Farms and Ranches, Ranches and Farms

While at my mom's house last week, we were graciously invited to a friend's ranch to pick strawberries and see the horses and get really dirty.


This was what Adelaide looked like pretty much the whole time we were there:

You should really click to embiggen, otherwise you won't get the full feel of just how happy and how hot she was.  It was around 60 degrees when we left Iowa that morning, and 98 by the time we rolled into my hometown.  Holy hotness.

At one point soon after we had arrived at the ranch, Caedmon was startled by a dog.  The doggie quickly went on his way, but Cade wouldn't let go of me.  He kept pointing and saying, "There's another doggie over there!"

Oh, my poor, sheltered city boy.  That "doggie" was a cow.  Well, a calf.  But still.

Adelaide loved the Lola the calf/dog.

The incomparable Liza let Atticus and Adelaide bottle feed sweet Lola.  She also helped all three kids on and off of tractors, drove us out to the horses, and answered what felt like millions of questions from the kiddos. 

Oh, and the strawberries.  So, so good.  They have a very large strawberry patch, and we certainly enjoyed picking and eating our way through it.

[Click to embiggen and see Atticus stuffing his face.]

A few days after that, the kids and I made the trek out to where my brother-in-law and his dad were farming.  They very kindly took time out of their busy day to take all four of us for numerous tractor rides.  We "helped" drill beans and something else that I don't remember.

Caedmon being carried out to one of the tractors by Mark, my two sisters' father-in-law.  Mark carries small children with an ease no doubt borne from having eight kids of his own.

Adelaide in the super fancy new tractor with Clinton.  She was a little upset with me when I wouldn't let her back on for a third go-round.

Atticus and I in the new tractor.  Atticus was impressed by all the buttons and pedals.  I was impressed by the whole thing.  I don't even want to know how much that thing cost.  

I just included this one because I think Atticus looks so much like photos of Derek when he was little.  I carried him for nine months and he doesn't have the good grace to look even a little bit like me.  The nerve of children.

It was all so fun.  And hot.  And fun.

Heavenly

So.  Our kids are currently at their grandparents' house.  This means I got up yesterday, worked outside until 4, stumbled indoors, fell asleep for two hours, then woke up irrationally cranky.  (I am not a good napper.  Terrible, in fact.)  Fortunately, I didn't have to interact with another human being for a couple hours after that.

Evidently my children aren't the only ones who need structure in their lives.

Because our children are going to be gone for the next five days, I have all kinds of things planned- mostly involving working outdoors- but also including trying to blog every day.  To be honest, this will probably just involve slapping a few photos on here from my trip south.  Consider yourself warned.


This is a small piece of my grandparents' yard:

This is my idea of what heaven looks like.  My pictures don't do it justice.  

Although if it were really heaven, it would have one of those old-fashioned libraries attached- you know, the ones that are at least two stories and have a twisty staircase and little balcony running around the perimeter of the room- and when you stepped outside the library you'd find you were at Hogwarts.  It also wouldn't be heaven if Derek weren't there (and Jesus- can't forget that guy!), so there'd probably have to be a golf course around somewhere.

I bet you didn't know Hogwarts had a golf course on its grounds.  It's right behind the Quidditch field. 

Let's take a little tour of this little slice of heaven, shall we?

Beautiful peach roses.  I've developed a thing for peach flowers.  They look so old-fashioned.

Wine-colored hollyhocks.

Bright pink hollyhocks.

Light pink hollyhocks.  I was suffering from some serious hollyhock envy.  Not to worry, though- Grandma and Grandpa sent me home with two sandwich bags full of hollyhock seeds.  They are, of course, already in the ground.

Bachelor buttons.  What a fun name.

Grandpa.  

I didn't get a picture of Grandma, probably because she was busy running around digging up flowers for me to take home, bless her.

And here's what they sent home with me!  Let's see... lots of different colors of iris, rain lily, airplane plant, graveyard moss, hollyhock seeds, narcissus, and a bit of cactus that Grandma swears you just lay in the dirt and leave it alone.  Which I have done, although I felt a little silly doing so.  I keep wanting to fuss with it.

What's your idea of heaven?  Surrounded by dogs?  Gerbils? Elmer's Glue?

But It's a Classic!

Just about a week ago, Derek and I were downstairs watching season 3 of Downton Abbey.  It was around 9:30 pm, the kids were in bed and had quieted down quite a bit earlier.

About halfway through the season, we heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

We could tell by the tread that it was our daughter, and when she was close to the bottom, Derek said something like, "Hello, darling daughter Adelaide."

Her response was a muffled sob.

She came rushing into the living room, threw herself next to me on the couch, and buried her face in my shirt. She wasn't just crying; these were ugly, body-racking sobs.  When she pulled away, we could see that her face was a mess of tears, snot, and thin lines of spittle dripping from her mouth.

Adelaide is not particularly nightmare-prone, and this kind of nighttime behavior is not at all normal for her, so we were pretty puzzled.

Then I looked down and saw she was holding a book.

Old Yeller.

Needless to say, I felt terrible, especially after she told me that it wasn't just the dog that freaked her out, it was the scene where the uncle contracts rabies, ties himself to a tree because he knows what's coming, then tries to eat his wife and kids after the onset of the disease.

Somehow I hadn't remembered that part.


In related news, Derek has decreed that all children's book titles must be first screened by him.

I'm not sure why; it only took thirty minutes to calm Adelaide down.  And sure, she'll be haunted for the next couple years or so, but I'm sure the memory of the book will start to soften and she'll look at it with nostalgic fondness.

Or maybe not.

Father's Day Questionnaire 2013

Hey, remember last year when I actually did something cool and helped our older two children complete a sweet Father's Day Questionnaire?  Well, a minor miracle occurred and 1) I remembered to do it again this year, and 2) I didn't lose last year's binder containing the questionnaires.  Sweet.

Here are this year's questionnaires, as completed by all three of our children.  (A big thanks to our local library- our printer ran out of ink, but when I ran to the library to use theirs, they were all being used by other patrons, so they let me use their office computer, because they are amazingly awesome.  Also awesomely amazing.  And nice.)  You may notice that Adelaide's has a few extra questions.  As she gets older and more articulate, I find it's fun to ask more thought-provoking questions.  I'll probably nix the basic stats on hers altogether next year.

Oh yeah, and don't freak out: today is not actually Father's Day.  Because our children will be with their grandparents over Father's Day, we're celebrating today.  You didn't miss it!  Yet!

Note:  Adelaide's answers are in pink, Atticus's are in green, and Caedmon's are in blue.

All About My Daddy

By Adelaide Crisler, Age 7

My Daddy’s name is Derek.

He is 6 feet 5 inches tall.

He weighs 100 pounds.

His hair color is blonde.

His favorite tv show is NFL football.

He likes to go to The Bubble.

His favorite food is crackers with ham and cheese.

His favorite drink is iced tea.

For fun my Daddy likes to play golf and football.

I love it when Daddy goes on Daddy-Daughter dates with me.

My favorite thing about my Daddy is that he takes me on Daddy-Daughter dates.

One funny thing about my Daddy is he’s stubborn.

If I could give my Daddy anything in the world, it would be a real live Garfield.

---------------------------------------

All About My Daddy

By Atticus Crisler, Age 4

My Daddy’s name is Derek.

He is 40 miles tall.

He weighs 50 pounds.

His hair color is brown.

His favorite tv show is football.

He likes to go on dates with Mommy.

His favorite food is chocolate cake.

His favorite drink is pop.

For fun my Daddy eats numbers.

I love it when Daddy plays with the train set with me.

My favorite thing about my Daddy is playing every sport with him, including basketball.

-----------------------------------

All About My Daddy

By Caedmon Crisler, Age 2

My Daddy’s name is Crisler.

He is as tall as me.

He weighs 3 pounds.

His hair color is black.

His favorite tv show is golf and baseball and football and golf.

He likes to go to church and tractor riding with just me.

His favorite food is Daddy Wraps.

His favorite drink is water and milk.

For fun my Daddy likes to play soccer ball and golf.

I love it when Daddy putts with me.  And I have two putters.

My favorite thing about my Daddy is kisses and hugses!

List!

(Not to be confused with Liszt!  Because I don't even play the piano!)


I haven't made a list in a while.  Let's rectify that mistake, shall we?

• I went garage sale-ing (what is the correct usage of that verb?  Is it saleing, saling, sale-ing?  Someone help me) this morning.  Four t-shirts, one long-sleeved shirt, two pairs of shorts, one jacket, one fancy winter dress that I'm hoping will last two Christmas seasons (all name brands and in excellent condition) and $10 later, Adelaide declared, "I LOVE garage sale-ing!"  I'm pretty sure this is what God was talking about when he said that you should train your children up early.  Yes, definitely.  Definitely talking about garage sales.

• Caedmon has learned how to climb out of his crib.  When I learned this I may or may not have wailed something like, "MY LIFE IS OVER."  He refuses to show me how he does it, possibly because that might put an end to finding him sitting on the kitchen counter early in the morning, shoving fistfuls of cereal into his mouth straight of the box.  I cannot handle the thought of him moving up to a regular bed, one without high sides and confining bars.  Terrible things will happen.

• Sometimes I hate Facebook; yesterday it was fun.  At least a dozen people posted this series of maps, specifically, "22 Maps that Show How Americans Speak English Totally Different From Each Other."  While the awkward phrasing of that title drove me a little crazy, the maps were so fun to peruse.  When we moved to Connecticut, I was amazed at how many times people would stare at me, bewildered, because of my word choices.  Even here in Iowa, I find plenty of linguistic dissimilarities from my southern Kansas home.  These maps seemed pretty accurate, not to mention fascinating.  And so funny.  Why yes, those are crawdads living in the creek, Derek just commented last week on my pronunciation of "lawyer" (it's not loyer; it's law-yer.  Hence the spelling.  Note:  this rule does not hold true for the word "caramel."  Because I said so.), and of course they're tennis shoes.  You really need to look at those maps if you want to have any idea of anything I just said.

Read the Super-Fun Language Maps Here!

• Another fun thing from Facebook:  Remember how I once told you guys about how much I loved working at the bookstore pre-children, and how one of my co-workers and I bonded over a mutual distaste for Dan Brown?  (This was at the height of "The Da Vinci Code" craze, and yes, that previous statement was an out of control run-on sentence.  I am aware.)  Anyway.  A friend of mine posted the funniest thing I've read in a long time onto my wall, or timeline, or whatever the kids are calling it these days:  A satirical article on Dan Brown and his newest book.  Here's one gem I mined for you, in case you're too lazy to click the link:  "New book Inferno, the latest in his celebrated series about fictional Harvard professor Robert Langdon, was inspired by top Italian poet Dante. It wouldn’t be the last in the lucrative sequence, either. He had all the sequels mapped out. The Mozart Acrostic. The Michelangelo Wordsearch. The Newton Sudoku."  If you've read any of his books, you'll find the article hilarious.  If not, it's funny anyway and you should definitely read it.  Because I said so.

Read the Super-Fun Article Making Fun of Dan Brown's so-called Writing Style Here!

• The kiddos and I are headed south early next week.  I'll stick around for about a day, just long enough so that they don't think I drove all that way just to abandon them (even though the very opposite is true, muahahahaha!).  Then I will leave them with their grandparents (my mom and Mark and Derek's folks are splitting up the time), and I will leave.  I will visit a few people for a few days, all by myself, and then I will drive home, all by myself.  I won't see the kids again until the grandparents drive them back up here about a week and a half later.  A week and a half later.  I was telling a friend of mine that it kind of feels like Derek and I have a mild case of Senioritis, but rather than counting down the days 'til graduation, we've been counting down to the moment I drop the kids off.  It's going to be glorious.

• Adelaide has been immersed in a series of books called "Warriors."  It's about these wild cats (not wildcats, but what appear to be clans of Felis catus, who look down on kittypets- cats with owners- and engage in fierce battles of territory and food and the like), and there are enough books in the series- upwards of  37- to have kept her engaged for a couple months now.  This new fascination has infected many other parts of her life, which is fun, but yesterday she introduced me to a new one: the possible inability to separate life from fantasy.  While we were discussing the trip south, she announced that she's going to be sure to spend plenty of time alone with my mom's cat, Ed, an old man of a cat.  She says she's going to try and find out if there are any Thunder Clans or River Clans living nearby, and where Ed sits in the feline hierarchy.  (These books are great for elementary age vocab, by the way.)  I tried to tell her that Ed's been a kittypet for years, but she would not be persuaded.  So Ed's about to get a whole lot of attention, wanted or not.

• I was sure I had more bullet-point-worthy news, but darned if I can think of it right now.  Maybe I'll just add to this list over the next few days.  [Update:  Hey, I actually did it!  I've added two bullet points already!  Go me!]

Why Not Dad?

Summer vacation has begun.

We're only two days in, and most of it has been fairly predictable.  Our living room floor looks like a library exploded on it.  I'm perpetually astonished by just how much three children eat all at the same time.  The kids are outside right now because "you can come back in when I'm done writing this post, now get away from that door or so help me I will lock you out!  Again!"

The one slightly jarring note exists during their imaginative play time.  I say that like it's a set time of day:  First we eat a hot, nutritious breakfast that I arose early to prepare, then we practice math drills lest our brains turn to sludge, then we engage in Imaginative Play Time.  (I hope you realize that every single piece of that previous phrase is so ludicrously false that I giggled madly the entire time I typed it.  "Imaginative Play Time" is code for Get Out of This House Before I Kill You All, I refuse to prepare anything more complicated than cereal before 10 am, and math drills?  I don't think I even need to explain the joke in that one.)

In general, Adelaide is in charge of any imaginary play.  If the boys are pretending to eat mushroom stew, it's because Adelaide wanted to play Indians.  If the boys are following her around, yipping, it's because Adelaide wanted to play Dogs (although she did let them choose their own names; Atticus chose Ruffy while Caedmon went for the slightly less conventional Hay Bale), and if Adelaide is sulking it's because the boys found their spines and revolted.

Whatever the game, there's one constant that runs through them all:  At some point, usually toward the beginning, while they're still setting up the basic parameters, one of my three darlings will dramatically turn toward the others and announce, "And let's pretend the Mom's DEAD."

This stipulation is, without fail, met with grisly satisfaction from the two other siblings.  It's also said louder and with more emphasis, almost like they want to be completely sure I hear that one detail, even if I miss everything else.

"Hey, let's pretend we're Indians, and I'm the medicine woman, and you're a warrior, and Caedmon's a papoose."
"And let's pretend the Mom's DEAD."
"Yeah!"

"Okay, I'm the nice robot, and you're trying to fix me, but we can't find all the right parts."
"And let's pretend the Mom's DEAD."
"YES."

"Let's all pretend we're cheetahs, and I'm the fastest so I always get all the prey."
"I'm tired of playing that game."
"And our cheetah Mom is DEAD."
"Oh, okay."


I've tried to stuff my ears with feeble explanations like "Well, I'm just such a constant in their lives they can't imagine life without me so the fact that their favorite game is pretending I'm dead is clearly just evidence that our level of familial bonding has reached a new and higher level in the basic hierarchy of human needs."  Which is such a serious crock you'd almost think Freud had come up with it.

Don't worry, though; it may bother me a little bit now, but give me another couple weeks of summer vacation and I'll be begging them to play the "Mommy's Dead" game, so long as they do it outside.