Deck the Halls

I have written before about Christmas tree hunting growing up. I have told you of my sister with the six pairs of gloves, nine pairs of socks, four pairs of pants and two coats, (I may be exagerating...but I MIGHT NOT BE. You have to know my sister) and a cheerful smile on her warmth-flushed face ready to hold out to the end so she could be the one to pick the perfect tree. One by one the rest of the family would get too cold to care, and she would nonschalantly walk through the acres of tree farm "Oh, this one is nice....nah, too flat on this side...OH! how about this one? Nah...the third limb up from the bottom has a bit of sap on it..." as we pleaded with her to just PICK ONE ALREADY!
And so it was all of my growing up years, except for one Christmas when we gave up the whole hunting thing and just got a tree from Fred Meyer two days before Christmas. It just wasn't the same.
But since we now live in a state that is not bedecked with evergreens, the only tree lots you see are in front of grocery stores and those who do farm trees plant them like they would corn. The hunt just doesn't feel the same.
We have had a bit of an odd fall and early winter, one where Phil has been gone on a few mission trips and we have been quite distracted when it comes to preparing for Christmas. When one morning we woke up and realized that the big day was indeed only two weeks away, the thought of spending money on a tree from HyVee just seemed...like a waste. I mean, the whole point of getting a tree is for the experience, right? Our kids are small...no one comes to our house but us...no drive-by neighbors to see (or not see) our tree. So we kind of decided to maybe not getting a tree this year.
Phil was talking about it at work when his boss asked him "Why don't you just get a ditch tree?"
"Excuse me? A 'ditch tree'?"
Apparently there are some trees that grow in the ditches along our roads (they are big ditches because of the snow we get) that just grow for a few years until the county comes along and cuts them out. So there are a number of people who go out and just cut them down for their Christmas trees. There are families out here who have the debate of whether to get a store-bought tree or a ditch-tree.
I had never heard of such a thing! But it was free! And we really didn't care about the perfection of the tree...we were looking for the experience, really.
So, one day before a big snow storm, Phil drove home slowly looking for a ditch tree.

*****

"Well," he began as we finished dinner that night, "I brought home something."
Ryan perked up "What is it??"
"I cut down a tree on the way home..."
Before he can finish Ryan squeals loudly, springs down from his chair and runs to the front window, straining to see in the dark.
Phil looks at me hesitantly "Don't think of it like a tree...think more 'shrub' and you will be better off. It's not easy picking out a tree from the ditches on the way home. It was getting dark or I would have looked further."
"That's fine, honey. I really don't care. It's more about the fun than about the perfection. You know that."
As we sat and talked for a few minutes, Ryan and David were putting on their boots and carting tree decorations from the basement. Box by box they carried up all of our decorations, which is a feat, considering the size of Ryan and the size of those boxes. He was determined and excited "a tree!!"
Oh yes, I thought to myself, this is why we do the lights...the decorations...the tree hunt and capture. Over time I may have lost that wonder, but they have not.
In the boxes I found CD's of Christmas music and put them on while Phil brought in the tree- which was indeed very shrub-like, lopsided, gangly - overgrown in parts and stunted in others. "You can tell which direction the wind was from, eh?" he laughed as I looked at him cross-eyed. Ok, HOW were we going to even decorate this thing?
"Come on, mom! Let's get the ornaments!!" Ryan piped up in the background and I began to just laugh. Only a child could see this as magical, see that tree as worth decorations. It was catching.
So Phil put it in the stand and I headed out for some pruners and we began the much-needed trimming of the tree, laughing at how awful it looked. But we persevered, and bit by bit it began to take more of a "tree" shape. We turned the tree this way and that and finally decided which angle was it's most becomming. I dried its limbs with a towel and we strung lights.
The music played in the background and the livingroom exploded with holly and pinecones and every other kind of decoration as the kids pulled apart each box marked 'Christmas." They took the ornaments and one by one decorated that little tree- David putting three or four ornaments on the same 3-foot high limb and Ryan doing his best to get to the rest of the tree.
The snow flew around our house outside and the fire warmed us inside. The lights from the tree (my multi-colored lights and Phil's "pure" white lights strung together, because we could) shone on those bright child-faces as they carefully placed the ornaments from our own childhood days.
It was magical.
Maybe I don't have to lose that wonder.

Anna, 7 months

Just a quick note to say that this little girl is crawling and babbling and all smiles. She is so much fun!

Family Photo

I have come to believe that it is nearly impossible to take a perfect family photo at this stage. Someone is always sticking out their tongue, frowning, or showing off their best dance moves. Or crying, of course, we can't leave that one out.
And the kids don't always cooperate, either.
Just kidding.
So I wanted to share some family photos...

See how calm and innocent they appear to be? (bribed by Jelly Bellies)

Mostly, though, you have one adorable smile that can be cropped from the craziness. Because while I would like to believe that our family is mostly like this:

This may be a closer representation

So, instead, I catch sweet moments where I can.

And there is no shortage of those.

Anna Marie

Nothing eloquent by way of commentary just yet...but I couldn't help but share a bit of our sweet girl with you. She turned 2 months old yesterday. What a joy!

Dreaming of Spring

This has been the view from our front window for a number of months now. Needless to say, we are ready for spring. Really ready. So, the other night we decided to have a spring-themed family night.

David helped me mix up the dirt cake batter. We may or may not have tasted some.
Ryan had the honor of serving the dirt cake...note the lack of flowers. That's because this is a spring party, not a summer party...there is just bare dirt in spring. At least that is how I justify my lack of frilly-ness for this event. There were, however lots of worms. And I learned two things that night about eating gummy worm cake with boys.

First, if they are little boys, they need gummy-grubs. Worms are too easy to slurp up quickly and choke on. Cut those worms into fourths and call them grubs. Just as yummy and not so dangerous.

Second, if they are older boys, avoid letting them see you cut the worms into grubs. Because they may just start talking about how real worms bleed when you tear them in two. Your husband might join in when he sees you turn green, talking about how slimy and gooey they are. They may banter back and forth, father and son, tormenting you with gross boy talk. And then you may not want to finish any of your own dirt cake.

After we finished eating, we played a game of Memory. I printed out two matching pictures of different fruits and vegetables from Henry Field's online seed catalog, then cut and pasted them onto some colored paper. Then, I sandwiched the cards between clear contact paper to make them kid-friendly and a bit more durable.We had a blast with this! Even David got in on the fun. Games with kids this age can be a little tough- they are just learning how to take turns, be patient, not knock over the playing pieces, etc. Something this simple challenged both our boys while still being really enjoyable for mom and dad.

We were planning on more spring stuff that night...I had visions of actually pulling out the suntan lotion and a picnic blanket for dinner, maybe even playing some beach boys...but that morning we were surprised with our first two lambs of the season. So, we ended up having to do quite a bit of work in the machine shed for the little ones, making the time we had for our family night a bit shorter. Although, being boys...I am sure they had nearly as much fun playing in the machine shed: moving wood in their wheelbarrow, jumping on hay bales, and seeing new baby lambs as they would have at mom's fake picnic.

However, if this lingers much longer, I can't be held accountable for any sand I import from faraway lands to make castles in my living room.

The water is boiling and the plates are clanging together and I am in a flurry of last-minute dinner preparation. It's late so I'm focused on the task - realizing that a 6:45pm dinner could easily become a 7:30pm dinner with just a few interruptions here and there.
And Ryan walks in with a mason jar full of paint brushes, asking if he could, maybe, possibly, pretty please paint a picture?
And I offer that right now I am making dinner and maybe, possibly, pretty please could he set the table?
He looks sideways at me and then down at his jar of brushes. "It won't be messy mom. It will be really clean painting."
And inwardly I groan because I want to be that fun mom who says yes to painting at 6pm, and the guilt sets in because I know how little creative time they have gotten this week with all of the running around to doctor's appointments. But outwardly I smile weakly and say "Sweetheart, just not right now."
With a small sigh he places his mason jar on the counter just as his brother comes careening around the corner with a delightful squeal.
His face brightens. "Hey Dave! You wanna wrestlehouse?"
David grins wide and answers YES! and lunges toward him, arms outstretched ready for the tackle.
I gasp and immediately start to rethink the painting idea when Ryan, once again, reads his mama's mind.
"Not in the kitchen, Dave, we gotta go in the other room." And they run off in a whirlwind of laughter.
And I add noodles to that boiling water and stir salad and think how very grateful I am to have these two brothers.

Early Morning Conversations with Ryan

7:30 Saturday morning
Ryan: Good MOOORNING! It's time to wake up. You can't just sleep the whole day away.
Me: But I'm tired.
Ryan: Sorry. You can't sleep anymore. It's morning time.
Me: But I want to sleep just a bit more.
Ryan:Would you get up and make us a little snack? Then you can go lay downstairs or something.
Me, (laying down and feigning exhaustion.)
Ryan: (Leaps up on the bed) Mom! It's halfway through the morning. It's Time. To. Wake.Up.
He then proceeds to tie open our curtains, and I think of all those mornings taunting my sister in the same manner. Or my parents, for that matter.
_______________________________
Me, trying to fasten Ryan's pants that are getting just a bit too tight: Ryan! These are getting too small! We are going to have to get you some new pants aren't we?
Ryan, beaming: Yep!
Me: Who told you that you could grow so much? I think you are getting too big.
Ryan, in a sing-song taunt: You and dad fed me, and I GREW!
_______________________________
Ryan: Do you see how old I am mom? Soon I'm going to be five.
Me: I know!
Ryan: Yep! Five then six then seventy!
Me: It will probably feel that fast at times.

Pink and Blue

It’s funny what you get used to.
Before I had kids, all I knew was girls. Besides being one, they are all I ever babysat. We didn’t know a lot of other boys until we were far past the tiny-tractor stage. When I found out our first was to be a son, I was overwhelmed at the thought because of this stage- the rough and tumble and wrestling and go go go energy...
And of course they are all of that, both boys.
Case in point:

Yesterday as I was making dinner they de-cushioned the couch and chairs to build a fort. David came and offered me an imaginary snake from his hands with such a delightful smile that I just had to take it from him and squeal. Later they turned off all the lights and crept through the doorways hunting for monsters (David was looking for "mosters," but he crouched down and kept up with that big brother of his). Of course they needed swords for their expedition into the unknown (colanders and bowls provide needed head-protection).
And when they went up to their room in a post-dinner tornado they dismantled their train track and re-engineered one that looped under beds and around tables and through tunnels.
And then big brother redecorated his shelf...
...mostly to see his mother squirm, I am positive.
It's comic, almost; that this was the stage I was so nervous about. And of course they are rough and tumble and go go go and mud-covered and bug-loving and lincoln-log constructing. How could life be any other way?
I had another ultrasound yesterday, my second for this little one. She's 28 weeks old and the technician confirmed once again that baby is, in fact, a girl. She even sent me home with a little picture that had the tiny words "girl parts" typed out. It makes me snicker...usually doctors are so technical with their descriptions.
And I wonder what she will do in a world of tractors and trains and worms. What will we do in a world of dolls and tea parties?
I'll have to get a pink colander so she can hunt those monsters like a lady.

Return of the Eggs

Chickens and I have not always gotten along. They have some...how should I say this...un-cultured aspects. They lack manners. (Translation: They poop on my sidewalk.) They are smart enough to know where the Humans leave the house- those Humans that bring food and water, and well, when they are lacking (or feel that they are lacking) in either area, they will come and wait for me At The Front Door.

Hence, the sidewalk *mess*.

ANYHOO.

There are, however, some really great things about chickens. Bug control, for instance. While they are doing all of their scratching and walking about they are also eating any teensy cricket they can find. They will come and clean between my garden rows and even make a (small) dent in the mosquito population. For their bug-decimation abilities alone, chickens are worth the hassle of a messy sidewalk here and there.

But the other reason I love chickens is for the eggs. Free range eggs are so good for you, and there is something wonderful about having an unlimited supply right outside your back door. I haven't always been so thankful for those eggs- in fact there have been times I have been downright overwhelmed with them...but I'm learning.

Every year around late fall, the chickens stop laying. The days get shorter and colder and they go into "molt" and for two or three months we feed chickens day in and day out and there are no eggs to show gratitude.

It feels...just...wrong to buy eggs when you have chickens right outside your back door. It feels weird to ration eggs- to debate whether or not to have scrambled eggs in the morning because you would also like to make cookies in the afternoon! Strange, I tell you!

So when our chickens started laying again this week, I did a little hop-skip-jump. It's so nice to have farm-fresh eggs here once again...and to lighten up on the rationing.

Because there are some days that I need cookies AND cake.