If there was ever a time that I was the most content, it was growing up on the farm in Shattuck.  A large three story white house with a wrap around porch sitting smack in the middle of 80 acres of wheatfield.  Each evening after dinner we would all take a walk down to the end of the section road.  1/2 mile down and 1/2 mile back either way you went.  A ritual that quietly began each spring and just as quietly ceased as the cold of winter set in.  Two large metal barns just right for exploring… and jumping into haystacks.  A treehouse and swing set comprised of rummaged wood and old tires.  A hen house filled with persnickety layers and a championship rooster.  The grand champion of the County at least.  I remember a field full of watermelons and tomatoes and riding my horse over the hill to Sam’s house.  These will be the memories of my children too.  The location is changed and but the spirit is the same.  Farm life breeds contentment and a connectedness to the land.  I look forward to days when they tell of “when we were young.” 

 I read of a reverend who stood to speak
at the funeral of his friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
from the beginning…to the end. He noted that first came the date of her birth
and spoke of the following date with tears,
but he said what mattered most of all
was the dash between those years. 

For that dash represents all the time
that she spent alive on earth…
and now only those who loved her
know what that little line is worth. For it matters not, how much we own;
the cars…the house…the cash.
What matters is how we live and love
and how we spend our dash. 

So think about this long and hard…
are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left.
(You could be at “dash mid-range.”) If we could just slow down enough
to consider what’s true and real,
and always try to understand
the way other people feel. 

And be less quick to anger,
and show appreciation more
and love the people in our lives
like we’ve never loved before. If we treat each other with respect,
and more often wear a smile…
remembering that this special dash
might only last a little while. 

So, when your eulogy’s being read
with your life’s actions to rehash…
would you be proud of the things they say
about how you spent your dash?   

I’m working on it…   (watch the movie here) 

Sister started school this morning.  She will only be going two days each week but still I was a little sad.  I fully expected her to be clingy.  I even arranged with Grandma to watch Brother so I could stay in the classroom a bit if necessary.  Well, no need for that.  “Goodbye, Mom”  *wave*.  That was it.  No hug, no kiss, no “Are you sure you’ll come back?” - just “Goodbye, Mom.”  She’s in the Yellow class with Ms. M. and Ms. F..  They have two class pets:  a bunny and a bird.  And she met one friend before I left.  That’s about all I know. . . for now. 

Will’s grandmother is an amazing lady. Her work will be featured at the State Capitol. Here’s the link to the article but I am including it below as well since I am unsure how the Arts Council archives their web pages.

Mary Spurgeon -Reflections on Western Ways

(Governor’s Gallery - August 7 thru October 6, 2006)
Oklahoman Mary Spurgeon’s exhibit Reflections on Western Ways is reminiscent of the great western artists of the past. Like famed painter and sculptor C.M. Russell, Spurgeon actually worked as a cattle hand growing up with her pioneer parents living near Dodge City, Kansas. Russell worked as a cattle hand in Montana, which in turn would become the inspiration for his world-renowned western scenes. Unlike many western artists such as Frederic Remington who only visited the frontier, Russell and Spurgeon engrossed themselves within the lovely and often harsh land.

 

Her exhibit focuses upon the partnership between man and horse and how important horses were to the survival of men during the time of the Old West. Horse and man traveled together, worked the lands together, and played together. Horses were so vital to the western lifestyle that horse thieves were often put to death for their crimes. Even in today’s technologically advanced society, a horse performs tasks a machine may be incapable of and is essential to the success of many working farms.

Spurgeon survived through some of America’s most historically tumultuous times, including the devastating dust storms of the 1930s, the Great Depression, and World War II during which time she married her long-time love, Bill. Together, they raised four children in a large ranch home they built themselves from 70-year old bridge timbers.

After much success as a painter, Spurgeon began sculpting at the age of 72. Her work can be found in galleries across the country. Her Wyatt Earp statue will be the first work in a series that will be placed along the Dodge City Trail of Fame. A recent nominee to the Cowgirl Hall of Fame, Spurgeon lives on a ranch near Gate, Oklahoma, close to an area settled by her husband’s grandparents. Her independent spirit is a testament to the genuine nature of this cowgirl’s amazing life.

Sponsored by the Oklahoma Arts Council. For more information contact Scott Cowan or Karen Sharp at 405.521.2931 or scott@arts.ok.gov

The Governor’s Gallery is located on the 2nd floor of the State Capitol outside the Blue Room and is open Monday through Friday from 8:30-5:00. 

It’s Saturday and as I promised here is more regarding the Thomas madness that has swept our happy home.  It all started when Papa had the brilliant - - “brilliant” is Sister’s word of the week, BTW.  I’m not certain where she heard it because it’s not one we use a lot around here … not because we aren’t of course but because… oh, nevermind.  Anyway, she’s using it… correctly, I might add. - - soooo, Papa had this idea that Brother needed a train set.  I’ve known for a while that Brother likes trains but I dismissed the idea because I was planning a Bob the Builder birthday party and trains didn’t fit the theme.  (I seem to have this weird obsession with getting gifts that fit the party…. at least for my own children.)  But then we went to a school work day and all Brother could play with while we were there was trains… Thomas trains.  So the party theme changed (of course!) and I began researching Thomas and train tables and tracks etc.  I am almost embarrassed to admit how much I know about these little choo choo’s at this point.  I finally settled on a table & set from Imaginarium (ie Toys R Us).  It’s not the “true” Thomas set but it was twice as many pieces for 1/2 the price.  We filled in with a couple of actual Thomas pieces and that seems to be enough to appease our two year old train buff.  Sister & I spent the first part of Friday afternoon putting the table together and then Brother and Will mysteriously appeared when it was time to assemble the track.  Yes, we let Brother play with it before his party and I’m so glad we did.  He got a whole afternoon and evening to use it before he had to share.  Also, if we had waited until this morning to assemble it no one would have gotten to play.  Besides the time spent planning and purchasing, I have almost 6 hours invested in that track.  (Somewhere in there is a Parent Hack for the wise.  Assemble all major and most minor toys before giving them to small, impatient children.)  That was yesterday.  This morning Brother woke me up and insisted we go immediately to the “Rec Rum” to play with his “track, Mama, track train”.  I flipped on the coffee pot as we headed out the door with a  sliver of hope that I might get some Gano… sometime.   Brother quickly immersed himself in trains and I worked on completing the party preparations.  I was almost finished when Will came out and took Brother to Ollie’s for breakfast.  Ahh, coffee break.  The party started around 10:30 with cake, punch, presents and activities - all the standard party fare.   I am not listening to the snickers of all of you out there who claim I can’t throw a standard party.  I am not a perfectionist.  I am not a party freak.  I can throw a plain Jane, vanilla, run of the mill birthday party any time I want.  To date I have never wanted to… but I could.  This one was quite a bit less involved (and less expensive) than Sister’ Barbie Beach Party but fun nonetheless.   We had a Netflix Thomas video playing on the big screen (no sound) with train sound effects coming from the computer (courtesy of Itunes).  Red streamers and blue balloons along with a few toy trains and Thomas books from Brother’s collection completed the decorations.  A blue iced cake from Reasor’s with a random Happy Meal train on top, Engine Red punch and little Hawaiian bread ham and cheese sandwiches. (These are always a big hit.  Not very messy, so easy to make, and just the right size for little hands and tummies.) Besides the train table itself the highlight of the party was a play the children put on for the adults.  Sister & I had previously painted banana boxes with leftover spray paint and today we lined them up to form a train.  I read the story “Go, Train, Go” while the children acted out various parts.  Some simple props added to the fun.  The children liked the activity so much we gave an encore performance near the end.  It is quiet time now.  Everything is put away.  The guests are gone.  Sister has wisely chosen this time to play with the train set as Brother is inside with me watching the Aristocats.  I set him up with his blankie and a juice hoping he would drift off to sleep as he usually does.  No such luck… yet.

So, one thing I don’t like about blogging (on Yahoo) as opposed to just keeping a regular journal is that if you miss recording an entry on the correct day you can never go back and fix it. Which is why today’s entry was actually last night but couldn’t be uploaded because my computer was being so funky and frustrating that I am about ready to throw it out the Windows. (ha, ha - get it? “Out the Windows”… it’s a computer running … Microsoft….Windows……sorry, I digress.) Anyway, here’s a little geek tip for you - gaming machines are for games. They are not designed for real work. It confuses them. They overheat and die. And while people may not be able to “take it with them” when they die, computers can. They take it all. All the data, all the special settings… All. I’m not bitter or anything.
****** So anyway, about last night *******
Did you know that a child can drown in an inch of water? I share this fact as I listen to my children bathe together in the other room… without adult supervision. I am so not the protective mother type. Has anyone else heard about the so called “helicopter” parents or as college admission personnel call them, “black hawks.” They are so obsessed with keeping their children “safe” (and isn’t that a relative term?) that they never allow them to make their own mistakes or learn about true independence. Consequently, these children are growing up and going to college without a clue. I’m so glad my children won’t have that problem… assuming of course they survive bathtime.

Brother turns two today.  We are having his party on Saturday (Thomas the Tank Engine theme - more on that madness later) but today is his official birthday and even though we agreed not to say anything until the party (don’t want to confuse him) somehow he seems to know.  First thing, just like always, I took his diaper off and expected him to go get a new one.  When he didn’t return I went looking and where did I find him?… struggling with the potty seat.  “What are you doing, Brother?”  “Potty, mom.  Me try.”   Okay, that’s a change.  I am almost certain he’s grown an inch this past week and within the last couple of days his complete sentences have doubled.  My favorites -  ”Help us, please.”; “Come, come, follow me.” and the very best one “I love you……………Mom.”  He can turn a somersault, jump and loves to spin until he is so dizzy he can’t stand up.    Happy Birthday, Son. 

Lately I’ve been telling the Sister & Brother stories in bed.  Brother is nursing less and less but he still needs some cuddle and quiet time to help him settle in for the night.  Sister doesn’t need it but she will always act like she does.  She’s my little cuddle bug.  When my sister and I were younger and my mom would have to work late I would tell her stories to help her settle in for the night too.  Anyway, they are short and random and not too bad for impromptu tales.  I enjoy hearing how they end as much as the children do.  Will has told me that I should be writing them down so here goes. Myrtle the Turtle and the Magic Feather 

Once upon a time there was a little turtle named Myrtle.  Myrtle loved the rain.  She loved to splash in the puddles, catch raindrops in her mouth, and she especially loved the pitter patter sound the rain made on her shell when she was snug inside.  Because of this, she was delighted to wake one morning and find a soft spring rain gently blanketing the earth.  She hurried to eat breakfast and get dressed.  Myrtle pulled on her big red turtle galoshes and walked outside.  She followed the path from her house to the park, splashing in puddles along the way.  When she got to the park, Myrtle carefully climbed the slide, tucked her little turtle legs and her little turtle head inside her shell and slid all the way to the bottom. Slip, Plop!  She landed in a puddle of mud.  What fun!  As she started around for another go, she noticed on the ground a beautiful, bright, blue feather.  “What a lovely feather!,” she thought to herself.  Myrtle had never seen a feather quite so bright nor quite so blue.  “Maybe, it is a magic feather,” she thought.  As she contemplated this, it occurred to her that the only way to find out if it were a magic feather was to wish for something magic to happen.  “Hmm,” said Myrtle.  “It is almost lunchtime.  I think I will wish for a yummy lunch to eat.”  And so she did.  She held out the bright, blue feather and declared in a very magical voice, “Abracadabra, I wish for a yummy lunch to eat.”  Nothing happened.  Myrtle laughed at herself.  How silly to think the feather was magic.  She started back down the path toward home looking at the trees and catching raindrops in her mouth as she went.  Slip, Plop!  Myrtle had tripped over a large basket in the middle of the path.  “Where did this basket come from?  It wasn’t here before.”  “Hello?!,” Myrtle called out.  “Did anyone lose a basket?”  but there was no answer.  Myrtle looked all around but could see no one.  Perhaps there was a clue inside.  Myrtle opened the basket and what did she see but the most scrumptious, yummy lunch there ever was.  Sweet grass soda, fruit and veggies, and shoofly pie.  Mmm Mmm.  Her favorite.  Myrtle called again to see if anyone would claim the basket but again no one answered and Myrtle decided it must be a magic lunch because she wished for it with her magic blue feather.  Of course, the only way to really be sure if the feather were magic was to wish for something else magic to happen.  She sat down to eat the lunch and thought about what she should wish for this time.  “Of course!”  The only thing better than a super yummy lunch would be having friends to eat it with.  “Abracadabra, I wish for friends to eat lunch with.”  Out from a bush jumped Hurdle the Turtle, Myrtle’s neighbor and Yertle the Turtle, Myrtle’s little brother.  “Oh my,” exclaimed Myrtle, “It really is magic.”  “What?” asked Hurdle.  “This beautiful feather.”  “It’s not magic.” said Yertle, laughing.  “Yes, it is,” insisted Myrtle, “When I found it, I thought it might be magic so I made a wish for lunch and *poof* there was lunch.  Then I made a wish for friends and here you are!”  Hurdle and Yertle laughed and laughed.  “No, really,” said Hurdle, “It’s not magic.  We were coming for a picnic when we saw you find the feather and wish for lunch.  We left the basket on the path as a trick.  Then when you wished for friends we jumped out to surprise you.”  Myrtle laughed and laughed too.  “That was a funny trick.” So Myrtle’s feather wasn’t magic after all but she kept it anyway because it might be magic…. someday.  The End 

It just occurred to me this evening that Brother has not nursed for 3 days. So, I guess it’s time to give the shirt away. One week before his 2nd birthday and he has basically weaned himself. Not to be crass, but I am glad to have my boobs back again. I realize of course that my breasts’ primary function is to nurture my children and I love the bond that nursing creates but enough is enough already. Now on to the next adventure in parenting… potty training.

Hmm… maybe this should have been a “True Mom Confession.”

In the 45min last evening that no one was home to witness it, someone crashed into our yard … well, not our yard exactly.  He (she?, they?) actually crashed through the retaining wall that my dad built so he’d have a place to park his semi.  Just for good measure they crashed into it twice.  Oops.