Treasures from an afternoon with PopPop

PopPop Vern is absolutely crazy about our kids, and they are absolutely crazy about him. And if they don't get to see one another for 48 hours, there will be whining and carrying on, the likes of which you've never seen. And the kids get pretty cranky, too...

This afternoon, PopPop called and said he'd be by around 4 PM, to pick them up, so they could get some fish for Grandma's pond. And he would have them for a couple of hours, at least. Well, we reluctantly let them go. (They were waiting on the front step, with a bag and their little coats, when he drove up.)

Around 6, we went over to pick them up, and they were outside playing all over the relics PopPop has gathered and ensconced by the garage. Maggie came running over, looking a little worse for wear, and breathlessly inquired, "Mommy! Do you want to see my dead lizard and my butterfly?!!!"

Well, shoot. Who WOULDN'T want to see a dead lizard and a butterfly? (Don't answer that.)

So she fetches up this enormous plastic Ziplock bag....that could've held about 50 dead lizards....and sure enough, there in the very bottom, was a dead-for-certain horned toad and a rather fraggled looking little yellow butterfly. Well this IS thrilling! She was pretty sure we should hold them, too, to feel how soft.

Maybe later.

We sat on the lawn and visited with PopPop and Grandma for a little bit, and intervened with Angus and his endless climbing on Grandma's pond about every two minutes. I was sort of hoping we might accidentally "forget" the treasures, but Grandma diligently reminded Maggie of them, anytime she set them down. (Grandma has a mean streak that isn't readily apparent when you first meet her...)

Well, we finally got everyone loaded up in the Honda Big Red and blew home....two grubbier than possible kids, dead lizard, dead butterfly and all. And when we got home, Wayland and I consented, finally, to hold the butterfly, but we're going to wait a while on the horny toad....'til he dries out.

It was a glorious time, and now the kids are watching Pinocchio and loving up the kittens on the couch, and I'll bet they sleep good tonite. I would imagine PopPop will, too....

Get This...

So, I'm on goodreads.com this morning, looking at my list of 241 books "to-read" (because I don't have enough laying around here, unread, already) and I see this little section called "Upcoming Events". This would be where GoodReads lists authors and the new books they are promoting at booksignings and book tours. So I bite. SO many authors come to Montana, particularly EASTERN Montana; that I had to check it out. Maybe John Grisham will be making a sneak appearance in Miles City. You just never know.

It would appear anyone can write a book about anything, and get published. Seriously. These are some titles of REAL BOOKS...I'm not making these up. I couldn't make these up if I tried.

• What Does Your Tongue Look Like, by Angela Schumer
• Cupcakes of Doom: A Collection of YARG! Piraty Comics, by Ray Freisan
• The Raman King and I: How the Inventor of Instant Noodles Fixed My Love Life, by Andy Raskin
• Chicken Butt, by Erika S. Pearl
• The Hog Prince, by Sudipta Barlan-Quallan

I'm SERIOUS! Go look for yourself.

Now, I have great respect for authors, for the most part. It takes a lot of sweat, time, research, creativity, commitment and cats purring in your ear to write a book. Not to mention the selling and marketing end of it, which I know nothing about. Authors have to be a bit tough skinned, yet vulnerable, to do the job they do. So please know I'm not disparaging them in any way here. I like authors.

I've been told I should write a book. I have no idea why or about what, and I honestly thought there was no way I could write anything that anyone would read. Well, it would appear I was wrong. If there are readers out there for a book about what your tongue looks like, I guess there's readers for just about anything! So if you happen to see a title on GoodReads upcoming events called, Did You Know Jello Is Flamable? and Other Things No-One Told Me About Motherhood, by Mary Pluhar; check it out. I'll be the only booksigning in Cohagen, Montana...guaranteed!

Lila's Rhubarb Cake

Once upon a time, I dated a USFWS guy from North Dakota. And his mom and I became wonderful friends...in fact, when we broke up, I secretly never "broke up" with his mom, and we still write to this day. Lila is one of the very best cooks I've ever had the privilege of eating for. I can say that without hesitation! This is one of the recipes she so generously shared with her "food groupie". I make it every spring, and eat almost the entire pan by myself, because my husband and daughter deem it too sweet. I get the feeling Angus will share the pan with me this spring. We haven't met anything too sweet for us! It's a great potluck dish, or just for putting in your bowl for breakfast, for eating on the deck watching the sun rise.

Lila's Rhubarb Cake

Place 4-5 cups diced, peeled rhubarb in the bottom of a greased 9x13 pan.

Over the rhubarb, sprinkle 1 c. granulated sugar, then sprinkle 1 regular package raspberry or strawberry jello.

On top of the sugar/jello/rhubarb, sprinkle 3 cups miniature marshmallows.

In a separate bowl, mix a yellow cake mix according to directions, and pour over the top of the whole rhubarb mess in the pan.

Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour.

*Put a cookie sheet on the rack below the cake, as it usually boils over.

The Reluctant Homemaker...

So, have you ever noticed how it's a lot easier to tell on yourself than to have others talk about you? Or maybe you don't have that problem, because you're a little more pulled together than the average bear.

I'm going to tell on myself. But first, you may need a little background. (Some of my friends and family already know where I'm heading with this, and they just went to get a couple Tylenol and a cup of coffee. We'll pick them up later...)

I love the 1940's-1950's housewife images! You know the ones; the mothers with the immaculately set hair, lipstick, perfectly pressed full skirt, apron, heels and potroast. Deep down in my soul, I long to be one of them. In reality, I'm the anti-housekeeper. I don't MEAN to be! There's just something in me that never gets around to cleaning the crevices in the refrigerator door, because I'd rather be making homemade valentines. There's nothing about waxing the kitchen floor that causes my heart to thrill. I usually end up reading Dr. Suess to the kids on the floor of their room, instead of washing down their walls.

And I DO love making the home a comfortable place to be, and I DO like a clean, pulled together home. I just never seem to be able to do that and get other things done, too. My poor husband came from the land of waxed floors, alphabetized spices and regularly shampood carpets, and I know he suffers.

Here's what happened:

I washed a load of "whites" and they came out bright blue. All of them. And now, they are hanging on the clothesline as a testament to my unhousekeeping. Apparently, there was a length of blue fabric in the bottom of the washer that I had put in, intending to wash with jeans, and at the last minute, did a big old switcheroo with the loads. All my white dishtowels are now a soft, bright blue. And they ARE kinda pretty! But not white anymore.

As I was hanging them up, I thought of two things. First of all, my friend Mike W. (Lord Master of the Universe) told me that he needed someone to call him once a week and tell him, "You're an IDIOT!". And I think I need that call, too. (If more than one of you volunteer, you'll have to go on a weekly rotation, because I can really only handle ONE call a week.) Incidentally, I did give him a call, the following week, and after his 3 minute spiel about who he is and what his job is, I told him he was an idiot. I'm not sure it was appreciated. He didn't really think anyone would do that...

Secondly, I should be more embarrassed and concerned at my un-housekeeping. I need to try harder. I need to pay closer attention. I need to be a detail person....on the right things. After all, this is my JOB, for pete's sake! Just because the Scrubbing Bubbles are supposed to get all those little dirty spots, magically...they just don't.

Well, now my jeans are actually in the wash, and I checked closely to make sure there was no bleach anywhere in the vicinity, but they'll probably come out with rust spots or some other blight. So I'll hang them out next to the blue towels, and hope there's nothing red in the NEXT load....

Do you have any housekeeping tips for someone who just doesn't get it?

Calf on the lam...

Cordelia, the cow-cat. Daisy Mae...she's trying to determine if I have a bottle behind that camera.

Festus Joe; sunning himself beside the calf shelter.

We also had another calf, here, for about 18 hours. Wayland found her mom, bogged in mud and dead, and I was bequeathed another bum. But because she'd been "mothered" so long, she was having nothing to do with us. Maggie named her "Light" because she likes the word, but I called her Annie. Yesterday afternoon, while I was doing chores in the house, Maggie went out to see the calves. I think she tried to get close to Annie Light to pet her, and ended up scaring her through the fence. Annie L. then proceeded to run about a mile, to the county road, at a high rate of speed. By the time we got organized, she was GONE. So we went to PopPop's house and reported the loss, but we'd located her at the next turnoff up the road. Wayland ended up running her through the gate to join the bulls across the road, and it is yet to be determined what the fate of Annie Light will be.

But for now, Daisy and Festus are soaking up the sun in their pen, and enjoying spring.
Daisy is the smarter of the two, by far. The other day, I looked out to see her grazing on the green grass. Festus was in the corner chewing on a dried thistle tumbleweed.
Daisy eats the calf crumbles; Festus sucks on her ear.
We may have determined why he's not gaining....
He's just dumb.
But we love him, and Daisy loves him, too.

Corral Couture

This post is being written as a public service announcement for all those misguided, but well-intentioned women who choose to work cows with their husbands and father-in-laws. For others, reading this will raise more questions than it answers, but it must be done. Lives may be saved. Or, at the very least, marriages...

When dressing for the corral, many factors must be considered. The first factor is the weather. In Montana, you can go from 80 degrees and sunny, to rainy with intermittent gusts of 50 mph wind, in a matter of minutes. Think layers. The tricky part of layers is what to do with them when you aren't wearing them. In our corral, it's not acceptable to drape them on the fence or the seat of the Mule. You must be able to remove or add them in a matter of 3 seconds, between giving shots, but they must be concealed before or after that action. I'm still working on the process. Any and all ideas would be welcome, here.

The next factor (and I can't believe I'm revealing this, here, but we've had tense moments over this, just this week) is color. That's right; what color does one wear to the corral? Well, I got talked to about my grass green sweatshirt being too bright. It scared the cows. Never mind that they are SURROUNDED by green grass, for MILES, 24 hours a day...the color of my sweatshirt scared them. I was given the parameters of tan, blue and certain subtle greys as colors for the corral. And my jeans can't be a "bright" blue. *

*The DAY after getting the color lecture, I walk into the corral to find my father-in-law wearing a red plaid shirt. RED. PLAID. Well, THAT blends... When I enquired as to the color, I was informed he was trying to blend in with the red calf table. Apparently, when you are corral management, there's more flexibility in your color options.

Another factor that often gets overlooked is, apparently, fit. Yesterday, I wore a larger tshirt that came halfway down my hip pockets. It was loose, cool, and covered a couple of holes I had snagged earlier in my subtly blue jeans. "You wearing your nightshirt?" was the comment. Well, no. I had gotten the color right, the layering right, but missed on the fit. You must have decent tailoring, it seems, and pockets. Woe the woman who enters the corral without pockets! Because you'll always be asked to carry lists, extra needles, pens, fruit snacks for the kids, etc.

Jewelry is frowned on, but I rebel in that I always, always wear earrings. Always. It's good to remind them that I am, indeed, still a girl. Sometimes, I think, it has been the difference in my ass-chewing. They maybe held back, a little, because the light reflected off the earrings got in their eyes and distracted them. Who knows? But it's worth the extra effort.

Hats....baseball caps are REQUIRED. I've rebelled here, too, a couple of times, and they end up pulling a scroungy old greased up hat from behind the seat to "loan" to me, effectively chastising me in the wearing of it. So here's what I came up with: a navy blue Dally-O hat with (are you ready for this) a RED hibiscus print under the bill...I see the flash but the cows don't! I'm sure this will result in a lecture, soon, but for now they can't figure out how to justify it, because for all intent and purpose, I'm wearing dull blue. Hmmmm....

Always wear good boots. You'll probably be in situations where you'll be stomped on, or you'll need to shift the 4-wheeler with your foot, and you'll be glad you wore tough footwear. And, of course, they have to be big enough to layer socks, AND a subtle tan or brown. Because your feet might scare the cows.

I hope this cleared up some common questions about wardrobe for bovine gatherings. If you have any additional comments or suggestions, PLEASE leave them in the comment box. I can use all the help you have to offer. And now, I'm off to launder all our branding clothes so we can get ready for the last bunch, later this week.

Fiesta, Montana Style

Tacos, enchiladas and dip, oh my! Wayland, doing what he does best....

Pinata!

Cordelia, coveting tacos...

Peachy drinks....

I couldn't resist...

Tracita Katie and Kellie, partaking of the buffet.

Tomas, sans kilt.

We act this way, whether or not we've had frothy drinks!

Angus and Ali, in Big Red

Can you believe how CUTE these babies are?

L to R: Ali, Maggie, Kamryn, Ben and Angus
Ole! Traci Lee, Marisa, Kellie and Katie

The party is just getting started....

Daisy and Festus...

No, we did NOT get a picture of them with sombreros!

Right before we fell on the food and commenced to founder. I love all the sombreros!

Senor Baggypants

We only see Katie and Kellie once a year, at luaus or fiestas...what a treat!

Muy loco hombres....

The littlest senorita, Skyler May

Ruby

Well, there's a big old hole in our family that used to be filled with a silly red dog. We had Ruby put down on Wednesday, and it's been a lonesome time here in the Pluhar home. And especially in the pickup.

Wayland and I first saw Ruby when we went to a Christmas party at a neighbor's house. We pulled up in the yard and saw this beautiful young Setter under the deck, looking a little out of place with the cowdogs. We were, and still are, absolutely dog-crazy, and couldn't stop looking at her and petting her. It turned out she belonged to the daughter of this neighbor, and her roommate, and they had bought Ruby to breed for money for college, but didn't have time or room to do so. Ruby was left alone a lot, and even though the girls liked her, they were just too busy to have a dog.

The day after the party, we got a call from one of the girls, wondering if we'd be able to give Ruby a home. Well, yes! We were SO excited to welcome her! We'd been married only a short time, and with no kids, we had a lot of time for her.

It turned out that Ruby was the sweetest dog, and beautiful, but not known for her intelligence. We called her the Prom Queen....she'd have lots of dates to the dance, but you'd never see her on the honor roll. What she lacked in brains, however, she made up for in loyalty. She chose Wayland as the love of her life, and wherever you'd see him, there'd be a red shadow.

After we'd had her about a year, she developed a terrible cough, and started losing weight, so we took her to our vet in Miles City, and began an adventure that would eventually take us to Bozeman, requiring two surgeries removing 2/3's of one of her lungs to remove infected, dead tissue from a needle and thread grass. We poured a lot of money into her that year, but we met some incredible veterinarians who are now good friends that we wouldn't trade for all that money. The surgeries cause such stress to Ruby's system, however, that it caused her to develop perianal fistula that would never be cured.

This condition was eventually what brought us to the decision to put her down. She was in constant distress and pain, and it wasn't responding to any treatment. Ruby was still a pretty young dog, 8 1/2 years old, but she was miserable, and we couldn't stand to see her going through that.

In our hearts and memories, we'll always see her running through the grass, red coat turning amber in the sun. We'll look for her each time we get into the pickup. We'll think of her when we come across a "lovey" stuffed animal that she packed outside without our knowledge. We'll miss her on the couch, her soft ears flopped over her paws. We'll miss seeing her bark at a dangerous sagebrush, while Molly and the rabbit 10 feet away try to figure out what she's doing. Yes, there's surely a big hole in our family, now.

We buried her under the sandbanks, here at the house, where she used to go and look for rabbits and varmints. Oddly enough, I noticed some wild roses on either end of her grave. How appropriate, I think; the roses are tough and tenacious, they bloom for a short time each year, and while they bloom, they are delicate and sweet, like our little dog that lived with such fullness for a brief season in our life.

Books and Brisket

Last night was our last "official" bookclub of the year, at Traci's house. And because it has been such a wild week, we all limped in, flopped down at her kitchen bar, and commenced eating. It was very quiet, right at first, because until we had a little protein, no one had the energy to talk. Can you believe that? Women who were too tired to talk? I'm serious!

Here's the funny part about having bookclub with a bunch of country girls:

1. There will be meat.

2. You may have entertainment, featuring a cow.


We were about halfway through our first glass of wine or cucumber water, when Traci looks out the kitchen window and exclaims, "Hey! I think that blind cow is calving!"
Several of us rush to the window to assess the situation, and Karen G. asks for field glasses. The cow is turned the wrong way for us to see anything, and the binoculars were unavailable, so we went back to our wine and clam dip, but occasionally, one of us would look out to see if anything was progressing. No calf, so I think she was messing with us.

Then, we lined up, plates in hand, to partake of the spread. Here's what we had, besides the appetizers:
Beef brisket, beef ribs, 3 different kinds of BBQ sauce, potato salad, beer bread, beans with bacon, chocolate cake and cookies n cream ice cream. No vegetable or fruit to be found! Well, there was cucumber slices floating in the water, pickles in the potato salad, and green onions in the crab dip, but that was it. And we ate until it hurt, and laughed a lot. Then we rolled to the living room to discuss the book.

Oh, yes, there was a book, and eventually we got around to talking about it. In April we read Riding on the Bus With My Sister and it was really interesting, and provoked conversation about living with divorce, family members with special needs, government, societal views, faith and public transportation. It was heavy food for thought.

Our summer book, chosen by Karen G. , is Sophie's Choice; many have seen the movie (not me, sadly) but none have read the book. So it should be great! Summer is a long, lonely time for our bookclubbers, so we are planning a field trip to Big Fork in July, because it's cooler there, and Celestia has the room for us to flop around on the deck, drink tea, discuss the mysteries of life (men) and paint our toenails, and watch the kids shivering in the wading pool. I love these women!

This is the way we go to town

On Monday, I decided to dash to Jordan to visit the new greenhouse and get some milk at the grocery store. And I made the mistake of telling my husband the plan. He promptly turned around and informed his dad, who called and asked if I could pick up branding supplies. It was an evil intervention, and I'm sure Wayland knew EXACTLY what he was doing, thinking he could save me from sure verdant destruction, and preserve his checkbook.

Here's the deal: if a rancher finds out ANYONE is going to town, for ANY reason, they have a list of parts and cogs and gears and vaccine and other sundry items as long as your arm. And all of them are most urgently needed, within the next 10 hours, or the place will fall to pieces. Even though, 10 minutes ago, before they knew you were going to town, they were going to make it work, somehow. It's true. And every ranch wife reading this is nodding her head, laughing and saying, "Amen, sister! Preach on!".

So, back to the branding supplies. It sounded innocent enough. "They are all ready to go," says he. "Just pick them up...you don't have to worry about a list," says he. "But could you also get another 25 red Z eartags for calves? " Sure! No problem! (He lulled me with that whole no-list-to-keep-track-of thing.)

So I get to town with two crabby kids who fell asleep on the way and had 15 minutes of nap. Just enough to turn them into badgers with a toothache. There's no reasoning with them. So as long as they are strapped into the carseats, all they can do is snarl and chew on their paws. Good enough.

First stop, the feed store, to pick up milk replacer. So far, so good...I put it on the floor of the front seat. PLENTY of room for plants.

Next stop, Main Hardware, for the branding supplies. (I thought I was being so clever, getting them before flowers, so I could just have a nice, level bed of supplies on which to put the darling geraniums...) My first mistake was in not taking a cooler to put the vaccine in. So we had to pack it all in an insulated box with ice packs. A BIG insulated box with icepacks. But now, I'm on the clock. I have approximately 30 minutes to shop, and 30 minutes to drive home in. Then Leslie tells me the pour-on is in the shed around back. Pour-on! I forgot all about THAT branding supply! Mistake #2.

So I pull the Trailblazer around back, to load the last of the branding supplies, and we completely and totally fill the back end of that outfit up with boxes of pour-on. Completely. Totally. There's about 6 inches of room on top of them to put boxes of plants. Short plants. Maybe 4 short plants.

And we haven't even gone to the grocery store yet! But that's next on the list, because we have to get water and milk. So 5 gallons of water, 2 gallons of milk, 2 lollipops later, we are back in the car, going to the greenhouse. The badgers have been appeased with sugar, because I'm thinking they may have to hold plants, and I want them to do as little damage as possible.

So we get to the greenhouse, finally, and explode into the place. Yes, that's right, we had 15 minutes to do our stuff. It reminded me of one of those shopping shows, where the contestants get a cart and 6 minutes to fill it. Only I had sticky badger speed bumps.

AMAZINGLY, I had made a list of what I needed for my pots, three days ago, and even more astoundingly, had remembered to bring the list!!! (Those who know me, are picking their jaws up out of their cold coffee, after reading that...) So I blew through that greenhouse, in 15 minutes, gathering 5 boxes of plants and leaving petunias bending from the force of the trip! Got the kids loaded, and had plants stuck in every open 4 inch space. All I could do, backing out of there, was pray that we didn't have a flat tire on the way home. That would've been ugly.

But we made it, intact, sticky and filthy; plants, kids, branding supplies, milk and milk replacer. In 2 hours,counting travel time.

Today, I'm going to Miles City, with my husband...the BIG town....and he has another list. I wanted to go to the greenhouse there, but it's not looking good. We ARE taking a trailer, though, so if I get creative, I might get another geranium or two home...

Thanks, Mom.

Here's a picture of my Mom and I, ready to go to a rodeo in Jordan...at least that's what it says on the back of the picture, in her beautiful, precise handwriting. I was not quite one year old, but already in bell bottoms, and I don't know if you can tell, because the picture is a little faded, but we have MATCHING tank tops! (1972, so they were polyester. We were hot. Literally.) You can't really see, but she's wearing pointy-toed cowboy boots with black tips, I think.

As I sit here, trying to type a tribute to my Mom, with jelly faced kids climbing on me, and fighting like raccoons, I have a MUCH greater appreciation for who she was, and how much of her life she devoted to us.

She was an older mama, just like me, in the day when most women became mothers at 19 or 20. And she lived in a little trailer house on a hill, just like me, when her kids were toddlers and preschoolers. She went from being an independant, working girl with a red GTO convertable, to a stay-at-home mom and ranchwife that had to fit the whole family in the cab of a pickup.

Here are a few memories I have of my Mom, from when I was growing up:

There was always coffee, and the house usually smelled like coffee. I love that!

She had a most impressive record collection, because when she was single, I think she bought music before food. As kids, we learned to appreciate Patsy Cline, Jim Reeves, The Sound of Music and a funky little album called Groovy Grubworm.

Mom made us all the cool childhood treats: Jello blocks, Rice Krispie treats, chocolate chip cookies, and cinnamon toast. BUT, if you pretended like you were sick to stay home from school because you didn't like the teacher, she would make you toast soaked in warm milk. (She could be THAT mean! I think I have the recipe, for another little girl who may do that...)

She read, constantly. There were books everywhere, and we went to the library often. And we got a LOT of books at garage sales. For me, books are still security and comfort, and I think they must cut down on energy costs by insulating your home if you line the walls with them.

Mom took (and still takes) horrible photographs of people. It's one of the things I love best about her. There are a lot of pictures with the tops of heads cut off, or people too far away, or a little blurry. I love that she spent more time enjoying friends and family, rather than practicing taking pictures of them. She'll hurry and try to get the shot, because she's been busy visiting or playing with the kids. Love it!

My Mom really took time with people, and made them feel special. She would stop what she was doing to have coffee with someone who dropped by, or if one of her friends was needing time and love, she'd forgo mopping the floor to listen to their problems. When we got home from school, we'd sit at the table with her and eat graham crackers with frosting and talk about our day. And my Gramps loved to visit with her, and have coffee. Even though she didn't get all the stuff done on her list, most days, she got more done, relationally, than a lot of people do in a lifetime.

She wasn't afraid to be silly. What a relief to children! Mom enjoyed the Apple Dumpling Gang with us, and books like How Fletcher Was Hatched. She'd laugh until she cried, and we'd laugh at her! And when Aunt Arlene came over and they gave each other perms, they laughed a lot and drank a lot of coffee. We could never figure out what was so funny, and they shooed us outside or downstairs, and visited and laughed more.

We were hugged a lot. And told we were loved, a lot. And we still are.

We got spanked a lot. With wooden spoons. (We earned most of those spankings, honestly.) And we spent some time sitting in hard old kitchen chairs, watching the clock slowly tick the minutes to freedom.

Mom got up, first thing in the morning, and drank her coffee and read in her Bible and her Daily Bread, and prayed. That was the first thing we saw, most mornings. It was her quiet time, her get-ready-for-the-day time, her little window of calm before the storm of life hit.

There are so many little things and big things that can't even be touched by a blog post, about Mom. I've never really tried to put them down, in writing, and find it really difficult to capture her with words. How do you describe a mother's hug, or her voice, or her funny little habits, or the things that drive you wild that make a mother a mother? Well, I can't do it justice, probably not in a million years.

The Carnation

Does your church give carnations to all the mothers, on Mother's Day? Ours does, and it's a sweet acknowledgement, but sometimes it can be bittersweet.

We did not have these babies easily, here in the Pluhar house. We had been married about two years when I had an ectopic or tubal pregnancy. The really rough thing was that the doctor told us I was pregnant on a Friday, so we went home and told all our family. So exciting! On Monday, they determined through tests that it was tubal, and must be removed, because if it ruptured, I would bleed to death. So, after thinking we were going to be parents for 3 days, it was immediately over with an emergency surgery. That was in September.

I guess I didn't really want to think about it, or deal with it, so when the doctor told us we could start trying right away, again, we did. My sister had her first baby in February, and I had the great privilege of being there for the birth! But I ended up in the pickup, afterward, crying because it really hit me that I had missed that.

We went to church on Mother's Day, in May, and all the mothers were getting their carnations and smiling, and it was SO hard to sit there and watch. I was happy for them, of course, but it really stung and there was an ache in my heart, because I SO badly wanted to be a mommy!

Well, I went through 3 more of those Mother's Days, with no carnation. It sounds silly, really, but that little symbol meant a lot to me. It got almost to where I couldn't stand it when May rolled around, and that Sunday loomed. But, finally, in May of 2004, I was pregnant...still no carnation, but there was the promise of one the following year!

So, that first Mother's Day with our little Maggie, I proudly dressed us both in blue dresses and headed determinedly to church to get my carnation! It was pink. I sat in the pew with Wayland, holding that flower and crying, and I know he couldn't figure out what in the world was going on! I held on to that carnation all day, and when we got home, it was a little fraggled, but still pretty to me.

Every year, now, it's a big thing to me to get my carnation. But as I sit there with it, I'm always looking a little for those women who are studiously reading their bulletins, trying to be brave. If they are close, I try to give them a special greeting. I know better than to say anything, because it's a pretty fragile little dam, holding those tears back, trying to maintain all the dignity they can. But I say special prayers, always, every Mother's Day, for them...whether I see them or not.

This year, because our car is "broke" as Maggie says, I probably won't make it to get my carnation. But that's okay. I have a whole lot of dandelions, instead!

C.U.P.S. New blog!

For those of you who are wondering what happened to C.U.P.S. (Coffee Under Pretense of School)...

First of all, a wave of illness, rain and "work" caused a severe drop in attendance, this spring. And considering there are only three members of the club, it was pretty dismal. You wouldn't believe how LONG the week is, when we don't get that break in the middle, to laugh and eat!

Now, preschool is over, so we've lost the reason/excuse/duty to take children to town for three hours.
Dang.

Do not fear! C.U.P.S. is NOT disbanding!! We are making alternate plans for the summer, and will report as soon as we get it together, in the next couple of weeks.

But, don't look for the report here. Or at Farmchick's Frantics. Or at Country Wife, Country Life.

C.U.P.S. now has it's OWN BLOG!!!

http://montanachicksinthesticks.blogspot.com

So far, only two posts. But we're working on it. Check in once and a while, and see what's shaking in the cupboard!

It's all in how you look at it...

Dandelions.

Scourge of the yard, or drops of sunshine from God?

My daughter and son are absolutely GIDDY, with all the dandelions in our yard. You can see by my title banner that there are, well, an epidemic of these plants.

Maggie brings them to me by the FISTFUL, exultant in her flowery-glory, and the ability to give me blossoms without scoldings. "Look Mommy! Look at all the flowers I picked for you! Aren't they beautiful?"

Yes, they are, sort of. But I'm still determined to eliminate them from my flowerbed (?), so I keep working at it.

Angus comes tromping over, with a dandelion head in each hand...no stem that I can see...and wants to add them to his sister's bounty. After some consideration, we decide to float them in the blue birdbath, and this tickles him to no end. Boats! I tell him thank you and kiss a sandy little cheek, and he replies, "You wumpum, Mommy!"

Well, shoot! How can you hate a plant that makes your children so happy? I think I still can, maybe.

When I turn back to my task, I realize I may have grown some prize-winning dandelion plants. They would intimidate Martha Stewart for a couple of minutes, I think. Big honkin weeds, I tell you.

But as I dig and dig those wretched plants up, I make some exciting discoveries: big honkin earthworms!!! Maybe dandelions add great nutrients to the soil to attract earthworms. You think? Maybe they aren't so bad after all.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have about 57 dandelions to put in a Kerr jar, with a little girl breathing down my neck to be sure I do it just right.

Maybe they ARE little drops of sunshine from God....

At the request of a Grandma...

...and to her great amusement, I'm sure...I'm posting these organic pictures of my darling children. The four year old spokesperson justified their decision to wallow in the mud as a result of totally unreasonable parents refusing to let them fill the wading pool that day. In her words: "But Mommy, we just HAVE to cool off SOMEHOW!"

To the auntie in Kentucky, who posted pictures of her daughter delicately making mud streams, here are the cousins we warned you about....

SAHM I am

I've been rolling this post around in my head for a couple of days, unsure of how to approach it. I don't want to start a rumble or cause misunderstanding or create feelings of defensiveness with my few faithful readers. So here's the deal. Just read it, with some graciousness, please. And for heaven's sake, comment! Even if you don't agree. Even if you think I'm off the deep end. (Especially if you think I'm off the deep end, because then I'll know I need counselling!)

I just finished the book by Dr. Laura Schlessinger (No! Wait! Just hear me out!) titled In Praise of Stay at Home Moms. It was pretty straightforward, and really kicked me in the butt, as far as my recent attitude is concerned. In the big, wide world beyond my door, stay-at-home-moms apparently aren't getting a lot of respect or accolades for what they do. It would appear they are rather looked down on, I guess, by some people. I've never really encountered this attitude, in this area, mostly because there are a LOT of SAHMs...we call them ranchwives. With kids. Everyone stays home. Where are we going to go?!

I decided I can maybe clear up some myths or common misconceptions about SAHMs. (Or really muddy the water. It's such a touchy subject!)

SAHM Myths:

1. SAHM doesn't stand for Sits Around Home Munching....in fact, we usually don't get a whole lot of food until the kids are napping. Then we eat the cold stuff on our plate from when everyone else had lunch.

2. I may be way off base, here, but most of the SAHMs I know don't watch Oprah or any soap operas at all. Mostly, if there's something on the t.v., it's got a furry mascot singing an alphabet song. If I get to see the evening news two times in one week, it's a big deal!

3. SAHMs don't wear pajamas until noon. 10:00 a.m. is our cut off time. That's when UPS, Schwans, mail, etc. deliveries occur and we're trying not to perpetuate the stereotype. The exception is when everyone in the house is sick (SAHM included) and every respectable outfit we own is covered in yucky, unidentifiable spots.

4. Not all SAHMs are born housekeepers or great cooks. Some are, (Traci) and they are the envy of many. The rest of us just try to keep it sanitary and stock Hamburger Helper and Duncan Hines mixes in case of surprise dinner guests. One of the funniest comments I heard, from a SAHM offering to take care of another friend's children, was "They have had their tetanus shots, right?"

5. Most SAHMs feel incredibly guilty buying things. ANYTHING! We don't endorse a check to put in the bank, so we can't justify spending $10 on a Rubbermaid tote on sale, to store toys in or nail polish, or a breve, or new underwear. (And I'm not talking Victoria's Secret $48 panties, here! I'm standing in Walmart, for pete's sake, trying to decide if $5.99 is too much to pay for a package of 10 generic cotton undergarments.) (I lost a few readers, there, I know....)

6. Sometimes, as a SAHM, I worry that my brain is starting to atrophy and that I'm out of touch with the rest of the world. As a result, I work very hard to read intelligent books, try to stretch myself by trying new things (like Hawaiian Meatloaf...perhaps a bit TOO new), getting together with other positive people every chance I get. My bookclub keeps me saner. My husband, bless his heart, keeps me sane-ish. My dog doesn't care, and that's a comfort.

All in all, it's a good life. It's not glamorous, by any means, but I have job security, for another 16-18 years. The benefits outweigh the drawbacks, for me. I can't imagine missing all the moments that I've been a part of, staying here in my trailer with my kids. I've held them longer, eaten more cookies after naps, rescued more kittens, sang dumber songs, found more ways to entertain during the winter than I thought was possible, unplanted more tomatos/petunias/beans than I would've, cried more, laughed more, made more mud castles than I ever would've if I had chosen another path.

I know not everyone has the luxury of this choice, and I'm so, so grateful that we live on a ranch where we are all able to work together, all generations. I lost a lot of perspective, the last couple of weeks, and after reading that book, I've regained a little enthusiasm for my job. So, if I've seemed a bit sour and ungrateful, I apologize, really. It's a pretty good gig.

Strange Summer Salads, Part I

In the spirit of spring, and because I like making strange (to other people) salads, I thought I'd post a salad recipe occasionally. I won't post a salad recipe that I haven't tried....we've found, through bookclub, that's just a disaster. Always try it before you share it.

This is one of my FAVORITE salads, and it's really not all that strange. But I'm making it today, and it seemed like a good one to start with. (Lure you in, then pull the switcheroo...)

Spinach Salad with Strawberries

(Lisa Waterman, this one's for you! You don't even have to disguise the spinach. Just dress it up.)

In a large salad bowl, toss about 5 cups of fresh spinach (or 1 boughten bag) with 1 pint of sliced strawberries.

Dressing:

1/2 c. sugar (yes, 1/2 cup)

2 T. sesame seeds

1 T. poppy seeds

1 1/2 tsp onion, minced

1/4 tsp. worcestershire sauce

1/4 tsp. paprika

1/2 c. salad oil (such as canola)

1/4 c. vinegar

Put all dressing ingredients in a blender and mix well.

Toss with the spinach and strawberries.

Optional topping, after dressing the salad, are bits of bacon and sliced,toasted almonds. It really is gilding the lily, but if you REALLY want to impress, that's the way to do it.

Bon Appetite!

Did anyone else watch the Kentucky Derby?

I accidentally caught the Kentucky Derby this afternoon; I thought it had already been run, and turned on the news to get the highlights. Imagine my thrill to see them just going into the starting gate! After salivating over all the hats, I glanced over and saw Angus watching, too. Great! My little farm kid is going to see some horses!

There was the ceremonial stuff and then, THEY'RE OFF! Angus was completely unimpressed with the horses. He was VERY impressed, however, that PopPop's tractor pulled the starting gate away...

It was a thrilling race, and the long shot blew them away. I loved that the trainer was a cowboy, the horse had 50-1 odds, no one had any stats on him, and the media was scrambling. It was good stuff.

And did you see the hats those ladies had? Don't you want to go to the Derby just so you have a reason to buy one and wear it? I do.