A Little Patience

Running payroll isn't easy or quick today. Computer errors and interruptions abound and I'm up against a deadline (people generally expect to get paid on Fridays!)

I'm tired to the point that I wish for a caffeine drip instead of having to make coffee, pour it, and add milk.

Saturday morning I woke up to find that a boy child had been spray-painting a guitar in the laundry/computer room...newspapers, painter's tape, paint...everywhere. Black paint.

This loooooong winter certainly tested my/our patience. This past weekend we saw another six inches of heavy snow. Driving was treacherous as the temperature had plummeted through the afternoon, causing rain to turn to sleet, and then sleet to snow. It will be April 1st tomorrow, for goodness sake! I'm sick of mismatched mittens, missing hats, big boots, heavy coats, frosty windshields, and all of the irritations that go with frigid weather.

I usually have pea and lettuce seeds in the ground by now.

There are STILL abandoned lambs living in the house. They cause a mess whenever I let them out to eat or exercise.

I'm STILL waking up at 5 a.m. to feed them, while arriving to work 30 to 45 minutes late. I would like to be a responsible employee with a full paycheck again.

I want to cook pasta but my stove top is broken.

It's Science Fair time. Keeping a nine-year-old boy on track with such a large project stretched my already fragile nerves. Why doesn't he yet know that W-A-R-M isn't spelled W-O-R-M?! Where in the world did he get the idea that our sheep breed is almost extinct because people are eating more fruits and vegetables?!

How is it that God remains patient with all of humankind? We turn our backs to him, make huge messes of our lives, and destroy his beautiful creation.

I've cried out to him multiple times over the last few days. "Please God, give me patience."

The Power of Slow

Time has been a constant theme on my mind lately. I'm "in trouble" at the college where I teach for ending class early on a day when I was very tired and very sick. A student complained to the staff that she wasn't getting her money's worth.

Most professional educators seem to be of the "more is more" mindset - more testing, more standards, more technology, more homework, more workbooks, more seat work....I constantly feel as if I should be giving my students more assignments.

It takes me an hour to bottle feed five adorable abandoned lambs. I do this daily at 5 a.m., mid-afternoon (if possible), and 9 p.m. During the morning feedings I listen to gentle praise music, and I enjoy watching the babies hop, skip and jump around the kitchen. They playfully head butt one another and nibble at my clothes.

Somewhere in the 9:00 p.m. hour the older boys come home from school. They are usually very hungry and very tired. It's show week, and their rehearsals last all afternoon. Even once they arrive home they have homework and chores to complete. I can see that they are growing more and more tired every day.

The oldest turned 18 last weekend. It was difficult to find a time to celebrate his birthday WITH him. Yet, I'm very grateful for our church friends who treated him to breakfast, spent time painting a guitar with him, and took him to a water slide park. He is making memories.

During parent-teacher conferences for the younger boys it was suggested that TIME spent on homework and TIME spent together might help the younger boys rise to the "levels of fourth/second graders." They aren't tidy enough for their age. They are disorganized.

At first I felt a strong sense of mother-guilt. If I only had more time to spend with the children. If only the electric bill, car insurance, mortgage payments, etc. weren't so expensive that I could work less. If only they had grandparents or aunts and uncles who could spend time with them while I work. (If only I lived in Europe and had more than one lousy week of vacation per year.)

Instead, I'm resolved to give them time...to develop. Childhood is so short. Why fill it with MORE paperwork for the sake of learning to focus on details?

Let them be little. We have been spending time raising abandoned lambs, hosting students from Vietnam and Mexico, and helping a dear friend from Japan. These are also important life lessons.

Time together is so precious. I hope to keep that idea front and center as I choose my activities and make priorities.

A friend and beloved member of our community was moved to a Hospice room just this morning, where he will spend the last minutes of his life with his wife and child. I can imagine that there will be music and prayer. I'm grateful for Wayne's time here on earth. Please Lord, ease his pain.

Boys' Rebellion

The message given in church yesterday was especially moving. I saw the people sitting to my left in tears. I, however, was doing all I could to pay attention to the pastor's words, with one boy kicking me from underneath the pew and the other hanging on my side.

Since Mr. WestBerryWorkingDad has been away for work, the boys have rebelled. Or, perhaps, I'm tired and their antics bother me more than they might otherwise.

A teenager can't get himself off of the couch despite my begging and stern words. Two new lambs, born on a very cold day, weren't discovered for hours and hours because he didn't feel up to morning chores. Maybe he doesn't feel well; maybe he can't push through coming home at 2:30 a.m. after a Denny's feeding frenzy with The Band.

The Band played a St. Patrick's Day heavy metal festival in a nearby city. I sacrificed the use of the minivan and contributed cash for parking, meals and emergencies. And I kept an ear to the phone, because I believed the boys were there without adults to help.

The next morning (on The Band's Facebook page) I learned that other parents and a favorite teacher attended the show. It would have been nice to know (read: would have been nice to sleep).

It would have been nice to know that the baritone lesson was canceled. The boy who forgot to tell me is a young adult, but a child in the sense that he finishes the milk and doesn't let me know, and he springs the news of an overnight away trip on me the day of.

I found the two youngest boys hanging, mid waist, out of a second-story window yesterday, airsoft guns in hand. Reminder: "it's 9 degrees outside AND you could fall."

Back talk.
Whining.
School shoes ruined in the mud.
Aggression.

The sixteen year old grabbed the 7 year old's head this morning to "knock some sense into him." A poked eye. Crying. The 7-year old then begged me, out of fear, to let him go to school, after begging to stay home because he didn't feel well (I had even witnessed his dry heaves.)

For 18 precious hours I was able to visit with my best friend, who lives across the world. 16 of those hours were spent reminding the boys, "Please pick up your chess set. Please stop chain-burping. No potty-talk at the table. Please stop interrupting. Please wear a coat. Please help me with the dishes."

Oh....dishes. Bad subject.

At least Y and I made a ten year plan to meet in an exotic location for some rest and relaxation. Maybe Bali. Something to look forward to.

Paper Products

The songs we sing as we go about our business in our home say a lot about our state of affairs. For instance, the older boys were singing songs from the Disney movie "Frozen" last Monday when we found two newborn lambs covered in icicles out in the pasture.

A different set of abandoned twin lambs were christened "Mary" and "Joe." While I feed Mary RUN DMC's song "Mary Mary" keeps going through my mind (and bursting out of my mouth) (I looked up the video. It's very corny, typical of the 80's).

Little Joe has difficulty walking. His nervous system was underdeveloped at birth. So he takes a few steps, falls down, and then he can't get up on his own. I sing (screech, a la Steven Tyler) Aerosmith's "Walk This Way."

This morning the oldest boy was singing the hymn "God Will Take Care of You." I know he is exhausted from keeping up with performance schedules, bottle feedings, advanced placement homework, and scholarship applications.

Or, perhaps, he is trying to comfort me as we face another HUGE winter storm with more ewes to lamb, a broken stove top, and dwindling feed supplies.

I'm not feeling shaken, however. Instead, I've been admiring how the family of Ben Sauer is coping with the struggle against brain cancer that they are facing with their four-year-old twin. I'm thrilled to see Buffalo and Niagara Falls go "blue for Ben."

I'm grateful that my 9-year-old stayed home alone yesterday and he was safe. Of course, he let the lambs out to romp all day...across my newly cleaned floors.

But I have paper towels.

I have a terrible cold. But it's Spring Break (which means I don't have to teach at the college tonight) and I have kleenex.

There should be a song that celebrates paper products.

I Don't Care

I don't think I've ever told a child "I don't really care" before..until this week.

My third boy is a talker. A Chatty Kathy. A nine-year-old Talker from Talkersville. We think he has a great future in script writing or some other imaginitive, word-filled field.

I can usually tune him out and still mutter a few niceties like "Oh, that's very interesting" or "I see" in order to show and teach attentive listening and respect.

But this week I couldn't help myself. Drowning in exhaustion after milking sheep and nursing orphan lambs in the bitter cold, the words slipped out. "I don't care."

See, I'm up at 5 a.m., heading out to the barn, and then working diligently to get the four boys off to school and myself to work - lunches packed,hair dried, animals fed, forms signed, etc. etc.

Into this already chaotic environment he chimes in "I can't believe you changed the name of my sheep! That's so rude to change the name of someone's sheep." And "I'm out of magazine rounds for my airsoft gun. When I grow up I want to be an Airsoft Commander....something...something...blah...blah...weapons...something. Look, I was punctured by an airsoft bullet. Really I stabbed myself with a pencil but it looks like an airsoft bullet wound."

I don't care. I can't get distracted by The Airsoft Commander because I've arrived two hours late for work every day this week already.

I don't even care, right now, when we eat dinner or what we eat.

It's a miracle if I remember to pack my breakfast, since there isn't time to eat during the madness of the morning. On Tuesday I bought myself TWO cinnamon rolls at the local bakery (day old, 50% off) and I ate them both in one sitting.

And I don't care. It was Fat Tuesday anyway.

The oldest boy drove to the city yesterday to sign a performing contract. I half forgot, but his pocket dialed me along the way so that I generally knew what was going on. God knows the number of our days so no matter how much I worry (or care), he isn't necessarly safer on the road. A big truck hauling glass crashed on the expressway, sending shattered glass EVERYWHERE. Thankfully, he was a mile behind that accident.

The youngest came home with the worst weekly school report in family history. And I still don't really care.
I should, I know.

He is lying about his homework and being silly in class. It was suggested, this morning, that I take him to see a specialist about his energy level.

Instead, I'm putting all of my worrying and my cares on the table for now. Once this legendary cold spell breaks and he can go outside, his classroom behavior might just improve.

After a few nights of solid rest, my mood might improve too.

Miss Sue's Call

Every semester I have "the culture talk" with my students. We define culture, discuss features of American culture, and debate whether cultural changes are positive or negative. "What drives cultural change," I always ask?

Last night, I was surprised to see that the topic inspired many comments about cell phones and social media. Usually, my students consider these a "part of life" and they rarely pause to examine effects, consequences, trade-offs, etc.

Not this class.

I chimed in that just yesterday, I'd learned about the birth of a baby in my family, days after the event, via Facebook. I still find it "strange" to receive birth and death announcements via social media because I am, I guess, old fashioned. I prefer phone calls or, at least, an email when there is a major event.

In reality, I'm left to read about the passing of dear friends in the newspaper, sometimes too late to attend the memorial service or to pay respects. Sometimes I don't catch the story at all.

In reality, I don't see people just "popping in" or "borrowing a cup of sugar" much anymore. How can we be there to help at just the right time if we no longer take the time to visit?

I've often joked that people hesitate to invite us over to dinner because they are intimidated by the quantity of food that my four boys ingest. Or perhaps they are worried about broken chairs or muddy floors from four big football player-farmer boys sitting around the table.

This is why I'm especially grateful for Miss Sue's call.

Miss Sue is a neighbor and fellow church member. I'd tapped her husband on the shoulder a few weeks ago to describe my current situation and ask that he keep an eye on our house and the family. He owns a business that sends trucks out throughout the day and he owns the heavy equipment that we might need during a snowstorm. He agreed without hesitation.

At 9:00 a.m. Monday morning Miss Sue left a beautiful voicemail message for me. "Hi J. Just calling to see how you are doing. Do you need anything? Can we help? Ok. Just checking in."

It really meant a lot to me and I called her back this morning to tell her just that.

I work in an environment where people scratch and bite one another instead of team building. There's rarely a "good morning" or a "how is your day going?" exchanged. When I teach, I am in the one in a leadership/caregiver role.

So at the end of a "three job day" (throw in some orphaned lambs, severe cold weather, and a few energetic school-aged children), those were just the words I needed to HEAR.

Miss Sue's voice speaking my name... "just checking in."

Three Full Circles

Over the course of the last week, I've seen three situations/circumstances where life has come around "full circle."

1. Last year a young woman in crisis offered to give us her baby girl to raise (this is a story in and of iself). Saturday night we got to meet this mom and to hear that baby is doing well in her great aunt's home. The mom is getting healthier day by day. It was a strange, humbling, emotional experience for me to be able to hug her and to receive her thanks.

2. On Wednesday I worked as a sub in our local high school. I ran into a woman who had been my Biology teacher when she first started in our district. fresh out of college. Now, she teaches our two older boys. She went on and on about how she enjoyed having them as her students.

Now, back when I was her student it wasn't such a pretty picture...and I'm fairly certain she doesn't remember me (as the 15-year-old me, if you know what I mean). I haaaaated high school and she was a very gifted, but uncomfortable new teacher back then.

Imagine that! She would become one of my family's favorite teachers!

3. I've told this story a few times, but it fits the theme so I will share it again.
Many years ago I heard our pastor tell a story about parents who had lost an adult child while he was working out of state. They couldn't afford to bring his body home, nor could they afford a memorial service. So Pastor E. went to his car, grabbed his guitar, and held an impromptu memorial service right there in their trailer.

I vowed then that my own children would learn to play an instrument if, for no other reason, but to comfort others in this way.

On Saturday J played his snare drum (and both J and N sang in the choir) for the memorial service of a fellow farmer who lost his life after battling an infection in the area of a knee replacement. Midway through the performance, his widow was moved to stand up and salute the choir and J, on the drum. It was a very beautiful moment.

Speaking of performances, last night I went to see a play, where I saw my uncle and our large animal vet perform in drag for the duration of the show. I'm still trying to get my mind around that one! J, who is 7, announced, "that was weird." I rather agree.



If We Never Meet Again This Side Of Heaven
From "My Mother's Hymn Book"
Johnny Cash


Soon we'll come to the end of life's journey
And perhaps we'll never meet anymore
'Til we gather in Heaven's bright city
Far away on that beautiful shore

If we never meet again this side of Heaven
As we struggle through this world and its strife
There's another meeting place somewhere in Heaven
By the side of the river of life

Where the roses bloom forever
And where separation comes no more
If we never meet again this side of Heaven
I will meet you on that beautiful shore

All they say we shall by the river
Where no spurn clouds ever darken the sky
And they say we'll be happy in Heaven
In that wonderful sweet by and by

If we never meet again this side of Heaven
As we struggle through this world and its strife
There's another meeting place somewhere in Heaven
By the side of the river of life

Where the roses bloom forever
And where separation comes no more
If we never meet again this side of Heaven
I will meet you on that beautiful shore