The Ho Ho Ho Comes

[Written December 27th]
We had a great Christmas holiday.

I've spent the past three days reading. This morning I woke up and realized that I had no where to go and nothing to do so I didn't even bother to get out of bed until 4PM. I read books all. day. long. There aren't even words for how much I loved it. It's also a wide revelation that I could easily become a dormant creature who leaves society for the love of words....or maybe the occasional movie.

The children had bean burritos from Taco Time last night for dinner; Peanut butter sandwiches for breakfast; McDonalds for lunch--and then I finished Allegiant just in time to make everyone eat "Big Salad" to make up for their mother's neglect. Hoping that overdosing on the fiber will make up for the complete lack of nutrients we have (not) consumed in the last week.

Mike & Ike's contain no actual fruit.

I took the kids to see Frozen before Christmas. Well, not Louisa, she had to stay with Angie. I didn't think that she could keep it together. Jack and Lachlan both loved it. I thought that Lachlan's eyes would come right out of her head when Queen Elsa builds the ice castle. Princesses and their castles are at the top of her cool list, right next to Pegasus and Unicorn. Tonight we saw on the news that some guy in Midway is building an ice castle and she is convinced that we need to drive out and tour it.

Jack literally knocked out a loose tooth today. Jeff hauled Lachlan to her allergy shot this afternoon while I stayed home in bed [reading] and Lou took a nap. Jack came home from the appointment screaming and running to the bathroom bawling. I thought for sure he had "overeaten" something and thrown up in the car [this happens alarmingly often]. Instead, he was screaming that it was "Dad's fault that my tooth got knocked out cause Dad was driving crazy and turned too sharp and my face hit the back of the other seat!" It was hilarious and I think the entire family was relieved that vomit removal wouldn't be necessary.

There were a few tense moments before Christmas where I was worried if we would have some PTSD with Louisa, but I think that we were able to get on top of it. A week ago the kids went with Jeff to Aunt Karen's and they got really wild and wound up with all of the cousins; when they went to go home Louisa threw a massive tantrum and screamed the whole way home. She kept on screaming for another 40 minutes after getting ready for bed. It was awful and so stressful. She was an absolute pill the next day and as Jeff said, "I think we broke her brain." Sometimes you just forget how hard making transitions can be for these kids. On the Sunday before Christmas, Santa stopped by and left some stuff in the Christmas box. The kids were so excited and started talking about how Santa is always watching--we got laughing about how Lachlan used to say that "Santa was sneaking around and always peeking in the windows". It was too much for Lou because she started telling me that "ho ho ho is scary!!" We laughed out loud until Jeff snuck up behind her and broke her brain again by saying, "ho! Ho! Ho!" She screamed out loud and leapt up on Jeff's lap and told him that "the Ho Ho Ho coming! Ho Ho Ho scary!" Well, that night she had horrible nightmares. The first time I heard her crying she was soaking with sweat. I had to peel her jammies off her to dry her off. The second time she clung to me and cried to hard that she "stay here, no go back!" Jeff and I aren't sure if she meant that she didn't want to go back to her bed or if she was frightened that Santa was going to come and take her back to the orphanage. Either way, she slept in my bed and I didn't sleep all night feeling sick about her being scared of being taken away. Susie reminded me that on her last days there they gave her a bunch of presents and had a party so maybe it was all too familiar in a bad way. I was really sick about it. After that, Santa never came to the Christmas Box at night. It was much better in the morning. I also arranged to take her to Santa at the mall. She was a little nervous, but she pulled on his real beard and told Santa she wanted a baby. From then on, the Ho Ho Ho wasn't scary anymore. We also really reeled it in at the family Christmas parties. We made her stay with us the whole time--which she hated [angry eyes]--but not a tantrum in sight. She was even able to keep it together long enough to participate in the nativity. Speaking of which, Lachlan calls it the "nate's-tit-vity." I'll probably never be able to say the word without a bit of cringe again for the rest of my life!

Stacy and Mark have been in China for the last two weeks picking up their new daughter. Today is our 5 month anniversary since we've been home with Louisa. Where has the time gone? I think that we've done pretty well. I've had so much anxiety for our friends because the feelings of being there are so overwhelmingly stressful. All you can think about is getting home--and all you can worry about is getting home. I wish that I could put the experience and feelings in a jar and sell it, but then nobody would ever adopt internationally. No. Seriously. Because you have to have a bit of naivety to get yourself on the plane--you have to believe that you can do it--if you felt that way before you left there would be no way you could take the leap. I know that that faith that "He would make a way out of no way" was my biggest blessing this year. There have been times over the last few months when I have honestly been locked in my closet [so nobody would die] and I have said, "How in the world did I get here? What have I done?" I know that the answer was nothing more than shear obedience to the Lord's will [both adopting and staying in the closet]. It wasn't the easiest thing, but it will be the best thing for us and I am feeling so blessed to know it.

Here's a few random shots from the holiday:

 Snowy day: Making a snow fort with Mac and Cate Carling.

 The Murray Family Nativity.

 The best part of the nativity was this shepherd. Curse you church gym lighting. Ugh.

Most hilarious part of the nativity was Lachlan trying to get my attention from behind the other "taller" angels. Later on she told me, "I tried to show you where I was cause those other big ladies just kept shoving to the top!"

 The vest Suz and I made for dad's gift. I really wanted one, but I couldn't think of where I would wear it?? Also, this picture makes me sentimental when I see that he has a "hurt finger"--I honestly can't think of a time when he hasn't had at least one blackened finger nail.

 This magical picture of Harper. The only decent picture all day...not of my kid.

 Christmas Eve: Bruce going back to finish off an earlier attempt to eat ALL of the beef jerky. In my mind, beef jerky is NOT a Christmas gift, but for Bruce and Jeff it is wonderful. This year the kids received half-chewed bits of Horlacher's Best. Bruce was down in the basement bloated from his own gluttony.

 Jack helping push Louisa to the top with his head on her butt.

Lachlan living the dream.

Weekly Roundup

1. I am so glad tomorrow is Friday. I have much to do to get ready for the holidays. There are several lists of items and projects. Fridays mean that I can stay up late and work without worrying about dealing with an early school morning. It also means that I'll have Jack and Lachlan to run interference with Louisa in the afternoon. You've got to have eyes on her at all times or she'll rob a bank or find some RIT dye.

2. I cannot stop thinking about this:
My friend at our agency posted this announcement:
Help remove the rock from my stomach. We have a talented, smart, helpful, and responsible 14 year old girl in our CHI European program who makes me worried sick. You can contact me for a picture but believe me she is an amazing beauty. She has done nothing to make me worry, its what will likely happen to her that has me so unnerved. We know what will be ahead for this attractive girl if she doesn't get a family. Please contact me or Nina Thompson for more information. This truly is about her very ability to use the gifts she has been born with.

Then I read Nina's personal response:

What happens when a child “ages out” of the orphanage?  Human trafficking is something nobody likes to think about. 

Least of all those of us with teenage boys and girls.  It is not just the girls who are at risk.  In some countries in Eastern Europe the largest export is human beings.  The sex trade is a billion dollar industry.  Children who have no families are at high risk for exploitation.  Not just teens, children. Children “go missing” from the orphanages.  Most commonly these children are lured, sold or forced into the sex trade.  Pimps are sometimes informed by unethical orphanage staff when a child is “aging out” and they wait to pick the child up outside the doors of the orphanage.  Children and teens are sold for as little as $1500.  Knowing this is a crushing weight to my soul.   Human life is held very cheaply.

I read the profiles of young teens every week that say how bright they are.  How they excel in Math.  How they love to dance.  How they want to be a teacher, a doctor, a psychologist.  And all I can think is there are few families for young teens.  I dread knowing that if this young girl or boy is not adopted, that the small spark of hope is likely to be crushed.  10-15% will commit suicide by the time they are 18.  60% will end up in prostitution.

Her full text: Hard Questions

Don't I know someone who could adopt her? I'd bet money that this child is from Ukraine. I could be totally wrong, but the shoe fits.
I want the church to get involved in international adoption so badly that it hurts. It makes sense. Would there be enormous obstacles? Absolutely, but that never held it back before. There has to be a better way to get more people involved in understanding that adoption is missionary work and the most incredible way for one to experience how and why the family is central to God's plan of salvation.

You know what church calling I really want? The one where I work with women and children all over the world to set up legal adoptions for LDS families. The one where I work at a women and children support center and it's staffed by missionaries and ward/branch members to help these women get proper education and support so that they feel like they are a part of something bigger than themselves--complete with health care, pre/post-natal care, mental health classes, addiction recovery.

Would it be possible to foster some of these young girls who have aged out in homes in the U.S.? Where families agree to help them get more education, provide a home?

Can you imagine the impact this would have on communities? On the stability of children within single-parent families?

As soon as I write it down I can see a hundred reasons why it wouldn't work.

...but I'm going to wait for the phone to ring anyway.

And, this article will make you even more grateful for the peace in your home:
Rescued From Exploitation
This, this, this...people can't believe that this is possible "When I was sixteen, I met some Mormon kids. The Mormon families were so different from the way I was raised. I was raised in these homes and neighborhoods where there was lots of abuse. To meet all these LDS families where you walk in their home and there’s a piano, and above it is a picture of the Savior with little kids–it’s the most heart-warming thing. And there’s a mom and a dad, and they like each other, and they make jokes and tickle each other and kiss! I was like, whoa, is this for real? " 

3. Crockpot lasagna is awesome.
4. I finally ate a good meal at Herm's--people rave about it and I apparently just needed to order something different than what I had the first time. I visited with two good friends about aura colors. Scientifically, I am intrigued by how the colors change and what they may tell us about how the body is functioning. I have to admit I would love to have a reading. I think it would be fascinating.
5. Against my better judgment I am finding that the articles in the BYU Magazine are really good. In fact, for several months now I have read them cover to cover--with the exception of the "jokester-super-funny" mail-in stories on the next to the last page. I have my standards. This last month contained an article by a math professor, Tyler Jarvis. I used the first part about the Traveling Salesman Problem in my lesson on Sunday. NEVER even knew this was a real problem--those numbers? The cost? Holy crap. This is a must read. "That's How the Light Gets In"
6. Also this week, Lachlan learned that if you haven't pooped for a week that it will give you a horrible stomach ache (we almost went to the ER for suspected appendicitis before discovering the real problem) AND Jack found the courage to join some boys who were learning to play basketball. He told me tonight that he was going to try really hard to learn to bounce the ball. Oh, and Louisa is going back to preschool--this time with the Little Aggies at the CPD on campus. Her teacher was nice enough not to actually say the word tyrant on the first day. So that was good.

How Far We've Come

Five or six years ago I created this adoption video for my dad. It chronicles the trip that he, Susan (my sister), and my aunt Merrilee (dad's sister) took with Jeff to go pick up Lachlan. They went a week before Jeff, to Beijing, on a sightseeing tour and then met him in Nanchang. It was a blessing they were there before him because he missed his flight and arrived a full day later than planned. In the movie, you'll see that Lachlan was delivered to Susie and Merrilee's hotel room. I recently had Susie write a letter of her experience for Lachlan's personal history. I'm recording a small portion of it here, not only for the context of this movie, but also because our current experience with Louisa has been so incredibly different.
From Susie's journal:

"She pretty much just cried that first night, and I just cried right along with her, I felt so bad for her. I told her to just go ahead and cry it all out. I told her she had a hard and lonely life up to this point and if she wanted to cry to just go ahead and get it all out. I promised her that she didn't have to be sad or lonely anymore. I promised her that she was going to be loved for the rest of her life. So we just cried.
Jeff wanted me to write down Lachlan’s condition when we first received her. This is very difficult for me, because I had Sierra at home and I knew what a healthy child looks and acts like. She was very bundled up, she was wearing about four layers and she was so sweaty. She was soaking wet not just from sweat, but her poor diaper was dripping…I don’t think the Chinese were very used to diapers because all the children usually wear split pants. Her cheeks were so chappy. I was worried about them because they were dry and cracked open. She was very small and malnourished, I think because I could actually see her pulse in the soft spot on her head. She was also very dirty, her main parts were clean, but the first thing I had to do was get a Q-tip and clean her ears out!!  Also, her belly button was really dirty!
Later, Aunt Merrilee and I gave her a bath. We brushed her teeth…her poor little teeth!  I don’t think there is any enamel left on them and they are broken. You can just see the cavities!  I had a very hard time after we brushed her teeth, because I just felt like this little tiny girl needed us SO BAD!  She needed someone to come and take care of her and love her. I was so glad to be there for her."

In Mormon culture, there's recognition with the phrase "the light of Christ in your countenance"--I've seen people with that light, and without. I've come to recognize that a significant portion of His light comes from the strength of the family, the love of one's family. Which makes sense because the teachings of Christ lead us to the knowledge that we are God's children and that we are meant to learn and love one another in families, through families--and AS a global, multinational, inside, upside, all-of-us-together-kind of family.

The best part about getting older is understanding that no one's family is doing it right all the time. Life is a paradox--where two opposites can exist in the same place at the same time. For example, you can love your kids AND they make you crazy. Or you try hard to consistently set a good example AND occasionally you have the bad swears because you spilled a 32 oz. Diet Coke in the passenger seat. It's life. It's the paradox.

What I think we need to look for, instead of what we don't see in our families (i.e., perfection), is the light. The improvement.

Go back. Look at where you've been and how far you've come.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
--Leonard Cohen "Anthem"

Now go watch this awesome movie: http://youtu.be/p_rdguqyemw

Reblog: On Slowness

Oh, goodness. I really needed to read this today. This was posted on Neylan McBaine's blog and I am reposting because I'll need to let this sink in and post my own reflections.

On Slowness

I can’t count the number of times have I yelled at my daughter from the kitchen as she practices her violin in the living room, “Go slower!” For some reason, practicing slowly seems anathema to her. She wants to be able to play everything now, perfectly, and the ability to put off the gratification of playing through the piece at full speed is a skill I hope will come as she matures.

Of course, the skill she is acquiring is not so much practicing slowly as it is learning to delay gratification generally. Violin is merely the mechanism for learning this life lesson. I credit much of my childhood piano training with any ability I have to work  deliberately and consistently, and any understanding I have of the time and patience needed to achieve virtuosity in any field.

However, I find myself today – in the midst of work and home and family demands and technology that allows me to do anything anywhere – rarely exercising patience, and becoming irritated when I need to. Even a few short years ago, for instance, I had to wait to check my email until I could sit in front of a computer. No more. I had to wait until the Netflix DVD arrived in the mail to watch a movie I wanted. No more. I had to wait until the library got in a copy of the book I wanted to read, and then I had to wait until I could find a time to go pick it up. No more. Patience is no longer something imposed upon us by the limitations of society and technology; it is, rather, something we now need to seek for ourselves because of its inherent good to our characters.

I was therefore deeply moved by an article I read last weekend in the Harvard alumni magazine entitled,“The Power of Patience: Teaching students the value of deceleration and immersive attention. ” The article is taken from an address history of art and architecture professor Jennifer L. Roberts gave at a conference last May. In the article, Professor Roberts describes how she assigns her students a research paper for which they must observe a single work of art for three hours. Roberts describes the gems of understanding and insight that came from her own lengthy observation of a John Singleton Copley painting, Boy with a Squirrel, things she would never have discovered if visual comprehension were immediate, and she concludes, “Deceleration, then, is a productive process, a form of skilled apprehension that can orient students in critical ways to the contemporary world…. It’s a very old idea that patience leads to skill, of course – but it seems urgent now that we go further than this and think about patience itself as the skill to be learned…. Now that, generally, one need not wait for things, patience becomes an active and positive cognitive state. Where patience once indicated a lack of control, not it is a form of control over the tempo of contemporary life that otherwise controls us.”

Interestingly, in the same issue of the magazine, another article expressed similar sentiments in a very different language and context. Whereas Professor Roberts spoke in high academic style and in the context of the 19^th century art world, a book review of a new release, The App Generation: How Today’s Youth Navigate Identity, Intimacy, and Imagination in a Digital World (Yale) by Howard Gardner and Kate Davis, addresses the challenges of our fast-paced contemporary life in the context and language of our era’s most defining technological aid: the app. One of the key findings of the authors’ research is that apps, “by shortcutting discovery, can diminish engagement with the world.” Youth who are heavily dependent on apps are apparently inclined to use them as a substitute for “skill and reflection”. As an example, speaking of GPS apps, Gardner and Davis cite the fact that may of today’s teens have never been lost, and that “many don’t even see the point of a ‘random walk,’ an experience that [Gardner] argues can build independence and resilience.” Gardner and Davis conclude, “Even though a well-demonstrated toy or well-designed app has its virtues, there is also virtue – and even reward – in figuring out things for yourself in your own time, in your own way.”

I often find myself checking my email or social media apps right before I go to sleep at night, and first thing in the morning. I’m aware of the adrenaline that comes from having a rush of ideas and tasks constantly swirling in my brain. I often find it hard to still my mind to fall asleep and thus end up staying up way too late or waking up in the middle of the night unable to fall asleep because my brain’s engines rev up. I feel a deep nostalgia for the process of waiting for a letter from a pen pal in the mail, of dropping off a roll of film at the film processor and watching the clock until I can return to pick it up. Not that those processes themselves were fun or even rewarding, but that because the patience they required demanded that I focus on something outside of myself for even a brief period. I was dependent on someone else – the mailman, the film developer – and thus I wasn’t all-powerful, and, as a result, more humble about my dependence on my community.

Understanding now that I must impose patience on myself if I want to continue to nurture the creativity, resilience and virtue Gardner and Davis see slipping away from future generations, I have imposed a few restrictions on myself. One I have practiced for over a year now, ever since reading Jana Riess’s bookFlunking Sainthood: In an effort to prepare my mind to pray and meditate before bed each night, I recite the Lord’s Prayer to myself. Having said the Lord’s Prayer almost every day of my school years, it’s a trigger to me to quiet my thinking and get myself ready to focus my thoughts. I adopted a few other practical work tips after reading 37Signals’ founders’ book Rework, including closing my email (both work and personal) for designated periods during the work day so that I can better focus on long stretches of productive work. Today, I’m taking the plunge that will hurt (but hopefully help) the most: I’m deleting the Gmail and Facebook apps from my phone for seven days. (I’m not committing to a permanent deletion yet!) I’m hoping that by needing to sit at a computer to see personal email and Facebook, I will be able to remain more focused on my kids when I’m home with them in the afternoons, and I will rid myself of that unattractive habit of checking my phone all. the. time. I'll report back next week.

Last night over dinner, I pulled up Boy with a Squirrel on the iPad and asked my girls what they saw. After they felt they had exhausted their own observations, I shared with them some of the details Professor Roberts shared in her article. “I would have seen that too,” they sometimes interjected, “if I had just looked at it longer!” Whether it’s through violin or through art history lessons, I hope my girls can learn the value of slowness even if they can never identify camera film.

What are you doing to nurture patience in your life? Do you have work, smartphone or home practices that manufacture slowness?

Halloween Thoughts and Reflections

 I really hate Halloween, but I love little kids dressed up in the sunshine. The top photograph is Lou last week and below is Lachlan sporting it in 2008. They would have been the same age. I think they look like biological sisters, although they have completely different characters.

 If only I could possibly capture how difficult it was to get her to look at the camera and not lick her costume, put the pumpkin in front of her face, wave at strangers, or pull the whole hood over her head. There was definitely some groans and frustration.

 This is her calming technique. She takes her fingers or thumb and just very gently rubs her lips while she sucks on her tongue. I think she would have been a brilliant thumb sucker but it must have been discouraged.

 She's mad at me and trying to let me know that she doesn't want to have her picture taken anymore.

 I had to get a couple of butt shots. It's the best part of this costume. I love that tail tuff. I let her do some wild running free and it went well until she tried to run directly into the street.

 Ah, fall, with the golden light and a longing for the lazy days of summer.

 And then you can look back to 2007--Lachlan had just turned two and Jack was 10 months old. Oh, mercy! I should have never given away that chicken outfit. On our first Halloween as a family we went around the block trick or treating--Lachlan came home with a full-sized Snickers bar. She immediately opened it and sat down to eat the entire thing. I thought for sure that she would be throwing up all night. She's since proved that there isn't an amount of candy that will turn that stomach.

Jack was so happy to be a dinosaur wearing lipstick and for the record L can still get this outfit on!

 Jack was Batman two years in a row. I made that Statue of Liberty costume in about an hour and I'm still totally proud of myself for it!

Only to be followed by the gang from Scooby Doo--
I just can't believe that there are so many memories connected with this ridiculous holiday. On Thursday, Jack will suit up as the Hulk, Lachlan will don the Rapunzel gown (complete with golden hair), and Jeff will cover his whole head, eye brows and beard with black shoe polish to be the creepiest Lumberjack ever and we'll make a few more.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

 It's fall. I wish it could last for another month. It's supposed to get really cold tomorrow. I doubt that it will get warmer again for many months. My life has been insanely crazy lately. Despite that, I have taken some pictures of my sister's families. I like taking the pictures, but sometimes giving directions to the kids can make a person thankful for other career choices. It also make you realize how good a real photographer is at getting people to do what you want.

 These are my favorites from Sara's family. I have Susie's edited, but I'll have to post them later after she looks at them. There's a couple of hilarious ones of Harper. That kid was totally busting her biscuits out of her skinny jeans.

Family Picture Time

 I moved to Logan in 1993, which means that this August marked 20 years in this valley. I have come to love this place. This place is my home. I still get choked up when I drive out of the canyon and look out across the valley and think about the people and places I love so much.

 I wanted to have some family pictures taken on campus. Our friend, Julie Kirby took these for us. If you love her work you can check out her website.

 Louisa has been with us for three months today. It's interesting how many times I am overwhelmed with the feeling that she has ever been with us. I think that she has been destined to be a part of our family from the very beginning.

 Jack prays every night that "Louisa will learn some English words and that she can be good." It's a humorous and universally true statement from the whole family. What will I do when I can't send this wild animal outside for the next six months?

 Can we talk about getting older? I remember when my parents turned 40 and I thought that they were going to die--real soon. This past year has definitely been one where nearly every time I look in the mirror I am taken back by how much older I look--now, kids--this picture is awesome because I've invested some Photoshop skills. I'm talking about when I first wake up in the morning and I've been too tired the night before to take off my makeup--been going to bed like that for years--but lately, if I look in the mirror it's seriously frightening! I almost don't even want to shower cause then I'll have to put some lipstick on that pig. [insert laugh].

This boy. He's been saying, "What in the hell?" Yesterday I had to have a talk with him about swear words. Yeah, I pretty much don't need to ask where he heard that phrase--I've been trying to quit swearing since I was 12. I see so much of myself in this little guy. He is obsessed with the show Little Couple (I cry in every episode since they adopted their son) AND he loves "pet vet" shows. Oh, my goodness, we sit down together and worry about people's problems and their injured animals. It's quite the scene! I wish that he wasn't growing up so fast. He can no longer fit on my lap to snuggle--even if he wraps up in a tight ball. His body is heavy and muscular. He's got biceps and tight abs. No more little boy pot gut. I am so incredibly happy that he loves art, superheros, school and helping his sisters by being a "happy helper."

Allergy Tests, Cancer, and the Indian War Chant

Every once in a while I sit down at the end of the day and I can't believe what I have spent the day doing...

It is my belief that all mothers feel and think about this.

I never had moments like this before I had children.

This morning started out with a late shower and no time for scripture study. Louisa had ro poop in the middle of her shower so I literally had to stand and hold her to keep her from slipping her wet body right into the toilet. She has a case of the "stingy bum" so I have to make sure that she gets wiped really well and gets her bum cream on. Not that she would let me forget, she walks around and holds her crotch saying "yum yeem" until you get it done.

The easiest part of the day was while I went to work for a few hours.

And then I skipped lunch and hurried to take Lachlan to an allergy test. While we were there, Jeff dropped off a Diet Coke, chicken sandwich and Louisa. Louisa had her backpack, art smock, a baby dog and a bag full of fake fruits and vegetables.

We found out that Lachlan is allergic to cow's milk, soybeans, onions, tree pollen (oak, aspen, olive), soil mold and molds present in breads and leftover foods, honeydew melon...along with some minor reactions to about 20 other things. Dr. B has recommended that we begin immunotherapy for the mold and environmental allergies. It means that starting next week Lachlan will get a shot every week for at least the next year. She will also go off all dairy products, soy--and try not to eat onions. We are really hopeful that this will help her with her sinus/ear infections. They have been so bad this past year that I'm not sure her hearing will ever recover.

It took two hours to take and review the allergy test. I raced home to find Jack waiting on the porch in the rain. He was waiting with Bruce. I had just finished explaining to Lachlan that cow's milk = dairy products = milk, cheese, ice cream, yogurt, butter. She was in tears. She told me that she thought it would be so fun to tell all of her school friends about her allergy test, but it had turned out to be the "worst thing ever!" She cried about not being able to eat ice cream "as a family" any more. I probably should have done a better job explaining what we might find at the allergy test because it seriously was a complete shock that there were ANY consequences to the results. Frankly, I was sick to my stomach when I saw cow's milk on the list. Next to bread, I can't think of anything worse. I told her that it would be okay, that somehow we would figure it out.

Which put us right into homework time...timed reading, math, reading "Frog and Toad" with Jack. The whole time Louisa empties the box of crayons and then rolls them onto the floor and demands that someone pick them up; so that she can roll them onto the floor again. You start to think about dinner and then remember that Jeff is working late...

...and everyone stands there while you go to the bathroom. Jack actually showed me several pictures he drew.

During a dinner of leftovers we talked about cancer. What is cancer? Who gets cancer? Can kids get cancer? Can you get cancer in your leg/arm/eye/hair? Do I know anyone with cancer? Jack had to cry for a little while because, "you just never know if YOU"RE GOING TO GET CANCER!"

An awesome discussion and anxiety breakdown was followed directly by a solid hour of Lachlan practicing the piano. She saves the "Indian War Chant" piece for the last 20 minutes, just to make sure that I have smoked an entire pack of cigarettes.

In the meantime, I've yelled at Jack and Louisa to quit wrestling, stop feeding the cat, PHLEASE get your jammies on and brush your teeth, again to quit wrestling and PHLEASE put down the cat scratching post and quit rubbing it on your naked body (Louisa), quit following me, and pick up these bloody shoes! I may also have said, "If you put that meat in the couch, I will cut you."

Tomorrow we will go pick up Lachlan's new pediatric Epi-Pen. She has to bring it with her to all of her allergy appointments. We'll also start our mornings with a lot more oatmeal or maybe a bagel. I ordered a new HEPA filter for the vacuum and I need to get the carpets cleaned. Jack has show and tell. He has already planned to show his "nuts"--it's his black walnut collection that he collects on his nature walks. There might even be a spare horse chestnut thrown in there for something really exciting.

Hope we don't get cancer. (no, seriously--cause I guess you really never know)

On Being a Farmer's Daughter

Dedicated to my three sisters, but just for today this is for Erica.

Today I read this in the Modern Farmer:

For many people, their first farmer’s daughter is Laura Ingalls Wilder. It likely wasn’t their last.

From the beloved series of books to Melissa Gilbert’s almost unbearably earnest-faced TV version, Wilder has entered the hearts and minds of American children since the initial “Little House on the Prairie” book appeared in 1932. And aside from the occasional crop failure or locust swarm, it paints a pretty appealing picture of rural girldom — Laura is fundamentally kind-hearted but also kind of a bad ass. Laura rides horses! She does NOT wear her bonnet all the time, much to Ma’s chagrin! Cross her, and she won’t think twice about shoving you in the deep part of the creek with all the leeches!

So far so good.

On television after that, at least, it’s a pretty quick backslide into a hodge-podge of one-dimensional characters, women whose main characteristic is their apple-cheeked good looks and stern fathers. The most famous of this varietal is probably Daisy Duke from the “Dukes of Hazzard,” sister to Bo and Luke, frequent car chase participant and wearer of eponymous, impractical cutoff shorts. (Oddly, Laura and Daisy’s time on TV overlapped each other’s for five years.)

Images of farmers’ daughters tend to swing on that pendulum, from wholesome to tempting. Call it a Laura-Daisy Complex.

Of course, if women weren’t capable of shrugging off annoying stereotypes with an eye-roll (and maybe a drink? what time is it?) we’d all have carpal tunnel from tapping out righteous missives to Halloween costume manufacturers. And the farmer’s daughter is no exception. But the most annoying thing about a stereotype is how it obscures a person’s true experience.

Which is why it’s nice to go straight to the source.

Recently, Modern Farmer asked to hear from actual farmers’ daughters and dozens of women responded to talk about growing up in agriculture — and what it means to them to be a farmer’s daughter. Some of the women who responded had picked what they liked from the media buffet, embracing the idea of being tough and sexy, discarding the rest. But perhaps the most common sentiment running through the emails were that women who grew up on farms, whether they toil in public relations or as a nurse today, felt they had a deep respect for the land. Childhoods spent birthing calves, driving tractors and fixing cars had imparted in them self-reliance and a respect for hard work. Below are edited excerpts from just some of the responses we received.

On Media:

The first thing that comes to mind would be country music. I mean, how many songs have a line referencing a farmer’s daughter? You know, “cowboys dance with the farmer’s daughter” kinda stuff. But I would say most songs give us the image of being of high value, attractive, wholesome gals wearing daisy dukes and cowboy boots. I mean, lucky for us, not a bad image to have, but there is much more to us for sure. Whether you got the heck out of Dodge the first chance you got, or you stayed and became a new generation, I think most are grateful for being rural raised, riding bikes on dirt roads and getting an up close and personal lesson in hard work. — Megan Haverland, 27, Santa Monica (formerly of rural North Dakota), Public Relations Executive

Early on, I read “Little House on the Prairie”; “Sarah, Plain and Tall”; “Charlotte’s Web”; and “Anne of Green Gables”. I remember playing with the Little Tikes farm, which didn’t come with a girl toy, but I repurposed my Crystal Princesses. Later, I read Tess of the d’Urbervilles, Cold Mountain, and the Foxfire series. My mother’s, aunts’, grandmothers’, and great grandmothers’ stories of growing up with farmer fathers most definitely influenced my understanding my perception of what it meant to be a “farmer’s daughter.”…Although many families practiced strict gender roles, farming family stories also revealed to me that women were also capable of doing work outside of the home, like driving a tractor, milking a cow, or delivering a calf. — Lauren Wilson, 24, New York, NY (formerly of Bakersville, North Carolina), Digital Editor for Edible Brooklyn

At some point in the early aughts, I learned about the graphic tee and found one with the slogan “I’m Proud to be a Farmer’s Daughter.” I think I understood the irony associated with this particular slogan being marketed to urban hipsters, and it made me all the more proud to take ownership of the identity more literally. It was around the beginning of the DIY agrarian movement, so I do think the existence of that shirt was symptomatic of a larger shift toward embracing the farmer’s identity. That being said, I was always proud to be rural. When we were very young, my sister would call me a “city girl” whenever she wanted to enrage me. — Kristin Nothwehr, 25, New Haven, CT, (formerly of Clarinda, Iowa), student, working towards a Masters in architecture

On the farm:

One of the most frustrating and angst-y moments I ever had growing up was when I was 13. I remember my dad watching the weather channel deciding on if he should bale the hay or leave it overnight in case of rain. I told him not to do it. He did. It rained. The thing is, it didn’t start raining until 3:00 am. I remember at that moment how much I loathed the smell of leather gloves, which he threw at my head while telling me to get up, the tractor was running and we had 2 hours until the real storm was going to hit. If we didn’t get the bales in the barn before this down poor, we would lose 500 bales. I remember being so angry, which I took out on throwing the bales on the trailer while my dad stacked. I threw them so high over my head. I am not sure I could throw them that high ever again. As the sky started getting lighter, the rain started coming down harder, but we were able to save close to 400 bales, with just the two of us.— Janet MacDonald, 26, San Francisco, CA, nurse

From the time I could drag the plastic gallon-sized repurposed Gatorade jug up the driveway, it was my responsibility rain-or-shine to get fresh milk from the barn for the family. When I was going through my ‘beauty queen’ phase, I insisted on sporting my plastic purple Barbie heels up and down our gravel driveway — this certainly didn’t make lugging a sweaty gallon of cold milk up the hill any easier. But it did make me feel a little more glamorous. —Lauren

I can remember my dad driving me out to a pasture late one evening when a heifer was struggling to deliver a calf. We had to round her up and pull the calf, which turned out to be stillborn. It was a sad moment, but I remember feeling proud because we had managed to save the heifer. Participating in a small way in the lifecycle of these animals gave me such an appreciation for both its fragility and its persistence. —Kristin

On what it means to be a farmer’s daughter:

I may not be smokin’ hot and wearing daisy dukes every day but I can change my tire in a pair of stilettos, bust my ass to get the impossible done, know where my food comes from, shoot a gun, and know which direction is north. I can cook a meal with three ingredients, I know what ordering a black Angus steak actually means and exactly what went into that rib eye. I can tell you what soybean aphids are, the difference between Canadian thistle and lambsquarters …I also appreciate dirt under someone’s fingernails. It means work to me. —Megan

I feel somewhat conflicted about the designation in our current cultural moment, in that I often find myself at odds with friends with whom I normally see eye to eye. My parents’ farm is traditional farm, which is a term that is often mistakenly equivocated with the “factory farm”. It is a large farm by some standards, and a small farm by others. I frequently hear disparaging remarks regarding the disconnect between farmer and land associated with mainstream agricultural practice, which couldn’t be farther from my experience. I feel very lucky to have grown up so connected with the rhythms of the natural world, it’s made me much more conscientious of my own potential effect on the world around me. —Kristin

I had to learn about life and death, symbiotic relationships, steeping in poop, and the art (and sometimes mystery) of composting and herding cows. —Janet

People like to joke about the farmer’s daughters being the girls wearing the plaid shirts and daisy duke jeans. They are “stereotypically” the ditzy, kind hearted, slow thinking girls who get into a lot of trouble. I think that being raised on a farm is something to be proud of. I believe in #rockinruralwomen and that “farmer’s daughters” grow into fantastic people who do an amazing job of taking care of their families and communities. I think every girl in the world should take a moment and instead of making fun of the farmer’s daughter, she should figure out how to be more like her.— Katie Toney, 28, Saskatchewan, Canada, mother, rancher, photographer.

An enormous thank you to all the women who took the time to write to us about their experiences growing up on the farm.

To which, I add my own voice and recollection:

I remember when I finally left for college my dad looked me straight in the face and said, "If you're going to work in agriculture you'll need to live and work with absolute integrity. It's all you've got and the only thing that will matter to the people you serve." I've never forgotten it. I think about it all the time--every time I want to knock off work a little early or try to squeak by with a "half-assed" job.

I also echo the statements of these women, who validate and understand what it means to love the land, value hard (even back breaking) labor, and appreciate the value of creatures great and small.

Oh, and I learned that sticking together with your sisters does matter. Cause sometimes they're the only ones that know how it feels to be "that" particular farmer's daughter.