help them stop staring and accept him as a person. He started asking them to sing for their candy. For awhile, after obtaining a huge supply of marbles from I'm not sure where, he handed out marbles instead of candy. After being out of church for awhile after one of his surgeries, to welcome him back they had everyone in church who ever sang for candy get up and sing Jesus Loves Me (by far the most popular choice of his little singers), then file past and get candy. I think more than half the church got up to sing.

When one of the church leader's son died as a young man from drowning, Dad sobbed and sobbed, wishing it could have been him instead.

Dad was my biggest cheerleader. He was bursting at the buttons proud that I got my pilot's license, even though I never ended up using it for much. It was like I was able to fulfill one of his dreams that he couldn't do himself. He told every random person who would listen; I think he enjoyed the shock factor people displayed, as they tried to picture an "Amish Mennonite" girl flying a plane IN A DRESS! 

I wish my boys could know the dad I love.

He would love Dexter's mind, and delight in the way he thinks. They could play chess. He could teach him all of his math tricks that I could never understand, but I'm pretty sure Dexter would. Dexter could show him all the plans he draws up, and my Dad would show him how to improve them. They could do Snap Circuits together. He would cheer from the sidelines as Dexter breaks through with his musical milestones. They could discuss Laura Ingalls Wilder 'til Kingdom come.

He would love Tyrell's creativity, and his patience with details in his art. They could sit quietly together and just enjoy the serenity.  They could watch birds together. They could process the things they feel that are too big for words, like the loss of a pet, or having to share parents with needy siblings. Dad's heart would swell when he hears Tyrell describe in his own little way how much he loves God. And he would laugh when he fires up his jet engines to go rocketing down the hall.

Kendrick would make him laugh, as he tries to keep up with his brothers, tries to keep up with the latest technology, says words too big for his age, and sports his new sunglasses. Together, they could insist on DOING THINGS THEMSELVES. They could celebrate the victories with enthusiastic fist bumps.

I hope my life brings honor to my Dad. He sure fought for his kids, and wanted what was best for us. I try to help our boys "remember" him, even though they never knew him.

I miss you, Dad! Thanks for all you taught me, in words, but especially through the life you lived.