The Middle

Our Amelia is nine today.

This means that she is halfway through living in our house.

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.

This kid has a variety of dreams.

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.
Deep.
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.

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."

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.
And thank heavens for that.
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.

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!

Happy birthday to my sweet girl. I am so thankful to have been chosen to be your mama, thankful that you're my middle.

Our Boy

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.

Well, this weekend, the shuffle of a big active family almost ruined my streak of intentional birthday awesomeness.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I am so thankful for this night. And especially, especially thankful for my little/big boy.

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.

He is our slow down in the hurry up phase of our life.

Thank goodness for that.

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.

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.

Dear Heart

We have a teenager today.

Anna is 13.

While today is a little atypical from our usual birthday celebrations, it is and will continue to be a big day.

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.

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 most helpful big kids a big family could have, and it starts at the top.

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.

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.

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.

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.

See? This kid is powerful.

Anna, we treasure you. We truly do. Your life is one that will continue to surprise, impress and challenge us.

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.

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.
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.
Dear heart, we love you. Dearly. Truly. Always.

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.

Love,
Mom

42 Was Hard, 43 Will Be Stronger

Well 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.

That it's over.

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.

But, guess what? He MADE it. We made it.

And 42, you're done, and we're stronger because of it.

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.

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.

Life.

Life, my friends.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Love you.

"It's Like Charlotte's Web, Mom."

So today is a big day around here.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

It's not that simple. There's water. There's power. There's shade. There's flies to consider and smells.

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.

So TODAY IS A BIG DEAL, MY FRIENDS.

BIG. DEAL.

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.

While the logistics of this makes life so exciting, the experience is what I cannot wait to see unfold.

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.

"It's like Charlotte's Web, Mom."

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.

Isn't that just the way life is?

Oh the irony...

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.

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.

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?"

Dear Josephine

Dear Josephine,

Today is your birthday!!! YAY!!

You have been keeping us updated by counting down each day this month as your big eleventh birthday approached.

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!).

You have prepped and planned for a fun birthday party with friends and willingly celebrated your day on Thanksgiving with family.

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.

Life is good today for sure, and it is so fun to watch you grow and flourish right now.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Happy birthday, my Sweet Jos.

Love,
Mom

November

When 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.

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.

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.

Yesterday, in true November form, we received the news that we lost one of our friends, Jay.
In November.
From cancer.

November, you're relentless. Cancer, you stink.

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."

Yep. You do.

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?"

We laughed so hard that day, and every time I saw him or he saw Joe, he would ask, "How's my wife?"

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.

I believed him.

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.

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.

November, you're relentless.

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.

Rest in peace, Jay. This Thanksgiving, I'll eat pie first in your honor.