Ducks, Duke and Digging Out

In my perfect world, all of our children and their families would live within minutes away, we would spend time together often and every holiday as one big family.  I would never miss a single school or church event for any grandchild and time would pass slowly.  But in reality, anything that comes close to that is pretty wonderful.  Like our pre-Thanksgiving weekend.

All but two of our kids’ and their families were at the Ranch.  Those who grew up there call it the Farm, but I’ve never quite understood that.  The land is an active cattle-grazing and hay-baling acreage, but there are no crops grown or even a garden at this point.  Doesn’t matter, it’s a wonderful place no matter what you call it.  Rains or shine, you can hunt fish, target shoot, hike, chase cows, feed donkeys, pet horses, and all while dodging an assortment of kids, dogs, vehicles and animals.

This November weekend featured children ages 11 months to 15 years (Dakota, you aren’t really a child but I can’t quite group you in the adults category yet :), 6 dogs from King Duke at 12½ years old to the younger ones only a couple years over pup stage.  The atmosphere is all the more charming when God blesses us with rain, so that by the end of the weekend we welcomed sunshine and the chance to dry out even with the combined smell of wet dogs, damp clothing and not-quite-fresh men and children.

Whether it’s hog hunting at night or duck hunting in the pre-dawn morning, our guys are hard core.  Duke can still duck hunt with the best of them and continues to amaze the guys at his instinct and retrieval skills.   Saturday night they headed out in the pouring rain to hung for hogs in the Hog Assault Vehicle.  Katelyn and Emily, determined to go regardless of weather, donned heavy plastic bags over their clothes to try and keep our some of the rain.  No hogs were killed but the HAV got stuck and needed digging out.  Which only meant more fun the next day when Chris drove his brand new honkin’ big Chevy pickup down to bring it back.

Brother Joe worked his magic to prepare another fantastic Thanksgiving feast with turkey, dressing and all the fixings, topped off with Heather’s delicious pie.   On full stomachs we settled around games of Parcheesi or cards.  Bedtime comes early at the Ranch, because waking up does too.

Kids  as young as age 9 are allowed to drive the old jeep or mail truck around the property for fun and for free.  Kids from the age of 4 freely walk over to the hay barn and roam among the round bales, cowboy boots not slowing them down at all as they climb the bales and rafters.  That’s nothing after using the ladder to get to the top bunks in the grandkids room.  The mail truck was put to good use as Katelyn, too young to drive legally in the outside world, put the pedal to the metal and covered some serious ground.  The dads used the Jeep or the motorcycle to cover ground quickly as they worked to clear brush and gather wood to build a deer pen.  Our assortment of vehicles also included a brand new Chevy truck, travel trailer, and 4 door sedans.  No shortage of wheels.

Which were used to rescue the little girls.  They became enchanted with the idea of chasing the donkeys, not realizing how far away from the house they’d traveled and how heavy the bag of treats would become.  Also not realizing the amount of ant beds, cow patties and stickers they had to wade through, remnants of each now clinging to their leggings.  At the sound of their cries Carri drove to pick them up and we spent the next half hour scraping shoes and pulling stickers.  Note to self:  buy rain boots for the girls to use at the Ranch.

Inside I busied myself with mending Katelyn’s jacket hem, loving the sense of life back in the day where the most pressing chore involved a few minutes with needle and thread as I listened to my daughters share pregnancy stories and mothering tips.  In the distance I could hear rifle shots and shotgun shells, see several of the men wearing holsters for their pistols.  How many pioneer women had done just that?  Of course they didn’t have my modern kitchen with running water, a custom designed tile shower or a Dollar General close by for staples.   And they didn’t have a large digital picture frame showing pictures from our recent trip to Europe to provide beauty and grace amidst their Ranch life.  Come to think of it, my world is pretty perfect after all.

Grandkid Palooza

I have this saying:  “I’m not going to let your lack of preparedness stress me out.”  I developed that for the times when my dear, wonderful husband let’s his enthusiasm for an event outpace his preparation.  Let me explain.

This weekend we are at Grandkids Palooza, babysitting one set of grandchildren at their house while their parents are out of the country.  Two other sets of grands also came join in the fun, bringing their parents with them.  We’ve been going nonstop since we arrived.  I don’t know since I was never the popular one in school, but maybe this is what it feels like to those celebrities who never have a moment without someone wanting something from them.    After story time then bedtime – which took some time because there is a lot of excitement in this house – things finally settled down to a sense of quiet that made me believe I could go to bed.  Then the storm broke.

I attempted to sit quietly in the kitchen reading for a while, trying to be quickly available if the storm wok one of the children.  But Nelson, the dog who lives here, started whimpering and scratching the glass every time he saw me, no matter where in the house I moved to.  Grandpa brought his big lab Duke (because one big dog isn’t enough for this kind of weekend) who is well-behaved; the other one not so much.   By the time I got to bed Grandpa was sawing z’s, the rain was down to a nice steady flow and I think it took me until the count of 2 to fall asleep.

Two of the cousins were up at 5:30.   A.M.   I woke to the sound of their playing in the kitchen and got up to find all the lights on, one of the dogs let in and ½ a gallon of milk poured into 2 cereal bowls, still floating a few stray cheerios.  I went back to the bedroom.  “Grandpa, you HAVE to get up now – it’s almost time to take Tyler to his swim meet.”  Grandpa can get ready for the day in 2 minutes so I'd let him sleep as long as I could.  We would both need our energy for this day.  

Feeling very organized and on top of it, I reminded Grandpa to get the keys to the car he would use to take Tyler to his swim meet, handed him his map along with the required paperwork and went upstairs to get the girls ready for Reagan’s dance class.  My phone was downstairs in the bedroom charging, which was unfortunate because Grandpa really needed to get a hold of me.  After only a couple of minutes he drove back and leaned on the front door bell.  Which of course works best when you simultaneously bang on the door loudly.  

I ran down to unlock the door and breathlessly asked, “What is it?” 

“This is the wrong map.  Tyler says it’s the map for where they practice but not for where the meet is.  You gave me the wrong map.”

Me:  It’s the only map that said “swim” on it.  The other ones say “school”, and “dance”.   

Grandpa grabbed the map with “dance” on it and studied it, certain that it must be the map he needed.  I grab it back.  “You can’t have my map!”    Grandpa:  “Great.  You have a map and I don’t.”     Me:  “Well, you at least have an address and I don’t.”  

We sound like 2^nd  graders.  I had located my map and confirmed the address as soon as we arrived at their house.  It annoyed me that he had waited until he was on the road – tires were actually moving on the pavement – to see if he had either an address of the correct map.  He ran out the door, Tyler patiently waiting in the truck, probably wondering if he would ever get to the meet.

Half an hour later the girls and I went out to the car to leave for dance.  Reagan ran back in to get something, and fortunately I followed her , or tried to.  When the door from the garage into the house closed behind her it was locked.   I turned the handle but the door wouldn’t budge.  I had just seen her go inside so for a minute it didn’t compute.  Now I was the one loudly banging on the door.  Reagan appeared to let me in and I turned the knob, testing it several times to make sure we could get back in later.  So glad I discovered that before we left …..

After swim meet and dance class and trips to the grocery store we stayed home for the rest of the day.  Snacks and smooches, running and jumping (the kids, not us), playing school, coloring pictures, building with Legos, and using every inch of the large playroom upstairs we passed the afternoon, snagging adult visits between tending and supervising.  Amazingly there were few spats and hardly any tattle-telling – these cousins get along.

Molly was dying to get into the pool.  It was in the 50’s and chilly but she doesn’t care if it’s 95° or 59° she just wants to be in the water.  She started in the “hot” pool then went to the “cold pool”, and swam in one or the other for the next 2 ½ hours.  It wasn’t long after she jumped in that the others put on suits and joined her.  They spent more time in the hot pool, getting out for short float rides in the big pool and then back in to warm up.

There were only two injuries during our stay, and one of those was Grandpa.  The cut on his hand required only a bandaid; Molly’s head bonk from a sharp cornered table was much more dramatic.  Her dad calmed her tears and fears, gave her an ice pack to hold on the quickly-forming green and purple bruise at the edge of her eye.  Before long she was dancing in the show with the rest of them like nothing had happened.

Breakfast the next morning was served on the patio, for those who didn’t mind eating outside in the cold.  The kids ate their homemade breakfast tacos out on the patio and we adults had ours with coffee inside, watching them as we ate.

Grandpa had dressed in swim trunks and a t-shirt, determined to get some hot tub time before we had to leave.  After breakfast he got in, the two dogs close beside him to keep him company.  He enjoyed approximately 28 seconds of peaceful hottubbing when the kids came out and jumped in.  Immediately he egged them on to splash each other, him and the dogs.  I could hear their voices outside amidst the splashing water, the sound of joyful carefree abandon.  

One last review of all the rooms to make sure we don’t leave anything behind.  Molly’s stuffed “wolfie” is out on the front porch, patiently waiting for his owner to come retrieve him.  I have my children’s books, complete with the stuffed Mouse from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, Spot from the Spot children’s board books, and baby Clifford, the last two returned after being on loan to Lily.  Just about ready for the drive home.  Where we will promptly collapse and rest for 3 days to get our energy back.

Grandkid Palooza.  

Molly summed it up last night when, ice pack clamped to the left side of her head, she announced, “I love y’all guys!”

Color Me Happy

I love my siblings.  I really do.   I know that sounds hokey but I don’t care.  I can’t get enough of being around them.  Recently we all went on vacation together and it was one of the best weeks of my life.

It’s not just the love we share and the bond of blood ties.  It’s the laughter.  You see, we think we are all incredibly witty and highly entertaining.  Fortunately for us it’s true.  And every time together almost immediately the one-liner of the weekend or the trip develops.  On our vacation the witty remark that we all used through the week was from a movie, and we each found ways to work it into the conversation at just the right time.  Every time someone said “Here’s an idea…” we broke out into hysterical laughter.   Our timing with humor is pretty much amazing.

Shawn is the one with a heart as big and generous as Texas, so thoughtful and considerate he could have been a girl.  But he’s definitely not.  A firefighter, with his Z71 truck and Harley he’s as manly as they come.  And  funny.  Incredibly  funny.  Definitely  funny.  Here’s an idea…

Marie is the styling one of the bunch, earrings and shoes to match every outfit.  She’s always been cute as a button, with eyelashes from here to Dallas and perfectly placed dimples.  Her smile lights up the room, and her Marie-isms – both verbal and gestures – are legendary.  And if she needs you to trade seats with her on an airplane, she Will ask.  Here’s an idea … please move to Seat D!

Tracy is the glamorous, talented, cosmopolitan one.  With her lovely sleek hairstyle, trendy wardrobe and gift for dance at first glance you think she doesn’t belong with us.  But she does, she definitely does.  She is the quietest one of us but when she says something it’s classic.  And when she gets ill, it’s a doozy.

I’m the bossy old broad, although I’ve quit trying to tell my siblings what to do, they just don’t mind me like they did when we were little.  I’m the least coordinated of the group, but don’t tell me I can’t ride a Segway because I can and I did.  All over St. John’s Antigua, with my siblings, who I really enjoy.

At the Coconuts in St. Croix, hanging out in the beautiful water with $2 Dos Equis, Nancy and Tommy treating us like royalty because they know Shawn and he sent them a new Texas flag.  Which is flying outside their establishment right now.  With Rufus in St. Maartens, cruising about town and watching planes fly in for a landing, right over your head.  Learning to Segway in St. John’s, over rough terrain around an ancient fort and on the beach right up to the water.  Dodging Jellyfish and stray children in the water there.  Visiting Tracy in the ship’s hospital before doing a little souvenir shopping in beautiful St. Lucia.  Submarine diving in Barbados.  Pool time on our day at sea.  Music trivia (we are pretty bad).  Music trivia with Amy and Leonard (we almost won).  Sports trivia (we suck).  Karaoke (I chickened out).  Fine dining (best lobster ever).  Towel folding demonstrations.  Casino for half an hour (I won $32).  Breakfast – with grits - overlooking the ports of call.  Drink of the day.  Getting gussied up for a formal picture.  We clean up well.

Color me Happy from that Trip.  Thank you siblings for being you, and for wanting to be with me.  Here’s an idea … Let’s do it again next year!

Take my Husband. Please

I’ll be the first to admit I’m a horrible patient.  I hate being sick, and when I feel bad I want to be left alone.  I don’t  want to talk or be touched, and I especially  don’t want to argue.

Recently I had to leave work early.  Nausea and fatigue turned into a headache, a backache and a general feeling that things were not good.  By the time I got home the aches were so severe all I could do was crawl into bed, pull on an extra blanket and hope to fall asleep.

 

Which I did until my well-meaning husband came home early to take care of me.  Bless his heart, he doesn’t have a quiet bone in his body, so I woke to the sound of him opening and closing dresser drawers for a change of clothes.  Even though his tshirts, jeans, shorts, socks and underwear are always in the same drawers he likes to rummage around each time in hopes he’ll be surprised.  

I turned over, moaning at the pain in my back.  “Is it 5;30 already?” I ask.  “No, I came home early to take care of you.”  Great.  Just what I didn’t want to hear.  He means well but I really need to be left alone when I’m ill or I get pretty snarly.  He had stopped on the way home to get a new thermometer and naturally he purchased a digital one instead of the old school mercury one I’d asked for.  After pressing the metal tip hard against my aching forehead we heard the beep and he removed it to take a look.  “Oh, that’s bad, you have 97.8”.  “That’s not even a fever,” I say.  But I feel feverish and have chills so he decides to take his temperature to make sure the device is working.  “Dang, 36!” he exclaims.  Somehow in the process he has managed to change the measurement to Celsius.  

I ask for some Tylenol.  “Are you sure that’s the best thing for you to take?” he asks.  Growling, I tell him I don’t want to debate pain medicines I’d just like to have some Tylenol.  He finds a bottle in the bathroom cabinet and asks, “How many?”  It would be too easy to look at the dose on the bottle I suppose.  I drink the last sips of my 7up with the pill and slide back under the covers.  He tries to pat me or arrange the blankets, and I ask as nicely as I can (which isn’t nice at all, it sounds more like yelling “don’t touch me!”) for him to leave.  I tell him I’ll call him if I need anything.

Not much later I realize I’m hungry.  I press the intercom button on the upstairs handset and listen to it ring.  No answer.  A few minutes later I try again and I hear my husband pick up and say loudly, “Hello?  Hello?”  Unfortunately I can’t hear him through the handset, only hear his voice floating up the stairs.  Finally I give up, call the home number from my cell phone and he answers.  I ask if he can make me some rice with butter and salt, that sounds good to me since all I’ve had is a few crackers.  “Brown or white rice?” he asks.  I sigh and hang up.  When he appears in the door he is holding the downstairs handset.  “Let’s try that intercom again, I think we just need to wait a bit longer after we speak then we can hear each other.”  I am not in the mood to play walkie talkie.  “How about this,” I interject.  “When the intercom rings you just come upstairs.  There is no one else in the house to call you so you can safely assume it’s me when it rings.”  He considers this then agrees.  I am exhausted.

For the next 40 minutes I try to sleep but it is impossible.  I answer some work emails then put the phone down and close my eyes.  Finally I press the intercom again, hoping my food is ready.  This time he doesn’t answer but comes up the stairs.  Progress!  I ask about the rice, and he says, “It’s probably ready.”  “Can I have some, and some 7 up too please?”  “We don’t have any 7up.”  “Could you get me some?”  “You want me to go the store?” he asks.  I reply sarcastically, “Unless you have a manufacturing machine I would say yes”.  He turns to go, then turns back and says, “Would you like your rice before I go?”  “Yes please.”

A few minutes later he appears with a nice bowl  of warm rice.  “Could you bring the butter and salt please?  That’s really how I like my rice.”  “Taste it first.  I already put some olive oil on it.”  I grit my teeth.  “Could you PLEASE bring the butter and salt?  If not, I’ll just go down and get it while you are at the store.”  “Just be sure not to put too much salt on it,” he says.  If I had the energy I’d throw something at him.  He returns in a few minutes with the butter dish and salt shaker, wordlessly leaving to get 7up.

While he is gone I hungrily wolf down my rice, adding butter and salt as often as I please.  I hadn’t realized that part of my problem was I was “hangry”, which is the annoyance you feel when you are hungry.  Thanks to my friend Amanda for this gem of a term.  Scraping the empty bowl for the last grains, I set it aside and lean back to try and sleep.

Before I can drift off my kind husband walks in with a big bottle of 7up for me.  He hands it over and turns to go back downstairs.  Poor guy, he has decided it’s not safe to even speak to me at this point.  I don’t have the heart to ask him to take my cup and fill it with ice.  I wait until he has gone and drag myself out of bed, cup in hand.  Surely I have energy for this.  As I head down stairs I hear him open the door to let the dog in.  “Did you give Duke a good brushing before you bring him in?”  He turns to walk back outside, the dog slowly following.  “Come on, Duke, I have to brush you…….”  

I know I should give him a break, he’s been so sweet to want to take care of me and try to make me feel better.  But like I said, I’m a horrible patient and I’m not feeling sweet or generous or anything but cranky.  Walking back upstairs with a cup full of ice, I reach the bedside and open the 7up.  Taking several long gulps I consider what my boss suggested.  Maybe I’ll fire him as my nurse.  After all, he fired one of his at the hospital post-surgery.  Hmmmmm.