Home on the Range

Well howdy there folks! Come ride along with this here g'hal for one hog-killin of a time. [Because I just used "hog" and "killin" in describing my day, this is sure to be good.]

We're gonna get on up with the sun and get a wiggle on. Time's a wasting.

Chickabiddies are up and at em, so it surely won't be long 'for they're starting trouble and asking for grub. Get yerself some six-shooter coffee cause it's gonna be a long one.

This here lady of the house has to get on the ol boss-man's 'puter and work. Course, the homestead is hurtin for some cleaning, and there's paintin and all manner of you name it to git done round the place. And there's always fixings needing done and made. Sure as a gun, moren three times a day these peckish horses are buckin for grub. [Can I feed them beans in a can if I call it "grub"?] It's up to me to keep this place in apple pie order.

I've got me a little filly who so often blusters "Mommy, look at me," and "Mommy will you play with me?" I sometimes want to cut stick and hide out in a dark well with some firewater. I've also got a lil broomie chap who I've a mind to keep watch on all his going-ons, and he'll be needin some help with his learnin. [I might have just created the greatest nickname ever for him: "lil broomie chap." Yes!]

Yep. This here folk, is some darn excitin' (mid-30's) life on the range. 

I say though, this life ain't for the weak. We best pull them boots right on and just keep on.

And bully for you and me when we do, cause by gum, days are hard. We must keep them eyes on the veins of gold hidden right fronta us. Theyr there. Them smiles and good amongst the helter-skelter.

Come sun down, when you're nearbouts all played out, plumb tired from a day chock full o work, best to douse the lights and say a prayer o thanks. Sunup tomorrow, chin up, cause it's kit and caboodle over again. Brisk up and buck up Ma. Yourn need that right attitude.

If this barrel o' kicks has got you angling, well then, you're my Huckleberry.

* Thank you to: www.legendsofamerica.com for help with my old west lingo. 


Aboard the Peer Pressure Train

What just happened?

Why did my sweet kindergartner transform - no mutate - into a socially-aware first grader floundering in a pool of peer pressure that he hasn't yet learned to swim through?

I woke up one morning and wasn't aloud to lay out his clothes for him anymore. Like, "one morning" a couple weeks ago. Look, I already have one 3-year-old Prima Donna who fights for the same sequin purple dress 365 mornings a year - rain or shine, freezing or not. I can't handle a boy version, too.

Your jeans aren't skinny enough? Your sweater is too puffy? Your jacket has to have a hood? Pants can't be brown? No. No, I am not okay with this. Please revert back to putting on whatever outfit your (still-hip) mother has purchased, cleaned, picked-out, and perhaps ironed for you.

I've started encouraging my son to pick out clothes the night before school days - in a painstaking process of barter where logic is the goal. No, you can not wear short-sleeves in 30' weather. No, you just wore that shirt yesterday....  But then, the freshly-donned fashion-virtuoso will change his mind in the morning and we start all over again. Anything that can possibly be construed as not grown-up, not-normal, not-cool enough in his irregular and irrational book of standards, is vetoed.

Am I airing my son's dirty laundry right now? (Pun completely intended.) Yes, yes I am. Because it's absurd. Or I'm having trouble letting go. Or both.

There was no easement into this social awareness. Yesterday, everyone was still fun and intrinsically equal, judged only by their ability to adhere to classroom rules and basic standards of normalcy. I mean, you could literally poop your pants in class and still be a good play-mate. Today, the rules have completely changed for the little person I am witnessing them through. Any and all diversions from standard now render one susceptible to ridicule.

My son is clearly caught in a struggle between still enjoying the Star Wars jammies and toy figures of last year and aspiring to the skinny jeans, gelled hair, and zombie video games of this year.

The other day, after four hours in a children's museum, which, I point out, he thoroughly enjoyed, we walked across the parking lot to a derailed train on exhibit. He was interested and impressed. But then MotherDear made what was apparently a huge mistake and asked to take his picture in the engineer's seat. Only with his eyes rolled back and tongue stuck out was such a picture to be allowed. And then he proceeded to scowl sulkily at me for my transgression.

Why did this a-moment-ago-happy child buck so at the picture? After all, did I not just endure multiple coffee-less hours on a repeat-visit to a crowded Boredom-of-Parents-Museum for his sake? Why such ingratitude? Why such a hard time over a picture?

After many, many minutes of discussion - because I am determined to be a parent who at least attempts to curb insubordination and bad attitudes from my little charges, this one spills that a picture on a train "would make him feel like a baby." He didn't want me to share with others his interest in the train, as in, "Thomas the Train or something."

Oh good, so he wasn't just being a little brat. At least he had a reason.

But now we're back to this budding little, too-cool attitude.

Inadvertently (because our family often plays the best-part-of-your-day/worst-part-of-your-day game over dinner), the train incident became a major topic of discussion that evening. So there my husband and I were again, having yet another long - unsuccessful - conversation on being your own person and not succumbing to teasing or peer pressure. (And, let us not forget, not being rude to Mom.)

We reason through our son's irrationality. We discipline his bad behavior; encourage and reward the good. We cheer-lead him into having confidence. We implore him to follow good examples. We listen, encourage... all that stuff you're supposed to do as parents.

And it usually doesn't work.

I mean really, how do you teach a kid to be himself? To hold fast to the morals he is taught at home? To not care what his peers snicker about?

I'm pretty sure you don't.

At least not right away. You try. And you try again. And sometimes it kind of sticks or sticks for a while. But, in the early years, it seems like you just pay attention to who their friends are, you have the seemingly fruitless conversations over and over again, try to give them confidence and humility (so, so difficult), and then you just push them out the door to begin the long path toward the maturity of figuring it out for themselves.

Repetition wins this parenting race, I'm afraid.


Enjoy the Show

Let me welcome you to our house.

Immediately on your right when you step in is a formal living room. Because we're big on first impressions, it still contains moving boxes of decorations that have yet to be hung in rooms that have yet to be painted. No matter that we moved in five months ago.

Oh, and there's no furniture, well, none save the collection of side tables I have crammed in one corner. We like to call this room "The Lego Room."

In addition to serving as the collecting place for Lego's, children's toys in general, and all things miscellaneous, this grand room has also has held wrestling matches, dance-offs, book fairs and library openings, farmer's markets, and most often, concerts. 

If you've visited us in the past couple months, chances are you have been treated to a performance on a cardboard stage in this fine arena with dingy white carpet. The show likely consisted primarily of a tall, skinny kid with one missing front tooth shuffling his feet and thinking he looks pretty awesome "dancing" for you.

Usually there's an accompanying little drummer in a princess dress who beats on a cardboard box with a curtain rod that has yet to be hung. (Why do they love those curtain rod-sword-lightsaber-mallets so?) The little drummer will occasionally rise for a solo rendering of "Jesus Loves Me" or perhaps "Twinkle, Twinkle."

Then it's back to more of the Fast Feet Kid, until about the time the audience concludes their clapping with loud, suggestive compliments about the show - in the past-tense, hoping to in fact bring about it's conclusion.
There may be tickets, wrist bands, seat assignments, refreshments... you name it. As I was informed last time, there is not, however, any flash photography permitted. So you'll have to come see for yourselves.

While I would very much like to have furniture in this room, and would very, very much like to no longer have boxes and stacked projects (and those dang curtain rod/weapons), I must admit that a big, empty room is pretty convenient with kids. Even if it is right off the entryway. With a huge picture window looking out onto the sidewalk for all to see.

So this here is my anti-pin. It is me saying, no Pinteresters, every room is not perfect in a normal house. Nor does it have to be. Sometimes a room just needs to sit empty or messy - or both - for five months. Or ten.

I like to call this "embracing the practical." It is enjoying the cardboard stage from the endless boxes.

It is enjoying the show.


LovelyLife: Ballerina Darth


"Luke, I am your Ballerina Mother."
The unification of girly propensities with aspirations to mimic a big brother create some comical composites.


LovelyLife: Umbrellas and Rainbows

“Teach me, O Lord, to glory in my cross. Teach me the value of my thorns.
Show me how I have climbed to You through my path of pain.
Show me that it is through my tears that I have seen rainbows.”  
- George Matteson
I've been staring at this picture for a long time now, not sure what I want to say about it. The thing is, I'm afraid I'm stuck in an arc of cliche. 
Last night, in the middle of dinner, this beautiful rainbow appeared over our house. I nearly pushed my family out the door to go enjoy it, while dinner sat on the table getting cold.
The picture is bursting with rainbows for me. My children playing in the rain, the home they stand in front of... my cup runneth over. My overwhelming gratitude for this life brings me back to where I've come from, what I've come through. And so, when I look at this, as much joy and beauty as it holds for me, I can't help but offer to anyone currently feeling like you are on a path of pain: may the hope of something beyond that help you through. Hang on for the rainbow.
And pain or no pain, it doesn't hurt to go play in the rain. 
(Sorry, I warned you it was going to be cliche.)