His First Best Friend

Early yesterday morning, Jody's Papa left his earthly home for a new home in paradise.  We are all so heartbroken, but so thankful that he is no longer in pain and his suffering has ended.  My heart aches for Marie and the entire family.  But for my precious Sam, my heart breaks.  You see, his Papa, his Du-Dolph, was his very first best friend.  Sam adored him and Papa loved my little boy in a sweet and special way that I will always remember and treasure.  Their bond was something to behold and I'm so thankful I had the opportunity to witness it.  We prepared Sam by telling him how sick Papa was and that he would soon be going to heaven.  Telling him that Papa was gone was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.  I thought he handled the news so well.  I was actually surprised by his reaction.  He was calm and appeared unaffected.  I got busy doing something for Will and turned back to see my sweet boy, face buried in the chair, sobbing.  I took him in my arms and held him  as he asked me why no one helped Papa when he stopped breathing.  I loved him and held him tight, wishing I could mend his broken heart.  I know only time will mend all of our hearts.  Especially for my Sam, who has lost one of the first real loves of his life.  His Papa.  His Du-Dolph.  His first best friend.

My Sick Baby

Will woke up during the night Friday throwing up and with a fever.  It was a tough night, but by morning he was feeling a little better.  We attempted Thanksgiving lunch at Mema's, but I soon knew he wasn't up to it.  His fever spiked again and by that afternoon it was over 103. I was unable to get his fever down which meant I had no choice but to take him to the emergency room.  And the hours that followed proved to be some of the scariest I've ever endured.  His fever stayed at 103.1 for hours and his heart rate was a very dangerous 200 beats per minute.  After the doctors were unable to lower his fever with medicine and iv's, Will was transported by ambulance to Wake Med.  Shortly after being admitted, he began to have terrible diarrhea.  They tested him for different kinds of bacterial infections, unable to target what exactly was making him sick.  They ruled out e coli and salmonella and finally settled on it being some kind of virus.  Those first hours with the high heart rate and fever and no answers nearly did Jody and me in.  It was after midnight before we got settled in and Will was able to rest.  I sent Jody home to be with his family who were gathered by his Papa's bedside as he lay dying.  I spent the night curled on the uncomfortable pull out couch with Will, trying to keep his iv line straight and textingJody about his Papa.  Jody and I both felt so torn, each of us feeling like we should be with one other.  Thankfully, morning came and my sweetie, although still feeling bad, was a little more like himself, cuddling with me and offering me a few smiles.

 Talking to his Daddy on the phone, swollen from all the fluids.

 A mid morning nap, trying so hard to get well.

 The staff at the hospital was so wonderful to us and worked so hard to get us home before Papa died.  I spent all day Sunday changing dirty diapers, begging Will to drink and straightening his iv line.  By mid-afternoon, I could see a light at the end of the tunnel.

 Feeling better and making Mama so happy with a little smile.

 Will drank a few ounces of drink and showed me his spunk was back when I offered him fruit.  The boy obviously doesn't like fruit cocktail.

We were released from the hospital around 5:00 and I was so thankful to be home with Will.  It was a frightening 24 hours for us, but a reminder to me of how blessed I am to have healthy children.  May I never, ever take that for granted again.

Keeping It Real

The current state of my kitchen table.  Also known as our art table. 

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving 2011.  What are you thankful for?

Sam:  Mema, my muscles, my last name, the iPad, being a good artist, putting the chickens in their coop, friends, drink, being an American, Belle, Mrs. Morris, Remi, food, Mama, Daddy giving me a dog, my farm, Nana & JP, art projects, Daddy, baby cows, family, my knife, Cade,  bears, reading, Will, Cannon, Whitley, Papa

Jack:  our house, playing with Will, gates, chopping wood, Mama's hair, drinking milk, cows, sitting in Daddy's chair, Remi, playing, Cade, getting eggs, sitting in the tub and popping bubbles, Saucy, Boo, Sam, Whitley, Mama's bed, G-Ma and Poppa, drawing, baby cows, Mama, Daddy, Robin, Cannon, chocolate milk, ketchup

Thanksgiving

What I'm most thankful for...

Priceless

There is nothing like turning around in the front seat and seeing your boys doing this.

Handling His Business

Toddlers have business to handle too.

Farm Life In Pictures

Every day, the boys spend time at the barn.  Usually it is in the afternoon, when the boys gather the eggs.  They love it down there and so do their cousins.  I think they'd all stay down there permanently if we'd let them.

Will really loves the chickens.  He pets them.  Like they're a cat.  Or a puppy.  Except, you know, they're not.

Gathering.  As carefully as they can.  Nevertheless, a few always end up cracked.  On a side note, do you know that chickens love to eat the cracked eggs?  Which would make them cannibals, right?  

Will stalks the chickens.  He follows them around.  He clucks. He claps his hands. He smacks his lips.  He pushes them along with a pat on the behind.  

Boys have no respect for the "labor" process.  Seriously.  Sam gently lifts the hens up and pulls the eggs out from underneath them before they even leave their nest.  No patience.  No waiting for her to finish and take a little rest before hoping off the prize.  Poor little mama.

Sam is a pro at picking the hens up and has taught everyone else the proper way to do it.  Our chickens are so accustomed to being picked up and carried, they stop and squat down when they see the boys coming as if to say, "Okay.  Here we go again.  Go ahead.  Pick me up.  Show all your friends what a brave little chicken farmer you are.  Go ahead.  Here, I'll even squat down for you to make it easier."

Sam, the teacher, showing Cade and Cannon how it's done.  I think I may be the Mama of a future president of the FFA.  I'm so proud.  Bring on the blazer.

This picture scares the *&$% out of me.  All those wings flapping and birds flying all over the place.  Forget about it.  I was a mess.  On a side note, the picture is completely out of focus because a.) Will was running and the chickens were flapping all over the place and b.)  I was stumbling backwards.  Stumbling and screaming for my life.

Stirring them up.  Stalking.  Looking for the perfect one to grab.  The red boots make him cocky.

My knee baby holding the prize.  We are collecting about 75 a day now.

Poor Landry.  Doing what it takes to hang with the boys.  Jack's jeans and shoes.  Sam's shirt.  Kicking dirt.  Nailing all things masculine.  It's tough being the only girl.

Jody shows Cade how to hold her the right way.

And he does it.  A little nervous, but he does it.  On a side note, I'm pretty sure you couldn't have stuck a ten penny nail up his behind at this moment. 

Cannon gets a turn.  On another side note, Cannon had to receive the dreaded you can't spike a chicken like a football lecture shortly after this picture was taken.  Thankfully, our chickens are friendly and resilient.

I was instructed to take this picture so they could show their teacher.  Of course, I obliged.  This is for Mrs. Morris.

Don't even think about leaving the littlest farm boy out of all that chicken holding.

Carefully taking his turn.

So happy.  Our chickens are well loved.  Very well loved.  Especially by Will.

Uh oh.  She escapes.

He really needed another turn.  

He needed another turn so he could demonstrate his look how gently I can put her down move.

Look who's gotten a little more confident.  "Look at us!  Oh, one hand! One hand!"  Professional chicken handlers.

They all know to wash their hands immediately after handling the chickens and eggs.  Now if I could only get them to clean their boots before they walk up on my porch.

Will always sneaks over to see Crawford before we head home.

He really loves her and her horse crew cut/mullet .

Farm life is wonderful.  Exciting, simple and absolutely wonderful.

So I've Learned

My boys rarely ride for long in the double seated cart at Target.


We usually make it about as far as the shoe aisle.  Which isn't very far.


And I cave and allow them to run free, which means our short trip just got a whole lot longer.  A longer trip guaranteed to test every ounce of patience this Mama has.


Chasing a toddler.  Rehanging clothes.  Explaining why the little red sequin shoes don't come in my size.


Every trip is the same.  Every trip is different.


And some trips are a learning experience.  For me.


And on our last trip I again learned something new.


I should really insist that the boys remain in the cart past the shoe aisles. 


And a little further. 


Past the ladies' pajamas.   


And certainly past the lingerie section.  

Will Feeds the Cows

Another short clip of my youngest doing something he loves...feeding the cows.  And for my littlest farm hand, lip smacking and tongue clicking is a requirement when calling the animals to eat.  I can't get enough of watching him learn the ropes of farm life.

On a side note, my Dad kindly informed me that if I'd turn my iPhone sideways, it will record full screen.  You learn something everyday.  Thanks, Daddy.

Afternoon Snack

I love...

Jack's enthusiasm... slapping the feed scoop and saying "Sure do love that feed, don't ya?"

Sam showing off and scaring me by grabbing the cow's horns.

Will's "mooing" and determination to help, dropping feed by the handfuls inside the gate.

Will "fussing" at the cows and hitting the gate.

 Will repeating his brothers saying, "Bull, bull, bull!"

The way Sam says "Romagnola."

Jack wishing he could be a cow,"'cause that would be so fun."

Little Gifts

He snuck behind a piece of furniture, making sure to be completely out of sight.

I heard him fumbling with the tape dispenser and when I asked what he was doing, he told me firmly, "Nothing, Mama.  Don't come over here."

So I didn't.

Half an hour later, Sam stood in front of me and surprised me with a small gift.

Three bags containing homemade pieces of jewelry, a necklace, a bracelet and rings.

Packaged in sandwich bags and placed inside a large envelope that came earlier that day in the mail.

It was taped up and addressed to me.  

"Mama-ma."

A little gift that took him a lot of time.

A little gift that melted my heart.

20 Months

Loves:  Cows, chickens, buckets, Adele, sneaking snacks out of the pantry, finding eggs, playing in the refrigerator, baths, his Poppa

Hates:  Riding in a shopping cart, bed time, when it's time to leave the barn

Attitude: Big

Temper:  Even Bigger

Saying:  egg, pig, Pa (for Poppa), pee (as he pretends to use the toilet), bird

Favorite Toys:  Tractors and trailers (that always require Mama's help to hook together) loaded with farm animals

Personality:  Mischievous, funny, determined, active, sweet, loving, sensitive 

Loved:  More than he'll ever know

Surviving Halloween

It's no secret.  I build up holidays in my mind.  I envision how perfect things will be.  I dream about blissful celebrations.  Tantrum and meltdown-free celebrations.  Full of laughter and smiles, void of drama and crying fits.  Yes, I dream.  And then...reality.   And as I reflect on Halloween 2011, I must admit that I had plenty of red flags waved in my face prior to the thirty-first.  Red flags that screamed, "This ain't looking good!"..."Give it up! Give it up now!"...."This is gonna be ugly."


Note to self:  Quit ignoring the red flags!


It was hard to contain my excitement the night we discussed what the boys would be for Halloween.  Jack immediately said he wanted to be a bull.  And when Sam said he wanted to be a farmer,  my theme-loving heart skipped a beat.  Oh my gosh!  How perfect!   Jack will be a bull.  Sam's a farmer and Will can't talk so, of course, I'll just choose for him.  And since we do live on a farm and we do have cows and chickens, he just has to be a chicken.  Perfect.  Our little farm family.  This is just too perfect.  The hunt for the perfect costume quickly ensued.


After finding and ordering the perfect chicken costume from Chasing Fireflies, I learned a week later that it was suddenly out of stock.  Dozens of internet searches and two more cancelled orders later, Will's costume arrived.  It was, indeed, adorable and so soft and comfortable.  I just knew my boy, you know the one who is happiest at the barn picking up and petting every chicken in sight, would appreciate all my hard work and love his costume. Well...

Someone has an attitude problem.

Jack was thrilled when his bull costume arrived.  It was the one he had picked out, black and white with horns.  He couldn't get it on fast enough.  

Red flag approaching...

I put his hat on, adjusted his hooves and stood back to admire his cuteness.  And in that very moment, my son bent over, stuck his head between his legs and looked at his behind.  And I knew what was coming.  "Maaaaa-Maaaaa! This is NOT a bull costume!  It ain't got no balls, Mama!  Look!"  And he bends his ball-less behind over in my face, pointing out the missing parts and fussing at me for "gettin' the wrong one."

Which led to...

Conversation # 142 that you never think you'll have with your mother after you become an adult, get married and have children:  The one where you oblige your four year old by calling her at bedtime and asking her:

a.  Does she know how to make balls to match a black and white cow costume?

b.  Will she know how to sew the balls she makes in the right spot?

c.  And just how soon can she get these alterations done?

Thankfully, after days of discussing the missing parts of his costume, I finally convinced him that the additional "things" would make it really hard to sit down (the boy had a size in mind too for his additions...extra large).  He was content to wear his costume, unaltered.  And in doing so, he really embraced that the idea that he was a cow and not a bull, breaking out his best I have no male parts down here, therefore I will not be masculine routine.

  Hands clasped femininely under his sweet, little chin?  Nailing it, "Mr. Bull With Missing Parts", nailing it.

Sam did his part to hamper my perfect farm themed Halloween fairy tale, too.  Friday was Sam's Halloween celebration at school, complete with a costume parade around the entire school.  My little farmer informed me Thursday night that he was dressing as a policeman for school.  My plea for him to dress as a farmer, complete with an informative tidbit about just how much I had spent on his Carhartt overalls, fell on deaf ears and he marched in the parade as a policeman.  

The I'm so embarrassed wave.

I totally blame Cannon's choice to be a secret spy for making Sam abandon farm life for crime fighting.  

I was responsible for providing snacks for Sam's class party that afternoon.  And me, in all my Martha Stewart wannabe glory, thought I'd create a few ridiculously cute spooky snacks.  With high hopes, I loaded my grocery cart with an assortment of chocolates, baking goods and other essentials necessary to whip up five special treats.  The first, white chocolate ghosts, bit the dust when I scorched the chocolate not once, but twice, in the microwave and on the stove top.  I moved on to my next task, creating witches' hats out of fudge stripe cookies, Hershey's kisses and orange icing.  After making two dozen, I began to question the appearance of my little "hats."  Fearing embarrassment and hoping not to scar my child for life at his very first class party, I texted a picture to Allyson, asking if she thought my "hats" looked right.  While I waited for her to respond, I woke Jody, stuck the plate of "hats" in his face, and asked him if they looked okay.  I won't repeat his response but it, paired with Allyson's laughter, meant my second creation had now bit the dust.

Okay, I get it.  I know what they look like.

In defense of myself, they do look like hats from the side.  Unfortunately, I couldn't ask the kids and adults to eat them with their head at a ninety degree angle, so into the trash they went.

I do feel that I redeemed myself with my spider cookies and mummy juice boxes.

Even after all the costume debacle and snack mishaps leading up to the big day, I still had high hopes that Halloween night would be full of fun and excitement as we shuffled the boys in and out of houses where everyone oohed and aahed over their cuteness.  Halloween night would be everything I'd hoped it would be.

Except...

It rained.  Buckets.

Everyone was tired.

And moody.

Very, very moody.

Not one of my children were willing to put on their costume.  It got ugly and ended with me giving a dramatic speech about "how little children all over the world look forward all year to getting dressed up and going trick or treating on Halloween."   I may have added something about "ingrates" and "never buying costumes again" and  may have even thrown in a whiny "This is the last time I'll ever do this again! And I mean it!" for emphasis.

So our trick or treating consisted of appearing at Nana and JP's with our costumes damp and only partially on. We finished dressing our farm trio and lined them up with their cousins for a group shot.

Every good grandmother has a stray body part on the fireplace for Halloween.

And, then, in a whirlwind of pulling off bandannas and ditching cow horns and little chicken feet,  it was over.  And I must say, I was glad.  I am now a little worried that some part of me must secretly enjoy  the punishment, because my mind is currently full of festive Thanksgiving ideas that I know my children will just love to participate in.  Chocolate pilgrim hats and pine cone turkeys, anyone?  Anyone?  Let the giving thanks begin.