tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36971445167957368072024-03-05T23:32:17.633-06:00Confessions of a Farm WifeThe good, the bad, and the dirty truth about life on the gravel road.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.comBlogger537125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-86596430963791903992018-06-10T21:56:00.000-05:002018-06-10T22:01:37.918-05:00The MiddleOur Amelia is nine today.<br />
<br />
This means that she is halfway through living in our house.<br />
<br />
In nine more years, our sweet middle child will be getting ready to head off to college. She will have figured out whether or not she really wants to be an optometrist or play soccer or sing and dance on Broadway or open up her art studio.<br />
<br />
This kid has a variety of dreams.<br />
<br />
It seems strange that our middle is halfway through her time under our roof, because I feel like we are so deep in the weeds, my friends.<br />
Deep.<br />
Life right now is carting non-drivers to all lessons and camps and rehearsals. Loading campers and trailers for cattle shows and wrangling little people as we wrestle with groceries in two carts. I feel like we may never end the chaos and the noise and the schedules, but realizing that the middle is halfway to "adulting" makes it feel really weird.<br />
<br />
You see, Amelia is our steady. She is rarely smarty. Rarely upset. Rarely over-the-top in anything other than sunshine. She brings a balance that shifts when she's not around. She is helpful and kind, even though her littlest siblings would like her to not try to cart them around too much. She is trying desperately to be a big girl, scouring Pinterest for outfit ideas for her big trip to Washington, DC with Grandma and Grandpa, even though I still catch her singing her heart out as she assembles one Lego house after another. She is responsible and helpful, but has been known to try to take her bunny down the curly slide, just to "see if she likes it."<br />
<br />
Isn't this what the middle child is supposed to be? One foot in the older kid camp, the other planted in the little kid camp.<br />
And thank heavens for that.<br />
In a world where time seems to fly; kids seem to grow up too fast; life is just hectic, Amelia is our anecdote. She makes us laugh, brings us just pure joy with her spark and spunk.<br />
<br />
Amelia, thank you for being the middle. You may feel sometime that being in the middle is hard, but you are right where you're supposed to be. You remind us to not take ourselves too seriously. You never fail to ask a question or want to be a part of the conversation. I love that you want to be a part of it all, whatever "it" is!<br />
<br />
Happy birthday to my sweet girl. I am so thankful to have been chosen to be your mama, thankful that you're my middle.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GGdf2K9RD6Ezse7vCXP7jzgu84OQ5QPObiuR8j9Qye_Ym7aW5xn25yasTGfVTuoGHEayj_Zlss_ZwY1QVIQaAaM9XsAHBGxwVSQjKsWoW0C4zsYQaMaij1XFPHZKwhmvK-ucegclQuo/s1600/amelia+bik.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GGdf2K9RD6Ezse7vCXP7jzgu84OQ5QPObiuR8j9Qye_Ym7aW5xn25yasTGfVTuoGHEayj_Zlss_ZwY1QVIQaAaM9XsAHBGxwVSQjKsWoW0C4zsYQaMaij1XFPHZKwhmvK-ucegclQuo/s320/amelia+bik.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEY4Q_Cw3A5gtMPXvNQli7ypB75BE6PSHh67i1QRGzXhxAa0WanynzhGuUff52jFVkAvPUgZQbgZVJpGWoLBmjhZ48TESASoFUnVotiNXJ48IDCE_c7Wwr5BpUqAiO0A1ksDZeshAj5k8/s1600/amelia+cake9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEY4Q_Cw3A5gtMPXvNQli7ypB75BE6PSHh67i1QRGzXhxAa0WanynzhGuUff52jFVkAvPUgZQbgZVJpGWoLBmjhZ48TESASoFUnVotiNXJ48IDCE_c7Wwr5BpUqAiO0A1ksDZeshAj5k8/s320/amelia+cake9.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-15955470421833929892018-05-19T21:46:00.000-05:002018-05-19T21:52:14.496-05:00Our Boy<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMEu6VwzP3p-pEvZs9nNFN7g4-7wUO3B5qHxlCBqRFz62A4hVD4PL1ZCcX6NQ_SZiCDJ1yPiYSsQbc1l6QENqniFlIZlx4o1g2WnEHriUFjXSQglvMQMCWbeYNWAf5V4toeMzaayFhMc/s1600/jack7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMEu6VwzP3p-pEvZs9nNFN7g4-7wUO3B5qHxlCBqRFz62A4hVD4PL1ZCcX6NQ_SZiCDJ1yPiYSsQbc1l6QENqniFlIZlx4o1g2WnEHriUFjXSQglvMQMCWbeYNWAf5V4toeMzaayFhMc/s320/jack7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
In the shuffle of a big family, one can sometimes feel lost. Birthdays, however, are days that I have tried desperately to keep sacred. We have the birthday breakfast and presents tradition. We have cake with the cousins and grandparents, followed up with a friend party, traditionally.<br />
<br />
Well, this weekend, the shuffle of a big active family almost ruined my streak of intentional birthday awesomeness.<br />
<br />
However, as I sit here writing this for my boy who is now seven, I am realizing that this is just about right. Having Jack's birthday during this truly busy time has always seemed like a lot in a sea of calendar events.<br />
<br />
But this special day for this special boy has kept us always focusing on "the main thing" during times when we might forget who has eaten and who hasn't.<br />
<br />
Our little guy's birthday has landed during late planting, during spraying, during pre-show season cattle work. He has had to share his day with the hustle of track meets and ball games and piano recitals. We have had later parties, joint parties, and sometimes teeny parties, but having his birthday in May makes us slow the heck down.<br />
<br />
We need that right now. Hectic is our norm, and tonight, as we sat around the table with just the grandparents and our family, I realized that if we didn't have our boy's party tonight, I wouldn't have sat back and pushed my little people on the swing. I wouldn't have watched him as he and his sisters played joyfully in grass that was in woeful need of a mowing. I would have focused on the flowers I hadn't planted instead of enjoying the bunches of grass and dandelions the little girls brought me as my mom and I had a real conversation.<br />
<br />
I am so thankful for this night. And especially, <i>especially</i> thankful for my little/big boy.<br />
<br />
Right now, Jack's in the season where he wants to tell a story and might start when you get in the car and finish just as you're pulling into the destination...often times close to 20 minutes later. He's in the season of wanting desperately to ride his bike by himself somewhere, but wonders if maybe I could watch him for a little longer. He's acting like a tough dude, but still loves a bedtime story and hearing me sing the song I have sung to him every night since he was born. He's good for a great joke he's found somewhere, and always one more cup of chocolate milk in the morning.<br />
<br />
He is our slow down in the hurry up phase of our life.<br />
<br />
Thank goodness for that.<br />
<br />
Jack, we will always slow down for you. I may think I don't have time for another story, another song, another timed run around the house, but I do. I really do. I need to, and you have helped me do that more times than you have intended.<br />
<br />
Sweet boy, today we have had to shuffle to celebrate, but we did it! We will get that friend birthday party, your Cardinals game with Dad, and another cup of chocolate milk on the calendar soon, but for now, sweet birthday dreams to you. We love you more than you could ever know.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Xsgl5Z2OffxLWlZCdwNOtP8Wl7w1cPjkOy6x6bfrcUxNnjL1Ok_ZxavKznFGsoMmKMAR7PhDfRj8PkKcfXmqzsjH5j-P1mbvimrCw5KCLlyP02He94HuiG5n5Q2je-eUoddCAC_e3uI/s1600/jack+73.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Xsgl5Z2OffxLWlZCdwNOtP8Wl7w1cPjkOy6x6bfrcUxNnjL1Ok_ZxavKznFGsoMmKMAR7PhDfRj8PkKcfXmqzsjH5j-P1mbvimrCw5KCLlyP02He94HuiG5n5Q2je-eUoddCAC_e3uI/s320/jack+73.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX_PJglMNz8ec_b7xjeAu5GBy7mSn_5CKrD3gXKeNcAI-swgTnd4JAouloPxxyRqrt-dR9Y0YPRNAQdWFmpkg2YmhTcgl1LpdraQrC30EJce2oihqfjfzbw-QtVZxcypoF7Xu-zZGIaMw/s1600/jack72.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX_PJglMNz8ec_b7xjeAu5GBy7mSn_5CKrD3gXKeNcAI-swgTnd4JAouloPxxyRqrt-dR9Y0YPRNAQdWFmpkg2YmhTcgl1LpdraQrC30EJce2oihqfjfzbw-QtVZxcypoF7Xu-zZGIaMw/s320/jack72.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9K1mW5FWrIq8jouhsoj-4ktf3WkzJdVfPFcagHN3qnljEooKC5TuntFM3GpKy3EdUq7Ot13fMJyrK4e6_L5TecRticYJ5TxY4yC383iuNFbBFhnD0AzIcf2oSvXcO5PxgD6pKMm1sefQ/s1600/jack+74.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9K1mW5FWrIq8jouhsoj-4ktf3WkzJdVfPFcagHN3qnljEooKC5TuntFM3GpKy3EdUq7Ot13fMJyrK4e6_L5TecRticYJ5TxY4yC383iuNFbBFhnD0AzIcf2oSvXcO5PxgD6pKMm1sefQ/s320/jack+74.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-83876288551938847902018-03-02T08:53:00.000-06:002018-03-02T09:17:15.273-06:00Dear HeartWe have a teenager today.<br />
<br />
Anna is 13.<br />
<br />
While today is a little atypical from our usual birthday celebrations, it is and will continue to be a big day.<br />
<br />
Sitting alone in a downtown Chicago hotel room as I write and reflect on my first day of being some one's mommy is a strange space to be. However, I find this space in being alone in my thoughts allows for good reflection, feeling #allthefeels. As I think about that 36 hour endeavor 13 years ago, and the last 13 years- as cliche as it sounds- these years have flown by.<br />
<br />
You guys, our Anna is pretty amazing. When I tell people I have six kids, I always lead with the caveat that I have the <i>most helpful </i>big kids a big family could have, and it starts at the top.<br />
<br />
Anna was born older. Born exactly on her due date, she was almost nine pounds, never losing any of her birth weight during those first tender days. She walked early, talked early, read early, reasoned early. I don't know if that's just a sweet symphony of her development or personality or if she just rose to the occasion as more and more little Webels joined her in the ranks.<br />
<br />
Regardless, this kid, this teenager, is one with great potential. On a birthday, you can't help but reflect on those tender toddler days. First day of kindergarten. First basketball game. First cattle show.<br />
<br />
But as I think about those days I had at home with my little Anna, I can't help but feel this burst of pride and excitement for the next chapter. While society wants us to think that teenagers are difficult and dark, Anna is has brought so much happiness and light in our life. Those first years are sweet and exhausting and exciting, but just in the past year, our girl has proven to be thoughtful, thought-provoking, inquisitive in a mature way, responsible in more than just the "do your homework" way.<br />
<br />
Anna is different from our other kids. A bit more of an introvert, she is also extremely funny, super smart and driven without being overly competitive. While her goals include exceeding in judging, starting in sports, and winning the state discus title, she knows that her worth is more than those titles. Her walk in her faith just recently has given our whole family a new light inside.<br />
<br />
See? This kid is powerful.<br />
<br />
Anna, we treasure you. We truly do. Your life is one that will continue to surprise, impress and challenge us.<br />
<br />
13 years ago, I was excited to be your mom, excited to start that journey. 13 years later, same day, I'm still feeling that excitement.<br />
<br />
Dear heart, you are tender hearted. While your character is strong, life is hard. Please know that we want you to experience the hard, but to know that we are always the soft spot to land.<br />
Dear heart, we have you in our house for just five more years. Every day I watch you as you make your own lunch, practice your guitar, ask me or your sisters to sing along, work your calves, know that I am watching you, cheering you on, valuing every minute we have together.<br />
Dear heart, we love you. Dearly. Truly. Always.<br />
<br />
Happy, happy birthday to our sweet #1 girl, Anna Grace. Our teenager. The one who started this all, set the bar high and keeps us going.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mom<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIvIjQ2pHRvDCJ6ceILB3PVAHD97IVnPOot0Le4DFI5pcUwKaz0lbFDtYzcGdqDVJ53UNQKGS9Zr3Sh7H_CFe6P1ywd9hiFm6iQq92NKdEOyZiCLxhXjjQH2zXYUBmuGU3jN7bcvwSOo/s1600/Anna+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKIvIjQ2pHRvDCJ6ceILB3PVAHD97IVnPOot0Le4DFI5pcUwKaz0lbFDtYzcGdqDVJ53UNQKGS9Zr3Sh7H_CFe6P1ywd9hiFm6iQq92NKdEOyZiCLxhXjjQH2zXYUBmuGU3jN7bcvwSOo/s320/Anna+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jfCgadyXYI2riGXKjiHW0dKK-EkLtPf5uRRg5unkMHJPLeu5l2hSIFUutRhgU-Fs_34PwQAGzV0JDunclukvsynoXKg6KAcPuuNxUycx6m8qDWn2QhHFVsMCM-OwHxJwyahg13hhoww/s1600/anna+and+joe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="642" data-original-width="960" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jfCgadyXYI2riGXKjiHW0dKK-EkLtPf5uRRg5unkMHJPLeu5l2hSIFUutRhgU-Fs_34PwQAGzV0JDunclukvsynoXKg6KAcPuuNxUycx6m8qDWn2QhHFVsMCM-OwHxJwyahg13hhoww/s320/anna+and+joe.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTpfJdjgtokubzIErI9M9iNNy32U0RCL36PlGwgBIavhyphenhyphen5XXt9TjxfsnXlx6-CfvBKkikSQaX-GfPeIQ69kXVaBGmRYO0EqYv0GMK_EY41UDMIco4UURyjul53zz7gpYY-xbM2haTrrYI/s1600/anna+happy+regionals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTpfJdjgtokubzIErI9M9iNNy32U0RCL36PlGwgBIavhyphenhyphen5XXt9TjxfsnXlx6-CfvBKkikSQaX-GfPeIQ69kXVaBGmRYO0EqYv0GMK_EY41UDMIco4UURyjul53zz7gpYY-xbM2haTrrYI/s320/anna+happy+regionals.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu821h6GaKYEMUFZmzdFC94xxCyrsoqWZhgTM8ht84jMv_2h2Tn-RLxZ6EsjNj3_8EhKAtmWsdiUzUKk18J5zUXT911cmkAYmN83crRUyN44d17QXK5HIeQH_CyblAWYQ2fXD0ZfZ4HGw/s1600/23609_102082253164724_1097260_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu821h6GaKYEMUFZmzdFC94xxCyrsoqWZhgTM8ht84jMv_2h2Tn-RLxZ6EsjNj3_8EhKAtmWsdiUzUKk18J5zUXT911cmkAYmN83crRUyN44d17QXK5HIeQH_CyblAWYQ2fXD0ZfZ4HGw/s1600/23609_102082253164724_1097260_n.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNpsYnudybSAtx4VJkpoZTPaT2LSGWQ3nZPJcQDLcBYe13zJ_80VvhctEQwT5p73sH4N4yLuYThtGQwK0qKD-VahfPL6SZbgIWIgpuuV1K2qb3_pZJ4YTCb2ZxgJmjjJa_rcpA8Dm28mI/s1600/10369874_914328588606749_2030097923736928240_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNpsYnudybSAtx4VJkpoZTPaT2LSGWQ3nZPJcQDLcBYe13zJ_80VvhctEQwT5p73sH4N4yLuYThtGQwK0qKD-VahfPL6SZbgIWIgpuuV1K2qb3_pZJ4YTCb2ZxgJmjjJa_rcpA8Dm28mI/s1600/10369874_914328588606749_2030097923736928240_n.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-54275755506595515652018-02-20T17:08:00.001-06:002018-02-20T17:09:04.807-06:0042 Was Hard, 43 Will Be StrongerWell friends, it's a big day around here. The big guy, Farmer Joe, has a birthday. While he's not a gift guy...ummmmm...ask him about his NEW SOCKS...42 is a year that needs to be celebrated.<br />
<br />
That it's over.<br />
<br />
42 was a hard one. Joe had some employment shifts around here. He had some hard conversations. He had some pretty significant health issues that can cause you to really re-evaluate nearly every decision made in one's life.<br />
<br />
But, guess what? He MADE it. We made it.<br />
<br />
And 42, you're done, and we're stronger because of it.<br />
<br />
42 was the year of the "scare." Without going into the whole story, Joe could have died. His "widowmaker" artery was 90% (is that even right? That seems like a lot.) blocked. If he would have adhered to my "suck it up and go for a walk" advice (I NEVER claim to be a doctor.), he could have never come back.<br />
<br />
I spent the better part of the beginning of year 42 being upset. Our life was in upheaval. I felt like we had too much of everything and too little of everything else. But when a health scare, a significant one like this comes in front of you, you tend to worry less about the kitchen countertops and the bedroom furniture and focus on what is truly valuable.<br />
<br />
Life.<br />
<br />
Life, my friends.<br />
<br />
If you're a believer in God like I am, you believe that He is a healer and has a plan. I don't always agree with that plan (see the months of February-May of 2017), when you look back, you see the good in the upheaval. You find the answer in what seemed like was unknowns.<br />
<br />
43 is Joe's next year, and as I place candles on Joe's Texas cake tonight (THANK YOU MAMA!!), I will not only thank God for Joe's 43 years before this one, but will give thanks to the next 43 or 53 or whatever we have together.<br />
<br />
I am nearly in tears sitting here writing this. Tears of joy that we get to navigate the ick and the good and the sad and the hard together, but also that I didn't lose you. WHAT WOULD I WRITE ABOUT IN THIS BLOG??? Ha.<br />
<br />
So as you wear your very practical new socks, know that while my present was not fancy, your presence is a gift to me today. Thank you God for blessing us with Farmer Joe who teaches the value of hard work, rest when necessary and a good, old fashion pun. Thank you for allowing our girls to still work cattle with their dad who stands today healthier and more aware of what's important. I am blessed to have a little boy who tosses a ball and walks pasture with his daddy. I am thankful for a husband who took a leap of faith into a new career that will not only provide for our family, but allow space for us to BE a family.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, my sweet Farmer Joe. May you enjoy many more years of a happy ticker and some ribs and Texas cake...but only once in awhile. I'm still your nutritional boss, you know.<br />
<br />
Love you.<br />
<br />
<img alt="Image may contain: 8 people, people smiling" height="228" src="https://scontent.ford1-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/13230237_10154182056704817_863486766579032615_n.jpg?oh=2356021e3e3ffec13a92131c311d1131&oe=5B190A50" width="320" /><br />
<br />
<a href="https://scontent.ford1-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/998734_596828977023380_423531337_n.jpg?oh=4b69eb2540f68a9d69925a2a4fa431ba&oe=5B10A4B8" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Image may contain: 2 people, people standing and wedding" border="0" height="320" src="https://scontent.ford1-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/998734_596828977023380_423531337_n.jpg?oh=4b69eb2540f68a9d69925a2a4fa431ba&oe=5B10A4B8" width="179" /></a><img alt="Image may contain: 2 people, people smiling" height="240" src="https://scontent.ford1-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/13119078_1170339643005641_2621377098958696682_n.jpg?oh=0a4e278d29eba92f1f2ed9ad51a0c03c&oe=5B0BE99E" width="320" /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Image may contain: house and outdoor" height="320" src="https://scontent.ford1-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/13450847_10154244939129817_1461796415579565650_n.jpg?oh=f428dbc73535888b9147fd5ba8107079&oe=5B1AFC7A" width="320" /><br />
<br />
<img alt="Image may contain: 2 people, people smiling" height="320" src="https://scontent.ford1-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/12039365_1150275391667423_6830223510466854014_n.jpg?oh=4f93709224ed9354d47fd001fefab4f0&oe=5B22D63F" width="320" />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-33265389034385304552018-01-21T17:30:00.001-06:002018-01-21T18:56:37.333-06:00"It's Like Charlotte's Web, Mom."So today is a big day around here.<br />
<br />
We have been showing cattle for four years. That first year, we started with one picture in our head of how we would always have access to a barn. With our transition out of that operation, we had to quickly shift. For three years, we have been so grateful for our friend's barn down the road. While it always came with a warm welcome and was a hospitable space, it was never super convenient. Chores had to be done with a parent in a car...not the easiest feat when it was nap time or dinner time.<br />
<br />
Since our kids have continued to show, we have wished and prayed and cursed for a space on our farmstead for our calves to be near. So our kids could be those farm kids that walk out the door in their pajamas and chore boots to do those quick chores. So our kids could be those farm kids who don't have to have a driver's license to get to the barn.<br />
<br />
Today, that day has come. My parents and uncle and grandpa have been working and figuring out and agreeing to this space for us. It's a tricky spot where we are.<br />
<br />
You see, where we live is the heart of the farm. Thanks to a lovely tornado over 20 years ago, the barn lot was blown away. Furthermore, "our" barn lot is actually my grandpa's. We own our house and the land around it, but otherwise, we're pretty much landlocked by fields of grain and gravel not owned by us. Over the years, it has morphed into a communal space. My dad's semi is parked in the shed. The main pieces of equipment are here. It's the space where the hunters meet, but also is where our kids play, where we live.<br />
<br />
If you were to look at our house's footprint, an untrained eye to what is necessary for cattle might assume to "put a fence here" or "put a shed there" (these are words I have said).<br />
<br />
It's not that simple. There's water. There's power. There's shade. There's flies to consider and smells.<br />
<br />
Many, many days last summer as we waited (sometimes) patiently for this deal to be sealed, and there were days we thought we would just put and fence here and a shed there and call it a day. While my yard is still bumpy and unlanscaped from our remodel (fingers crossed for this summer!), I wasn't necessarily asking for THAT type of fence when I requested a space to be fenced in.<br />
<br />
So TODAY IS A BIG DEAL, MY FRIENDS.<br />
<br />
BIG. DEAL.<br />
<br />
Just about a quarter mile from our house, six head of show calves are taking up residence. The power guys came on Friday and by Saturday afternoon, Joe and the girls were hauling bales and readying water for Lil' Sebastian, Tommy Fresh, Pandy, Queen B and two others I can't remember the names of BECAUSE THEY HAVE BEEN SO FAR AWAY.<br />
<br />
While the logistics of this makes life so exciting, the experience is what I cannot wait to see unfold.<br />
<br />
As we were chatting on the way to church today about the excitement of the barn, a little voice piped up from the way back.<br />
<br />
"It's like Charlotte's Web, Mom."<br />
<br />
The idyllic picture of farm life, the stereotype that I have spent a lot of time rolling my eyes at, writing blogs that proclaim we are NOT like, is the picture my kids have wished for.<br />
<br />
Isn't that just the way life is?<br />
<br />
Oh the irony...<br />
<br />
The wish list for the barn is long. There are things still that are just "fine" for now, but will be corrected sooner and some later. The kids want pigs. They want barn cats. Amelia wants desperately to show rabbits over cows. They want to walk down by themselves and talk to the animals as they do their work after a day at school. The quiet, sweet smelling barn is what farm kids are supposed to experience, and until today, we haven't had that without a lot of wrangling and who's going and who's not and who's too little and who's napping.<br />
<br />
So, yes, today is a big day. As the sun goes down, there's muddy boots on my freshly mopped porch (gah), but there are happy kids and a really, really, really happy dad chatting in the basement about chores.<br />
<br />
No big deal over here, we're just dreaming of pigs and cows and maybe an amazing spider. Because, we dreamt of a barn some day and here we are. Why not shoot for "Some Pig?"Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-90553455418587387152017-11-27T19:24:00.003-06:002017-11-27T19:46:42.267-06:00Dear JosephineDear Josephine,<br />
<br />
Today is your birthday!!! YAY!!<br />
<br />
You have been keeping us updated by counting down each day this month as your big eleventh birthday approached.<br />
<br />
Your birthday present list has been sitting beside my computer since early September (with asterisks next to the items you wanted to "consult" me on!).<br />
<br />
You have prepped and planned for a fun birthday party with friends and willingly celebrated your day on Thanksgiving with family.<br />
<br />
You enjoyed Mexican food, complete with a serenade and ice cream on the face, and have already tuned and taught yourself two chords on your new ukulele.<br />
<br />
Life is good today for sure, and it is so fun to watch you grow and flourish right now.<br />
<br />
Eleven opens a door to a new time. You're about halfway through your last year of elementary school. You're starting to make choices on activities, take on leadership roles, and be helpful even more so at home. You're at a space in your life when possibilities seem endless, growing up looks like fun, and being a kid is still awesome.<br />
<br />
However, eleven also ushers in a tricky time. You're approaching middle school. While I know that you will be fine, you will have to deal with some hard stuff. Friends are going to come and go. Choices about activities will need to be made. Independence is something you crave, yet can't quite comprehend. You may feel lost at times. You may feel sad. You may feel upset. You may not...who knows? That's what's fun and also kind of scary about getting bigger.<br />
<br />
Here's the good news: Your dad and I are sitting here, watching you. We love you so much and are here to help you figure things out. However, this is time in our parenting that is still somewhat new to us. You are a completely different eleven year old than your sister, and so we're trying to figure this out, too.<br />
<br />
Let's do this together, okay? Let's give each other space and grace and encouragement. We want to guide you like we did when you were learning to ride a bike. Remember that? You might not because now, you fly across the gravel driveway now. Just a few years ago, we were the ones to steady you, guiding you with our hands on your back to help you right your way. You may have forgotten that, but I still see that little girl on a pink princess bike every so often. Keep that determination, but know that your dad and I will always help you right your way when you feel lost.<br />
<br />
Josie, I am certain that big things will come for you as you get bigger. I know that your spunk and your spirit and your talents will lead you down a road that I can't even imagine. You are feisty and fearless and might give your old dad a run for his money, but in the end, you will always be our dearest Josie.<br />
<br />
Tonight, I'll tuck you in as a new eleven year old. My eyes well up with tears thinking of that first night you were born. You were so tiny, dark haired and already opinionated. I couldn't even imagine that night what you would be like as you grew up. Now that you are, I can't believe how amazing you are.<br />
<br />
Thanks for keeping our lives interesting and busy, Josie. We are right here, always watching, always ready to guide you. We love you and are so, so excited to see where the next eleven years take you...because these first have flown by.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, my Sweet Jos.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mom<br />
<img alt="Image may contain: 2 people, people smiling, sky, closeup and outdoor" height="320" src="https://scontent-ort2-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/23915537_10155875265754817_3538908364936265765_n.jpg?oh=8737ca865bbdcbe5e9cc50f92cf249b5&oe=5A9D694E" width="320" /><br />
<br />
<img alt="Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, standing" height="320" src="https://scontent-ort2-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/20882246_10155602314814817_1752228472062112234_n.jpg?oh=ab21c86f03c8e4bfd92bc906e982c169&oe=5ACE5B7D" width="320" /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Image may contain: 1 person, horse" height="320" src="https://scontent-ort2-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/20729585_10155590469019817_7207939563711447367_n.jpg?oh=debe38a00e9b1eaca413ab000ca5e703&oe=5A9AC3F4" width="320" /><br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="Image may contain: 4 people, people smiling, people standing" height="320" src="https://scontent-ort2-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/19961553_10155482236549817_6656824375756942544_n.jpg?oh=de1d9b7b2376f1d882815a98087a7880&oe=5A9E4709" width="240" /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-66657400516078532082017-11-17T08:14:00.002-06:002017-11-17T08:44:14.804-06:00NovemberWhen I was a kid, I loved November. Thanksgiving was a great holiday for a kid like me who enjoys wearing sweaters and eating pie. When I was in college, I loved November. We came home to the Cranberry Classic basketball tournament, sporting our newly minted Greek letters or school colors. There was just enough break for us to catch a breather before finals.<br />
<br />
As an adult and a farm family, November has become a little harder. Harvest *should* be done. The weather is getting colder, so chores are less fun. The nights start at 4:30, and if you're a mom of toddlers, going to bed at 5:30 makes for a hard next day.<br />
<br />
Four years ago, November took a whole other meaning. We lost Joe's mom to cancer November 20th. Josie's birthday is just a week after, and while we are still celebratory and together around that time, November is still hard.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, in true November form, we received the news that we lost one of our friends, Jay.<br />
In November.<br />
From cancer.<br />
<br />
November, you're relentless. Cancer, you stink.<br />
<br />
I just saw Jay about a month or so ago, maybe longer. I was having a lunch meeting at a little restaurant off the interstate, and in he walked, plopping right next to me, introducing himself to my colleagues. After my meeting ended, I went over and sat with him, joking with him about how he was eating pie before his lunch. "You gotta live, Miss Emily."<br />
<br />
Yep. You do.<br />
<br />
Jay was one of those guys who made Joe and me laugh about everything and anything. When we first had Josie, we were attending a mutual friend's wedding. I was holding our newborn, standing and chatting with Jay while Joe was off talking somewhere else. Another one of Jay's friends (did he have millions of friends or what?) came up and Jay said, just as casually as he could, "Have you met my wife, Emily?"<br />
<br />
We laughed so hard that day, and every time I saw him or he saw Joe, he would ask, "How's my wife?"<br />
<br />
He was a talented and smart and funny and witty and complex guy. But he was sick. When I saw him last, we spoke of Joe's health and when I asked him how he was, "I'm okay today!" was his cheerful answer.<br />
<br />
I believed him.<br />
<br />
I just don't get this world we live in. I don't understand God's plan when it includes taking people like Jay out of the world at such a young age. Jay had already lost his mom at an even younger age, and now his dad has to go through this? This is what brings me to tears today. The unfairness of it all.<br />
<br />
Friends, I am here to tell you that I'm done with November. Today I'm sad and tired of trying to explain why my iPhone knows where I am at all times and can get me an Uber, a Starbucks, and everything on Amazon, and yet we keep losing friends and family to this crappy disease.<br />
<br />
November, you're relentless.<br />
<br />
However, I am too. I will keep telling stories about Grammy to my kids who never met her to keep those memories alive. I will hold fast to the last hug I gave to Jay and will chuckle every time I think of him and his funny references and stories. Joe and I rarely say the correct city name for Davenport, Iowa. Thanks to Jay, it's Couch to us.<br />
<br />
Rest in peace, Jay. This Thanksgiving, I'll eat pie first in your honor.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-37906386520257722432017-10-16T10:02:00.002-05:002017-10-16T16:43:49.656-05:00An Influencer, Really?So, if you follow me on various social media outlets, you know that I have had a fun fall. Between birthdays and ball games, harvest and homecoming, I have been fortunate to do a bit of traveling for work and fun.<br />
<br />
This is crazy that I am now the frequent flyer in our family, considering three years ago, I NEVER LEFT HOME. Remember these moments from just a few years ago?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheNXUwWgEL-beoMn3tCidMoy9WWYNKUEr1VZiB_77D7jVJmh3UPZypzW_NMJ8NutVlw_W7ftstt2jpOA9VeRunN022nvRR-fMFokLJtT4tETPyGd9d-2xjDgBk43hvLo9yDo012AuSKIA/s1600/IMG_3336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheNXUwWgEL-beoMn3tCidMoy9WWYNKUEr1VZiB_77D7jVJmh3UPZypzW_NMJ8NutVlw_W7ftstt2jpOA9VeRunN022nvRR-fMFokLJtT4tETPyGd9d-2xjDgBk43hvLo9yDo012AuSKIA/s320/IMG_3336.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We spent a lot of time doing this.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And then this? Remember this simultaneous craziness?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTh6HWuv91a9195ubhKuIaGy27gMncQrOReUmb8TpJUaLMO91Lf9gIs8mg7PjeVOMg3ZfSjv9WdEhs8YAKIEABXtEmhuK_Fgf7XBKpaDBfcobhPOZ9Yr-avHMZDmDaIcsdHmtzldQe_VA/s1600/IMG_3113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTh6HWuv91a9195ubhKuIaGy27gMncQrOReUmb8TpJUaLMO91Lf9gIs8mg7PjeVOMg3ZfSjv9WdEhs8YAKIEABXtEmhuK_Fgf7XBKpaDBfcobhPOZ9Yr-avHMZDmDaIcsdHmtzldQe_VA/s320/IMG_3113.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
That's our house on stilts. Sheesh. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So friends, when I am asked, "how do you do it all?" I honestly don't know how to NOT do it all. I don't remember a lot about this particular year, but what I do know now is that if I can weather being a mom of six, nurse twins while simulatneously answering construction questions, I can figure out how to get on a plane and talk to adults. It's all relative, really.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Fast forward to this past year, and I have had the incredible opportunity to work in a job that is rewarding and flexible all while still figuring out who I am online. I took a step back to figure this out, and as a writer, I highly recommend that head space.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So when I was contacted to be a part of the <a href="https://ruralinfluencerproject.com/" target="_blank">Rural Influencer Project</a>, I was surprised. My presence here has been sporadic at best. My social media outlets mostly included kids and cattle, but I never have considered myself an influencer. However, hearing the premise of this opportunity made me realize that this was just the place I needed to be. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Here's some background: <a href="https://ruralgoneurban.com/" target="_blank">Brooke Clay</a> is a dynamo. She has a wide range of experience both corporate and grassroots. She dreamed up this retreat to not just connect and encourage folks like me with an online presence, but to push us to consider our influence. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I have been to blogging conferences. I have been to ag conferences. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This is neither and both.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In her first year, Brooke has created a space where presenters are learning alongside attendees. We were encouraged to consider ourselves as a business by discussing the legalities and accountancy of our art. I was pointed out in the first session by a PR expert to get my site off a blogspot and some new pictures because, "You're darling, and people love that." Ummmm...okay. Is that why you're here? Because I'm darling??? Either way, I appreciated the "get off your booty and update" suggestion!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I haven't given the time to oomph up my presence online, and that's not just because I have all these kids and a life. This was somewhat intentional and always something I kept close to my chest. I have always focused on the content and not the targeting or the outreach because I have always held firm that this is a grassroots effort over here, and I never want to be anything but real.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
However, after this weekend, I am reconsidering the options I have here. You guys, I appreciate all of you and all your shares, but this Internet thing is really here to stay (ha, ha). My story, my influence, my life is something to share, and while I'm still navigating how exactly to market that, after this weekend spent in Denver with some incredible people, I have received the encouragement and tools to do so.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0PefTFpVK_Bts2BIUxUt-lp5A8be9QsYp84nZ_GBWYCLjT7Ccmvua4piKQkjU_zSsbI9A8UVp-cy9PpLKzi7CcOEmR5ZNQeToPlioTqTbB3DwVCto2Ceupe0PgIMrksdjbQmccVUMr9o/s1600/22089098_1667502083322681_1226218369149606854_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0PefTFpVK_Bts2BIUxUt-lp5A8be9QsYp84nZ_GBWYCLjT7Ccmvua4piKQkjU_zSsbI9A8UVp-cy9PpLKzi7CcOEmR5ZNQeToPlioTqTbB3DwVCto2Ceupe0PgIMrksdjbQmccVUMr9o/s320/22089098_1667502083322681_1226218369149606854_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a space to collaborate!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Here's what I took away the most:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>I know who I am online. I have stayed true to that since this blog started seven years and three kids ago. However, I never trusted that I had an influential voice, until this weekend. I'm not saying that I am someone who will write for Time Magazine or something like that some day, but with the community we have created, the connections we have made, and the content you folks have continued to read and support, Brooke may be on to something here. Being invited to this table of influential people was truly remarkable.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>We have a story to tell, Rural People. Our story is one that spans generations, raises up kids who know what to do when life gets hard thanks to life lessons and days spent working. We need to tell those stories in a way that leans on common ground and less on textbook explanation, hoping that people who don't understand will just "get it." We need to hook folks in with cinnamon rolls, and "sprinkle in the prolapses." Thank you, Leah Beyer (<a href="http://beyerbeware.net/">beyerbeware.net</a>). </li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPfs9X2-3ZqNzcAmc2pOuoa-Nv5J2QWCR17nveqzr55D_Do0NIeTe_3FRJt_O_6A916kW4xjcBdD187hw32am_4HsmBFlyKbayjMgcy4AJ4AUnbyZF9sGrTyCyJfaeQBCRpGHSLga0C4k/s1600/22221852_1667502086656014_7927393449141562541_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPfs9X2-3ZqNzcAmc2pOuoa-Nv5J2QWCR17nveqzr55D_Do0NIeTe_3FRJt_O_6A916kW4xjcBdD187hw32am_4HsmBFlyKbayjMgcy4AJ4AUnbyZF9sGrTyCyJfaeQBCRpGHSLga0C4k/s320/22221852_1667502086656014_7927393449141562541_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's where I learned the magic that is DSLR photography! Ha!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>And, did you know that a good camera takes better pictures than an iPhone? I now need to apologize to all of you for the crappy pictures I have taken, and to my children for the fuzzy cell phone pictures that have documented their lives. Merry Christmas to me, maybe, Farmer Joe?</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I am so thankful to have been a part of this inaugural opportunity. I went in feeling like I was probably not legit enough to attend, and left knowing that my voice is valued, influential and one to be heard. It was an empowering, enlightening and encouraging weekend. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG0ZCq_LgDm6s0oNj4slLLTRMnzzSr1QC3QML-0W1BuKti7NQxi52wpNQrk-LmUg0txhbeQHv5NHryEKJcQoSWa0JKly1d2voT6aZ9X5zDVvGAspoABi-PRKC_1EXEDyL-KpcEpDVBS-4/s1600/22154701_10156803063764517_3595742003627416628_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG0ZCq_LgDm6s0oNj4slLLTRMnzzSr1QC3QML-0W1BuKti7NQxi52wpNQrk-LmUg0txhbeQHv5NHryEKJcQoSWa0JKly1d2voT6aZ9X5zDVvGAspoABi-PRKC_1EXEDyL-KpcEpDVBS-4/s320/22154701_10156803063764517_3595742003627416628_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leah Beyer inspiring Erin Brown and me. This is what the conference encapsulated the most: empowering through collaborating.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hope you have an opportunity to be stretched in something you love to do. I hope that you have the chance to use where you are to influence the greater good. I encourage you all to take where you are and figure out a way to use that space to make a mark, even if it's not where you thought you'd end up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have mentioned this before, but did you know that I was supposed to be living in a city? </div>
<div>
<br />
Could I have spent my entire adult life wishing that was true, miserable where I landed? Yes.</div>
<div>
<br />
Have I? No.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe that's because I was raised by parents who encouraged me to embrace the day ahead and enjoy the past without wistful "what ifs." My life has gone through paths that I thought would NEVER be laid before me, but through this space, I have been able to work through them, enjoy them, embrace them, and educate you a bit along the way.<br />
<br />
<i>Being an influencer is not just changing people's minds, but being true to who you are to show how you're doing what's right for YOU and hopefully encouraging someone along the way.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, what does this mean? I'm still working on that. However, for starters, there's going to be an updated picture at least because we ARE darling! Ha! Stay tuned for that!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thank you so much for weathering all the twists and turns, and for allowing this space and me to be influential. I appreciate all of it.<br />
Always.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1LayucE6DdISKXv6G0XREd4NoTsFCi-cQufBx_9E9CoNTUhT3g92hNXdcgEiBkZBTrF0YKjbOM9jPmSYKpJr7HCCKKlHMxt4bzhQkbgsNDN1SzTSmTk3afszrIz_qnKVfcKt1nEwIfU/s1600/IMG_4610.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1LayucE6DdISKXv6G0XREd4NoTsFCi-cQufBx_9E9CoNTUhT3g92hNXdcgEiBkZBTrF0YKjbOM9jPmSYKpJr7HCCKKlHMxt4bzhQkbgsNDN1SzTSmTk3afszrIz_qnKVfcKt1nEwIfU/s320/IMG_4610.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And, just for fun, here's the venue! A house made of shipping containers...seriously. Weirdest and most awesome place ever.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2kZXKkJbONWTKp-NS_Xt86k5DeqRE9L_IOG7wbWdxvaau6ftX2MqM1UxBLQlkmIuCebwhb19g0az9_uqvGPhAWxVvdMC9nMhF7FEj0lF4K9bd2UXa6hmQZJ1O0yGz9Jzg0BXlX65i1vQ/s1600/IMG_4638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2kZXKkJbONWTKp-NS_Xt86k5DeqRE9L_IOG7wbWdxvaau6ftX2MqM1UxBLQlkmIuCebwhb19g0az9_uqvGPhAWxVvdMC9nMhF7FEj0lF4K9bd2UXa6hmQZJ1O0yGz9Jzg0BXlX65i1vQ/s320/IMG_4638.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And, the mountains! This is all I saw! Ha!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-70290682573762351202017-10-09T13:57:00.000-05:002017-10-09T17:47:50.759-05:00It Ain't Easy Being 3, When You're #5 and #6Our twins are three today.<br />
<br />
Three.<br />
<br />
I have been telling people it feels like either 30 minutes or 30 years that they have been with us. You can read my reflection on the way they rewrote my life's story <a href="http://webelfamilyfarm.blogspot.com/2015/10/the-chapter-that-rewrote-my-story.html" target="_blank">here</a>. It's a good one.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidW9xqW1gNCfGfhd20R9drE1-GuYPj94NLnPE9lQHD9BYCuZ_RpuXaUZkKVOVJtXgZp4KMq11MuH1ASOIybe8loBI8Dpe2ck4ZAsGc1Ca8KQmKNgFYAOuPOuARZrvnghV1T6lX5jyWKXA/s1600/IMG_3184.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidW9xqW1gNCfGfhd20R9drE1-GuYPj94NLnPE9lQHD9BYCuZ_RpuXaUZkKVOVJtXgZp4KMq11MuH1ASOIybe8loBI8Dpe2ck4ZAsGc1Ca8KQmKNgFYAOuPOuARZrvnghV1T6lX5jyWKXA/s320/IMG_3184.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holding Caroline for the first time. I don't remember it...lots of meds.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSfr5tWeGdg9geUrpa2T-K-4kE8v00-9cdcm9RUvEDc3K1Mqr4NflGoouMO9oJCckNyVCNUkNd9796xOqFgHatQEu79_yuokAaVDOCYRSzEyQAoFv8NVxGtnGi6ZeczQLB2YcmXKH0Uzw/s1600/IMG_3204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSfr5tWeGdg9geUrpa2T-K-4kE8v00-9cdcm9RUvEDc3K1Mqr4NflGoouMO9oJCckNyVCNUkNd9796xOqFgHatQEu79_yuokAaVDOCYRSzEyQAoFv8NVxGtnGi6ZeczQLB2YcmXKH0Uzw/s320/IMG_3204.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna holding Mary for the first time. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3idWo-TlS4-Du1YFNxtxgspIQEa6ozFiUIzmYDAD8n1jSep6G3amTWU5itR5lB5wVhAVv9YHHYp1cjc18GgJ883OoIRMwFmFIHaT8G5K5hqkNdBLhGN2x8P6EtPBlJkpIA-rP1Mu-KE/s1600/IMG_3255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3idWo-TlS4-Du1YFNxtxgspIQEa6ozFiUIzmYDAD8n1jSep6G3amTWU5itR5lB5wVhAVv9YHHYp1cjc18GgJ883OoIRMwFmFIHaT8G5K5hqkNdBLhGN2x8P6EtPBlJkpIA-rP1Mu-KE/s320/IMG_3255.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't let them fool you, this was NOT a common occurrence in the first few weeks.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And here's where they are now:</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaXWKMOIZH-a7keZk3z3sd3fzxnyWEarzdLOqxXdDzIZehrzTAAQlRUxjKUsJyXC8pqb2JG2Vnlys5lIKBoe0CsG-4MpcBrNHET-BTe95Lkm2hjYvjEuXFQItx59csFou4HjPTJJsUhuw/s1600/RJZF1898.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaXWKMOIZH-a7keZk3z3sd3fzxnyWEarzdLOqxXdDzIZehrzTAAQlRUxjKUsJyXC8pqb2JG2Vnlys5lIKBoe0CsG-4MpcBrNHET-BTe95Lkm2hjYvjEuXFQItx59csFou4HjPTJJsUhuw/s320/RJZF1898.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The two moods of Mary: Wayyyy up or wayyyy down.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjruj5fcvGNIP7Wri7XLp2QPqkmgO3BCdJ9ujOCsdvdo7_dZ-DBwFichr-DktoKzPuTiY7SxEhsoO7fay4POqtApmDLEtq0-aMd7QEUZY3s465oHkV-ZL4dBn1NWEEdy6SnxzTCWKg5Dw4/s1600/IMG_4351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjruj5fcvGNIP7Wri7XLp2QPqkmgO3BCdJ9ujOCsdvdo7_dZ-DBwFichr-DktoKzPuTiY7SxEhsoO7fay4POqtApmDLEtq0-aMd7QEUZY3s465oHkV-ZL4dBn1NWEEdy6SnxzTCWKg5Dw4/s320/IMG_4351.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our thoughtful curly girl, Caroline.<br />
<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It is so stereotypcal "mom" to reflect on a birth of a child with wistful bliss. Those first baby moments and fuzzy first memories popping up throughout the day. I love those memories for all of my kids. However, with these twins, a lot of those early memories are more fuzzy than sweet.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This is real life, people. I have six kids.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I never want to be considered a martyr or pitied for our sheer volume of children, but to all of those who have given your sweet three year olds the perfect Peppa Pig birthday party, </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
KU-FREAKING-DOs.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
While we did not have a themed birthday party, we did celebrate our three year olds three times. Does that count?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We spent time with Joe's family, celebrating as cousins came in and out from various sporting events, then again with my parents last night after the 4H wiener roast, and once today, in between Daddy heading to work and Anna's 10 o'clock basketball game. When my girls get a party that is not bookended by another kid's event, they will be THRILLED...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
and possibly 18.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>It ain't easy being 3, when you're #5 and #6. </i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We consider these experiences for our twins gifts. Life lessons, if you will...or we at least go to bed at night with a little less guilt when framed this way.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So, in honor of my sweet twins' birthday, here's my wishlist for them as they embark this tricky toddler year:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
1) <b><i>Mary and Caroline, you will be flexible. </i></b>Between ballgames and dance lessons and piano lessons and church duties and calves and work trips and babysitters, you girls need to figure this out early. Naps are always key, but sometimes come in the car. You may or may not be included in a big kid event, but there's always a fun "Grandma Day" or babysitter to soften the blow of being left out. You girls are age appropriately patient, and can do about 3/4ths of any event: concert, game, lesson, but are very capable of continuing to go with the flow. Praise for that.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
2) <b><i>Twins, you will not be self-centered.</i></b> You can't be. While 3 is an age that tends to deal in tantrums and demands, my sincere hope is that through your shared existence as twins, combined with being at the tail end of a tribe, you will understand early these things: </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Life is not fair.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Not everything is always about you.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
BUT: you are loved and cherished nonetheless. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This is a lesson we are standing firm upon as their parents.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
3) <b><i>You girls will be happy in who you are.</i></b> God had a plan for us to be blessed by you two girls. We have had a lot of change, good and bad, since your arrival. Thankfully, this change has solidified our marriage and our values, but it hasn't just stopped there. It gave your dad the strength to choose us over a career, which is ultimately made everything all the better. It gave me the confidence to step out in my career. Let's be honest: if I can manage all you little people, juggling a room of adults and projects IS NOTHING! The trickle down effect of this change has made your pretty awesome big sisters and brother even more amazing. They have thrived having more responsibility, more tests to be patient, more chances to be kind and understanding. Finally, for you sweet baby girls, being a part of this family is something that will shape who you are <i>always</i>. You are two important pieces to our puzzle. Your personality quirks (did you know Mary is extremely OCD about just about everything? And Caroline? She's a ninja.) and charm make us grateful for you every day.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I am so happy to be celebrating my twins today. I am so happy to watch them change into little girls right before my eyes. I am so happy to search back in my memory of those first few days, babies hooked up to wires, and see how far our girls have come. Modern medicine within the NICU is something to marvel, my friends. Our girls are strong, smart and pretty darn cute, thanks to good genetics and a whole bunch of luck.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Happiest of birthdays, my sweet Mary and Caroline. We adore you and celebrate you, always.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-15135625473661711342017-08-21T11:13:00.000-05:002017-08-21T11:17:53.435-05:00What Could Eclipse a Total Solar Eclipse? A Rain!Yes, friends.<br />
Happy TOTAL SOLAR ECLIPSE DAY!!! Otherwise known as the day where parents everywhere have lectured many a child about damaging his/her retina, only to have to explain to that SIX year old what the heck a retina is. Also known as the day of packing lunches in disposable containers to send the kids to a lovely day sponsored by the library and school...which is probably not happening thanks to a good soaking rain, so I hope you kids enjoy your lukewarm Gatorades!<br />
<br />
Anyway, you want to know what could totally eclipse the excitement of a total solar eclipse in farm country? A good half inch of RAIN (and maybe more...but my dog has eaten our rain gauge, so I'm just "ishing" it.)!<br />
While I want to experience this once-in-a-lifetime event, you should see the happiness on my face realizing that God will not let us burn up during this eclipse, as we are dry as a danged bone around here. I know it's getting down to the harvest wire when we'll be complaining about moisture, but as for me and my dusty car, we are celebrating rain!<br />
<br />
Which has gotten me to thinking about the brevity of drought and eclipses as well as the reactions we have had in our first world culture. Today, as I trolled social media while the twins watched Daniel Tiger (don't judge, I never claimed to not be #firstworld), I saw how many people in my feed had pulled their kids from school or were headed south for a better view.<br />
<br />
Really? Pulling kids out of school? Our school is having a program, so I believe that my choice to work happily in silence while experts guide the discussion and monitor the aforementioned retinas of my kids seemed like a parenting win, but you do you.<br />
<br />
Next on my feed were my farmer friends, praising God about the rain. Not in a "who cares about the eclipse," but more of a "if the world doesn't end because of this event, we will be able to feed and clothe our family and yours" sentiment.<br />
<br />
Which led my thoughts down the rabbit hole of how we as people of means and constant news and information are reacting to things in nature. In true first world fashion, there are reports of price gouging in hotels along the prime viewing area and sketchy, unprotected glasses (KIDS-SERIOUSLY, YOUR RETINAS WILL FRY). There are people who are way into this, and while I think this is pretty amazing, shouldn't just the actual event itself the amazing part? Maybe I'm just jaded. Maybe I'm just going to walk out in my driveway, wet from a soaking rain and wear the glasses my mom bought me (she's still concerned about my retinas) and enjoy the moment in a very "in the moment" way.<br />
<br />
Why do we live in a world where everything has to be so pomp and circumstance-y?<br />
<br />
I think that's what got me to consider the reaction of the farmers to the rain and the eclipse. Our worlds are ones that are focused on "us." Put that on a pillow as one of my best, most deep thoughts, right? And, while my world today is more concerned about the information my kids are given, their eyes, and the fact that the crops and pastures look good, I'm a little less concerned about an eclipse themed meal tonight, or driving three hours south to get a better look.<br />
<br />
I'm not being judgmental, so please hear that. You do you. Seriously.<br />
<br />
Again, today is amazing. This event is incredible. I wish I could see Amelia's face when she gets a good (albeit safe) look at something she'll remember forever. Jack was bummed to miss it, because, like a smart first grade team, those teachers didn't want to monitor glasses wearing and are instead watching it on live feed. However, I want all of us who have listened to the coverage, made the plans and the meals and maybe even trekked to another zip code to also remember that while this is all amazing and incredible, the natural world is pretty danged amazing all the time. Maybe it's because of where I live and who I am, I have seen a lot of pretty amazing things that I haven't had to wear protective eye gear.<br />
<br />
A well timed rain shower being one of them.<br />
<br />
Friends, enjoy today, but don't wear your protective eye gear tomorrow. Look around. Find someone or something/someone that is bigger than you, bigger than any party or news coverage, and celebrate it/them. Eclipses have happened in my life's story several times, I have been too busy worrying about what's blocked out that I couldn't appreciate the outer rim.<br />
<br />
So, I hopefully haven't offended all you cookie bakers and party makers. Enjoy today. Look through your glasses, and know that I'll be standing in the puddles in my driveway, thanking God for rain and uncompromised retinas.<br />
<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-45753913439788702922017-08-02T07:26:00.000-05:002017-08-02T07:38:37.430-05:00You're Not a Princess AnymoreThere are still a few wedding pictures up in our house amidst all the school and baby and family pictures.<br />
<br />
One in particular is on my desk in our home office. Our office is in the heart of the home, a marketplace of craft supplies, our family computer, the entrance to our basement, and my desk. By design, I like it (and the locking doors help when I have conference calls), especially when little voices come up with commentary behind my desk chair.<br />
<br />
"Mommy!" Mary gasped one day with her hands on her face. "You're a PRINCESS! And Daddy is so FANCY!!"<br />
<br />
Well. If that doesn't make the piles of laundry on the floor and the salty feel of my skin, still not showered from my morning's run melt away from my memory...<br />
<br />
"But you're not a princess anymore."<br />
<br />
SCREEEECHING halt to that warm fuzzy.<br />
<br />
Joe <i>does </i>look fancy in our picture. I <i>am </i>princess-like in my white dress and veil. It's a candid picture of us sharing a kiss after our wedding ceremony, 14 years ago today.<br />
<br />
Today, not so fancy.<br />
<br />
The past 14 years, very few "princesslike" moments and fancy times have been shared.<br />
<br />
But that's real life, folks. Pinterest and photos and curated images and perfectly posted Facebook memories are all lovely and nice. But they are not real. Our wedding day was a lovely one. I have shared that while it was one of the best days, best parties...it too was not perfect. We planned and planned and planned and God laughed and laughed and laughed (all while He unleashed the best hail storm He could during our ceremony.). The picture on my desk doesn't show that we were all pretty worried about my aunt, who was supposed to be our photographer. She was in the ICU, unsure of what was wrong, in critical condition.<br />
<br />
But that's okay, too. I'm good with remembering the moments that are small and sweet on that day. Isn't that what we're supposed to do in marriage? Remember the sweet small times and hold on to them as we navigate the big?<br />
<br />
This year has not been the easiest in our marriage. Lots and lots and lots of hard and scary and tricky and trying and exhausting moments and conversations have been had. Joe and I have pushed through, pushing away at times, but always figuring out how to come back together to work through the hard. It is human nature to look around and see everyone else doing it "right," and our culture has become one of comparison. However, it is faithful marriage and believing in and living out those vows we shared 14 years ago to quit comparing and start loving each other, even when we ourselves are unlovable.<br />
<br />
This next year of marriage is going to be easier, right? There will be moments of princess and fanciness, right, Joe? Nah. There's still laundry and car pool and ballgames and lessons and cattle chores and dust and bills and appointments. However, in this new day, this new year in our marriage's story, I am encouraged more and more every day. I do not recommend a massive health scare and employment woes as a way to see your spouse in a new light...however, I am seeing you for the fancy dude you are. I am seeing your new role at work making you fulfilled. I am cheering on your new page in health. I hear your encouragement as I walk into my career. I lean on you for support in the hard days and laugh with you when the not-so-fancy part of parenthood rears its ugly and gross head.<br />
<br />
Thanks for 14 years of non-princess, non-Pinterest days, my love. Life is hard and messy and crazy, but I wouldn't want to roll my eyes at anyone else but you.<br />
<br />
However, next year? Can we take it easy on the crazy? Maybe a nice island vacation instead of a stent?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-48987068480162702492017-06-17T10:05:00.000-05:002017-06-17T10:13:53.594-05:00Who Paves Your PathNope, this is not a reflection on the sad state that is our gravel road.<br />
<br />
Ahem, I'm looking at you, Knox County.<br />
<br />
No, today I'm staring at my Facebook Events invitations and not wanting to respond "yes" to one in particular.<br />
<br />
It's our pastor's last day tomorrow, and there's a "celebration" for him.<br />
<br />
I'm not in a super celebratory mood about this. I have been a card carrying Methodist all of my life. Pastors come and pastors go, but this move is one of the hardest.<br />
<br />
There are few people who have truly challenged and touched my life in a spiritual manner.<br />
Pastor Dave, my childhood minister, loved me and my family like, well, family.<br />
Roger Ross led me back to a faith I had forgotten how to practice in a time when I needed it the most, grounding our early marriage in a truth and a love that can be bent but not broken.<br />
Pastor Mark welcomed us to a community when we felt like we had made a HUGE mistake moving to, allowing us to lead and grow in ways that we thought were not possible in a tiny church.<br />
<br />
And then came Brad.<br />
<br />
We were nervous that first Sunday. We were certain the growth in our church was surely going to be stunted because of YET ANOTHER changing of the pastoral guard.<br />
<br />
Little did I know, God had a huge plan for us when we were given Brad and Debbie as our new leaders.<br />
<br />
I feel like an Israelite! Will I ever learn that God's plan is not necessarily the easiest and/or the most simple?<br />
<br />
The energy that was included in that first service in which Brad preached was palpable. He spoke without NOTES. He used a booming voice. We were going to be rocked, and it wasn't because of a new set of musical selections.<br />
<br />
This was the summer before Karma, Joe's mom, died. She was very, very sick, and while we know all of our time on this earth is limited, hers was short. Pastor Brad challenged Joe and me to co-lead Disciple Bible Study starting that fall. I remember saying yes because I knew I was equipped to teach, but where we were with Karma's illness and a growing uneasiness in our farming situation was causing my mind great angst. What I didn't realize, and I'm sure Brad couldn't predict either was that teaching this class was timed perfectly during an imperfect time in our life.<br />
<br />
When Karma died, Pastor Brad and Debbie drove all the way to the visitation. He showed up.<br />
When our twins were born early and we were tired and worn out and the babies were teeny tiny. he showed up at the NICU.<br />
When Grandma Mary died, and before she did, he showed up.<br />
<br />
This is the thing about Brad. He shows up. Even when it's hard to get there. Even when it's the worst timing for him or for you or for whatever, he shows up.<br />
<br />
As I sit here typing this and wiping away tears, I am realizing Brad's timing at Elmwood United Methodist seemed strange at first. We loved Pastor Mark, so why would we need another minister?Looking back on these three years, I am realizing that they have been our family's hardest: Karma's death, our farming journey changed, our twins. Here's what's been constant: our faith. And I tell you honestly, it has been tested. It has been bent. We have wondered why in the world our world was being shaken to the magnitude where I couldn't get my bearings. But each Sunday and the days in between, Brad's teaching and guiding and example have allowed Joe and me to feel loved and welcomed and celebrated and challenged and understood when we didn't feel any of those.<br />
<br />
I am not happy about this transition. I will admit that there are times when I wonder if I can do this pastoral transition AGAIN. However, as written in the the first line first book we studied as small group leaders, <i>The Purpose Driven Life </i>(thanks, Roger!), "This is not about me." Nothing is permanent. Super glue loses its strength. Sadness can morph into happiness. Leaders can follow. New opportunities are soon old. New shoes get scuffed.<br />
<br />
I will get over the sting of "celebrating" Pastor Brad and Debbie's move, but the mark they have made on our family will not be easily removed.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Pastor Brad and Debbie for stretching our faith and leading us to be rooted in the love that only can be felt by believing in something bigger than yourself.<br />
<br />
<i>We know that all things work together for the good of whose who love God: those who are called according to His purpose.</i><br />
<i>Romans 8:28 NIV </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>^^^</i>That version is for you, Debbie!!<br />
<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-66983610207010295272017-06-16T09:13:00.002-05:002017-06-16T09:26:55.453-05:00From Outside of the Ring, Looking InI'm at home this week. Joe and Anna and some of our Illinois Simmental friends are in Ohio for a Regional Classic. This is not as big as a Junior Nationals, but it's still states away and a larger pool of cattle from across the country.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Since Anna has been of 4H age, she has shown cattle. She does love it. Josie has now taken to showing as well. The girls and Joe have had a good time working cattle, learning life's lessons and making new friends. We have had our share of big shows, little shows, winning shows, losing shows, learning shows, raining, cold, hot, and sweltering shows.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
However, no matter where in the country my family is, how hot or cold I am, I have come to the realization over and over and over at why I am NOT the show parent, and probably never will be.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>I can't take it.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I know I didn't grow up doing this. </div>
<div>
I know that I just provide the blingy jeans and the snacks.</div>
<div>
With our increasing number of children participating in showing, I feel like I should get a handle on the process, the reasoning, and god-help-us the politics and business of this activity.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
However, the anxiety and angst and frustration I feel at the few shows I can logistically and emotionally handle to go to is just too much. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I consider myself a reasonably intelligent and teachable human being, but friends, showing animals is <b>not </b>like sports. There are nail biting moments in baseball, but nothing compares to the utter angst that is being ushered out of the ring with the rest of the group still in. There are free throws that come up short. However, when you're at that line, you're not having to explain the process of how you learned to shoot that free throw. There's that last game that you'll ever play. And then there's selling your animal at the end of the season. Forever.<br />
But it's sort of like a sport, right?<br />
<i>Not so fast, cattle showing!</i> From what I gather, in showmanship, you have to explain a lot. You are on the spot, answering questions about the breed, your animal, your role, etc., etc. Answer those questions to a complete stranger, in the middle of an arena, in an eloquent manner...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>...when you're in the sixth grade. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
My girls are more confident because of this. They are "look you in the eye and shake your hand" type of kids. That's huge.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This comes, however, at the cost of my husband's blood pressure and my nervous stomach. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe it's because I only can come to a few shows a year, and I just want to see the fruits of our girls' labors be recognized. Maybe I should start going to livestock judging practice to understand the process. Maybe I should just stick to sports. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Either way, my stress level cannot take the ups and downs. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You win again, agriculture! </div>
<div>
Livestock friends, congratulations!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Once again, the manner in which you can handle this has successfully shown (no pun intended) that I am NOT made of stronger stuff than you guys. I am neither advocating for an "everyone wins!" campaign, nor am I saying that we are the wronged winners, I'm just saying I can't handle it, and I don't know if I ever will.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anybody willing to explain this to me in a manner that doesn't include the phrases "builds character" and "it's always been this way" will win a fresh baked batch of my chocolate chip cookies. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
With a side of Xanax for me to handle it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-68032684826898900702017-06-10T21:46:00.001-05:002017-06-10T21:54:12.644-05:00Time Is Not Going to Slow Down, So I Better Try to Slow Down MyselfDo you ever have that frantic feeling during the day? Like you have been working and feeding and playing and laundering and carting and refereeing and then you stop dead in your tracks, feeling like you have forgotten to do something?<br />
<br />
Maybe it's just me.<br />
<br />
Well, our society lives at a breakneck pace, and while our family tries (so desperately) to find margin, my personality doesn't allow me to slow down. For example, it's 9:30 on the evening of my daughter's 8th birthday, and I'm just sitting down.<br />
<br />
I'm not being a martyr. I'm just admitting I'm terrible at slowing down, resting, finding "white space."<br />
<br />
So, when Amelia, our as of today 8 year old, asked to spend the afternoon with me, just me, I had to really try hard to be present. After sending Anna off with Joe for the Illinois Simmental Preview Show, shuffling Josie to a carpool for a birthday party and ditching the littles at my mom's, we were off.<br />
<br />
I am trying to find space to enjoy my children one on one, but with the sheer volume of people and tasks and activities, it gets tricky. Add in my crazy "get-er-done" personality, and Joe and I rarely have time to go on a date, let alone have kid dates.<br />
<br />
But today, as Amelia and I were enjoying our massage chairs at her first ever pedicure, I looked over at my third girl, my sweet girl, my spunky girl, and realized I had better quit worrying about the deck stain that needs to be put on because time is not slowing down. I had better just try to slow my pace to enjoy her sweet face.<br />
<br />
This kid's timing is perfect. When she was born, we were feeling weary and haggard from a really hard, wet spring. Her birth was quick and her disposition as a newborn, toddler, preschooler and now elementary school kid has remained the same: steadfast, happy, easy. She takes her sweet time to do about everything, which is perfect because her birthday buddy, my late Grandma Mary, did the same. Amelia finds herself lost in the shuffle at times, but that doesn't mean that she's lost herself, She's just off singing her own song, puttering with her Legos, or helping a little sister play dollies.<br />
<br />
She wanted a fairy garden this year for her birthday so that she could learn to grow something and enjoy it.<br />
<br />
Who is this kid? I can't even keep petunias alive!<br />
<br />
She was put on this earth for amazing things, and with her heart and spirit, I know she will do it. But for my life, for my selfish purpose, Amelia was put here to teach me to slow the heck down and enjoy my life that is unfolding in front of me. To take it in. To write about it. To sing along with a song on the radio. To enjoy a pedicure by giggling and savoring the Starbucks and THEN picking up the deck stain at Home Depot.<br />
<br />
But only once the shopping, the sipping and the giggling had ended.<br />
<br />
Amelia, you are so lovely. We adore you. We are proud of you, and we are so thankful for you. Thank you for teaching me to slow down.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, my dolly.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-40451751747699600742017-05-19T17:05:00.001-05:002017-08-07T07:50:06.110-05:00When Your Birthday Is in May, You Sometimes Get a List......but you always get a blog post!<br />
<br />
Our little buddy, our only boy, our Jackson Richard is six today! Yippee!! Considering he laid his head down on the table earlier in the week and wept as Joe and I discussed the busy week ahead, crying, "Will we EVER celebrate my birthday?" and here we are...presents opened, birthday doughnuts eaten, and a cookie cake baking...I think we're doing okay!<br />
<br />
He did spend the morning soaking wet at the state track meet for his older sister, but that's okay...life is not all about you, even on your birthday, right?<br />
<br />
Life lessons.<br />
<br />
So, without further ado, here's the top six things about being six about our precious little guy.<br />
<br />
1) When you're six, you hum and sing about your new 500 piece Lego set as it is spread all across the kitchen table. That's what's awesome about being six. Our boy is quite the constructor of all things Lego. He's also a whistle while you work, sing while you structure, and narrate all of your building so that we all know the storyline that you're constructing in your head.<br />
In other words, our boy is <b>creative</b>.<br />
<br />
2) When you're six, you pretty much think everything is one extreme or the other. You're either super psyched to do things or are anti whatever you're being asked to participate in.<br />
In other words, our boy is <b>opinionated</b>.<br />
<br />
3) When you're six, you are in constant motion. Jack came home with a paper about what he wanted to be when he grew up. Not a farmer. Not a banker. Not a teacher. A ninja. Seems about right with all the kicking, running, jumping, spinning that happens with this boy.<br />
In other words, our boy is <b>active</b>.<br />
<br />
4) When you're six, you're still trying to figure out your place in our family, even in the world. The stereotype of a boy is to be sporty, to be rough, to be loud. You're all those things, and none of them at the same time. There are days that you ride your bike too far, push too hard and yell too loud, but then there's those "other" days. Those are the days that I know you're still a little boy. Those days when the world in kindergarten is too much; the sisters are too bossy; sometimes the sun is too hot (insert an eye roll from Mom).<br />
In other words, our boy is <b>multifaceted</b>.<br />
<br />
5) When you're six, you pretty much want "home lunch" or a Nutella waffle at every meal. Every. Meal.<br />
In other words, our boy is <b>picky </b>(we're working on that).<br />
<br />
6) When you're six, you're still looked at by your mom and dad as their little boy. That little baby that we brought home one warm May day to three adoring sisters. That little baby that completed our family (but not totally complete!), "saved" the Webel bloodline (no pressure!), and made us burst with pride. You're the little boy who wore a cape nearly every day of your third year, a Cardinals cap most of the time during year four, and now a backpack as you head out to the bus like a big kid.<br />
In other words, our boy is still our <b>little boy.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
It's been a fun six years with you, Jack. You're fun and creative and energetic and exciting. You make our family laugh, your dad and I proud. You're a neat kid, a nice boy, and we couldn't be any more excited for this next year of your life.<br />
<br />
We will celebrate tonight with waffles and Legos: important things to this very important six year old.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, Jack Webel. We love you more every year. I promise to add more every year to your list!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiybFc_Lur7v03AwMBg8jsbrCZoCA1Y-PG7jBYpf_MafzRiJhYGhbK1Wvd5zOUmBdI8-JnET1NPzG7OdfxEzDDQR7rxUmthWfAgZzdfFKTeaT1czmltZJiETw_S4ltyjkb8RPGV8Bm6zno/s1600/IMG_3076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiybFc_Lur7v03AwMBg8jsbrCZoCA1Y-PG7jBYpf_MafzRiJhYGhbK1Wvd5zOUmBdI8-JnET1NPzG7OdfxEzDDQR7rxUmthWfAgZzdfFKTeaT1czmltZJiETw_S4ltyjkb8RPGV8Bm6zno/s320/IMG_3076.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-45016835737882221642017-04-22T08:41:00.003-05:002017-04-22T08:57:06.176-05:00Be Careful Little Eyes What You SeeHey there.<br />
<br />
I'm doing the most therapeutically ironic thing that seems to be right today: writing about social media while cross posting it on social media.<br />
<br />
Sounds about right for a first post in over a month, don't you think?<br />
<br />
While I have not been here writing about the day to day, advocating for truth in agriculture and sharing my thoughts and opinions on basically everything under the sun, I have been writing. Sure, it's been a lot more technical, agenda-ish, presentation and health and well-being related, but I have been filling my communication void.<br />
<br />
And friends, I just want to update you on something: I love my new job. The end.<br />
<br />
However, there are days that I wish I could spend hours explaining myself. Explaining what I do, why I do it, why my work is valuable, and how I do it with all these kids around.<br />
<br />
Because that's what social media in the past year has done to me: wanted to make me explain myself. Well, maybe not just in the past year, because that was the sole purpose of the start of this blog, right?<br />
<br />
But still.<br />
<br />
As my relationship with social media has matured, my reaction to it in general has not. I have allowed outside influences, your wins, your vacations and jobs and #makingmemories cloud the truly awesome things that have unfolded in my life.<br />
<br />
Why is that?<br />
Why have I allowed outside influences make me feel less about what I do, who I do it for, and basically everything else I do (or don't do) as a mother, friend, wife, eater, exerciser, professional, whatever? While I'm a typically confident person, why do I feel "less than" while seeing people, truly from afar?<br />
<br />
While my confidence is a result of both nature and nurture, being raised to know who I am and find value from multiple sources lately, social media has tainted that belief instilled in my fabric. I think that our society and its reaction to relationships has led us in a direction that is moving to viewing from afar and commenting in your face. Through this shift, I have especially become less immune to feeling inferior. It is something that I have always battled, and I don't need to go into detail because when I do, it's DANGED embarrassing at the cushy "problems" I have perceived as hard in my relatively content life. So why am I STILL, at 39 (I had a birthday last week, and it was lovely, albeit not documented via Instagram...I know-How would you ALL know I had a birthday then???), sit on a Saturday morning, kids playing kindly in the background, one daughter off to a track meet, one son feeling better from strep throat, in my nice (not magazine perfect) house, sipping coffee and yet still feeling inferior?<br />
<br />
You know why?<br />
<br />
Quick answer: my own crazy.<br />
<br />
Outside influence: social media.<br />
<br />
As I sat having a nice breakfast, alone because my kids had finished and cleaned up their own mess ( shall I hashtag #momwin or #awesomekids ?), I started to feel inferior. I was scrolling through Facebook. As I scrolled, I noticed runners completing training runs, crafters doing awesome things, houses filled with kids from a birthday party, vacation goers squinting and smiling in the sun. I felt that icky, "Why aren't you there? Why aren't you doing something like that, Emily?" feeling. I hate to admit this, as it is absolutely ridiculous.<br />
<br />
Someone's win is not my failure.<br />
<br />
Social media for a person like me is a hard balance. I hide a lot. I hide behind filters on Instagram, funny posts, and then I hide people who I can't enjoy their successes in a way that is anything but a result of my own crazy.<br />
<br />
Am I the only one around here who feels this way?<br />
<br />
This is hard to write, but in the wake of this past election and all the "I'm no longer friends with you because I can't agree with you" posts I saw, I found myself rolling my eyes. However, I'm just as bad. I find myself comparing, contrasting, considering and contemplating WAYYYYYY too much about things that, if I were otherwise absent from social media, I would not even know or know to care about. Yet last night, first thing Josie wanted to do after her play audition was take a selfie.<br />
<br />
What have I shown as value to <i>my </i>people?<br />
<br />
Evidently it is outside approval, and that made me feel just plain silly.<br />
<br />
#momfail<br />
<br />
So. Where do I go from here?<br />
<br />
I'm not making a sweeping generalization that all social media is bad. I truly believe in the power of this medium for writers like me, women like me, parents to document their kids' lives and successes, and YET, and YET...I have to be careful what my little eyes see.<br />
<br />
Remember that song from Sunday School?<br />
<i>"Be careful little eyes what you see. Oh be careful little eyes what you see. For the Father up above is looking down with love, oh be careful little eyes what you see."</i><br />
Irony: I found out-on Facebook-that Myra, our lovely Sunday School music director, died. That's using social media for good, right?<br />
<br />
I never want to be one of those Debbie Downer post sharers. While "keeping it real" is imporant, I do love a good filter, and will continue to do so (did I mention I just turned 39? #filterworthy). I want to rejoice in your blessings. I want to love and like and laugh at your funny quips. I just want to also stop comparing. Stop considering other's win as my inadequacy.<br />
<br />
So, let's charge forward, shall we? Anybody?<br />
Anybody?<br />
<br />
Let me go first:<br />
<br />
I'm going to be careful with what my little eyes see.<br />
<br />
Human nature is shifting. We are seeking out "likes" and filtering our life and "curating" the CRAP out of everything. So I'm going to remember, when I see something amazing on a less regular scroll (I'm going to do better at that, too.), that my life is still comparably awesome, and my eyes are to just see <i>your </i>awesome as simply that. Not a comparison, not a jab at my inadequacies, because, let's be real: we've all got 'em, just some are better at covering them up.<br />
<br />
So. What does this mean? Will I post a picture of me in my Cattlemen's Association sweatshirt and crazy hair this morning?<br />
<br />
Probably not. I said "be careful little eyes" and your eyes may burn from the sight of me in the morning. My posts will continue to reflect my life in honesty, but my REACTION to others' posts will be the big truth in my change.<br />
<br />
I am training. (yes, I'm training for a run in June and will most likely share an "I finished!" post.) I'm training my reactions. Your successes are not my failures. My life is still happening. We are still #winning, just maybe at different races that what you're running...so to speak.<br />
<br />
Thanks for keeping me accountable. I'm not sure how you'll do that, but if you see me around and I high-five you for no reason, it's because I'm being careful for my little eyes to see you in a new light.<br />
<br />
One that is unfiltered.<br />
<br />
#winningEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-8527246343172103942017-03-02T11:53:00.000-06:002017-03-02T11:53:01.525-06:00A Dozen Years<i>***Blogger's note: I seem to be writing a lot of birthday posts as of late. Maybe it's the sheer quantity of birthdays we have around here, or maybe it's because it's the one day in my family member's years that I truly focus on them. Either way, it's March 2, Anna's 12th birthday, and here's her letter from her mama.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
March 2, 2017<br />
<br />
Dear Anna,<br />
<br />
You woke up this morning, super early like you always do. I heard you downstairs in the kitchen. I skipped my run because it's cold today, and I was glad to be here to greet you first thing. However, as I heard you rustling around in the kitchen, fixing your own breakfast, getting your morning in order, I just listened. I took a few of those early morning moments, quiet and dark, to remember what it was like when you were little.<br />
<br />
Because now, you're 12.<br />
<br />
When you were first born, you were <i>it</i>, my friend. You were the only. The only grandchild on my side. The only kid in this house. We were overwhelmed, but not by lack of sleep or just the general shock of having a baby. We were overwhelmed with this joy of having you. Your dad and I wanted to have a family, and once you were born, I had this sense that you made us complete.<br />
<br />
Little did I know five other friends would complete the package, but being a mom, having a family, made me feel like my life was truly just beginning.<br />
<br />
This morning as I stared at the ceiling, I thought of the way we dressed you up like a doll at first, worrying if you were too cold or too hot or too hungry or too wet. You always let us know.<br />
I remembered when you would navigate our one little step down to our family room in our first house, just so that you could look out the patio doors and see what was going on. Always looking back to see if we were watching, but doing it by yourself.<br />
You were and still are curious, precocious, and so independent. As a toddler, your favorite phrase was "all by MYYYYYYYself."<br />
<br />
Okay, then.<br />
<br />
While pouring milk at age three and climbing up a tall playground structure as a preschooler made this independence hard for me to swallow, now that you're 12, your independence have served you well. In school, in activities, in church: your independence and confidence shine through. Your ability to just get things done have made your role as the oldest in this tribe invaluable. You are a really, really good big sister because of it, and your helpfulness with your siblings is one that should be celebrated.<br />
<br />
I want you to know this is something that we are so proud of. This is something not everyone has, and you are so amazing for it.<br />
<br />
Even though you're 12, even though sixth grade is almost halfway through, and even though you have the ultimate in independence: A PHONE, we're still here. We still love you like that little one we brought home in a little pink hat. We still are here to encourage you like we did when you were taking your first steps at 10 months (why did we do THAT? ha!). We still love you and want you safe and secure like the little one we would tuck in at night, always making sure you had your two blankies. We will let you do your own thing, chart your own adventure, but we're here as a safety net. Remember when you didn't want me to walk you into preschool art when you were four, and then ended up crying at circle time because you missed me? I love that story.<br />
This year, like that story, you marched into junior high without a single ounce of drama but you didn't cry at your locker when you first got there. You know that you've got this, but I also want you to know that Dad and I are always here in case you do feel like that little girl at circle time...because you will, here and there.<br />
<br />
Life is going to give you great things, and it will be good and planned well and exciting. It will also be hard and sad and tricky and unfair. Remember that you're ready to weather whatever, but that Dad and I love you enough to know when you step in and help.<br />
<br />
My sweet girl: these dozen years you have been on earth are ones that have been joy filled and fun and hard and sad and happy and exciting. Each of the 12 March 2nds we have celebrated have been days that I step back and revel in the fact that I am your mom. We are so lucky to be your parents, lucky to have you as our kid.<br />
<br />
In the next dozen years, you'll go through a lot, but for now, let's celebrate the fun. Let's eat Mexican and lemon cake and text funny GIFs to each other today. It's been a fast 12 years, so let's slow down today and celebrate you.<br />
<br />
Anna Grace, your dad and I love you more than you will ever know. Thanks for being YOU.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, darling.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mom<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-87564084598398694912017-02-20T20:08:00.002-06:002017-02-20T20:14:54.377-06:00Double 21Hey friends.<br />
<br />
You know what will make a person feel somewhat older, wiser, and more jaded?<br />
<br />
For me, it was taking Josie to her voice lesson on a college campus where the biggest problems in the music building seemed to be where one can get the least expensive Converse and how long they had to wolf down their burrito before class.<br />
<br />
Insert eye rolls.<br />
<br />
You know another way to make someone feel a little old?<br />
<br />
Realize your age is 21 times TWO.<br />
<br />
Yikes.<br />
<br />
I'm not speaking of MY age, nonononononononono....It's Farmer Joe's birthday today! Whoohooo! Nothing says happy birthday like a new heated mattress pad and apple pie, amIright?<br />
<br />
Well.<br />
<br />
When you have had the mentally exhausting, draining, and strange year that Joe has weathered since last celebrating a birthday, you would be ecstatic with some normalcy.<br />
<br />
In all seriousness, Joe has spent the weekend doing what he loves: working with the girls and their cattle.<br />
<br />
Honestly, this guy could be in a barn with cows, calves, and all that goes with it for hours...days...months. It's truly his happy place. It's where he feels centered. It's a place where problems can be solved; long talks can be had; benefits of hard work and patience can be reaped.<br />
<br />
This is a perfect spot for Joe right now. You see, it's been a rough almost year. We have transitioned again from the operation in which Joe was on staff. Nothing huge, but being a person who is 42 and not 21, Joe knew that when the situation was not sitting well with his core values, his time, and his talents, he knew to hold his head high and get out.<br />
<br />
Again, don't get me wrong. Lots and lots of moments of panic were had (mostly by me). Lots of what ifs and no ways and what the hecks were spoken (again, mainly by me), but in the very long run, this is a good transition. There's a big, bright light at the end of the tunnel of age 41, and as Joe turns over to 42 today, we are emerging from the tunnel.<br />
<br />
I'm thankful to be Joe's wife. Thankful for his 42 years. Thankful that we are growing kids and cattle out here. Thankful for the rough patches that make us appreciate all the good and normal that is involved in our life.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, Farmer Joe. Here's to doubling 21! Love you.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-65772484037561344672016-11-27T14:54:00.001-06:002016-11-27T20:16:30.023-06:00Now That You're TenDear Josie,<br />
<br />
You're now old enough to read this blog and understand its purpose. I am writing this note to you as I write on every birthday, but today, it feels bigger. A whole decade has passed since you burst into our life in a quick, easy delivery. Ten years have passed since that terrible snowstorm, just a day after you came home from the hospital. The days afterward, I would wake up with you and worry how in the world I would handle two kids. Two girls.<br />
<br />
Ha.<br />
<br />
I write these notes because now, obviously, we have more than just you and your sister, and because of that, I have fallen short in the memory making department. I'm not very good at writing things in baby books, scrapbooking or even printing off pictures.<br />
<br />
Sorry about that.<br />
<br />
So I write.<br />
<br />
I remember like it was yesterday holding you, marveling at how small you were. I remember listening to you have a full conversation with your Dad at lunch as a toddler, already arguing about napping or something. I remember the look of wonder you had on your face when Grammy brought you to the hospital when your baby sister Amelia was born, and remember the way you waved good bye to Jack as you headed onto the school bus for the first time as a kindergarten student. You have been such a wonderful helper with the twins, guiding them and entertaining them when necessary. You have taken to the stage, learned to play an instrument, lead a 1000+ pound animal in the show ring, all the while, keeping us on our toes.<br />
<br />
A lot.<br />
<br />
You are, and always have been, fiercely independent. This served you well as a baby, just 20 months shy of your big sister. However, it has proven to be a little difficult in a big family. You like to be alone, singing at the top of your lungs or tumbling in a space way too small to tumble. You have a strong network of friends, and, from where I see it, you are a good friend.<br />
<br />
Like any parent does, we worry about you.<br />
We caution you to "use your powers for good," as you have many. We worry that you will have to navigate a world that is unpredictable and different from what we have tried to create in our own little family.<br />
We worry that with your independence, confidence and intense emotions, life may seem overwhelming at times. For ten years, we have tried to allow you to soar, but have had the ultimate say on your adventures, protecting you from the "hard stuff" we can keep from you.<br />
However, in the next ten years, we'll have to let you go and let you fly. That makes me excited and a little apprehensive, maybe it's because I still see you as a little curly haired toddler...the one who, when asked what you wanted for Christmas, answered, "Long hair and a boyfriend." But what that toddler and this big girl today have in common is that you know what you want and you will figure out a way to get it.<br />
<br />
(Not the boyfriend yet, though!)<br />
<br />
You are just one of those kids that you know something big is going to unfold in front of you, and for that, I'm excited for the next ten years. Your dad and I will be watching you, keeping you in check and helping you figure out how to use those skills. Whatever you do, wherever you go, I expect our Little Jos will do something BIG.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, my spunky ball of fire. You are a light in our life, and I can't wait to see where that light will lead you.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiie6ZpkCcwOM167w1fGRZ6oY_tndRZbcBBsIjv2Zaeno6thcgPxsdKvm28ZC5MuiObHRFwZfSO5Vf4lAIoy9xrCIaJiA4zb5R2eQ-5d2T5pGiOE0Q0WXm7V1PfhjGfZd0UMDo9DfGM_Yk/s1600/josie+and+dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiie6ZpkCcwOM167w1fGRZ6oY_tndRZbcBBsIjv2Zaeno6thcgPxsdKvm28ZC5MuiObHRFwZfSO5Vf4lAIoy9xrCIaJiA4zb5R2eQ-5d2T5pGiOE0Q0WXm7V1PfhjGfZd0UMDo9DfGM_Yk/s320/josie+and+dad.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmi1RKFm-sfmVxzqWkPNzHRnz0-TKMwkYJ4Vb6bV3gB4mT2AVgxFKJtKjcHcje5ZHmtgEQoM0MF2rojali7nyWQdOOSqQFFPbTb9zoLz8UxIGB9WG0H3pTGMSQoRNoJ_TbEpapRUiIs_4/s1600/josie+and+mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmi1RKFm-sfmVxzqWkPNzHRnz0-TKMwkYJ4Vb6bV3gB4mT2AVgxFKJtKjcHcje5ZHmtgEQoM0MF2rojali7nyWQdOOSqQFFPbTb9zoLz8UxIGB9WG0H3pTGMSQoRNoJ_TbEpapRUiIs_4/s320/josie+and+mom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCYZ3CZ2cd5PuE-HotoqQBpqSVx-wHM3esgOwhZSsJC0LAvKPnti8nOqTvJqUIAftT6jCJQbfpiTLZYAt0eDRNqaQ0E-tPg_qqs4DLIlELYmBb78euCTlUn5n1tfkzTTnNhv2qem_-ws/s1600/josie+anna+disneyland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCYZ3CZ2cd5PuE-HotoqQBpqSVx-wHM3esgOwhZSsJC0LAvKPnti8nOqTvJqUIAftT6jCJQbfpiTLZYAt0eDRNqaQ0E-tPg_qqs4DLIlELYmBb78euCTlUn5n1tfkzTTnNhv2qem_-ws/s320/josie+anna+disneyland.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdf4qB3ikexvqynO8FsVHyg4lGonzxgdRYVrAvz1uNhLeYfqYWfcuL-9NhCLPq-ajbPg7g_GJ7VDdsRStI9iZwMg0US5UPeqwHLyJ67tWxxZ2Ut2ogOHeYXBHMPZaZI7Kpi6zeT_EArzc/s1600/josie+at+preschool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdf4qB3ikexvqynO8FsVHyg4lGonzxgdRYVrAvz1uNhLeYfqYWfcuL-9NhCLPq-ajbPg7g_GJ7VDdsRStI9iZwMg0US5UPeqwHLyJ67tWxxZ2Ut2ogOHeYXBHMPZaZI7Kpi6zeT_EArzc/s320/josie+at+preschool.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu9t8O4EmaJKL0pu6l7db91E5kJ0PD66xqNmClbwvX7cAIWuWcVYI-MYcGSxFlNcVL8rwMk520j8Iw0XtbkSxZrxtlT-t_G5ba8m0G_Dp0OhB6jXquONzh6kOLAeQiIEuCsIR9OgqlA4Y/s1600/josie+at+the+Fox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu9t8O4EmaJKL0pu6l7db91E5kJ0PD66xqNmClbwvX7cAIWuWcVYI-MYcGSxFlNcVL8rwMk520j8Iw0XtbkSxZrxtlT-t_G5ba8m0G_Dp0OhB6jXquONzh6kOLAeQiIEuCsIR9OgqlA4Y/s320/josie+at+the+Fox.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRji2KOb0KlzUVz-sbiXSCtWrnREtib7H3gCez6N7teHwK5X96lVNlpphw0u41osKox-f4Hf9XuGTEz0XpInFtXmYY0RXJZbC-R3Ww-peHpGP4R_-x9FPqB9av2Vjc1KsyH5IMyZXxv04/s1600/josie+birhtday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRji2KOb0KlzUVz-sbiXSCtWrnREtib7H3gCez6N7teHwK5X96lVNlpphw0u41osKox-f4Hf9XuGTEz0XpInFtXmYY0RXJZbC-R3Ww-peHpGP4R_-x9FPqB9av2Vjc1KsyH5IMyZXxv04/s320/josie+birhtday.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXgzSYU9_ugdyk7PW4qeSmSw2cUUldZHM1d4c0Cn_xdKSMftfsrkoPKsOPzgjxaiY-XOxqMA9kush0JzpVyTXTSwoWPcS0a1l9jcJRnACcHA4wymyoC2LhbX_6bUYX6ipM5mh750wMRs/s1600/josie+dance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXgzSYU9_ugdyk7PW4qeSmSw2cUUldZHM1d4c0Cn_xdKSMftfsrkoPKsOPzgjxaiY-XOxqMA9kush0JzpVyTXTSwoWPcS0a1l9jcJRnACcHA4wymyoC2LhbX_6bUYX6ipM5mh750wMRs/s320/josie+dance.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ6ZxJvdpEtnhY9mniSavRtcKW8Ra8B7GckYYEuOjWvC0DFTkFzK6kfT8HdQfNIlICwFojPBQ4SV6DN1c4Rub314SinhmxT5O29DOZ4pjNzMko6rHOGf6Tx_tvZgXQDRF2JC-erSYW0Ek/s1600/josie+meeting+amelia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ6ZxJvdpEtnhY9mniSavRtcKW8Ra8B7GckYYEuOjWvC0DFTkFzK6kfT8HdQfNIlICwFojPBQ4SV6DN1c4Rub314SinhmxT5O29DOZ4pjNzMko6rHOGf6Tx_tvZgXQDRF2JC-erSYW0Ek/s320/josie+meeting+amelia.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9P9kS8hiVLq9UKMe-U-eFJ4cVnYGr7tyttZqEolpAw9OODwvRZxEOI3zTZNU38a7aVmUJUTluyMXQ1ByTsIBbbhNMIUjONQinWhqGJwv0Kas4iwgt5EzkKfI183G3UgT6rceiz6CjqdA/s1600/josie+singing+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9P9kS8hiVLq9UKMe-U-eFJ4cVnYGr7tyttZqEolpAw9OODwvRZxEOI3zTZNU38a7aVmUJUTluyMXQ1ByTsIBbbhNMIUjONQinWhqGJwv0Kas4iwgt5EzkKfI183G3UgT6rceiz6CjqdA/s320/josie+singing+16.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-19192229378035444402016-10-09T20:57:00.002-05:002016-10-09T21:05:46.433-05:00TwoDearest Mary and Caroline,<br />
<br />
As I sit here in our office at the end of a really full day spent celebrating you, I am tired. I am grasping for words because I feel like the obvious doesn't need to be stated.<br />
<br />
We are truly in love with you.<br />
<br />
This is surprising because being a parent to two two year olds is daunting. I'm nervous about potty training, keeping my eyes on you, keeping you busy in a productive and not destructive way, figuring out how to manage all the other kids' activities while keeping you from trying to head up onto the stage/court/field, because you feel a part of everything the other ones do.<br />
<br />
That makes me smile just thinking about that image.<br />
<br />
It was just two short years ago that I was truly concerned about how you'd fit into our tight knit foursome of kids. I was afraid you'd get lost in the shuffle. I obviously didn't account for your sparkling and individual personalities in this mix. You don't let yourself be forgotten or left out. Both of you, each in your own way, have found the way to fit into our now tight group of six kiddos.<br />
<br />
Mary, you are definitely the one with the most "leadership" skills. Your spunk is only rivaled by your older sister, Josie, making your opinions know with the best expressions: verbal and non-verbal. We love your heart for your little sister, protecting her when she needs space ("Stop it." being your go-to phrase.). I'm in awe by your budding vocabulary, your love of dollies and the "chicken" (kitchen). Your pigtailed hair-do reflects the just a tad on the smarty side personality that I have loved since it started to unfold. You're going to be fun as the years fly by.<br />
<br />
Caroline. You are still our little puzzle, however, your pieces are falling together in such a beautiful and intricate way, and one that I can neither predict or control. You have freaked us out to no end from the moment you entered this earth, but in your set backs (like breathing...), you have had such great victories in the past six months. You decided walking would be fine, so instead of slowly working at it, you just did it. Talking is next. I hear you. I hear you working on your sounds. I hear you trying to mimic me and your sister. I see you working on your expressions. You are a beautiful, curly haired mystery that keeps us guessing, and will continue to do so, as the years progress.<br />
<br />
Girls, I admit it. I'm tired. There are days that I think back to your first years and wonder how we did it. There's no tried and true plan or book we read or whatever. We just did it out of love: out of love for you, for your sisters and brother and for each other. Love gives you energy when you don't have an ounce left to play in the sandbox, paint another picture, even give another bath. Love is what I can point as I sit in the office on a Sunday night after hosting two parties today, dropping off at another sleepover, and needing to do my Bible study homework that I'm two weeks behind on. Because I love you, I write this tribute, like I will every year, so we can remember the little things from the day and year.<br />
<br />
Thank you for this love, girls. Because you came into our lives, we have felt a deeper love because of the hard stuff. You have given me a new life, a new path, a new set of priorities and goals, and it's because of the wacky way you fit into our big, loud, busy family.<br />
<br />
Happy, happy birthday my sweet twins. May you have sweet dreams of cupcakes and Cozy Coupes tonight.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mom<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHnTxbVWmte3ZQbi0sVXXvc-SUe4Yu2HOMBFdT-gZxutLRIEKN4GvivdvjVHfh_EMW9bWPfRIqA-b12bXf5FNyrCZeyFKx_okm7QmlkOEVUD3lK_mfNf44eYc4atAhXMuYTvbk2Wmnbs/s1600/IMG_1750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHnTxbVWmte3ZQbi0sVXXvc-SUe4Yu2HOMBFdT-gZxutLRIEKN4GvivdvjVHfh_EMW9bWPfRIqA-b12bXf5FNyrCZeyFKx_okm7QmlkOEVUD3lK_mfNf44eYc4atAhXMuYTvbk2Wmnbs/s320/IMG_1750.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1mhyvT6TlEMkat_AwRiY1l7aft0DuVwF8G5W5O9XPHZmbr1YlTpJzjInltqlPX0779IEO2lHrkn0pbuLnkgM4w6bH57ILuJj7h3iHxROXgJDtG2o2niidenaSIDPR84l4SEC8LgN0kkc/s1600/IMG_1753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1mhyvT6TlEMkat_AwRiY1l7aft0DuVwF8G5W5O9XPHZmbr1YlTpJzjInltqlPX0779IEO2lHrkn0pbuLnkgM4w6bH57ILuJj7h3iHxROXgJDtG2o2niidenaSIDPR84l4SEC8LgN0kkc/s320/IMG_1753.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrHgFW2fIkfupbDdT9NsSouU0q6E1EkcgpdnGzlEydbQiZP_OOHdTwAIouZU59i3pxR8qx6uoWov5CUG2ATpCRtVn25XGXrmTGvC9sSHkN8cGaC0Ag9ya5WopWcIbtaJCp5NKhmdkaME/s1600/IMG_1786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrHgFW2fIkfupbDdT9NsSouU0q6E1EkcgpdnGzlEydbQiZP_OOHdTwAIouZU59i3pxR8qx6uoWov5CUG2ATpCRtVn25XGXrmTGvC9sSHkN8cGaC0Ag9ya5WopWcIbtaJCp5NKhmdkaME/s320/IMG_1786.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCa90gxMyYc5zzSmImXQqL1VWSPxA24lKNatU0W4aPy5glfkeW817PDgWdHkImoqjscIBwhZmH3ikexAsd_qzYrzRGzh1WJhpDA_kvL9tfBTbglQj16hNpVkUP47sUeU2zllTwLwY7tHE/s1600/IMG_1810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCa90gxMyYc5zzSmImXQqL1VWSPxA24lKNatU0W4aPy5glfkeW817PDgWdHkImoqjscIBwhZmH3ikexAsd_qzYrzRGzh1WJhpDA_kvL9tfBTbglQj16hNpVkUP47sUeU2zllTwLwY7tHE/s320/IMG_1810.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCCS42FZQG9bIcsSW4mV3r57R0PetgUg7aB1D_mwf5Szo3VeCyzlvBOn5Rlo7TOvzcavneXtDKQpzxoe3Olz_LLCmQpkOu0s6GXo4PwfpDG3AevDPpM0fDo1w27ItT5n1g3tiftF4rLg/s1600/IMG_1838.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCCS42FZQG9bIcsSW4mV3r57R0PetgUg7aB1D_mwf5Szo3VeCyzlvBOn5Rlo7TOvzcavneXtDKQpzxoe3Olz_LLCmQpkOu0s6GXo4PwfpDG3AevDPpM0fDo1w27ItT5n1g3tiftF4rLg/s320/IMG_1838.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAdE_p31BPo5-ipBBHFDxJIA-Sfe30TrkCdZmDU2bWYrhFn4ijwCG-KSyEOM8bMaekFrvm0PRULisWuJdSgMju_5V0bjrlE69b75JDOrSO0ALl7-0f63pMwhN4QBIVw2zv35fx7JACik/s1600/IMG_1845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAdE_p31BPo5-ipBBHFDxJIA-Sfe30TrkCdZmDU2bWYrhFn4ijwCG-KSyEOM8bMaekFrvm0PRULisWuJdSgMju_5V0bjrlE69b75JDOrSO0ALl7-0f63pMwhN4QBIVw2zv35fx7JACik/s320/IMG_1845.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-23853303592710647202016-08-30T12:03:00.000-05:002016-08-30T12:03:00.622-05:00An Exceptional Life in Moderation<i>*Disclaimer: I realize that I made a sweeping post about how this blog had to be on hiatus. Some eat their feelings. I write mine. Lucky you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
My Grandma Mary lived 102 years on this Earth.<br />
<br />
102 years.<br />
<br />
In her years, she saw so much advancement. The highway that now cars zip past over 60 (or more) miles per hour, was once a dirt road where she and her sisters played tennis.<br />
<br />
Lying in twin beds with my brother, she used to tell us stories of her getting a ride in the sleigh to church or school on winter days, pulled by a HORSE. A HORSE! The eight year old Emily freaked out at a HORSE taking Grandma to school. I was also the kid who had to be told what the window cranks in a car were. #firstworldkid<br />
<br />
When a cousin of mine was trying to convince Grandma of the importance of the Internet and its impact on the world, Grandma answered simply, "Can you imagine something else making such an impact? Electricity."<br />
<br />
Mic drop.<br />
<br />
She headed to college during the Depression, wanting to be a school teacher. She did it bit by bit, coming home to teach in the country school alternately, saving money for the next semester's tuition.<br />
<br />
She was a third grade teacher, most famously, in the local school district. While her world was small (never having lived any place for too many years but the home her father built when she was born), her reach was broad. When I moved back to the area and would reference her, there were so many former students who expressed their gratitude and love for Mrs. Shortness.<br />
<br />
She was kind, understanding, level headed, smart, and soft spoken. Where I came from, I have no idea. However, this woman is exceptionally organized, one of my better qualities that must have come from her genetics. There are empty closets in her home. She has labeled everything. My girls each have a quilt from either Grandpa or Grandma's families. They all have a tiny white bag (that she sewed) with a note on a small piece of yellow legal paper explaining who made the quilt and sometimes for whom. No fluffy story, no long explanation. Just the important facts.<br />
<br />
That's Grandma Mary.<br />
<br />
She is an exceptional woman who lived an exceptional life, but exercising exceptional moderation.<br />
<br />
She believed in exercise, working in her garden, walking the farm, playing sports as a young (and somewhat cavalier) lady. However, when I took up marathoning, she asked me if that particular distance was necessary. When I explained my reasons, she remarked, "Everything in moderation, Emily."<br />
<br />
Duly noted.<br />
<br />
When dinners were served at Grandma's (and by dinners, I mean lunch), it was an affair. A main dish followed by colorful sides. Always. Potatoes, fruit, veggies...a cheese and pickle tray. Her homemade rolls. Pie for dessert. However, in typical Grandma Mary manner, she always ate slowly. Not because she was overly chatty, just because she enjoyed small servings of all the dishes slowly. Pie was usually the dessert of choice, and if you were Grandma, you'd truly enjoy it because you had room. You ate everything in moderation.<br />
<br />
Except ice cream.<br />
<br />
And pop.<br />
<br />
Those were the things she despised, but never made a stink about it, just said no thank you and moved on.<br />
<br />
Oh these stories make me miss her. I am so lucky. Grandma was something special. She was so influential in my decisions. When I would do something ridiculous in college or even now make some smarty comment, I feel remorse when I think about what Grandma would feel if she knew about my actions.<br />
<br />
She set an example that was good and a bar that is high. I'm hoping to achieve that.<br />
<br />
There are so many more stories and happy times I could share, but I know that you all have memories of loved ones that are similar.<br />
<br />
I will leave you all with this perspective. In a world where excess of stuff, loud voices, extreme opinions and craziness are celebrated, a life like Grandma's, one in moderation, is one that should be highlighted. This was a life that was lead in a way that the world should look to. I am so lucky to have had such an influence in my life, one that was shared in my children's life, and one that I will always cherish.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Grandma Mary for teaching me to live a life in moderation, but having loved me in abundance for 38 years.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPepKgKBh5KNsO3gEzRonTNdXo8f4quJEHE8JgAHuav5x8VrmUxonztincDgwkd_h3d9isGzhCn8V3BayTM0EgbXjIB1cpbxq7mYX2JIiI_EBNoqeHmI0Q9_IIRkZNpdHgs0sbUm-WiUM/s1600/260095_10150254157264817_3176948_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPepKgKBh5KNsO3gEzRonTNdXo8f4quJEHE8JgAHuav5x8VrmUxonztincDgwkd_h3d9isGzhCn8V3BayTM0EgbXjIB1cpbxq7mYX2JIiI_EBNoqeHmI0Q9_IIRkZNpdHgs0sbUm-WiUM/s320/260095_10150254157264817_3176948_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma and Amelia at the first of their many shared birthday parties.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic2k_fYMVjaMsf4-UwsJ3KfP16wdRM5xxjSw2luZ4unyPKpPdTypaTriRqtg2x6FiR64SEMX7eiM2Ly6wyhImySwLeKHjmg5HN3D4YV1wq9j4S0DEZd28h4nwbKvQ1h8jatyPpOz5d5DY/s1600/1936383_119490819816_837782_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic2k_fYMVjaMsf4-UwsJ3KfP16wdRM5xxjSw2luZ4unyPKpPdTypaTriRqtg2x6FiR64SEMX7eiM2Ly6wyhImySwLeKHjmg5HN3D4YV1wq9j4S0DEZd28h4nwbKvQ1h8jatyPpOz5d5DY/s320/1936383_119490819816_837782_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma holding Amelia just after she was born. She drove to our house that day at age 95!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-33244570293967080132016-08-10T14:39:00.000-05:002016-08-10T14:45:10.420-05:00It's Not You; It's MeHey friends.<br />
Remember me?<br />
I'm Emily, your resident farm wife.<br />
<br />
Hi there.<br />
<br />
Well, it's been a summer of change. I know, shocker. We seem to love change around here!<br />
<br />
Just to catch you up, at the end of the school year, Joe stepped out of his teaching role and walked back into farming. He is working for a farm as the head herdsman. While teaching will always be a passion for Joe, cattle raising as a profession trumps all others in his book. Well, almost all. I would like to think raising cows runs a close second next to helping raise our family. I'm sure that's true. ;)<br />
<br />
But besides Joe starting back into farming, I have stepped into a full time working role. Yep. You read that right. I'm working. A real, paying job with deadlines and everything.<br />
I know. I'm so excited!!! But, I have heard it all: you're so busy with your kids, why work? You'll have to balance so much, why work? Aren't you happy as a mom? Your kids will grow so fast, there's plenty of time to work.<br />
<br />
Yes, I understand and appreciate and ROLL MY EYES at all the folks who think they understand our family dynamic.<br />
<br />
I may be crazy.<br />
I might be stressed at times.<br />
I may be busy.<br />
<br />
However, for the past five years, I have felt unrest. I have felt like I have more to offer. I felt like God gave me these talents, and I wasn't using them. I'm not saying that mothering isn't a super important and worthy job, there was just a little voice inside of me that kept nagging to be heard. I would also be remiss if I didn't mention that I felt sometimes that my soul was dying a slow death thanks to an overdose of grilled cheese, laundry and Daniel Tiger.<br />
<br />
That's why I started this blog. It's why I podcast with Holly. It's why I accept speaking engagements.<br />
<br />
I'm a worker, friends. I like working. I like challenges. I love the chase of balancing it all, working on a schedule. I thrive on deadlines and lists. Even in my at-home mom days, I made a list of things to do, kept my running mileage on my calendar, crossed things off I already had done. I like accomplishing things.<br />
<br />
It's not that I'm not happy being just mom to my kids. There's a huge trend to slow down, enjoy life, figure out how to do less.<br />
<br />
That's not in my nature.<br />
<br />
So. Here we are.<br />
<br />
Luckily, this position I accepted is a work-at-home opportunity. It's flexible. It works with my people connecting skills and is based in my home county. So far, so good.<br />
<br />
But here's the deal, people. I may have to press pause now and again with my blog. I love this space. I love you especially my dear readers. I get a little emotional thinking about the friends I have made through this blog. I love the voice I have created and the stories that I have written are way more detailed than the empty baby books my last three children have. Thank goodness for this space!<br />
<br />
I love the brand I have created, even if I STINK at marketing myself. I am proud that Confessions of a Farm Wife is mine. I am happy to be known as Emily the Farm Wife, even if "farm wife" is sometimes thought of negatively.<br />
<br />
In reflecting upon the seven years I have written, I have pretty much laid it all out to you: the good times, the gross times, the sad times, the crazy times, the funny times. You have read my life like a book, only I still haven't really written one yet. YET. You have been with me through the births of three of my kids. You watched our house lift up off its foundation. You cried with us during the sickness and end of life of dear family members. Your words of kindness made the ick of walking away from farming less sad.<br />
<br />
Lots of life changes have unfolded in this space, and the way you readers have supported my family, I am so, so thankful.<br />
<br />
You will never know how grateful I am for this space. Often times, social media can get a bad rap. It can be fake. It can be judgmental. People use it to promote weird agendas. People lay out their lives in perfectly placed Instagram filtered ways. People edit. My life, however, is not perfect. There are lots of filters used, but it's generally to hide the fact that the wood floor underneath the cute child is so dirty, you can see where footprints have "cleaned" some of it.<br />
<br />
Life is not perfect or pretty all the time, and yet from my view, it's just as beautiful if you keep everything as real as possible. I have tried to maintain this belief through this space. I have tried to always be true to myself, our story, our life on this platform. It's ironic I talk about organics in a smarty tone around here...I couldn't be any more organic of a blogger! I'm still on a blogspot platform. This is about as pure and simple of a blog following as you can get!<br />
<br />
Because of this organic, true following, you readers gave me the confidence to step out of the realm of just mothering and agriculture. Your kind words and response to my writing, speaking, everything fueled my unrest in a good way. I knew there was more for me, and I feel like this new opportunity is a chance I had to take.<br />
<br />
But with new chances, new roles, new opportunities, comes a time of transition. It's the end of summer here (CAN I GET AN AMEN??). The kids have not had too many changes thanks to loving in-home care babysitters who have allowed me to work quietly in my bedroom as they play and take them to the pool. However, as school starts and my deadlines come closer, I am sure that there will be stories to tell, but hardly any time to tell them!<br />
<br />
So. If it feels like we're breaking up, we're not. We're just becoming "friends," It's not you; it's me. I need space to grow. I need to find out who I am...what other bad break up line can I drum up from my really crappy dating history?<br />
<br />
Regardless of my frequency of posts, friends, I love you. Truly. I just need time to figure this all out. Harvest will be upon us soon, and with that will come the end of a season. Maybe by then I'll have this figured out. But for now, stay with me on Facebook and keep up with us on Instagram. Life will continue to march around here, just following a different set of marching orders.<br />
<br />
Thank you again for your support. It's been really, really fun, and I can't wait to see the read the rest of this story.<br />
<br />
xo,<br />
<i>Emily</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-14077660908955149282016-06-10T12:49:00.000-05:002016-06-10T13:38:52.300-05:00You Are My Sunshine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/cGa3zFRqDn4/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cGa3zFRqDn4?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
Oh this song.<br />
<br />
I have sung this song to all of our babies. Such a simple song, but one that all of them will share as a memory of our bedtime routine.<br />
<br />
Seven years ago we were coming off of a difficult planting season. It was wet, wet, wet that spring, and we couldn't seem to catch a break of sun to finish up the bean planting. Funny thing is, this season was actually a precursor to a wet, wet, wet harvest.<br />
<br />
Oh, the weather.<br />
<br />
Anyway, on June 9th of 2009, I was truly glad. It was sunshiny. It was warm. My parents had just moved really, really close to us. We were on the brink of finishing planting, and I was about to pop with our third child.<br />
<br />
And early the next morning, I did. Amelia Jane made her entrance at 2:20 AM on June 10th, the same day as my Grandma Mary's 95th birthday.<br />
<br />
The sun shone bright that whole rest of the week and into the weekend. I remember being dropped off by Joe with two toddlers and a newborn so he could sidedress anhydrous. Welcome home, Mama! But, the sun was shining, and it was time to roll.<br />
<br />
I remember watching my Grandma, just turned 95, rolling carefully into our driveway in her maroon Buick to be one of the first visitors. She drove the 15 mile trip because the sun was shining.<br />
<br />
It is indicative of our Millie Jane. She is truly sunshine disguised as a little girl. There are moments that she is a little more cloudy, but those are quickly resolved. She is understanding and caring and kind.<br />
<br />
And funny.<br />
<br />
Oh so funny.<br />
<br />
Just yesterday morning, she told me she was getting nervous about her birthday because she was starting a new chapter of her life. "Seven is a big step, Mom!"<br />
<br />
Awesome.<br />
<br />
This year's birthday celebration has been a bit tricky. She and Jack had to share a party due to family calendars filling up and new jobs starting. Her little cake that Grandma Mary generally provides at the joint birthday party was shared in the hospital, as our more elder of the birthday girls is not doing well.<br />
<br />
Amelia didn't care. She happily shared her party with her brother this year, "because I share my birthday every year with Grandma."<br />
<br />
Of course. Rays of sunshine work together and share the sky, so why wouldn't our little ray of sunshine do the same?<br />
<br />
I say this with every birthday blog, but it bears repeating: I am lucky to be entrusted as this little girl's mother. She has taught me to shine despite the darkness. Even now, as we are a little sad that Grandma is struggling, but at 102, a new chapter is just part of the game. Nothing to be nervous about.<br />
<br />
Nothing like turning seven.<br />
<br />
So, to our little ray of sunshine, Amelia Jane, we love you. We cherish you. You are our sunshine.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxIZbO2jx_ya8dcje38F_c1W5-zQA47g9rFWccIKOB3YDe1WdsFTLX7n3t6ArjQ_bF02ksTr26Z529niKH0rvH6bFvFODkjIZxLrcn_vIOYbbd4dGjbF8ExxH5Bw3uFvyVd6Z9N2LD9o/s1600/IMG_1042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxIZbO2jx_ya8dcje38F_c1W5-zQA47g9rFWccIKOB3YDe1WdsFTLX7n3t6ArjQ_bF02ksTr26Z529niKH0rvH6bFvFODkjIZxLrcn_vIOYbbd4dGjbF8ExxH5Bw3uFvyVd6Z9N2LD9o/s320/IMG_1042.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDV4ZL5kKeKSjBaoOoidb6NPWXFpYKV6WRnURjLaOKEPGW8Jqk5ivdL5VVXhJF9lTRM_xxTtP_EIx3xponZQ0kvBOtzsyYHfcAReKHAOpwrqQXM1Nc1rUzD9nfgCno-JL63JldskynMy4/s1600/IMG_1055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDV4ZL5kKeKSjBaoOoidb6NPWXFpYKV6WRnURjLaOKEPGW8Jqk5ivdL5VVXhJF9lTRM_xxTtP_EIx3xponZQ0kvBOtzsyYHfcAReKHAOpwrqQXM1Nc1rUzD9nfgCno-JL63JldskynMy4/s320/IMG_1055.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWBmwxCuURaT7AcJYX6RToE62vvYfCZLE49nwEeTbsowmL4szcsYjrsWffgzgGoq3bSrfrjNOs0eTKRQ3IfdbH4IPAsQqXEYCjvRVBq43-yopuAHPQ3Y3cNv2VeNmFVOAQzd-1r5eZSs/s1600/4638_103745244816_8027687_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWBmwxCuURaT7AcJYX6RToE62vvYfCZLE49nwEeTbsowmL4szcsYjrsWffgzgGoq3bSrfrjNOs0eTKRQ3IfdbH4IPAsQqXEYCjvRVBq43-yopuAHPQ3Y3cNv2VeNmFVOAQzd-1r5eZSs/s320/4638_103745244816_8027687_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-8327442990297648562016-06-09T20:15:00.001-05:002016-06-09T20:43:14.049-05:00Deja VuWell, well, well...I'm back.<br />
<br />
I have been dealing with some growing and learning pains with my blog.<br />
<br />
I thought my story had been told enough.<br />
<br />
I figured you had heard enough about food and farming and my family.<br />
<br />
I figured all of you and the greater population had formed educated opinions, even though they may differ from mine, and that I could almost close up this shop.<br />
<br />
And then, improper labeling strikes again.<br />
<br />
In a very honest way. In a very loving and caring manner. In a very incorrect label.<br />
<br />
<i>Beef that is hormone free.</i><br />
<br />
Can I talk to you about hormones?<br />
No, men, you don't have to bow out. I'm talking about hormones in food. They are naturally occurring. Just as the mood shifts in this house when a hormonal surge happens (remember there are FIVE girls and ONE mama here? That's six potential walking balls of estrogen. Pray for Joe in about 5-15 years, or 50...either way.), food and animals and humans have these magical chemicals, yes CHEMICALS (natural chemicals, but that's the word used, so again, all you natural friends, deep breaths and keep reading) in them.<br />
<br />
Naturally occurring.<br />
<br />
No additions.<br />
<br />
There have been additional hormones in things, foods, plants, etc., I'm sure. But today, I'm just talking about God-given hormones.<br />
<br />
These are things we need not fear. God made them. God gave them to us.<br />
<br />
Here's a handy graphic for your viewing pleasure:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNNaeba9U10wBADx8jkfkRFVjdM6BpTew3k-oxuAr0LbI3X72ojrQWkSY0Ftb79ZTkTafHWWe_lGGz8KZH1xGCqFnEW09fzk_1fkIfgi1Wa5WClqDOxdyqkfFaFQkkawjyo3ryD5-nXk/s1600/charts1-estrogen-in-beef1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNNaeba9U10wBADx8jkfkRFVjdM6BpTew3k-oxuAr0LbI3X72ojrQWkSY0Ftb79ZTkTafHWWe_lGGz8KZH1xGCqFnEW09fzk_1fkIfgi1Wa5WClqDOxdyqkfFaFQkkawjyo3ryD5-nXk/s320/charts1-estrogen-in-beef1.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>source: bestfoodfacts.org</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Soy flour, beans, peanuts, cabbage: those foods cannot help that they have TONS of naturally occurring hormones.<br />
Cattle, same deal.<br />
Beef will have hormones in it because in order to reproduce, a living thing (aka, a mama cow) must have a balance of hormones.<br />
<br />
Science, friends!<br />
<br />
While I don't think you should shoot up a bunch of hormones, I do believe that you should not freak out about naturally occurring hormones in your food.<br />
<br />
This is something I thought I had made a mark on as far as discussing. This is something that as an advocate, writer, what-have-you, I thought we had made some headway on many folks.<br />
<br />
No?<br />
<br />
Dang it.<br />
<br />
Here's the deal:<br />
I believe in science. You do too, even if you're crunching an organic apple or using homemade laundry detergent.<br />
Newsflash: you're reading this on the Internet.<br />
<br />
Science again, friends!<br />
<br />
But I also believe in our food production, especially if you're checking your sources (meaning, labels and where it's grown, produced, etc.). Be educated, but recognize who your teacher is and what they are looking out for. There are very good people in this world, and then there are ones who are experts in just yelling louder and marketing better than little ol' me who likes to write cute stories about my kids and cows sometimes.<br />
<br />
Please believe your growers. Please trust your people who know their animals. Lest I remind you the percentage of family owned farms in our state. It's 94%. As in an A-, nearly 100...LOTS OF THEM.<br />
<br />
Please question labels, even if they claim to promote health. There are misnomers on both sides, and from the production ag side, I promise you, I will rarely keep quiet. You'll know when something is wrong. I'm the queen of correcting things...righting wrongs...takin' care of business!<br />
<br />
So, welcome back to my blog, friends. Does it seem oddly familiar to you as well?<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3697144516795736807.post-52001649709883097802016-05-19T09:29:00.000-05:002016-05-19T10:01:08.283-05:00Our Boy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
So Jack.<br />
<br />
You're five.<br />
<br />
Right now.<br />
<br />
I was greeted this morning, as I came in from working out, birthday doughnuts in hand, by you with a, "Mom! I'm FIVE! Right <i><b>now</b></i>!"<br />
<br />
Being five is going to be amazing. Being five means kindergarten and a big boy bike and a lunchbox. Being five means tying shoes and riding the bus and playing outside alone (with limits).<br />
<br />
Being five is huge.<br />
<br />
Right <i><b>now</b></i>.<br />
<br />
But five years ago, I was just figuring out the sheer logistics of having a boy. It was different for sure: less fluff, more defense on the diaper change, less drama as toddlerhood set in. You were <i>all boy</i> in a sea of women.<br />
<br />
We may consider you <i>all boy</i>, but you're <i>our boy</i>. That means all the stereotypical boy things are dealt with: unnecessary roughness, running-everywhere, and the everlasting flow of jokes regarding all bodily functions, parts and stinky cheese. But, what makes you YOU, is that after all the gross boy stuff, you're still the sweetest most imaginative dude around. You have gained independence this year, as we have allowed you to play outside alone when it was safe (read: limited equipment coming in and out of the driveway). While I may seem to just be inside, I'm really peeking out the window, listening to your running commentary on your adventures as you dig holes to China in the backyard, chase and catch frogs for pets (yippee!), and dig for worms ("Don't you know they're a frog's spaghetti, Mom?" Ummmm. no.).<br />
<br />
You speak fluent Batman and Ninja Turtles, enjoy commenting on cows and crops, and are a little bit ornery here and there, but that keeps life interesting, I guess.<br />
<br />
With being five, this ends the full timer status you have had with us. Maybe that's why I have loved this preschool year with you. I know it's my last. There are days that it feels exhausting to pitch a ball, chase a twin or two, and then answer the constant stream of questions regarding things from animal husbandry to why our hair is a color to why the grass grows. You have kept life interesting with a few "second chances" at school and some time outs and privileges revoked, but each oops is met accompanied with a "Mommy, you're so beautiful."<br />
<br />
See?<br />
<br />
Joe's boy.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WDnjvKXEx3Wmy5cIf0YKOOXfy_lFH2bfcTYwegCT0MchNhr4gsO5QPd6DpsRNkL-vOkhZbLtKHs5JUv2FKmOv0psURJYDNMHY8-q3QnlW4RgD4fMhMJtzQQES0qECYQy-LwH57fJGbQ/s1600/IMG_0865.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WDnjvKXEx3Wmy5cIf0YKOOXfy_lFH2bfcTYwegCT0MchNhr4gsO5QPd6DpsRNkL-vOkhZbLtKHs5JUv2FKmOv0psURJYDNMHY8-q3QnlW4RgD4fMhMJtzQQES0qECYQy-LwH57fJGbQ/s320/IMG_0865.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This morning, with your clone</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Daddy's clone, to be exact: friendly and social and welcoming. You're the kid that the classmates all tell their folks about. This makes me a little nervous now and again, but if you're going to be, be awesome, right?<br />
<br />
And now you're five, my sweet boy.<br />
<br />
Our boy.<br />
<br />
Our <i>only</i> boy.<br />
<br />
We will put you on the bus this fall. We will watch you as you embark on t-ball next summer. Lots of firsts with a five year old.<br />
<br />
Today though, we will celebrate those first moments as a five year old with Oreos and a picnic lunch. A haircut this afternoon. Big time fun, I know, but that's what's awesome about being five. No big pageantry necessary, just time to explore and play and be together.<br />
<br />
Right now.<br />
<br />
So happy birthday, sweet boy, our boy. Right now, we couldn't love you any more.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg__BDjGi7ygwZsOXmW8wmNPUHZTKnO-nxD5LrIMTGmYyJe2IyG1k8vSiBmIu43I_IV26I2EDItxTuggQc4FsDPnXQ3VrIvg19caRTeWATeVUNzwUrIEiOQg6SoILLOU125j8IPivXOoU/s1600/255592_10150211267969817_5138897_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg__BDjGi7ygwZsOXmW8wmNPUHZTKnO-nxD5LrIMTGmYyJe2IyG1k8vSiBmIu43I_IV26I2EDItxTuggQc4FsDPnXQ3VrIvg19caRTeWATeVUNzwUrIEiOQg6SoILLOU125j8IPivXOoU/s320/255592_10150211267969817_5138897_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always loved by Big Sister Millie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvVKYzq0ikvdxLKtcb4lGpijtGfg0TxAU1cq3k4vd_5dWQUx6slbUFb_ls5FK1ZWnb55cIcywiaHplPDw74v0ZqLfdC0UY5Mj8mfR82ZtuQoAG4wKZ6Xq713rbYKyoBlmFDCL-VXmITA/s1600/319420_10151039422024817_388433051_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvVKYzq0ikvdxLKtcb4lGpijtGfg0TxAU1cq3k4vd_5dWQUx6slbUFb_ls5FK1ZWnb55cIcywiaHplPDw74v0ZqLfdC0UY5Mj8mfR82ZtuQoAG4wKZ6Xq713rbYKyoBlmFDCL-VXmITA/s320/319420_10151039422024817_388433051_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And then, you were one!<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03713010200705755065noreply@blogger.com1