Weird and Cool Coincidence

We take my mom around to clean up and decorate the family headstones at area cemeteries each Memorial Day.  It's become a tradition and my kids actually look forward to it each year.

Our first stop is for my mom's brother Dean who passed away in a car accident before I was born.  His headstone is a military issued metal one with the raised lettering.  Each year the kids argue over who gets to paint the letters with gold paint....and each year they each get to paint a portion of them.  Wyatt, who thinks he's military bound when he gets older, likes to walk to rows with flags and read the military references on the headstones.  

Our last stop is our local cemetery which on a hill behind our house.  It has the most breathtaking views of the valley and foothills!  You have almost 360 degrees of unbroken vista from the top of the hill.  It really is as peaceful a resting place as I can imagine.  And it's got the coolest, historical feel to it as soon as you walk through the stone gateways and see the old headstones that are so worn you can hardly make out the wording.

This is where our ancestors are buried, right back to my great-great-great-grandfather who crossed the Oregon Trail (twice!) and settled the family farm in 1851.  And all the generations following him are represented in the family plots.  And our people aren't alone, there are numerous old headstones with dates from the 1800s.  The kids like to walk around and try to find the oldest ones or try to piece together the stories of families.  

While they where looking around on Saturday they found a small flat headstone that was overgrown.  It was sunken at one end and didn't look as though it had been cared for in awhile.  They decided to 'adopt' it and Wyatt set about cleaning it up with the grass clippers.  The girls made a pretty vase out of the flowers we had left over and placed it on the grave.  Satisfied, they sat for a moment before we packed up to head home.

I took note of the name and dates of our adopted headstone so I could do a little research when we got home, as the last name was not one that was still in the community.  She was only 19 and nothing was noted on the stone about her cause of death.  When I typed it into the Google up came a picture of the headstone with a notation that she was a sister-in-law to a family name that I recognized.  Now I could start to connect some dots about who's family-line she belonged in and maybe find out a bit more about her.

I emailed the information to my mom, thinking she might find it interesting.  She responded with some of the coolest information I could have imagined.  When she had mentioned the name and family connection to my dad, he recognized it right away.  No shock there...he's like a walking community history encyclopedia.  

But what he added to our bit of information was that the young lady who's headstone the kids had cared for used to live right here at our house.  Her old house has been long gone, I don't remember ever seeing a stick built home on this property in my lifetime, but she had lived right here at the beginning of the last century.  How much of a weird, and cool, coincidence is that?

The kids loved it...they thought it was creepy and freaky and awesome.  I thought it was a bit Twilight Zone but found it very cool.  I love things like that!  And now I am on the hunt to find out more about her and why she only had 19 years.  It's like our own Nancy Drew story.

Needless to say, we'll be taking care of that grave each year on Memorial Day as well as the others.  Because it's kinda like we're connected and that's pretty cool. 

Riding on busses

I spent Thursday on a field trip with my kids' classes.  We went to the Timber's soccer game in Portland.  Now, for those of you who may not understand the ins & outs of chaperoning field trips let me just explain a few things.

First, the field trip encompassed grades 4-8 which covers all three of my kids' grades so I technically volunteered for all three classrooms at once.  That is what's known as looking like a good parent without exerting too much time & energy.

Second, it was to a Portland Timber's soccer game.  Come on people...a soccer game for a field trip?!?!  That's the best field trip ever!  And believe me I've been on some serious field trip snoozefests.  I spent an entire day walking the Oregon Gardens with a group of third graders.  A group of third graders who live on farms...they already knew what the plants were and what animals made the 'neat-o' animals tracks.  You should have seen our guide's face when all the kids finished identifying their plaster molds of tracks in record time and then threw in a few stories about killing some of them.

Let me recap:  I volunteered for all three kids at one time and got to see a Timbers game.  That's golden...in fact that, my friends, is what's called 'Winning the Field Trip Chaperone lottery'!!!

So, we arrived at school that morning on time (which already made it a stellar day by my measure) and I found out who my group of chaperone-ees was to be:  all the 6th grade girls.  Which sounds like a lot until you understand that this is a little country school that has 185 students in a K-8 building.  The grand total of my group was 8 and that included my daughter Kate.  A wonderfully manageable number and, knowing all the girls fairly well, I was stoked to see that my job would be an easy one.  Sweet!  Off to the game!

We loaded onto the busses...one for the 6, 7 & 8 graders and one for the 4 & 5 graders.  (My bus contained Kate & Wyatt while Abby rode with the other 4th graders)  And then we sat.  On a bus.  For about 20 minutes.  With roughly 52 kids.  Not fun.

Let me rewind 26 years to when I was 12 and tell you why it was particularly not fun for me.   When I was a 7th grader at Victor Point I developed a bit of a phobia.  It was like claustrophobia but not quite.  I was always self conscious and afraid of being made fun of by other kids.  That morphed into being afraid of being somewhere where I couldn't get away from people if I was too be sick or have something equally embarrassing happen.  It became a fear of being in overcrowded places, from concerts to the mall to Costco...they all became places I hated.  And it became a big fear of riding the bus.  I was afraid of being sick on the bus and then having to endure the rest of the hour long ride with that granule-covered puddle beside my seat and the jokes and pitying looks of my fellow students.  But where we lived, the bus was the only option.  So every morning and afternoon I faced that yellow monster and gutted out (no pun intended) the ride and tried not to let anyone else know how hard I was struggling.  Because for my friends to know that I had this phobia was almost as embarrassing as the original fear itself.  I mean really, how do you explain that your afraid of the bus?

My Mom took me to some kind of psychologist or psychiatrist or counselor or something...I don't remember the guy well but Mom says I pretty much clammed up and wouldn't talk to him except to be snarky.  Hhhmmm...doesn't sound like me at all.  Anyway, she read up on stuff and then decided the best way to handle it was to make me face it.  She didn't alter our day to day living to pander to my fears, she just taught me how to work through it when I was somewhere that I felt panicked.  And God bless her for that.  She would make me go to Costco with her and then distract me with conversation or silliness so that I wasn't focused on the fear.  I was still encouraged to go to concerts where I would loose myself in the music and only have to get through the intermissions when I could see how many people were actually in the arena with me.  She taught me that the mind is powerful and you can talk yourself through difficult situations instead of giving into panic.  Over the years, it's become a valuable mental trait that I'm indebted to her for making me develop.

So, I made it through 7th grade and two hour-long bus rides a day and the fear started to ebb.  It was never as bad as it was that year.  I would still have momentary panicky times later on in high school when I would have to ride a team bus to games but I could always get myself through them.  By the time I was out of high school, it wasn't an issue anymore.

And then 26 years later I found myself sitting on a bus full of 12-14 year olds in front of my old school.  Nostalgia is a powerful thing.  All of a sudden I was 12 again and facing another hour long ride in front of the most judgement people in the world:  junior highers.  And this time not only would I embarrass myself but also my kids.  I began to panic a little.  I was about two seconds from standing up and telling the teachers I would just drive my own car and follow them to the stadium.  And from the cobwebs in my head came the phrases I would tell myself when I battled this feeling so long ago.  "I'm fine, I will get through this" and "I'm OK, just breath".  I let go of the seat in front of me and sat back.  I cracked the window to get some fresh air and breathed deep.  "I will face this and I will be fine."

The bus began to move and I had one more surge of wanting to bolt for the door.  I texted Mike that we were headed out and that I was having a harder time than I thought.  He responded with "if it gets bad call me and I'll come get you".  He was willing to drive to Portland to rescue his ridiculous wife from her fear of busses...that's love, people!   As I put my phone away I turned toward the back of the bus and caught Kate's eye.  She smiled her silly smile at me and that was exactly what I needed to ground myself.  I settled back into the seat and resolved that I would make it through this bus ride.

An hour and 20 minutes later we were pulling up in front of Jeld-Wen field and while I was anxious to get off the bus, I was OK.  I gathered my 8 chaperone-ees as we got off the bus and made our way into the stadium.  The game was great with the Timbers winning 4-0.  I even managed to keep my usual yelling-like-an-idiot-at-sports-events self under control for the sake of my kids.

Because I had made it through the ride up, I wasn't dreading the return trip and even had a nice visited with another mom while we rode back.  When we exited the bus back at the school I felt good.  It was nice to know that even though I still had that irrational fear lurking in the recesses of my mind,  I also still had the ability to conquer it.  Funny how something as silly as overcoming a childhood fear can make you feel invincible...even when you are middle aged when you do it.

Lá Na Gaeilge

Dia duit!  Conas atá tú?

(Hello!  How are you?)

I'm learning Irish, or Gaeilge, and I'm driving my family a little nuts with it but I'm having a blast!  I've been listening to podcasts from EasyIrish.com for the last few months.  I listen to them in the car, when I walk, while I'm waiting for the kids at practices.  And even though I haven't retained more than the first two lessons it doesn't stop me from trying to sharing my new language with anyone who will listen.  When I pop off with some of the words & phrases I've learned Mike just looks at me with raised eyebrows.  "Are you sure that's even a real language?  It sounds like gibberish."    

I realized that my brain was having a hard time remembering which phrases were which so I set out to find a way to really learn from Irish speakers.  That's how I found Lá Na Gaeilge at Marylhurst University.  It's their annual Irish Language Day and it was great!  I spent my Saturday learning all kinds of great stuff about the language.  I learned about the structure of the language, of the differences between Cork and the rest Ireland and lots of other cool stuff.  

The best part of the day was definitely a workshop called 'Tea with Grandpa'.  I signed up for it on the recommendation of one of the attendees and I'm so glad I did.  The first cool thing was that it was just the teacher, one other student and myself.  Pretty much a personal lesson.   Brían uses a way of teaching that is like immersion.  He spoke mostly in Irish the entire time, except when explaining certain rules, etc.  And he uses signs, like sign language, to help enforce the absorption of the words.  He took us on a walk outside and presented us with very obvious situations so grasping the concepts and words was easy once I caught on.  Before I knew it I was understanding things like take & give, here & there, old & young, tall & short...it was so cool!  To see an example of it, you should check out Language Hunters on YouTube.  

So, now I'm all excited to keep learning and get better at the language so that when I go back to Lá Na Gaeilge next year, I'll be able to talk to the others and maybe even move up to the Intermediate classes.  I'm just so glad that my brain can handle learning something like this!  After three kids, I was beginning to think that all my college learning had been replaced with grocery lists, 4th grade math homework, game schedules, 6th grade science, permission slips, 8th grade field trips and, oh yea, maybe some work stuff too.  Good to know there's still some room in there!

Slán go fóill!

(Goodbye for now!)

My Smartass Daughter

Both of my girls have some quick wits on them.  But, my youngest daughter is particularly talented in the smartass category.  

When I picked up the kids at school today, she climbed in the car and told me that a boy had slapped her across the face today.  My first reaction was shock...what the hell?!?!  My next reaction was 'uh oh'...what had Abby done back to him???  So after I got the story of what exactly had happened I asked her, "what did you do?"  She said, very calmly:  "I didn't hit him back mom, don't worry.  I told him I couldn't hit him because I'm not supposed to hit women."  Then she proceeded to tell him that he better sleep with one eye open because her big brother was coming for him.  

Ya....I don't think I'm going to have to worry about that girl.

My 30s

I think it's safe to say that I have always liked each age I've been.  I'm not the person to lie about their age...when asked I tell, with no preamble or apology.  I'm 38.  I like being 38.  Even though when I turned 35 my husband informed me that I was 'half dead' now.  Thanks babe.  He's two years younger so he doesn't feel he's as close to death as I am...unless he keeps making comments like that.

The cool thing about my thirties is that I feel like I've grown up finally.  My twenties were full of lots of growth and events that shaped me but my thirties is when I was able to take those things and make sense out of them.  I am at a point where not only do I have my own opinions, but I own my opinions.  Because a lot of what I believe now is not the same as what I was taught when I was young.

Like the fact that I can't get myself all worked up about gay marriage.  I just don't see why two people who care about each other can't have some type of union that shows it.  You don't have to agree with them but you have to stop telling other people what to do.  It's between them and God and I'm not needed in the middle of that equation.

And the fact that I am now pro-union.  For good reason, since they are trying really really hard right now to protect my husband's job and keep him safe.  They are like family and I know I could count on them if we ever needed anything.  Heck, I might even vote Democrat this election cycle. (gasp!)

Perhaps the best thing about my thirties has been that I finally feel comfortable in my own skin.  I've always struggled with self-consciousness and the fact that I don't ever feel like I fit in.  From a strictly physical standpoint, I've been skinnier and I've been heavier and neither really made much difference to the way I felt about myself.  I saw that people treated me differently at different weights but I never thought of myself differently.  There was always something to change or some flaw that needed fixing.  While I'm not going to proclaim that I have reached some zen state of mind where I'm completely at peace with my body, I will say that I have grown to love it and that worrying about it's appearance is not taking up so much of my brain power anymore.  I am, for lack of a better word, content.

As for the fitting in part, I can unequivocally say that I am OK with not fitting into anyone's group.  In fact, at this point I reject people's labels and attempts to corral us all into categories.  To the point where I have intentionally not become a member of our church because I don't feel that I need to identify myself as a denomination.  I don't need to pledge myself to anyone or anything outside of God and my husband.
I don't want to be registered as a Republican anymore but, then again, I don't want to be registered as a Democrat either.  I'm both conservative and liberal and it doesn't always fall along party lines.  I abhor the idea that I have to reduce myself to checkboxes on a list of categories that someone has decided is big enough to identify me.

So my thirties has taught me that it's OK to believe what I believe and be the person that I have become.  And I understand that people don't agree with me and that's OK.  I don't expect them to because I don't necessarily agree with them.  It's simple that way.  It's grown up, even.

Mother's Day on the lake

Today was one of the best Mother's Days ever.  After missing several years due to bad weather or sickness, we were able to take the boat out for our traditional Mother's Day on the lake.  Since we bought the boat 7 years ago, we've tried to make Mother's Day our first lake day of the season.

Yes, the water is freezing but it's worth it.  In years past, I've gotten in the water to wakeboard just so I could say I was the first one in the water that year.  Not so much anymore.  I'm perfectly content to sit in the boat and soak up the sun while the kids brave the hypothermia-inducing water.

And today was exceptional.  We got to the lake around 10:30 in the morning and there were only a few boats already out.  The weather was perfect...warm & sunny & beautiful.  The kids jumped in the water and Mike & I sat on the boat with the sun shining down and Jack Johnson singing our soundtrack.  Those are the moments you want to freeze and keep forever...I guess that is what I'm trying to do by writing it down.

But....

It's Friday but it feels like a Monday morning.

The sun is out but that makes me realize how badly I need to wash the windows.

Wyatt woke up with a red eye this morning.  It may not be pinkeye but it probably is.

Usually that would mean a doctor appointment but we already have medication left from the last time he had it.  Score!

Kate asked Abby to borrow t-shirt but she had already taken it without permission.

Abby said NO but Kate left the house wearing it anyway.

Abby hurt her foot and wanted to take crutches to school but I said NO because she can walk on it.

That is not unreasonable but Abby doesn't agree.

I asked Kate if she remembered her homework and she said YES but she was wrong and I had to make two trips to the school this morning.

I wasn't planning on going into town today but now I'm way low on fuel.

I've already done 3 loads of laundry this morning but now it's all on my bed waiting to be folded.

I did go for a walk this morning but I have yet to get a shower.

It's only 9 am but I just ate a left over taquito from last night's supper.

I need another cup of coffee but its decaf so what's the point.

I wish we could do this everyday...

Mike & I worked on our place all day today.  We picked up supplies, spread sawdust in the blueberry patch and compost in the garden, put bark dust in more flowerbeds and worked on the pig pen.  When we were putting up new chicken fencing around the back side of the barn he looked at me and said "I wish we could do this everyday...work here together."  

I couldn't agree more.  If we could make a go of it with our farm it would be the best thing ever.  We can't do it full-time...yet.  But everyday we get to be here together is a good day.  

And I think the cows agree.

Girls and Tractors

My husband is a good man.  He teaches our kids...all of our kids...how to drive tractors.  That may not be a big deal to some but to me it sums up a lot of stuff.  

I grew up on a farm but was expected to do more female chores.  As a tomboy, that never set well with me.  I was much happier outside than in, dirty than clean, loud than quiet.  I've always pushed against the 'woman's work' role that I felt put in;  very much the square peg into the round hole scenario.  And in that scenario the peg never really fits, it just gets beaten down.  

I used to bug my dad unendingly until he finally would put me on a little old Farmall A and let me drive around the pastures.  Other than that, I was never allowed to drive much farm equipment and that has always bugged me.  It was not for lack of wanting and asking on my part...it was just how it was with my family.  Later in life that mindset ultimately played a part in my decision to leave my family's farm;  I'd never be satisfied if I was relegated to a narrow job description based on my gender.  

So, my husband and I left that farm & business and started our own.  It's super small compared to what I was raised on but it's ours to run how we see fit.   And, by design, the kids are a big part of the farm and the chores that come along with it.  They handle the livestock, clean the barn, collect the eggs, mow the lawns, weed, clean the house, bake & cook, etc.  Our expectations of them are equal whether its our boy or one of the girls.  Like today...my husband didn't hesitate to throw the girls on the tractor and give them a lesson on hauling bark dust.  And that, my friends, is pretty freakin' awesome.  Because it gives my girls a certain confidence early in life that will be invaluable to them throughout their lives.  It also gives them, and by extension me, validation.  It says to us "I recognize your abilities as a person regardless of your gender."  It sets the bar for how the kids should expect to be treated and how they should treat others.  I hope it will someday help them decide who they will choose as a partner for their life.  My wish for them is that each of them find a person who respects them and who they can respect, a person who they can work side by side with as individuals and as a couple.  My wish for them is that they find a partner just like I have.

All that...just from driving a tractor.

Facebook Prayers: grabbing everyone's attention, one key stroke at a time

Prayers and prayer requests...most people would agree that these are good things.  And I've seen some pretty moving instances of prayer and I've seen God move in some pretty cool ways.  But there are times when people hijack the prayer request time as their own personal spotlight.  I'm sure if you've been to a bible study you've heard the usual sob stories about how difficult someone's life is right now.  Or, the ever popular gossip-disguised-as-prayer-request:  "I'm only telling you guys this because you need to know to pray for them..."  It can be disheartening and down right annoying.

And now with Facebook, it's easier than ever to show just how religious you are by asking for random prayer requests or leaving actual prayers in someone's comment box.  Because we all know that God has a Facebook page and he's totally into social media.  What better way to reach Him?  I'm pretty sure I've seen him on Twitter too (@imtherealgod...I think, but I might be wrong).

I think Facebook prayers carry extra weight with God.  When someone invokes God's name in text form, it probably goes straight to His celestial iPhone.  "OMM! (Oh My Me...I'm pretty sure that's how God says it) Holly just wrote an actual prayer for Jennifer?  She must really mean it.  Plus she added, like, fifty exclamation marks so I better get right on this."  Or, "Melissa is sending extra special prayers...and hugs? She is such a good christian, I better honor those prayers.  Besides she added those cute little heart icons before and after her sentence."

And, even if that's not how all that plays out...at least they've just shown the entire Facebooking world just how gosh golly great they are.  But I'm sure that wasn't their intent at all...

Why are the cats british?

I'm a little 'off'.  This is a known-factor for most people with whom I have had any type of conversation with that lasts longer than 2 or 3 minutes.  Or if they have ever accompanied me to a sporting event.   

I fill my parts of the conversations with movie lines or song lyrics or random noises.  My husband and kids are used to it so they can follow along quite well.  Although, sometimes they look at me with that expression that says, "Wha?  What the hell is she talking about?"  And I glibly look back at them with an expression that says, "Why are you not following all of this?  It makes total sense."

I felt I needed to preface this story with that information so you...well, so you would know that this is not the weirdest thing that I do in a given day.

I went to the linen closet in our bathroom to get a towel for my shower and was met with two beady little eyes.  These belong to one of our cats named Chloe and she shot me a look that said, "Why are you interrupting my sleep?"  At that moment the other cat, Nala, came into the room.  She caught site of Chloe perched on top of the towels and looked up at her buddy.  And then I proceeded to have a mock conversation between the two cats...in my head.  And I made them both have british accents.  Don't ask...I don't really know why.  It went a little something like this:

Nala:  "Oh, that looks comfy.  Can I come up?"

Chloe:  "No.  No, you may not."

Nala:  "But...why not?  I fancy a little nap on the towels too..."

Chloe:  "No, I'm afraid there is just no room for you."

Nala:  "But you can scooch over a bit and I'll curl up and it'll be fine.  I'm coming up..."

Chloe:  "Listen you saucy little tart, I said no.  Now go away."

After this I just imagined a stony silence until Nala finally gave what I thought was a little cat shrug and walked back out of the room.  Chloe looked at me with those smug cat eyes until I felt like I was intruding and pushed the closet door closed again.  

She's quite intimidating...especially when she's british.