You Are Grounded from Church!

Yep. That's right. Don't judge.

I grounded my 10-year-old from church last Wednesday night.

I did not have a choice.

He pushed me into the proverbial corner.

He KNEW... it was the one thing I would not withhold from him.

Church was his ace in the hole.

Right? Wrong.

 

I cannot describe the range of emotions. Do you think I really wanted my kid NOT to go to CHURCH for crying out loud? I was about to withhold CHURCH. I also knew parenting rule #101 was that you better not threaten something that you are not willing to actually do.

 

Dr. Phil said, "If your heathen (I mean child) acts up in the grocery store... and you are almost finished shopping... and you can't see over your cart because it's so full... and YOU say the words... "If you ask for one more thing, we are leaving this store."  Don't SAY it... Don't DARE... unless you intend to abandon that cart like a ship lost at sea... do NOT utter those words unless you are prepared to relinquish that treasure to the grocery store clerk with a meek request to please return these items to their shelves." 

 

So I dared. I uttered the words. 

"You are tired. If you do not get your homework finished in the next 5 minutes, you are NOT going to church."

 

 

He was a puddle I tell you.

A liquid pool of tears...frustration...
nerves undone...
excitement over a new campus...
disappointment about his old school closing...

a quivering lagoon of expectations versus reality...
the shaky ground of forging new friendships...

you know... childhood stuff.

Issues that are weighty and real and solid and important to my little human boy.

He left his homework at school.
(On purpose or not was a big juicy part of the oozing puddle on my kitchen table.)

He stalled... cajoled. 

 

Through crocodile tears and a distorted face he cried out,
"I'MMMM NOOOOT TIIIIIIIREEEEED". 
I for one... was not impressed with the drama.
All Moms in the universe are nodding their heads right now. 
They know exactly what THAT means. 
He. Is. Tired.

He is so tired that his eyeballs are in immediate danger of actually rolling out of his head and onto the floor.

 

"Maybe church would be the best place for this child", I thought for a moment. 
But then Jesus... in that sweet gentle voice said to me, "Are you CRAZY?" 
Okay... I probably paraphrased Jesus (a little).

 

I told him (my child... not Jesus).  "There is NOTHING in this world I would want you to do MORE than go to church... but it is just not on option.  It is 6:30 p.m. and you have 2 choices. 1) Finish your homework or 2) Go to bed. 

 

"I'llllll do ANNNYTHING! You don't know how much this means to MMEEE!!!", he wailed.

 

I stood firm and resolute. No.  You are not going to church.

Mom. Of. the. Year.

 

I called husband. 
"I have grounded our son from church.  Please come home and talk to him."

"O...K... I'll be right there", he very wisely responded.

 

He chose bed (my child... not my husband). 
He did not MOVE until we woke him up the next morning.

Yeah... I was totally wrong.  He wasn't tired at all.

 

Three Sisters Gardening

 

I kill ivy.

Seriously.

I'm not kidding.

I really... really... want to have a green thumb. 

I mean... I live on a farm for crying out loud.

I should be able to grow something myself.

 

So it surprised (and frightened) husband when I told him I wanted a space in the garden this year for an experiment.

I'm monopolizing some serious real~estate to try this new (old) thing called

Three Sisters Gardening.

 

So here's the premise...

You plant in circles.

(Already husband's head is spinning)

 

1) Mound up the soil and in the center plant a few seeds of corn.

I planted 8, then thinned them to 5.

2) Once the corn comes up, you plant poling beans around the corn.

This is where it starts making sense...

The climbing beans can now use the support of the corn stalk as they grow! Brilliant!

3) Once the beans are established, plant yellow and zucchini squash seeds in a circle around the beans...

The idea here is that the spiky leaves of the squash plants will deter wily squirrels and other garden thieves from getting to the beans and sweet corn. Nice!

 

The Native American Indians get credit for this method.  Pay attention when you see paintings that include Indians... often there is some visual symbolic representation of Three Sisters Planting.

 

 

This seems like a very ambitious project for a girl who routinely commits involuntary greenery manslaughter... but I think I'm ready! 

Fortunately corn and beans cannot press charges if I fail at this venture.

 

But... so far... so good.

The corn has emerged and the circle of beans has been planted and watered.

Thank you honey for humoring me.

  

Hey! I think my thumb is tingling! 

Egg~Related Confession (Part 1)

In the spirit of Easter, and new beginnings, I feel that a confession is in order. 

I must admit, that I have a thing for deviled egg platters.

What is a deviled egg platter? 

Well... it's a platter with little egg sized indentations especially for serving deviled eggs.

 

I enter into evidence... THIS lovely amber carnival glass platter...

This was the catalyst for my mini obsession.

When I was 4 or 5 years old, my "Nanny" (Colorado Dad's Mom) lived in Red Oak, Texas and had one of those old fashioned china cabinets with glass doors on the front.  She had all sorts of "pretties"... odds and ends arranged inside... china plates... a shaving cup that some ancestor had used... assorted teacups... a ceramic bell from a road trip with "New Mexico" written on it. 

Your grandmother probably had a similar cabinet...
I now have one myself (minus the bell from Stuckey's).

 

The one object that always caught my eye, was this iridescent egg platter. 
It was tucked away on the bottom shelf (right at my eye level).  I loved the way the surface reflected rainbows (I mean what little girl wouldn't love that?).  Nanny would take it out of the cabinet and let me inspect it carefully.  "You can have it someday", she promised. 
And today... it is mine!

 

Well, I discovered recently that one platter just doesn't hold enough eggs for a big gathering... We have a big clan, and eggs are usually the first item to disappear (even before prayer I might add... egg thieves abound in our family). 

 

So I started a "hunt" for just ONE more egg platter.  So I mentioned it to my Mom-in-Law, who just happened to have a clear glass one that she never used! And I mentioned it to my dear friend Susie, who ran across one at an antique store.  (If 2 are good, then 3 are better!) Then Houston Mom found one on e-Bay that was totally different than the other three (it was ornate metal).  Well, of course I had to have it!  So suddenly my egg platters have multiplied (like Easter wabbits). 

This could seriously become a problem... I've seen so MANY deviled egg dishes. 

My tiny farmhouse will not hold a larger collection, but I am so pleased with my quartet. 

They were each found by ones I love... and they are all special and unique. 

 

I really am done though... really...

I have met the "Official Egg Platter Quota for a Small Farmhouse".

Don't buy me any egg platters (unless of course, you find one that's REALLY cool or UNUSUAL... and just can stop yourself...I mean I'd forgive you if push came to shove).

 

 

Dadda...

He drove a red pick-up truck.
His words dripped Texas drawl thick as summer honey.
Laughter came easily and often, the echo of which remains in husband's joy.
His hands... rough, stained, black soil planted into the crevices of his palm.
Solid as a mountain path. 
He was proud (in the sweetest of ways).
God bestowed upon his shoulders many names...
farmer
husband
brother
son
Dadda
father
Grandpa
G
He believed that the moon could hold water... that cardinals signaled things to come.
He was flawed... and wounded... and lovely...
A fine masterpiece, with rips and coarse repairs around the gilded edges.
Heritage and stories clothed him with their strong fibers...
His legacy courses through the veins of husband...
A crimson arrow through the tomorrows of my children.
The earth he loved was turned by his hand even after his final breath.
His sanctuary was his tractor... dusty glass instead of stained...
Simple.
Strong.
True.
He is loved.
He is missed.
We are better because we knew... and were known by him.
Every day... but especially today... we remember.

Mighty Fine.

Catching Up...

My meandering path has been strewn with distractions since the holidays.

My time whittled away with... life.

Let's catch up.  

We had an adoption in the family. An Australian Shepherd Christmas Eve Puppy.
Don't be deceived by this innocent looking picture... she is trouble and a half...
but we wouldn't trade our Shelby girl.

Cows have been fed, calves have been born, fences have been mended.

Husband and I ran away to Seattle... just for a week, and had a blast!

Traditions have been carried forward alongside cattle auction veterans... and a few newbies who were fascinated (as most city folk, including myself the first time) with the selling of the vials of semen.  Yes.  That's how they do it in the cow world. They're not shy about it either.

I was privileged to capture a small role in an epic love story.

(I got to make the cake and could not have accomplished the feat

 ~ a week before Christmas in Houston ~

without the help of farmer husband).

Thanks hon for being willing... being my chauffeur... being on "cake" assembly duty ...

and even having fun in the process!

Here are the lovely bride and handsome groom, Lindsey and Juan. 

It was a wedding filled to the brim with faith, hope and (of course) love.

Mom and I stealing a moment... despite Houston Dad giving us all a scare by passing out TWICE after the I Do's.  We were left with stories to tell (as usual).

Seasons are changing in our lives... and in the lives of those we love. 

Our farm matriarch is diminishing... and it is normal and expected, but grieves us all nonetheless.  Most especially her... after spending a life of filling her cup...

now her palms must open to let things go. 

I so hope that she finds pools of solace... and joy in the midst of this hard change. 

I hope it for husband as well... and for his sis and brother. 

 Boys are busy growing up... and stretching us all... and learning... and occasionally calling a truce.

Soil has been turned... fragrant and black.

Corn and maize seeds have been tucked in, all snug in their rows...

and are, this moment awakening from their dreams.

Nudged by the alarm clock of moisture and warmth... and Texas black land prairie.

We find ourselves on the precipice of Spring.

I've been pining for flip flop days... and alas... they are now upon us!