Don't Run From Me Just Because I Have An Axe In My Hand

Why does a man act surprised that a woman can swing an axe? I mean, Paul Bunyan's sister, I am not, but come on... give me a sharp axe and I can do considerable damage to pesky tree limbs. Of course, now my arms hurt and my neck aches and truth be told, I'd rather stick to laundry. At any rate, it's always good for the ego to show the husband a thing or two every once in a while.

But for now, I'm off for some Advil.
And a heating pad. And quite possibly bed.

And the man just smiles.

Men. =)

Things I Learned From Laura Ingalls

Some afternoons I don't get too much farther than the front porch. Today was no exception. I've been on a Little House kick lately and the in the last few days have reread (for the who-knows-how-many-times) the entire Laura Ingalls Wilder series. If you know the books, you know this is no remarkable task. They read on probably a fourth grade level and it takes no time to fly right through them. I don't know what takes me back to these books from time to time. After all, I'm also very much into the fictional Mitch Rapp and his covert, modern-day political adventures courtesy of one of my favorite authors, Vince Flynn. Whatever takes me back to prairie days, however, never fails to put me in a reflective and peaceful state of mind. Maybe that's why I like it so well. Cheap therapy.

I finished The First Four Years today while eating a bowl of ice cream that hid a brownie at the bottom and checked my phone from time to time in case the oldest called. I thought of Laura and Almanzo and all the failed crops in those early years. They had a considerable amount of debt, endured the unexpected death of a three-week old baby boy, and lost their home to a fire. Last night my husband patiently listened over a basket of chips and salsa while I recounted some of my favorite Laura stories. Most notably was the time of Laura and Almanzo's courtship in These Happy Golden Years. While teaching for two months at a claim school twelve miles away from her home, Almanzo made a weekly trip to bring Laura home on the weekends. On one particular occasion, he sat with his horses looking at a thermometer that read forty-below with an open, snowy prairie before him. While considering what he should do, a friend rode up beside him and seeing his predicament, simply stated, "God hates a coward." That settled it and off Almanzo went to bring Laura home.

I thought of my husband today as I stretched out on the swing he made me some fifteen years ago for our fourth anniversary. He worked late every night for a while building it while I complained late every night about him never being home (having no idea what was keeping him from home). That swing has since followed us everywhere we've went and neither one of us are blind to the fact that it is a perfect fit on the porch we now have. He built it long enough so that I could nap on it (he knew me well even then) and the quilt that has been on it for some time now once belonged to my step-grandpa. If you don't mind the dust and pollen on the floor, you can look up from the bottom and see a hand-carved message that means as much to me now as it did when I first saw it.

What does all this have to do with Laura and Almanzo? I honestly have no idea except for the fact that I can appreciate a good love story anytime I read one. And to me, a marriage that withstood the test of droughts and blizzards and sickness and debt is one to celebrated. If I am learning anything through this life as I know it so far, it's that marriage is not for the faint of heart... kinda like prairie life in the Dakota Territories during the late 1800s. It takes steadfast determination to make it through the difficult times and a thankful heart to appreciate the good times.

A front porch swing and a set of worn out paperbacks doesn't hurt either.

Happy 46th Anniversary, Mom and Dad. 

I've Got Superpowers

Text conversation between my daughter and me about three minutes after she left for school:


04/25/12  7:32 AM
Make sure you have that seat belt on right (over your shoulder).
Safety first.

04/25/12  7:36 AM
:0 ARE YOU WATCHING ME?

04/25/12  7:37 AM
Eyes everywhere, little sister. :)

04/25/12  7:38 AM
:0 *Mind blown*


That's right. I'm a mom.
May the children never forget.

Scrapbooking Comes Before Dinner

I fully intended on having the table cleared off by tonight. I've got a roast in the slow cooker and a big meal planned. Seeing as how I had to clear a spot for this laptop, though, and it's just after two in the afternoon, I foresee dinner in front of the television tonight. Fortunately, I don't think anyone will complain.

I'm making a scrapbook for the oldest right under his nose. He may or may not have noticed... we've all been idly looking at pictures as we pass through the kitchen. I'd like to have it done for him by the time he graduates. He may not care too much now, but I'm believing his kids will care thirty years from now. I like to plan ahead.

In the meantime, I marvel at how our family has grown. I see hand-me-downs through the years of pictures and the same furniture that sits in our living room now is in those same photos of me rocking newborns. Living on one income for most of our life has limited what we have and what we do, but my-oh-my, I wouldn't change a thing.

Hello Mom!

I had a rather unique and unexpected thought while we were driving home tonight. The husband was fiddling with the radio, the kids were making entertaining and disturbing comments in the back, and I was thinking about my mom. Some days things happen or get said or fall apart and my first thought is always the same.

I can't wait to tell my mom.

It just kind of hit me out of the blue.

I've got amazing friends.
The husband is my best friend.
But my mom is my BFF.

That's Best Friend Forever.

Corny, I know, but true enough.

How lucky are we? 

No Grease Monkey For Me

quick disclaimer: this is not a post dissing mechanics;

 it is a post, however, poking fun at the thought of a wrench in my hand as a career choice.

My friend Beth reminded me of a time in my life about twenty years back. In her blog post I read today, she reminisced about taking the ASVAB test... that test that basically checks a person's compatibility with the armed services, I guess. It made me think of a story that my brother would surely appreciate.

The ASVAB is a strange thing. I'm not the only girl I know who scored higher in the mechanical field than any other section of the test and while for some this may be a well-earned score, for me it made no sense at all. I may come from a long line of drag racing and hot rods, but I am my mother's daughter through and through. I don't mind visiting a garage for small talk or a soda, but I have no desire to hang out and get my fingernails dirty.

A high mechanics score I had, though, and while I was in the midst of processing out through a MEPS station on my way to basic training, I was given a piece of paper that told me exactly what my job was going to be once I made my way out of basic and onto further schooling and a permanent duty station. I called my brother from a pay phone and dutifully recited whatever that big, long fancy-sounding title was (the military loves to jazz things up) and my brother became eerily silent on the phone.

Now, I don't remember what the title was, but I do remember his reaction.

Sis, you HAVE to get out of that.
Why? It sounds pretty neat.
It's a grease monkey, Sis.
A grease monkey?
Yeah, that job puts you down in the missile silos doing maintenance.

And then he laughed.

My sister. A grease monkey in a silo.

Well, needless to say, this girl listened to her brother. I did some quick thinking and some even faster acting. By the time I signed the dotted line and raised my right hand in an oath to my country, my job field had been changed from mechanical to administrative and I had an even fancier title that boiled down to one simple word... supply, and that was fine by me. My last call that day before I boarded a bus to catch a plane was to my dad (I think) and my message was simple.

Tell Tony I'm no longer a grease monkey.
I'm now a glorified pencil pusher.

Thank goodness for big brothers.

A Sunday At Home

It's another Sunday morning that we are not going to make it to church. Some weeks are just like that. Today the youngest comes back from a 3-day camping trip and it's about time. I'm about to say something that will thrill her to pieces.

The house has been way too quiet.

I mentioned to my dad yesterday that as the kids get older, it's becoming a thing of importance when all three of them are home at the same time (the evenings, anyway). The oldest has his friends and dirtbikes and junk yards, the middle has his own friends and a longboard that takes him literally all over the place, and the youngest has her ever-expanding circle of that thing called a social life. I am using the allure of the grill to get them all in one place tonight, friends and all. The husband and I need an extra body or two at the dinner table.

So no church for me today. I'm going to honor the Lord just by being a wife and a mom and providing for my household. I happen to think He'll be rather pleased.

First thing in the morning, she dresses for work,
   rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started.
She senses the worth of her work,
   is in no hurry to call it quits for the day.
She's skilled in the crafts of home and hearth,
   diligent in homemaking.

~taken from Proverbs 31, The Message.