It's Enough

Today I found a blog of a woman I am distantly acquainted with.  She has two young daughters, but she has managed to write two books, one based on her goal of accomplishing one new thing a month that she’s never tried before, and apparently her project is famous enough that she is followed by the President on Twitter.  Now, usually, I am pretty good at suppressing the green envy monster.  I am pretty good at mostly being content with what I do on a daily basis.  As mundane as doing dishes, folding laundry, and wiping bottoms can be, it’s what I’ve always wanted to do, and I usually can live each day quite joyfully, even though some might call it boring. 

But tonight, I began to feel the discontent creeping in.  Not so much because I’m sitting at home most of the time, some days just trying to keep my three boys alive, but because I know I’m capable of doing so many more things—of writing, of being in the limelight, of being successful according to the standards of the world.  And then I begin to wonder.  Am I settling?  I know I’m doing a great thing by raising three (almost four) children and being a good wife, but maybe I’m just using that as an excuse for not living up to my God-given potential.  Maybe I’m too scared to try something new, because as hard as being a mom is sometimes, it’s safer for me than being with adults all day, or putting myself out there, or trying to write a book.  Maybe I’m just being lazy and using my exhaustion, my children, my pregnancy as an excuse for not using my talents and trying to accomplish feats I’ve always wanted to accomplish. 

 

But then I remember.  God has given many talents and gifts, and I’m not just referring to obvious talents like writing, or singing, or piano playing.  I am not much of a worrier.  I count that as a gift from God in today’s harrowing and unstable world.  I find it easy to trust him with the details of our finances, health, and safety.  I have a decent amount of patience, which it cultivated every day as I raise three small boys.  I have the ability to laugh at life, which is a God-given talent when my two-year old throws 2 dozen eggs one-at-a-time on the kitchen floor and my one-year old dumps out an entire box of Q-tips, and my four-year old is crying because he really needs a nap but refuses to take one any longer.  I am pretty creative, which comes in handy when my son wants an Indian costume for our Thanksgiving party, and he tells me this the day of the party, and I have two yards of scrap fabric and a literal five minutes to sew it together.  I say all this, not to make you think better of me, but to remind myself I am using my gifts.  I use them on a daily basis as I raise my children, keep my home, love my husband.  If I never write anything of value except for silly poems and songs to help my children learn how to spell their names and remember their vowel sounds, then I have accomplished something great with the talent God has given me.  If I never accomplish anything greater or more life-changing than teaching all my children to go potty on the potty, then well, I consider myself a great success.  If the only adult I ever work for is my husband, then I can be thankful that I have a wonderful boss whose love and companionship are better benefits than most employees receive.   I may not being doing something wonderful for the whole world to see, but my family is my world, and I’m doing a lot for them to see. 

Today we went to the International Conference on Missions (formerly the Missionary Convention) in Indianapolis to visit with some of my college friends.  I saw a lot of old friends and talked to a few strangers at a couple of booths.  I was so proud to introduce my three boys, accept congratulations for the one on the way, and say, “Yes, I’m a stay-at-home-mom”.  Because while for some, it may not be a lot, for me, for my family, it’s wonderful…and it’s enough.    

Reminisce: My Life

After a brief blogging hiatus, I am pleased to announce that I have not one, not two, but three blog entries in the works for the next week or so.  I really need to schedule in some time to write on a weekly basis so I can update this more often, which is exactly what one of my future posts is going to be about: Scheduling and Organization and How On Earth Do We Get Anything Done Around Here.  That's a pretty catchy title, isn't it?  But, now that I have you on the edge of your seat, dying to hear what will come from that fantastic and catchy title, I'm going to write about something different. So onto today's actual post.

The other day I was looking for space to store some winter clothes I purchased for Gideon at a second-hand store.  Every tote I have in our half-story attic is full..We emptied one (and when I say empty, I mean we dumped the contents on the attic floor and left them there thinking we'd get them put somewhere else in a day or two.  Now that's a funny joke) in order to "store" newborn baby goats in the kitchen to keep warm.  So I was minus a tote anyway, and then I happened upon one that was half-full and realized I could go through it fairly quickly, throw some things away, rearrange, and have an empty tote for Gideon's clothes!  Voila!  But, I should know myself well enough by now to realize I'm a pretty sentimental person, so when I go through a box of old things I end up spending two hours looking at everything and reliving all the past moments that I associate with said items and that this rearranging would take up, more than likely, the rest of my day. 

This box happened to have old pictures, news clippings, and other memorabilia from my high school days.  One little box contained notes written to  me from friends in high school and college.  I spent almost an hour re-reading old news that wasn't even all that important at the time much less now, but I couldn't help but smile at the memories they dug up.  I'm a pretty nostalgic person, so I tend to look at times gone past with sadness that it is over and longing to revisit those days.  There were prom pictures, one very special one of my cousin and me with my grandma (now bedridden and unresponsive because of Alzheimer's), a newspaper clipping from an article about the three generations of Hagerstown FFA presidents that have been in my family (my grandpa, dad, and me), a poem written to me by a friend, cards written from my college friends from when I left after only two years of school, and lots of pictures from a school exchange with twenty students from Buenos Aires, Argentina from my sophomore year in high school, not to mention a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle McDonald's toy I had acquired sometime ago that my boys were pretty excited about.  The pictures brought back so many wonderful memories, and I kept smiling at each new discovery of something special that marked a significant (or not so significant) occurrence in my life.

My cousin Laura and me at our senior prom

But the funniest thing to me was that when I was in high school, as much as I enjoyed it at the time, I had one goal in mind.  I wanted to get married and have lots of children.  That's it.  Those were my big plans, my fantastic dreams: to have lots of babies and a wonderful man to share it all with.  I remember thinking that it was all so far away; that those dreams would never, ever come true because time was moving. so. slowly.  But now I look back and everything since then has been a blur.  I went to college, met Greg, got engaged, moved home, got married, had Gideon, got goats, had Lincoln, got more goats, had Canaan, and here we are.  For so long, everyone older than me told me to "Savor every moment" because "it goes so fast", and I believed them, I truly did.  But I had yet to experience exactly what that meant.  And it really put it in perspective for me as I sat next to an empty box with piles of meaningless papers and photos of people and a time that was so dear to me at the moment, but have now been almost completely lost.  It reminded me that there are so many precious moments right now occurring around me while I try to keep the kitchen floor clean, and the laundry folded, and the books on the bookshelf, all of which are necessary tasks. But at the end of the day, these precious moments when my children are small are infinitely more important than whether or not my house is completely presentable at every moment of every day (and believe me, it rarely is).  While some parts of this season of life are so trying and aggravating and painstaking, they are also beautiful and heartwarming and un-repeatable.

Gideon at 5 months

Lincoln at 5 months

Canaan at 5 months

It made me fast forward to the time when I will be sitting beside another box full of baby clothes and crinkled crafts from our first year of preschool and the first pair of cowboy boots the boys wore while I'm only days away from one of their high school graduations asking "Where did the time go?"  Because I know I'll be there.  Before I know it.  Before I have time to blink.  Just like those high school days that were dragging by so slowly, and now are mere momentos in a box, so these days will skip by me without me even noticing, if I'm not careful.  And so while there are so many frustrating moments right now (like why does my two-year old dump out every container he finds whether it's full of water, cereal, or mashed potatoes?), when it's over, the memories will be little treasures that I keep in my heart, and making as many of them as possible is so much more important that anything I have to accomplish right now or today or this week or ever until I've accomplished the task of raising them and sending them on their way. 

And I think I'll go clean out another box--I need to make room for the momentos I'll be saving to remind me of this precious stage in the boys' life and in mine.

Thank Heaven for Little Boys

When I was pregnant for the third time, I could guarantee how most conversations with strangers would go. 

Stranger:  Do you know what you're having?
Me:  No.  We let it be a surprise.
Stranger:  Oh, that's great.  That's how it should be. 
(Then I would wait, knowing exactly what was coming)
Stranger:  Well, are you hoping for a girl?

And my answer was always the same: "No."  Which would be followed by a shocked look from the perfect stranger, because obviously, after two boys, I should be begging for girls.  Even people I knew were always bugging me about having a little girl, and more than one person couldn't understand my desire to have another little blue bundle of joy.  Needless to say, when Canaan arrived, I was the first one to anxiously check and then happily announce, "It's another boy!"  We disappointed a lot of people, but not ourselves with his arrival. 

Not that I don't like girls, or that I think girls are bad, or that I would have been mad at having a girl.  We would have been pleased with a little girl.  I babysat a little girl for five years, so I understand the joy (and drama) that a little girl can bring. 

But there's just something about little boys--dirt-stained, creature-loving, rough and tumble, ants-in-their-pants, dancing-around-naked, going-potty-outside, scraped-knee, loud, obnoxious boys.   Even though they like bugs and frogs; even though they are fearless dare-devils; even though they can get dirty even in a bath tub, and make everything into weapons, and eat everything I have in the house, and try to drink out of the toilet, there is something wonderful about them.  They love to explore the world and experience new things and they always get their hands (and feet and faces) dirty in the process.  They are more often than not human tornadoes that destroy everything in their path.  They love to pretend to be cowboys and superheroes and knights and other brave and valiant men.  They follow their daddy to the barn and the garage and under the car and probably to the end of the earth if he asked them.  They like to get out all of their toys, spread them across the house, and then five minutes later ask to do something else.  They are hurricanes dressed in capes and cowboy boots.  They are creative, inspiring, messy, adorable, active, messy, hungry, ornery, infuriating, messy, non-stop, wonderful, messy boys.  But the thing I love most about them is underneath that rough and tough exterior is a soft, tender heart that loves their mommy.  Because if my boys finally hold still, it's probably because they wanted to come give me a kiss, or a hug, or tell me they love me.  Because at night when Gideon lets me hold him and says, "Sing to me, Momma," it cancels out all the times he makes me want to pull my hair out.  Because no matter how much of a mess they've made, when they look up at you with those twinkling eyes and smile that toothy grin, you can't help but laugh even if you want to cry.  These are the joys of having little boys.

Maybe one day God will bless us with a sweet little girl, but if He doesn't, I won't mind.  Because even though I can't braid their hair, or sew them dresses, I have three little creatures called boys, and they are everything I need.

Budzi's Surprise

On Sunday morning (2/26), Budzi was showing many signs of beginning labor.  All day long we continually checked on her so that we could be present at the birth.  The poor thing was so huge, and was so uncomfortable that she could barely walk.  We have said for several weeks that we really thought she could have triplets, but sometimes a goat will look huge and only have one baby, so we weren't really counting on any more than two.  By Sunday night, she wasn't progressing in her labor and we were a little worried.  Greg checked her, but couldn't feel babies in the birth canal, so we knew they weren't stuck and we just would have to wait it out.  We checked on her late in the night and still nothing.  Early Monday morning Greg went out before work to check on Budzi.  He called from the barn to say that one baby was out and another one was on its way and for me to hurry to the barn!  Gideon had woken up and so I dressed him as quickly as possible, grabbed towels and a few other things and we ran to the barn.  After Greg helped pull out the second kid (it was a whopper and backwards), Budzi wasn't showing signs of immediately giving birth to another kid, so we brought the babies in the house to get them cleaned up and get some colostrum in them.  About 30 minutes later, Greg went out to check on Budzi again.  He called to say another baby had been born.  We were so excited to have triplets!  He brought the newest baby to the house and a little while, went back out to check on momma again, only to find another kid!  Now we understood why she was so huge and uncomfortable!  Quads are always a possiblity with goats, but they aren't the norm, so it was a special surprise for her to have four kids.  The biggest kid (Jupiter) weighed a whopping 9 pounds 14 ounces, while the smallest, (Venus) weighed 9 pounds 5 ounces.  We couldn't be happier with our four healthy goats, and we're working on nursing Budzi back to health, as the babies took almost every ounce of fat she had.  Here's our babies:

Here's the four of them when they were just an hour or so old.  (Yes, they're in my bathtub.)  From left to right they are Jupiter, Galaxy, Saturn, and Venus (the only girl in the bunch).

Here they are up and walking around.
(They had graduated to the laundry room by this time)

Lincoln is inspecting the goats and their new pen in the garage.  If you can't find Lincoln, check the garage.  He keeps sneaking out there to watch the baby goats!










Gideon dropping holding Galaxy. 

My favorite of the quads: Saturn.  I think he has the prettiest coloring!






And, a week later Sassy gave birth to twins: a buckling, Pluto and a doeling, Mercury. So we have five boys and two girls.  (Of course we would have all those boys around here!)  Even though we love our new cute and cuddly kids, we're so relieved that kidding is over until next year!  And, in the meantime, does anyone need a pet goat?

What were we thinking?

What were we thinking!  This is the question I have been asking myself often lately. 

When I am feeding baby goats at two in the morning in my cold garage right after I've nursed my infant son, and all I want to do is curl up under the covers, I hear it.  What were we thinking?

When I am sitting in the laundry room on a tiny stool trying to get the smallest of our goat kids to drink milk from a baby bottle, and milk is dripping all over my hands and legs and feet, and meanwhile my 18-month old is spooning my homemade laundry detergent all over the floor, I am wondering.  What were we thinking?

When I am just getting the house finally picked up and swept because I had to feed goats, wash bottles, heat-treat colostrum, wash the pasteurizer, nurse a baby, and then I look up and it's time to feed the goats...again, I sigh.  What were we thinking?

When it is evening and I just washed the supper dishes and all I want to do is sit on the couch but my three-year old wants me to play cars with him and we still have to make soap after we put the kids to bed, I am screaming.  What were we thinking?

Because honestly, there are times when this life we've chosen is just too crazy.  We have three children, one a nursing infant, and they require constant care.  We milk dairy goats twice a day, we're bottle-feeding babies right now, we're trying to run and grow a small business which consists of us making soap, and soap, and more soap.  I'm homeschooling my oldest son in our first year of preschool.  And let's not talk about laundry, dishes, sweeping, mopping, and all other household chores that are required.  Being a mom, especially of little ones, is stressful for all women.  It's overwhelming just thinking about everything that must be accomplished, much less trying to do it.  Some days I just wonder what were we thinking adding something so time-consuming to this already busy life.  And so I have to remind myself just what we were thinking when we decided to milk goats and start a home business.

First, we wanted a source of fresh milk for our family.  We're a firm believer in growing our own food both for the money it saves and because it's healthier for our family.  And having your own source of fresh milk saves a bunch of money, considering how much we love milk around here.  We were thinking that since we grow our own vegetables, raise a lot of our own meats, raise chickens for eggs, that milk was the only other thing we needed.

Second, we wanted some animals for the boys to raise.  We eventually want the boys to show the goats in 4-H if they desire, but we also wanted them to learn the many lessons that caring for God's creatures teaches you.  We want them to learn responsibility and perserverance.  We want them to learn the value of hard work and not just expect the good things in life to handed to them on a silver platter.  We were thinking that having animals and living the farm life is one of the best ways to teach life lessons that help shape a child's character and attitude about life.

Most importantly, we wanted a business that could hopefully someday allow Greg to be at home with us.  When we first started discussing homeschooling, I was worried because I didn't know if I could handle the responsibility of educating our children by myself.  And so Greg said, "Then help me find some way that I can be here to help you."  And so we dreamed of this business that would hopefully one day support us to allow Greg to be more involved at home with not only our children's education, but the molding of their hearts and minds.  We were thinking that we wanted Dad, the spiritual leader of our family, to be with us more, so that we could all work together, grow together, learn together.

It's those moments when it's time to go to bed, and I realize I'm still wearing what I woke up in this morning because from the minute my feet hit the floor I've been too busy to think about changing my clothes, that I need reminded exactly why it is we're doing what we're doing.  It's for our family, our faith, and our future.  And thinking that way isn't that crazy at all.

Neptune

Yesterday we were supposed to be in town to get Canaan's birth certificate around 3:00.  We had dropped the kids off at Greg's parents and headed back to the house to pick up something we forgot.  Greg ran to the barn to check on Flo because she had squeezed from her stall into the dog's stall and we were worried about him bothering her.  Lo and behold she had already given birth to a healthy boy just a few minutes before he arrived.  Flo is our smallest and least healthiest doe, but she sure throws great kids and has no trouble giving birth.  Unfortunately, that threw off our entire evening because we had to do post-kidding tasks like dry off the kid, trim the umbilical cord and dip it in iodine, milk Flo and heat treat the colostrum, feed the kid, and then watch both kid and mom just to make sure they're both okay.  Flo surprised us because we really thought Budzi was going to go first.  But here's our new baby boy (who is right now living in our laundry room because I don't want to walk to the barn to feed him every four hours.)  His official name is Lonely Windmill Farm BT Neptune.

The boys keep going in his pen and pestering him.  I told Greg this is going to be the tamest goat ever when our boys get through with him!  Hopefully in a day or two we'll have more good news to share because Budzi sure looks like she could go any minute!

What's in a name?

Before our first child was even born, we had his name picked out.  Gideon James.  We both liked the name Gideon and James is the name of both of our dad’s and Greg’s middle name.  So, it just worked all the way around.  I thought all of our children’s names would be easy to pick out.  Clearly, I was wrong.  My husband is a wonderful man, but we have completely opposite tastes in names.  Here’s a little how the naming process works in our house:

Me: How about Channing?
Greg: Channing…Channing…that sounds like a vegetable.
Me: No it doesn’t. 
Greg: Yes it does.  We’re not naming our child that.
Me: Okay….how about…
Greg: No.
Me: I didn’t say anything.
Greg: I know; I just know I’m not going to like it.

Okay, that’s maybe not 100% verbatim, but seriously, every name I come up with, he has some ludicrous reason why we can’t use it.  And every name he likes I dislike.  We plan on having more children, but I think we’re just going to start calling them “Baby Morford #4” and so on after this because that’s just much easier.

 Then we got goats.  Oh, we must be gluttons for punishment around here.  We have registered animals, which means they must have names.  And they need to be creative names, because really, when you get a certificate of registration from the American Dairy Goat Association, do you really want it to say “Blackie” or “Billy” or “Spot”?  No.  Are famous racehorses named “Sam” or “Ed” or “Trigger”?  No, they have flashy and cool names like “Man of War” and “Sea Biscuit.”  So, last year when we had 4 goat kids, the naming battle began again.  In the end, we came up with Prima, Pixie, Blizzard, and Brutus.  It’s a very stressful process trying to find names that are distinguished, unique, and pronounce-able.  But the fun doesn’t stop there, because we sell soaps.

Ahh, the soaps.  Yes.  That’s fun.  We feel like the names of our soap are very important because you want people to be able to understand what the soap smells like even if they purchase online and can’t actually smell the soap, and we want it to be semi-creative so we don’t sound like complete idiots.  When we purchase fragrance oils, our supplier already has given them a name.  Some of them are pretty self-explanatory and we can’t really change them.  I mean, what else are you going to call “Black Raspberry”?  Some soaps don’t have a singular smell, and it’s hard to give them a name, but we don’t like the supplier’s name.  Our man’s soap was originally called “Pheonix”.  But we didn’t really like that.  We were going to call it “Blue Ice” or something similar, but when we used our natural colorant in that soap, it turned green instead of blue.  You can’t call a green soap “Blue Ice”.  So we went with Amazon, as in the rain forest. 

Right now, we are in the middle of a soap-naming conundrum.  We have a new soap that smells amazing.  I mean, it is fabulous.  But sometimes when you smell it, it smells like vanilla.  Sometimes, it smells like cotton candy.  Other times your nose picks up fruit, flowers, or something else that’s sweet but you just can’t name.  Also, the vanilla in the fragrance turns the soap dark, dark brown.  All things to consider when choosing a name.  Names we’ve considered are “Sugar Blossom”, “Vanilla Blossom”, and “Spun Sugar”.  None of these we feel like completely describe all the aspects of its scent.  I suggested “Everything Nice” just so we don’t leave anything out.  You know, like “Sugar and spice and everything nice…”  No?  Yes, my husband gave me a blank stare too.  I would love to put a scratch and sniff sticker right here so you can smell it and suggest names.  I’d throw a contest and whoever picked the name could win a prize.  But unfortunately that’s not possible.  So we’re back to arguing politely discussing soap names in hopes that eventually we’ll find one we like so that eventually we can sell you this wonderful bar of soap, because frankly, we think you all will love it. 

But as the saying goes, “A rose by any other name, would smell as sweet.”  In that case, maybe we’ll just go with Soap #5!