Weathering The Storm

So it’s been a while since I’ve made a post.  We’ve been busy calving since the end of February.  Mother Nature has been fairly uncooperative, making a busy time of year way more work than necessary. 

The beginning of March brought bitterly cold temperatures, snow and lots of work looking after first time mothers.  Many long nights spent checking expectant first calf heifers.  In the middle of March we were lucky enough to have a few nice days, they turned out to just be teasers, meant for us to think spring was actually here.  Our cows were due to start calving the last week in March.  It doesn’t seem to matter what day we pick to trail cows home, the weather never seems to cooperate.  So when we picked the day this year the weather report 10 days out called for a beautiful day, we thought we had smooth sailing.  Mother Nature, fickle as she is this year, hand changed her mind…AGAIN!  We trailed them home in snow showers and winds gusting up to 40 mph.

By the time the cows due date rolled around, we had 50 pairs kicked out, and the weather was looking gorgeous.  Then Mother Nature must have been dumped by her boyfriend, she got her panties all in a bunch and sent a good old spring storm, dumping 8-10 inches of heavy wet snow on the calving grounds and everywhere else.  With most Spring Storms, the snow doesn’t last long.  The sun usually comes out to play, warms the ground and turns all the white into sticky brown mud!  Not so quick, this must have been one big bad SOB that Mother Nature needed to teach a lesson to. No warm sun on day 2, instead we woke up to -1.8 degrees on the first day of April, followed by yet another snow storm dumping even more snow.  By now, like most every farmer and rancher in Western South Dakota, we are smack dab in the middle of calving.

So this is where the real story begins.  Now that I’ve given the background story, picture not sleeping on  a regular schedule for over a month, and now for the past 4 days  you’ve been up anywhere from 18-20 hours a day.  Besides the fact that 12 inches of snow everywhere makes things difficult in the day time, it makes things 10 times more fun in the dark. 

10 o’clock rolled around time to take our first check of the night.  We bundle up and head out to the ranger.  My job: run the spotlight.  No ranch wife has ever shined the spotlight at the exact spot the rancher wanted her to at the exact time he thought she should. That was my first mistake of the night. So that along with sleep deprivation increases tension in the ranger. We drive through and find a couple cows that have calved safe and sound next to the stockade on the bedding we had laid out that night for them. They were mothering their babies, and all seemed in order.  Next we found a cow who had calved in the middle of some other cows right in the snow.  Another cow who was calving was trying to granny this other cow’s baby.  We could see this cow had big feet showing, we were going to finish our round around the lot.  Hopefully this cow would go lie down and have her calf, and give the other a minute to bond with her calf before we had to move it.

Down in the bottom of the lot in the deep snow we find Horny cow.  Yes that’s her name because she has tiny little stub horns.  She’s had her calf and is laying 5 feet away from it as it shivers in the snow.  Horny received her name for her horns, not because she’s a pet by any means.  Horny is a little bit of a flighty cow, so we throw out the calf sled, and get her baby loaded up.  I climb in the back of the ranger and keep eye on the calf in the sled, and try to keep her following the sled by bellowing back at her when she calls for her calf.  We’re doing well, we haven’t gotten stuck or tipped the calf out of the sled, and the cow is following along.  The husband heads up the hill out of the bottom of the creek and spins out, and Horny Cow takes off in the dark.  We both know getting her in in the dark will be nearly impossible, so we haul her chilled down baby to the shed, and throw him in the hot box to defrost.  We decide they will have to wait until daylight to be reunited.

Trip two, we find the cow that was calving with the big toes.  She has wondered off and found a place to lie down and work at it.  So we leave her to be, and load up the calf born in the snow.  We decide to see if we can get this one to follow us in too.  She is a little older cow, and this time it works.  I sit in the back of the ranger, and hold the strings to the sled trying to keep it from falling in the ranger tracks and tipping out the calf.  We are able to get this calf and her momma all the way in from the lot to the shed where they are snug and warm. 

We head back out to the lot again, old big toes hasn’t calved yet.  The husband says “I think we’re going to have to pull it.”  Not words I wanted to hear! Our options include trying to pull it out in the lot, or try to run her into the shed in the dark.   I can handle trying to get a cow to follow us in with the sled in the dark, that’s worked on more than one occasion.  Trying to chase a cow in in the dark, never usually ends well, and then add a foot of snow that you can’t get around in with anything but a horse or snowmobile unless you are in a pre-established track.  So, I suggest we go check heifers, and if she hasn’t calved by the time we get back we decide what to do from there. 

We get to the heifers to discover one of them has calved, so we get it drug to the shed and all settled in.  I think by know Old Big Toes has had to have calved out by now.  So back out we go…no luck chuck!  So the husband says, “Let’s get the puller.”  As we head back out, he thinks we are going to get this done out in the lot.  I looked at him and said, “I want to go on record right now saying I think this is a really bad idea.”  We have 3 options, try to do it here in the lot, try to run her into the shed, or calf dies because we aren’t able to get it out in time.  We make our way out find her, and after some thought he gives up on the idea of pulling it in the lot and goes to get a 4 wheeler.  We are going to try to get her in.  At this point I’m thankful I’m inside the cab of the ranger with windows shut I can’t hear the obscenities being yelled at me as she runs between the 4 wheeler and the front of the ranger hooking the grill guard on the ranger as she goes by.  We manage to get her turned around and headed in the right direction, until I can’t see her anymore, and I can’t make it up the hill on the ranger, but from beside me I can see the husband pointing and waiving from the top of the 4 wheeler.  I am apprehensive to open the door and crawl out, I not only am going to have to try to run this cow in on foot, with nothing but a small head lamp strapped to my forehead, but can now here all the 4 letter words coming from the 4 wheeler.  In these situations, I can’t help it either.  I cuss like a sailor too.  If I had a quarter for every bad word uttered aloud and under our breaths the last couple days, I would be rich!   We manage to get her run into the shed, him on the 4 wheeler and me huffing and puffing like a wheezing pachyderm.

Surrender all your hay at once!

The hard part is over, right?  Nope.  First we have a shed full of cows and calves, we have to move pairs around just to get her to the calving pen.  We get her in and are working on getting her head caught when I grab the lever of the head catch, and in a hurry and amongst all the excitement, and me still trying to catch my breath and sweating like a pig at a track meet with all my heavy winter clothes on, let her out the front of the head catch.  Whoops…That IS NOT what the husband was saying.  We have to now bring her back around and get her back into the catch pen.  This time I make sure I am nowhere near the head catch. We get her caught and get some chains on those big toes.  We finally after all the monkey business pull a 140 lbs. bull calf. 

After getting everybody snuggled in to a pen for the night, we decide to make one more run around the lot.  By this time it is 1:00 am.  What do we find?  You guessed it, another calf in a snow bank.  This cow was a pet cow that eats cake out of our hands.  We loaded her calf in the sled and she followed us into the shed, and we got her and her baby all tucked in for the night.  No fuss or muss.

I am proud to announce after the week is over, and a couple of other moments that ended in sailor language being exchanged we are still married.  As long as Mother Nature sucks it up and accepts winter is over, my marriage has a fighting chance of surviving the Spring.



Feeding Cows after the storm.

 

Hitching a Ride





Loving on my friends.



First Time Mommas

First Calf Heifer

Last night I went out to check heifers, and there they were: black, big bellied, moaning, groaning soon to be mommas all snuggled together tight in the straw behind the stockade.  The below zero temperatures had tipped their black furry hides in white frost.  As I opened the gate hardly anyone startled or moved to get up or even acknowledged my presence.   Imagine if you will, 47 pregnant women due any day, lying on the ground, I guess I wouldn’t have gotten up for me either.   As I walked quietly through them shining my flash light at every one checking for signs of oncoming labor, the only sound was my feet crunching in the snow and the grunt and groan of an uncomfortable soon to be momma cow.  For anybody who has been pregnant, I’m sure you can relate to how they feel.  I remember all too well not being able to get out of our waterbed we had for the first 4 pregnancies.  My butt would sink lower than my knees if I sat up then tried to stand up. I would have to lie back down on my back and roll out like a whale. Having been pregnant a few times myself I can sympathize with the poor girls.

However, I’ve always felt bad for first calf heifers.  They just don’t see it coming.

They are weaned off their momma’s in the fall, fed and taken care of in the feedlot all winter, not a care in the world except maybe when the next bale of hay will show up.  Soon spring shows up, and they are like a bunch of little kids with spring fever, they nibble at every piece of green grass they can find, sick of eating the dried up bales of hay.  Before they know it they are turned out on green grass!  It’s now time to eat, grow, run, buck, play and kick it up! Summer is here!  They are like a bunch of teenagers on summer vacation.  There is nothing worse than rounding up a bunch of yearlings.  It’s almost as much fun as trying to get teenagers to listen to you! 

Then round about June a trailer pulls up to this lush green pasture and out steps 3 of the prettiest black bulls you could ever meet, if you are a heifer in heat! These boys know how to strut their stuff and really know how to sweet talk the ladies.  Those poor heifers don’t even know what hit them, they start cycling and before you know it those 3 handsome boys have worked their way through all 60 heifers in 45 days then they’re gone!

They continue the rest of the summer, care free and feeling good!  None the wiser to what their little fling with the big black bulls got them into.  Fall rolls around and they start gaining a little weight by February, their waddling everywhere they go, their udders start to swell and there is something in their bellies kicking them in the ribs.  All you mommas can relate!  But you know why.  These poor girls don’t have a clue what’s in store from them.  With your first baby, your mom, your grandma, your best friend and quite frankly any woman who has ever given birth told you exactly how much fun labor was.   You don’t really know, but you have some idea.  Nobody has warned these poor girls, nobody has told them all the horrible horror stories about giving birth.  Surely nobody told her about pulling the calf if she can’t have it on her own.

So it starts, first they get a belly ache.  You can see them pacing the fence, really uncomfortable, then they are kicking at their bellies, trying to make the hurt stop… still no idea that their care free life of running bucking and kicking is about to come to an abrupt end.  No idea, that that handsome black bull that whispered sweet nothings into her ear last summer in one fell swoop made her a single mother. 

Before she knows it she’s in full on labor, and nature and instincts kick in now, thank God for that, because this poor creature still has no idea what’s happening to her.   Shortly, if all goes well, the contractions and pushing produce a baby calf that instincts tell her to get up and lick off.  Next this little guy is stumbling all around and she’s bellering at him, and before you know it every other heifer in the lot shows up to check him out.  They have never seen anything like it before.  A crowd forms as they try to decide what this little miniature cow is and what he wants.  Hungry, the calf stumbles around looking for momma in the crowd of black legs.  If her instincts have kicked in she’s looking for him too, but for some of these girls, that is not their first instinct.  Some of them won’t stand still and let the poor little guy get a suck, they are confused by this little mini me following them around and want nothing to do with him. 

And if heaven forbid, she couldn’t have it on her own… there is good chance she really won’t like the little guy.  He will have to be an acquired taste.  Once she accepts the fact that she is a single mother, they are sent out together and she is responsible for keeping this little guy safe.  And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t get between her and her baby!  Now she’s a mother, and she will stop at nothing to keep him safe. 

Next summer, that big black bull and his buddies will come waltzing back into the pasture. He will sing his sweet songs again and whoo her all over again, along with all her friends.  At least this time she knows that he isn’t sticking around to help out, and she knows who to blame for all the weight gain and the kicks to the ribs. 

Yet, there will be a whole generation of new first calf heifers with the same problem next year. 

A Letter To My Daughters

To my daughters,

I wish many great things for you in the future.  I hope you all have the most wonderful fulfilling lives imaginable, and I hope I am there to share in your joys and triumphs.

To help get you there, I want to share some advice.  I know it is hard to believe, but I was a teenage girl once too.  I remember how tough it was, so here are some things my mother never told me, and some things I didn’t learn until I was older.  Maybe you will have to learn these for yourselves too, but none the less as your mother I feel I need to share.

For starters Jr. High and High school only last a few short years.  Then they are over.  You will survive them just fine if you remember to keep your nose clean, stay out of trouble, work hard and try to have fun.  Don’t sweat the little stuff; these years are just a small blip in time compared to your whole life.   Things happen, you will have boyfriends and friends, and you will break-up and make-up.   When these things happen trust me, it’s not the end of the world.  Someday you will see life does go on after high school.  When you are a teenager you lack foresight into the future, it’s hard to imagine life outside of mom and dad’s house and the confines of the school.  But believe me, there is life after high school.  So my advice to you in high school is to keep these 2 things in mind: Don’t do anything you wouldn’t want to explain to your future children, and all good cowgirls keep their calves together!

Believe in yourself! If you have dreams of doing something, do it.  Surround yourself with people who support you in your dreams.  Never let anybody tell you that you can’t succeed, or you won’t.  Whether it is a boy, friends or family, believe in yourself.  No boy is ever worth sacrificing your dream.  If he’s the right boy, he will be behind you 100%, if not someday there will be an even better one that stands beside you and grabs your hand and says we can do it.  Never give up who you are for somebody else.

Respect yourself and others will respect you.  Be somebody you are proud of.  If you are respectful of yourself, your body and your worth, others will respect you too.  You don’t need to be a crowd pleaser, or go along with the flow to get others to like you.  Don’t be afraid to stand up for yourself and for others.  Stand up for what you believe in but remember to try to be respectful of others.  Treat others how you would want to be treated, but demand respect for yourself.   

Never settle for less than what you deserve!  Good things come to those who work hard for it, so strive for greatness and don’t be afraid to work for it.  Sometimes we have to trip, fall and pick ourselves up again, but never give up!  Don’t be afraid to take a risk, and learn from your mistakes. 

And above all remember that your parents love you!  Please know that no matter the situation you find yourself in, or no matter how far away you are from us, we will always love you.  If it seems like we are being tough, it’s because we are, and we are tough because we see the greatness in you, and want to help you see it too! 

Love,

Mom and Dad

A Different Breed.

Wives and mothers… for most of us women, we all become one or both of these at some point in our lives.  It is a different role for each of us.  Some of us are stay- at-home moms, some work from home and some mothers have jobs and work away from the house.  No matter which kind of mom you are, if you are a wife and a mother, those tittles alone make you super woman if you ask me.

Where I come from we have the “Ranch Wife”, these women are a different breed.  And if you know one or more of these women, you will agree they are not your run of the mill meek little house wives.  These are some of the strongest, toughest, hardest working women I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.

I want to tell you about three ranch wives that I am proud to have in my life.  I admire and look up to these women, and am proud to call them friends and family. 

There is a generation of women that was raised to be domestic, their momma’s taught them to sew, cook, clean, and raise a family and take care of their husband.  And that’s what they do, and they do a great job of it.  If you were raised in this generation and happened to marry a farmer or rancher it is not only your job to raise the family, take care of the house and cook and clean for everybody, you are also the hired hand.  Hired hand is not even the right word to use, it’s more that they are their husbands right hands.  There are a lot of tough men and cowboys in this country but behind every one of them is an even stronger woman. 

My mother in-law was raised in this generation.  She is one of the strongest women I know.  I have watched her work beside her husband just as hard, or harder than him, then go to the house and make a meal for the crew, quick clean up the dishes, and then head back out to help finish whatever needs to be done.  She does it without a second thought and without complaint.  She knows the ranch and the animals like the back of her hand, and can make a meal fit for a king.  She helps take care of kids and is always thinking of what others need. 

She spends days fixing fence, not to mention countless hours in the summer spraying noxious weeds, and can tell you exactly what draws to find them in.  She knows every cow on this place, and probably can go back without looking in her books and tell you who that particular cows grandmother was.  She spends countless hours mowing the acres of lawn we keep up to make the ranch look nice, and can run any piece of equipment on this ranch as good or better than most men. 

In her “Spare Time” she will teach a granddaughter to sew, keep her house, cook and clean, be the book keeper as well as help take care of the garden.  If she has any other spare time, you better believe she’s doing something for somebody else other than herself.  I look up to her on a daily basis, and cannot count the lessons learned and advice this woman has shared with me.  I think of her not only as my husband’s mother but a mother to me as well.  I am blessed to call this woman part of my family and to have her as friend.

I grew up in a different generation, and I didn’t grow up on a ranch.  My mother was a stay –at- home mom until all of us kids started school, then she went back to work full time.  I watched her try to juggle work and a family, we kids had to pitch in and pick up the slack.  I was raised by a hard working mother, but I will only pale in comparison to these ranch women.

My neighbor and one of the best women I know, lives just up the road from me.  We met when we were in high school at a Range Camp.  We had more fun than two girls should have had at Range Camp.  We lost touch, and who would’ve guessed that fate and my husband would’ve brought us back together.  Her grandmother, and my husband’s grandmother are sisters, and now not only are we great friends, but we are family too.

She, like most honest to goodness ranch wives, are the most modest of kinds.  She would probably tell me that there is no reason for me to look up to her, but I do.  She moved away from home after high school got married and started a family.  She had 3 little boys they are just a year apart, in fact the oldest two are only 11 months apart.  As if that alone didn’t make her superwoman, her husband was deployed to Iraq while the boys were small too.   After he returned home, her and her family moved back home to live and work on the family ranch.  I was glad to have a friend I enjoyed so much here in the neighborhood.  Their boys, so close to the same age as my girls, will get to spend the coming years growing up together. 

Then in the spring of 2012, her family received terrible news.  Her husband, a man I’m very proud to know and call family as well, was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.   I can’t tell you how my dear friend dealt with this; she never has been and never will be one to wear her heart on her sleeve.  I only hope if faced with dilemma such as this I am as poised and confident as her.   

When I heard the diagnosis I cried, I never saw her waiver.  She took it on, full steam ahead they were going to beat this, and they did.  He has had clean scans and is back to being the husband and father he was. I admire her strength in the face of such a hard situation, I thought she was strong for raising those boys during her husband’s deployment, but this woman is made of special stuff, and I am glad to call her my friend.   Often when I see their family, I stop and have to thank the Lord.  My family is truly blessed to have their family in our lives!

Did I mention she is the most self-less person too?  She is always going out of her way for others.  I am always in awe of her kindness and generosity. She is also one of those hard working ranch wives, she goes out and puts a full day in right next to her husband, and then never fails to take care of her family’s needs.  She also takes care of mowing the yard, not to mention help her mother and grandmother take care of their yards, and she can decorate the most beautiful birthday and wedding cakes.   She rides horse, sorts cattle drives tractors and grows a garden and spends countless hours putting up produce.  All of this, and let’s not forget to mention she is raising 3 fine young men, and teaching them to be self-less hard working responsible gentlemen.   I am so glad God sent me to Range Camp at 17 years old. Who would’ve guessed he would’ve put a woman in my life that I would learn so much from?

My next friend I met at church.  I believe there is a pattern developing here; I believe God put these women in my life for a reason.  I didn’t grow up going to church.  We went to Sunday school once and a while, and honestly I couldn’t recite a bible verse if I wanted to. However, I have on occasion found myself opening up my bible to find some answers to my problems.  I have so many things to thank the Lord for.   Since having the opportunity to get to know this woman and her family over the last several years, I am thankful he sent me to church to meet her.

We are from the same generation, but didn’t meet each other until we were both mothers.  She is a stay at home mom of 4 of the most splendid, polite, wonderful children. I am telling you though, these ranch women raised up here in our area are truly a different breed, and I honestly cannot put myself in the same category as these ladies.  And really, stay at home mom isn’t really what she is, she is so much more.

This women has more talent and ability in one of her pinkies, than I have in my whole body. Every day she gets up and gets kids off to school and does the regular old house hold motherly duties like cook, clean, and laundry, but I forgot to mention that before all of that, she went out and milked her cows and took care of the rest of her chores outside.

I can’t even begin to list her many talents.  She can bake and decorate the most beautiful of cakes, and then head to the hay field and run a bidirectional tractor with a hay head, and pull a hydro swing behind.  I can honestly say I have a small panic attack just thinking about running something like that.  She is a wonderful mother as well as quite the horseman too.  She can trim a horse’s foot, kill a rattle snake with the leather reins of her bridle, pull a calf and AI a cow.  She made her own dining room table, which is to die for, and make some of the best tasting food I’ve had the privilege to taste.

There is an old saying: “A jack of many trades, a master of none.”  That would be me; my dear friend on the other hand, is a master of many and a jack of none.  I’m pretty sure there is nothing this woman couldn’t do if she set out to do it.   

One thing I admire most about her, is her faith.  The longer I know her, the more honored I am to call her my friend.  She, along with most good “Ranch Wives” are amongst the most generous self-less people.  I believe it has a lot to do with their faith in god, and being raised by a generation of hard working “Ranch Wives.”

I have learned a lot from these women, and I look up to them.  I only hope I am someday half the woman they are.

Wheezing Pachyderms

I so effortlessly managed to eat my way into my “Winter Pants” during Christmas, so I sucked it up and on New Year’s Day I stepped on the scale.  Without naming any numbers, let’s just say it was WAY WORSE than I thought.  I was beside myself, I knew I had put on a few pounds, but had no idea that it was that bad!

Due to eating my willpower along with everything else I could get my sticky little hands on, I decided I would make a few New Year’s resolutions.  I sometimes do very well making resolutions and sticking to them.  I do my book work the old fashioned way in a ledger, and then enter it into the computer for taxes.  The year RJ was born I would do my monthly ledger every month, but then waited until tax time to enter it all into the computer.  It was brutal!  So last year’s resolution was to enter all my bookwork into the computer at the end of the month.  I did really well.  It was wonderful to not have to start from ground zero for taxes this year.  So hopefully I was faithful enough to have made that resolution a habit.

So this year I want to lose all the weight I gained from June until January, but more importantly my resolution is to just be more conscience of what I eat, and make an honest effort to move more.  The most difficult part about this resolution is the being patient, just because I ate on this weight in what seemed like a matter of days doesn’t mean it will come off that way.

So the first step to my resolution: Watch what I eat.  Of course I had been doing this.  I watched my hand put food in my mouth over and over again and the little voice in my head that is supposed to say STOP must have been on vacation somewhere.  Since New Year’s Day I have been trying to be more conscientious of what goes in my body, it is just so hard!  The Husband could eat breaded cheese balls, a cheeseburger and have ice cream afterwards every day and still keep his youthful figure.  Me, I just smell it cooking and lick the spoon we used to scoop the ice cream and gain 5lbs.  It’s really not very fair.  I made lunch for the 3 of us, RJ, The Husband and I last week.  I made jalapeno poppers and corn dogs for the two of them, and I had a grilled chicken breast and asparagus.  I know for a fact I had not only the healthier meal, but also just a better meal.  Yet I sat and drooled over the jalapeno poppers and corn dogs as if they were having a gourmet meal and I was eating dog food.  The ironic part of it is I don’t even like corn dogs.  It’s just the idea that I wasn’t supposed to be eating them.

Then there is the whole exercise part of the resolution.  After I had BR I was very dedicated to walking on the treadmill.  I worked at it, and it was just part of my day, I made it important and made a point to make time for it.  For the Labor Day celebration one summer our town held a triathlon.  We could compete in teams or individually.  I swim like a rock, so we put together team and actually competed in the triathlon. We weren’t winners by any means. There were actual real athletes competing against all us redneck athletes.  It felt so good though! I love the way a good run makes you feel.  I was in the best shape I had probably been in since high school.

I was finally down to a size I was proud of, I felt good, and I was in good shape.  Next thing I know I am pregnant...again.  This is not the first time this has happened to me.  After I had TB I lost a bunch of weight and then got pregnant.  I’m beginning to see a pattern develop.  Maybe I shouldn’t be in such a hurry to take this weight off?  Now, RJ is 18 month old and I am nowhere even close to being in shape.  The only shape I am is round. 

This time around I am finding it very difficult to stick with the exercise.  I still like the feel after a good run on the treadmill, but I’m having a hard time doing it.  I use the term “run” very loosely. I imagine when most people picture somebody running for exercise they see a graceful marathon runner running towards a finish line.  In all actuality if somebody were to come in and catch me running I am sure it more closely resembles an elephant with asthma.  I plod along like an old plow horse on my super noisy treadmill while gasping for air.  It’s so bad that if the phone rings while I’m running, I won’t answer it.  Who wants to listen to me breathing hard long enough to catch my breath enough that words can come out?  So leave a message, I will call you back when I don’t sound like a balloon somebody is letting all the air out of. 

Then there is that damn Jillian Michaels.  My sister says “Oh yeah get a Jillian Michaels video, they’re great!”  Yes if you are willing to try to kill yourself while somebody tells you how you should be able to do jumping jacks because she knows 400lb people who do jumping jacks.  Well I may not be 400lbs but I have delivered 5 babies, and there are some things I just don’t do anymore, and definitely don’t do them unless I have an empty bladder.  I can’t even jump on a trampoline with the kids anymore, and jumping jacks aren’t a whole lot better.  When you watch those workout videos you kind of imagine to yourself that you look like they do. First you gracefully stretch down and touch your toes then walk out and do a push up then walk your hands back up until you are standing again, then repeat gracefully.  Ha Ha Ha.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good view of my toes let alone to bend down and touch them without pulling something.  Oh to be a fly on the wall, I probably look more like a bowling ball with legs rolling around on the floor fighting with some imaginary being.

Well I’m going to try to stick with it even though I look and sound like a wheezing pachyderm.  With any luck by summer I will be in shape or at least a different one.

The Wonders of Being One!

This is what I was greeted to when I got out of the shower today.  Not pictured, the one year old chewing on a tampon! 

I have 5 kids, I’ve been through 4 of them being toddlers, yet somehow I have forgotten how absolutely exhausting having a one year old can be.  There is a 5 year gap between the last two; I was completely done with diapers, terrible two’s and tyrannical 3 year olds.  Everybody could wipe their own butts, shower, and stay with me when shopping. Now I’m back to square one.

 I would almost prefer an infant to a busy one year old.  You turn your back for just a couple of minutes and they are dancing on top of a table!  I try to tell myself they are building important motor skills. Really? Come on, after falling off the chair or table two or three times I would’ve just given up. If nothing else they are tough and resilient.  I have seen those kids hit their heads or fall down, run into walls (and refrigerators, that was funny!) jump up and take off like nothing ever happened.  If I ran into a wall I would have to lick my wounds for a little while.

They love to climb, it’s the getting down that’s tough.  Once they’ve scaled to the very top of a bunk bed and then realized there is now where to go. They have 2 choices: 1. yell for help, or 2. fall.  Since they can’t talk yet and can’t yell for help, that leaves falling. I try to be diligent about shutting bedroom doors so they can’t get into bedrooms when I’m not looking, but I’m only human.  They are smarter than we give them credit for; it’s almost as if they lay in wait for us to slip up.  That, and they have the selective memory of an elephant I’ve decided.  As soon as she discovers that bedroom door has been left open, some magnetic attraction drawers her to that ladder, and says “climb me...again!”

Bouncy Balls!  I don’t even know how or where we obtained an infinite number of bouncy balls in this house.  It’s almost as if we have a bouncy ball fairy.  Every time I turn around, that kid has one in her mouth!  I throw them away when I find them, and before you know it she has another one.  I honestly have no idea who has the stash of bouncy balls or where they are stashed at, but seriously it’s ridiculous.

Another great skill a one year old possesses, the ability to clean out a cupboard or drawer in a matter of seconds.  This would be especially useful if I felt the need to clean the SAME cupboard every single day, maybe even 2 to 3 times a day.  This would be fine if she would pick one cupboard or one drawer and focus on that.  No, she’s not partial to any specific cupboard or drawer.  In the kitchen she loves to get out the plastic forks and spoons and scatter them across the kitchen floor until she finds the exact one she needs to pretend to eat imaginary food out of one of the 50 disposable cups she’s scattered around too.  As you can see above, the bathroom favorite is the pads and tampon drawer!  Not sure what pretend play that will lead to. And I can’t imagine a tampon would taste good enough to want to taste more than once, yet it seems to be a big hit!

They are also very fickle, what we liked today, we don’t like tomorrow.  Yesterday we had mandarin oranges for a snack, I thought (silly me) she might enjoy a handful of Teddy Grahams with the oranges.  Boy was I wrong, not today!  She got mad, scowled at me and picked every last one up and separated them from the orange slices on her tray and placed them in the cup holder.  I guess I won’t make that mistake again.  Heaven forbid we would eat oranges and Teddy grahams together. 

Since RJ has 4 big sisters, she has no need for words.  They do all the talking for her.  She grunts, signs or points and they seem to know exactly what she wants.  And if they are ticking her off, she screams.  If somebody is packing her off where she doesn’t want to go, no words needed, just screaming. 

Oh and the temper tantrums start already! For those of you who don’t have kids, and you thought this didn’t start till they were two or three, ha, ha, ha. NO.  One year olds have an extreme dislike for the word no, which usually leads to a temper tantrum.  I once had somebody recommend that instead of using the word no with toddlers you should use the words “Uh-Oh”.  Really?  Just because they don’t like to hear it and they will probably repeat it back often we shouldn’t say it to them?  They may hear it almost every 3 minutes, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t use it and they shouldn’t learn what it means.  No means No!

The first tantrum they throw they throw down where ever they are at.  Kitchen floor, carpeted living room, or pavement in the driveway, it doesn’t matter.  They are smart though, after the first few times they learn quickly to pick a soft surface to throw down on. The other day I took RJ out of her high chair and stood her on the linoleum in the dining room, she wanted to be picked up and held, but I had to fix hair and get everybody else ready for the bus.  She got mad, took one big side step made sure she was on the carpet in the living room and threw down!

Remotes and electronic devices are not safe either.  I remember BR having a small obsession with remotes as well.  I was making Christmas goodies in the kitchen and had my hands full of food.  BR had gotten a hold of the remote, and then she decided she should take off her diaper.  I yelled to the husband to hurry quickly and get her diaper back on.  I knew that this situation required immediate attention!  Dad did not, I had my hands full and couldn’t get to her fast enough, however dad wished he had seen the urgency.  Before either of us could get there she peed on the television remote.  Which I found ironic since that is dad’s favorite household appliance, and he wasn’t worried or watching her at all.  He quickly took it to the bathroom and dried it out with my hair dryer.  To his relief it worked again.    

I’m sure there are more things to come that I haven’t even thought of yet.  At this point though, not much would surprise me.

2 Choices...

I’ve been doing some thinking, which usually gets me in lots of trouble, but none the less hasn’t stopped me yet.  I was asked an interesting question, the other day, which has made me pause and think. 

I want to start out by saying my children are no angels, and by no means perfect.  And if anybody knows this to be true, it is me, their mother.  I have seen them at their best and I have seen them at their worst.  I will be the first to defend them and the first to put the smack down if they deserve it.  With that being said I will continue my story.

I was visiting at my sister’s house, and she had a friend visiting too.  After spending some time around my children and I she stopped me and said, “I want to ask you a question.  Your girls are all so well behaved, how do you do it?  Are you strict with them or do you beat them?”  First of all, I had to make sure we were talking about the same kids. ;) When I recovered from the shock of her question I stopped for a moment, for one, I take the beating part very seriously.  My father was pretty heavy handed, and that is something I never want my kids to experience.  Strict though, I guess you could say that, but it’s not like I make them raise their hands at supper table to talk.  However, next time the noise level at the kitchen table gets out of hand, that’s not a bad idea. 

I was flattered that she thought my kids were well behaved.  I see the worst, and they often “save” all the naughty up for me.  I wouldn’t have it any other way, I am their mother and there isn’t anything they could do that would make me love them any less, but because I love them it’s also my job to teach them.

After she asked me what I did to make my kids behave so well I started thinking about it.  I never really had given it much thought before.  I looked to my closest friends, who all have children who are close to the same age as mine, and I never thought our parenting styles were that different.  They have well behaved, respectful children, so I thought my parenting style was something that most people do.  What I’m learning is… maybe not. 

I know I wrote a blog post called Big Expectations.   I still hold true to that, if you expect a lot from your kids, you will get a lot in return.  Another important rule I have is consequences.  EVERYTHING you do in life has some sort of consequences.  My writing of this post might ruffles some feathers and the consequences might be I have some negative feedback to deal with.  It all depends on what you do, whether the consequences are good or bad.    You never outgrow consequences.  When you are two, your consequences may be time out, and when you’re 22, depending on your crime, your consequence may be jail. 

I took a parenting class several years back, the program was developed by a couple of yuppie dads.  I’m sure they had never raised their voice at their kids or ever lost it and went all “psycho mom” on their kids. These guys probably live in Colorado now that it is legal to smoke a joint there, because that’s the only way one could be that calm ALL of the time.  I mean if we are really going to be honest who hasn’t lost it a time or two, and if somebody says they haven’t, they’re a liar.

Back to the parenting class, I took one rule away from it, but put my own “Real Mom” twist on it.  I will share it with you; this rule applies to almost any situation and any age.   We call it at our house, “You have two choices…” 

I’ll give you an example.  The four year old is expressing their independence and has decided that no matter what you say plead or beg they are not putting clothes on to go to school today.  That’s fine.  Very CALMLY, (because at this point he/she has done this every morning for the last week) explain to them in 15 minutes you are leaving this house, and he/she has two choices.  1. Get dressed and be ready to leave like the rest of the family.  2. Go naked or in pajamas, you don’t care.  And YOU DON’T CARE!! Really you can’t care.  When the 15 minutes are up, you go! No arguing, no talking, and absolutely no bargaining or begging.  If they aren’t dressed you pick them up and take them just like they are.  They will realize you are serious, and next time they will be dressed.  If not oh well! They just get to go in pajamas again.

They are free to make their choice, but also have to pay the consequence that is attached to that choice.  The key to making it work is making the consequence for not following the rules so bad that the choice to follow the rules looks pretty good.   And they must believe that you will follow through with the consequences for not following the rule or doing what is asked of them.

Another example: The teenager in the family wants to argue with you about chores they were asked to do that day.  That’s fine…arguing with their mother or father will get them nowhere as long as you give them choices, and follow through with the consequences for their choices.   I always start out with “You have two choices.  1.  Do what I ask without complaining and rolling your eyes or arguing. Or Choice 2, I take away all your electronic devices the rest of the week, and you can do the chores the rest of the month all by yourself.”   Then just for fun I would add, “I know what I would choose.”  Then follow through.

I’ve given my kids some pretty miserable consequences, they’ve scrubbed toilets with tooth brushes for potty mouths, scrubbed the kitchen floor on their hands and knees for lying, weeded the garden for fighting.  Whatever it is that they are doing, or not doing, the consequences must be absolutely miserable enough that they remember not to do it again!

I was watching TV while folding clothes today. They were interviewing a juror that was on a jury that convicted 3 young teenage boys for the death of their friend who was shot while they attempted to rob an older gentleman.  The 4 boys were bored and decided to attempt to rob somebody for “fun”.  The gentleman heard a noise in his house and armed himself, shooting and killing one boy and wounding another.  However, the three boys were sent to jail for the death of their friend, and what I found astonishing was, everybody wanted to blame the consequences of these boy’s actions on the gentleman whose house THEY had decided to rob.  If these boy’s had been taught the value of consequences at an early age, maybe one of them wouldn’t have been shot dead in the middle of a burglary.  Now they are paying a very hard and terrible consequence. 

I tell my girls all the time when they think they can hit each other because they are mad, when you grow up and get mad at somebody, and punch them, you go to JAIL.  There are consequences for every action, no matter your age, your sex, or race.  We all will be held accountable for our actions. You are not doing your children any favors by not teaching them that fact at a young age. 

Like I said I’m flattered, that somebody thought my children were well behaved. To answer the question, yes, I guess I am strict, and NO I don’t beat them.

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