Wordless Wednesday- Our Family

The artist at work

For more Wordless Wednesdays, go to Five Minutes for Mom and Wordless Wednesday.

The Origin of Boo Boo

I am fortunate that my mother reads my blog and can solve family mysteries for me, in this case the story behind Aunt Boo Boo's unusual name (I wrote about Aunt Boo Boo in my Thanksgiving post). Here's the scoop:

"Boo Boo was Gran's aunt and my great aunt. The way Boo Boo got her name is because I couldn't say Mary Ruth. When Tommy [my uncle] was born, I had to go stay with Boo Boo and Uncle Russell. I still remember I was not happy at all about the whole situation. I don't think that is why I called her Boo Boo; that is just how Mary Ruth came out of my 23 month old mouth. Obviously the name stuck, but she never seemed to mind, even when all the younger cousins started calling her Boo Boo too."

Mystery solved. Thanks, Mom!

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like...

It's beginning to look a lot like... a tornado hit the inside of my house. But first, a Thankskgiving recap:

We had a great holiday. We stayed with John's brother and sister-in-law, Mike and Laurie, and the best part... Grandma kept all the kids! The four of us had the house to ourselves and it was almost like a real vacation. Mike and Laurie hosted Thanksgiving for the family, so John managed to take control of the Thanksgiving turkey again (with excellent results, I might add). I also had fried turkey for the first time, which was really yummy, but I still prefer John's turkey. Really! After dinner, grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts and uncles and kids all sat around playing Dominoes or Sequence, and Mike and John went back to their ongoing attempt to humiliate the other at chess. After everyone left, Laurie and I dissected the Thanksgiving ads to plan our attack on Black Friday.

I have never before pulled myself out of bed at 4:30 in the morning to go shopping, but I decided to give it a whirl just this once. I went to Kohl's first, and the cash register line on each side of the store snaked all the way around to the back of the store, where the lines overlapped. I stood in one of these lines and now I can say "Been there, Done that"- and never again, thank you very much!

That evening, we took all the kids to see "The Polar Express" at the Imax Theater, where it was in 3D. Totally cool! I have never been particularly impressed with 3D movies, but this one was a real thrill. Go see it if you have a chance; it's an annual event at Imax theaters now.

We took a detour to Lexington on the way home to visit my grandmother, and now we are back home and are thoroughly engaged in decimating the house in the name of Decorating for Christmas. What an ordeal! I was really Scrooge-like about this last week, but my shopping adventure did have the effect of getting me into the Christmas spirit. I think I can endure another season of tearing my house apart so we can enjoy all the pretty lights. The kids are thrilled, and have spent the day playing with the Playmobil nativity set and reading through all the Christmas storybooks. They are oblivious to the fact that it looks like a dozen elves moved in and unpacked in the middle of my living room floor. And I guess that's why John and I keep doing this to ourselves every year... Christmas brings out the kid in us too.
I love this time of year!

Thanksgiving Past

I loved Thanksgiving as a child. Thanksgiving never seemed to receive much attention within my immediate family, but my grandmother lived right down the street and most years, she and Grandaddy would head off to the Thanksgiving reunion at her aunt's house in Tennessee. They were happy to let me tag along.

The reunion was held at Aunt Boo-Boo's farmhouse (Aunt Boo-Boo did have a real name; I think it was Mary Ruth... I have no idea why everyone called her Boo-Boo) and she lived out in the boondocks (that's way out in the country) in a fabulous old farmhouse that, looking back, was probably a homeowner's nightmare. I thought it was enchanting, and since fall usually came late to that part of Tennessee, the gold and crimson of the surrounding woods added to the magic. The farmhouse was a maze of rooms created from additions to the house over the years. There was a wide front porch, where the men might sit if the weather was warm, which led into the front hallway. An old-fashioned, drafty formal parlor that hardly anyone used was on one side of the hall, and the dining room, where the aunts filled the enormous table with harvest bounty, was on the other. Aunt Boo-Boo had a huge country kitchen, where all the women could be found in various stages of food preparation, and if you went straight on back, you could find all the men, if it was cold, sitting in the "den", in front of the fireplace. The house was full of interesting corners and dark hiding places. The upstairs had mysterious hallways and fascinating rooms with dormer windows, but since I wasn't supposed to go upstairs, I was never able to explore to my satisfaction.

Outside, a creek ran alongside the lane in front of the house. If you were daring, you could cross the creek by carefully walking across on an old log. This allowed you access to "the mountain"- at least, it seemed like a mountain to a child. I'm sure it must have just been a large hill, but since I was too scared of falling into the cold creek to cross the log, I never made it to the foot of the mountain, much less to the top. In front of the house, a wooden footbridge spanned the creek, allowing you to get from one side of the lane to the other. When I was eight, my Buster Brown oxford shoe got stuck in between one of the slats and fell into the creek and the men had to come and fish it out again. (I explained to my Gran that the real tennis shoes, which I wanted desperately, would never get stuck in the slats. She was not impressed with my argument.)

After dinner ("dinner" is the southern way of saying "lunch", as opposed to "supper", which northerners call "dinner") all the cousins would go out onto the back lawn in front of the barn and play football for the rest of the afternoon. The men would continue to sit in front of the fire and the women would again convene in the kitchen to clean. I thought it was everything Thanksgiving was supposed to be.

As I got older, things changed. Aunt Boo-Boo got too old to continue hosting the reunion, and my grandparents became unable to make the trip. As the family continued to expand, the aunts began having their own celebrations and cousins moved away and went off to college. Eventually, the bridge to the creek was paved over with a modern concrete bridge, and the farmhouse was sold. But Aunt Boo-Boo, my Grandparents and all my extended family created beautiful threads of memories for me, threads which form a tapestry connecting past and future generations. This Thanksgiving, I will weave new threads into that tapestry, new memories which will include my husband's family and our own children.

For Thanksgiving celebrations both past and future, for the family members who are no longer with us, and for the family whose presence I will enjoy this year... I am thankful.

Cleaning Day

"One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries."
- A.A. Milne

Now that co-op is on break, we have been cleaning- really cleaning- for the first time since school began for us back in August. With our new 8th-6th-4th-2nd-K workload, I discovered that I could either get school done or the house clean. So in hopes that my children will one day be educated enough to get a job and leave home so that I can once again have only my own messes with which to contend, I chose school and let the papers, books, and several seasons worth of clothing pile up around us. But this cleaning has been exciting, actually. I've found my favorite brown clogs that have missing for some time, my yellow shirt that's been missing since mid-October, and my laundry room floor. Yes, I know that I should get my act together so this doesn't happen any more, but really, it's like going garage-saling in my own house; who knows what exciting things I may find hidden in the next corner? Cheap thrills... that's me.

A Victorian Christmas

It has been a crazy week around here! On Friday night, our homeschool co-op celebrated the end of the semester with "A Victorian Christmas". We plan our theme around whatever historical era we happen to be studying at the moment, so this semester was the late nineteenth/early 20th century. Above are three fine-looking Victorian lads, Philip, their buddy Andrew and Benjamin. The whole family dresses up for the event (which is quite the ordeal when you are dressing seven), we share a meal together (in this case, a Victorian-style four course dinner), and the kids have a chance to show off what they've learned during the semester.

Becca and Philip's class performed the American Girls play about Samantha (Becca was GrandMary and Philip was a very convincing Eddie Ryland, the bratty kid-next-door); the Latin classes recited a prayer and sang Veni, Veni Emmanuel (O Come, O Come Emmanuel); the poetry class recited Robert Louis Stevenson and Edna St. Vincent Millay as well as some original poetry; Philip recited Tennyson's The Charge of the Light Brigade; and John Mark's class did a Reader's Theater production of The Christmas Truce, a story about WWI. We wrapped the evening up with twenty-first century technology as the Pre-K/K class presented a very funny video they created over the semester about "Safety" and the Jr. High/High School class presented the projects they had created in the Powerpoint Presentations class.

Every semester, we moms look at each other and wonder Why are we doing this to ourselves? Yes, we are all slightly crazy, but of course the real answer is we're making memories. And they are good ones.

Oh Deer

Oh Deer
If only you knew
How sorry I am
That now you're my stew.

John has been working on the deer all week, to the great interest of all the kids. They field-dressed it last Sunday and each day this week, John has done a little more to process it: butcher, wash, soak, and marinade. He went to Walmart and purchased everything one might possibly need to make a piece of meat which is not beef taste like beef. Today, I went off to a scrapbook crop and he cooked: Baked Venison with potatoes, Venison Potroast in the crockpot, and Venison steak on the grill. To his credit, John has worked diligently to disguise the fact that this is deer and he promises me that the deer steaks, which I haven't had a chance to try, are even better than the beef. I am skeptical, since almost none of my friends who have grown up in hunting families will cook or eat deer meat. They have husbands who are avid hunters, but they give all that meat away. I figure there must be a reason for this. But, tomorrow, we will have a Deer Feast and I will do my best to like this deer. After all, it's not every day that I find my husband in the kitchen.

Kiss the Cook

Last week, I asked John Mark to brown the hamburger for dinner. "Oh, good, I get to cook!" he responded enthusiastically. The boy loves to cook. That's a fine quality in a male, wouldn't you agree? His sister also enjoys cooking, but she has to be closely watched since she is scatterbrained in the kitchen and prone to forgetting important steps such as, "Add 1/2 cup milk" or "Sprinkle crumb topping on top of casserole". But John Mark's kitchen intuition is good. He can make delicious dishes with a minimum of intervention, and he is happy to cook mundane things like a casserole with ground beef and Bisquick.

I'm not certain from whom he gets this joy of cooking... surely not from me, who would be perfectly content to never have to cook another meal for the rest of my natural life (as long as someone else cooked, of course!) I would classify myself as an "okay" cook; occasionally I manage to "wow" everyone, and occasionally I fall flat on my face. I recently pulled out a chili recipe I had used quite often several years back: Lyndon B. Johnson's Perdinales River Chili. I made it for Jimmy and Connie a few weeks ago, and it was nothing like what I remember. Even John Mark quickly distanced himself from the disaster (even though he had browned the meat) with the admonishment, "Mom, something bad has happened to your chili!" It's another reason for me to be mad at the Democrats.

My husband does not cook often enough to be called a chef, though he does occasionally make a showing in the kitchen, and the things he makes are usually quite good. I think John's kitchen interests are more self-serving... he cooks when he wants something done a certain way, like the hashbrowns and gravy for Saturday brunch, or the fish he catches and fries from time to time. He's in it for the glory too- most of his dishes have a "wow" factor: Sausage & Chicken Jambalaya, Grilled Kebobs or the Thanksgiving turkey. You will not find John cooking pork chops with peas and macaroni & cheese.

Perhaps John Mark gets it from his grandfathers. John's dad makes a fabulous potato soup. I'm not really sure what else he cooks, but I do have a memory from the first Thanksgiving when John brought me home to Indiana, just before we were engaged. I walked into the kitchen of John's boyhood home early Thanksgiving morning and found every countertop and table covered in slices of bread. Every fan in the house was blowing through the kitchen and John's dad was standing over the bread slices with a hair dryer. Apparently, it is a tradition to make real stuffing- no Stove Top here! Problem was, someone forgot to leave the bread out to dry and now it was Thanksgiving morning. The oven was already in use, and John's dad was using the hair dryer to blow dry the bread. It was an unusual sight and it should have told me something.... I still don't know what, but it should have told me something...

On the other side of the family, we have Daddy D. Daddy D is my stepfather, and he loves to cook. Everyone is very happy that Daddy D loves to cook, unless Daddy D is on a diet, and then you just don't know what you're going to get. The worst may have been when our family made an extended visit to see my parents in Florida a couple of years ago. Daddy D was on some version of a low-carb diet and was making lots of unusual foods, like lasagna with eggplant instead of lasagna noodles. All leftovers from these unusual meals were saved for a "stew" later in the week. The refrigerator was packed with small Rubbermaid containers of items for Daddy D's stew. One night, my mom and I were cleaning the kitchen after dinner (Daddy D does not clean; he only cooks) and I asked my mom if we should save the bit of crushed pineapple in the bottom of the can. "Oh, save it," she retorted, "he probably wants it for his stew!" It was so funny that we both doubled over with laughter for the next five minutes. Who knew that Daddy D's stew had become such an object of culinary dread? Poor Daddy D. I think he got wind of the anti-stew rebellion and began making Chinese Stir-fry instead.

At any rate, I am pleased to have a son who loves to cook. One thing's for sure... whatever bent his cooking gene ends up taking, he will have come by it honestly. One day, I hope my daughter-in-law will thank me. And I will tell her the most important lesson I've learned: When you have a man in the kitchen, take every opportunity and kiss the cook!

Hunter-Boy Bags A Buck

Well, he did it! (Yes, I know it's gross... believe me, that's not even the grossest picture they have.) They went out early this morning before church and John Mark nailed a head-shot on this one (it doesn't really matter that he wasn't aiming for the head, does it?) All I can say is, "Thank Goodness!" Hopefully, I asked Hunter-Man if this meant hunting season was now over. He did not reply, which I do not take as a sign of encouragement. In the meantime, Hunter-Boy and his father are an exceedingly proud pair.

In other family news, we are down to the dregs of the Halloween candy. We the kids have eaten all the candy from my gigantic Tupperware That's-a-Bowl and now all the leftover Dums-Dums, Bit-o-Honey, Peppermints (who passes out Peppermints at Halloween? Really.) and other unidentifiable mystery candies fit into a medium sized flower vase on top of my refrigerator. What a relief.

And just when I think we have reached the pinnacle of testosterone-driven activities around here, I find out that not only do I still have Hunting and Football season to contend with, Basketball Season has now begun as well. I can barely contain my excitement.

Remember

Tomorrow, November 11, is Veterans Day. Having spent the last several weeks studying World War I history in depth for the first time in my life, I have a new-found appreciation for the history of Veterans Day, originally known as Armistice Day, and the sacrifice of the soldiers which it honors.

World War I, also known as "The Great War" and "The War to End All Wars", literally changed the face of Europe, decimating old countries and creating new ones. It saw some of the deadliest battles recorded in history, with over 1.4 million soldiers dead and hundreds of thousands wounded. This was the first war to use modern technology: flamethrowers, barbed wire, machine guns, chemical weapons, aircraft, and tanks. Armies dug enormous trenches across the continent, losing hundreds of men for every few yards gained. Eventually, Europe reached a stalemate across the Western Front. Russia, an Allied country, faced a revolution at home as Czar Nicholas II (Anastasia's father) was overthrown by Lenin and the Bolsheviks. Russia was forced to withdraw from the war, abandoning the countries in the East to the Central Powers.

Americans watched the war anxiously, but the prevailing opinion was that this war was a European problem. Two important events helped galvanize Americans into action: the sinking of a civilian ocean liner, the Lusitania, by a German U-boat and the discovery of a covert plan by Germany to enlist Mexico's aid, in exchange for a large chunk of the American southwest after German victory. The tide of the war turned as General John J. Pershing and American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) arrived on the Western Front in 1917. The Allied Counteroffensive finally brought this war of horrors to a close at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month: November 11, 1918.

In 1919, this solemn anniversary became unofficially known as "Armistice Day". Red poppies became popular as a memorial symbol after the publication of Canadian Lt. John McCrae's poem, In Flanders Fields, written on the battlefield of Ypres, in Flanders, Belgium:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Here's more on America's few surviving WWI Veterans.

Tomorrow, take a moment... and remember.

Girl Talk

Last Sunday night, Becca and I had The Talk. Well, the precursor anyway. We talked about the "girl stuff", and she blushed her way through our dinner at Applebee's- a place I chose specifically because it's generally too noisy to hear yourself think, making it the perfect place for a touchy conversation with a preteen. We giggled through my stories of 6th grade mortification, like the time my mom had my hair cut short and someone asked if I was a boy, and she was sympathetic to the crush I had on the 8th grade captain of the football team, which finally prompted me to do something about my boy-looks (although he never did acknowledge my existence). She shared the silly (and not-so-silly) things her friends say and do, reinforcing the fact that I have to keep the doors of communication swinging freely between us if I don't want silly girls to form the basis of my daughter's knowledge of womanhood.

We took a quick jaunt into Kohls' (after all, what mother-daughter outing would be complete without a shopping trip?) and then we went to see a chick-flick at the theater, One Night With the King. It's the story of Esther from the Bible (more or less) and we both enjoyed it a lot. When we returned home, I asked her to rinse the dishes before bedtime. I returned to find her at the sink with a purple flannel sheet draped around her head... just like Esther. She's still only eleven.

Rebecca, as you negotiate the sometimes difficult road to becoming a woman, my prayer is that you will always remember that like Esther, you too are Royalty, the daughter of a King of unlimited power and unfailing love.

He has a very special purpose for your life.

I love you,

Mom

Tubs of Blessings

A week ago Monday, our 4-H club held our first-ever food drive to benefit a local food pantry. I was a little anxious when the club officers planned this back in September, and even more so when they decided to hold the food drive at a grocery store. I had visions of the kids standing for hours outside the store only to collect a few cans of green beans, and I really wanted them to have a good experience. But as we made plans, things seemed to work out. I called various grocery stores and was amazed to find that the people at Super-Walmart were very friendly and easy to work with. The kids made posters to advertise our food drive, and we worked out a schedule to cover the main food entrance at Walmart for a measly three hours. We were ready.

Although it had been quite cold earlier in the month, the day of the event was warm and beautiful. The kids gathered at Walmart at their designated time and handed flyers to shoppers as they entered the store. The idea was for the shoppers to look over the items we had listed, purchase a couple of them, and return them to us as they left. It worked! The generosity of so many of the shoppers that afternoon made me regret my earlier doubts. I had been tempted to "profile" shoppers, since we had only a limited number of flyers, and in most cases, I would have been wrong. We had people of all ages, all colors, and every economic class demonstrate extraordinary generosity, placing bag upon bag of food inside our tubs. We had people pull up to the curb and hand us $5 and $10 bills because they had forgotten to purchase something. One elderly man came out with several bags of food in each hand and handed us all but one bag.

At the 4-H meeting this past Monday, we compiled all the donations. It was an incredible amount- tub after tub after tub stacked high with groceries for the Food Pantry and diapers for the Pregnancy Crisis center. The photo doesn't even begin to show all the items the kids collected. I was amazed at the generosity of the everyday people who were willing to give so abundantly at a moment's notice. The kids were happy with the results of their food drive but then, it's exactly what they expected. Their "leader", on the other hand, is still shaking her head in wonder over tubs of blessings, pressed down and overflowing.

Election Day

I love Election Day. It's fascinating to me to see our constitution in action as voters line up at polling booths, activists jam the phone lines, the airwaves and the street corners, and the news media freely covers the events with an awkward blend of truth and "spin". Tonight, John and I will watch the election returns late into the evening to see who won. It's a popcorn-worthy event. And tomorrow, regardless of who wins, we'll get up and go about our daily business just like always. Our governnment will not be overthrown by armed rebels during the night and people who vote today will not be dragged from their beds and shot. Our Constitution works. I am amazed at the genius of our country's founders and thankful for Godly leaders today who still believe in their vision. I am thankful for our soldiers who give their lives to defend democracy in America and in lands far away. And even though patriotism has become unfashionable in some circles, I still believe in the dream of "liberty and justice for all". I am proud to vote for that dream.

November Yard

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Downside

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