Birth Order and Mitchell Patterson

Our oldest son is a typical "type A" personality, the firstborn who demonstrates leadership and drive. He has been gifted with many talents: he is athletic, musical, and very good at math/engineering. During this season of awards ceremonies, he was recognized as "Most Outstanding Chorus Member" and "Most Valuable Section Player." He even scored a 96 on a level six (collegiate/professional) state drum solo (he is in tenth grade). I am, of course, the proud parent. But it delights me to no end that his good friend, Mitchell Patterson, scored a 100 on his state solo. A perfect score there is quite rare. This same friend aced his SATs...with, you might have guessed, a perfect store. I think it's healthy that there is someone nearby who can "one up" my son. While my guy doesn't tend toward haughtiness, I want him to always keep trying, to keep improving. I like him to see that there is always something more to learn. The other night we were talking about Mitchell's home. I'd requested that J ask his friend what he'd done to prepare for the SATs (I was curious...what does one eat/do/study to get a perfect score?!). Apparently, everyone in the Patterson family has a computer in his/her room and very often, family members are tied to their respective supercomputers. Practice makes perfect? Side note written one week later: My son just scored a 100 on the English Regents. Now I'm the parent of a 100% What do I do?! Thank you: 100 (Icon) Things I Love from MarviMarti

Feeling Left Out

This morning I read in the newspaper that there will be a presentation/book discussion at a church up the road given by my mom and my aunt. I hadn't been aware.

I suppose I had only minimal involvement in the book itself. I did save the manuscript from the fire, if you will, and passed it on to my aunt who spent months at editing and word processing.

It was a blessing to know the book's author, my step great grandmother. For years I visited her and took her out to the circus or restaurants, despite the claims that she was dirty, crazy, and "not really part of the family."

The book was published after her death, and for some time I was included in marketing efforts and sales. I wrote a few pages that are included in the back, explaining my relationship to Mrs. Carr.

So I started feeling a little sad this morning, to be "left out" ( perhaps better said, "without notice"). Then I asked myself how often I fail to include God, my creator and companion, to the events in my life.

I can but try to be a better communicator, someone who invites others. I want to remind myself to take the long view, working hard to not forget the many hands that have helped me along the way.

Side note: last night's performance of Broadway Baby" by Women's Select Choir had me thinking of Pat.

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Cherry Trees and Flan

Yesterday we had the privilege of hosting five International students from Mexico. We walked along the canal, drove by some Cobblestones and braved the cold lake breeze at the pier.

They were excited to see their first real cherry tree. Their enthusiasm was adorable.

Here at home we had planned a menu that featured local ingredients like maple syrup and kale. Mr. WestberryDad grilled chicken, NY state style. I made a maple flan from our farm eggs.

It was their first home cooked meal in more than two weeks, as they have been living in a hotel and working twelve hour days at the amusement park. I enjoyed watching the food on the table disappear.

I was honored when one boy said, "thank you so much for the flan. It reminded me of home."

W had some extra help with his Spanish homework. N fed the animals with extra "farm hands." The girls squealed and giggled as the sheep took grain from their hands.

It was a delicious day.

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Shenanigans

There are times when I sense the grumpy old German in me rising up.

I don't, generally, enjoy silliness and boy shenanigans anyway. If I were to be totally honest I'd admit that even the sound of the dogs romping around makes me crazy ( they've been playing on top of this big box on the porch since it was delivered).

I was raised to believe that "when it's time to work, you work." "Play time is after the work gets done."

Last night we were working in the football garden, named so because it is nearly the size of a football field, and the little boys were playing at high speed. The truck radio was cranked up, windows down, and J was dancing on the seat, bed, and roof of the vehicle...MY Ford F150. W was using his garden sign as a bat, swinging at clumps of dirt.

And I was terrifically annoyed.

The older boys have dished out plenty of silliness these days, laying on the hammock reading "The Bro Code" and playing guitars or video games instead of doing chores and paperwork.

In my mind I've called them "numskulls," a word I heard as a child when my Grandfather was frustrated with me. http://www.dailywritingtips.com/numskulls-noodles-and-nincompoops/

How can I learn to be more patient with boy/puppy shenanigans?

I'm very, very grateful that "The Dad" is taking three of the four to a Boy Scout campout tonight...in the rain...while I work.  There's likely to be concentrated boy silliness there. Thank you WestberryDad!!!

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Jumping Fences

This is a picture of the fence I climb over as I walk through the park to work. Really, I'm supposed to:)

I really love working at the amusement park even if it's tough on the back and feet.

On Monday we took advantage of my employee benefits and purchased our season passes at a discount. Then we went into the park where we each chose a special treat that we shared across five of us...cotton candy, dippin dots, fried chicken, fried mushrooms and candy mouth spray.

Ok. I'll confess, I didn't touch the candy spray. I'm thinking that the appeal of "cherry flavored snake spray" is exclusive to little boys.

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A Plant Will Choose It's Own Home

This little rhodedendron (spelling) came from The Pillars, the childhood home of my grandfather. My mother threw herself under a moving bulldozer to save it.

I planted it in two different spits at the old farm, but it barely stayed alive and it never bloomed.

It seems to have found its home here at the new farm. We see new growth and, for the first time in 7 years, a blossom.

My Aunt Lynn said, "plants choose their homes." Does this little rhodey know that this farm is a "sister farm" to The Pillars, having shared work crews over the years?

It's blooms are a visible symbol of how we are all healthy and happy here.

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The Bulldozer Effect

4 boys get ready for school here every morning.

We've attempted to help them to be self sufficient. We provide the groceries, pencils, uniforms, etc. They are expected to rise and shine, feed and wash themselves, and pack up.

The result of this amount of activity is, "The Bulldozer Effect," where there is major destruction to the kitchen by the time they leave. Sometimes, entire segments of the room are pushed to the side or turned over. I even hear "men working" as they boss, cajole and raz one another toward the door.

When The Bulldozer Effect is used for good amazing things happen. Yesterday we all worked together under the direction of Miss Heidi, our neighbor, to put in a new rock garden under the porch.

We dug, hauled, chopped, and buried. The result is a beeeeuuuuutiful bed, full of ferns, hostas, and choral bells. Heidi brought over some red sedum, a Barberry Bush, and Monk's Hood.

Thank You Lord, for their strength and energy, today and always.

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