Being on a farm is not where I envisioned myself in my adulthood, and parts of it I will never love. But this isn't about that; it's about the parts I do love.
1. Wide open spaces
2. Animals
3. Few neighbors
4. Beautiful sunrises and sunsets
5. Quiet places
6. Big skies
7. Fresh air
8. Green things
9. Educational opportunities
10. The Farmer Himself
I wish I didn't feel any hesitation to put this out there for people to read, but I do.
We have single friends whom we honor.
We have friends whose marriages are brutal and broken.
We have friends whose marriage partners have died, and the hole in their lives is massive.
We also have a marriage that is far from perfect, because WE are far from perfect.
Yet, perhaps it is because of these things, I write.
Marriage was designed to be beautiful, and, even in its imperfection, I want to celebrate the love of marriage.
1. I was single for 30 years. I actually loved that life. But it gets lonely after awhile. Loneliness exists within marriage, too- but it's different. I have My Someone. I love having My Someone.
2. Have you ever lived with a hormonal woman? It ain't easy (so I hear🤣). But, 4 babies and several miscarriages later, my husband has survived my hormonal roller coaster, and somehow, he has managed to love me through it. I love that he was my companion through it all, and went with me to every single early OB appointment- I am SO THANKFUL he was there for the hard ones. (We are both enjoying having my hormones a bit more stable again 🙃)
3. If you are a person of wildly passionate thoughts and ideas and emotions, I hope you have a stable person, somewhere, to help keep you grounded and balanced. Craig's name means "rock," and I love that he is my rock.
4. I love that our children run to him with shining eyes and big smiles, when he comes in the door.
5. If you know Craig, you know that he may not be loud in a crowd, but he holds opinions that are stubbornly unswerving. I love that he has been willing to bend, ever so slightly, on things like occasionally driving a car instead of a truck, and drinking coffee (iced, but it's coffee!😉).
6. Speaking of coffee, I lived the first 30 years of my life with the delusion that what married people do every morning is have great conversation over coffee. It has taken 10+ years to get there, but I love having someone to converse with over coffee. I'll gladly ice it! It's still not a daily thing for us, like it was (almost) for my parents, to sit and have a long chat over coffee. But progress is progress!!
7. My favorite of Craig's shirts is the one that says, "Don't panic- Dad will fix it." As a homeowner when I was single, I considered writing a book "On Being My Own Handyman." I love that my husband is capable of fixing just about anything that can be fixed with a little welding, a little warping, or a little wood. He makes it look so easy.
8. Touch is a touchy subject with me. I wasn't touched much for 30 years. Sometimes, I like being touched; sometimes, I don't. With four kids, by the time Craig comes in, there are days that every single one of my touch receptors is on fire, and I don't want to touch or be touched. I love having access to touch when I need it; I also love that I'm allowed to say, "Not right now, please" when I need a break. I especially love having a foot warmer. 😁
9. Being married to a man who is able and willing to do just about anything for just about anyone is wonderful- and hard. I love that he's that kind of man, even though I get kinda selfish about sharing him sometimes. I have a whole new appreciation for, say, pastors' wives, who constantly share their husbands all around the community a whole lot more than I share mine. I love that he's willing to help others when the opportunity arises- it's why we're here.
10. Craig and I are very different persons. It's not a bad thing. Both of us have expanded our minds and grown our hearts a little larger, because of the differences in our fields of knowledge and interests. He reads more, sings more, and pulls the keys more often than he did 12 years ago. I know a whole lot more about cattle and tractors and how things work than I did 12 years ago. I love working with him in our meat business, because we sharpen each other's ideas- I work mostly with the marketing part of it, and he designs and builds heavy duty carts to haul the grills and freezers. I love being married to my teammate, and I love that we get to each help the other become a better person.
After we became engaged, people came out of the woodwork to tell us that marriage is hard work. I mean, they weren't wrong, because relationships just ARE that way. Almost 12 years later, I'm still saying that LIFE is hard work, and I'm so thankful to have someone to do the hard things with.
And THAT is why I'm celebrating marriage.
p.s. Yes, I had Craig's permission before I said all this stuff about him 😉
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Actually, it's a song I wrote probably two decades ago.
I don't remember the specifics of why I wrote these words, but every now and then, they echo through my heart.
...........
There are those who criticize
I cringe beneath condemning eyes
I want to run away and hide
Or scream, and tell how hard I tried
Search me, oh God, and know my heart
Search me, oh God, examine every part
Search me, oh God, and see if there be
Some wicked way in me
Opinions and expectations
Can multiply life's frustrations
Whom should I please? What should I do?
Oh, God- I want to please you!!
Search me, oh God, and know my heart
Search me, oh God, examine every part
Search me, oh God, and see if there be
Some wicked way in me
I want to write more.
At this season of life, I don't really care if anyone reads what I write, and I don't care as much as I should care, what they think if they do stumble upon my words. I'm not really writing for anyone else; I'm writing for me. It's what I do for fun (I'm weird that way).
Some days, however, I let myself wonder if I could get paid for my "word jewelry" (strings of words that have been fashioned into something of beauty and value).
It's only when I start thinking about writing for other people that I start to feel insecure about my writing. While I typed that last sentence, my left foot started tapping frantically.
I want to write for money, but I don't want to have to care about what people think about what I write.
Solve that!!
Out of these insecurities, I wrote this:
---------
If I would write
Would I write right?
Would the words be worth the read?
Would the reader wonder why I wrote,
Or read what I wrote, with wonder?
If I would write, why would I write?
And why would I write what I write?
Because the words in my head, they just might explode
If they're trapped there forever, with nowhere to go.
I can write what I cannot speak,
When I write, I can delete.
When my brain fires faster than my tongue can translate,
The mords get wixed up as they fly out the gate.
But as I write, the jibberish brainwave jello starts to mold,
I can leave it and come back 'til I get the story told.
I'm terrible at following the rules of the words-
There are so many, it's really absurd.
I Capitalize As I Please,
Because Naming Things is one of the Small Glees
Of life that I choose to savor,
At the risk of taking me out of favor
With the Word Lords.
I mix meters and metaphors and poetry forms.
(I also think forms should rhyme with worms.)
Who writes these rules, anyway?
Must I keep them? Who's to say?
Sometimes when I write, I pull out the stoppers.
I verb-alize nouns, and scandalize Propers.
I comma with Oxford, AP or, random.
Some things I write are really quite dumb.
But I write,
Because the words I write might
Make someone's day bright
Or help someone see
Something differently.
But mostly,
I write for me.
The End.
(Click Send?)
We did a thing today.
We loaded up the whole family and went Christmas Caroling. I guess that's still what it's called when you have six people singing five different notes that are too far apart to all be melody and too close together to be harmonious, and it sounds a bit discombobulated, but if the listener is well versed in Christmas songs, they might be able to sing along with a fair chance of hitting one of the notes already being sung.
We went Christmas Caroling to a handful of people.
Because our Christmas caroling is a little like Wooton Bassett's mail delivering, it took us roughly two hours to make five stops, but we returned home blessed in our hearts, and with more things in our pickup than we had when we left home to give stuff away. Crazy how that works.
Our last stop was a man who lives alone and has Very Few People. We have visited him a handful of times in the past few years, and each time, I tell myself we need to go routinely. He still has the pictures on his fridge that the boys made for him 2-3 years ago, and today, he wiggled things around on the fridge to make room for one more, and proudly displayed the painted rock in a prominent place on his shelf.
I get a little discouraged with myself sometimes. I have a collection of friends who specialize in doing Big Things For Lots Of People. They frequently and successfully host large dinner parties or organize complex events. This is not me. I prefer doing Little Things For A Few People.
As we left this man's place, I was struck with the power of Doing Little Things For A Few People.
If every person would Just Do One Little Thing for a handful of people every day or every week or every month or every year, all those One Little Things might make a difference.
I feel most days like all I have to give, I give to our family. The little bit I have left, I give to our business, for the sake of our family. That leaves me with a tiny, teeny, little bit left to give into the community.
If all you have left to give is a tiny, teeny, little bit, then just do a tiny, teeny, little bit for a handful of people.
It just might mean the world to someone.
I look around and see hundreds of things to do. I can't do hundreds of things in 2 minutes (which is the average amount of time I have to focus, with 4 kids under 10), but I CAN do Ten Things.
I swoop up Ten Things off one counter and go put them away. Even most of my children's URGENT needs can wait that long to be met.
I get bored easily, and housework holds little intrinsic interest to me, so I force myself to do it, and I break it up so I can tolerate it. Ten Things. I can do Ten Things.
Sometimes, I race the dishes against the laundry. Ten dishes away. (Go change a diaper.) Ten towels folded. (Answer a math question.) Ten dishes. (Break up a fight.) Ten shirts. (Get a drink for a Small, Thirsty Human.)
Then suddenly, there are only a few left, and I quickly finish them.
The amazing thing is, those first 10 are the worst. After I've done 10, I often go ahead and do another 20.
If it's a night when snuggling children took priority over dishes, sometimes I walk through the kitchen at 2 am, en route to somewhere that's none of your business. On the way back, I think, "Ten Things. I can do Ten Things." I might do 10. I might do 100. Either way, it makes a difference.
Sometimes, after the children are in bed, I look around and see messes and unfinished projects all around, and I have no idea where to start. So I rotate through the spaces, doing Ten Things. After making a couple rounds of doing Ten Things, I realize that each space is no longer unconquerable, and I start conquering spaces.
I'm not claiming that it's an efficient way to do housework, but for me, with my fluttery-jibbety-flittery brain, it helps draw me into motion.
I can do Ten Things.
I'm also teaching my children this. When EVERYONE does Ten Things, it goes 10x faster. Ok, not really, but they are learning.
They can do Ten Things.
One thing at a time.
Oh, don't mind my rumbling,
I'm really not grumbling-
I love this circus and zoo.
But in case you wonder,
Take a moment and ponder
The stimulation that Mothers go through.
The noise
Of the boys
The wiggles
The giggles
The squirming all over my lap
The squabbles
The wobbles
The tossing
The bossing
The racket during my "nap"
There's the sound of yelling,
There's this poo that I'm smelling
The taste of this pre-sampled food (🤮)
There's the sight of the messes
The feel of wet kisses...
"How are you?" "Don't worry- I'm GOOD!"
But I beg, please don't judge
While I feast on some fudge,
And curl up, wrapped in a blanket.
A mom can be strong
For only so long,
'Til she expends her power to fake it.
She'll be right back, after these messages,
Knowing life's full of purpose and promises,
Based on speculation,
She'll survive the stimulation
She's just had a short bout of The Momses.
- a mom of Very Lively Children
After "one of those days"
Added, by same Mom of same Children, after a couple hours of sleep helped reset her perspective:
Thank you, God, for the wiggles and giggles and noise,
For the busy girl and each of the boys,
For the huge hugs and wet kisses,
Messy hands, dirty faces
And for hope, help, and all of the joys.
Back in the days when I was free
To roam the earth as I jolly well pleased,
I'd pick up the phone and I'd call back home
To hear the voice of my favorite Mom.
"Hi, Mom!" I'd nonchalantly say.
"Anything exciting happen today?"
"No, thank God!" was her heartfelt reply.
I truly, genuinely, could not understand why!
"How absurdly boring!" I said to me.
I struggled to grasp the reality
That "boring" is "normal" and "normal life" could
Actually, somehow, be honestly good!
"Adulthood is boring!" was my youthful conclusion.
I subconsciously vowed Adventure Inclusion
Would be part of my life- it was here to stay!
There's no reason to EVER have A Boring Day!
I sought New Hard Things, sometimes treacherously,
And loved living life very adventurously.
"Try something new every day!" was my motto;
Drive a new route, fly a plane, eat gelato...
I don't know what happened to that Adventure-Seeking-Me.
Perhaps the Adventure started seeking me!
"Never a dull moment!"- words I once cherished-
That's my life now; Boredom has perished!
(In my particular life, right now,
Life has completely filled up, somehow,
With a little girl and several boys,
There's ALWAYS adventure- and So Much Noise!)
As the hours turn to days and the days turn to years,
My perspective keeps changing, and so do my fears.
The days when the phone doesn't ring are the best.
No Extra Stuff-- I just want to rest!
As I crave the Unexciting Day,
I shake my head and hear myself say,
"My conclusion really can't be any other-
Like it or not- I'm becoming my mother!"
Boys.
I love being a Mom of Boys.
There is never a dull moment. Never.
One of the things that a Boy Mom faces is that she never knows what she will find when it is Room Cleaning Time.
One day, it was a Snot Wall. Seriously. Apparently, tissues make good drawing paper, because I also found a treasury of detailed Pen On Tissue art. But tissues for wiping noses? Absurd.
This past week, I cleaned out a collection of finger nail trimmings. Ew.
I put away a toy screwdriver 🪛. I was promptly told that this son NEEDS the screwdriver on his bedside shelf. Why? "To make holes in my pants." He went on to explain that he doesn't like wearing pants, and so if he makes holes in all of them, he won't have any left to wear, and therefore won't have to wear pants.
If you have noticed a gradual (or rapid) change in my hair color over the past decade, this may help you understand.
Momming Boys is not for the faint of heart.
It is, however, one of my favorite things ever.
Even (or maybe especially) when I find things like this clothespin/rubber band contraption on the ceiling fan:
I never have been fond of dull moments anyway.
"Tell us the story about when you ordered socks you thought were all the same, but they had different colored stripes!"
The boys were matching socks and making conversation.
It's a Very Boring Story, really, and their request pretty much tells everything there is to tell.
So instead of retelling the story they had already told, I said, "You want that one, or the one about when I ordered tiny shoes?"
They LAUGHED and said, "We like them both!"
I didn't actually tell it, because they remember better than I do, that in a Mom Moment of "I'll save some time and quick order these online," I failed to realize I was ordering infant sizes instead of youth.
It was a rough equivalent of some of the shortcuts I suggested on road trips, that I DON'T recommend you ask my mom or brother about.
In other words, it saved no time.
Instead of telling the story, I just told my boys, "You just like hearing about my mistakes!"
"Yes! We LOVE hearing about other people's mistakes!"
Me too.
I prefer to live the good, uneventful days (now I'm sounding like my mom!), but generally speaking, good days make really boring stories.
It somehow gives me courage to hear how others navigate unexpected, self-created obstacles.
There's something life-giving about someone being honest enough to own up to their own mistakes and make a good story out of it. My dad was like that. He could laugh at his own mistakes.
I want to pass that Life Skill on to my children.
Meanwhile, I'm off to other adventures, in which I hope to have a Really Good Day Worth Telling About!
