Heavenly Homemakers

You learned a bit about my school life…now I’ll tell you more of my home life. Here are some farm memories..in no particular order:

• My dad was a farmer when I was growing up. He was busy all the time. My parents did a good job of hiding it from us kids, but there was a lot of financial stress. It was at that time that my dad went to school to learn how to “talk fast” (to be an auctioneer). He also referreed basketball in the winter. He did odd jobs for other farmers. He worked hard (still does). 
• I remember long, hot, busy summers. My brother helped my dad in the field…I helped my mom in the house. Often we had teen boys living with us during the summers to help my dad on the farm. I always thought that was fun. My mom didn’t. I think it was something about all the extra laundry and cooking they caused. :)  Those summers, I would bake a batch of cookies every day. By the time I was a fifth grader…I could bake them with my hands tied behind my back (er, so to speak).
• I remember taking lunches to the field during wheat harvest. I loved it. My mom didn’t. Sometimes I would spend the day at my grandma’s helping her get food ready to take to the field. I also spent a lot of Saturdays at Grandma’s when my dad had auctions before I was old enough to help. I LOVED being at Grandma’s. I got my love for baking and cooking from her. 
• When I was old enough to learn to drive, my dad tried teaching me to drive a stick shift. I have extreme traumatic memories of that. Driving a stick shift vehicle was harder for me than popping a balloon with my bootie….and we all know that the balloon never popped. Neither did I learn to drive a stick shift. I still break out in hives just thinking about it. 
• Kevin and I were in 4-H…and raised pigs each year. I always started the summer pretending that my cute little pigs were my pets. After a long…oh, I don’t know…two days or so…the pigs weren’t cute anymore. They were big, smelly, and a lot of work. And one summer….they kept getting out of their pen. Sometimes I would be the only one home. Like I could get big, fat, snorting pigs back into a pen by myself? Oh the stress. 
• And also….about the pigs? We took them to the fair every year to be judged. Have you ever tried to walk a pig around in a big pen in front of judges and before a big crowd of people? (hives, again)  Anyway, one year, both mine and Kevin’s pigs looked exceptional to the judges. He got grand champion pig, and I got reserve grand champion pig. We both got Golden Pig Trophies (if you think I’m kidding, I’m not). It was one proud day when I walked away from the fair with my golden pig trophy. Wonder what ever happened to that trophy?
• Here’s my most favorite memory of growing up on a farm:  Oh wait…that’s going to take too long to write. I think that will be a part of chapter three. :)

Sooo…did any of you grow up on a farm? Anybody break out in hives driving a stick shift? Ever have any pigs in your yard? Have any Golden Pig Tropheys to brag about?!

I was born on the very first day of my life in a small Kansas town. 

My brother, Kevin was only 14 months old. My mom often talked about how difficult…and how fun it was to have two babies so close together. We grew up much like twins, doing new things at the same time. I don’t think the “birth order thing” really applies to us so much, since we were so close in age and he a boy and me a girl. 

My parents would have loved to have more kids…but when I was three my mom developed a tumor in her uterus. She had surgery, then months of treatments. I don’t remember any of that time.  Grandmas and aunts and neighbors took turns helping to take care of us while Mom was weak and sick. She told me once that during that time, she wished so badly that she had the strength even to just fold a load of laundry. I try to remember that wisdom when I feel whiny about all the laundry I have to fold.

Mom made a full recovery and the cancer never came back. Mom and Dad would celebrate her birthdays heartily, having learned the hard way that life is precious.

When I started school, I had a very hard time…probably because of some insecurities I developed when my mom was sick and I was passed around a lot. My mom always felt bad about that. I cried a lot at school and had tummy aches. I finally “came out of my shell” a little in the seventh grade. (I never knew I was in a shell before that…but that’s what my volleyball coach told my mom. What am I, a turtle?)

Here are some exciting memories you’d probably love to hear about my school years:

• In first grade we put a note and our school address inside a balloon and sent them off from the playground. Months later the school received a letter from some guy in California. My balloon had made it all the way from KS to CA and lived to tell about it. I was a six year old celebrity. (I mean, they put an article in the Pratt Tribune and everything.)
• Ooh, another first grade balloon memory… For our class Christmas  party, one of the moms had us play a game where you had to sit on a balloon and pop it. I gave it all I had, but I could NOT pop my balloon (I was so stinkin’ scrawny). Kristina’s mom finally came and pushed down on me real hard to get my balloon to pop. It still didn’t pop. All the moms laughed and I thought they were laughing at me. (sniff)
• In the fifth grade, we did a musical called, K.I.D.S. Radio. My friend had to do a solo called, “Figaro”…about a dog and she had to sing, “Bow Wow, Bow Wow” several times. I was SO glad I didn’t have to sing the Figaro song.
• I hated P.E. Always.
• I cussed twice in the fifth grade. I called Wesley a “Jack—“. I said it to impress Joey. I’m pretty sure he was impressed. That summer, I cried and confessed to my mother my potty mouth. I never cussed again.
• I started to play sports in the seventh grade. I played volleyball and basketball and ran track. I was never very good, but I tried hard. (Kevin got all the athletic genes.)  When we lifted weights in high school, I was always the one who “benched” the least amount of weight. It was that scrawny thing coming back to haunt me.
• My junior year, I tore a ligament in my knee while playing volleyball, which pretty much killed my sporting career, even though I didn’t really have a sporting career to begin with. For a few months, I had to wear a thing on my left leg that was half cast – half brace. The only kind of pants I could wear were sweat pants. I bought a pair of sweats in every color and even wore them when I sang in choir concerts. Lovely. My left leg is still slightly smaller than my right leg (muscle wise). Lovely.
• I played the flute.
• I had 17 kids in my graduation class. Impressive number isn’t it?

Well, we’ll stop there for now. Did you hate P.E. or love it? Did you play an instrument? Could YOU get a balloon to pop with your bottom in the first grade? (sniff)

As if you don’t already know too many things about me….I thought I take my Christmas break to tell you everything about my life and more (or less). Then, you can decide if you still want to read my blog or not. (Oh, please come back.)

Really, I just figured that it would be good for you to know more about the whole me. About what has shaped me into the person I am today…then you can read and watch as I continue to be molded by God. It’s hard to look back on your life sometimes and see who you used to be. But really, isn’t that the point of growing and being molded? 

We can’t start out the way we will end up. (Wow, Laura. Profound.)

I really will try not to bore you with too many details. Like what color of shirt I was wearing when Matt and I went on our first date (red and white striped, button up, by the way) or what my favorite cereal was in Kindergarten (Cheerios). And I’ll try to refrain from telling you about all the thousands of ways my brother tortured me growing up. That’s another book in and of itself.  I guess that’s what helped me grow into who I am today too, huh? (Although I don’t see how him pouring water into my ear while I tried to sleep really helped me grow into a better person, do you?)  (Perhaps I have some bitterness issues?)  (Ah, Kevin…you know I love you.)  (Like Kevin actually reads my blog?)  (Yeah, well his wife does…so I’d better be careful.)  (Hey, Michele! What’s up? Great guy you married, that Kevin.)

I find it hard to pick and choose what information you really should learn about me. Like…do I really want you to know what my high school nickname was? It’s horrible. And…I’ve shared some pretty dorky things I’ve done in the past…do I really want you to know more? 

And, some things are painful to write. What deep places within my heart do I need to draw from to share with you? 

I think I’ll just start writing and let God lead me. My prayer is that what I write will be beneficial to you and encourage you. I hope to make you laugh. But it isn’t all funny. I may have to skip some of those parts.

Thank you for being my audience.