Everything But The...

       Sometimes I feel I've tried everything but the kitchen sink. Actually, in respect to raising kids and home management, I probably have.  My stick-to-it-iveness is the problem. Or maybe it's that in a very large family no day is like the one before; there are schedules and sports and appointments. For years, there was a new baby every 14-20 months. I wondered when things would return to normal.

       Then I realized that normal for us was the state of flux. I've read so many books on organization. I wrote a blog post about some of them. Each has something very helpful, though it is unrealistic to expect just one to fit our family long term. I still like referring to them. Life just keeps changing. Marie and Susanna have moved into an apartment together, we have no foreign exchange students and so we "only" have 6 children at home. They are all school-aged, which is wonderful. For the first time in literally decades I was home alone some days of the week this past school year.

       The children are on summer break now. In times past we organized home "camp" days but this summer they range in age from almost 13 down to 6 and the older boys aren't excited about "Pirate Day," or "Astronaut Day." We still do a lot of learning serendipitously, though. We've been playing with the animals more, and their chores involve feeding and watering them, moving the ponies from stall to coral, and collecting eggs from the chickens. It used to be that I had to limit television. Now it is limiting computer and X-box time.

       Yesterday they played for hours outside, the weather cool. It was so much fun to see them running around with backpacks and plastic Nerf guns, working as a team. Ben would stop to roll around on the grass with some dog or cat. Max and Gus moved stealthily into the barn to avoid enemy wasps. Thankfully, no stings.

       They also love swimming in the pond (all swim well), paddle-boating and canoe-ing. Red is a great color for the canoe because I can locate them easily on the pond. Gus loves it especially. We have taught them boat safety, and our pond is small.

       There are still days where they claim boredom; those are the days I send them outside. "What do you think children have done all the thousands of years before air conditioning and computers??" "Aw, Mom, that was the olden days--kids do different things now!" Watching them play Army yesterday reminded me of playing with my brothers forty-five years ago. It doesn't have to be so different. Many families have stricter rules and even no computer time or X-Boxes. I respect that.

       Instead of feeling like I've failed at a given tasj, I remind myself to take from it what I can and move on. That's not to say I don't get down about it sometimes.  I tell myself, like Dori from "Finding Nemo" repeated: "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming." Jesus told the disciples that if a town didn't welcome them to kick the dust off their feet, to keep doing what they were meant to do. Disappointment and negativity can render one ineffective and hopeless.

       Not today! Today I had the kids formulate a contract of turns on technology and initial it. They abided. Some broke off to play piano, clarinet and guitar, and the others went to the pond.

       Then we made cookies. A double batch in my giant new Kitchen-Aid mixer. Marie and Susanna are excited to inherit my old tilt one. Over the years they helped mix thousands of cakes and cookies with it. Before they were born I used it to bake wedding cakes and birthday cakes and our family's favorite Dobos Torte. Unless you have a Hobart or a commercial mixer, I think a Kitchen-Aid mixer is the best small appliance. My KSM-90 is still going strong after 28 years. I hope my new larger capacity mixer will, also.

       So here's the recipe. "Everything But The...Kitchen Sink Cookies." If you don't have a Kitchen-Aid, it will be quite the upper body workout. I doubled the recipe, but that won't work in a 4 or 5 qt. bowl. You'd need this baby (or a Hobart--lucky you!):

Everything But The Kitchen Sink Cookies 

Beat together:

1 cup butter, softened

1/2 cup white sugar

1 cup dark brown sugar

1 1/2 tsp pure vanilla

Beat in:

2 eggs

Stir dry ingredients together, and mix in slowly:

1/2 cup coconut flour

1/2 cup unbleached white flour (I like King Arthur Brand)

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

Stir in very slowly:

2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats

1 cup organic dried coconut (or whatever you have)

1/2 cup chopped pecans

1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

When well combined, drop by tablespoonful onto an ungreased cookie sheet and bake til golden in a 350 degree oven (about 10 minutes). Cool on baking rack.

You can add other ingredients. A basic oatmeal cookie is one cup flour and three cups oats. I have purchased gluten free oats before and ground some to make the 1 cup of flour. I've added crispy rice cereal, granola, different types of chocolate chips and different nuts. You could even add cinnamon or some almond extract. Today I thought dried cherries would be good, but I didn't have any on hand.

       Have fun with the recipe. If I struck a cord with you, if you are also an organizational book junky yet have failed to find just he right system, perhaps we're ok the way we are. Just be sure to take one day at a time and to kick the dust off your feet from the methods that don't work. Keep moving on and doing what you do best.

Ebbs and Flows and the Farmer's Spirit

 
    It amazes me that a year ago I shared pictures of the flooding Missouri River. Farms were ruined, families moved because of it. Those who stayed planted crops that, up until May, were doing great. Then the drought hit. Luckily, most harvested an early hay crop. But the corn that started off so energetically, a foot high by June, barely produced any ears and was dry by early August. God bless those farmers who persevered after the flood only to be hit by a drought the next season.

     Hay has doubled in price. There is less of it. I believe hopes of a second cutting were unfulfilled. It's a vicious cycle because the cattle still need to be fed. We normally don't start feeding hay until November. We have begun already.  Food prices will soar because of the limited hay and corn crops. If you didn't know it, corn products and by-products are in many, many foods.

     It is good if you can put in a garden for your family or be a member of a local community supported agriculture group. We have the latter here in town and we're members. I'm glad to support the local farmers. I keep thinking I'll get a garden in "this year," but it always seems to turn into "next year." It will happen one day. Mary Pat's school-bus driver tells me about her prolific garden. She crochets a blanket for her grandchild while Mary Pat is being strapped in, and she tells me all about it. Each year she puts up hundreds of quarts of vegetables. Her hard work and self-sufficiency inspire me.

     The farmers do, too. Our neighbors have been farming for generations. Vince helps us set round bales (giant five and a half foot diameter hay bales) with his big tractor. One day the front axle broke as he was lifting the bale high. Vince, almost 70,  popped down, rubbed his chin and just stared. I was impressed with his calm. I told him I'd probably be react by whining and fussing. He just looked at me with wise, clear eyes and said, "But that wouldn't change things." He turned back to the tractor and continued thinking out loud, "I have a brother with a welder, and I'll just get this off and have him help..." Later on I told his wife how thankful I was that it had happened at such a slow speed and not as he was driving over here. She said, "Well, we would've dealt with that, too."  I pushed, "But Vince could have been hurt!" She answered with the same calm as her husband. "We're farmers--that's part of farming life and we deal with what comes."

     Deal with what comes. A farmer I'd mentioned last fall during the floods was one who had to move. He's moved yet again to another farm on higher ground. He and his wife are happy. It could have been so much worse. They have each other and their family. And this new farm is actually closer to her parents and her church. It is probable that his crops have not done well this year. But I bet he'd be thankful that they weren't wiped out like last year.

     A verse in the Bible has been lived out by the farmers I know: "Be anxious for nothing, but by prayer and supplication make your requests known to God. And the Peace of God which passes all understanding will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." (Phillippians 4:6-7)

     I'd do well to remember that.

God bless you,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

There are ways to support our country's farmers both locally and on a larger scale...check out Farm Aid. And don't forget to keep them in your prayers.

Peace In The Abbey

    

     September is a tough month for my late husband’s family. Bob died in early September. A year later, on the heels of 9/11, our two nieces were killed by a tornado at the University of Maryland. Bob’s birthday was in September, and his Mom died on the last day in September.

     Each year September rolls around with heavy certainty and each year we comment about its arrival and feel the crushing weight of grief. Perhaps the weight lessens over time, but there are moments. Those of us who have lost loved ones know that it is not easy. But we also know that we must go on, and we must find a way to take one day at a time, sometimes one breath at a time.

     Tonight the girls and I went to Mass at Benedictine College. It was a quiet, dark night, the students coming from all directions of the campus. The President smiled to each as he walked up to the door, calling many by their first names. There were smiles as we entered. The peace of the sanctuary was comforting, almost on a physical level. Mass was beautiful.

     The readings from the Bible were from Ezekiel, Philippians and Matthew. Father Justin talked about two kinds of lives, one that hears the Word and doesn’t live it, and one that both hears it and lives it, despite the difficulty, despite the cost. Life is not always fair, nor is it always easy. We have choices presented to us every day to do what is right. Each time we do we are given grace. Bruce and I tell our little ones that this is the stuff of the Real Superheroes. The more we do the right thing, the more grace we receive and the more natural it becomes. We become stronger.

     It is not easy with death and suffering.  I think of the Apostles, confused and shaken after Jesus’ crucifixion. How could twelve men have catalyzed the faith for millennia? What if they had gone into hiding and never emerged. No one would have blamed them. With the power of the Holy Spirit, breath by breath, day by day, they did what Jesus told them to do. And that is what we must--even in the dark times, the confusing times. We may not always succeed, but we must try. As Mother Teresa taught, success is not necessarily in “succeeding,” but it is in the diligent attempts filled with love.

     At the front of the Abbey is a mural. At the very top is an image of a Godly face—the Holy Spirit—breathing on Jesus and depictions of the life of St. Benedict. Tonight I realized that the breath was directed at the whole congregation. And I felt it.

     After Mass we quietly prayed and left the Abbey Church. Smiles and hugs and glazed donuts were exchanged outside. The energy and faith of the young college students was inspiring. Out on a dark Sunday night to worship and fellowship, and to do what Christ called us to do: to take his Word and to go and live it.

     God bless them. God bless us all, especially in difficult times. Help us to hold on, to trust Him. There are blessings to come. New life, love, births, weddings, peace and joy. We may feel momentarily unable, that we don’t have the power. But He does.

Suzy,

The Abbey Farm

Teenagers!

    

     I was recently in touch with one of my childhood friends (thanks to Facebook), and found myself explaining why I would miss yet another High School Reunion. Once upon a time I was Vice President of the Senior Class at Hereford High School. After graduation I helped organize our five and ten year reunions but after that, life got really busy.  It seems the best I can do these days is to try to find old friends and classmates on Facebook and spread the word.

     It’s our thirtieth now. I remember my High School as though it were yesterday. Mine was not a perfect experience, but it was a good one. Good teachers, good friends, good fun; a lot of learning, and not just of the academic sort. Sometimes I was just plain lucky--or had a great Guardian Angel!

     Wouldn’t it be fun to go back in time with all we’ve learned in our adult years? I now give such amazing advice to my High Schoolers! They may not think so, but they’ll see someday. A thought ran through my head the other day while talking to Bobby about his religion class on the drive to school (he is back for a second year!).  The thought was how much I enjoy the teen years. Perhaps it is because of my own experience, or that my job for the first decade and a half out of college was working with teens.  Whichever reason, the teen years are a unique time of experiencing life in a new way, an exciting and potentially confusing way.

     I’ve known teens who had little adult support. Though my teenagers might feel it would be a luxury to have the latest iPhone, computer, Wii, X-Box 360 (all in their bedrooms), and no curfew or dating rules, I’ve seen the downfalls of affluence abuse and neglect, and the absence of parental support and structure.

     “No,” I tell mine, "you can’t meet at the local donut joint at 2am because everyone else is,"  "you can’t date until you’re sixteen, "you can’t be out past 10pm on a non-school night" (a formal might be an exception but then there’s a list of rules there, too).  I need to be asked first if they get a ride home, and need to know that person’s number and home address. I’ve said no to certain events. But we talk it out, and though they may not like a particular decision they understand our rationale, and they know it is out of love.

     "Rules without Relationship=Rebellion." The relationship, the love, has got to be there.

     Multiply all that by the number of teens we’ve raised/are raising and it can be challenging, but rewarding. There are six more coming along in our household. I'd better like it, I guess, because Bruce and I will be doing it until we're nearly 70. Crazy? Maybe. Paradoxically awesome? I think so.

     Hence, there is little time for my reunion. I will miss catching up, but like a wedding, I’d probably still come away wishing for more time with each person. To my old classmates and friends who read this: "I am sad, and I will really miss you, but perhaps I’ll get there for the Grey-Hair-and-Cane Reunion.” I sure hope so. Life is precious. Teen years are no exception.

God bless,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

PS: Thanks, Shari!

Henry The Bull

    
     Growing up on a cattle farm, I spent hours and hours in the pasture. My mother warned me to stay away from "Henry" the Black Angus Bull, and I did. His progeny were a different matter. Over those years I perfected a method of befriending the steer and the calves. Cattle are shy creatures. I patiently gained their trust. I'd get closer and closer to them over a few days and then sit and wait. Their curiosity piqued, they would inch closer, necks outstretched, nostrils snorting and breathing deeply. I would offer an apple then, and bristle-y tongues would dart and arc out of their mouths to chance a taste. The group would move as one, but there was always a leader a little more bold than the others. He'd get the first contact and back up, the whole group backing away with him. He'd come again and again. Finally, he'd get a bite of apple.

     I considered it a success if I managed to get a touch or a pet in. They were cute. The mothers were remarkably trusting. Henry pretty much stayed away, and ate to fuel his giant body. Years later as an adult, I'd still enjoy watching the Black Angus herds on neighboring farms. Susanna was two or three when she asked to go see the "Black Mangoes." Took me a minute, but with a laugh we jumped in the car and did just that.

     A well-known method of relaxation is to imagine yourself in a peaceful place, maybe on the beach or at a park or beside a bubbling brook. To this day, my place of refuge is in the pasture, under the trees on the farm where I was a child. We had no PC's, no videos, no cell phones. No, but we did have hours and hours of play, adventure, exercise, creativity and make-believe. I want to be sure that my children have that.

     Old Henry? He really was calm--except when a neighboring Hereford Bull broke out one day. Henry cracked out of the post-and-rail fence as though it were chopsticks, and faced off. He'd be sure that no other bull would get to his cows. Mr. Mayo, Henry's owner, saw it all and raced to the scene. With courageous effort he managed to scare off the other bull. Henry, however, would not budge. The story goes that Mr. Mayo had to grab a 2 X 4 to "convince" angry Henry to go back through the broken fence.  It was about the only Henry drama we ever knew.

     A few years ago we acquired a bull calf. A Jersey. We named him Henry. It didn't take long for us to realize we'd have to either castrate him or sell him (what were we thinking?). Luckily, a local woman who milks her own cow needed a young calf. Her cow's calf had died and she wanted to see if Henry would be accepted by her; that is, if we could part with him. We were happy for Henry to have a better purpose in life than to fulfill a memory or a whim of mine. He didn't need to be paraded over little jumps and ridden one day (cattle do jump!). We certainly would never have been able to send him to slaughter. We had bonded, and he was just too cute.

     There are so many good memories of the old farm that I'm thankful for. It's why I asked Bruce if we could try our hand at small-farming. It's a lot of work. Bruce's co-workers talk about perfect lawns and carpentry workshops and television viewing. Bruce plays with children and cuts grass. Many children and lots of grass. He never complains. I love my suburbian-raised husband for loving me enough to take on this farm. He says he loves our place, too.

     I don't think we'll ever raise beef cattle. I just have too many memories of my friends,
 the Black Mangoes.

Suzy,

The Abbey Farm

Photography by my brother, Chip Greene

Floating

   "On a cloud," "subbing at work" or "like a boat" are more common applications of the word "floating." Lesser-known is "filing of horse teeth." Horses' teeth grow continuously until old age when they begin to wear down. It's a fairly steady process so that a horse's age can be determined by its teeth. Most of us are familiar with scenes in a book or movie when people argue over the age of a horse and someone yanks open the horse's mouth to look inside. Horses are grazing animals and eat for a good part of the day. Their side to side chewing action causes sharp edges to build up on the sides of their teeth. The sharp edges become painful and can interfere with eating. So we need to "float" them.

     I once created quite a problem when I had my horse's teeth floated. It was one of those times where the unfortunate or ridiculous happens, when certain conditions and events fall into place for no reason to annoy us, to confound us, or to get us angry. Though we don't have a choice that it has happened, we do  have a choice as to how we react.  Patience and temperance are virtues. I claim to be no expert, but it is my job to teach them to my children. It makes me feel better to consider that the Olympic coach who can't perfectly execute the "Round-Off, Back Handspring, Back Somersault"-- can teach someone to do it.

     I love the movie, "To Kill A Mockingbird."  I love Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch and Robert Duvall as Boo Radley. There are profound lessons in the movie. Lessons on prejudice, innocence, law, justice, disabilities, and my favorite: self-control. Atticus Finch is my hero. Watch the movie to the end and see why.

     We are called to be good examples to our children. We need to teach them self-control and self-reliance, as well as humility and how to accept help.  A predator picks off a victim and separates it from the herd. When we are separated and alone we are most vulnerable. God knows, we need each other. For help. For inspiration.

     Goodness, what has this to do with horse teeth? Our vet's patience was stretched, I'm sure, when I insisted he come to our farm to float old "George's" teeth. George was an extremely large Thoroughbred, standing 17.1 hands at his withers (base of his neck). That's 69 inches; an average sized man could barely see over his back. I was unable to find a trailer big enough out here in "Quarterhorse Land" to fit him. As much as I wished, I couldn't cut a hole in the top of ours and transport him like the circus animals on the train in "Dumbo." So I asked the vet to please come to us.

    
     Our vet has a great facility. He has the newest equipment. In the "olden days" of my youth we grabbed the horse's tongue, pulled it to the side which forced the mouth open, felt around bravely and somewhat blindly for sharp edges and inserted a rasp (large 1 1/2" X 18" file) to grind down the edges. Inevitably, a finger would get chomped on, scraped or cut. The vet has a much better system. He has a speculum which is inserted into the horse's mouth and secured by a halter. He has an electric burr grinder attached to the end of a two-foot metal pole with a trigger that starts it. And he has a stall-like "stock"  for the horse to be secured in, standing. The owner brings the horse to the facility. The horse is put in the stock, given a mild sedative and the halter/speculum is put in place. Then a lead shank (rope) attached to the halter is thrown over the top of the stock to hold the horse's head up, mouth open wide as the vet burrs away. It is very convenient and efficient.

     Coming to our farm was neither convenient nor efficient, but Dr. McCool graciously consented. Yes, his name is McCool. He is cool. He and his wife are both vets and are fantastic people. We are blessed. Truly. But I don't think he felt blessed that day.  I think we ultimately fell into that "extremely frustrating and annoying event" category for him. George had stood perfectly well all his life to have his teeth floated the old fashioned way. This, I knew, would be a breeze. After parking his truck near the barn, Dr. McCool drew up a smaller than usual dose of tranquilizer, explaining that Thoroughbreds were sensitive and did not need as much as some breeds. George patiently endured the injection, we placed the halter and speculum on him and Dr. McCool threw the rope attached to the halter up and over the rafter just above the stall door. It was tied at just the right height for the doc to peer straight into George's mouth. George was perfect.

     Until he began to sway. To Dr. McCool's "No, no...Oh, no...", George's twelve hundred pounds pitched forward and collapsed. Halter still tied to the rafter, he was suspended by his head.  I froze, wide-eyed, but Dr. McCool deftly pulled a knife from his pocket and sliced the rope. George fell. Thankfully, no broken neck. He lay there and groaned in a drugged stupor, his mouth still open wide.

     Dr. McCool probably wondered why he let this crazy redhead talk him into coming out. He threw all his equipment back into the truck. For me, all at the same time I was amazed, relieved, embarrassed and kind of--fascinated. George was breathing and relaxed and in no pain. He was lying on his side with his head sticking out of the open stall door. I couldn't help but get down on my knees and stare into his gaping mouth. I'd never seen it all so clearly and still. I reached deep inside and found the sharp edges of his teeth. I felt his velvety smooth tongue. A horse's mouth is cavernous. I kept repeating, "Wow!" Slowly and resigned, Dr. McCool came back with his equipment. With a sigh he dropped down beside me. His face was calm. I moved over, and he proceeded to finish the floating job--lying down.

     In the end, George had smooth teeth. I had a bigger than usual bill because of the farm-call. That was understandable.  What made it a little bizarre, was that in hanging George from the rafter, an electric conduit was crushed, cutting off electricity to half the barn and requiring yet another farm-call:  the Electrician. A floating that should have cost $25.00 ratcheted up to $300.00.  There was nothing I could do. On the bright side, George was uninjured and healthy. Dr. McCool went well beyond the call of duty.

     There are certainly tougher things that happen in our lives: serious illness, loss of work, death. The little annoyances are trial runs, so let's not sweat the small stuff. Our character should be shaped, not distorted. The tough stuff will come. I learned that when I lost my husband, Bob, suddenly. What sustained me was God, my family and my friends. People said, "I can't imagine what you're going through." The truth is, I couldn't either. I had no choice but to go through it. One breath at a time, one moment at a time. There was deep pain, but I can say there was no panic, no shock, only a oneness with the Holy Spirit that I cannot describe. I told Him He needed to carry me. He said He would. And He has, so very far.

     Stressful mornings before school, spilled milk, difficult teeth floating and annoying events don't compare with death. I have found myself remarking that I weather the tough stuff better than the small stuff. I need to work on my reactions to the smaller things for the sake of my children. They need good examples of patience and temperance and self-control.  Like Atticus Finch.  And Dr. McCool.


God bless you,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

Organization!

     I took a “day off” and attended a Lenten Retreat last week. Dr. Edward Sri, theologian, author and former professor of our oldest daughter, spoke on Love and Marriage. He's a great speaker and even had Susanna and her two teenage friends laughing and thinking hard. I sat with the wife of Bruce’s former boss. We hadn't seen each other in a few years; Bruce and I have had two more children since then, so it was fun catching up. She said to me, "That's hard, managing so many children and a home! You must be so organized!"

      Uh--yes and no. Yes, it is challenging to manage so many people and things. No, I am not so well organized. I want to be! It is one of my goals in life. I told her that I was always a "fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants" kind of person. It worked with two children, but when I married Bruce and our family instantly doubled, I had to change. I am still adapting, and I am no expert. Ben’s Kindergarten teacher would laugh if she heard my friend’s remark. I think whole trees have been ripped from the Rain Forest, because of all the reminder notes she’s had to send home to me. Ben manages to get out the door some days wearing pants with holes in the knees, and shirts on backward to school. Maybe I’m his teacher’s comic relief for the day.

     I have read nearly a dozen books on time management, scheduling and organization.  I combine elements from each of the books for a system that works for me; theoretically, that is, because I’m still trying and tweaking. One book that helped a lot was recommended by my brother Al-- “Getting Things Done: The Art of Stress-Free Productivity ” by David Allen. His system and ideas helped more than any other with the mountains of mail that come into the house. He helps high powered executives and businessmen but his ideas are adaptable to any person.

      Dave Ramsey has a radio show and has authored books on financial management. He focuses on a cash-based budget, getting out of debt, being wise with purchases, and then building savings. There are seminars, "Financial Peace University," usually at local churches; Google the one nearest you. Phil Lenahan has a similar program. I highly recommend either course, especially for college age people just starting out, so that bad habits never take hold. Both men are Christians and use Biblical principles in their philosophies.

     I was really impressed with Julie Morgenstern’s “Time Management from the Inside Out: The Foolproof System for Taking Control of Your Schedule—and Your Life.”   She helps with clarification of goals, permission to purge some unattainable or unrealistic goals, and the development of a “Time Map.” The latter sounds better than “schedule” and it is. It encourages you to concentrate on the top three actions per goal and to work them into your time map. The time map can be detailed or fairly unstructured depending on your style or job. I liked the book a lot.

     My Mother-in-law gave me “Organizing Plain & Simple” by Donna Smallin. This is a great quick-reference with very useful tips for every room in the house, with sections on finances and personal scheduling. I refer to it a lot and it has cute and colorful graphics that appeal to me (that may not make a difference to some, but it can encourage me to dive in more readily).

     “Eliminate Chaos: The 10-Step Process to Organize Your Home & Life” by Laura Leist is a very attractive book. It reminds me of the shows on TLC where people organize somebody’s home in a few days. There are before and after pictures with some really good explanations and ideas. I love the photography. It reminds me of a coffee-table book, but with lots of self-help information.

     Geared a bit more toward stay-at-home Moms is an older book, “Sidetracked Home Executives: From Pigpen to Paradise” by sisters Pam Young and Peggy Jones. This one’s a funny read. Their system for organizing and cleaning the home is very helpful, though somewhat antiquated. Their motto: “We Change Lives with Three-by-Five’s” needs a little updating in this new world of computer technology. Not that pen and paper doesn’t work; in fact, physical, tangible 3X5 cards may be the best solution for some. I do use them with the teens and our weekly house-cleaning. Nowadays, though, I’d imagine many people would prefer something on a computer or palm device. I finally made the switch from a paper/calendar based system to my iPhone (so far, so good, and now I’m investigating all sorts of  Productivity Apps!).  Marla Cilley, the “Fly Lady,” was inspired by these sisters and their system. She tweaked it into a portable "office-in-a-bag," a 3-ring binder in a carrier, and shares that system in her book “Sink Reflections.”  You can learn more about it on FlyLady.net.

     Six years ago I read a book by a homeschooling Mom of eight children. “Managers of Their Homes,” by Teri Maxwell is an amazing compilation of schedules of dozens of homeschooling Moms who tried Teri’s system of evaluating the goals and activities of each family member, and combining them on a wall-sized chart. I made the chart. Each person had their individual colored paper. I sticky-tacked it all up in our school room (I homeschooled Marie and Susanna at the time) and gave it a good try. I’m not sure why it didn’t work for me. We had three more babies in quick succession. Our lives did not allow for any extended maintenance period, ours was repeatedly adaption and evaluation. There were too many revisions required—or maybe just not enough colors!

     Holly Pierlot’s book, “A Mother’s Rule of Life” encourages the reader to look at the schedule in a more sacred way . Orders of religious people, like the Benedictine Monks, have a code or a “Rule” to live by. Holly helps the reader to develop a "Rule" for her family, and discern how her priorities fit in line with the goal of living a holy life centered on Christ. The family schedule becomes a beautiful dance of worship (well, maybe not quite so beautiful in our house, but I try). I have reread the book several times and attended two extended Bible Studies on it. I’m not a complete failure, though it is at times disheartening to read notes to myself dated 2005, 2007, 2009 and realize I haven’t quite gotten on top of it all yet. To perhaps feel better I tell myself that Holly had five children and I have ten…so it makes sense that it's doubly hard for me! Right?

     We make our choices. This is the life Bruce and I love, even with the challenges of my lack of organization. We each need to find what works for us, whether we live in an apartment or a house, a suburb or a farm, and have one child or ten!  I’ll keep at it. I joke that I’ll finally have it mastered when I’m eighty. Most importantly, our children need to know they have a Mom and Dad who love them-- even if they do get out the door with holey pants and backward shirts.

God bless us all in organizing the life we’ve been given.

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

What A Hug Is Worth

 

     I am conscious of how much television viewing goes on in our house. We have limits. “Family Movie Night” I wouldn't sacrifice. A couple Fridays back the kids had a snow-day and to tell the truth, when Bruce walked in the door I really wanted to escape upstairs for a break with a book and a cup of tea. But like the runner who says, "I'll just make it to that tree” or mile marker or other such goal, I knew I'd get dinner finished, and then consider my quiet exit. We cleaned up the dishes after the meal. I decided to wait again, and instead had a cup of coffee with Bruce.

     I felt my legs aching, my brain was over-full. I did want to lie down. At that moment Max, who had helped me make dinner, wrapped his arms around me, smiled and said he wanted more time with me tomorrow and, “Oooh, how about a Family Movie Night?”

     I couldn’t say no. "Ponyo" was the choice. What a very sweet movie. My children love it and I have seen bits and pieces overtime to add up to at least one full viewing. Their faces were so adorable watching it, their comments so delectable. Bruce had Margaret on his lap, dipping tortilla chips into the salsa he‘d brought in. He worked hard to keep hold of the cup of coffee I spiked with Irish Mist (to his surprise and delight). Mary Pat's G-tube pump was providing her meal and her contented tummy allowed her to focus on the animation on-screen. She smiled and giggled.

     These are the moments I treasure. They will be memories all- too-soon. They sustain me in the hard times (like earlier that day when I thought I couldn't take one more tantrum or loud outburst). Parenting is hard work. Did anyone teach us it was otherwise? I read a great post on Elizabeth Scalia's blog, "The Anchoress," on how our culture has perpetuated an adolescent mindset of self-centeredness and self-justice. I have witnessed this in a few of my contemporaries. The phrases like "I've finally got my life back," as the youngest child enters college, or "As soon as they're eighteen they're outa’ here!" support my observation that we've become just too self-centered. Our children are with us for a finite amount of time. I don't wish it to be cut shorter. There will be a day when I don't have a little one in the house. It is difficult with six children under eight, one with special needs. I do at times consider the day when they'll be older and things will be a little easier and I'll be able to get more done. But truly, I don't wish these days away.

     The sweet moments I do treasure. I've had enough now with snow days and being cooped up and racking my brain to come up with one more activity, one more creative solution to a conflict. I respect my homeschooling friends. They're so well structured that all this is built into their days, and I do feel their children are remarkably "immediately-obedient." But if the snow hadn't caused the school closing, I wouldn't have been stretched a bit--and I also wouldn't have had the good moments that happened because of it. Max wouldn't have made seafood chowder with me, I wouldn't have seen his impressive drawings, we wouldn't have made oatmeal raisin cookies for Daddy, and more.

     I have suffered loss in my life. When I was five I lost a brother I desperately wanted when he was stillborn. I lost my father in early adulthood, a husband to divorce, a husband to sudden death, my mother right after, my nieces in a tragic tornado the same year as my mother, and within a decade my two fathers-in-law and beloved mother-in-law. I know very well that life is finite, sometimes very, very short. Every life is precious.

      When I whine and cry about not enough of this or too much of that, I remind myself that every day is a gift. I once had a vision of wrapping up my day in an imaginary box at night and giving it back to the Lord in prayer. It was his day to begin with; I hopefully started it with the intention in mind of pleasing him, so it seemed fitting to give it back to him. I think He even wants the crummy stuff back--even my outbursts and mistakes, my omissions and should-haves. He forgives a contrite heart. I try to remember this when I’m dealing with my children. They want to please and to do better. Max suddenly hugged me at the end of the movie when the little boy finds his mother. It was the best moment of the day.

     I forgive his mistakes and trouble listening. We’re pretty consistent with expectations, consequences and rewards, so I know he’s learning. Would I love it if he “got it” a lot sooner? Absolutely. But he will “get it” in time--as I will. We are all works in progress. Max’s hug was worth a million bucks: a special ribbon on my gift back to God. A sweet memory to sustain me throughout the more challenging times on earth. I’ll not forget it. It was better than any quiet time upstairs with a book and a cup of tea.

George Washington...

George Washington praying at Valley Forge

   
 Happy President’s Day! George Washington’s birthday. What a man. What a life! There is another George Washington whom I can’t help but think of today--and also hope to meet someday in heaven. George Washington Carver.

George Washington Carver

      "Oh, when the saints, go marching in, oh, when the saints go marching in! Oh, Lord, I want to be in that number! When the saints go marching in!"  As a little girl, I imagined these saints as I sang. We had a great music program in my public elementary school. Miss Forsythe taught us many folk songs and classics. I can still see her standing at the blonde-wood upright in our classroom, her tall frame crouched slightly, one knee bent, the opposite foot on the pedals. Gosh, what good times. Some teachers really have a gift for making learning exciting, and bringing it to life.

     In college I was blessed to have a gifted History professor. Dr. Kerr was short and rounded with black glasses and thinning, white hair. He wouldn’t have stood out in a crowd, but in our large lecture hall all eyes were on him. He could have been an actor, his lectures were so animated. He quite literally performed in front of our large lecture hall. I sat front and center. I loved his class. He was Sir Walter Raleigh, Paul Revere, Queen Elizabeth or Abraham Lincoln on any given day. He made history come alive. He was brilliant.

     I still love history. I have more books than I'll ever finish. My middle-aged brain is slower and it is constantly trying to keep tabs on our eight children at home, two living away from home, and our foreign exchange student. They are certainly more important than my reading list, but when there is time, I do enjoy learning about earlier times, those who have gone before us, and especially those with heroic, inspirational lives.

     A few years ago the girls brought home a book about George Washington Carver. Born in Missouri around 1865, he wanted so badly to go to school that he walked ten miles to another town where a black boy could attend. He was raised by a man named Carver, who respected freedom, was good to him and raised him much like a son.  The woman who owned the house where he stayed while going  to school asked him his name. He replied, “Carver’s George, Ma’am.” She told him he should have his own name, one with dignity. He chose George Washington Carver, after our first President, and Mr. Carver.

     He graduated from highschool, moved a few times, worked hard to earn money, and went to college. A Botanist, he later earned a Master's Degree and an Honorary Doctorate. We seem to remember him most for inventing multiple uses for the peanut but he really did so much more. He taught farmers how to rotate crops, using plants like the peanut in order to restore nutrients into soils depleted by cotton. He was peaceful, strong, amiable and helpful. When my boys complain about going to school I remind them how blessed they are. They get a lesson about George Washington Carver and the value of education.

     To be counted "in that number".  I sure am hopeful that both George Washington and George Washington Carver are! I am my own biggest critic and I doubt that one day I could be thought of as an example of anything, unless it’s an example of someone with a desire to do right, despite her own weaknesses and procrastination.  I find strange hope in reading that men like Columbus and Tschaikovsky never lived to see the impact they made on their world. I am sad that they died feeling as though they hadn't accomplished much (can you imagine?).  I will never discover another land or write a symphony! Nevertheless, I will keep trying to do better, and to live as Christ taught. I have ten amazing children, and I believe the world can be changed by them.

You are the only one who can uniquely do what God has called you to do. Here’s to ”marching in” together one day!

God Bless you,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm