Swimming in the Swan

Maggie, building rock castles on the shore of Swan Lake. The green tube was coveted by all the kids! It was pretty cool.


Yes, those are Wayland's kids, and yes, I was the one taking the picture, not supervising within arm's reach...

Allison, testing the ice water.

Maggie and Allison have the same swim suits! We looked like a redneck swim team...

Honestly, the water was SO cold, I don't know how she was able to spend all the time she did out there.

The ferocious kid-eating tube....

Kisses!

Ben, getting brave with the tube.

Cold, cold, cold!

Celestia and Jasper joined us later in the evening, with a picnic lunch.

We went swimming at Swan Lake, Friday afternoon. In order to give you an idea of how cold the water was: go run yourself a glass of cold water out of the faucet, put 5 ice cubes in it and let them melt...THAT cold! We could get out and warm up in the sun, on the rocks, like lizards, but when the sun started to go behind the mountains, it was all over.

Choose your identity...

Have you noticed, at the bottom of the comment box on the blogs, there's a caption that says, "Choose Your Identity"? (It's okay if you haven't seen it, I may be the only one...play along.)

It completely intrigues me, that in this medium of communication, we get to choose our identity! As a child, I spent a lot of time trying on identities in play....pioneer woman, prom queen, cowgirl, princess, teacher, mother. There was no pressure to maintain that persona beyond the game of pretend.

I also remember the angst of trying on identities in high school. Was I a brain? Was I a jock? Class president? Back-of-the-class-please-don't-notice-me? I would see some of my classmates who had obviously settled that particular issue, and envied their confidence in themselves! (Truth be known, they were probably going through the same thing, just better actors...)

Through my twenties, I was still choosing my identity, only I didn't have as much time to spend analyzing it. There was too much to do! Too many people to meet! Rent to be paid and real live jobs.

Now I'm in my thirties...I won't say how far into my thirties....and I'm still working on the identity. But there's no pressure, and I'm really enjoying the process. I'm a lot different than I thought I would be, which is a surprise to my sister, specifically. She calls and wants to plumb the depths of my psyche, and when she's done (to her satisfaction), she basically tells me that I'm not who I was, and she can't figure out how I got here, from there. I'm assuming she means from childhood. And I would have to agree with her.

So, when I leave a comment for my blog friends, I look at that little phrase and wonder what identity I should choose. It's been a lot of fun to be The Farmer's Wife! But sometimes I am really tempted to leave a different name, such as Sophia Laurenz, or Jane O'Jungle, or Annie Oakland Raider.....

Little Man

My other baby, Angus, turned three on the 20th. Can you believe that? Three! And he is a very delightful three-year old; a stark contrast to what he was the first year of his little life. Angus was colicky for about 7 months. One time, I rather wearily remarked to his father that he'd have to get by on his good looks and charm, to which Wayland replied, "You'd better hope he's really good looking!"

Now, he's busy, cheerful, and yes, really good looking. Every day with Angus is an adventure! He has a chirpy little voice that can be heard commenting on absolutely everything he sees or has seen. His eyes are sharp and sparkly, and he knows how to use them to get what he wants, particularly from grandparents. (Wayland and I have become immune to the power he tries to exert...)

Angus likes frosting, loves anything John Deere, sings songs he's only heard a couple times, and hauls cats around everywhere he goes. He calls all older women "Grandma" and pats their arms. He's not afraid of water, bugs, most heights and the dark, but a sticker on his foot will paralyze him. (It's true, and his sister uses this knowledge for evil purposes.)

Raising a boy is a special job, and some days I don't feel adequate. But then, he'll come over to me while I'm doing dishes, hug my leg and say, "I hold you me, Mama," and we sit down and rock and snuggle, and I thank the Lord for my little man. And I realize we'll figure it out along the way.

This year, we'll be spending some time alone, when his sister goes to school, and I predict there will be much building of train tracks, dozing of dirt, capturing of bugs, chocolate milk mustaches, trails of cookie crumbs to the drawer where the cat is safely stowed....

Every day is an adventure, with Angus!

We're back!

Pretty much like this illustration, only without the mother-in-law and the dog...

Pictures to follow later, along with a riveting narrative of our adventures across the great state of Montana and back.

Code this...

I attended a budget workshop put on by the Office of Public Instruction, today, in Miles City. School finance, if you don't know it, is one of the more complex systems of rules, codes, numbers and nonsense found in the United States. There are a few strange individuals who think it's exciting and challenging. The rest of us find it confusing and frustrating. (I have the good fortune of having a friend who loves school finance, and I really and truly try to share his interest in coding things and calculating MOE and highest budget without a vote. I've yet to muster any sort of genuine affection or even tolerance of 15 figure codes.)

That being said, the people who keep the books for schools are earnest and dedicated, and I enjoy getting together with them occasionally and hearing about thier offices and professional opinions. It's interesting to sit in the back of the room and listen to how they approach various funding issues and personnel knots, and I love to watch otherwise conservative people get all fluffed up and huffy over a .632% error in OPI's spreadsheet. They are perfectionists, I would say, and when playing a quiz game, for chocolate, will actually get down in a huddle and start quoting Montana Code in defense of their answer. I'm not worthy to be in their midst, but I greatly enjoy it! (I haven't memorized even one subsection of the Montana Code....but I can find if, if need be.)

I think a lot of people aren't aware of the clerks and business people in their schools. They are often stuck away in offices, with computers and impossible deadlines, quarterly reports and transportation disputes. And they work all summer, despite the common misconception that everyone in the school leaves, when the students do. In Montana, June and July are hellish months for those in school finance. If you see a school clerk or business manager, this month, give them a hug or buy them a coffee. They will be completely shocked and pleased, and you will have made a huge difference in their day.

This will be my last post for about a week, because we are going to the land of no electronics! I can't wait to read all your goings on, when I return.

Grasshoppers, Eeewww!

Grasshoppers on my porch wall. They are that thick in the grass, too. Working over the hollyhocks...

They are COVERING the hose, in the grass!

This used to be a pea vine. Two days ago, it had soft green leaves and peas.

The tomatos, beans, spinach, lettuce and thyme are all being decimated.

But, NOT the yarrow! Apparently, even grasshoppers have some taste...

I'm reluctant to spray them, because of the kids, and besides, there are so many that I think I'd have to spray everyday. It's hard watching the flowers and vegetables just being chewed away!

Waterbugs

Girls, girls...big and little.

Don't you love that little smile? Skyler smiles with her WHOLE face.

Isn't it time for cake, yet?

My "other" girl.

Angus, taking a breath so he can go underwater, again. He's actually swimming, now, to the thrill of his daddy.

Warming up, after an hour in the pool.

The Frog is so cool!

Glamor girls.

Waterbugs, taking a break.

Today is my baby's 5th birthday! We celebrated with friends, yesterday, at the Frog Pond in Miles City after church, and those pictures will be posted later.

Maggie Isabella is so much more than I ever prayed for, and her personality defies any sort of accurate description. But here's a little sample of what she's like, everyday.

She will run around the yard, naked as the day she was born, but when asked to wear a skirt that's above her knees or a shirt without sleeves, she'll get all modest, and can't possibly be seen like that.

She will request both a tent and a balcony for her birthday. A princess really needs both.

She's not afraid of anything, but she worries about everything. To clarify, she'll play basketball with junior high boys at church (she thinks she's playing basketball with them. She's just running with the pack.), but laying in bed at night, she'll worry about the little momma bird sitting on her eggs in the drainspout, if it rains.

She will choose yogurt, carrots, strawberries and sliced red peppers over anything with frosting, any day. For her birthday cake, she wanted chocolate with NO frosting, please. And she had to help make it.

She is a perfectionist that has to have her little stuffed animals lined up just so before she can take a bath, yet when creating a work of art, will have supplies scattered from the table to the porch.

She prays for bugs, grandparents, people she met at the grocery store, pets she has and pets to be. She prays God's hand over loved ones, and I cry a little, hearing her.

Insatiably curious, surprisingly witty, strongly maternal, tender and tough. It's just such an adventure, being her momma, and I love watching her grow up, to be the woman she's going to be. What an incredible privilege, to parent this one!

Contraband Cleaner

In a few days, Traci and I, and our combined four children are going to load up in a Chevy Yukon and drive for 10 hours across the great state of Montana to visit our friends Celestia and Jasper. I know what you're thinking, and the answer is, "It seemed like a really good idea, in March, after a glass of wine at Bookclub...." Nevertheless, we're committed to going, and it will be fun, I think, when we get there and after a glass of wine.

Celestia called, yesterday, and I asked if there was anything we could bring them from Cohagen. (I know what you're thinking, and the answer is, "I KNOW there's nothing but a post office, here. And a lot of cows. But we have access to the best meat processing place in the country, and Celestia and I talk the same steak language.") But her answer surprised me!

"Could you bring us some --- ----'s shower cleaner?"

"S-u-r-e...(you know I had to ask...) why?"

"It's been banned in our county, and we can't get it here."

Now this is not Poland we're talking about, it's Western Montana! And they banned a shower cleaner in her county? The same people who use stuff on the road in the winter that eats away your metal rims on your tires?

I was aghast, and then asked what would happen if they were "caught" using it, in that county. The answer was that they would be fined.

I know what you're thinking. I was thinking it, too.
Two things:
1. What; do they have a County Banned Products Police that drops by the house, unannounced, searching your cupboards for illegal substances, like ammonia or *gasp* Pine-sol?
2. Is my vehicle going to be searched by that same law enforcement group, at the county line, and what will happen to me?

Can you BELIEVE that? In Montana?
I'm going to apologize aforehand, for making this comment, but I just have to....
this is what happens when Californians move in and take over the local government.

If you are from California, and moved to Montana, you'll know what I'm talking about, because there was a darned good reason you moved here.

So I'm going to get some of the contraband cleaner, today, when I go to Miles City, and maybe a couple extra bottles for myself. Because it must work great, to be worth smuggling in.

Can you believe that?

A swift kick in the butt...

I, too, have been needing what Calvin is peddling...this last week, in particular. For some unknown reason, I've had the blues and a very bad attitude. AND I thought I was covering it rather well, but apparently there are those incredibly perceptive people who are also brutally honest, that are my friends. (Isn't that a rotten combination? Perceptive and honest. Sheesh. All in the same package!)





I've been trying to lose the "Last Ten Pounds", and that has to be contributing to crankiness. Have you ever actually met anyone who lost the "Last Ten Pounds"? I, personally, have only met and conversed with three types of people: "I Wish I Only Had Ten Pounds Left!", "Last Ten Pounds To Go", and "I Wish I Could Gain Weight". That last category is one I rarely stick around to hear the story for. And I'm sure they have their struggles, but in the interest of their safety, I leave. I may accidentally drop my "Last Ten Pounds" on them, and then they'd have a whole new set of problems....





I'm also caught in the wicked, evil summer cycle of "I need to clean my house, but I want to be outside." There's guilt wherever I turn. If I'm outside weeding, my brain wanders to all the tasks I have inside. If I'm inside mopping, there's my brain thinks of all the weeding I need to do. No solace anywhere, and it can take a toll on a person.





I'm not seeing my friends, like I do during the rest of the year. Considering I'm a person who needs (perceptive and honest) people to bounce my rather cosmically silly thoughts off, to get perspective, it's a rough time of year. There's no Underground Bookclub, no C.U.P.S. scheduled, no SHMASBO conferences for another 11 1/2 months....as a result, I'm buried under my own mental junk. (As well as the general junk in the house that needs cleaned...)





So, whiners irritate me, and I've been aggravating the heck out of myself, being this way! Here's my plan:





1. Maggie has a t-shirt that says "Let's Focus on Me!"...I need to do the inverse of that. For pete's sake! Get a life!





2. Start running and walking with regularity, again. First thing in the morning. Before coffee. OOOHH, yes, that's gonna hurt.





3. Take the kids somewhere, once a week, for a mental health day. Them AND me.





4. Do something creative, daily, even if it's only for about 15 minutes. And I'm not talking about organizing my closet so it reflects the spectrum of the rainbow, or putting food coloring in the toilet tank for that special little "zing!".... That's not creative. That's just weird.





I need to thank a couple of friends for the "kicks", but I'm not going to name them, here. You know who you are....let's be honest, you're perceptive! Thanks.

Mountains? We don't need no stinkin' mountains...

Going for a hike, on the prairie. Maggie's only criterion was that there had to be trees, and Daddy must come.

Everything's more fun, when Daddy comes!

Wet Dog

This is one of my absolute favorite children's books, of all time. It MUST be read with a southern accent, even a bad one, and in order to appreciate it, you need to have had an ooo-hot, too-hot dog around. It's the perfect summer story for kids, and those of us who have a hard time growing up. (I read this last night, again, to Maggie and immediately Pam from Florida popped to mind! Hope you can get a copy, Pam. Let me know if you can't, and I'll send you one.)

And here are pictures of my own wet dog, Molly, swimming in a truly awful pond of water. Scummy, stinky, muddy water. Water a long ways from home, so she had to load up in the car, shortly thereafter, and share her splendid odiferous presence with the rest of the family. We're so proud....

For Aunt Bert...Guns Up!

Hey, Angus! Whatcha doing? Graciously turned around, so I could get the Red Raiders shot...
"Hey, what does your shirt say?"
"Guns up..."

The Beach Boys had it all wrong;

wish they all could be Montana girls!

Love you!

Quick! A post!

I have about 15 blog posts saved up in my head, and only 45 minutes of naptime left, in which to post something. Oh, the pressure!

I just made a pot of thick, black coffee, and I hear the laundry tumbling around in the washer and dryer. The house smells like my Grandma Mosby's house used to, in the summer, and that kind of makes me smile. Grandma Mosby smelled like Tide detergent, coffee, Irish Spring soap, fresh air and pink face powder from Woolworth's dime store. Especially in the summer, but even a little in the winter. And her house always smelled like coffee and Tide. Mmmm.

Grandpa Mosby, however, smelled of VO5 hair cream, Tide detergent, wintergreen lozenges, fresh air and leather, oddly enough. They both got outside a lot, Grandma to garden and Grandpa to take a walk while Grandma was watching her "show". (We weren't supposed to call it a soap opera; it was a "show", and we had to go for walks with Grandpa, too, when it came on, around 2 in the afternoon.)

Grandma Dutton smells like Ivory soap, cotton that has been ironed, paper and gingersnaps. The gingersnap smell comes and goes, but in my opinion, all grandma's should have a little of the gingersnap smell now and then. It's so cozy, that you just want to have a cup of tea, about 5 gingersnaps, and nestle down for stories from the good old days.

Gramps smelled like sunshine, sometimes wool, wood smoke or dust, and a little bit of aftershave. I don't know how someone can smell like sunshine, but he did. He had short, short hair that made pokies when you rubbed it the wrong way, and I loved to put my cheek against it.

Isn't it odd, how smells can take a person places they didn't buy a ticket for? Sights and sounds don't affect me nearly as much, but the sweaty smell of kids coming in from recess or the scent of good grass hay....those can take me on a time machine, to scenes I thought I'd forgotten. And not all are good, but most are.

And now I need to fold some of those clothes, because the coffee in my Red Raiders cup is almost gone, and I'm revived for the afternoon. I hear thumps and bumps coming from the "napping" children, and I know my window of quiet is about to shut for another afternoon.

No flying cows, thankfully...

Scattered showers. That's what the KULR8 weatherman said would happen. He did NOT say, "If you live in a single-wide trailer on the Montana prairie, you should find a basement somewhere this evening." Now, that would've been a helpful weather forecast.

I had just poured a very nice glass of white wine and put my feet up to read an old issue of what used to be Montana Agri-news (can never remember the new name), Maggie was watching a Tweetie Bird cartoon, Angus was snoozing in the chair. What a nice evening! Wayland, strolling through the kitchen on his way to find some sort of scuba thingee, glanced out the window and calmly remarked, "Huh. There's a funnel cloud..."

You guessed it. The one you want around in a panic situation would be him, not me.

I ran (yes, ran...he continued to stroll) to the deck, and sure enough, there was a funnel cloud. Closer to my domain than I was comfortable with. I prefer them to stay in Kansas and Nebraska, their natural habitat, and look at pictures of them in the National Geographic.

Speaking of the National Geographic, it occured to me to get my camera, which is really never far from my hand. I snapped a couple shots of the cloud up high, then we saw that it touched down, and I tried to take a picture of that, too, although I was thinking it might be a bit blurry, from the nerves.

We continued to watch the sky, Wayland rather matter-of-factly, me quite nervously. A few minutes later, the phone rang and it was Thelma G., telling us that perhaps we should think about finding a basement in short order, because the cloud had touched down on their shed and removed a portion of the roof, along with other damage that she hadn't assessed yet. She WATCHED it! And not from the basement, either.

After talking to Thelma, Wayland decided maybe it would be a good idea to go to his folks' place. If nothing else, to bring my blood pressure down. So we loaded up, quickly, and drove to Vern's, where Vern and I paced around the kitchen and the deck.

Nothing happened, gratefully, but after we got home, around 9:30, the heavens opened up and it POURED rain, here, answering our prayers. This morning is calm, wet and foggy, and we are happy to not be able to hay, happy our friends and family are alright, and happy to still be in an undamaged single-wide trailer on the prairie.

Touch down, in Green's yard.

Hard to see here, but the funnel is just under the powerline on the left, and touching down on the bottom right.

This is the first sight, through telephoto. It's remarkably clear, considering how scared I was.