The Holiday Curse Strikes Again!

Greg and I have spent seven holiday seasons together as a little family.  We have spent almost half of them sick.  And not just any old sick, but puking-your-guts-out and running-to-the-toilet sick.  It's such a pleasant picture right up there with roasted turkeys and angels in the sky, isn't it?  But it has happened so often, that it seems almost normal for us...almost.  In fact, when Thanksgiving rolled around two weeks ago, I was not surprised when one of the boys started throwing up.  Then I started thinking about our other holidays spent with the joyous bug that ruins all of our holidays--past, present, and future.  So here, I have recounted for your reading pleasure, our three worst holidays.  So read, and remember that no matter how weird your family is, spending a holiday with the "gift" that keeps on giving is worse.

Thanksgiving 2010
We only had two children at the time, and we were supposed to eat Thanksgiving lunch with Greg's parents, then drive most of the afternoon and evening to Missouri to surprise my grandma with a short stay there, along with my parents who were also spending Thanksgiving with her.  Gideon got it first.  He spent Monday or Tuesday throwing up through the day.  On Wednesday, it struck me.  I remember it being the first time I had to call Greg home from work, because I couldn't care for the kids. I was still nursing Lincoln, so Greg would bring him to me, I would nurse as much as I was able, and then Greg would carry out Lincoln to give the poor, starving kid a bottle.  (Turns out, not eating and drinking isn't great for your milk supply.)  I recovered enough that night, that we decided to go ahead and make the trip to Missouri, but skip Thanksgiving dinner with Greg's family to avoid passing on the germs.

Result: We ate our Thanksgiving dinner in a McDonald's somewhere between here and the Illinois state line.  We spent two days in Missouri before heading back.  Greg woke up Sunday morning so sick, we skipped church and I drove most of the way home.  Luckily he just felt bad, but didn't actually puke all the way home.  We also gave the flu to my mom, who got stuck in Missouri for a couple of more days before the stomach flu finally ended its not-so-pleasant visit.

Christmas 2011
This was the true Nightmare before Christmas.  It began again with Gideon about a week before Christmas.  He spent a night throwing up, and then it was over.  I thought we were safe.  Until the pesky bug attacked the rest of us...at the same time.  Canaan was only two months old, and it was only by God's grace that he stayed well.  The rest of the story actually seems almost hysterical now.  Greg and I were already feeling bad, though the actually violent vomiting and diarrhea had not appeared.  We had put the kids to bed and were expecting to sleep it off.  Until I checked on Lincoln, who was 19 months old.  He was lying in his crib, and he was covered in vomit.  A mother's worst nightmare.  I was rapidly feeling worse, but I stripped the crib, cleaned up Lincoln and brought him to our bed.  By now, I could barely stand, and that's when the fun started.  Greg and I took turns holding Lincoln, desperately trying to catch the upchuck with a trash can, while his poor little body spewed it every 15 minutes for the next hour or so.  It felt like an eternity.  One of us held Lincoln, the other ran to the bathroom spending the entire 15 minutes either throwing up or suffering through the other.  I have never been so sick in my life.  I remember yelling, "You have to come hold him.  I need the bathroom!" and then vaulting myself to the toilet.  Finally, Lincoln calmed down and started singing and dancing around.  Kids recover so quickly.  He laid down in his playpen and went right to sleep.  Oh, if we had all been so lucky.  Greg and I caught small snatches of sleep while we kept taking turns in the bathroom.  Unfortunately, Canaan was a terrible sleeper, and though I hoped and begged God to let him miraculously sleep all night, it was not to be.  Babies have to eat, and he woke up in the middle of the night like always.  I staggered to his bassinet , and tried to nurse him while laying on the couch.  But, I could tell I was going to be sick.  So I threw him carefully laid him back down, and ran to the bathroom.  I remember listening to him scream while I puked out my soul for the (praise God!) last time.  By morning, it was all over, but we were exhausted.

Result:  We had to cancel our plans (again with Greg's family) for Christmas day because we had re-gifted this delightful illness with Greg's sister's family and her four kids and Greg's parents.  This illness was so contagious that we also re-gifted it to just about everyone we knew.  We did get to reschedule Christmas, though the illness lingered, and my sister-in-law still missed our holiday dinner an entire week later.

Thanksgiving 2014: This year, for the first time, we were to host Thanksgiving.  I had bought a beautiful, grass-fed turkey from our good friends at Becker Farms.  It was a gigantic turkey, 28-pounds to be exact, that we had bought to feed everyone.  Then Canaan threw up all over the couch.  Then Deacon and Lincoln and Gideon had terrible diarrhea.  Then I got sick.  Just as I was recovering, Greg started throwing up all night.  When Greg got sick, my one thought was "I thought this would at least get me out of milking the goats for one morning, but not now."

Result:  We spent Thanksgiving day eating nothing.  I scrounged up a little soup for the kids to eat, while Greg and I tried to recover.  My sister-in-law and her family ate their Thanksgiving meal at home...with no turkey.  We cooked our turkey the next day and delivered it to everyone.  Greg left the turkey on his sister's front porch, because they refused to let him in.  We'd ruined enough of their holidays to risk it.

The moral of the story: Family, we apologize for all the times we've ruined your holiday plans.  Luckily, we all live close and can just reschedule.  At least we don't live out of town, and have to stay at your house while being down with the stomach flu!  And for the rest of you, don't plan your holiday dinner with us.  We will inevitably start barfing and have to cancel, or we'll just share the barfing with you.  We'll let you pick, because we're gracious like that!

We hope you had a lovely Thanksgiving, and we pray your Christmas is merry and bright...and vomit-less.

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.