I keep trying to think up business plans that result in our family relocating to the sticks and becoming farmers. Occasionally, I’ll decide to ask my uncle (an actual farmer) questions about the business. I called him last week to invite him to Our Boy’s birthday party and decided to ask him: “How’s the cattle market going?”
He told me it was pretty good and then mentioned how much money he’d gotten for an old cow at death’s door. I’d give you the details about it but it has put me off beef for over a week now and for my uncle’s sake, I’d like the beef market to stay good.
But I’m on a beef hiatus for now. I hope to be over it by the time chili season gets here.
Cover art courtesy of Thomas Nelson and the Booksneeze program.
N.D. Wilson makes it clear from the beginning that the focus of his latest work, Death by Living: Life is Meant to be Spent is on “a way of living, a way of receiving life” (p. xi). He uses a variety of examples to illustrate our inability to control the circumstantial ebb and flow of our lives. The two most vivid are the stories of how each of his grandfathers, James Wilson (USS Brush) and Lawrence Greensides (Guadalcanal), narrowly escaped death in World War Two. Although our modern day-to-day lives don’t seem quite as exciting as WWII, Mr. Wilson reminds us that: Continue Reading
A few months ago, while in Indiana for a wedding, Our Boy decided that he’d start to transition from calling every round object a “ball” to “shasha”. It took a few days for me to figure out that he meant “circle”. Oddly enough, he went back to referring to everything as “ball” after we got back.
So. During his appointment with the occupational therapist, I proudly mentioned that Our Boy had progressed from making only straight lines with sidewalk chalk to attempting to draw circles around himself. However, he “hasn’t figured it out yet and our driveway is full of boy sized semicircles”. Our OT and Our Boy had just started drawing with markers. She asked him if he’d been working on his circles. I made some sort of comment about how “we were so close but he hasn’t made any on paper”. Three seconds after I said it, without comment, Our Boy made his first “shasha”.
I had a meeting with the officials assigned to work with us in our state’s early intervention program today. I have to admit that I haven’t been looking forward to it. It isn’t easy to see your child through someone else’s eyes. It also isn’t easy to hear their thoughts and opinions on public school, while keeping your opinions to yourself.
As is usually the case with something I dread, it wasn’t a list of the goals I’d failed to achieve with Our Boy, but instead a glowing review of the progress our OT has seen in him. Of the list of goals I mentioned when we entered the program in January, we’ve achieved all but two-functional communication using signs, words or cards and using a utensil for the duration of a meal for most meals. We lost a good amount of the progress we’d made in Our Boy’s communication while under the ST provided by this program. In hindsight, I wish that we had kept him in private therapy. BUT we were able to get back into private therapy and although we couldn’t get his original therapist again our current therapist is working out quite well. Continue Reading
Awhile back, I rattled off a few things to my husband that needed to be tackled around the house by someone much manlier than I. In his defense, we were outside at the time and I know I was thinking out loud. Then we had to convince our toddler that leaving pool time for bath time wouldn’t be so horrible. We won that battle and life continued at a fast pace with its usual tasks and distractions.
So today, when I went outside to play with Our Boy for the first time since the start of The Deluge, the yard was looking more like a jungle and less like its usual less-than-perfect self. When I factored in the various small tasks that I knew we needed to finish in order to reach my painting goals before the start of cold weather, I was sorely tempted to “get my nag on”. I texted my Manly half from the backyard (“The grass is tall!”) and was starting to think of how long it had been since I’d mentioned A to him, or B and even E! Why hasn’t he already finished task D?! And then I stopped myself.
Because I’ve been the Queen of Nagging before, and it didn’t end well.
Because I don’t want to be that person again.
Because I don’t want Our Boy to hear me talking that way, or seeing My Angry Texting Face.
Because Proverbs, and therefore God, says it’s not a good idea.
We had gone inside to have lunch, when I remembered all the times my Manly half had said: “I really need to make a list”. Or “Will you make me a list?” And all the times that I refused to be the woman who made a “honey do list”. But, hey. I figured a “honey do list” beats a “NagYoHoneyThon” any day.
So I made a list. I put extra hearts on it. And now he can be reminded of what he promised to do, finish it when he wants, and I don’t have to be a Nag.
(Posted with permission from My Honey.)
What my husband asked Siri:
What I asked Siri:
(For those who may not know, Siri is the name of the voice controlled assistant that is available on some iPhones.)
I haven’t posted in awhile, and I wanted to take a few minutes to note Our Boy’s progress. Not just for everyone else, but for myself on the hard days.
He S-A-N-G. Not an entire song, just a couple of “I love yous” with his father, who was singing while washing dishes. Our Boy was in the living room. I heard it from the bathroom and although I yelled, “Did you hear that?!” My husband didn’t hear me.
He I-M-A-G-I-N-E-D. I was cleaning before our dinner guest arrived on Wednesday and Our Boy found the hollow tube from his bubble wand on the floor in my room. I have no idea when it arrived to lurk under the window (and on top of the heater) but he found it, sucked air through it, loudly smacked his lips and said, “Ahhhhhh!” I’m certain that he imagined he was drinking Sprite or some other bubbly beverage.
He’s been talking. Not always clearly, but more frequently. While helping my father with his computer, Our Boy plopped in front of me when I knelt on the floor to check the power cords. I said, “Oliver! What are you doing? I can’t see!” He scooted to my left, sat up and very matter-of-factly informed me that he was “Happing (helping) Papaw.”
He K-I-S-S-E-S. For awhile, I only got kisses from Our Boy at church. Today he woke me from a nap by grabbing my chin, turning my head and kissing my cheek. We’ve begun to get hugs every now and then as well.
He socializes. Our Boy really interacted with Wednesday’s dinner guest. He made eye contact with him, shook his hand, brought his copy of “Goodnight Moon” to him to read, was very interested in his phone and keys, and made numerous trips to interrupt our card game in the kitchen to see if he was still there.
All without sending him to a preschool classroom or daycare.