I admit, I'm not the originator of the idea I used last night but it worked out pretty well. Jane first told me about it from a story in her New Era (LDS magazine aimed towards teens).
First we sat everyone down, had a song, picked by Greg.
We pretty much sing "I am a Child of God" at the beginning of every family home evening and last night was no different. Then we had a prayer.
And then starting with Jane I asked if we were making Brownies, what would be put in them? Well ingredients started flying...
Chocolate
Eggs
Flour
Gummy worms...
?
Yes, Greg had to suggest gummy worms, the secret ingredient to every brownie recipe. Of course David had to then suggest gummy bears, the second best ingredient to a great brownie recipe.
Now I briefly asked Kent before hand to think out of the box, he had no idea what I was going to do. But he caught on and suggested hot peppers. The twins were both repelled and intrigued by the thought of hot peppers in brownies.
We then had a lively discussion on what it takes to make a successful pan of brownies, the key component being a
*list of things that have nothing to do baking* until we reached recipes.
Then we had a comparison to real life and suggestions on what exists here on earth that is a recipe for life. This was a little like pulling teeth but we finally were able to pull out "scriptures, Latter day Prophet, church leaders, prayer" and we talked about how God has given us these things so we can know how to be happier, so our lives can be better.
Now the original story had the mom making the recipe as her family was telling her what to put in, but I'd hate to waste perfectly good food in the kitchen just to make a point. When I had to struggle so much last month to stretch my grocery money, I wasn't wasting anything but I do think the kids understood what I was saying and they had fun.
Of course the lesson was completed with perfect brownies for snack. You know, showing what happens when you follow the recipe.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Making Costco Work for You
It's easy to spend a whole lot of money at Costco. Costco is set up, so you will spend money. It is a business and business's exist to fill a need. Your need. Don't ever forget that.
I watched a documentary on Costco and they talked about where money is really made. They confirmed that very little profit is actually made on food. Of course if you're buying everything on your grocery list there, sheer quantity will drive your budget through the roof.. Plus there's fabulous produce, if you can eat it all and the extras, those things that make you squeal and impulse buy, the true source of profit for Costco. So here we go, this mother's tips on how to make shopping at Costco work for you.
1. Get to know your store, know the brands, know what you normally use, know what works in your family, be familiar with what's there. This helps you from being overwhelmed and having those, oh my gosh, I spent a couple hundred more then I meant to, moments.
2. Once you have a running list of what you use, brands you're familiar with, make sure you check out the coupons on every mailing. Then make a list of what you normally use that's on sale. Some of the rebates are instant, some require a coupon, but you have to write it all down so you can keep track.
Most of the coupons and rebates happen on a fairly regular basis, there are items you can always purchase on sale, if you check every flyer for sales. A lot of household products you may get on sale at least half the time or more. The savings really add up.
3. When you have your list, stick to it. Yes samples are fun, my husband loves them but samples are the way to fuel impulse buying. If you're running a strict budget, you cannot fall prey to impulse buys. So if you must sample, remember your grocery lists is your key to staying in budget.
4. No matter what the savings, it's not a savings if you have to throw most of something away. So tread lightly when buying perishables. I buy perishables I can freeze, sandwich meat, chicken breasts, wholly guacamole single snack sizes. I buy some produce but only stuff I know my family will eat before it goes bad. Also think of sizes, the apples are wonderful but it's not cost effective for me to buy a dozen huge apples when little apples from another store are most cost effective for my family.
You will make mistakes and stuff will get thrown out but learn. I only buy the huge spring mix of salad in the summer when my family will eat salad as a meal. Otherwise, it's just me and it's way to much.
5. If you have a neighbor, family or friend that you can split produce with, do so! It's a great way to alleviate the problem of stuff going bad.
6. If distance between the store and home isn't an issue, step away from impulse buy and take a few hours, or a few days if you can and see if there's money in your budget to buy it. I like to walk through the Christmas stuff half a dozen different times before deciding what to buy.
If distance is an issue, have a dollar figure in your head before hand so you already know what you can spend on extras, do a walk through the fun stuff, then do your regular shopping and then go back and look again. This helps take the impulse out of your buy and gives you a time to think if it's really something that's needed and/or if it's worth the cost with whatever budget constraints you may have..
My trip today, armed with my list of instant rebates of our normal needs plus my coupons and my overall list led to enough savings, the cashier gasped after scanning my coupons. With some preparation, anyone can have a good Costco trip.
I watched a documentary on Costco and they talked about where money is really made. They confirmed that very little profit is actually made on food. Of course if you're buying everything on your grocery list there, sheer quantity will drive your budget through the roof.. Plus there's fabulous produce, if you can eat it all and the extras, those things that make you squeal and impulse buy, the true source of profit for Costco. So here we go, this mother's tips on how to make shopping at Costco work for you.
1. Get to know your store, know the brands, know what you normally use, know what works in your family, be familiar with what's there. This helps you from being overwhelmed and having those, oh my gosh, I spent a couple hundred more then I meant to, moments.
2. Once you have a running list of what you use, brands you're familiar with, make sure you check out the coupons on every mailing. Then make a list of what you normally use that's on sale. Some of the rebates are instant, some require a coupon, but you have to write it all down so you can keep track.
Most of the coupons and rebates happen on a fairly regular basis, there are items you can always purchase on sale, if you check every flyer for sales. A lot of household products you may get on sale at least half the time or more. The savings really add up.
3. When you have your list, stick to it. Yes samples are fun, my husband loves them but samples are the way to fuel impulse buying. If you're running a strict budget, you cannot fall prey to impulse buys. So if you must sample, remember your grocery lists is your key to staying in budget.
4. No matter what the savings, it's not a savings if you have to throw most of something away. So tread lightly when buying perishables. I buy perishables I can freeze, sandwich meat, chicken breasts, wholly guacamole single snack sizes. I buy some produce but only stuff I know my family will eat before it goes bad. Also think of sizes, the apples are wonderful but it's not cost effective for me to buy a dozen huge apples when little apples from another store are most cost effective for my family.
You will make mistakes and stuff will get thrown out but learn. I only buy the huge spring mix of salad in the summer when my family will eat salad as a meal. Otherwise, it's just me and it's way to much.
5. If you have a neighbor, family or friend that you can split produce with, do so! It's a great way to alleviate the problem of stuff going bad.
6. If distance between the store and home isn't an issue, step away from impulse buy and take a few hours, or a few days if you can and see if there's money in your budget to buy it. I like to walk through the Christmas stuff half a dozen different times before deciding what to buy.
If distance is an issue, have a dollar figure in your head before hand so you already know what you can spend on extras, do a walk through the fun stuff, then do your regular shopping and then go back and look again. This helps take the impulse out of your buy and gives you a time to think if it's really something that's needed and/or if it's worth the cost with whatever budget constraints you may have..
My trip today, armed with my list of instant rebates of our normal needs plus my coupons and my overall list led to enough savings, the cashier gasped after scanning my coupons. With some preparation, anyone can have a good Costco trip.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Some Days are Uber Productive
Days you dig in and really accomplish something. Then there are days like today.
Oh I got a lot done. Piddly ante stuff that you can't even tell, unless I list it to you. There was running a few loads of laundry, hanging up Kent's shirts, folding towels and dishtowels, running to Walmart so I could spend my last little bit of money on groceries to finish the month, cleaning up the papers around my desk, filling out a check for Jane's fundraiser, activating my new credit card.
Wait.
Where is my new credit card? I saw it yesterday. Kent handed it to me. What have I done today?
In my mind, I tick through the list and in a light bulb moment I remember cleaning the papers off my desk and putting them in the kitchen garbage. In my head I'm pretty sure I wouldn't do something like that, but what I'm pretty sure I'd do and what actually happened are usually two instances that are at odds with each other.
Sure enough, after flipping through multiple layers of papers carefully set across the muck that was a days worth of kitchen garbage. Another item accomplished.
Then there was the paperwork I had to fill out. You see, I didn't sub last year. Alternating day kindergarten was not conducive to being available for subbing. I only had two bonifide free days a week and I made the choice to stay home. I didn't regret that choice, I kept myself from burning out and was emotionally there for my kindergartners on their off days.
What I didn't know was that the school district would toss my information and that the following year I'd have to start over. Of course I didn't know this until after I actually subbed this year and tried to get paid.
The school district only does hiring one day a week at 3:30pm, so off I went and promptly I figured out I was lacking one of the two required forms of ID. Actually it's pretty silly, they only accept things like a passport, drivers license, social security card. But that meant I needed to drive home and get another form of ID.
Just a little more time to whittle away day.
It all was finished and now I can say, yes, I will finally get that paycheck for the three whole days I've worked.
Then it was picking up the twins from school, getting some semblance of dinner ready, fielding requests from multiple friends....
"Can David play?"
"Can Ean come outside?"
"Could Kate spend the night on Friday?"
"Could I come over early to spend time with Jane?"
And all the responses.
"No, we're having dinner."
"Let me check if Jane is done with her homework, oh she is? Yes you can come over early."
"No, we're having dinner."
"Kate *whisper* Remember, you're already having a sleepover this weekend."
"Noooooo, WE ARE HAVING DINNER!"
You get the picture.
The end result, I feel tired, exhausted almost but not very accomplished. However all my children are accounted for, there's a bunch of junky little things I don't have to deal with and we've established that I do love my children.
Even if I wouldn't let them go outside with friends when I was putting dinner on the table.
Oh I got a lot done. Piddly ante stuff that you can't even tell, unless I list it to you. There was running a few loads of laundry, hanging up Kent's shirts, folding towels and dishtowels, running to Walmart so I could spend my last little bit of money on groceries to finish the month, cleaning up the papers around my desk, filling out a check for Jane's fundraiser, activating my new credit card.
Wait.
Where is my new credit card? I saw it yesterday. Kent handed it to me. What have I done today?
In my mind, I tick through the list and in a light bulb moment I remember cleaning the papers off my desk and putting them in the kitchen garbage. In my head I'm pretty sure I wouldn't do something like that, but what I'm pretty sure I'd do and what actually happened are usually two instances that are at odds with each other.
Sure enough, after flipping through multiple layers of papers carefully set across the muck that was a days worth of kitchen garbage. Another item accomplished.
Then there was the paperwork I had to fill out. You see, I didn't sub last year. Alternating day kindergarten was not conducive to being available for subbing. I only had two bonifide free days a week and I made the choice to stay home. I didn't regret that choice, I kept myself from burning out and was emotionally there for my kindergartners on their off days.
What I didn't know was that the school district would toss my information and that the following year I'd have to start over. Of course I didn't know this until after I actually subbed this year and tried to get paid.
The school district only does hiring one day a week at 3:30pm, so off I went and promptly I figured out I was lacking one of the two required forms of ID. Actually it's pretty silly, they only accept things like a passport, drivers license, social security card. But that meant I needed to drive home and get another form of ID.
Just a little more time to whittle away day.
It all was finished and now I can say, yes, I will finally get that paycheck for the three whole days I've worked.
Then it was picking up the twins from school, getting some semblance of dinner ready, fielding requests from multiple friends....
"Can David play?"
"Can Ean come outside?"
"Could Kate spend the night on Friday?"
"Could I come over early to spend time with Jane?"
And all the responses.
"No, we're having dinner."
"Let me check if Jane is done with her homework, oh she is? Yes you can come over early."
"No, we're having dinner."
"Kate *whisper* Remember, you're already having a sleepover this weekend."
"Noooooo, WE ARE HAVING DINNER!"
You get the picture.
The end result, I feel tired, exhausted almost but not very accomplished. However all my children are accounted for, there's a bunch of junky little things I don't have to deal with and we've established that I do love my children.
Even if I wouldn't let them go outside with friends when I was putting dinner on the table.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
My Grandmother's Cast Iron
I was discussing with my husband that we need some more cast iron in our kitchen. We currently have two frying pans, one huge and another a bit less huge.
This morning Kent was cleaning the storage room and he pulled up some cast iron that was just sitting on the shelf. One was a smaller frying pan, extremely useful and the other is more like a dutch, but the lid has a handle that mirrors the two quart cooking part. This unique two piece cast iron brought back a flood of memories because it use to belong to my grandmother.
I didn't really know my grandmother very well. She was a quiet woman, plagued with health problems that would eventually take her life. I only remember meeting her a few times as a child and by the time I moved to Utah, she was bed ridden and conversations were almost non existent, it was incredibly hard for her to speak.
At that time my grandfather was extremely loud, very opinionated and during visits he not only monopolized what was discussed but he was a bit of a bully if you said something he disagreed with. Over time I was able to develop a relationship with my grandfather and break into the extremely tough outer shell but it wasn't easy. He could be a complete butt.
I think the moment it clicked for us, was when I finally turned around and told him that I loved him but if he wasn't going to be nice, I was going to leave and I'd come back when he could be nice.
He turned and grinned at me and said it was about time that I stood up for myself. Now I really didn't appreciate that I had to endure months of verbal abuse before this and I had to physically stop myself from rolling my eyes at him but it did open a door for a relationship.
He wasn't ever as bad after that, although he still relished being a pain in the arse.
Announcing my engagement, he was thrilled, so pleased with my fiance, thrilled to have a relationship with me and as a result he put more thought into a wedding present then I had ever seen him do for anyone. My grandmother's silver was in a dilapidated wood box, just falling to pieces. He found someone to rebuild and refinish that box.
It was beautiful.
It's not a complete set of silver. There are pieces missing but the thought and effort that he put into this gift meant the world to me. He also gave me my grandmother's cast iron. My mom and her sister RoseAnn told me about the memories of their mother cooking with that cast iron. RoseAnn explained that the reason the lid was cracked was because her mom used it as a frying pan, which of course it wasn't made for.
For almost eighteen years this cast iron has been stashed away. Every now and then, I would see it, smile and then continue on my way. Somehow it didn't feel right to use and I wondered if I would ruin the already compromised lid. It was enough for me to just have it. A piece of my mother's childhood, a few short years where I fought to build a relationship with a man that I wasn't sure wanted a relationship with me.
As I've spent the day, walking past the dust encrusted cast iron, I've realized that I was mistaken. So tomorrow, I will scrub it out, lightly season the inside and place it where I can use it, every day.
And then, when I pull it out and cook for my family, I can smile and remember the man that thought of me and proudly called me his granddaughter on my wedding day. I can remember the look of nostalgia as my aunt described her mother, my grandmother making dinner for their family.
Most important, I will tell my children. These memories won't mean anything if I don't pass them on. I can't let the meaning end with me.
This morning Kent was cleaning the storage room and he pulled up some cast iron that was just sitting on the shelf. One was a smaller frying pan, extremely useful and the other is more like a dutch, but the lid has a handle that mirrors the two quart cooking part. This unique two piece cast iron brought back a flood of memories because it use to belong to my grandmother.
I didn't really know my grandmother very well. She was a quiet woman, plagued with health problems that would eventually take her life. I only remember meeting her a few times as a child and by the time I moved to Utah, she was bed ridden and conversations were almost non existent, it was incredibly hard for her to speak.
At that time my grandfather was extremely loud, very opinionated and during visits he not only monopolized what was discussed but he was a bit of a bully if you said something he disagreed with. Over time I was able to develop a relationship with my grandfather and break into the extremely tough outer shell but it wasn't easy. He could be a complete butt.
I think the moment it clicked for us, was when I finally turned around and told him that I loved him but if he wasn't going to be nice, I was going to leave and I'd come back when he could be nice.
He turned and grinned at me and said it was about time that I stood up for myself. Now I really didn't appreciate that I had to endure months of verbal abuse before this and I had to physically stop myself from rolling my eyes at him but it did open a door for a relationship.
He wasn't ever as bad after that, although he still relished being a pain in the arse.
Announcing my engagement, he was thrilled, so pleased with my fiance, thrilled to have a relationship with me and as a result he put more thought into a wedding present then I had ever seen him do for anyone. My grandmother's silver was in a dilapidated wood box, just falling to pieces. He found someone to rebuild and refinish that box.
It was beautiful.
It's not a complete set of silver. There are pieces missing but the thought and effort that he put into this gift meant the world to me. He also gave me my grandmother's cast iron. My mom and her sister RoseAnn told me about the memories of their mother cooking with that cast iron. RoseAnn explained that the reason the lid was cracked was because her mom used it as a frying pan, which of course it wasn't made for.
For almost eighteen years this cast iron has been stashed away. Every now and then, I would see it, smile and then continue on my way. Somehow it didn't feel right to use and I wondered if I would ruin the already compromised lid. It was enough for me to just have it. A piece of my mother's childhood, a few short years where I fought to build a relationship with a man that I wasn't sure wanted a relationship with me.
As I've spent the day, walking past the dust encrusted cast iron, I've realized that I was mistaken. So tomorrow, I will scrub it out, lightly season the inside and place it where I can use it, every day.
And then, when I pull it out and cook for my family, I can smile and remember the man that thought of me and proudly called me his granddaughter on my wedding day. I can remember the look of nostalgia as my aunt described her mother, my grandmother making dinner for their family.
Most important, I will tell my children. These memories won't mean anything if I don't pass them on. I can't let the meaning end with me.
Twin Tales
I figure I should just devote some time to what life is like raising multiples. Some parents, with extremely active children can relate to the energy level of twins but really, the humor, twin humor cannot be duplicated by any singleton.
Some humor is found just in watching new twin parents, believe me, I've been there. I know I've said this before but we were so concerned about getting them mixed up that when David was brought home from the nicu, we had a permanent marker initial ceremony, carefully putting a "D" at the bottom of David's right foot and "G" at the bottom of Greg's right foot. Of course all older siblings were appropriately marked because it would be a shame to leave anyone out.
I had a permanent marker in a drawer where I had diaper stuff, so it was easy to remark each boy as needed. We both noticed during diaper changes that someone had a birth mark on his thigh but it took us a few months to actually internalize that Greg had the birthmark. We were just so busy and tired, boy were we tired!
Since my extremely high risk pregnancy had more ultrasounds then most people could imagine (twice a week for hours at a time for months), we saw twin relationships very early on. When I was diagnosed with the TTTS (twin to twin transfusion syndrome) David was stuck to one corner of my uterus, with no fluid and his sack shrink wrapped around him while Greg had the in utero version of an olympic size swimming pool. As we watched and worried about the boys, having learned the odds they had of making them and all the possible things that could have gone wrong, we watched Greg swimming around and then swooping down and laying next to his brother and just staying there for a few minutes.
I was 19 weeks along and I watched in amazement as this little boy, not even viable yet seemed to understand his brother was in trouble and tried to be there with him. It was amazing. He did over and over again.
Knowing personalities the humor in seeing David later on, after he had some fluid and could move a bit, kicking Greg when obviously Greg was infringing on his space. It was hysterical. Note that Dave still does the same thing now. Greg infringes on his space and he lashes out. We've managed after six years to stop the kicking.
I've shared before about the twins switching places. Everyone has heard stories about identicals switching places but usually these stories happen in grade school, high school, dates or what not. Oh no, my itty bitty almost completely non verbal three year olds switched places while getting off the bus at pre school. The really scary part was that Greg had a front tooth go bad and it had to be pulled, so we were using that missing tooth as a way to tell them apart.
Obviously we couldn't tell people to just pull down their pants to look for the birthmark on Greg's thigh.
Well, Greg had this big huge open mouth grin. When they switched places, Greg's teacher looked down at the little red headed boy and said "Hi Greg!" and Dave looked up and smiled a huge smile with his mouth closed tight. Instantly that wonderful teacher (Miss Pam) knew what they had done and that she had the wrong boy.
Hysterical! My then, non verbal boys spontaneously messing with their teachers. They had been going to school for a few months, so they knew what they were doing.
Then there's these little things. Like our Greg always tells the truth. He is the most genuine sweet little guy I've ever met, yet, YET when his twin is in trouble. I mean, we've caught his twin with his hand literally in the cookie jar, Greg will lie to protect his twin! Usually it's the poor older brother that gets blamed. We'll be saying, no no, we know David did (whatever the crime was) and Greg is yelling, "IT WAS EAN!"
Oh MY!
But if we're mad at our twin, all bets are off. We have siblings that fight. The girls have had yelling, screaming but even the girls have nothing on when the twins fight. They fight fierce. They fight dirty. They are flat out meaner to their twin then to anyone else in the world. And then they make up, hug and play trucks for hours. As long as no one does something really naughty. Then all bets are off.
I could go on forever but the beauty of writing a blog is the ability to write more later on. So I'll wrap this up with one small observation. I've heard comments from various people that babies don't have personalities and this is so not true. Anyone with twins in their lives knows that their personalities shine through, even before their born.
My kinded hearted twin swimming down to lay next to his brother is proof of that.
Some humor is found just in watching new twin parents, believe me, I've been there. I know I've said this before but we were so concerned about getting them mixed up that when David was brought home from the nicu, we had a permanent marker initial ceremony, carefully putting a "D" at the bottom of David's right foot and "G" at the bottom of Greg's right foot. Of course all older siblings were appropriately marked because it would be a shame to leave anyone out.
I had a permanent marker in a drawer where I had diaper stuff, so it was easy to remark each boy as needed. We both noticed during diaper changes that someone had a birth mark on his thigh but it took us a few months to actually internalize that Greg had the birthmark. We were just so busy and tired, boy were we tired!
Since my extremely high risk pregnancy had more ultrasounds then most people could imagine (twice a week for hours at a time for months), we saw twin relationships very early on. When I was diagnosed with the TTTS (twin to twin transfusion syndrome) David was stuck to one corner of my uterus, with no fluid and his sack shrink wrapped around him while Greg had the in utero version of an olympic size swimming pool. As we watched and worried about the boys, having learned the odds they had of making them and all the possible things that could have gone wrong, we watched Greg swimming around and then swooping down and laying next to his brother and just staying there for a few minutes.
I was 19 weeks along and I watched in amazement as this little boy, not even viable yet seemed to understand his brother was in trouble and tried to be there with him. It was amazing. He did over and over again.
Knowing personalities the humor in seeing David later on, after he had some fluid and could move a bit, kicking Greg when obviously Greg was infringing on his space. It was hysterical. Note that Dave still does the same thing now. Greg infringes on his space and he lashes out. We've managed after six years to stop the kicking.
I've shared before about the twins switching places. Everyone has heard stories about identicals switching places but usually these stories happen in grade school, high school, dates or what not. Oh no, my itty bitty almost completely non verbal three year olds switched places while getting off the bus at pre school. The really scary part was that Greg had a front tooth go bad and it had to be pulled, so we were using that missing tooth as a way to tell them apart.
Obviously we couldn't tell people to just pull down their pants to look for the birthmark on Greg's thigh.
Well, Greg had this big huge open mouth grin. When they switched places, Greg's teacher looked down at the little red headed boy and said "Hi Greg!" and Dave looked up and smiled a huge smile with his mouth closed tight. Instantly that wonderful teacher (Miss Pam) knew what they had done and that she had the wrong boy.
Hysterical! My then, non verbal boys spontaneously messing with their teachers. They had been going to school for a few months, so they knew what they were doing.
Then there's these little things. Like our Greg always tells the truth. He is the most genuine sweet little guy I've ever met, yet, YET when his twin is in trouble. I mean, we've caught his twin with his hand literally in the cookie jar, Greg will lie to protect his twin! Usually it's the poor older brother that gets blamed. We'll be saying, no no, we know David did (whatever the crime was) and Greg is yelling, "IT WAS EAN!"
Oh MY!
But if we're mad at our twin, all bets are off. We have siblings that fight. The girls have had yelling, screaming but even the girls have nothing on when the twins fight. They fight fierce. They fight dirty. They are flat out meaner to their twin then to anyone else in the world. And then they make up, hug and play trucks for hours. As long as no one does something really naughty. Then all bets are off.
I could go on forever but the beauty of writing a blog is the ability to write more later on. So I'll wrap this up with one small observation. I've heard comments from various people that babies don't have personalities and this is so not true. Anyone with twins in their lives knows that their personalities shine through, even before their born.
My kinded hearted twin swimming down to lay next to his brother is proof of that.
Friday, October 19, 2012
The Farm
Lest anyone thinks my childhood only consisted of "character building" experiences (translation for my kids, life sucked), allow me to share some of my most precious memories.
Let me tell you about my grandparent's acreage in Arlington Vermont. This piece of land was valuable, something that didn't matter to me as a kid, but as an adult, I can appreciate the uniqueness of this property.
Vermont as a state prides itself on it's rural feel. Vermont laws are crafted to allow the state to keep it's rural atmosphere, including laws against the use of bill boards, laws against super sized businesses that protect mom and pop stores and a specific law that doesn't allow buildings to be built above a certain elevation. My grandparents farm was above this magical line, built before the law was put into place and making the property extremely rare.
It exists up at the end of a dirt road, with a narrow driveway on a steep grade snaking up to multiple out buildings and the New England style farm house with a wrap around front porch.
It wasn't a real farm, the house isn't insulated for winters, it's really just a summer home with a distinct metal sign, showing a silhouette of a man, wearing a distinctive Swiss type hat climbing a peak and the words "Swiss Farm".
As children we affectionately called my grandparents summer home "the farm".
The farm had everything a child could want. There was a brook, tons of buildings, fields, a pond complete with frogs, salamanders and a diving board for anyone brave enough to jump in the freezing water. The pond was fed by a freshwater spring guaranteeing frozen toes and ankles on the hottest of summer days. Throw in apple trees to climb in the fall, rhubarb to pick, and antiques inside the house that I use to spend hours exploring.
The whole experience was treasured. We often drove through rural Vermont, passing horses and cemeteries, old fashion stores, churches and a beautiful covered bridge that allowed only one vehicle at a time to cross.
Out of all the cousins, we lived the closest, allowing us to visit the farm before even my grandparents were back from Florida. The house wasn't open but we'd bring a picnic lunch and go swimming. After my grandparents arrived and open up the house, almost every Saturday allowed a visit up. My grandfather listened to whatever you had to say, even when he disagreed. My grandmother would ask my opinion of her sketches, destined to become one of her needlepoints, weighing my opinion as if I was an equal.
Of course the real fun happened when the cousins came to visit. We played for hours together. There was endless talk with the adults, grilled foods, lots of soda, my grandmother fussing about everyone, trying to make sure everyone was happy.
I think of the farm, I picture my grandfather watching golf on his television, that had to be carefully tuned in on the rotating antenna. I see my grandmother's lightning fast fingers working their magic on her self made design, making memories with yarn and stitches. Some of her classics included characters of her and grandpa. I remember climbing the apple tree, filling paper bags with tart apples to be brought home.
I remember the furniture, the old spinning wheel fascinated me. Latch hook rugs my grandmother had made. Every corner of the house held bits of my grandparents from the antique books, crafted works of art of my grandmother placed on walls, floors, couches and beds, to the political magazines and plaques gifted to grandfather from foreign dignitaries.
I miss the farm. I'm in Idaho and my dad's sister and husband own it now. Sometimes I do feel sad that my children will never appreciate that special place that was such a big part of my childhood. Usually though, when I think of the farm, I smile.
It was the embodiment of childhood living on mostly in my dreams and memories. Well and on my wall. On the trip back to Vermont for my dad's funeral my husband took pictures, printed and framed them for Christmas that year.
I bawled when I opened the package and they are in my front room. Whenever I sit and just think, I look over and remember.
Let me tell you about my grandparent's acreage in Arlington Vermont. This piece of land was valuable, something that didn't matter to me as a kid, but as an adult, I can appreciate the uniqueness of this property.
Vermont as a state prides itself on it's rural feel. Vermont laws are crafted to allow the state to keep it's rural atmosphere, including laws against the use of bill boards, laws against super sized businesses that protect mom and pop stores and a specific law that doesn't allow buildings to be built above a certain elevation. My grandparents farm was above this magical line, built before the law was put into place and making the property extremely rare.
It exists up at the end of a dirt road, with a narrow driveway on a steep grade snaking up to multiple out buildings and the New England style farm house with a wrap around front porch.
It wasn't a real farm, the house isn't insulated for winters, it's really just a summer home with a distinct metal sign, showing a silhouette of a man, wearing a distinctive Swiss type hat climbing a peak and the words "Swiss Farm".
As children we affectionately called my grandparents summer home "the farm".
The farm had everything a child could want. There was a brook, tons of buildings, fields, a pond complete with frogs, salamanders and a diving board for anyone brave enough to jump in the freezing water. The pond was fed by a freshwater spring guaranteeing frozen toes and ankles on the hottest of summer days. Throw in apple trees to climb in the fall, rhubarb to pick, and antiques inside the house that I use to spend hours exploring.
The whole experience was treasured. We often drove through rural Vermont, passing horses and cemeteries, old fashion stores, churches and a beautiful covered bridge that allowed only one vehicle at a time to cross.
Out of all the cousins, we lived the closest, allowing us to visit the farm before even my grandparents were back from Florida. The house wasn't open but we'd bring a picnic lunch and go swimming. After my grandparents arrived and open up the house, almost every Saturday allowed a visit up. My grandfather listened to whatever you had to say, even when he disagreed. My grandmother would ask my opinion of her sketches, destined to become one of her needlepoints, weighing my opinion as if I was an equal.
Of course the real fun happened when the cousins came to visit. We played for hours together. There was endless talk with the adults, grilled foods, lots of soda, my grandmother fussing about everyone, trying to make sure everyone was happy.
I think of the farm, I picture my grandfather watching golf on his television, that had to be carefully tuned in on the rotating antenna. I see my grandmother's lightning fast fingers working their magic on her self made design, making memories with yarn and stitches. Some of her classics included characters of her and grandpa. I remember climbing the apple tree, filling paper bags with tart apples to be brought home.
I remember the furniture, the old spinning wheel fascinated me. Latch hook rugs my grandmother had made. Every corner of the house held bits of my grandparents from the antique books, crafted works of art of my grandmother placed on walls, floors, couches and beds, to the political magazines and plaques gifted to grandfather from foreign dignitaries.
I miss the farm. I'm in Idaho and my dad's sister and husband own it now. Sometimes I do feel sad that my children will never appreciate that special place that was such a big part of my childhood. Usually though, when I think of the farm, I smile.
It was the embodiment of childhood living on mostly in my dreams and memories. Well and on my wall. On the trip back to Vermont for my dad's funeral my husband took pictures, printed and framed them for Christmas that year.
I bawled when I opened the package and they are in my front room. Whenever I sit and just think, I look over and remember.
Some of My Worst Mistakes
Since I've been open and frank about other people, it seems only fair that I be open and frank about myself. There are some things that I just never talk about and haven't talked about for years.
Twenty four years to be exact.
I'm going to talk about my exchange. You see when I was a teenager, about 16, I was taking French and decided that I wanted to go to France during the school's three week exchange program that would take place the next year. My grandfather thought it was nonsense.
He never did anything halfway and thought I should go for a year long exchange and he conveniently was chairing the board of directors for an exchange program. I went ahead and applied, going through the process without any extra help from my inside contact. I was accepted to go to Brazil.
I was thrilled, my grandfather wasn't.
So he took matters into his own hands and changed my country to Sweden. I was surprised and a little put out but Sweden it was.
During the interview process, I made a big point of saying how important my faith is, and in retrospect, this was a mistake. An LDS family decided that they should have me when they really shouldn't have ever taken an exchange student, you see, they didn't like Americans. They thought that since I was also LDS, and we shared that, we would have some kind of instant bond.
When I traveled to Sweden, both for my exchange and for mission I suffered extreme jet lag. Mind bending jet lag that left me awake at four in the morning and falling asleep in the middle of the day. My host family was on vacation up north, side note, I got to ride my bike over the border and spent about five minutes in Finland.
I was jet lagged, often falling asleep and I guess because I wasn't ooohing and aaaaahing while jumping up and down (I was tired) my host parents decided that I wasn't really interested in Swedish.
Languages are also a challenge for me. I didn't realize this when I was a teenager, but I have a bit of my mom's learning disability. For me, it comes out in the form of memorization. I have an extremely difficult time memorizing, so of course, words, grammar rules, it takes an insane amount of repetition for me to recall pretty much anything.
This didn't effect me in school as much as it did my mom and does my girls now, for whatever reason, possibly a combination of not having the comprehension problems they have and really good critical thinking skills but regardless, when I was given words, I had a terrible time recalling them. My host parents decided I was not only uninterested in Sweden but I was also lazy.
Nice.
Their experience with Americans learning languages was strictly with LDS missionaries. There are several differences between serving a mission and going to high school. The very first difference is that when you're a missionary, you get spiritual help in speaking a foreign language. Some might call this nonsense but having been a missionary, I can say from my own experience that this is true, I have received spiritual help, finding words I didn't know and a fluency I hadn't yet learned when I needed to share my love and understanding of my Savior, Jesus Christ.
It's a very different experience going to the Swedish equivalent of high school with teenagers that mostly wanted to share their knowledge of American profanity.
Not to mention English was "cool" and Swedish was "boring" to quote every teenage Swede I've ever talked with. It was difficult to learn a language with peers that had no desire to speak to me in that language.
I tried to fit in. I pretended to understand and here lies the great and terrible mistake that labeled me for the remaining ten months I was in that house. I'm pretty embarrassed actually. Even after all these years.
We were eating dinner and had company over, a mother and her teenage daughter. They were super nice and I really liked them. I couldn't understand anything, all the talking was so incredibly fast. Trying to fit in, I picked points in the conversation and pretended that I understood and laughed.
What's so bad about that? I didn't find out until I was asked to leave that home after the end of a very tense school year with horrible, awful misunderstandings that happened over and over again. It all started with that laugh during dinner.
I have an ability, a gift if you will. Its often revealed to me during conversations some specific insights to the situation. About one month before I was suppose to go home, one of my host siblings has a sports event in Stockholm. I was under the impression that we were all going and was extremely disappointed when I woke up and realized most of the family had left without me. Only my host mother was home and she invited me for a walk together.
So I went with her. During that walk, she basically beat me down, listing all my awful faults and what a horrible person I was. Specifically she told me that I was lazy, not learning Swedish like I should, I was unkind, oh the list went on. Then she told me the only two good things she saw in me was that I went to church every Sunday. She let me know that they believed that because I was American, I wouldn't be as faithful. The second thing was that I had such a good relationship with my father, which was a hysterical observation because while my exchange opened the door for the start of a wonderful relationship with my dad, that relationship wasn't in place during my exchange.
She also asked me what I would think if someone laughed during a story where a child was viciously bit by a dog, what kind of person would do that. My gift at work, I instantly understood, with that dinner party pictured in my mind, in my efforts to fit in, I had done just the opposite. *I* was the one that had laughed during a story told by the wonderful lady visiting that evening about an awful childhood injury.
I had no idea that I had set the gears in motion for not trusting me the rest of the time I was in their home. I had no idea I had hurt someone that I admired. That they thought I was cruel, odd, weird and who knows what else.
So why am I sharing now? I'd like to think that I'm grown up enough to admit my mistakes, even if it is 24 years later. Don't feel bad for me though. Compassion and empathy are words that I've learned to embrace along with the life lesson of never trying to be more of anything then who I really am.
So if I give you a completely confused look, it's because I really am confused. I'm pretty sure if you've met me in real life, you've seen it.
Twenty four years to be exact.
I'm going to talk about my exchange. You see when I was a teenager, about 16, I was taking French and decided that I wanted to go to France during the school's three week exchange program that would take place the next year. My grandfather thought it was nonsense.
He never did anything halfway and thought I should go for a year long exchange and he conveniently was chairing the board of directors for an exchange program. I went ahead and applied, going through the process without any extra help from my inside contact. I was accepted to go to Brazil.
I was thrilled, my grandfather wasn't.
So he took matters into his own hands and changed my country to Sweden. I was surprised and a little put out but Sweden it was.
During the interview process, I made a big point of saying how important my faith is, and in retrospect, this was a mistake. An LDS family decided that they should have me when they really shouldn't have ever taken an exchange student, you see, they didn't like Americans. They thought that since I was also LDS, and we shared that, we would have some kind of instant bond.
When I traveled to Sweden, both for my exchange and for mission I suffered extreme jet lag. Mind bending jet lag that left me awake at four in the morning and falling asleep in the middle of the day. My host family was on vacation up north, side note, I got to ride my bike over the border and spent about five minutes in Finland.
I was jet lagged, often falling asleep and I guess because I wasn't ooohing and aaaaahing while jumping up and down (I was tired) my host parents decided that I wasn't really interested in Swedish.
Languages are also a challenge for me. I didn't realize this when I was a teenager, but I have a bit of my mom's learning disability. For me, it comes out in the form of memorization. I have an extremely difficult time memorizing, so of course, words, grammar rules, it takes an insane amount of repetition for me to recall pretty much anything.
This didn't effect me in school as much as it did my mom and does my girls now, for whatever reason, possibly a combination of not having the comprehension problems they have and really good critical thinking skills but regardless, when I was given words, I had a terrible time recalling them. My host parents decided I was not only uninterested in Sweden but I was also lazy.
Nice.
Their experience with Americans learning languages was strictly with LDS missionaries. There are several differences between serving a mission and going to high school. The very first difference is that when you're a missionary, you get spiritual help in speaking a foreign language. Some might call this nonsense but having been a missionary, I can say from my own experience that this is true, I have received spiritual help, finding words I didn't know and a fluency I hadn't yet learned when I needed to share my love and understanding of my Savior, Jesus Christ.
It's a very different experience going to the Swedish equivalent of high school with teenagers that mostly wanted to share their knowledge of American profanity.
Not to mention English was "cool" and Swedish was "boring" to quote every teenage Swede I've ever talked with. It was difficult to learn a language with peers that had no desire to speak to me in that language.
I tried to fit in. I pretended to understand and here lies the great and terrible mistake that labeled me for the remaining ten months I was in that house. I'm pretty embarrassed actually. Even after all these years.
We were eating dinner and had company over, a mother and her teenage daughter. They were super nice and I really liked them. I couldn't understand anything, all the talking was so incredibly fast. Trying to fit in, I picked points in the conversation and pretended that I understood and laughed.
What's so bad about that? I didn't find out until I was asked to leave that home after the end of a very tense school year with horrible, awful misunderstandings that happened over and over again. It all started with that laugh during dinner.
I have an ability, a gift if you will. Its often revealed to me during conversations some specific insights to the situation. About one month before I was suppose to go home, one of my host siblings has a sports event in Stockholm. I was under the impression that we were all going and was extremely disappointed when I woke up and realized most of the family had left without me. Only my host mother was home and she invited me for a walk together.
So I went with her. During that walk, she basically beat me down, listing all my awful faults and what a horrible person I was. Specifically she told me that I was lazy, not learning Swedish like I should, I was unkind, oh the list went on. Then she told me the only two good things she saw in me was that I went to church every Sunday. She let me know that they believed that because I was American, I wouldn't be as faithful. The second thing was that I had such a good relationship with my father, which was a hysterical observation because while my exchange opened the door for the start of a wonderful relationship with my dad, that relationship wasn't in place during my exchange.
She also asked me what I would think if someone laughed during a story where a child was viciously bit by a dog, what kind of person would do that. My gift at work, I instantly understood, with that dinner party pictured in my mind, in my efforts to fit in, I had done just the opposite. *I* was the one that had laughed during a story told by the wonderful lady visiting that evening about an awful childhood injury.
I had no idea that I had set the gears in motion for not trusting me the rest of the time I was in their home. I had no idea I had hurt someone that I admired. That they thought I was cruel, odd, weird and who knows what else.
So why am I sharing now? I'd like to think that I'm grown up enough to admit my mistakes, even if it is 24 years later. Don't feel bad for me though. Compassion and empathy are words that I've learned to embrace along with the life lesson of never trying to be more of anything then who I really am.
So if I give you a completely confused look, it's because I really am confused. I'm pretty sure if you've met me in real life, you've seen it.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
I Love a Little Irony
It's been about a month since I really talked about my dear middle boy's anger struggles so it's high time for an update.
He's really trying to do his part and making an active effort at school, which is such a relief for me as a mother. Two months into school and a good dozen, impromptu conferences after school concerning troubling behavior has really added to my stress. I'm talking, weepy, don't ask me how I'm doing or I'll completely have a meltdown in front of you, type of stress.
Of course meltdowns are out of frustration on how to help him, on what we can do differently and the plain fact that when our child is out of control, I feel like a complete failure as a mother. I know, that's not true. I know I've been there night and day for my children, but feelings are irrational and unable to reason.
Thankfully my husband is an incredible support and has had the opportunity to be right there during some of those meetings, to throw in his insight and ideas to give our son something to work for.
And thus the smiley system was invented.
We started out with an opportunity to earn a smiley each day with one smiley equaling an hour of computer time, which could be saved or used daily, the kid was completely in control. A week of smileys meant computer time on Sunday. Something to really work for.
It quickly became clear that even though the goal to behave for one day wasn't a huge goal, it was still to much. So we divided the day into halves, with the potential of earning two smileys a day. Each smile, which is just drawn on a post-it by his teacher, equals a half hour of computer time. He hasn't ever made it a whole week with ten smiles but he's overall doing so much better then the first of the year. Making an effort to not be mean to other people, is huge for him.
He's also working really hard in counseling to find ways to better cope with his anger.
So I decided it was time for a big reward.
Originally, I planned on a big reward after weeks of smiles with not a frown in sight but that clearly isn't reasonable for this kid. He is impulsive and his effort has to be recognized or he'll figure it just isn't worth while and not even try.
The book fair is this week, so I allowed him to pick a book. His prize for such an extreme effort. He really deserves it.
So my child. What does he choose as an award for keeping his anger in check? Why a book by National Geographic about bonifide angry birds, of course.
Like I said, I love a little irony.
He's really trying to do his part and making an active effort at school, which is such a relief for me as a mother. Two months into school and a good dozen, impromptu conferences after school concerning troubling behavior has really added to my stress. I'm talking, weepy, don't ask me how I'm doing or I'll completely have a meltdown in front of you, type of stress.
Of course meltdowns are out of frustration on how to help him, on what we can do differently and the plain fact that when our child is out of control, I feel like a complete failure as a mother. I know, that's not true. I know I've been there night and day for my children, but feelings are irrational and unable to reason.
Thankfully my husband is an incredible support and has had the opportunity to be right there during some of those meetings, to throw in his insight and ideas to give our son something to work for.
And thus the smiley system was invented.
We started out with an opportunity to earn a smiley each day with one smiley equaling an hour of computer time, which could be saved or used daily, the kid was completely in control. A week of smileys meant computer time on Sunday. Something to really work for.
It quickly became clear that even though the goal to behave for one day wasn't a huge goal, it was still to much. So we divided the day into halves, with the potential of earning two smileys a day. Each smile, which is just drawn on a post-it by his teacher, equals a half hour of computer time. He hasn't ever made it a whole week with ten smiles but he's overall doing so much better then the first of the year. Making an effort to not be mean to other people, is huge for him.
He's also working really hard in counseling to find ways to better cope with his anger.
So I decided it was time for a big reward.
Originally, I planned on a big reward after weeks of smiles with not a frown in sight but that clearly isn't reasonable for this kid. He is impulsive and his effort has to be recognized or he'll figure it just isn't worth while and not even try.
The book fair is this week, so I allowed him to pick a book. His prize for such an extreme effort. He really deserves it.
So my child. What does he choose as an award for keeping his anger in check? Why a book by National Geographic about bonifide angry birds, of course.
Like I said, I love a little irony.
The After School Program
I haven't ever had a child involved in the after school program but it was recommended that the twins go. Mostly for academics but it turns out there's a lot more.
The program happens full days of school (so no program on half days) Monday through Thursday until 5:00pm. The first hour or so is devoted to school work. It's a safe spot kids can do their homework and get help academically.
Greg is slowly falling behind in school and this seems like a good way to get him a little more help, plus there's the chaos at my house.
What?
Chaos?
You heard me. I'd like to invite anyone that's met my middle son, to try and imagine helping other kids with homework with him around. It is that bad. Plus, the girls need so much help with their school work. I have to be available to help and the twins often slip through the parenting cracks. I simply cannot be there for everyone after school when there's so many needs to be met.
Exactly why I never opted to homeschool my kiddos so many years ago when it became clear how many interventions they would be needing.
Now concerning Greg, we did discuss during a teacher/parent meeting that Greg has an IEP where he's being monitored by the resource room. It shouldn't be hard to get another meeting and place and change that already existing IEP. His teacher and I both agree that's not needed at this point, but I wanted her to be aware that if we need to, that's an option down the road.
So back to the after school program, yesterday was the twins first day. Apparently Greg cried for me, just wanting his mother. Even with his twin there, he had a hard time. I know it'll get better, he does adjust but out of all my kids, Greg is my mama's boy.
The teacher asked me if he struggled be away from me and I mentioned his nickname was "Velcro boy." So, er, yes! He has been known to be a little clingy.
Today will be better, now that he knows what to expect. Once he realizes how much fun he'll be having and the guys both have new friends, they'll love it. The older girls especially seem enamored with the six year old miniature red headed twins. So lots of new friends.
And a few admirers. *smile*
The program happens full days of school (so no program on half days) Monday through Thursday until 5:00pm. The first hour or so is devoted to school work. It's a safe spot kids can do their homework and get help academically.
Greg is slowly falling behind in school and this seems like a good way to get him a little more help, plus there's the chaos at my house.
What?
Chaos?
You heard me. I'd like to invite anyone that's met my middle son, to try and imagine helping other kids with homework with him around. It is that bad. Plus, the girls need so much help with their school work. I have to be available to help and the twins often slip through the parenting cracks. I simply cannot be there for everyone after school when there's so many needs to be met.
Exactly why I never opted to homeschool my kiddos so many years ago when it became clear how many interventions they would be needing.
Now concerning Greg, we did discuss during a teacher/parent meeting that Greg has an IEP where he's being monitored by the resource room. It shouldn't be hard to get another meeting and place and change that already existing IEP. His teacher and I both agree that's not needed at this point, but I wanted her to be aware that if we need to, that's an option down the road.
So back to the after school program, yesterday was the twins first day. Apparently Greg cried for me, just wanting his mother. Even with his twin there, he had a hard time. I know it'll get better, he does adjust but out of all my kids, Greg is my mama's boy.
The teacher asked me if he struggled be away from me and I mentioned his nickname was "Velcro boy." So, er, yes! He has been known to be a little clingy.
Today will be better, now that he knows what to expect. Once he realizes how much fun he'll be having and the guys both have new friends, they'll love it. The older girls especially seem enamored with the six year old miniature red headed twins. So lots of new friends.
And a few admirers. *smile*
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Mowing Lawns
The girls (ages eleven and fourteen) have mowed lots of lawns this summer and fall. They've had the opportunity to mow for a neighbor and have been paid but they've also mowed my mom's lawn, gratis of course.
The paid job started out as just Kate. My husband heard of the job and asked Jane, who was "meh" at the whole idea. My husband then offered the job to Kate, who squealed loudly and started jumping up and down at the thought of earning money. Of course we let Kate take the job.
The first time the lawn was mowed, an expansive area more then twice the size of our yard, it took three trips and several mower repairs. She really earned her money. She gladly paid her tithing and she stuffed the rest away in her savings.
Most of my kids feel money burning holes in their pocket but Kate gets great joy in watching her stack of bills get bigger, and the sum amount increasing every few weeks. She would have had the job to herself the whole summer but her bike wreck sorta wrecked that plan.
We had a talk with her sister, who went to mow while Kate's face was still swollen and stitched and her body was mostly bruises and road rash. We encouraged Jane *cough, cough* to donate half the earnings to her sister, since Kate hadn't relinquished the job willingly. Bless my oldest's heart, she did so willingly, even if she did feel the attention Kate received was a little unfair. The next mowing, Kate's stitches were out and she felt much better, so the girls worked together, splitting the earnings. We went ahead and allowed the girls to do that from then on.
It's been a good experience and after some supervision from their dad, it was confirmed that they were doing a decent job.
It takes a lot to past their dad's standards.
Now my mom's yard, my mom is quick to state that she is perfectly capable of mowing her own yard but why should she when she can have someone else do it? I happen to agree with that. Of course having the girls mow has less to do with my mom getting out of it and more to do the girls learning to give service. It's a wonderful opportunity.
My mom has a preference, one girl doing a much better job then other but I won't share that information here.
They're still learning.
I think this winter we need to send Ean over to his Mormor's house so he can shovel her driveway. He needs to give service too.
Speaking of which, Monday we spent our family home evening at my mom's house. Kent fixed her toilet, it was leaking, Greg vacuumed the living room, Kate helped her dad and the two remaining boys swept the garage.
It was a good night. Helping is good!
The paid job started out as just Kate. My husband heard of the job and asked Jane, who was "meh" at the whole idea. My husband then offered the job to Kate, who squealed loudly and started jumping up and down at the thought of earning money. Of course we let Kate take the job.
The first time the lawn was mowed, an expansive area more then twice the size of our yard, it took three trips and several mower repairs. She really earned her money. She gladly paid her tithing and she stuffed the rest away in her savings.
Most of my kids feel money burning holes in their pocket but Kate gets great joy in watching her stack of bills get bigger, and the sum amount increasing every few weeks. She would have had the job to herself the whole summer but her bike wreck sorta wrecked that plan.
We had a talk with her sister, who went to mow while Kate's face was still swollen and stitched and her body was mostly bruises and road rash. We encouraged Jane *cough, cough* to donate half the earnings to her sister, since Kate hadn't relinquished the job willingly. Bless my oldest's heart, she did so willingly, even if she did feel the attention Kate received was a little unfair. The next mowing, Kate's stitches were out and she felt much better, so the girls worked together, splitting the earnings. We went ahead and allowed the girls to do that from then on.
It's been a good experience and after some supervision from their dad, it was confirmed that they were doing a decent job.
It takes a lot to past their dad's standards.
Now my mom's yard, my mom is quick to state that she is perfectly capable of mowing her own yard but why should she when she can have someone else do it? I happen to agree with that. Of course having the girls mow has less to do with my mom getting out of it and more to do the girls learning to give service. It's a wonderful opportunity.
My mom has a preference, one girl doing a much better job then other but I won't share that information here.
They're still learning.
I think this winter we need to send Ean over to his Mormor's house so he can shovel her driveway. He needs to give service too.
Speaking of which, Monday we spent our family home evening at my mom's house. Kent fixed her toilet, it was leaking, Greg vacuumed the living room, Kate helped her dad and the two remaining boys swept the garage.
It was a good night. Helping is good!
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Joyful Memories
On a parenting board I participate on, someone asked what our favorite happy childhood memories are. I started writing and quickly figured out that this was a blog post in the making. I also have been extremely serious lately, so here we go.
I was a reader. I learned early on and with my extremely impressive vocabulary, tackled just about any book that came my way. From my recent tales of growing up with Scott, I'm sure you understand the challenge of finding a quiet spot to relax and just soak in a book. I managed.
We lived in town, literally on Main Street with a small house for our family of six with a postage sized yard that struggled to produce grass. However we did have a sugar maple in the back yard. The sugar maple is a beautiful tree, it's slow growing, so the monster in the back yard was decades old. The foliage is second to none, turning a scarlet hue that generously peppers the landscape in the fall.
Our tree was beautiful.
It also had all these incredible branches, just perfect for climbing. You really couldn't swing up the first split in the trunk by yourself, it was a good four feet in the air but we had wood stacked next to the tree and using the woodpile, you could shimmy up to that first split and after that, the climbing was easy. There was one spot in particular where several branches fanned out forming the perfect seat. It was this spot that I claimed as my own.
I always climbed with a jacket on, even in the hottest days. You see, I stashed books in my pockets and carried them up in the tree. Once in my special spot, a good twelve feet in the air, I could take off my coat, drape it over the branch next to me and relax, read, think, watch, enjoy myself in the most decadent manner. See, I didn't worry up there, didn't think beyond where the stories took me.
Sometimes I would hear my brothers calling and I ignored them. You see, if it sounded urgent, I waited until they disappeared to climb down. I didn't want to give my spot away.
I could see into the neighbors yard. I could watch my brothers run through the neighborhood. I could shut my eyes and soak in the gentle swaying of the branches. Even in the hottest days, nestled in the leafy branches, I found relief from the heat.
And of course, I read for hours. That time was precious. Especially in the fall, when I was surrounded by scarlet leaves, sitting above the world.
I was a reader. I learned early on and with my extremely impressive vocabulary, tackled just about any book that came my way. From my recent tales of growing up with Scott, I'm sure you understand the challenge of finding a quiet spot to relax and just soak in a book. I managed.
We lived in town, literally on Main Street with a small house for our family of six with a postage sized yard that struggled to produce grass. However we did have a sugar maple in the back yard. The sugar maple is a beautiful tree, it's slow growing, so the monster in the back yard was decades old. The foliage is second to none, turning a scarlet hue that generously peppers the landscape in the fall.
Our tree was beautiful.
It also had all these incredible branches, just perfect for climbing. You really couldn't swing up the first split in the trunk by yourself, it was a good four feet in the air but we had wood stacked next to the tree and using the woodpile, you could shimmy up to that first split and after that, the climbing was easy. There was one spot in particular where several branches fanned out forming the perfect seat. It was this spot that I claimed as my own.
I always climbed with a jacket on, even in the hottest days. You see, I stashed books in my pockets and carried them up in the tree. Once in my special spot, a good twelve feet in the air, I could take off my coat, drape it over the branch next to me and relax, read, think, watch, enjoy myself in the most decadent manner. See, I didn't worry up there, didn't think beyond where the stories took me.
Sometimes I would hear my brothers calling and I ignored them. You see, if it sounded urgent, I waited until they disappeared to climb down. I didn't want to give my spot away.
I could see into the neighbors yard. I could watch my brothers run through the neighborhood. I could shut my eyes and soak in the gentle swaying of the branches. Even in the hottest days, nestled in the leafy branches, I found relief from the heat.
And of course, I read for hours. That time was precious. Especially in the fall, when I was surrounded by scarlet leaves, sitting above the world.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Four Day Weekend
Reason to celebrate?
If you're fourteen and under then yes, it's wonderful! If you're the mom that's been laid up all week with severe allergies, not so much so. It's all good, I've just been pretty much useless the last few days.
Useless meaning I've been blowing my nose, popping allergy pills and closing myself up in my room watching "Grey's Anatomy". Although I did make cookies with Greg last night.
Mostly Greg stirred and he did a good job stirring. There wasn't the usual puff of flour I get when children stir, that enthusiastic blow the powder out of the bowl. It's a lot like the huge puff that happens when I load to much flour into the kitchen aid while kneading bread.
I'm rambling.
Not really, not on the paper but in my head, it's ramble city.
Right now I'm trying to get Kate out the door so she can mow my mom's lawn. It's not working very well. She's suppose to take Greg for a play date. Ean's grabbing his bike, I 'm not sure my mom agreed to take him but he just left.
It's like I left the door open on the monkey cages.
Speaking of which, I just read a "Curious George" to Dave. Appropriate, no? He was thrilled, just thrilled. Gosh, remember when the littlest thing made you happy? Life was so easy. Okay, maybe it wasn't that easy but I'm grateful that even if I feel crappy, I can do little things like make a batch of cookies or read a story and I get to see my children light up and be excited.
I often write about our difficulties and while I try to keep a sense of humor, life isn't easy and my kids, as wonderful as they are, do have specific difficulties that I've shed tears over, they've shed tears over. So my crappy week, with allergy snot and pills aside, something special happened.
Magic.
Smiles.
Joy.
It was beautiful. Cookies and Curious George. Who would have thought cookies and Curious George.
If you're fourteen and under then yes, it's wonderful! If you're the mom that's been laid up all week with severe allergies, not so much so. It's all good, I've just been pretty much useless the last few days.
Useless meaning I've been blowing my nose, popping allergy pills and closing myself up in my room watching "Grey's Anatomy". Although I did make cookies with Greg last night.
Mostly Greg stirred and he did a good job stirring. There wasn't the usual puff of flour I get when children stir, that enthusiastic blow the powder out of the bowl. It's a lot like the huge puff that happens when I load to much flour into the kitchen aid while kneading bread.
I'm rambling.
Not really, not on the paper but in my head, it's ramble city.
Right now I'm trying to get Kate out the door so she can mow my mom's lawn. It's not working very well. She's suppose to take Greg for a play date. Ean's grabbing his bike, I 'm not sure my mom agreed to take him but he just left.
It's like I left the door open on the monkey cages.
Speaking of which, I just read a "Curious George" to Dave. Appropriate, no? He was thrilled, just thrilled. Gosh, remember when the littlest thing made you happy? Life was so easy. Okay, maybe it wasn't that easy but I'm grateful that even if I feel crappy, I can do little things like make a batch of cookies or read a story and I get to see my children light up and be excited.
I often write about our difficulties and while I try to keep a sense of humor, life isn't easy and my kids, as wonderful as they are, do have specific difficulties that I've shed tears over, they've shed tears over. So my crappy week, with allergy snot and pills aside, something special happened.
Magic.
Smiles.
Joy.
It was beautiful. Cookies and Curious George. Who would have thought cookies and Curious George.
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