I'm thankful for: A Legacy

On this Thanksgiving, I was thinking of things I am thankful for.  The kids and I made a fun list to go with their memory verse this week, which included things like being thankful for not having to take a nap anymore (Gideon) and for horses (Canaan) and for tractors (Lincoln).  But I began thinking the one thing I am most thankful for is that my parents told me about Jesus.  I often think where I would be if I hadn't grown up with the family I had.  Mine was a very strong Christian family.  Not just my immediate family, but my extended family on all sides were Bible-believing, faithful people.  For me, it was normal.  I never realized until high school that most people did not grow up with this kind of very functional family.  And even then I didn't realize how truly blessed I was until I joined a ladies Bible study last winter.  We spent one evening discussing our testimonies.  Some of the women looked at me with disbelief when I talked about my extended Christian family.  When I talked about the faithful example I had to follow in not only my parents, but my grandparents and even great-grandparents, and then some of them talked about how few examples they had, it started to sink in.  I am really blessed.  More than that, I am really, really thankful.

Every Thanksgiving we loaded up the car and drove to Missouri to celebrate with my grandmother's family.  My great-great Grandpa had preferred the Thanksgiving holiday over Christmas, so he made a deal. His family could spend Thanksgiving with him, and Christmas with their in-laws.  This seemed to work for everybody, and it became a tradition.  So every year we gathered: 40, 50, 60 of us, though one year for my great-grandparents 60th anniversary, there were 80.  It was always a fun time, seeing cousins we hadn't seen all year.  My family was also inundated with good cooks, so the food was always homemade and incredible.  The day after Thanksgiving, we always went bowling, even my great-grandparents.  We got to stay in a hotel.  But what made it even more special is how many of us were united in our love for and faith in Jesus Christ.

Then there was my grandpa's family, which was smaller, but just as dedicated to their faith.  I watched my other great-grandma come to church every Sunday of her life, until she finally became bedridden.

And my dad's family, who we gathered with every Christmas day, the memories of which give me more peace and joy than almost any other childhood memories.  Sitting around my grandma's table, with my parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, which we did much more often than merely on holidays, was where I learned the value of family, of hard work, of our faith.

I was surrounded by faithful examples everywhere I went.  I'm not saying I had a better family than everyone else, and they certainly weren't perfect.  But I realize more and more what a rarity it was to grow up in the family I did.

I always thought my testimony was boring.  "I grew up in a Christian family.  I became a Christian.  The end."  Then, I had a good friend tell me, "Amber, you're their legacy.  The result of the faithfulness of your great-grandparents on down.   There's nothing boring in that."  I had never thought of it that way.  Thanks to the decision of those who came before me to raise their families to fear God and to honor His commands, I know the Truth!  What came as a result of my great-grandparents' decision spread out into all branches of our family tree.  But what strikes me as more exciting is that even if you didn't grow up with the legacy I did; even if you didn't have family after family member who obeyed the Gospel; even if you're the first one in the family to follow Christ, your legacy can start today.  All it takes is one person, just one decision, and your family legacy can change forever.  Our God is a God of restoration, of change, of redemption.  All it takes is your choice to follow our Savior, to actively teach your children about Him, and then someday your grandchildren can say, "I'm here because of you."  The power of our decision to honor the Gospel is amazing.

When my grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, our family gathered at their church on a Sunday and sang the song "Find us Faithful."  I'll never forget the words.

Oh may all who go behind us find us faithful.
May the fire of our devotion light their way.
May the footprints that we leave,
lead them to succeed.
May the life we live inspire them to obey.
Oh may all who go behind us find us faithful.

While it is a prayer for our own lives, I have reflected on those words as I've thought about the family that came before me.  Yes, I found so many of you faithful.  For that, I am eternally grateful.

Snow

Sunday night the first flakes flew.  Big and wet and fast, it fell and everything changed.  We drove by a field.  The crops still standing from the late harvest; now dusted with white.  The combine and wagons turning white.  It was beautiful.

Snow.  It is one of my most favorite things.  Sometimes, the sound of it falling is almost deafening in your ears.  As if everything pauses, and breathes, and says, "Snow." It makes the world say hush.  It covers the dead earth and hides it flaws; turns the ugliest things pristine and white.  It falls in your hair and sparkles like jewels. It glitters the ground.  It is a deep breath, a soft sigh, a winter song.  It is a gift.  Snow.  It softens the sting of the wind, eases the edge of the cold, colors the dreary and bleak brown of winter.  It covers the death and makes it alive.  Vehicles and bushes and fences covered, until everything is just smooth bumps of white.  It frosts the trees, the land, the tiny tips of the fence.  Even a spider web catches the small flakes.  Snow.  It makes the air feel cleaner--purifies with every deep breath. It wets your eyelashes and cools the tongue.  It swirls and whirls and blows.  Snow.  It is a present for excited little eyes that hurry to the window early in the morning.  Snow.  It gives you a reason to stay in, and curl up, and do nothing.  It invites you out, to play and dance.  It is a miracle, a gift of God.  It is snow.

I can smell it.  Hear it.  Feel it.  And it brings tears to my eyes.  Deep inside, my soul sings.  It rests for a moment from life's worries.  It sings out "Peace on earth.  Goodwill to men."  It's because of the snow.

One of my little ones turns to me, as we walk through the snow.  The crunching of our shoes filling in the quiet spaces.  "Mommy, this is my favorite time of year," and he sighs.  It seems sometimes, he has inherited part of my soul, that one.  I hate to disturb it.  The perfection of the snow, the moment.  But I don't want to stop walking, with his hand in mine, as it covers, and protects, and blesses.

Sunday night the first flakes flew.  It was beautiful.  Snow.

Meet the Herd

One of the most fun things on the farm is watching our goats grow and develop.  Just like our children, each of our goats has a distinct and unique personality that sets it apart from the others.  And just like people, some are easier and harder to get along with.  Many of you have had the chance to meet or already know our family.  But, very few of you get to meet our goats.  So, here are a few members of our herd:

Sassy: 

Each goatherd has a queen, and Sassy is it.  In college, I had a dear friend who used to jokingly say, "I'm Melissa, and I do what I want."  If Sassy had a catchphrase, it would be, "I'm Sassy, and I do what I want."  There is no telling Sassy what to do.  She comes out of her pen when she wants, she gets on the stand when she wants, she is afraid of no one and nothing, not even the dog who relentlessly tries to herd her.  She is fearless, determined, proud, and aptly named.  She's just Sassy.

Blizzard: 

Blizzard is Sassy's daughter, and our easy-going goat.  She doesn't let things rattle her, is pretty even-tempered, but still got enough sassiness from her mom to make her interesting.  To me, she is our prettiest and best goat.  She gives 2 gallons of milk a day during peak milking season, and it wouldn't surprise me if in a year or two she succeeds her mother as herd queen.

Annie: 

Annie is afraid...of everything.  She is the most shy goat we have, and the hardest to get on the milk stand.  If it's dark, she refuses to come out of her pen.  Or if it's windy, or rainy, or she can see the dog, or a cat, or my foot, or one of the boys.  I have drug her to the stand more times than I can count.  And if you put her on the stand, and then walk away to do something for a moment, she's bawling her heart out because you left her there alone.  She makes up for her annoying habits though.  She has some crazy-good genetics, and also gives a little over 2 gallons per day during peak milking season.

Shocker:

While her official registered name is Kool Hugs, Gideon nicknamed her Shocker shortly after we brought her home, and it stuck.  Shocker is footloose and fancy free.  If she were at a goat party, she'd be the life of it.  She is affectionate, playful, and always in a good mood.  She is the easiest to work with when she needs doctoring, hooves trimmed, or anything else.  She is just a lot of fun to have in the barn.  

Prima:

Prima is our oddball.  She was never bottle-fed, so she is not quite as lovable as our other goats.  While the others will "listen" to me when I pull on their collars, it is often all I can do to keep her from dragging me through the barn.  She rarely likes to be petted, and is usually all business during milking time.  

Caspian on the day we brought him home 3 years ago

Caspian:

If Sassy is the queen, then Caspian is the king.  He is big, stinky, and hairy, but also love-able and easygoing.  When he escapes his pen, it usually doesn't take much to get him back in, because he usually follows you around like a lost puppy.  We are really thankful to have him in our herd, because he keeps fathering beautiful babies.  

We also have four young doelings whose personalities are still developing.  It will be so interesting to see what kind of adults and milkers they grow into.  Now that I've introduced you to our herd, don't you want a goat?  Come March after kidding season, I know exactly where you can get one.  ;)

Growing Up

I remember, in the last few weeks of my pregnancy with Gideon, telling someone that I wasn't sure I was ready for him to to be born.  "From the moment he's born, he'll spend the rest of his life leaving me."  That may be a slightly fatalist view of looking at life, but it has been more or less true.  It may be cliche, but it really does seem like just yesterday we brought Gideon home from the hospital, when in actuality it's been almost 6 years.  I was reminded of the speed with which they grow up, when a little over a week ago we reached two milestones that, when Gideon was born, I frankly thought would never come.

First, Gideon lost his first tooth.

I cried.  I remembered the day I realized that the reason my happy-go-lucky, excellent-sleeping-baby had turned into a sleepy, fussy monster, was because of those two little bottom teeth that had popped through.  I looked at that tooth my 5-year old Gideon was holding, while grinning from ear to ear, and thought, "That's the same exact tooth...the one that first came in unnoticed while I tried desperately and cluelessly to figure out why on earth my baby wouldn't stop crying."  He was so excited, and I was trying as hard as I could to get it together. 

Second, he learned to ride a bike without training wheels.  

I was in awe.  Greg had fixed his back wheel, and to do so, he had to take off the training wheels.  We asked Gideon if he wanted to try riding his bike without them.  It took one try.  After about 45 minutes, he'd figured out how to get on and start riding all by himself, and how to stop without crashing.  Then I let him ride down the lane alone.  Since he got his bike, he's been allowed to ride down the lane to the second telephone pole, but this time he was no longer racing down in his tricycle.  He was riding like a grown-up.  

And it happened in a flash.  I blinked and he was no longer baby or a toddler or even a preschooler anymore.

To be fair, I must say, I do love a lot of things that occur when they grow up.  I love that fact that I have three potty-trained children, none of whom have wet the bed in a long time.  (After changing sheets 1-3 times a night for almost two years, I really, really love this.)  Two of them can dress themselves, put away their own clothes, and make their bed.  We are also rapidly approaching the day when the boys can do the barn chores...without me.  These things I can handle about growing up.  

But the no longer needing me, the no longer wanting me, the no longer sitting in my lap and giving me sticky kisses, and leaving for college and marriage...these things I am not sure my heart can handle.  It's like teaching them to ride a bike.  You hold onto the seat, but sooner or later, you have to let go.  Then, they ride on their own...away from you.  

And so growing up is truly bittersweet.  A double-edged sword.  A dichotomy of joys and griefs.  I'm not the first parent to struggle with this journey, nor the last, and I pray I handle it with grace.  

And as Gideon sometimes reminds me when I jokingly ask him to stop getting older, "I'm sorry I have to grow up, Mom.  That's just how it goes."    

On Mother's Day, Remember The Mothers-In-Law

The more sons I have and the more they grow, the more I appreciate my mother-in-law.  And I'm not just saying that because she reads my blog.  The older I get, the more real it becomes that someday they will grow up and grow away.  They will no longer hug and kiss me, sit on my lap and cuddle, tell me all their secrets.  I will no longer be the queen of their heart.  Sometimes, I just want to sit and cry just thinking about it.  And then I remember that my mother-in-law had a little boy.  She loved him just like I love my sons.  She gave birth to him, and changed his diapers, and kissed his sweet baby head.  She laughed at his toddler antics, and placed band-aids on his skinned knees after he fell off his bike.  She did all the things I do for my sons, except now her son is grown up, and he's my husband.

I have been blessed with wonderful in-laws, and I have no complaints.  They've always been kind, gracious, loving, patient, and ready to help at a moment's notice.  My mother-in-law has never criticized my parenting skills, homemaking skills, or anything else skills.  But, I know some of you have terrible in-laws.  I've heard some of your stories.  I've stood with my mouth open at what some of my friends have to deal with almost daily from their mothers-in-law.  But, that's no excuse to dislike her, to be mean to her, to talk badly about her to others.  Sometimes she's a little hard on your husband, on your children, on you.  But let's give her some grace.  Here's why:

Imagine for a moment your son.  Imagine raising him and caring for him and spending your blood, sweat, and tears to insure that he grows up right, and then another woman takes him.  She doesn't just take him away physically, she steals his affection and his heart.  She sweeps him off his feet, and now, though you see him occasionally and this other woman takes care of him, he's no longer yours.  Wouldn't that be hard?  Wouldn't you have a hard time for a while getting used to this other woman?  Guess what?  That woman is you.  Yes, it is proper and right for your husband to leave his mother (and father) and cleave to you, but that doesn't make it easy for your mother-in-law.  And, there are other things going on her life that could make it more difficult:

 -Maybe she's controlling because her whole life, someone controlled her, so now she tries to control the only thing she thinks she can--her children.

-Maybe her life has been filled with broken dreams and the only bright spot in her gray life is your husband, and she struggles to let him go, because she thinks then she might lose him forever.

-Maybe she's critical of you and your parenting decisions, because she loves your husband so much, and as an extension of him, your children--her grandchildren--and so she just wants what's best for them.  She wouldn't have trusted anyone else to raise her son, so it's hard to trust others to raise her grandchildren.

-Maybe she treats your husband like a child because she looks at him and sees that little boy he used to be--the one whose boo-boos she kissed, and diapers she changed, and dreams she heard, and those funny sayings she laughed at and hid in her heart.  Which is also the same heart that breaks a little every time when she remembers how fast he grew up.

-Maybe she hangs around too much, offers her advice too freely, swoops in during a difficult situation, because she really does love you and genuinely wants to help you, even if it seems too much at times.

-Maybe she's just a human being who makes mistakes.  You know, just like you.

So, remember as you look at your own children, watch them grow, delight in them, ache over them, remember, she did the same over her child...her son....your husband.  Remember that someday, you'll be a mother-in-law, and think how you will want to be treated.  And have some appreciation, but more importantly, some grace for your mother-in-law.

So thank you, mothers-in-law for raising our husbands to be good men.  Thank you for being good mothers to your sons, and for taking us women into your family.  We know you made some mistakes, but we also make daily mistakes in raising our children.  We know you're not perfect, but neither are we.  We still love you, and have a very happy Mother's Day.

When I Was 11

It was the summer of 1997, and I was 11 years old.  My grandpa hired an 18-year old boy, who was a friend of the family, to work on his farm for the summer.  After approximately two days of watching him help Grandpa and Dad on the farm, I had developed a huge crush.  Actually, as most girls who have been 11 can attest, I thought it was more than a crush.  I thought I was in love.  It wasn't unusual for me, my 10-year old sister, my 11-year old cousin Laura, and my 8-year old cousin Taylor to run all over the farm all day long, but that summer, there wasn't much that could have kept me in the house.  Looking back, that young man must have been very patient and kind, because I don't remember him ever telling us to leave him alone or go play somewhere else.  We followed him all over the farm, riding in the tractor with him, riding on the hay wagon, helping him do whatever Grandpa had him doing. I remember one day, watching him ride in a feed trough like a bobsled while Dad pulled it to a back field.  I produced plenty of embarrassing school girl giggles, because I thought that he was the most hilarious thing I'd ever seen.  I also remember thinking, that as I handed him a cold rag to cover the wasp sting on his eye, that he would suddenly turn to me and say, "I'll wait until you grow up.  I know you're the one for me."  I clearly had watched too many Disney movies.  I even told my cousin Laura that I was going to marry him someday.

One day, this boy let me tag along with him in the tractor while we moved hay bales from a back field to the barn lot.  We had to drive around the farm on the road to reach the back field, and I thought I was big stuff sitting in the buddy seat in the tractor with the boy of my dreams.  He was being quite a show-off, as I remember, and kept leaning forward to rest his elbows on the steering wheel.  The only thought in my head that summer was impressing this boy, and so while watching him let go of the steering wheel, a perfect idea popped into my head.  I would just reach out and jerk the steering wheel a little--just enough to make him jump.  I just wanted to make him laugh.  So, in a flash, I reached out, and pulled the steering wheel, expecting to just give the tractor a little lurch.  As it turns out, I pulled the wheel so hard, the tractor headed straight for the opposite ditch.  For a split second, I thought for sure the entire tractor was going to tip over and the big, round bale we were carrying was going to go flying away.  Luckily, that boy was quick enough to grab the wheel and right the tractor.  I tried to laugh it off.  "That's what you get for letting go of the steering wheel," I said.  When we got back to the house, my mom was waiting for me.  We had to be somewhere, and I was making us late.  She was upset with me, but I was so relieved to have an excuse to get out of that tractor.

I was heartbroken when school started that year, and I had to leave my careless days on the farm, mooning over that boy.  Soon after summer ended, the boy took another job, and left Grandpa's farm.  I found a picture of him in a stack of pictures Mom had taken that summer.  I took it to school to show all my friends, and then hid it in my room for a long time.  However, the worries of my  social status, playing on my first traveling basketball team, and surviving sixth grade, quickly replaced the boy in my thoughts.  His sister married my older cousin, so we saw him from time to time, but as I grew up, I realized how silly I had been to think I'd find my husband when I was 11.

I remember that summer fondly and the many adventures we had almost seventeen years ago.  Not just because of the boy, but because those moments on my grandpa's farm were some of the happiest of my life. I have grown up since I was a little 11-year old girl with eyes only for a dark-haired boy.

And what happened to that boy, anyway?  I lost track of him as I went through the drama and trauma of junior high and high school, but seven years ago, on this very day, I walked down the aisle and became his wife.  It only took Greg eight years to come to his senses, and realize that the 11-year old girl who nearly killed him, was the one woman he couldn't live without.  He should have known from that one summer, that life with me would be one wild ride.  I'm sure our marriage hasn't always been what he expected (I have given him four children in less than six years, convinced him to raise a herd of dairy goats, encouraged him to learn how to make soap and start a business, all while crushing his dreams of owning an airplane and a 34-foot RV after all), but I must say, I don't think our life has ever been boring.

On our wedding day

So, happy anniversary, Greg.  Life doesn't always turn out the way we planned, but in my case, God gave me everything I had always wanted when He gave you to me.  Thank you for being my partner in this crazy adventure we've begun.  There is no one I'd rather have by my side, and I love you more every day.

Oh, and I'm sorry I almost wrecked the tractor and gave you a heart attack.  But at least it's given us a really funny story to tell.  And just remember I've done a lot dumber things, like back your car into a trailer.

Okay, maybe we won't remember the dumber things.  There's too many good things to remember anyway.

Hard Work Never Hurt Nobody (or How We Get Our Kids to Work)

We have a saying around our house.  The kids have heard it at least a hundred times, and I'm sure that by the time we're done raising our children, we'll have said it at least a thousand times.  "If you're going to be a part of this family, then you're going to have to help!"  Our boys are expected to work hard and help out--around the house, at the barn, and wherever else someone may need them.  There's too much to do around here for just two people to do.  The boys do a multitude of chores from big tasks like watering, feeding baby goats, sweeping the barn, cleaning out the dog pen to little tasks like making their bed, clearing the table, picking up their toys, and putting their clean clothes away.  As Gideon has gotten older, it's been exciting to see the new things he's capable of doing, and watching the boys all work together to accomplish harder tasks.  Not to mention, it's a relief to not have to do everything myself!  So how do we encourage helpfulness and a strong work ethic in our boys?  What are some things that have worked for us?  Here are five things we do to help our children learn the importance of helping and working:

1. Have Patience
I'm a perfectionist.  I'm also always in a hurry.  But, to include your kids you have to lower your standards and slow down.  Lincoln is almost four, but he loves to help.  In the winter, when he can't be outside (his favorite place), he loves to help me in the kitchen.  He also loves to make a mess and is the slowest mover of all of our children.  So when Lincoln "helps" me in the kitchen, he more often than not creates more work for me or makes me take twice as long.  None of this really matters.  What matters is the lessons I teach him, as I grit my teeth, and (semi) patiently watch him fill a measuring cup with flour (and cover the counter, and the floor, and his clothes).  He's not just learning how to make supper.  He's learning that he's important to me; that there's room for him to make mistakes and learn; that his help is valuable to me.  Teaching my kids tasks is sometimes exhausting.  They will break things.  They will totally mess it up.  It takes a lot longer than if I just did it myself.  But teaching them independence is so much more important than whether or not they got their covers completely wrinkle-free when they made their beds.

2. Encourage, encourage, encourage!
When the boys complete a task, even if it's not done perfectly, we thank them and tell them they did a good job.  Nothing is more demoralizing than completing a task (especially one you might not have wanted to do in the first place), and then being told all the things you did wrong.  So we always tell our boys thank you for helping.  We also tell them they did a good job.  If they're struggling, or they did a sloppy job, I may offer suggestions for how they can do something more easily, but that's it.  I refuse to swoop in, sigh, and say, "Just let me do it."  Or, "Hey, you missed a spot over here, here, here and here."  Yes, we have to train our boys so that they know how to set the table, clean the bathroom sink, or feed baby goats.  But, if we always meet their accomplishments with criticism, our boys will just give up before they've even started.  Hearing encouragement (even when they don't do things perfectly) helps foster in them a helpful spirit, a strong self-esteem, and courage to try new things.

3. Make things easier for them
Lincoln feeds the baby goats.  He gets their little feed pans our of their pen, brings them to the milk room, fills them with feed, and then takes them back to the kid pen.  But, he couldn't climb the fence into the pen while holding the pans of feed, so he always had to set them down and let me finish his task.  One day, I went to do this, when I realized the goat kids were sticking their heads through the hole in the wire fence and eating out of the pan.  Lincoln didn't need to put the pans back in the pen!  I was making it way to difficult.  Now, I just let him set the pans right outside their pen.  The kids get fed, and Lincoln can complete this task 100% by himself.  The problem wasn't him; it was my method.  So I made things easier for him.  My kids sometimes would get up while I was still in the shower, and some mornings they wanted to get their own cereal (when we have it).  But they couldn't reach the bowls.  So I moved them from the top of the cabinet to under the sink.  So now, they can get their own cereal.  I put a row of hooks at just their height in the laundry room, along with a shelf with cubby holes for all their shoes.  When we come home, now they can, and are expected to, hang up their own coat, and put away their own shoes.  The problem isn't always that my boys aren't capable of something, but that I just need to change one part of the process to make it easier for them to accomplish.  Sometimes, I must step aside and think, "How can I make this easier for their little hands, legs, and bodies?"

4. Expect their help
I have too often been guilty of thinking that my kids weren't old enough or capable enough to accomplish a task.  Then I realized, I was the reason they weren't being more helpful.  When I started thinking they could complete certain tasks and expecting them to do certain things, I realized that they all got a lot more helpful.  Gideon has had the job of watering the goats for a while now.  When we do the milking, he does the watering.  But there's one pen I always do.  Right now, we have one goat penned up alone.  I water her, because I have to open the door to her pen, and stand in the way to keep her from getting out while I fill up her water bucket.  Last night, I made Gideon do it.  I was milking, and I heard him say, "Shocker's out!"  I expected him to call for help.  But he put her back in the pen, filled up her bucket, and shut the door, all by himself.  He did it because I expected him to.  All this time, I've been doing it for him, but all I had to do was let him try it.  I find that my boys usually pleasantly surprise me with all that are actually capable of doing, if I just give them a chance.

5. Reward them
Right now, we pay our children randomly for more difficult jobs that they get done.  When they get a little older, they'll receive a weekly "salary" for the work they do.  This money is not only a reward, but also a way to teach them how to handle their finances, how to save, and how to give.  We also reward with certain privileges, surprises, and I will shamelessly admit it--candy.  Our boys work hard, but they aren't slaves.  Some things don't receive a reward.  There are some things in life that have to be done, whether or not we receive a reward or even a thank you.  But, for the times when they complete an extra difficult job or consistently do a good job or have a good attitude while completely a mundane task, rewards are well-deserved.

There's our five tips for helping kids work.  Does the fact I have this nice, neat list mean that my kids do the same exact tasks, at the same time every day?  No.  Does this mean that my kids are always eager and ready to help out?  Ummm, no.  Does this mean that we never have to fight one or two or all of them tooth and nail to get them to complete something as simple as putting their plate in the sink?  A definite and resounding, NO.  Yes, my kids are big helpers and hard workers.  Yes, they do more at their age than I ever thought possible, but they are still little kids, and we struggle through consistency, bad attitudes, and uncompleted tasks.  But we're laying a foundation for the kids, teenagers, and adults that we pray they'll become--responsible, hard-working, self-reliant ones.

Now, some of you may have gotten to the end of this, and think that Greg and I must be terrible taskmasters who use our children as nothing but slave labor.  So, I'll tell you a funny story to lighten the mood.  One day, Gideon had finished shoveling out the dog's pen and re-bedding it with new straw.  Greg was discussing his payment with him.

Greg: I'll give you a dollar for cleaning out the pen.
Gideon:  No, how about five dollars?
Greg: Five whole dollars?
Me: That is an awful big chore for a 5 year old to do.  You should at least give him two dollars.  (I'm so generous, I know.)
Gideon: How about thirty dollars?
Greg: Thirty dollars?  You're way too expensive.  You're fired!  Lincoln, will you work for two dollars?
Lincoln: No!  Seventeen dollars!!
Greg: Seventeen?!  You're fired too.  Canaan?  Will you work for two dollars?
Canaan: SEV'TEEN!!

Hey, I may be shamelessly raising them to do all my work, but at least I'm not raising any dummies!