It Begins

Psst! Are you sleeeeeping?
No!
Good. I think she's in the living room now. How about I go first, then you.
Ok...what do we say?
Umm your tummy hurts. My head hurts.
But my tummy hurt yesterday.
Oh yeah. Ok, my tummy hurts, your head hurts.
Good one.
Remember to wait a bit after I go out, that way she won't figure it out!

Mom....my tummy hurts. Can I sit with you?

And so it was on many occasions, my sister and I collaborated in the hallway minutes post-nap-prep and subsequently spent the entire naptime curled up on our mom's lap, watching TV because we were "ailing". So clever, we were.

Both Krissy and I remember these conversations quite vividly - the planning, the scheming. I am sure we became a bit more sophisticated as the years went on; we were so proud of our plans. My mom, with her huge heart and love of kid-cuddles gave in to our ploy time and again, much to our delight.

Yesterday afternoon after a very active morning, I carefully placed Ryan in his bed for a much needed nap. I wrapped him in his gigantic fuzzy blue blanket, read him a story, gave him a sip of water and tucked his favorite stuffed dog neatly under his arm. I knew for sure he would be out in minutes, and so after a kiss on his forehead I headed downstairs, looking forward to some kid-free time.

Three minutes passed and I heard the unmistakable "thump thump thump" of two-year-old feet running down the hallway and expertly maneuvering the stairwell. He opened the door, puppydog still underarm.
"What's wrong?" I ask, thinking it must be something urgent, because he NEVER gets out of bed until he is done sleeping once he has been put there. (Not sarcasm here, truly, he believes he is glued in. Ok, the glue might be a bit of sarcasm, but the effect is the same.)

"I don't feel good." he replies, head tilted a bit, lower lip protruding ever so slightly.
"Oh my! What hurts?" I over-react on purpose, knowing the charade so well from my own upbringing. A tiny bit of delight wells up inside me, realizing he has come up with this ploy all on his own.
"Puppydog don't feel good."
"You're both sick?"
"Yeah."
"Oh no..." I pause meaningfully, as if this might mean real intervention, like gummybear medicine or perhaps a jellybean. Whatever might we do for this sickness that has so quickly swept over the two of them? "Well then! You both need a good nap. Up we go!"

Snickering to myself I carried my son upstairs, thinking that I can't wait until his brother gets old enough to be a cohort. Then again, my cold, tiny raisin of a heart would probably still make them take naps.
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Plus, David has the very beginnings of teeth. Two or three can be felt in the very front on the bottom row. Though you can't yet see them, their tiny needle-like tooth-ness is unmistakably present!

First In the Nation

I haven't always been a huge political fan...but I have to admit one of my favorite pastime's includes talk radio. (Plus, I turned 45 last month, so in addition I will also be working on my mid-life crisis). Being home throughout the day gives me plenty of time to follow events and happenings both locally and nationally through this medium. These past eleven months, Iowa has been gearing up steadily for the Iowa Caucuses. Before moving here, I had heard a bit about these...mostly in passing. But I could not believe the attention our tiny state got this past year from presidential hopefuls. Candidates regularly visited cities where we do our grocery shopping (to put it in perspective for you, it would be like saying Barack Obama is speaking tonight in Graham, or Granite Falls) speaking to small groups of people. Each Monday the news would start with "Huckabee will be in Waterloo this morning, while McCain is travelling to Iowa City. Obama will be at the Elementary gymnasium in Marshalltown, and Hillary will be speaking with seniors in Ames." It became so routine.

But as the caucuses got closer, I started to wonder- was this like a vote? Why were all of these candidates here?

And so I researched, listened, asked questions, and found out how to do this "caucus" thing. And yesterday, we caucused. We decided that if we were going to be in Iowa, we were not going to miss a chance to have a voice like this- where some 118,000 republicans and 230,000 democrats show up to give America a taste of what is to come.

What an experience! I am used to the kind of voting where you go, stand in a line, punch a few holes or tap a screen a few times, receive your neat little sticker and leave.

But last night, we showed up to a room full of our neighbors - some we had met, others we had not. I'm sure it was routine for them- they knew who the democrats and republicans are in the area, but I felt like I was attending a secret meeting. "Psst! It's me! I didn't know you were republican!"

It was set up like a town meeting, with a few older gentleman standing at the front, along with a secretary who took notes. The 60 or so people in the room stood to say the pledge, and then sat down in chairs, facing the front. The head of this little meeting of ours (some 60 people) asked if anyone would like to come up and speak for a candidate. There were no special representatives there from the parties- only us "local folk". A few people stood up and talked- one for John McCain, one for Fred Thompson. Can you imagine giving a speech in front of your neighborhood, attempting to persuade them to vote for your candidate? It seems so open, so vulnerable, so NOT private! Yet this is the great thing about a caucus- it's about collaboration- making sure people are informed versus voting by name recognition. Then, they handed out little scraps of paper and had us write the name of the candidate we wanted to vote for. What? No multiple choice? Only now do I realize the opportunity we squandered. I could have written down "Obama" or "Mike McCain". I wonder if those poor vote counters would have come out to ask who the hidden democrat in the group was. But no, we were mature, civilized Iowans and kept our rowdiness at bay.

At our tiny caucus, the votes were as follows:
26 Huckabee
15 Mitt Romney
14 Fred Thompson
8 John McCain
4 Ron Paul
Guillani and Hunter- none.

After the vote, people brought up different issues and such that they wanted addressed by the republican platform. It was grassroots politics at its best- a time when I actually felt like I had a voice AND what I said counted. Now, granted, this was all straw poll voting...and "suggestion" giving to the state party. But this all starts somewhere. Last night Iowa had record turnouts to their caucuses - the republicans expecting 80,000 and the dems expecting 150,000- the actual numbers ended up at 120,000 and 230,000. We met in a tiny school cafeteria (which we filled up with the 60 of us!) and the democrats met next door in the fire hall. I was amazed at how well-informed people were on the issues and the candidates. They knew who stood for what, the ins and outs of the fair tax versus the flat tax, and what the death tax was about and why we should be leery of legislation dealing with it. They discussed Social Security reform, marriage, and the preservation of life. I can see why this process is so respected in Iowa- as people here really do take it quite seriously.

Both Phil and I left feeling invigorated by the process. And after last night's results, I can't wait to see what happens in New Hampshire!

AND, if you haven't been following along, start! It's quite interesting. I know everyone knows about Hillary and Barack, but there are some good candidates on the other side of the aisle, too, like Huckabee and Thompson. This is a year to get involved!

Heat Wave

Tonight the low will be -1 degree, according to weather.com. About a month ago, a nice ice storm came and covered our roads, lawns, and sidewalks with a layer of frozen water, only to be then covered again by snow. The ground, normally visible for a majority of the winter, has been white and cumbersome - continuously demanding snowboots and scoffing at snowshovels, which are no match for the ice so strongly adhered to the path. And though technically winter has just begun, it feels like it should be ending.
Oh, long winter, show us mercy.
So when I look at the 10 day forecast and it shows a 51 degree day coming up on Sunday, I do a little jig, ever so giddy that there is a heat wave on the horizon. It might even melt the snow and the ice. But, to get there, we still have days of below zero temps, let alone the "windchill factor", which amounts to eight gazillion below zero when you are in the country without much around you to slow down the freight-train wind.

Christmas Number Three

If I close my eyes tight enough, we are in a warm mountain cabin, surrounded by a dense forest of trees, heavy with snow. Even the morning songs of birds are muffled by the blanket of winter. All is calm, and all is bright. We are far from everyone, nestled in and curled up. No one to know that we spent the better part of the day curled up in fuzzy pajamas reading David Copperfield or snuggling close to a two-year old just bleary-eyed enough to sit still. The smell of breakfast- eggs, pancakes, bacon- mingles with the sweet woodfire, beckoning me to the kitchen for a fresh cup of steaming coffee.
Minus the mountain, this was our Christmas: A warm cabin, glowy, bright, quiet, secluded. Nowhere to be, nothing pressing to do. Unheard of in this family. And absolutely wonderful. But I imagine the mountain in because it just feels right.
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Across the country, our families are together, warm and enjoying laughter, squeezing babies and soaking up tiny smiles. I am so happy for them, all under one roof (ok, different roofs but together family-style). I feel lonely for all those out West. An ache that doesn't sting like our first Christmas here, but is present nonetheless.
But tumbling quickly after my melancholy is the realization that I have so much to be grateful for. True, our family's Christmas is spread like butter over the United States. But I can take comfort in so many things:
Our families are healthy and four new babies have been added to our number this year. Phil and I have been given two healthy, sweet children to raise, and I am home with them to see my own tiny smiles each day. We have webcameras that both allow my oldest son to wave to his Aunt, Uncle and cousin in Hawaii, and my family in Washington to see my youngest wriggle and squirm. We have dry wood that keeps our house warm. Our parents love and support us so unfailingly, even to the tune of multiple visits, canning and chicken-chasing. We have friends who span miles with prayers, phone calls, and visits, and a church filled with people who have become such a family for us in Iowa.
I don't know why, but being so far from all those who love us so well...from those we love so well...it makes me just so grateful for each one of you. Still, I long for strong hugs and talks over hot cider.
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Christmas was a beautiful day. A warm 37 degrees was like a heat wave next to our week of sub-freezing weather. A bleary-eyed Ryan was carried downstairs wrapped in a thick blanket six times his size to snuggle with Dad. Present after present was opened, more slowly than last year, each present receiving it's due attention. The generosity of our friends and family is overwhelming.
We spent the second part of the day at Phil's uncle's house, surrounded by extended family. The boys soaked up the attention and Phil and I rested our arms a bit (kids get heavy). It felt so good to be around family today, and we were so thankful to be invited to share their day with them.

It sounds so cliche to say that I miss you all, that I am thinking of you at your individual Christmases...but it is quite true. In my mind I am eating jello salad at my mom's house, sweet potato casserole at Tif's Aunt Frances', pepper jam with Tycen and Sonja, clam chowder at Phil's mom's, Jimmy Carter balls with Tara and Todd, trying pineapple cookies with our Hawaiian siblings...
Don't ask me why you are all wrapped up with food...maybe it's because you are good cooks, or maybe I should weigh three times what I do for the amount of thought process that goes toward food...we may never know.
Please squeeze your families for me. Merry Christmas, all.

New Market for Dave

We have been working diligently on potty training in our house. There has been much weeping and gnashing of teeth on part of mom...shameless M&M/candy cane/Hershey kiss bribes...and only (wow, I didn't realize it had been so long) 5 or so months after I started the process, dear son is making huge headway.
I have heard recommendations from other mom's that we have a P.T. boot-camp, if you will. You send them in diapers, retrieve them in pants. No fuss, no muss. I'll vote for it. After this...experience...yes, I would definitely vote for it.
Tonight as we were settling down, the little guy asked for a hug. Then he looked up at me with big, blue eyes and said "Treat, mom?"
"Oh, sweetheart, you know those are for when you go potty."
"Yah. I go potty!"
"No, for after...not before."
"No, I go potty! Can I havva treat now, please?"
Oh my.
So, I know they have Dave Ramsey classes for high school kids, but do you think they have a preschooler edition? Because this whole Treats on Credit for Potty thing makes me wonder if Visa has been sending him mail without my knowledge.
"0 percent APR on all M&M transfers! Defer potty-going until 2009! Don't let going potty get in the way of building blocks or making trains! Have your diapers and eat candy, too!"
Those credit companies are shameless, I tell you.

Look Out John Deere

One of the frustrations I have consistently had when taking pictures of the landscape here is the inability of my camera to capture the brilliance of colors, the wide expanse of the land or sky. Yesterday, for the first time, the digital and real world melded and I was able to capture the beauty that is our clear, blue sky.

Winter. Snow stays indefinitely when faced with sub-freezing days, strung together one after another in the forecasts of the days ahead: like puffy popcorn strung up in preparation for Christmas . But oh, so beautiful.

The trees yesterday morning were frosted with a freezing fog- nothing like I have ever seen. No snow, no ice storm, no rain. Just a thick, thick fog that attaches to the tiny needles of evergreens; coats the nobs and fingers of leafless trees; grows crystals on hammers as Phil works on this siding of a house. Then, with the afternoon sun, its gone.

Ryan has taken to more quiet activities (like throwing the cushions off the couch and jumping on the springs screaming "APPLESAUCE! APPLESAUCE!"). And sometimes, when he is feeling extra relaxed, he will pull out Lego's, make towers and tumble them. But the other day he made this Harvester. By himself. He spent the evening "hardesting corn and beans".

Comparisons

In searching through pictures for my sister, I came across a few things I had to share with you all. This video is of Ryan when he was about David's age. Anyhow, I had no idea how similar they looked until I saw this video. AND can you believe he is so big now? Well, his mom can't.

For comparison, here is one of David I took this morning.

And, then just some pictures. The top two are Ryan, the bottom one is David. Brothers? Probably. When we showed Ryan these pictures this morning he was INSISTENT that they were of David. Which, being that we are two and for the past week consistently contrary, was no suprise.
Who's that? David?
No, that's YOU when you were a baby!
No, its not me. It's David.
No, look, its you!
No! Its not Ryan! Its Davey!
Oh, love, don't be contentious.
No. I not being cotenshush!

Oldest

Every morning Ryan wakes up asking for dinner or breakfast or food. I suppose most kids do...but this will be the second thing he mentions ("I wake up" "Let's eat food.") almost in one continuous string as he walks directly from the stairs to the kitchen. As I mentioned before, he is quick to help himself if I am unwilling to set immediately about this task. Yesterday morning he came out of the fridge (7:30am) with this Tupperware full of cold leftover green beans and a spoon.
With a bit of a chuckle I asked him if he would like me to warm them up. "No thanks, mom. Just cold. Open please?" was my response. Half a container later, he asked for some milk.
The origins of this photo are a bit...unnerving...but basically Phil decided that Millie (our bottle-lamb turned sheep) was quite tame enough to maybe even ride. And wouldn't it be neat to have a saddle? Wouldn't Ryan want to ride on a sheep? So he bundled up his oldest son and brought him outside to begin the coaxing. "Ryan, do you want to ride the sheep over to get eggs?" Warily, Ryan stood 5 feet away and politely replied "No, let's just walk." Eventually dad got his way and propped him up on the sheep. I think Phil had grand ideas of Millie galloping off with a Ryan holding on tightly, squealing with delight...instead Ryan held firmly to the sheep's fur, but was adamant that dad stay right there. The sheep ran out from under Ryan, and much to Phil's dismay, both parties were unwilling to try again. You would think we could just work on riding a bike or something.
One of my favorite things to do is watch Ryan reading his books. He will sit, turning the pages slowly, examining each of the pictures. This morning the scene was complete with tousled hair and buzz lightyear pajamas. All boy.

Smallest

Brother, you amaze me with your unceasing rambunctiousness. Teach me your ways, oh rowdy one!

Mom. I'm inside. You know I'm not cold. I know, I know, the hat is cute. And you squeal with delight at how it makes my face look pudgy and flushed. Let's take it off now. Ok now.

55 degrees and Toasty / Crock Pot Ideas

So, we survived the winter ice storm. I love media- how fantastic and destructive they can make things sound just for some good newsworthy stuff to cover. There were a lot of power outages (not us, thankfully) but they had power restored to the last few today.

Last year, when this "ice storm" happened, there were homes without power for two weeks, and electric crews from other states were called in to help us fix the damage. It was so, so much more extensive.

Anyhow, we did end up with a literal sheet of ice down our sidewalk, driveway, and road (out to the blacktop, I suppose, though I have not been brave enough to drive it). It was thick enough that when I walked out to the mailbox after Phil had left for work this morning, I saw his tracks in the light snow dusting, but he had not broken through the sheet of ice below it.

The second problem was that the water and the cold froze our corn storage bin shut. Meaning we could not get corn out. Meaning we could not heat with our furnace. As so many times before, we relied on our trusty fireplace insert to keep us warm. Since our fireplace is downstairs in our living room, not much of the upstairs gets heat - meaning our bedrooms were not much above freezing.

We made a bed for Ryan on the couch and the rest of us camped out in the guest room (I'm a big fan of having that on the first floor now - last year we had to carry the bed downstairs whenever we wanted to sleep where it was warm!)

Previously experts in all-night fire keeping, we thought we would have no problem keeping the small area warm until morning. But, hopelessly out of practice, we made a fatal error and left the damper open a bit too much. At three am I woke up, freezing, and got up to change David. A check of the thermostat confirmed my worst fears- 51 degrees. And hours before daybreak, when we would be able to work on the corn bin and get more wood.

Needless to say, the rest of the night was not very restful, and at 5:30 when I woke and started coffee, threw on three more layers of clothes and drug Phil outside with me to open the corn bin, the brisk cold did little to improve my attitude.

But with a makeshift torch (no joke) he was able to warm up the slide-plate enough to dry off the ice which had locked the bin shut. With a squeal, I opened it up and shuffled (remember the sheet of ice) back to the house with sweet, sweet heat.

By 6am, the house was heating up to 55 degrees, and OH did it feel toasty. Never thought I would say that.
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Winter Food

I am sure most of you are seasoned cooks, but something I wish I would do more of is use my crock pot. Not only does your house smell good all day long, but you have the pleasure of knowing dinner is already DONE by 9am (or 10, if you're a late starter like I was this morning!)

Because I am cheap and on a budget, I have learned some tricks for crock pot cooking. Go simple! I will explain my half-week of crock-pot food for you here.

Buy a roast. Get a cheap one (when you cook them so slow, it doesn't have to be spectacular meat. I look for sales and end up with the cheapest one. I know there are those out there who would scoff at me, but trust me, you won't notice).

If it's too big for your crock pot, cut it in half and freeze the second half for another week. They thaw easily in the microwave and its always nice to have one on hand.

Day One:
Cut up some potatoes and carrots in the bottom of your crock pot. Put the raw roast on top (make sure it's thawed, though). Sprinkle garlic, a bit of salt, some onion powder...some rosemary if you'd like on top of the roast. Its forgiving, so play with the seasonings a bit. Pour 1 cup of bullion on top (I boil 1 cup of water and dissolve a bullion cube in it). Put the lid on. If you are going to be home all day, put it on high for the first few hours, and then stick it on low until you are ready to eat. This takes many hours, so make sure you have it going by 10am if you want to eat at 6.

With leftovers, take the potatoes, carrots and half of the meat out. Leave the rest of the meat in the crock pot. Put all of this in the fridge.

Day Two
Wake up, put the crock pot back on to cook on low. Pour a generous amount of barbecue sauce over the meat, and maybe 1/4 cup water (not much). Let cook until you are ready for dinner. Put this on toast for some really great hot meat sandwiches.

Day Three
The other meat you saved out could be used many ways, but I love putting it in the skillet with a bit of oil for a few minutes to warm it up and make it a bit...I don't know, crunchy? I don't know if that's the right word, but you get the idea. Then, add some taco seasoning, a can of black beans, and voila, you have the beginning of some good burritos. (Don't forget the salsa, sour cream, and rice.)

Anyhow, I am a big fan of cheap and easy food. You can do nearly the same recipes with ham, too (except for day three, of course!) And I completely recommend it for winter meals.

Frightful Gains New Meaning in Iowan Winters

Last time the weather did this we had to move out of our house for a week. And get the pastor's family sick.

So we're a bit nervous.

The tick tick tick tick of freezing rain is pattering against our living room windows, coating them so thickly with ice that you can't see through them. The radio tells of power outages throughout South Central Iowa...and the storm is moving this way.

Cinnamon and the comforting smell of a woodburning fire fill the inside of our home, warm with reds and greens.

The weather outside is frightful
But the fire is so delightful
And since there's no place to go
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

This song rings so true when you actually have frightful weather. Snug in our home we are protected from the winter elements - giddy with toe curling, book reading, hot-chocolate sipping comfort.

But we still stocked up on water...and toilet paper...and have the oil lamps out. Because we have been here before.
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In my email this morning:
The NWS in Des Moines has issued an ice storm warning, which is in effect from 6 am to 3 pm cst Saturday.A mix of freezing rain, sleet, and snow will spread into southern and central Iowa Saturday morning, affecting locations along and south of highway 30.
One quarter to one half inch of glaze ice is expected across the warning area, along with sleet accumulations up to one half inch. Significant icing will create very hazardous travel conditions during the day Saturday.
In addition, a southeast wind gusting over 30 mph may down tree limbs and power lines that are weighed down by ice.An ice storm warning means severe winter weather conditions are expected or occurring. Significant amounts of ice accumulations will make travel dangerous or impossible. Travel is strongly discouraged. Commerce will likely be severely impacted. (oh, look out Target! Christmas sales will be down!!) Ice accumulations and winds will likely lead to snapped power lines and falling tree branches that add to the danger.

Inutition

Growing up, I was always amazed at how mom knew Everything. She knew when I was lying or when I was cold (because she was cold...). Anyhow, now that I am a mom, I too have ears to hear all and eyes in the back of my head. It's a thrilling experience, let me tell you, when they first install that second pair of eyes- OH the sights you'll see!

Anyhoo, I also figured that since I have moved out of the house and a few states away that this instinct of my mother's might wane a bit. She doesn't mention it anymore when I snitch an extra cookie or sneak out of my room to play on the computer after bedtime. But I think secretly, she must know. Because there is this thing she does, and there is simply no other explanation for it.

I live, you know, a ways from the nearest grocery store. You would think that since it takes me 17 hours to reach the nearest Target that I might stock up on extra things like, say, soap or toilet paper. But I don't. I still shop like a city girl who can pop on over to Albertson's for a gallon of milk if need be.

I also must mention that my mom and dad both work for Kimberly Clark - the makers of fine paper products like paper towels, kleenex, and toilet paper. This makes them not only loyal customers of the KC brand, but also prolific gifters of such products. I often get these products as "fillers" in boxes with other gifts (box of candy, shirts for the boys, three rolls of TP) and don't blink an eye- I actually think it's pretty inventive.

Also, each year around Christmas time the company offers these gift boxes that employees can buy and send out to families and friends that contain samples of their products. We look forward to trying out their new stuff, and who could resist free paper towels???

Here's the weird part. EVERY time I have received one of these boxes, it has been on the Last Day of my Last Roll of toilet paper. I think to myself as I watch the last few squares peel off the roll "Oh MAN! Why don't I just buy a bunch to have on hand? Would ht at be so hard, Tracy?" Then, lo and behold, I head out to get the mail and here sits this box of toilet paper.

Warning to all of you who eat an extra slice of pie in your own kitchen after the lights are out: MOM KNOWS. I'm telling you.

Proposal for Webster's

Anyall (pron. any-all) To calmly and firmly refuse requests of another.
As in: I don't take a nap anyall.
As in: I don't take a bath anyall.
See also: ornery two year old phrases.

Combination of anymore and not at all. A new word via Ryan.

A bit off key, but oh so fun.

One of my favorite things to do with Ryan at this age is go back and forth counting or singing songs or saying the ABCs. I think it is delightful to see how much he actually memorizes when we read stories or learn a song, so I stop and he will just fill in the blanks.

Sometimes this tactic goes a bit haywire, though. Months ago when we first started counting, I would say 1, he would say 2, etc. It was great, except for that he still says his 1-10 as 1 2 4 6 8 10 11...no matter how many times I say ONE TWO THREE! One two FOUR comes out.

But we'll get there. And, this singing thing is just too adorable to let pass without doing a few at bedtime.

Also, while he will sing to me all the time, singing for the camera or for other people (like his dad) is like asking a jellyfish to sit still on a porcupine...so you know I am a bit of a stage mom here, bribing and cajoling so he will be for you like he is for me: adorable two-ness.

Growing Up

Grandma Calli sent this adorable outfit for David. Moms are goofy, because when I got this for him and saw how adorable he was in it, I wondered if I could get away with having him wear this All Week Long. (Don't worry, I didn't.)
The further we go into "2" the harder it is to get a non-blurred picture of Ryan. If you look closely at his shirt, you can see that it is Phil's truck in red carrying a Christmas tree. Another shirt I wanted him to wear the Entire Month.
When I'm not looking...hugs and kisses and nearly head-popping affection. Warms a mamma's heart.
Thanksgiving Day in DesMoines. The boys (5 and 8) played SO well with Ryan. Here, the 8 year old has arranged a fun game for Ryan and himself. The wagon and the sled are tied together, and the 5 year old is straining to pull the other two along. Very crafty, if I do say so myself.

Reason #21 to Move to the Country

Neighbors.
Ah, wonderful, beautiful, giving neighbors.
Granted...we have the misfits too. "Those people" that everyone knows about. And they have their factions (Hatfields and McCoys about do it justice).
But there are so many days when small gestures of kindness warm my heart and make me partial to my middle-of-nowhere existence.

I mentioned in a previous post that we bought a corn furnace. The beauty of a corn furnace, as I mentioned, is that all of our neighbors do this farming thing for a living...and as a result have corn. However, as we started on the road to obtaining and storing the grain, we came across a few issues.

(This might bore some of you, but there is a point, I promise.)

The grain bin that we bought (from a neighbor) cost us $75.. But this bin is 14 feet tall. The question became, how do you move 120 bushels of corn from the grain wagon of a farmer into our storage bin?

Five gallon buckets?

Hmm. Not the preferred option. That's a lot of trips up a ladder.

So it was getting colder...and we were running out of our temporary stash of corn that we bought earlier in the season.

Neighbor Mike stopped by one Friday before he left town for the holidays, and asked if we had figured out our corn situation. And no, we hadn't yet. Well, turns out he had been "to town" and checked with the coop for us. He found out delivery prices and the going rate for corn. He had done the fancy math and figured out what it would cost us to get 120 bushels of corn (around $500).

I thanked him for the information and sent him on his way. Half an hour later he drove up with a tall auger (for the rest of the country, an auger is like a big tube that can move corn from one spot (on the ground) to another (in the storage bin).

Surprised, I asked him where he had gotten it. "Oh, just have to turn over a few rocks. You going to be home tomorrow?"
"Sure..."
"Good. Brother Bill (who, in fact is not a brother but another neighbor) will be over around 2 to bring you corn. I will be here and help with getting the auger set up."

Then, in one fell swoop, our neighbors saved us $150 from the coop price Mike had quoted earlier.

As some of you might know, we have gone down to being essentially a one car family. This works just fine for us most days, but there are times where I need to buy groceries or go to the doctor. When this happens, I have to wake the boys up, throw everyone in the car, and drive Phil to work at 6:30am...and then pick him up later in the day after all of my running. While extremely do-able, it does make for a long day.

Before leaving after the corn was delivered, Mike asked if we would mind storing his second car while he left for the winter. Also, he would appreciate it if I drove it often so it didn't freeze up.
"Oh, I think I can handle that." I replied, floored at his generosity and trust.
---------------------------------Soapbox---------------------------------
So, that was the beginning of Thanksgiving week. And all week long, though I missed family and friends, God has so warmed my heart about my circumstances. And I suppose I feel a bit guilty that I am so content, that I am not pulling my hair out over missing people, rather being thankful for where we are.

Because two years ago, Black Friday would have been my all-in-all out of necessity. My three and a half month old boy would have been sleeping whenever I saw him. And my best and first energy would have been given to Target and the people there. Whereas now, I am free to give that to my rambunctious boys and my husband.

I love staying home and curling up the Day After Thanksgiving...no pressure to go and sell Chinese-made toys to people already deeply in debt, all while trying to encourage them to sign up for more credit.

I love seeing my littlest son smile and coo and learn to sit up (wobbly). I love having conversations with my oldest about the imaginary toad on the living room floor that eats jellybeans.

I love that only two years after the hardest Thanksgiving of my life, where I said goodbye to so many loved ones, that my heart can be warmed beyond understanding with the above truths. That our family in Iowa is becoming more real to us, and our friends here are too.
I can't explain it other than to say that when God says he will provide all we need... He means it. And when God says He watches over us even as he watches over a sparrow...He does. And it doesn't always seem like it in the moment. Because we don't always get the answer we want. But day after day and year after year, though we may be unfaithful to Him, He is ALWAYS faithful to us. He knows the desires of my heart- even better than I do, and only after they are fulfilled do I know how true that statement is.

For the Love of Food

I don't know if I have mentioned this before, but Ryan loves food. I'm not talking about Hostess or Cookies, because everyone loves that kind of food. I'm talking Whatever I Give Him. He is equally excited to get fish crackers or some broccoli.

Since he has figured out where Mom keeps all of the food, anytime there is No Ryan, I have to immediately go the kitchen, where he is into something...crackers, cheese, dry oatmeal, whatever.

I gently scold him that he needs to ask before he just eats the Entire House...but the next day we are back to snitching. (He calls it "nitchen" and admonishes his father for the same trait when he comes home from work searching out readily edible food. "No nichen dad!" he warns, and then runs in to see me "I say, No nichen dad!" like "Don't worry mom, I've got your back!")

But, when there are a huge number of kids out there who won't eat anything but mashed potatoes, should I complain when a few minutes ago I saw a Blur of Ryan run past me with a just-opened bag of mini-carrots "niched" from the fridge?

I think he is on his 8th carrot...I'm pretending not to notice.

Two Miles

And, truly, its a good thing that our closest neighbor lives two miles away. Because our animals have decided that fences are optional...more accurately: pesky and unnecessary. At first, it was just Molly, the older and craftier sheep that we bought at a sale barn (we should have known she was an escape artist back then). Not too long after we let her into the pasture, she figured out that if she crouches way down and ducks her head under the wire, the electric fence won't penetrate her wool, and she can eat the grass On The Other Side. Sweet, sweet Other Side Grass. SO different from that fenced in grass, you know, with the fence and all.

And there she would stand, three feet from the fence, taunting Millie, the younger, bottle fed, more innocent lamb. Patiently, Millie would wait for some Human to walk by and then loudly voice her frustration. We would once again put Molly back in with the Plain Old Grass, and Millie would immediately start prancing around her like "Ha! You thought you could get away with that! Ha! I told the Humans!"

But since those days of innocence and tattling, Molly has taught her protege a few things, and now nearly daily they are out together, roaming the back and side yards, in search of that Other Grass.

And, let's not forget the chickens. Chickens who once roamed free and then one day, when we decided we would rather have decorations other than Chicken Poop on our front walk, we decided they would be penned up around their coop. We *ahem* took care of half of them and after that, the remaining chickens really had no desire to leave the safety of their pen.

But time went on. And what memory a chicken might have fades, and one by one they started flying over their pen. First, in search of the Humans and a replenishment of food or water. But now, it doesn't matter what amenities are present in the coop...food, water, swimming pools, a miniature treadmill...Have you SEEN what's on the Other Side?

The calves, granted, are our fault. They were to be pastured with our lambs for the time being, but the pasture area has a bunch of old wood and such in it (lambs are great for eating down the grass where you can't mow) and apparently nails and other such prickly objects taste like pumpkin bars to cows. Since nails are not pumpkin bars and are actually quite dangerous for them, we decided they should be in their own pasture. But...that fence is not done yet. It's just too nice to keep them inside, though, and Phil came up with a brilliant idea.

"Come see!" he beckoned me one day. "Out back!" So I glanced in the backyard and the two calves were there, eating, each tied to his own tire. "They can drag them a bit to get to new grass, but this will keep them from going very far - and I can put a bucket of water in the tire so they won't knock it over."

This $0.00 solution to the fence problem (for awhile, at least) really appealed to me, though I am sure the neighbors (when they happen out our way) are shaking their heads in disbelief at our little zoo.

I suppose what is so surprising to me is that they really don't go anywhere. They will run around the garden area or through the backyard...but they have never left our property line. I don't think they have even really come close to it. But, I suppose our little area looks like a lush oasis next to the empty corn and bean fields (Weeds! Grass! Glorious bugs!)

David at ten weeks

And the baby battle continues.

Charlie and the Pumpkin

Ryan (via a suggestion from Tifani) was Charlie Brown for the big day Here he is bragging about his booty to a sweet church girl. We have yet to explain that Giving, not Gloating About the chocolate is the way to win a girl's heart.

David was a pumpkin (note the stem on the top of his head.) Neither boy gave me very good pictures (as you can tell).

Michael and Tifani came from Washington this past weekend. What a joy it was to have them here. We are all feeling the withdrawls, but possibly not as much as Ryan, for his Michael has taken off out of state again.

Also? My canning for the year is officially complete. The jars here are three deep, and hopefully will keep us fed through the winter. Ahh, welcome fall!

Out with the Old, In with the New

When I first introduced Ryan to Play Doh, he didn't yet grasp the concept of color separation. Yes, you can place two colors together...but too much mushing and they simply won't go back to their original shade. Though this greatly annoyed his mother, he could really have cared less about color contrast. He was more interested with the mushing. And so, I called it a wash, and basically let him smash it all together until it was one consistent, ugly color.

But, as the weather became increasingly colder and we were forced to do more indoor play, I thought "We could spend the winter playing with Mom's Office Supplies She Asked You Not To Touch Twice, or, we could make some new play doh. Play doh that would not look like puppy droppings.

So I became Super Mom for one morning and searched recipes on the internet. I found one that was completely edible (not that you would want to eat it) and that I could scent (which I did, with vanilla and mint). We cooked it up, and Voila! Green, Orange, Red, and Blue. Made by special request. By the end of the day, however, it looked like this. Apparently we still don't understand the concept of color separation. And still, I am the only one bothered by it.

Also, we have been working on sharing. Note the piece given to me at the bottom of the picture. The rest is "For Ryan". Also note that we have started asking for specific clothing rather than being content with mom's choices.

(By the way, Dad makes realistic hoagie sandwiches - if you like gray tomatoes and lettuce. Mmmm)

_____________________

This weekend Phil is also replacing our furnace. Nothing like cutting it close, right? Being that it is the middle (ok, end) of October? But we have had an extremely warm fall (my dahlia's are still blooming) and that has allowed us to order the correct parts, destroy (litteraly) the old furnace, move the new furnace in place (no small feat) and then this week, hopefully, finish hooking it up.

We went with a corn-burning stove. This made me a bit nervous in the beginning, but it should turn out to be a really great option for people who, you know, live in the middle of cornfields. It would be like having 50 oil barrons in town to supply you with your winter's heat. Most importantly, it should reduce our heating bill by about 2/3...so maybe we can stop wearing parkas and snowboots in the house.

Sometimes, though, I think we can be a bit too independent. For example, I came home from an outing last Sunday to see this:

Its a picture of a nearly-400 pound box teetering halfway down the stairs. Five months of savings and our winter's comfort being held by two ropes and one chain.

Note that when I left, I reminded Phil of the house rule that he is not allowed on the roof when home by himself...since other humans are 3809 miles away and will not be able to readily rescue him should he fall to the ground. To be kind to his wife, he rigged this up instead.

"Oh good! You're back! I need you to go down there and push on the
furnace."
Blank stare.
"No, really, go push it - it's stuck on that stair."
"Good! I don't want that thing falling down!"
"Its not going to fall. Trust me. Just push it. You might have to kick it to get enough force."
"How do you know it won't fall?"
"Because I do. Didn't you take physics?"
"I remember the LAW OF GRAVITY. Did you go to a different school than me? Because I don't remember kicking valuable items down the stairs."
"Just get down there and help."
"Ok."

And so it went. And, true to form, my fears were abolished by my husband's physics savvy. I really do appreciate that he paid attention through school. Because now we will have sweet, wonderful heat instead of a crunched pile of metal at the foot of our stairs.

Rhythm and Routine

Written 10/1

"Too heavy. Daddy do it."

"No, you can do it. Come on, we need to get going."
"Time to feed cows?"

"Yep, they're getting hungry. Let's go, Mister."

Ryan climbs down from his tricycle and hurries over to where the two-litre sized bottle awaits him. He bends his knees and uses both arms to lift it, shifting his weight backwards to support the load.

"Gotta do chores, dad?"

"Yep, feed the cows. Then we'll get the eggs."

"Chicken eggs? Ryan do it! No, Ryan do it, Dad."

I watch from the front porch, listening in as their voices grow fainter from distance. Dad, his hand wide and strong enough to effortlessly carry the bottle, son, focusing all his attention on keeping the awkward item from dropping. Phil walks slowly next to his charge, explaining and discussing in simple terms, the gentle coaxing from earlier effectively switching him from goal-mode to dad-mode.

And isn't that what so much of parenting is, anyway? Willingness to slow down, explain, interact, enjoy. In the busy-ness of everything else it's so easy to miss these small opportunities which are so important to their growth and character.

"I did it, Mom!" the triumphant call of my son echoes minutes later. He ambles back to the house, arms piled high with empty calf bottles. "All done now!"

I can hear the hum of the fans blowing in the distance, drying out the corn or beans harvested just a tad bit early. The sun bounces off the fields in the distance, the landscape softened by endless rows of corn and the cordouroy of soybean fields. Waves of farmland stretching for miles and miles.

The emptiness of it can be so serene. And yet, these past few weeks I have found myself longing for water. Maybe it's the extended summer or simply that my Washington-born bones need some moisture, but the everlasting sun and the wide-open expanse leaves me longing for the security of tall evergreens and dense clouds.

Ryan, done with "chores" finds a stick three times his length and proceeds to run around in the front yard, almost to the road and back, the wide, steep ditch serving as bunker, slide, and cave. He loves it. Outside- so in his element- a fish in water.
________________
Written 4 Days Ago

Today for the first time in many, many days, we had rain. Beautiful, drizzly, curl up and read a book, start a fire and make some bread rain. Summer, with it's beaufiful days and cut-grass smell is finally giving way to crisp, cool, smoky autumn. I think I'm ready.

________________
Written Today

The past week has been a constant Washington-esque stream of weather. It feels like a nice, cozy hug. My element, if you will. I mentioned this to a friend at church, and she looked pointedly at me, and said "You might not want to mention that to the farmers out here." Indeed, this break from endless summer and my excuse to cozy up inside has hampered many a farmer from their harvest. A stressful time already, the rain is no friend of theirs.

Armed with this reminder, I keep quiet about my contentment regarding the weather, and have started supplying them with pumpkin bread. Hey, if you can't make money and have to worry, at least you can eat good food, right? I'm sure they see it that way - ha!

Monday night we visited some friends of ours who live about 20 miles away. They blessed us with two laundry baskets full (we don't measure in bushels) of pears. HUGE wonderful for canning pears. This bit of produce along with maybe one more batch of spiced apples will round out my canning season, which is really, really exciting for me.

The boys and I are settling down nicely into a routine. Or maybe that's too formal a word- but we are getting better together. My big kid is getting so "old" everyday, and my little one delights us as well with cooing and smiles. I find myself so full of delight with the both of them, and I can't wait for years to come.

One of Ryan's favorite games is bringing pretend drinks and food for me to try. Yesterday, he balanced a small foam basketball on top of a drinking glass. He walked into where I was, and announced that it was indeed ice cream. Cookie ice cream. And that I should take a bite. When I pretended to take a huge mouthful, he stood back, watched with particular glee, and said "Liddle Bites, MOM! Liddle bites!" "Oh, Sorry Ryan," I replied, and pursed my lips to take a mini-bite. Again he watched intently. Then, with a bit of mischief, squealed "Its Sour!!" Like, HA! I tricked you! This is not cookie ice cream after all! It's really sour ice cream, you silly lady! Squirm! Pucker! "Liddle Bite!"

Pumpkin Bars and Cows

It's early morning here and the house is filled with the aroma of pumpkin- enticing me to snack on a few of the cream-cheese covered goodies before we head out the door to church. It is still warm here- 82 yesterday - but the humidity is gone and the mornings are crisp, lacking the looming haze of summer.

Harvest has started- a time of all-consuming work for our neighbors. Last year about this time, I heard an older friend mention that once harvest started, the roads would be treacherous until winter. I chuckled at the comment back then- thinking, "Right, those two vehicles I passed yesterday really were overwhelming!" The fact is, the roads are so barren here that even during harvest they don't begin to compare to even Washington side-street traffic.

A few days ago I was talking with the Mayor of my small town and we started discussing his trucking business - where he is the safety director. They haul seed corn this time of year for one of the local seed companies. He said he had not had a day off since Labor Day, and probably wouldn't see a break in the schedule for three more weeks. The guys, he said, usually work from about 4am to 11pm this time of year. Seven days a week.

At night you can see pairs of headlights slowly crawling across the landscape miles away. With hundreds of acres to harvest (sometimes thousands) our farmers have to be out there every minute the weather will permit them to be.

It has me thinking, though- maybe the roads are treacherous not because there are thousands of people driving them, but because the people who ARE on the roads are working on weeks of little to no sleep.

By the way- agricultural work pays no overtime.

_____________

With winter around the corner, I have noticed that we are getting better about preparing for the season. Last year we bumbled into it without much thought to preparation. This year we are replacing storm windows in the dining room, replacing our furnace, sweeping the chimneys, caulking around windows and replacing weather-stripping on doors. It feels great to work toward a warmer house and therefore a warmer winter.

In doing our prep work, we needed to address the machine shed. Last spring during a windstorm one of the doors on the large Morton building did cartwheels over a friend's camper and our windbreak. After dragging the door back from the farmer's unplanted field, it sat, crumpled, all summer. Upon calling the manufacturer of our machine shed, I was given an estimated replacement cost of $3500. Since we do have homeowners insurance, it would have only cost us our deductible of $1000. Not too excited about this extra and unexpected expense, we put it off until fall. However, we have a farmer who rents half of the building from us, and it was necessary that we replace the door before winter so that all of his machinery doesn't end up covered with snow.

How I know that we are becoming more like a farm family and less like a city family is how this door was replaced. Because we could have hired it done. Or jumped early on and bought a new track, new metal, and new wood to build another door (since I am married to a carpenter) and spent only around $700.

But we didn't. And three weeks ago Phil, through work, replaced the siding on an old barn. One of the items removed was this large section of track (a $300 value new). They didn't want it, and were happy to send it home with Phil. With some minor adaptations, he was able to put it up on our machine shed. With help (at different times) from his dad and my dad, the sheet metal was removed from the old door and salvaged. We bought new wood to build a frame and within a few days and collaboration from both father's and Phil's grandpa, our entire door was replaced. With hardware and all, we put about $250 into the door. Now, granted, it isn't new, and it isn't glamorous. It needs to be cleaned and painted - but you know what? Even in its ugly state, it works. It keeps heat in and snow out. The duct-tape and shoestring solution to a huge problem - done with patience and practicality.

And it's a good thing to have it fixed- because we have two of these guys in there now. Yes, the petting zoo grows. We can't get too attached to these ones, though, because they are not going to be life-long members of the family, if you know what I mean. So, even though they are bottlefed calves, Phil is in charge of their caretaking.

Calves? WHAT are you guys doing with cows?

Good question. Its another part of rural living, I suppose. Strange opportunities come your way quite often, we are finding. One of Phil's coworkers has a sister who owns a dairy in Wisconsin (probably the best colby cheese I have ever tasted). When they have male calves, they don't have much use for them- and since they have to be bottle-fed, they usually sell them for a pretty low price. She cut her brother a deal, and he drove up to pick up two calves- one for us and one for him. He provides the milk-replacer and the cows, and we feed and graze them. So, the trade is a cow for labor and land. So, winter preparations also now include making barn space for the sheep and cows and putting up adequate hay. Phew. I'm tired even writing it.

________________

We have still been working on manners with Ryan. My favorite new phrases from him is "Please May I."

Cookie!

Is that how you ask?

Please may i....have a Cookie!

Sure!

And though it fits almost every situation, he does take it a bit out of context:

(Mom singing)

Stop it!

That's not nice, Ryan.

Please may I...Stop it!

Grandpa! Come to dinner! Please may I...have you sit down!

He also shows some interesting affection to his little brother. Mostly, he doesn't pay a lot of attention to David, except for telling me when he is "mad". Yesterday we were driving between towns, and David decided he was hungry and just might die if he didn't eat RIGHT NOW!! At one point his cries stopped for a moment, and I glanced back in the rear view mirror. Here was Ryan, holding his little brother's hand like "It's OK kid, it's going to be just fine."

Melts a mamma's heart.

Small Town Livin'

Even though we have been here for nearly two years now, every once in awhile it dawns upon us anew that we live in a relatively small community. Things like the fact that the phone book for our entire area is less than an inch thick and wire bound. (And our zip code takes up two pages of 12 pt, two column, nicely spaced type) And that there is an annual contest the residents enter for the cover picture of the book.

I thought I might share some small-town culture with you all:
***
Take the town I work for as an example. There are 112 residents. Each month the city council holds a meeting where 5 council members, the mayor, myself and the sheriff show up. The sheriff gives a monthly report detailing the goings-on for the previous month. Last month's report had three items:

• 22 documented business checks (read:drove by the only bar in town)
• 1 ATV complaint
• 1 speeding nuisance, warning issued

Mind you, this is an entire month's worth of police activity for the town. The previous month was the same but insert "cat complaint" for "ATV complaint."(I know, don't ask) This report is always followed by intense interrogation from the council members: "Who was the ATV complaint issued by?" "What happened? Were tickets issued?" One member in particular is always quite disgruntled if he was left out of the loop on something (he should always know before the meetings! Where had the information chain broken down?) Only in a small town could a three item list be discussed for 15 minutes of a 45 minute council meeting.

***

I haven't written much about Phil's work. He started working with two other guys from a small town just North of us. My favorite part (besides the paychecks, of course) is that without fail, every Monday, the "guys" start their day at the community breakfast. And the wives and kids are expected to come.

This community breakfast thing is the neatest thing since sliced bread. Before I explain, the most important part about this is that it's all volunteer-driven. Donations are the only form of accepted payment, and they are made via a basket on the drink table. The food consists of made-to-order omelets, pancakes, sausage, homemade cinnamon rolls (by local women each week) biscuits and gravy, bagels with various spreads and fruit. Of course, coffee is available for those of us who don't function without it. Every Monday at 6am volunteers show up to serve whoever can make it. People file in and out and sit around big tables. The little place looks like an old diner, and though it sits empty throughout the week it comes to life to bring the community together.

The "guys" have a ritual of meeting at this breakfast with their families, where we all sit and catch up. I get to hear about what their kids are doing in school or at the local fair, and also learn what is on the work docket for the week.

We are obviously new faces to this bunch of people - they have been doing this for years and we are only a mere 6 months into it. But slowly, we meet people and they ask us where we live, what we are doing, etc. A gentleman we met the first day told us that his "honeymoon cottage" used to be right down the road from our house (he is much older than us). It has been burned down for years now, but "oh, back in the day." Every once in awhile he will sit down and tell us stories about the people who used to live in our house or his house.

He can remember one year they had an awful ice storm much like the one we had this year. The power was out for ten days, and they had just bought a new batch of chicks when the ice storm hit. In order to save the little chickens they brought them into the kitchen, spread out newspapers on the ground, and stacked milk cartons around them to keep them corraled. That way the chicks could huddle under the wood stove to keep warm.

***

At the local hardware store:

Owner: Will that be all?

Phil: Yep, I think that'll do me. Hopefully!

Owner: Will this be cash or charge?

Phil: Charge. (Reaching for his wallet, intending to pull out debit card.)

Owner: Hmm, I don't think we have an account set up for you yet! We'll have to take care of that.

She pulls out a notebook and inserts a page in the "G" section, noting his name. Then, on the top line writes in his purchase and a "charge" of $22. The only other time I have personally seen this done was on Little House on the Prairie when Laura sold eggs to the store keeper and she noted it down in the store's ledger.

***

For my small town, we bank at a small branch one twon West of us. I went in when I first became city clerk and gave them my address, signature, etc. for security reasons. All the statements and such come to the city hall where I pick up mail once a week or so. I then can deposit any checks or other funds by dropping by the bank. One month I had written myself a note on the outside of my deposit envelope that said only

*New deposit book

I knew that I would forget if I didn't write it down. When I got to the bank that day, though, it was already closed (they are only open until 3!). Anyhow, I slipped the envelope into the night deposit box and decided to wait one more month before getting a new deposit book.

Three days later in my home mailbox was a thick envelope from the bank that held a new deposit book for the city. Talk about service.

Let's face it

Right now, its all about the boys.

But there are other things going on, too. Chicken Palace is being built and the "girls" have started giving us eggs as a nice encouragement to finish their new home.

Also, we are still picking GOBS of tomatoes and working on various other household projects.

A more "farmy" post with updates regarding the other goings-on will be coming soon.

David Michael

Saturday night at 10:31pm we welcomed David Michael into our family. He weighed 8lbs and 5oz, 21 inches long, and came a little over a week early.

About a week ago we were still in a debate over whether to name him David or Derek (Phil thought that David went with dark hair, Derek with light) but when he was born (and still now) we couldn't quite tell what color it will be. So we went with David - both because of King David of the bible and Davey Crocket, King of the Wild Frontier. His middle name was set for either first name, and that comes from our dear aviation-loving friend in Washington, because we hope our son, like his namesake, will cultivate traits of honesty, humility, love, and a passion for Christ.

Next to my boisterous, full of life two and a half year old, David sleeps and cuddles and seems like such a straightforward, easy baby. I wonder how much of that is because he IS an easy baby, and how much of it is because I have such contrast to the bouncing ball of energy that is my oldest.

We brought him home on Monday. Ryan has been very attentive to his little brother. Each time David squeaks Ryan perks up, lets out a little gasp, and exclaims "baby cryin!" or "baby mad". Then, more often than not, he will run over to see what he can do.

He shakes his hand and asks to carry him quite a bit. A few minutes after we came home Monday Ryan came over to try and take David from me (it is HIS brother, after all). I explained that David needed to eat before Ryan could hold him. Immediately Ryan ran into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a tupperware container of leftover corn. He carried it quickly to the table and put it in front of one of the chairs. Come on kid, let's get eatin, then!

So very helpful.

Mostly though, in between running and jumping and playing and squealing and coloring he will stop for a second or two, softly rub David's head with his hand. And then it's off running again.

____________

We have really been working on a routine with Ryan - setting predictable things so that as David weaves his way into our lives, there are still certain constants Ryan can count on. This also makes it easier to transition from one thing to another (play to lunch, lunch to nap).

But two-year-olds are quick. They catch on and then throw in their own spin. For example, routine looks like this:

Lunch

Treat (popsicle, fudgesicle, etc)

Two stories

Nap

For a long time, this worked quite smoothly, and when someone suggested that he find two stories to read, he would bound over to the bookshelf and start choosing. However, now that he has started to catch on, he will have a conversation:

T: Ryan, would you like to choose two stories to read? (Phew, naptime soon)

R: Go ni-night? (Look at how well I understand our routines, mom!)

T: Yep! Right after our stories.(with enthusiasm- sleeping is FUN!)

R: Um...Nope. No stories. (Not bratty or tantrum-like, but light, innocent, and with an air of "no thanks, mom, I'm a workin!")

___________

Calli: Ryan, will you help Grandma make dinner? What should we make?

Ryan: Um...'mores.

Because every good meal is made of smores.

___________

Our canning list is getting smaller- only tomatoes are left before Fall canning (applesauce, apple pie filling, and pears). This year I was intent on having gobs of tomatoes- both because I love them and because they are expensive to buy in large quantities if you want quality. They aren't difficult to grow, and so we bought and planted 8 regular tomato plants and two of the salad tomato plants. They have started coming on in abundance now and today we will can about a laundry-basket's worth. And there are more to come. Mmm.

Ryan LOVES tomatoes. After helping to pick one day he explained to Neighbor Mike that he "piked 'amatoes".

Oh really? What color were they?

Um, NOT a-green.

Oh, the training has gone well! (Although, before Kindergarten we might have to learn that Red has it's own name.)