I never said I was a farm girl. I lived in the country for a while as a young kid, and I liked climbing trees and playing in the creek and doing the kind of things that some girls wouldn’t. But a farm girl I am not.
My husband, on the other hand, was born in a barn. Well, almost. He was actually raised, the majority of his life, on or near his family’s dairy farm. He worked in the barn and helped milk the cows and did the FFA thing-the whole nine yards. It wasn’t until we’d been married many years that I discovered by chance that his favorite animal is a cow. A cow? Seriously?
I decided I wouldn’t let that kind of information sneak up on me again. I figured if I was going to raise a couple of boys, I wanted to know up front what their tendencies were going to be, at least regarding the world of animals. So I started paying attention and doing my part to sway them to my way of thinking.
We’ve always had dogs, since the boys have been around. Our first dog was a give away and Randy never gave her much thought, other than to name her sweet “Lucille” after the show-stopping character in his favorite movie Cool Hand Luke. But after her untimely death and my near devastation, it was his idea to get our second pet, Bessie, a registered yellow Labrador retriever. (For some reason, being registered seemed to make her more desirable to my bovine loving hubby.)
We loved her to death, but her playful nature demanded that she be presented with a playmate. And that’s when we got Shelby, the slobbering, digging, a little on the healthy side Lab that was a bit more of a snowball than her sis.
When the boys came along, the dogs were all they knew. Oh, there was a cat or two that used to hang around the place. We’d feed them so they’d stay and chase off the mice, but I would certainly never call them pets. But of course kids are curious; they want to see and touch and hold everything that intrigues them, so they had to learn the hard way that cats have claws and hissing is what they do when you pull too hard on their tails.
I figured with incidents like this, (and subliminal messages about Mad Cow Disease piped through their bedrooms while they slept) it would be a definite that they’d take after their mom and be dog-lovers for life, forget those smelly ole fly-magnets that could kill you in an instant if they ever had the want to.
However, and to my dismay, I think my oldest son could be the first to prove me wrong. It never fails, on trips to Mamaw and Papaw’s, he is the first one to rush out to the barn and beg to be given a chore to help Uncle Billy with the milking. Whether he’s taste-testing the feed, or just crouching down to get a boy’s-eye-view of the automatic milkers, he seems right at home in the middle of all that smelly mess.
And he has no qualms about drinking the fresh milk right out of the tank. He’s not afraid to let the calves eat out of his hand, and when it’s time to go home, he loves to get up on the stool in the kitchen and watch that rich, milky cream turn to butter.
It’s strange how some things just seem to come ingrained in our children. Very seldom do we get to that milk barn, and it is definitely the only time we are near or around cattle, but Cooper is right at home, every time. Just like his dad.
Brisco’s still a bit small to be too excited about a huge ole heifer, so maybe there’s hope that he will be a dog lover like me. I don’t know, though. Seems to me “dog-boy” has a little less appeal than “cow-boy”. Maybe I’ll concede the loss and give in…just this once.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Why God made moms
I’ve always admired elementary school teachers. They perform some of the most important jobs on earth with some of the most unpredictable clients known to man.
At the beginning of the school year, their product is perfect in design; however, each design is uniquely different. All of their precious goods come from different factories and have their own unique packaging. They each have a pre-programmed performance mechanism that they as the teacher are responsible for shaping and developing into a top of the line commodity.
Some clients walk in the door groomed to the nines, already experts in the necessities of life, like tying their shoes and wiping their own bottoms. Others are more timid and unseasoned, a bit frightened by the many tasks and adventures that lie ahead in this place called “school”.
But some way, some how, these leaders, these shapers of our children’s minds accept the task as hand. They teach each child-different as they are-their letters, their numbers, their colors and their names. They teach them to count and to read, to sing and to play ball.
And in the midst of all this, they have time to ask thought provoking questions of our little wonders. Some questions to which we as adults may take for granted having always known the answers. And others that we just might have been afraid to ask.
So to all the creators and shapers of young minds who do their jobs for the children and because they love it, the answers to the following questions will come as no surprise. From someone who admires and respects the job they do, thanks for asking the questions.
“Why God Made Moms”
Answers given by 2nd grade school children
1. Why did God make mothers?
-She’s the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
-Mostly to clean the house.
-To help us out of there when we were getting born.
2. How did God make mothers?
-He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
-Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
-God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.
3. Of what ingredients are mothers made?
-God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
-They had to get their start from men’s bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.
4. Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom?
-We’re related.
-God knew she likes me a lot more than other people’s moms like me.
5. What kind of little girl was your mom?
-My Mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
-I don’t know because I wasn’t there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
-They say she used to be nice.
6. What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?
-His last name.
-She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
-Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?
7. Why did your mom marry your dad?
-My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my Mom eats a lot.
-She got too old to do anything else with him.
-My grandma says that Mom didn’t have her thinking cap on.
8. Who’s the boss at your house?
-Mom doesn’t want to be boss, but she has to because dad’s such a goof ball.
-Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
-I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.
9. What’s the difference between moms and dads?
-Moms work at work and work at home and dads just go to work at work.
-Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
-Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power ‘cause that’s who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend’s.
-Moms have magic; they make you feel better without medicine.
10. What does your mom do in her spare time?
-Mothers don’t do spare time.
-To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.
11. What would it take to make your mom perfect?
-On the inside she’s already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
-Diet. You know, her hair. I’d diet, maybe blue.
12. If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be?
-She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I’d get rid of that.
-I’d make my mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
-I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
At the beginning of the school year, their product is perfect in design; however, each design is uniquely different. All of their precious goods come from different factories and have their own unique packaging. They each have a pre-programmed performance mechanism that they as the teacher are responsible for shaping and developing into a top of the line commodity.
Some clients walk in the door groomed to the nines, already experts in the necessities of life, like tying their shoes and wiping their own bottoms. Others are more timid and unseasoned, a bit frightened by the many tasks and adventures that lie ahead in this place called “school”.
But some way, some how, these leaders, these shapers of our children’s minds accept the task as hand. They teach each child-different as they are-their letters, their numbers, their colors and their names. They teach them to count and to read, to sing and to play ball.
And in the midst of all this, they have time to ask thought provoking questions of our little wonders. Some questions to which we as adults may take for granted having always known the answers. And others that we just might have been afraid to ask.
So to all the creators and shapers of young minds who do their jobs for the children and because they love it, the answers to the following questions will come as no surprise. From someone who admires and respects the job they do, thanks for asking the questions.
“Why God Made Moms”
Answers given by 2nd grade school children
1. Why did God make mothers?
-She’s the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
-Mostly to clean the house.
-To help us out of there when we were getting born.
2. How did God make mothers?
-He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
-Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
-God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.
3. Of what ingredients are mothers made?
-God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
-They had to get their start from men’s bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.
4. Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom?
-We’re related.
-God knew she likes me a lot more than other people’s moms like me.
5. What kind of little girl was your mom?
-My Mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
-I don’t know because I wasn’t there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
-They say she used to be nice.
6. What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?
-His last name.
-She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
-Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?
7. Why did your mom marry your dad?
-My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my Mom eats a lot.
-She got too old to do anything else with him.
-My grandma says that Mom didn’t have her thinking cap on.
8. Who’s the boss at your house?
-Mom doesn’t want to be boss, but she has to because dad’s such a goof ball.
-Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
-I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.
9. What’s the difference between moms and dads?
-Moms work at work and work at home and dads just go to work at work.
-Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
-Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power ‘cause that’s who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend’s.
-Moms have magic; they make you feel better without medicine.
10. What does your mom do in her spare time?
-Mothers don’t do spare time.
-To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.
11. What would it take to make your mom perfect?
-On the inside she’s already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
-Diet. You know, her hair. I’d diet, maybe blue.
12. If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be?
-She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I’d get rid of that.
-I’d make my mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
-I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
The age of the ring bearer
It seems we’ve entered the age of the ring bearer: the time in a young boy’s life when he first becomes uniquely qualified to hold an important and public position. You know, a little person, able to walk, and with a strong inclination toward causing a scene. That’s us in a nutshell.
Our first official hire was last September, when Randy’s cousin got married in Ft. Worth. Cooper’s services had been requested.
We agreed we’d try, without making any promises, and in the weeks prior to the wedding, we talked about his responsibilities as much as possible. After all, there’s only so much preparation a (then) two year old can do for an occasion that he really has no chance of comprehending. But we did our best, told him that good behavior would probably get him a fast race car or a big truck, and hoped and prayed that was all the boy needed to be on his best behavior.
We decided to make the experience an adventure just for mother and son, so we packed our suitcases, stocked the car with goodies for the drive, and headed south to see what kind of damage we might do at this formal, country-club affair.
We left Friday morning plenty early to make it to our destination on time. I allowed for all the necessary stretch breaks and diaper breaks, and packed dozens of DVD’s for the drive. I figured we would make the most of the 5 hour expedition, enjoy our one-on-one time together, and report for duty with time to spare. But of course I’d never been on a long road trip alone with a kid before.
We cruised for an hour or so, taking full advantage of the ranch style Chex Mix and peanut butter crackers. Little Einstein was flying along beside us on the DVD, and I thought to myself, “Wow, this is going to be easy.” But it seems I broke Cardinal Rule Number One in the karmic book of Mommy Kismet because just as I was settling in and thinking about the possibility of a quick shopping spree at the outlet mall, Cooper started crying for no apparent reason. This is pretty atypical behavior for him, especially in the car, but it only took a few seconds for me to discover what it was that had him so upset. Just as we were cruising past the town of Moore, he “coughed” all over the back seat.
As luck would have it, bad luck I mean, we were driving through one of those black holes on the interstate where there is absolutely no place to exit. I couldn’t safely slow down to the shoulder, so we had no other option but to keep on driving. After four or five heaves, about a thousand, “Oh, honey, I’m sorry’s”, and a backseat full of undigested, fully fragrant travel snacks, we finally made it to a pungent little taco shack where we changed clothes, cleaned up, and tried to figure out what to do next.
Fortunately, his stomach settled, we eliminated some of our more tangy treats, and the rest of our trip was painless. At that point, I figured performing in a wedding would be a breeze. And for the most part, it was.
The moment arrived for the kids to do their thing. Cooper was a little unsure about walking down the aisle with all those eyes upon him. After all, he is his father’s son. But he’d been promised that at the end of that “hall” was a very fast race car waiting in his cousin Brant’s suit pocket. All he had to do was get there.
And get there he did. Chin ducked, eyes peering out the top of his forehead, carrying his pillow and looking handsome all the way. And when he made it to the front, he sunk his hand into Brant’s pocket, laid down on the floor in front of the groomsmen, and drove the wheels off of that speedster.
Since then, we’ve been asked for an encore appearance and a third performance after that, each with their own unique, Cooper-style and Brisco-flavor. Of course I’m a nervous wreck every time. “Wedding crasher” is certainly not a reputation I wish for either of my sons to acquire.
But I guess these brides and grooms know what they are getting into. Or maybe they don’t-the most recent wedding we attended this summer had Cooper and Brisco standing at the front of a church full of lit candles wrapped in tulle.
Of course they kept things interesting, and entertain the crowd, and years from now, they can look back at the pictures and wonder what in the world they were doing in a tie. But that’s the age of the ring bearer: a moment in time when cuteness counts, being a cut-up is ok, and as long as they don’t burn the church down or tear the wedding dress off the bride, the whole thing is considered a success. Well, pretty much.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Our first official hire was last September, when Randy’s cousin got married in Ft. Worth. Cooper’s services had been requested.
We agreed we’d try, without making any promises, and in the weeks prior to the wedding, we talked about his responsibilities as much as possible. After all, there’s only so much preparation a (then) two year old can do for an occasion that he really has no chance of comprehending. But we did our best, told him that good behavior would probably get him a fast race car or a big truck, and hoped and prayed that was all the boy needed to be on his best behavior.
We decided to make the experience an adventure just for mother and son, so we packed our suitcases, stocked the car with goodies for the drive, and headed south to see what kind of damage we might do at this formal, country-club affair.
We left Friday morning plenty early to make it to our destination on time. I allowed for all the necessary stretch breaks and diaper breaks, and packed dozens of DVD’s for the drive. I figured we would make the most of the 5 hour expedition, enjoy our one-on-one time together, and report for duty with time to spare. But of course I’d never been on a long road trip alone with a kid before.
We cruised for an hour or so, taking full advantage of the ranch style Chex Mix and peanut butter crackers. Little Einstein was flying along beside us on the DVD, and I thought to myself, “Wow, this is going to be easy.” But it seems I broke Cardinal Rule Number One in the karmic book of Mommy Kismet because just as I was settling in and thinking about the possibility of a quick shopping spree at the outlet mall, Cooper started crying for no apparent reason. This is pretty atypical behavior for him, especially in the car, but it only took a few seconds for me to discover what it was that had him so upset. Just as we were cruising past the town of Moore, he “coughed” all over the back seat.
As luck would have it, bad luck I mean, we were driving through one of those black holes on the interstate where there is absolutely no place to exit. I couldn’t safely slow down to the shoulder, so we had no other option but to keep on driving. After four or five heaves, about a thousand, “Oh, honey, I’m sorry’s”, and a backseat full of undigested, fully fragrant travel snacks, we finally made it to a pungent little taco shack where we changed clothes, cleaned up, and tried to figure out what to do next.
Fortunately, his stomach settled, we eliminated some of our more tangy treats, and the rest of our trip was painless. At that point, I figured performing in a wedding would be a breeze. And for the most part, it was.
The moment arrived for the kids to do their thing. Cooper was a little unsure about walking down the aisle with all those eyes upon him. After all, he is his father’s son. But he’d been promised that at the end of that “hall” was a very fast race car waiting in his cousin Brant’s suit pocket. All he had to do was get there.
And get there he did. Chin ducked, eyes peering out the top of his forehead, carrying his pillow and looking handsome all the way. And when he made it to the front, he sunk his hand into Brant’s pocket, laid down on the floor in front of the groomsmen, and drove the wheels off of that speedster.
Since then, we’ve been asked for an encore appearance and a third performance after that, each with their own unique, Cooper-style and Brisco-flavor. Of course I’m a nervous wreck every time. “Wedding crasher” is certainly not a reputation I wish for either of my sons to acquire.
But I guess these brides and grooms know what they are getting into. Or maybe they don’t-the most recent wedding we attended this summer had Cooper and Brisco standing at the front of a church full of lit candles wrapped in tulle.
Of course they kept things interesting, and entertain the crowd, and years from now, they can look back at the pictures and wonder what in the world they were doing in a tie. But that’s the age of the ring bearer: a moment in time when cuteness counts, being a cut-up is ok, and as long as they don’t burn the church down or tear the wedding dress off the bride, the whole thing is considered a success. Well, pretty much.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Communication made simple
Living in a house with two little kids, there’s no mincing words. Toddlers “don’t do” tact, and their vocabulary is quite limited, so there’s really no other option but for them to communicate simply and call things as they see them. Cooper is a prime example.
When he decided he wanted to learn to count, he was off and running. But when I introduced him to written numbers, he stumbled a little when he got past 10. See, to him, the number 1 is “one”. So shouldn’t that mean number 11 is “one dee one”? And likewise, shouldn’t 12 be “one dee two”, and so on? The boy simply wanted to say it as he saw it.
That really got me thinking: How much simpler would life be if we could all communicate so easily and to the point? With only a little “dee” or a “a la” stuck in here and there, is it possible that we really could all just get along?
Like those annoying little habits our spouses pick up over the years. We let them slip by in the beginning because we love them and all of life is a honeymoon, but eventually time passes and the new wears off, and all those cute little quirks they had in the beginning simply become intolerable. It seems to me a furrowed brow and a quick “no nose-dee-picking in public” should be enough to get the point across. Or a one time clothes pin to the nostrils and a little “toot a la shoo shoo” done once in the company of others—maybe that would leave an impression? Wouldn’t life be sweet if we could just communicate like our kids?
Brisco has almost mastered this concept. His latest is to let me know that “Daddy’s spankings are harder” than the ones I seem to administer. Of course he usually informs me of this with tears streaming down his face after a couple of swats given by his weakling of a mother.
Sometimes his communication is so simple that it borders on the insane. For example, if I ask him why he took a crayon and scribbled all over Grandmother’s kitchen table, his response might be, “Because I did.” Or if I ask why he likes to curl up his nose and talk like a duck with his bill stapled shut, he might say, “Because I do.” I can’t wait till he uses that kind of reasoning on an English teacher someday.
Cooper, on the other hand, is always inventing new and ingenious ways to say the simple. It is usually entertaining and quite satisfying to hear such uncomplicated, direct descriptions of things we use everyday. For example, his favorite tool is a “tap tap” that he uses for (what else) tapping nails into place. He likes the “twister” for working on screws, and what other than a “shooter” would be used for bundling all those stacks of newspapers.
I’ve been told by my boys that I’m mean, that I’m silly, and that their daddy is stinky. Well, they are right on all counts. And none of their straightforward comments were intended to do anything but convey simple thoughts, directly and precisely. I’m glad I’m taking notes.
In a world full of commercial disclaimers, fine print, and political repartee, it’s refreshing to know we can still sit down with those we love and have an honest exchange about the important things in life. Like why mommy “keeps making the squash when she knows I don’t like it”, or discussing the universal experience of “when there are boogers in my nose, I have to get them out.”
It’s nice to know someone is shooting straight with me when they call a pimple an “owie”, or say that my legs feel “stickery”, or that I need to “clean up this dirty kitchen”. It’s painfully necessary to hear the cold hard truth after I lose my patience and raise my voice, and see the honest looks on their faces that tell me a chapter full of stories I’d rather not hear.
Yes, children will call it like they see it, say it like they mean it, and leave no room for misinterpretation. What a blessing it is to have children in our lives to remind us that communication really is that simple.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
When he decided he wanted to learn to count, he was off and running. But when I introduced him to written numbers, he stumbled a little when he got past 10. See, to him, the number 1 is “one”. So shouldn’t that mean number 11 is “one dee one”? And likewise, shouldn’t 12 be “one dee two”, and so on? The boy simply wanted to say it as he saw it.
That really got me thinking: How much simpler would life be if we could all communicate so easily and to the point? With only a little “dee” or a “a la” stuck in here and there, is it possible that we really could all just get along?
Like those annoying little habits our spouses pick up over the years. We let them slip by in the beginning because we love them and all of life is a honeymoon, but eventually time passes and the new wears off, and all those cute little quirks they had in the beginning simply become intolerable. It seems to me a furrowed brow and a quick “no nose-dee-picking in public” should be enough to get the point across. Or a one time clothes pin to the nostrils and a little “toot a la shoo shoo” done once in the company of others—maybe that would leave an impression? Wouldn’t life be sweet if we could just communicate like our kids?
Brisco has almost mastered this concept. His latest is to let me know that “Daddy’s spankings are harder” than the ones I seem to administer. Of course he usually informs me of this with tears streaming down his face after a couple of swats given by his weakling of a mother.
Sometimes his communication is so simple that it borders on the insane. For example, if I ask him why he took a crayon and scribbled all over Grandmother’s kitchen table, his response might be, “Because I did.” Or if I ask why he likes to curl up his nose and talk like a duck with his bill stapled shut, he might say, “Because I do.” I can’t wait till he uses that kind of reasoning on an English teacher someday.
Cooper, on the other hand, is always inventing new and ingenious ways to say the simple. It is usually entertaining and quite satisfying to hear such uncomplicated, direct descriptions of things we use everyday. For example, his favorite tool is a “tap tap” that he uses for (what else) tapping nails into place. He likes the “twister” for working on screws, and what other than a “shooter” would be used for bundling all those stacks of newspapers.
I’ve been told by my boys that I’m mean, that I’m silly, and that their daddy is stinky. Well, they are right on all counts. And none of their straightforward comments were intended to do anything but convey simple thoughts, directly and precisely. I’m glad I’m taking notes.
In a world full of commercial disclaimers, fine print, and political repartee, it’s refreshing to know we can still sit down with those we love and have an honest exchange about the important things in life. Like why mommy “keeps making the squash when she knows I don’t like it”, or discussing the universal experience of “when there are boogers in my nose, I have to get them out.”
It’s nice to know someone is shooting straight with me when they call a pimple an “owie”, or say that my legs feel “stickery”, or that I need to “clean up this dirty kitchen”. It’s painfully necessary to hear the cold hard truth after I lose my patience and raise my voice, and see the honest looks on their faces that tell me a chapter full of stories I’d rather not hear.
Yes, children will call it like they see it, say it like they mean it, and leave no room for misinterpretation. What a blessing it is to have children in our lives to remind us that communication really is that simple.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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