Goober's Story

Eleven years ago today, my life changed forever. I became someone's mother. I was young, just 21, but I wasn't scared. I was ready and I'd been looking forward to it almost my whole life. Josh and I had married only fifteen months before, and Josh was still in college. Most people wouldn't consider our situation ideal, and it was hard, but Goober has brought us so much joy, I wouldn't trade those early years for anything.
I still remember the excitement when I first began to suspect I might be pregnant. I've always just known with each of our three kids. It was still too early to test, but I couldn't wait. I took the test in the morning and it came up negative. I was half disgusted that it wasn't positive and half relieved that it wasn't. I tossed it into the wastebasket and covered it with some tissue and left for work. Much later that night after working my two full-time jobs, I came home and couldn't help but check again. This time, it read positive! I knew better than to get excited, but I couldn't help it. I think I called and begged my mom to grab another test for me. She brought one over and it came up positive right away. Waiting for Josh to walk in the door was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I was so impatient! I think I tried a few times to read and couldn't. I re-positioned the test on the end table several hundred times. Finally, I heard his key in the lock and got a serious case of butterflies. I was sitting cross-legged on the couch with the test behind me when he walked in. He looked so exhausted after a full day of school and work. I had a moment of, "what am I doing?!" My face must've given me away. He looked at me and said, "what?". Everything I'd rehearsed in my head flew right out and I just handed him the test. He took it and stared at it for a second and I started to get nervous, but when he looked up, he had the goofiest grin on his face. We were thrilled, but it meant some hard decisions. We knew that we wouldn't be able to keep paying rent on our duplex when the baby came and I stayed home with him. A few months later, we moved into a bedroom in my parents' house. A few months after that, Josh was getting ready to get out for a much needed break. I think he and his best friend were going to drive out to his friends' family cottage on the river and just blow off steam. Earlier that day, I'd begun to suspect that labor had started, but I didn't say anything until Josh came home and then got ready to head back out. My dad let him borrow his beeper just in case and they left. About half an hour later, it became VERY clear that I was definitely in labor. I called my Dr. and they told me to come on in since I was at the point of no return. I felt bad about calling him back, when they probably hadn't even made it halfway out there, but I did and he showed up a little while later. I don't think it had quite sunk in for Josh, yet, he was very calm and nonchalant, but his friend on the other hand, lol, got a little nervous. He hustled us into his car and got us to the hospital in good time. I don't remember much of the next couple of hours, I'm assuming it was just the normal check-in and getting settled business, but I DO remember them determining that things weren't progressing fast enough for their liking, so they started a pitocin drip. Oh, if I only knew then what I knew now, I would've told her to back herself right back out of my room with that bag of pure, concentrated evil! I also remember that night. Turns out, Goober was head-down like he should've been, but he was facing backwards- which meant viscious back labor. Back labor is hard to describe, but the closest I can come is- it's like a massive charley horse in your lower back. I didn't feel anything in front, it was all in the back. Needless to say, it made for a long sleepless night. No matter how many times a nurse would come in and admonish me to get some rest, it wasn't happenin'. I lay there staring at the ceiling, gritting my teeth with tears streaming down my face. Josh wasn't having any problems sleeping at all. He was stretched out in the chair in the corner snoring. Well, I wasn't in the best of moods. I (unreasonably) figured that if I had to suffer, so did he. I called his name a few times, but he was out cold. I took my pillow and threw it at him. He only woke up enough to take the pillow and stick it behind his head and then resumed his snoring. So, I lay there the rest of the night in pain and with no pillow!! ;). Sometime the next morning, I had progressed enough for them to okay an epidural. I had been on the fence, but after the night I'd had, I just wanted a few minutes of relief. Well, that was when I learned the lesson, "if it seems too good to be true...". The anesthesiologist came in and began poking that long needle around in my back. He hit several nerves. It feels like an electric shock going through your whole body with each nerve that gets hit. He finally got it in, but I didn't notice much difference. There was a little pain relief, but I still felt sensation, even though they told me I shouldn't be able to. Why do they ask you a question and then tell you your answer is impossible?! Anyway, to this day, I still have some nerve damage from it. Every now and then, I'll get a jolt that feels just like it did when he was poking around in there. It only lasts a second or two, but it definitely stops me in my tracks. A few hours later, Goober was ready to make his entrance. Right before, I felt something that felt really weird. I said, "what was THAT?!" They looked up startled and said, "you felt that?!" I said, "yes" and she laughed and said, "your baby just flipped himself over!". Right in time to be delivered :). About one-twenty in the afternoon on Wednesday, October 11, 2000, Ethan Joseph made his entrance. He weighed seven pounds, five ounces and was perfect in every way. Even though he had a wrinkled little newborn face, anyone could see right away that he was a miniature of Josh. "Love at first sight" doesn't even begin to explain it. I couldn't stop looking at him and hated handing him over to anyone. He's been a wonderful, amazing son who has blessed our lives in so many ways and we wouldn't have done anything differently. Happy 11th Birthday, Ethan, we love you!

Princess's Story

This is Princess's story.

Seven years ago today, my sweet baby girl was born. We were both over-joyed when we found out we were having a girl as we knew she'd be our last child after having two boys. I hated the color pink, but couldn't wait to dress her in tiny little dresses and frilly headbands (wouldn't you know, her favorite color ended up being pink). I looked forward to having a "buddy" in the house. Someone to pass my love of gardening and Anne of Green Gables and cooking onto. Our house had been snips and snails and puppy dog tails for almost four years. The day Princess was born, she added a softness to our home that hadn't been there before. I had never been a "girly-girl", but somehow, even being pregnant with Princess had softened me a little, too.
Each of my boys had made their entrance in completely unique way, and Princess did, too.
I woke up on the morning of September 24th and felt a little "off". I chalked it up to being nine months pregnant, as big as a house and being the very tired mommy of two insanely busy little boys. I attempted to eat breakfast, but it didn't want to stay put. I made some chamomile tea instead but that didn't stay put, either. A warning bell went off in the back of my mind, but I shook it off and went about my day- I had a lot to do. I baby-sat for my neighbor's girls while she was at work and when she dropped the girls off, she looked at me funny and said, "remember, if you need me to watch the boys when you have the baby, it doesn't matter what time of day or night, just bring them over". I politely thanked her, but knew I'd never have the nerve to pound on her door in the middle of the night and hand her the boys. We went about our day and lunch didn't agree with me, either. By mid-afternoon, I started feeling very anxious. I know I knew what was going on, but I didn't want to acknowledge it because I felt like I had too much to do, still, so, I denied it instead. Because that always holds off the inevitable :::roll eyes::: . I made dinner, got the boys fed and as evening approached, I got a horrible nagging back-ache. At this point, there was no mistaking that I was in labor and had been all day. Still, I couldn't quite admit it. I knew I should call my mom and sister to make the hour and a half drive to be with the boys, but I didn't want to bother them if it was a false alarm and continued to put it off. Eventually, I began having some pretty strong contractions. I continued to flit around nervously doing pointless busy-work. Eventually, about eleven that night, I could no longer deny reality. My contractions were so bad I couldn't stand up straight or talk through them. I finally called my mom and sister and decided to take a shower before going to the hospital. Hard to do doubled over and gritting your teeth in pain. Eventually, Josh got nervous and I called my doctor. He told me to head on over and we woke the boys up and drove the two and a half blocks to the hospital to wait there for my mom and sister to come get the boys. I remember the car-ride vividly. I wasn't very nice when my husband hit the pot holes in the street. I may have hit him. We walked into admission and the elderly volunteer looked up, saw me bent over at the waist and hopped up to get me a wheelchair. I insisted I could make it on my own two feet, but just then, another contraction hit and the wheelchair suddenly looked wonderful. He wheeled me up while Josh dealt with the boys. Eventually, we were all settled in, me on the bed and Josh and our two very sleepy, very bewildered boys in a hospital recliner. About twelve-thirty in the morning, I looked over and felt horrible for dragging the boys out of their nice, warm beds and bringing them to the hospital, so I told Josh to take them on home to wait for my mom and sister there. I kissed my babies good-bye and lay back to stare at the clock. About that time, things really kicked into high gear. I'd had epidurals with both my boys (HORRIBLE, AWFUL experiences) and decided I didn't want to do it again, so it got a little intense at one point. It's not that the pain was unbearable, but I think it was more just the intensity of everything, a way of coping. It was probably transition. Anyway, at one point, I screamed. The doctor chastised me and told me to keep it down because I'd scare the other mothers laboring in other rooms. I looked right at him and screamed again. I have no idea where it came from, because that is not me at ALL, but he left me alone after that and I was okay after that. About twenty minutes after Josh had left, and about four pushes later, Caroline Elizabeth Anne made her entrance into the world on September 25th, 2004 at one in the morning. The nurse handed me the phone and asked if I'd like to call my husband. He answered and I said, "Hey, would you like to come meet your daughter?" He said, "you're kidding". People ask me if I was upset that Josh wasn't there for the birth, and the answer is an emphatic NO because I'd have hated for him to have seen me behaving like that!! My mom and sister got there shortly after and he came to meet his daughter. As I was holding her, she did the strangest thing. She reached up with both little fists and rubbed her eyes, like she had total control and meant to do it. To this day, I'm convinced she did. :). I felt so great after her delivery that I wanted to hop down, take my daughter and head home. That was a first. If I could do it all over again, I'd have had all my babies naturally. The difference is like night and day. Of course, they weren't too keen on the idea, so we had to stay put the requisite two days, but the day I came home, I felt great.
Princess has been a ray of sunshine in our house since day one. It doesn't make sense, but looking down into her face, I had the overwhelming sense that I'd just given birth to my own best friend. I still feel that way. She was such a happy, sweet baby and she still is now as a big seven-year old girl. We're so blessed to have her in our family. Happy 7th Birthday, Baby Girl!!

Ten Years Later; Explaining September 11th to My Kids.

We're coming up on the ten-year anniversary of September 11th.
Today started out as just another school day for us. The kids were working away and then Goober came up to ask me a question and then he noticed I was reading a story about the ten-year anniversary observances that were taking place. I've explained it to him before and he asked if that's what they were talking about. I said yes and before long, Crash and Princess were crowded around the computer asking what we were talking about. I decided to take a detour and explain it to them. They're all old enough now and it was a moment in our history when our country changed forever. Just in their lifetimes, so much has changed. The innocence that existed in America until that first plane hit is gone forever. I believe children are more capable of understanding than we give them credit for. If my kids ask me about something, I'm honest with them. I keep it age-appropriate, but I answer their questions.
I explained the background and then we watched the news footage on YouTube. We sat here for three hours, watching footage and talking. I noticed they were going through the same emotions those of us who were alive and watching it that day went through. At first, shock and disbelief. Then, sadness for all those innocent people who lost their lives- those in the planes and in the buildings, and the firefighters. The firefighters who died really affected Crash. Then, anger and wanting retaliation, which brought in the whole aspect of the war we've been fighting since. Then, a feeling of wanting to DO something.
Watching the footage all over again brings all those feelings right back up to the surface. I had tears streaming down my face almost the whole time. Princess did, too, once she fully grasped what had happened. Seeing it through Crash and Princess's eyes as they watched it for the first time was heart-breaking. Princess reacted much the same way I had ten years ago. She just sat and sobbed in my arms. Crash, on the other hand, almost vibrated with helpless frustration and indignation and wanting to teach the terrorists a lesson. Goober watched almost stoically. He sat silently watching the footage with a grim look on his face. He's seen it before and knew what was going to happen. He's what some people call an "old soul". He understands a lot more about the world and human nature than a lot of kids his age. He shoulders it well, though.
They asked me what I remember about that day. I feel like I've shared it a hundred times, but never with the younger two.
Just like everyone else says, it was a beautiful September day. The sky was so clear and blue it almost hurt your eyes. It was Goober's eleven month birthday that day and the sun was shining. I remember just this feeling of "all is right with the world". I think that made it even worse after the fact. Josh had left for school and I was up and around early cleaning the apartment while Goober played. I remember opening the sliding glass door to our balcony to let in the beautiful breeze and thinking it was such a peaceful morning that I didn't want to have the t.v. on ruining it. Normally, I'd pop in a Veggie Tales video to distract Goober while I worked, but not that morning. I was expecting a visitor and when she knocked on the door, it sounded frantic. I opened the door and her face was white as a sheet. I said, "what?". She walked in and said, "have you heard?! Someone flew a plane into the World Trade Center, they think it was terrorists! Quick, turn on your t.v.!" I honestly didn't even know WHAT the World Trade Center was back then. Sure, I'd heard the words, but I didn't understand that there were thousands of people in the buildings. I think I'd always thought it was a monument, or something. I turned the t.v. on and didn't have a hard time finding it- we used rabbit ears and only had a few channels and it was on almost every one. We both sank down onto the couch and stared. When we saw the second plane hit, Susie gave a little scream and I remember my hands going up to my mouth. I'm not sure how long I sat there like that, but it must've been a long time. After the first tower collapsed, it hit me. I grabbed Goober and held him tight, nuzzling his little baby head and smelling his just-shampooed hair for comfort. At some point, she left. Somewhere in the back of my mind, everything started fitting together and I became very worried for Josh at school. Purdue is an engineering school and nobody knew just what this attack was going to entail, what they were going to go after. The news anchors and experts they were interviewing were talking about bombs and chemical warfare and... . That was back before we had cell phones and I had no way of getting ahold of him. I spent the day glued to the news, pacing my apartment, holding my baby and crying. I felt caged up, but didn't want to leave the apartment because I was scared of what might be coming next. When Josh came home later that night like nothing had happened, I wanted to both smack and hug him. I was furious with him for letting me worry all day, but so relieved to have him home. I remember feeling like a caged animal for weeks- especially after all the anthrax attacks started. Nobody knew what was next or how long it was going to last. I was restless, but I was afraid to go out in public. Some of that remains to this day. I've never been a fan of crowds, but I absolutely hate them now. To this day, I will not take my kids anywhere there's a huge crowd gathered. Some would say it's crazy and unreasonable, but in my way of thinking, it's safer.
The kids spent a few minutes asking questions and I did the best I could to answer them. Then, their faces changed. It was almost as if I could see their brains had finished absorbing and filing everything away and needed an outlet to deal with it all. As if reading each other's thoughts, Crash and Princess both ran upstairs and put on the most patriotic shirts they own (something Goober did the first time he learned about it, too) and then out came the paper and crayons. They drew feverishly for a good forty-five minutes. American flags were the common theme, but they also drew pictures of soldiers fighting the terrorists. Then, once again, almost simultaneously, it was over. They quietly hung their artwork up in prominent places around the house and drifted back into the school room. They're now finishing up their school work. It's almost as if they silently agreed to stop talking about it. I think it's interesting, because although my kids' reactions to everything was lightning fast and abbreviated, isn't how the rest of us reacted when it happened ten years ago? Days and weeks of mourning and then walking on pins and needles and trying to make sense of it all and then... it's almost like we, as a country, just needed to take a break and move on. Every year, we take the time to remember and observe, even re-live it and cry, but then we move on. I don't think we're forgetting, but I think it's healthy to want to move on and live our lives, to not live in constant fear and let the terrorists win. If my kids take away one lesson, that's what I want it to be. This is America. We do not give up and we do not live in fear. They surprised us and knocked our feet out from under us for a time, but we always get back up and keep going. They can be proud to be Americans.
image from: http://dcfans.tv/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/god-bless-america.jpg

When Old and New Collide

My oldest woke me up this morning with "that" look on his face. I know it well. It means, "brace yourself, one or more of us did something stupid and since I'm the oldest, I've been elected spokesman for the group". I struggled to crack my other eye open and said, "what happened?". He winced and his eyes filled up with tears and he brought his hands up to show me my tortilla press. With the top part cracked in half. It's not just "a" tortilla press, it's my great-grandmother's tortilla press and one of my most treasured posessions. I shot up to a sitting-position and started stuttering. "How, what on earth, how, WHY?". He explained that they woke up early and were hungry but wanted to let me sleep a little longer ( this was about 7:30). They decided to each have a couple of slices of wheat bread to snack on- but not just any bread- SMASHED bread. I know my kids aren't the only ones who do this. I remember my sister and I doing it, but we used Wonder bread. You take a piece of bread and fold it and smoosh it up so that it's all chewy and dough-y. They set about making their SMASHED bread and then Crash got a great idea- let's take it up a notch and *really* smash it- using Mommy's tortilla-press. If we can smash it with our fingers, imagine how much BETTER the smashing would be using a piece of equipment with leverage!!! They dragged it out and took their turns, Crash and Princess standing up and putting all their weight on the lever for optimum smashability. When it got to Goober, he went to take his turn, brought the lever down, applied pressure and... CRACK. I can't help but wonder what the looks on their faces must have been when they all realized what happened... and how long they all debated about what to do and who was going to be the bearer of bad news.

I sat there staring at the broken tortilla press, I wanted to yell, "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" but looking at Goober's stricken face, I knew he felt terrible. I wanted to cry, but couldn't. I just sat there. I asked them to all go to their rooms and give me some time. I lay back down and thought of my great-grandmother, of all the times I watched her make tortillas with that press, of how much it reminded me of her when I used it. Then I cried.
Though I loved all four of my grandmas intensely, I felt especially close to my great-grandmother. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because she was the one who baby-sat me almost from the time I was born through my early childhood years, maybe it was because she had an affinity for all the same things I did- growing plants in her tiny patio garden, showing her love through cooking for others, her fierce love for her family... I'm not sure, I just know what I felt for her and still do. She was very strict, but infinintely kind and loving. She carried herself regally, but was absolute salt-of-the-earth and was always doing something for someone. I can't count how many times I accompanied her while she took me through the halls of her apartment building to visit a lonely or ailing neighbor and left a little foil-wrapped package of something behind. Some of my fondest memories are of her happily and efficiently working in her kitchen, the Spanish music station crackling out of her old radio. Every now and then, she'd pass a piece of raw potato over for me to munch on, or peek over and wink. Sometimes, she'd begin humming along to the music, grab me and dance me around her tiny apartment.
She passed away shortly after I had Goober. My grandmother came over with a box of her things and offered them to us. I chose quite a few items. I felt having her things around me would help keep her memory alive and be good conversation starters when my kids were old enough for me to tell them about her. Over the years, several things have been broken in moves or by the kids. Every time, it's like a kick in the stomach and there's always a little mourning on my part. The tortilla press, however, takes it to a whole other level. I'm not mad. I can't be. They know how much it means to me and didn't mean to break it. They're just kids. It's just a THING and my children are more important than THINGS. I am sad. I'm sitting here writing with tears streaming down my face. Every now and then, my kids walk by and I see how wretched they feel.




"IM SRRE" from Princess






I told them I just need some time to "get it out" and I'll be okay. I almost want to laugh at my kids (my kids) tip-toeing around on eggshells. I'm going to retire the cracked tortilla press to a place of honor in my dining room hutch. I suppose in time, the story of how it came to be cracked will allow it to be relevant to my children when it passes to them and they share the stories with their children. I had wondered if they would value my great-grandmother's things the same way I do after I'm gone, if they would take care of them or if they'd be relegated to a box in an attic and forgotten. After all, they never knew and loved her like I did. They've only heard stories. Maybe by adding their own history to the it, it connects five generations in a way that wouldn't have otherwise. I don't know.
I do know I'm going to get another press eventually and I'm going to teach my children how to make tortillas like my grandmother taught me. Even though I treasure that press, it was just a vehicle for memories. I can still share my memories of her with them and we can make plenty of our own. Maybe some day the two presses will sit side-by-side and my kids will share stories of their grandmothers with their children.

Anger, Foolishness and Forgiveness

Very few things get under my skin. I mean, REALLY really get my blood boiling. I have minor annoyances- my children's disobedience, wet towels left on bedroom floors, muddy footprints tracked through the house..., but there are some things I have a hard time controlling my temper over. The helpless bus kids in my Sunday school class who are un-bathed and wearing dirty clothes stinking of cat urine who tell me that they didn't eat that morning, people who smoke around their children who can't speak up for themselves or escape it, and people who remain willfully ignorant yet feel the need to give their opinion on things they know nothing about. That's the one that has me all fired up today.
I know I've posted a few times about my oldest son's food allergies. Not that I wish to beat a dead horse, but it's a very touchy subject with me. I think because I encounter so many people who have no actual facts, but have very strong opinions on it. Opinions that are usually along the lines of, "people with food allergies should just have a reaction, be allowed to die, improve the gene pool and leave us alone to enjoy our PB&J." I'm not even kidding. I'm a very quiet person most of the time and I used to be a complete doormat. You could insult me all day long and it wouldn't really bother me. Then I had a baby. A baby with food allergies. Given to me to protect. I have spoken up and out more in defense of my son than I ever thought possible. I'm sure I wouldn't feel so strongly about it if my son DIDN'T have food allergies, but he does and I do. I would like to think that even if he didn't, I would try to be understanding of those who do. I can't imagine looking at someone else's child and thinking that they should be sequestered away in an attic somewhere for MY convenience.
Because I feel so strongly, I try to avoid articles written on the subject. I do stay up to date with advances in the field of preventing or "curing" allergies, but I've learned to avoid articles on the subject because usually say a whole lot of nothing and are followed by hundreds of stupid comments from people who don't have any clue about what they're spouting off about. I KNOW better, but I gave into temptation this morning and read one, and allowed my eyes to drift down to the "comments" section. Sure enough... I was so mad I was spitting nails ( and hateful names I would never allow my children to use). WHY do I do that? What was I hoping to see? A sudden change in people's attitude? Supportive encouragement for those with food allergies? The only thing I accomplished was making myself mad. Ecclesiastes 7:9 says, "Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry; for anger resteth in the bosom of fools". It's true. I was acting like a fool, self-righteously lashing out at someone I'll never see face-to-face and calling names like a bratty child. I baited myself... like a fool. The only "good" to come of doing that to myself is the burst of adrenaline from anger that has no outlet. You can get a lot of cleaning done on adrenaline. But what then? Sadness at knowing so many people consider your child less than human? A road-block to their enjoying peanuts on airplanes and peanut butter in school? Frustration at wanting to educate people but not knowing HOW? At knowing that even if most people had actual facts, they'd continue to be willfully ignorant, anyway? So, I do this to myself and I'm left just feeling...yucky.
So then what? I have to remember that I'm supposed to forgive the people who say such hateful things, because they don't really hate my son. They hate my son's allergy (and really, so do I) and to them, it's an abstract idea that they see as a hindrance to freely enjoying something they don't view as life-threatening, not an affliction of someone they love. Luke 6:36 and 37 says, "
Be ye therefore merciful as your Father also is merciful. Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven." Matthew 44 even says you're supposed to pray for them. Hardly my first reaction when I'm in the flesh and hopping mad, but it works. It's like putting ointment on an angry wound. The pain and heat ease away and you start to see the one you're so furious with as human, with faults, just like you. I have to remind myself of all that's good in my life; the best husband anyone could ask for, amazing children, family who loves me, wonderful friends, a very blessed life, and most importantly, my God who loves me and knows my hurt. I have to remember that that as a Christian, I don't have to hold on to ugly anger and become bitter. I can take it to Him and shed it and have my joy back.

Amish Country- Good Friends, Manure, Whoopie Pies and Pianos

Last weekend, I had the incredible opportunity to go to Amish Country with some friends- and make some new ones! I've wanted to go since I was little. It started off great- I'm on a trip! With the girls! No kids! Then, quite a ways down the road, I had one of those heart-stopping "uh-oh" moments. I didn't see my ever-present purse. I frantically checked all over the van- nope. Talk about feeling sick to my stomach. My friend loaned me her phone and I called home. Yup, sitting on the dining room table. I'd set it down to console my daughter who was clinging to me and crying. My friends generously spotted me some money. I felt awful and weird. I decided to try and get past it and just enjoy myself. I can honestly say I needed all the goofy girl talk and giggling. It's been such a long time since I've been responsibility-free. We got to the house we were staying at- my friend's parents' house. I don't usually do well with people I don't know. It takes me a LONG time to get to know people usually, but her parents were so warm and welcoming, I felt like I'd known them for years. Her mother is THE quintessential mother and her father the quintessential father. Their home was beautiful and inviting and cozy. My friend told her Dad about my "oops" and he offered to loan me money on the spot. Now, who ever wants to borrow money? Probably one of the most awkward situations to be in, but he was very kind and insistent and said it was no problem, I could just mail him a check when I got home. I ended up having just as much as I would have if I hadn't forgotten my purse. We spent the next day in Amish Country- it was like something out of a Beverly Lewis novel. Horses and carriages clip-clopping right along with motor-traffic. The cars passing the buggies made me nervous for them, but everyone seemed used to it- including the horses. Amish men hard at work riding manure spreaders pulled by teams of horses, little boys in their Plain clothes working just as hard raking in the field. I put a crick in my neck trying to see it all. It's almost like an alternate reality. Amish and Mennonite are everywhere down there, in the stores, working the registers... . And they're all very friendly and polite. Before, my only interaction had been working at a fabric store in my hometown. The Mennonite ladies would come in to buy fabric and it seemed like it almost pained them to have to talk to us. In PA, they're very personable and have the cutest accents ;).
We visited bulk food stores where I stocked up on some staples, nurseries, an antiques shop ( Oh, I could spend all day antiquing!) a grocery "seconds" store ( bags of flour for .10!!!) where one can buy freshly made ( and DELICIOUS) whoopie pies, and a few tourist traps. We packed as much as we could into the day, but it went way too quickly. We ended it playing games and laughing. I even got into a trash-talking match over Scattergories with my friend's Dad. Me. Who knew? He beat me, but barely. I was rusty ;). I can't think of a more perfect way to end a day. The next day, during breakfast ( yummy baked oatmeal and coffee!!) he received a call from a man he knows who wanted to donate an upright piano to someone who could and would use it. It was very special to him and he wanted it to go to a good home. Now, I have been praying for a piano for Crash for some time. A few years ago, I became aware that he seems to have a higher-than-average love/talent for music. He can hear a song or tune and sing or hum it perfectly. He can keep time and play something after only being shown once or twice. For our families, that's quite the achievement!! I LOVE music but can't sing to save my life. My husband would say the same. Crash has been taking casual lessons once a week for a few months but only gets to play on a piano once a week. The rest of the time, he's on a keyboard that his teacher loaned us. I wanted lessons badly when I was a kid and swore that if my kids wanted them, I'd do my best to make sure they got them. So far, Crash is the only one who's shown an interest, but I think Princess may be asking soon. Talk about God's timing! I never would've imagined I'd wind up with a free piano on vacation. My friend's father kindly offered to drop it off when he's up here next month. It still seems surreal, but the more I think about it, the more excited I get- and grateful?! So grateful!! I've noticed that answered prayer always comes in the most unexpected ways so you can't help but realize Who is at work.
On the way home, we visited my friend's sister who lives in an incredible house and runs a plant sale every year. She's a talented artist who could take just about anything and make it beautiful. Her kids were incredibly precious and she generously gave us all several plants for free. She had a great hot lunch prepared for us and showed us around. We've been FB friends (has Webster's adopted that one, yet?) for a couple of months, but she was so sweet and warm, I felt like I'd known her for years, too. People like that are few and far between. It was a wonderful weekend full of new friends, fun and wonderful memories.

Nerd Joy

This may sound a bit narcissistic, but I love having a kid who's so much like me. Now, I didn't mean it the way it probably sounds. See, I have an insatiable need to learn things. I was probably a frustrating student. If I didn't want to learn it (*cough cough* MATH), I threw up a mental block, but if I DID want to learn about something, I'd read and read until I'd soaked up all I could on the subject. Thankfully, Goober got a love of learning from me AND an aptitude for math from his father. He also got an insane capacity for all things science. Scratching my head over that one.
Anyway, I was making lentil soup for dinner and Goober asked me why we've been eating so much soup and so many bean-based meals lately. I explained a little about eating inexpensively while still eating nutritiously and then showed him some "Clara" videos on Youtube. Clara is a little Italian grandmother in her nineties living in Upstate NY. Her grandson, Christopher Cannucciari came up with the idea to film his grandmother talking about and cooking depression-era meals. Not only is she cute, fun and even soothing to watch, especially if you're missing your grandmothers, but there's a lot of wisdom in her little stories.
Of course, his next question was naturally, "what was the depression?". YAY!!!! Google field trip!!! I searched for a bit and came up with a neat little documentary on the depression available on Netflix. It's made up of lots of news reels from the era. Of course, we'll fill in with chapters from his American History textbooks and some fiction from the time-period, but for the time-being, we're snuggled up in front of the computer having some mother-son nerd time together- well, right now, we're in the intermission as we prepare to have dinner and I thought I'd pop on quickly and share my joy. 'Cause the only thing better than nerd-joy is blogging about it. 8)