I actually got to cross some things off my list of things to do today. It seems to take me way too long to accomplish anything these days. Baking, cleaning, laundry, and those everyday pleasures seem to take up most of my time. I have a habit of not giving those jobs any credit on the “to do” list.
I finished a coat for Colleen and redid my thick winter coat that made me look like I belonged to a football team. I sewed in the side seams a good two inches—a bonus of changing my eating habits. I also sewed Jesse a white Sunday shirt. Last week I sewed Jolisa a much-needed, long-sleeved dress. The first time she wore it, she ripped a little slit in the skirt. Her dress caught on the buggy step as she was crawling off. Sometimes I’m pretty sure nobody else has this ruckus when they’re getting ready to go somewhere or when going home. Our extended families all live good distances away, so we’re always in a hurry to get on the road. Making sure the little ones use the bathroom before they’re dressed in their coats, scarves, and mittens is a job. Actually they have gloves this year, so we need to get all the fingers and thumbs in the right places. Then finally everybody is out the door except me. I always feel so fresh and sweet after hurrying around so much.
You’re asking why we don’t allow more time to get ready? You tell me because I don’t know. That’s just the way we are. I rarely go away with a messy house, so it’s my own fault, I guess. That’s a trait I learned from my mom. We’d never go to bed or away with any clutter or dirty dishes around. I was one of the youngest, and by that time most of my siblings were married or on their own. That meant Mom wasn’t as busy so she could keep a tidier house than before.
When my family gets home and everybody is tired and half asleep, I really question why I wanted to go out in the first place. The children are all old enough to put their wraps away now, but they still need reminders each time. Maybe someday they’ll remember.
I’m multitasking again. Colleen wants lessons in calligraphy, and Emily wants reading lessons. The little girls are making bookmarks, and they want my input every once in a while. Jesse is on the table threatening to touch the typewriter to see what happens. Jolisa is humming “I Want to Stroll over Heaven with You.” Colleen and Brian are humming a song they don’t even know the name of. It’s a song somebody put on our voicemail. Wayne went to the men’s singing practice tonight so everybody is vying for Mom’s attention.
This fall when Wayne took the boys to the Topeka Horse Sale, the girls and I raked leaves. The girls were amazed at the beauty of the leaves, which reminded me of a craft project we used to do in school. Karah shaved crayons with a pencil sharpener, and then we put a couple pretty leaves and sprinkles of crayon shavings between two layers of wax paper and ironed it to melt the shavings, which gave it a stained glass effect when the sun shines through. Next on the list will be making paper chains and snowflakes to hang around the house for the holidays.
The children’s practicing of their Christmas program takes me down memory lane to my days at Honeyville School and having our programs. I’m thankful our children are taught more meaningful songs now than what we learned in public school. I have many wonderful memories from being on those creaky risers and that old stage with Mrs. Holmes as our teacher. Now I can imagine all the stress she endured trying to guide our boundless energy in the right direction. I remember being Jesus’ mother, Mary, one year and nearly melting in those warm robes we wore. Being one of the angels with shiny wings and a golden halo was always special too.
Colleen just now modeled her new coat for me, and I’m convinced I made a huge mistake. I decided to get the cheaper one-sided lining to make the coats, and I shouldn’t have. These coats are very bulky. They look like they’re stuffed with marshmallows.
Butchering season will be different this year for our family as Mom always helped, but now we only have precious memories. I am thankful we made memories together.
I promised the little ones I’d read to them once I’m done writing—if they straighten up the house first. It didn’t take them long to clean up, and now they are walking through the house with a bad case of the giggles mixed with coughs, yells, and way-too-loud talking. What fun they are having. Jesse even forgot his little farm toys for a bit.
Saturday night Wayne cooked a double-batch of cornmeal mush. Sunday we shared the fried mush with my brother Jay, his family, and my dad. We had leftovers Monday and Tuesday morning. Colleen thought we could have some every morning, but I disagreed. We eat it with sausage or tomato gravy. We’d all soon be roly-poly if we ate it every morning. That’s one of our favorite winter meals though. I’m thankful I was taught to cook in a wholesome way, even though we enjoy many modern dishes too—tacos, burritos, oriental salads, calzones, to name a few.
It’s Saturday afternoon, and the weekly cleaning is pretty well done. The girls are washing the dishes and mixing a batch of party mix. This forenoon Colleen and I did the cleaning and canned 14 quarts of beef bologna. Then at 11:00, a family friend from Kalamazoo, Michigan, picked me up to go out for lunch in Shipshewana. Two of my sisters, my sister-in-law, and I enjoyed a very leisurely lunch and a bit of shopping with our friend. That was a very rare treat and made me wonder why we sisters don’t do something like that more often.
The little girls are moaning and groaning because I said once the dishes are done we’ll need to wash their hair. That’s about the biggest thorn in their lives at this age. They have long, thick hair, and it’s a major deal because they dread it so much. I remember when I was young and Mom would wash and comb my hair. It’s a wonder I have hair and a forehead left! It always felt like she was pulling out all my hair and skinning my forehead. It seemed she’d pull my eyebrows up an inch by pulling my hair back so tight to braid it. I’m sure it wasn’t nearly as bad as it seemed to me at that time. It does give me compassion for my girls now.
I don’t braid my girls’ hair. I suppose that’s sort of a lost art. My friends in Jamesport, Missouri, braid their girls’ hair, and I’m in awe at their talent. Teeny braids all over their heads that keep their hair very neat. Never having pursued that art, it’s much quicker for me to put the girls’ hair in buns.
When I was young, I was often ridiculed about all my scribbles on anything and everything that had a blank space. I thought space was just begging to be written on. Well, now I have three little girls who also love paper and anything that goes with it. Emily and Jolisa especially so, with Jolisa being the worst. She loves to collect any trash mail, envelopes, advertisements, calendars—you name it, she stashes it. I think I kind of know how my siblings felt about me. It takes a lot of paper to keep my girls satisfied.
The other week I got this crazy idea to bake some cinnamon rolls. That’s a rare occasion for me because I’m not very good at it. The process went pretty well, and I was marveling at how nice they looked in the oven. I was taking the first pan out of the oven and probably feeling a bit too smug because the next thing I knew the pan jumped out of my hands and fell onto the open oven door and oven racks. Kerplop! Down went my beautiful cinnamon rolls. Down went my pride. I didn’t even realize I was feeling pride, but I must have been. Why else did it have to happen? With all the air poufed out of them, the rolls looked like total failures. I gathered the globs of dough together and pitched them back into the pan. After they were cooled, I frosted the “things” and we ate them. The rest of the pans weren’t too bad, so we actually got to enjoy some that looked like what they were supposed to be.
Talking about flops, for quite a while I hid two cans of Pepsi in my undies drawer, saving them for a treat one night for Wayne and me after the children were in bed. When the time was right, I fixed each of us a glass of ice, brought them into the living room, and proceeded to open the first can. We both coughed at the appropriate time in hopes the ears upstairs wouldn’t hear. Just as I opened it, the can fell from my hands and hit the rug. Believe me, I can move fast if I have to, but it wasn’t fast enough to save my Pepsi or the rug. Groan. Needless to say, we shared a pop. Served me right to not share with the children, but then two cans of pop wouldn’t have gone very far.
I don’t know what the Lord is trying to tell me, but it seems he’s trying to tell me something with all the flops I’ve been having.
I spent three days working on head coverings. I ended up throwing five out of the eight away, and the others are only good enough to wear at home. They all turned brown, tan, beige, or whatever ugly color a person wanted to call them. I saw red… and then I kind of saw mud… through the tears I shed in pure frustration.
I do have good moments too. Just now Jesse looked up from his play and said, “Hi, Mama!”
And I baked cinnamon rolls again this week, and they turned out okay. They’re still not like I dream of making, but they are edible.
Another good happening was on Thursday when we butchered a beef. Three of my siblings and two in-laws came to help. I gladly sent some fresh meat home with them because we really appreciated their help. I canned 27 quarts of chunks, 60 quarts of bologna, and there are two 13-quart mixing bowls of steaks waiting to be fried and canned. I also make pan gravy to can with the steaks. It’s a job I dread, but I love the privilege of going to the basement and having these blessings at my fingertips.
Jolisa had wanted to go out to the shop to see the freshly dressed beef that night, but before she quite got to the shop her little legs hurt so badly she just couldn’t go a step further. Poor thing just had to come to the house. By the next day it must not have looked so mean anymore because she dared to enter the shop, spending some time out there watching us work.
Zero degrees and the snow is coming down fast. Colleen, Brian, and Karah are off to school. Emily and Jolisa are washing the breakfast dishes, and Jesse is squeaking through the house on his trusty red trike. He has two different kinds of socks on because something swallowed the matching ones. He’s happy, often singing or blabbering to himself. It’s amazing what all a little three-year-old mind can remember, especially songs and small poems, in a language they don’t even really understand.
We’re keeping our house cozy this winter with our coal stove in the kitchen and a small gas stove in the living room. Last year we had such a problem with our coal stove that it almost caused me anxiety attacks and a huge dread for this winter. Now we’ve not had any such problems this winter. The fire hasn’t gone out once. Last year if we didn’t stoke the fire every three hours the thing died on us, so we could plan on coming home from church, town, or wherever we went to a cold house and the frustration of starting it up again. I am ever grateful that it is better this year.
Jesse has the china cabinet door open again—but not for long! For some reason the four youngest think that’s a wonderful place to store their treasures. I find anything from loose change to empty gum wrappers, from cut-out advertisement papers to bookmarks, from small purses to you name it and it’s probably there. I guess they know that’s where I keep my untouchables, so they want theirs there too. Every once in a while I’ll make some disappear, and they never even ask about it, so must be the value diminishes with time.
I’m still debating whether I want to start my own flowers from seed this year or not. I’d love to, but my porch table is full of quilt pieces and I really don’t have room anywhere else. I have geraniums in the basement, and it’s a bit late already to start flowers from seed, so I’d better make up my mind.
I will do vegetables though. That’s no question at all. I’ve saved seed from last year. Actually, I’m trying the method of putting slices in dirt. I’ll start watering them in February and see what happens. I used to send for my seeds, but now I prefer going to the local garden center and buying there what I do not save of my own. I like the idea of patronizing local businesses that put their hearts into serving us.
I am thoroughly enjoying these winter days at home. I’ve actually been piecing some quilts for my sister Leanna. I grew up quilting, and I’m convinced it’s in our blood as all us sisters like it.
Next week I’ll have to sew Brian some Sunday pants. He says his are so tight pretty soon they’ll lift him off the ground. Probably true. Will have some sewing to do for the summer, but I don’t have any fabric on hand, so for now I will enjoy doing the quilts while I have the chance.
Along with the enjoyment of sewing the quilts comes the sheer delight of receiving cash once they are done. But then that causes me more anxiety because there are so many things I’d like to do with it. I don’t know what is the smartest or most beneficial choice to make for the whole family. Poof! Then it’s all gone, and I don’t have to think about that anymore. Smiles!
We’re still milking three times a day. Yes, we are. I’m looking forward to when Colleen is out of school. Colleen, Brian, and I can then trade off on the afternoon milking to relieve Wayne.
We’ve had half a dozen or so fresh cows lately, which helps. Wayne says more on the way.
Sam the dog is spoiled rotten this winter. Wayne lets him sleep in the porch entrance. In the morning the dog goes out to chore with me. He likes to be in the parlor at every milking—drinking milk and aggravating the cats.
Wayne has tamed some of the cats out there, and one does not get along with Sam at all. I am not a cat person at all, but I can tolerate them because they’ve been good against the mouse population around there. We all enjoy Sam even though I sometimes get huffy when Wayne or one of the children feed him cookies or other food still fine for human consumption. Spending hours baking cookies is not one of my favorite things to do, so if I catch someone feeding fresh cookies to Sam, they’ll have Mama to deal with. I don’t know which is cheaper—store-bought dog food or home-baked cookies. Probably the cookies, unless I figure in my time. Mom’s aren’t supposed to figure in their time, I know. Surely it’s okay though—if it pertains to a dog. I know which is healthiest though, so we’ll continue to buy dog food.