He Tells Lies

My youngest.  Telling a big one.  With reenactments.  And commentary..."Mama's mean."  And a little fake crying for emphasis. This boy gets a spanking about as often as he sleeps in his crib...never.  

And the Oscar goes to...

Strangely Familiar

Sam and Jack asked me to print copies of the pictures from the rodeo and put them in a book.  Sam wants to take his for Show and Share at school and Jack simply needs his "to put in his bag in case he ever needs to go camping."  As I uploaded them to order prints, I saw a sequence of shots that didn't involve riding horses or bulls.  Instead, it shows a stubborn bull who refused to leave the the ring after his ride, forcing the cowboys to rope him and drag him back to his holding pen.  

One stubborn, headstrong, male specimen.

He wasn't leaving on his on free will.  No, he preferred to be dragged out of the arena, hooves firmly planted in the dirt.

Something about this seems strangely familiar to me.  And it has nothing to do will bull riding or rodeos.

It pretty much depicts every experience I have when I tell my own male specimens that it's time to leave somewhere when they aren't ready.  Target.  Chick-fil-a.  Cade and Cannon's house.  The backyard.  It always ends the same...me having to apply force while spewing empty threats and complaining about their stubbornness.  Another side effect of a life overflowing with testosterone.  I need a new game plan.  And it will likely involve a lasso.

New Game

He loves to "play dog."  This involves him, a rope and an older brother.  Tonight his "doggie" was Sam, who patiently allowed his baby brother to rope him and drag him around the playroom on his "leash."  For once, Will was in charge.  And he loved it.

23

23 Facts About My 23 Month Old Boy

1.  He still calls me "Maw Maw." With a country drawl..."Maaaaaawwwww, Maaaaawwwww!"  And I love it.  
2.  His eyelashes are a long as his older brothers', but unlike theirs, his curl softly, brushing upwards towards his brow.  They are beautiful and one of my favorite things on his precious face.
3.  He has a fierce temper.  Like a fist-clinched, red-faced temper.  It's serious.  And hilarious.
4.  He talks like a champ now, with a vocabulary that's pretty astounding.  Especially since he just decided to give this whole talking thing a try a couple of months ago.
5.  He remains a Mama's boy, but lately only wants his Daddy if he wakes up during the night.
6.  He loves "Pot" (Spot) and "Aaay-lerr" (Sayler) and heads straight to their pen when he goes outside.
7.  He prefers chocolate milk and calls it "Me -Mo" or "Me-Moke."  It is really the only "word" he says that he hasn't changed or corrected.
8.  He has impeccable manners.  This boy says "Peas" religiously.  It is so adorable.  We are working on "thank you" and if he ever learns "bless you," I may not be able to handle the polite sweetness.
9.  He thinks naps are uncool.  His Mama thinks his avoiding naps is uncool.
10.  He is still obsessed with my iPhone and the iPad, but his love affair has moved past playing Angry Birds and deleting all his Mama's apps.  His mission in life these days is to make sure all my devices are fully charged.  As soon as he sees either one, he runs (at full speed) to grab it, develops a British accent and yells "Chaaag  it!  Chaaag it!" and then proceeds to locate the charger and plug it in.  And it doesn't matter if you are currently using either one, this boy is serious about battery life and he will swipe it out of your hands and have it plugged in to "Chaag!" before you can tell him "No, thank you."
11.  His favorite show is Peppa Pig.  It helps that it is also Jack's favorite and we DVR every episode and that we have our very own "Peppa" in the yard.
12.  His love for Peppa and Spot has led him to perfect his pig snorting.  He's a pro now.
13.  He loves baths.  And the toilet.  And flooding the bathroom floor.  In that order.
14.  He snores.  And it is darling.  And sometimes loud.
15.  He goes to the barn with Jody every night to put the chickens up.  It is the highlight of his evening and he always says, "Night, night, chickens!" as they shut the door to the coop.
16.  He wants to dress himself and pick out his own clothes.  Unfortunately, Sam's size 6-7 pajamas are usually his clothing choice.  I can now roll pant legs and shirt sleeves up in my sleep.
17.  He loves watching The Jungle Book in the van.  But he only wants to watch the elephants march "in the military style."  He sternly tells me "Hut, two, three, four!  Hut, two, three, four aaa-gain!"  This drives his brothers crazy and I'm guilty of replaying the scene over and over again just to avoid him fussing at me to play "Hut, two, three four aaa-gain!"  And in case you need to know, the march begins at the 13:09 mark of the movie and can be watched at least 37 times on the short drive to and from school.
18.  He never wants to be left behind and will quickly tell you, "Go too!  Go too!"  
19.  He repeats everything his brothers say.  The latest..."I like big butts and I cannot lie."  And he said it perfectly.  Just like Sam and Jack did.  And there I stood in shock, wondering where on earth they had heard that song.  Wondering and laughing.  My baby quotes Sir Mix A Lot.  Nice.
20.  He likes to crawl in my lap and grab a handful of my hair when he sees Jack sitting with me, "getting my hair."  This infuriates Jack.  One day I fully expect that his invasion of  Jack's turf will lead to blows.  And possible hair loss for me.
21.  He loves popcorn.  He opens the pantry, points to the shelf and yells, "POP!"  Tell him "not now"?  Not good.  Pick him up to show him we are all out of "POP!"?  Let the meltdown/temper tantrum/exorcism commence.
22.  He still loves Adele.  Peppa Pig, Sir Mix A Lot and Adele.  Culture, baby.  Culture.
23.  He makes my heart swell.  I ask for a kiss.  He gives me one.  I say, "I love you."  He says, "Two!"  (I love you, too).  He pauses for a second and says, "Three!"  Pause.  "Four!" This is my cue to continue counting.  Me:  'Five!"  Him:  "Six!"  Me:  "Seven!"  Him:  "Eight!"  Me:  "Nine!"  Him:  "Ten!"  He giggles and runs away.  It never gets old.

My Wish Came True

My Sweet Jack,

Tonight, just like every night, I snuck into your room hours after tucking you in, needing one more look at your precious face.  And as I always do, I leaned over and kissed your soft cheeks. I traced your eyebrows with my fingers and whispered in your ear,  "Jack...you make me so, so happy. Sweet dreams, baby.  I love you so, so much."  

But tonight as I stepped away from your bed and began to walk away, I turned back for one more look.  One more glance.  To carry me until morning when your smile will be the first one I see.  And in that moment, something happened.  You were a baby again.  I don't know how it happened.  Maybe it was the light from the hall gently falling on your face.  Or maybe it was the way you had the pillow curled tightly under your right arm, causing your cheek to disappear into it's softness.  Or the way your mouth was open, causing you to snore quietly just as you did the first night we brought you home.  Really, what it was doesn't matter.  All that matters is that for a brief moment, you were tiny again.

The reality is you are growing so fast.  You are tall and lean, a far cry from the soft, chubby baby that fit perfectly in my arms .  The adorable crease is long gone from the bottom of your legs and that sweet, little line that makes an indention at the end of your nose seems to be fading away.  I ask you all the time to please stay this little forever and you giggle and tell me you just can't, insisting that you have to turn five on day.  And it is so bittersweet.  Because as much as I love watching you transform before my eyes, I am aching over the loss of "the baby you."  

So tonight, to see you looking so much like my baby, took my breath away.  A brief, fleeting moment that wiped away four years and left behind a delicate, tiny, perfect "baby you."  I took it in.  I took you in.  I traced your brows again.  I whispered into your ear, telling you again that I loved you so, wishing I could find the right words to make you understand just how much, but knowing I'll never be able to.  Because just as I've told you before, Jack, there simply are no words. 

What a blessing tonight was for me, the one who wishes she could always protect you and keep you small forever.   Because tonight, for a brief moment, my wish came true.

I love you.  More than you'll ever know.

Mama

The Dark Side

It's official.  

My baby has crossed over to the dark side.

The dark side of boy hood.

The side where manners don't reside and tricks that involve grabbing body parts and making inappropriate noises are revered.

As if this household needed another dose of testosterone.

Don't misunderstand,  I love having boys.

But some days the testosterone circulating in this house is stifling.

Stifling.

The other night all three of the boys were in the tub together.

I walked away and returned to find my oldest two playing quietly.

And Will?

There he was, standing up, facing me with a firm hold on his you know what.

And he was doing a little dance, grinning from ear to ear and loudly singing, "Ning, nong!  Ning, nong!  Ni-ingggg,  no-onggg!"

And with out missing a beat, he spun around, stuck his bottom out and grabbed it in both hands.

And the boy who minutes earlier was my baby, used his hands to make his bottom talk to me.

"Wonk, wonk!  Wonk, wonk!  Wonk, wonk, wa, wonk wonk!"

Like I said, stifling.

The Rodeo

Last weekend we took the boys to see The World's Toughest Rodeo.  Robin and Kay joined us and the boys were thrilled to be going.  They got all dressed up in their cowboy attire and had a hard time waiting patiently for the bull riding events to begin.  They loved every minute of it and I must admit, I enjoyed myself too.  I love that my boys love cowboys.  I love that the announcer prayed before the event.  I love that they honored a local soldier as "the real hero of the night."  I love that the cowboys would drop to their knees after their ride and pray.  

What I didn't love was the intensity of the sport.  I covered my eyes a lot and held my breath through every ride.  I don't know how mothers can sit and watch their sons hanging on for dear life on the back of one of those wild animals.  I would need to be medicated.  Or sedated.  So I grin and bear it as I watch them play rodeo in the playroom, roping furniture and giving each other "bull rides" on their backs.  I encourage their cowboys dreams from the safety of our house.  But should they become serious in their intentions to "ride real mean bulls," I fully intend to break out my photographic proof as to why they should never consider such a crazy idea.

1.  Broken hands?  Jammed fingers?  Take your pick, boys.

2.  You are such handsome boys.  And I'm not just saying that 'cause I'm your Mama.  You really are.   And, baby, a face plant in the dirt may leave a mark on that handsome face.  Let's avoid that, please.

3.  Hello, torn groin muscle.  Nice to meet you.

4.  His foot is hung on the rope.  The rope that is attached to the bull.  Not good, boys.  Not good at all.

5.  Focus your attention to the gentleman on the right.  The one in the white shirt that is climbing over the railing.  This is gentleman is smart, son.  A chicken?  Maybe.  But smart none the less.

6.  In life, there's always a time to let go and a time to hold on.  This, boys, would be an appropriate time to let go.

7.  A bull's horns are dangerous.  You already know that.  Those horns will put your eye out.  And you have such beautiful big, brown eyes.  Let's keep it that way.

8.  This can't end good, boys.  Period.

9.  Two words.  Broken tailbone.  Do you really want to have to carry a pillow to sit on every where you go?

10.  Any sport that causes your legs to fly over your head like this is a bad idea.  Unless you're competing in a break dancing competition.  Which I hope to never witness you do either, by the way.

Now this is my speed, boys.  Mutton Bustin'.  Harmless, slow, fluffy sheep.  Helmets.  Face guard.  Where do we sign up?

The Coats

We knew there would always be reminders.  Reminders of him and all he means to us and this place.  A place he loved and tended with strong shoulders and calloused hands.  We see him in every tree he planted, every fence post that lines this farm, every rusted metal gate.  He farmed this land, working hard to grow crops and livestock but working harder to insure it would be the home of generations to come.  The grain bins.  The rustic old barn. The weathered shelters with shiny tin roofs.  The long concrete drive.  All of these things are him.  And all of these things will be constant reminders of him.  How blessed are we to have so many tangible memories to ?  Blessed. So very blessed.  And as bittersweet as all seeing all those things may be, they don't leave me shocked, frozen in sadness or grief. Maybe because I am so thankful that every inch of this farm is a gift to us from him.  A place to live and raise little boys that can run wild and free.  A place where children grow up nestled between grandparents and great grandparents, and aunts and uncles who adore them.  A place for Jody to raise cows and fulfill his passion.  A place for our children to make a home of their own one day.  Yes, the sadness of missing him is there, but so is the overwhelming gratitude I feel to him for his years of hard work.  Years of work that would become a gift to each of us, an expression of his love in the purest form.  These little reminders are gifts we are so blessed to enjoy each and every day we greet another morning from this place.  This place he made home.  

He is always here.  In tangible things and spoken words.  In memories Jody shares.  In all the questions Sam, who misses him so, asks us about him as he tries to hang on to his treasured memories of his Papa.  I expect all of these things and am often able to share stories of him with Sam and Jack with smiles, not tears.  Not because I'm not sad, but because the memories are so sweet and so good.  Every single one of them.  But something happened recently that left me speechless, overwhelmed with the grief and the missing.  Missing him, but missing who they were together more. We were all together, sharing a meal over the holidays at Papa's Place.  Pieces of him were everywhere.  In pictures.   In the softball trophies that line the shelves.  At the sink where he washed so many dishes as she cooked.  But it was what caught my eye behind the door, that took my breath away.

Two coats.  One big.  One small.  Neatly hanging side by side, as if they had just peeled them off upon returning from their late afternoon walk to the mailbox.  I walked over to them and as I looked at them closer, it quickly became apparent to me that they had been there quite a while.  I ran my hand along the dusty sleeves of the old, tattered, green Nutrena Feed coat he always wore. And then I gently took the little red coat off the wall. It, too, was covered in dust.  I wiped the dust from the hood with my hand before looking inside.  How had I forgotten this coat?  I am meticulous about carefully packing away and labeling the boys' clothes.  Nearly all of the clothes Will wears were first worn by Sam and Jack.  Sure, this coat was an inexpensive Target purchase, but it I certainly would have handed it down to Jack and Will.  Yet there it was.  Hanging there.  Forgotten.   

I looked inside to find the coat's size.  24 month.  Sam would have worn that size when he was 18 months old or so. Which meant it had been hanging there behind that door for over four years.  After one of their daily walks together, the two of them came inside, removed their coats and hung them behind the door.  How could they have known the last time they took them off that they would hang there, undisturbed for years?  I'm sure that walk wasn't their last walk. It was likely getting warmer outside and their walks wouldn't require a coat any longer.  I'm certain they shared many more morning hikes through the cow pasture and after dinner walks to the barn.  And in many ways, I am happy that I don't know when that last walk took place.  Because if I don't know, the memories of the two of them together, hand in hand, stepping in unison, speaking few words but saying so much, can live on forever.

It's a Good Thing

It's a good thing their superhero pajamas are a little roomy.

Especially when you decide to stuff them with toys to see how "big you can make yourself."

Hmmm, I wonder what he's attempting to do here...

And in case you're wondering, stuffing your pajamas with random objects always requires a wig.

Why, yes, we do own a Joe Dirt wig.  Doesn't everyone?

A Boy and His Bucket

Sisters

Sisters.

One widowed long ago.

One just lost the love of her life.

She used to always hold his hand.

Now she holds hers.

They have always been the best of friends.

And now, they are everything to each other. 

I am so thankful they have each other.

I am so thankful to have sisters of my own.

New Calves and Spot

We welcomed two new Hereford calves this week.  They are in the pasture beside our house and are the sweetest little things.   Things will certainly be getting busy around here in the next few weeks.  Our calving season will be in full swing by February and we will have a lot of sweet new babies to enjoy.

And in other news, it appears that Spot has a little bit of an attitude problem.  Needless to say, she's not quite ready to be taken out for a walk.  I am impressed with how fast she can make my children jump.  I'm considering bringing her inside in the mornings to help me wake Sam up for school. 

On a side note, Sayler shows no fear around Spot, growling at her and biting her legs.  Someone should probably break the news to her that she is a beagle, not a rottweiler.

Champion

Jack is taking hide and seek to a new level.