Book Review #21 - Wonder

I am a sucker for kindness.  Sometimes, when I can't get the words out to complain to a waiter about cold food or an empty drink, I think of my fear of seeming unkind as a weakness or failing.  After reading Wonder, by R.J. Palacio, I have decided that I will always, always, always err on the side of kindness...cold food and all.

You see, this is an excellent book.  It is about kindness.  It is a book I think everyone should read.  It is a book I gave to my seventh grader immediately after finishing and said, "Please read this," and hoped and wished he would and not ignore it like he does with some of my suggestions.  He did and he loved it too.  We have had some great conversations about it since and I learned some things about him when we discussed the various characters.

Good books do that.  They teach and inspire and warn and rebuke.  I felt all of those things as I read about a nice young man with a facial deformity that made him an outcast at school and in life.  I read about his fears and about his courage.  I read about how people treated him.  Once, in a moment of real confusion and questioning, I asked my mom what God could possibly have intended in his plan for people who suffered from debilitating mental illness.  I will always remember her response.  She said, "I think, in large part, they suffer so he can judge how we treat them."

Here is a quote from the book: “If every person in this room made it a rule that wherever you are, whenever you can, you will try to act a little kinder than is necessary - the world really would be a better place. And if you do this, if you act just a little kinder than is necessary, someone else, somewhere, someday, may recognize in you, in every single one of you, the face of God.”

There. I dare you not to love that quote. Auggie suffers so we can learn how to treat God's creations - deformed...beautiful and everything in between.  Read this book and decide which of Wonder's character's you most resemble.  They might be in middle school but I don't think any of us are too old to learn from Auggie.  Read this book!  Then have your spouse/kids/peers read it too!

Book Review #20 - Heaven Is Here

There is a scene in Stephanie Nielson's memoir, Heaven Is Here, that has stayed with me these past few months since I read it.  It is found in the first third of the book, where Nielson, or Nie Nie, as she is commonly known, writes about how much she loved to clean her family house while growing up.  She recalls her tendency to routinely fluff the pillows on the chairs and sofa to make everything look nice.  She then describes, and this is what fascinated me, how, afterward, she went outside and pretended to be someone walking along the sidewalk in front of her home. She looked through the window and thought, "A nice family must live here."  It's both charming and creepy all at once but the inclusion of this seemingly insignificant anecdote felt like the big "Ah-ha!" for me.  For the rest of the book, I realized I was on the sidewalk looking through the windows of her living room.

You see, I never understood the appeal of her blog.  Even before Stephanie and her husband's airplane crash, I found her colorful blog with its courier font and middle alignment hard to digest.  I loved her sister's blog with her wit and irreverent but soul-baring posts and occasionally clicked over to Stephanie's blog from it but I wasn't interested in drinking distilled water or eating a vegetarian diet so while I applauded her happy marriage and love of motherhood, I never felt inspired by the life she presented on her blog.  Moreover, she isn't a great writer.  I'm not saying that to be critical of her life but because a blog is based on the written word and a book even more so, I think the ability to write well matters.  If I'm going to look through into someone's home, I have always been more interested in the conversation between the people sitting on the sofa than the sofa's design or the colors and patterns of its accent pillows.

Thankfully, she had help writing her book.  Gone are the frequent grammatical errors from her blog and she and her family are presented in a fluid and accessible way.  As she developed her personal story in the first third of the book, I understood her candid and unapologetic aspirations to be a wife and mother.  I think she was right in laying out her case that way because her youthful goals were so different from mine and it helped me understand an additional layer of devastation that came after the crash.

The middle section, about the crash is almost detailed enough.  I'm not sure if it's morbid fascination with her survival of something so nightmarish but I wanted to know everything she knew about the crash and that was not to be.  She shared a little bit about being in the plane before it went down, about being aware of her husband and his instructor's apparent stress but it wasn't until the end of the book that I realized I still didn't know how the crash actually happened.  Something in the plane malfunctioned but what?  Why?  How?  As much as I wish I knew those details, I recognize that Stephanie's book is about her personal journey and not just a chronological telling of events.   Whether the crash occurred because of the plane's malfunction or pilot error isn't what Stephanie chooses to write about.  I get it.

I was glad she allowed the curtains on her window to stay open while the inside was uncomfortably messy.   She went to a really dark place following her medically-induced coma and struggled with the will to survive.  As she couldn't imagine ever being able to make her life beautiful again, she truly wondered what purpose on earth she would ever have again.  I cheered for her breakthroughs and her spirit discovering the beauty she had within.  It is very inspiring and life affirming.

I appreciate the end of the book when she questions the title of her book.  It was suggested to her by her editor and she explains how she had to be persuaded to use it and even believe it.  All while reading, I wondered at the title.  It was pretty clear that heaven was NOT here as Stephanie had more than one close encounter with it while she was spiritually elsewhere.  Her defense and use of the title felt necessary to me.

Critiquing a memoir is kind of a risky endeavor.  As a book devoted to sharing parts of a life, it's hard to separate the person from the writing. In this case, I think the book is successful.  It tells a unique and incredible story.  As a book to read, it is fine.  While I still care very little about her pretty living room, this book brought me the conversation within and I left thinking, "A nice family really does live there."

Daniel - 37 Weeks

You have 5 teeth!  Five!  That third bottom tooth just snuck in there while I was checking and rechecking on the progress of your top two.  It was not a very fun week for you.  I'm sorry.  Teething stinks.  

You got in the lake and you loved it.  At first you were cold but once you got used to the cold water, you started splashing just like you do in the bathtub.

This is your happy place.  You love the bath!  As soon as I set you down you start happy slapping the sides of the tub.

And this is you with your buddy, Sam.  It's a toss-up who adores you the most but Sam is definitely in the running.  You are both excited to see each other when he gets home from school.

Lost In Translation

I should have known by the fourth missed call that my sister needed to talk to me about something more serious than So You Think You Can Dance or the price of Lagoon tickets.  When I finally picked up at 8:30 pm and listened to her news about my mom being in the hospital, I was furious with myself for being so glib about her calls, relieved that I hadn't had to suffer as much as she had for the past four hours as still very little information was available as to our mom's condition and, mostly, intensely stressed out about how my mom was doing.

Sarah, with hours of investigative reporting already under her belt, became my source of information.  Because my mom was undergoing procedures and then spending the night in the ICU, I didn't want to interrupt any rest she might be having or inundate my father with call after call after call (there are six of us, after all, and we like to keep in touch) while he was certainly worried and stressed.   So, I waited and wondered and worried.  I shared what little information I had with Jay who had many questions of his own - questions I hadn't even thought to ask.  I realized how much communication gets lots from doctor to patient and from patient to family members.  No doubt, Jay, with his fluency in medical jargon, would be much better informed armed with access to my mom's imaging, as well as her charts and test results.  I felt a bit ridiculous when I realized how little I actually knew about what was going on.

Come morning, my dad sent an email to us children with the information he had.  It was a little different from what I had gone to bed supposing and my understanding of the situation was already shifting.  Hours later, after my mom had been transferred out of the ICU and into a medical ward, I was able to speak with her and got better information still.  Partly because some of my own misunderstandings were cleared up but mostly because she got more and better information during the morning hours.  Nurses had translated some of the more confusing questions she had into what she could understand and when I told Jay the updates, he said, "Well, that makes a lot more sense than what you said last night."  He started talking about "hyper" this and things ending with "tion" and I nodded and said, "Um..yeah.  I don't know."

After talking to my mom, who is doing much, much better and should be home tomorrow, I had this brief epiphany: truth is frequently lost in translation.

My mom's condition, the things happening inside her body, was always what it was.  It never changed.  What changed was my level of access to the truth.  Immediately, at the very first level of discovery, some truth is always lost due to simple human limitations.  The tests have limits in accuracy.  The doctors have limits in interpreting data and diagnoses based on their level of experience and training.  Given, that very training and experience is what makes them the most qualified to define the truth but we can't know more than we are capable of knowing.

From there, the doctors pass on their findings to nurses and staff, as well as other concerned parties like family members or journalists and shave off already flawed data to people who are even less able to understand its full complexity.  So, by the time it reaches me, it's been simplified...reduced.  No longer truth but a summary of possible truth.  And that is only once removed.

By the time I heard it from my sister, who called the nurse in the ICU who got it from a chart written by a doctor or even from my dad who always looks at the big picture rather than the numbers that may or may not be her hematocrit level, the truth had changed.  It was skewed. Inaccurate. Less. Not from any malice, fault or sloth by any party, but merely due to distance and ability.

There is so much I don't know.  I don't know where the next hurricane will strike.  I don't know about Heavenly Mother.  I don't know why rhythmic gymnastics is still an olympic sport.  And, sometimes....a lot of the time...I don't even know what I don't know.  That's scary.  I realized this morning, in that brief moment of stillness and clarity, (which is already gone, by the way.  It's hard to make that short, happy epiphany make sense right now) that truth is truth.  It doesn't change.  But my understanding does.  I can be content to get my information from the line or I can learn what I need to learn so that the metaphorical "hyper"s and "tion"s have meaning.

Daniel - 36 Weeks

Book Review #19 - Home

There are so many qualities of a book that determine its quality and how it is received.  Toni Morrison is a difficult author for me to review because I understand, as a middle-class, caucasian reader, I lack the experience, history and perspective that would allow me to truly love and appreciate her books.  However, having read four of her novels including her latest, Home, I can recognize the beauty of her craft by merely comparing a paragraph she writes to a paragraph in another book and, more often than not, declaring hers the winner.  She writes very well.  She writes with depth and truth and exposes a part of American and black history that is usually harrowing and shameful.

I never want to pretend to like a book more than I actually did in an attempt to seem more analytical or astute than I really am.  It is tempting while writing a review for a book written by a Nobel laureate to nod my head and say, "This is incredible!" but the main thought going through my head while reading Home was, "Why doesn't Morrison ever include the good things that happen to her characters?" I'm not insinuating that anyone who gushes over this book isn't being sincere but I know if I gushed, I wouldn't be.

Home is the story of Frank Money's post Korean war life.  There are plenty of flashbacks to his childhood which are all just as disturbing as his psychologically damaged adult life.  Although Frank seems to have had some decent times in his life, such as close friendships throughout his youth, a  somewhat understanding girlfriend after the war and a sister he raised who idolizes him, any positives are quickly glossed over to get straight to the dysfunction of each relationship and experience: his friends gruesome deaths in the war, his girlfriend's relief when he leaves and his poor sister's abuse at the hands of a medical doctor.

It's all very believable and I'm sure there are plenty of real life Frank Moneys who have suffered what he suffered and saw what he saw and were tormented every bit as much as he was tormented but it's all so...depressing.   I have never and will never think that a book needs a happy ending to be good but it should have a purpose.  I'm not sure what this book's purpose is.

The book jacket actually led me to believe that this would be a book about a broken man finding hope and courage and his "home" but I saw no hope or courage here.  Not curling up into a ball and dying: yes.  It just seems like an awfully low standard to write about.  

Book Review #18 - Edenbrooke

Regency romance is not my thing. Jane Austen copy cat books are not my thing. I was sure Edenbrooke, where a young lady named Marianne Daventry is invited to visit the title's namesake estate with her twin sister and become entangled in the inevitable drama of suitors and advantageous marriages, would not be my thing.

I was totally wrong. I found this book to be absolutely delightful.

So delightful, in fact, that I read it again the very next day. I had heard from other admirers that it reminded them of Pride and Prejudice and I knew that didn't feel right to me. Still, I loved it and wanted to know why the romantic tension felt so familiar and interesting if it wasn't for its resemblance to Austen's beloved romance between Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy.

I think it has more in common with some John Hughes films like "Some Kind of Wonderful" or the relationship between Jim and Pam in the early days of "The Office" than the buttoned up courtship of actual 19th century fictional figures. Not that this has much unbuttoning. It is very PG and refreshingly clean. And I don't mean that Edenbrooke's plot follows the same storyline as either of the above fictional romances.  They evoke similar feelings.  All three involve a seemingly insurmountable obstacle in the mind of one of the characters that prevents them from being with the person they really, really want to be with.   Just like The Office was better before Jim and Pam got together, romantic tension in this form is enjoyable to me. When it releases, with declarations and understanding, I find it all very satisfying. More stories should follow this formula! It's definitely my kind of thing:)

The ensuing story includes lots of flirting, a bit too many mentions of Marianne blushing for my liking but, oh well, and some predictable conflicts when her more glamorous sister is determined to have the guy Marianne wants (but will never admit wanting) as well as some surprising action involving guns and kidnapping.  There is a letter writing scene that I read over at least five times!  Swoon!  Marianne is an every-day woman's heroine.  Pretty in a non-obvious way and better known for her wit, selflessness and love of nature, she can live a more genuine life as she has no aspirations to belong to the fast and beautiful crowd, unlike her not-identical twin sister. Of course, that kind of realness only makes her become more attractive to those who get to know her and when they do, they can't help but fall in love with her,  the beautiful people included. I don't know how realistic that is, but being of average attractiveness myself, I loved the possibility.

I understand the comparison to Pride and Prejudice.  Although the plot points are quite different, the author places her story in the same time and setting and includes many of the same supporting characters: snobby rivals made worse by their jealousy, a villain disguised as a gentleman and a loving but distracted and absent father.  Additionally, there are the same sorts of rules and obstacles to overcome in regard to marriage, money and titles although the characters seem a lot closer to having our 21st century sensibilities than the class and gender restricting ones they would have actually had. There are also several scenes straight out of Pride and Prejudice. There is a reversed and much more funny wet-from-the-pond scene.  There is also some passionate practice fencing to rid a certain gentleman of his romantic frustration.  And you can't forget the balls.  It wouldn't be a period romance without the descriptions of balls and smoldering glances.

All of this is fine and good but what really connected me to the story was the story of friendship.  Simplified, yes, but it was so nice to read about a budding romance that was based much less on physical attraction and more on common goals and values, interest in the other person's talents and abilities and, super cheesy here, wholesome recreational activities.  I actually believed that these characters could and did fall in love.  So fun.  Probably my favorite book of the summer.

Book Review #17 - Between Shades of Gray

I officially have fifty books that I have read since I first started reviewing books that have not been reviewed.  Fifty.  Obviously, most of those are from last year when I was pregnant and barely functioning but I have twelve that I've read this year and not reviewed.  That's a lot!  I'm behind and I hate feeling behind but I don't want to give up.  I learned from last year's hiatus that I forget the books I don't review.  There are many books on that list of fifty I can barely remember reading.  I always struggle to remember specifics like character names, dates and places but most of the time, if I take the time to sit and write a review, that book and what I felt while reading stays with me.  I have enjoyed that experience so much.

So, today, I'm going to write one.  There are lots of other blog posts I should spend my time on as I'm sure I'll care more about the memories of these events than what I thought about a book but I'm hoping my little act of blog defiance will keep me in the book review game.

I'm sure I've mentioned this before but I am a big fan, huge, of well titled books.  I love it when there are layered meanings or a play on words or it contains a reference to something traditional, familiar or reverent.  Possibly because this title is so unfortunately similar to another currently popular but less chaste book, I was very motivated to learn the meaning of its title, Between Shades of Gray.  Until the very end of the book, and I mean very end (like author's notes), I still hadn't gotten it.  The protagonist, a fifteen year old opinionated and perceptive girl named Lina, is an artist and the book is filled with abundant references to her drawing, sketching, and tracing the events of her and her family's struggle to survive as declared enemies to the Soviet Union.  As part of the book takes place in Siberia in the snow, I thought it must have something to do with the mixture of pencil lead or charcoal and the snow.  You know...gray art.  Clues, perhaps, that led to their deliverance or a description of their lost testament of a brutal and forgotten history.  The cover picture with snow on an eyelash supported that theory.

As the story progressed and their conditions became more severe, I grimly thought that the author was  making a morbid reference to the characters' skin tones as they became sicker and sicker from malnutrition, exhaustion and disease.  Or, less grotesque, there was an early description of Lina wearing a pretty grey dress during a happier time that brought out the color of her eyes that I reasoned might have been mentioned to foreshadow another shade of gray later on creating a contrast of the two time periods.  

Between Shades of Gray is a book about what happened to the Lithuanians, Latvians, Estonians and Finns during Stalin's rule.  As the author, Ruta Sepetys, predicted, I had little knowledge of the specific sufferings felt by these exiled people.  Caught between Hitler advancing armies in 1941 and the Soviet Union's own expanding empire, the citizens of these small countries were without allies or voice and their stories were left largely untold until their re-independence in the 1990s.  Sepetys was correct in assuming that their stories of survival, heartache, despair and love need to be told.  I'm grateful she has given a voice to these histories and glad that her book is doing well, even better because of a similarly titled book.

I did have my disappointments.  By far the largest disappointment was needing to be told the point of the title.  I'm not going to give it away here, but should any of my above theories as to the meaning of the title show up on some kind of multiple choice exam in the future, choose D: none of the above. When the author revealed what she meant by "Between Shades of Gray," I wasn't wowed.  In fact, I was a little more like, "Well...obviously."  That is true of all history and every story.  It bugged me that she felt like she was making this breakthrough announcement.   I also have to mention that the writing is quite juvenile with short simple sentences and a lot of guiding and telling how the characters felt. While her characters do feel genuine and there is a satisfying variety in their responses to depravity, they are mostly boxed into one identifying emotion.  A few of the main characters were allowed more than one but the additional responses were often related. Lina was angry but determined.  Her mother was kind and  generous.  The bald man was mean and scared.

Nevertheless, this is a good book.  It exposes important morality that forces thought and judgment.  How do some survive the very worst kinds of suffering?  How would I choose to be in a situation like this?  Why is the world so cruel sometimes?

Knowing that most of the situations throughout her novel are based on memories of real life survivors, any writing flaw or deficiency easily takes a back seat to its truth.  More than that, the take away message of love and hope overpowering despair and darkness is a message I hope all will be motivated to read.  Recommended!

First Day of School - 2012

Fourth Grade

First day choice of outfit: BYU t-shirt and basketball shorts

I haven't seen these poofy soccer shorts all summer.  Suddenly, on the first day of school, he pulls them out and declares them his favorite pair.  Add some white socks to some Tevas and you've got fashion-star 1st Grade Henry.

 It's really hard to get good pictures of him without sunglare on his glasses.  I love this shot because you can see his beautiful eyes.  1st Grade!

Seth's outfit is not a surprise.  He loves these shorts because they are his longest and most basketball-y.   Plus, orange is his favorite color.

Nike Elite socks are a given because he spent ALL of his birthday money on 7 pairs of socks.  You read that right.  A 12 year-old spent all of his money on socks.  So...they must be pretty cool.  And, he starts cross-country today after school so I knew he'd want his steve Prefontaine t-shirt that says, "You're gonna have to bleed to beat me."  Go Seth.  

We tried to get haircuts yesterday but the lines were too long.  Still, he makes for a handsome 7th grader.

And then there's Daniel who is at a loss for what to do in all the quiet.  He's used to all three boys fighting for his smile and attention.  It's going to be awfully boring around here now.  Cleaner...for sure.  But boring.

Daniel - 35 Weeks (8 Months!)

At 8 months you:

Pull yourself up to stand with anything...window, chair, table, leg.
Crawl but prefer to keep your left knee from hitting the ground.
Enjoy your baby food and puffs and really, put anything into your mouth.
Hate loud noises.  Like when your dad cheers during the olympics.
Sleep in your bedroom...all through the night.
Climb stairs, though I'm loathe for you to do it.
Nurse twice a day.
Love bath time.
Babble.
Smack your lips.
Stand with your tip toes most of the time.
Crawl to wherever I am and then cry when I walk away.  It's really bad when I'm cleaning the kitchen. You just don't know where to go!
Have two bottom teeth and two top teeth that are close to poking through your gums.

I love being outside.  So many things to look at.  No, I won't look at you, Mom.

Yum.  Grass.

Oh.  You're walking away?  Even with this come hither look? 

Where are you going?  Can I come?

You thought these stairs would slow me down but you were wrong!  I climb them with ease!

But, wait!  What are these beautiful, colorful things?  I must touch them.

I'm back!  Looking cuter than ever.

I'm gonna get you...

I got you!

I love this age.  It freaks me out a bit that I am the sun in your universe.  You really do flirt with everyone and are a happy baby with a willing smile but there's something about the way your body jolts with awareness if we make eye contact.  Heaven forbid I see you and walk on by.  In your world, there is no greater insult.  Thankfully, your dutiful brothers save the day and happily scoop you up.  Even Henry likes to grab you around your middle now and move you from room to room.  What a fun addition you are to our family.

I think I Just Became A Grown-up

I am a big believer in the birthday - to the extent that I get a wee bit frustrated with the many adults who seem to downplay its importance.

"It's just another day."

"I don't want to celebrate getting older."

"Never mind with the cake.  I don't care."

Bah!

There is a wise but trendy quote out there about not regretting growing older as it's a privilege denied to many and I think the thought is fine but I don't want to be only grateful for not being dead.  I am grateful to be alive!  I think my existence, and the existences of the fabulous people I adore on their birthdays, are worth celebrating.  So, I try and make birthdays a big deal.

Some of my past birthday mantras have been "don't do anything you don't want to do." Better than simply not doing the undesirable, the day should also be spent doing whatever you do want to do but I acknowledge that sometimes, just not going to school or to work or ignoring the laundry that needs to be done is part of the celebration too.  It kills me a little that Jay always seems to work on his birthday.  I mean, I would understand if his job was trail running or skiing or artificially inseminating cows...things he loves to do.  But, he often comes home from work tired and worn out and frustrated and I think he should opt out of that on his birthday.  But...I digress.  This is about me.

It's hard to opt out of being a mom.  I suppose what I realized this year, compared to other more selfish and disappointing years, is that there are more than just do or don't do alternatives to the day.  I can make it a point to do or not do whatever I want or I can enjoy whatever the day brings.  Maybe that is why Jay works.  Maybe that is what so many of those bah-humbuggers are actually doing: choosing to celebrate their everyday life.  Interesting idea.

I have this fantasy birthday celebration.  Admittedly selfish, I dream of spending 24 hours by myself.  I want to get a nice hotel room and read a book, uninterrupted for hours.  I want to take a long bubble bath.  I want to hog the bed and wake up when my body wants to and not because an alarm is going off or a baby is crying or boys are wrestling loudly just outside my door.  I want a chef to make my food and a waiter to bring it to me and someone else to clean it up.  This hasn't always been my birthday fantasy.  Most years, I want to be with friends, doing something active and funny and slightly wild.  I want to laugh and dance and play.  I don't know if it's having a baby or four boys or the realization that I don't really have the friends or lifestyle that accommodates dancing or rowdiness but that kind of celebration appeals to me less and less.  I long for the calm.

But, calm was not to be this year.  There was no way around it - fair was the week of my birthday and the culminating activity for the week, the sale, was to be held on my birthday evening.  With the show and weigh-in and interviews and other fair activities earlier in the week, there really wasn't a chance to move the celebrating to a different day.  Knowing all of this, I had a choice to make. I could act like I didn't care about my birthday at all and it was just another day and what did it matter that Jay and the boys would be totally preoccupied and busy with their four-legged projects.  I could refuse to have anything at all to do with the fair because it wasn't where I wanted to be on my birthday.  I could go to the fair and resent every minute of it.  I'm not going to lie, I was aware and thought about each of these options.



Fair isn't just about the animals.  There are overpriced activities and rides to enjoy as well.  Here, Jay treats the boys to some rubber band shooting.



Sam had what I like to call his posse around the entire week.  They encouraged him to do things like get this crazy hat.  Even when silly, Sam is always willing to do whatever to help with Daniel.



At the corn-shucking contest.  The kids won.  I think they had an unfair advantage since there was about 20 of them.  Look at the group of 5 behind them.  Same amount of corn to be shucked.  They are good sports.  I would have been calling foul.  It's probably a good thing I don't participate in these things.



I went and looked at all the animals, even though I don't actually like their smells and sounds.  I wish I could hold my breath the entire time we are around the chickens and hens.  I don't know why. It's just so chaotic with all of those feathers and balking.  But, I did think these suckling piglets were cute.

What happened was an acceptable blend of duty and fun.  My sister, Sarah, came to ensure there was that bit of spoiling everybody deserves at least once a year.  In the morning, we went to a Zumba class that disappointed in execution but still managed to make us sweat and pretend that we were hip-swiveling goddesses.  Jay had taken the week off to help Seth and Sam at the fair but on my birthday, he took Henry as well.  That left us with only Daniel and although he is a wiggly and active baby, we could manage him between the two of us and went and got a pedicure.



Pretty toes!  Mine are the silver ones.




Sarah is probably even more uncomfortable around manure and animals than I am.  I thought this picture was so funny.  Here she is...all dolled up, eating greasy french fries in a camp chair surrounded by cows.  She does it for me.  I love her!

After our carefree morning, I needed to get to the fair.  There was a barbecue fundraiser to support, buyer baskets to put together, and boys (and a husband) to help.

Many...most...almost all moms of the 4-Hers are in the trenches with their kids projects.  I saw a friend and mom of one of my young women wipe the manure off the butt of her steer to keep it clean just before the show.  She seriously took a paper towel and just wiped it off.  With her hand.  I am not that kind of fair mom.  I will wipe my kids' bums.  I will not wipe their steers' bums.  I think there is perfect reason in that statement.

My kind of help was getting the kids root beer, chicken on a stick or a corn dog.  I combed their hair after they combed their steers hair and wiped their faces after they wiped off their steer's hooves.  They have Jay to help with the rest.




Jay is Mr. 4-H.  He came home tired every night but he loves this kind of stuff and I'm glad that he and the boys have this experience together.



Seth's steer, Tebow, getting his hip measurement.  His was 52 inch and weighed 1306 lbs.  He also came in 7th for the Silver Steaks competition which includes an ultrasound of the cow for meat quality and to encourage people to enter locally grown steers.



Sam's steer, Noche, leaving the chute.  He was shorter with only a 50.25 hip measurement and weighing 1266.  That put them in different categories so they didn't compete directly with each other.



Jay getting Daniel comfortable with the steers.  I used hand sanitizer on him after this.

The auction started at 6:30 but in spite of the boys effort and improvements they made this past year, the judged didn't seem to like their steers any better.  They came in a disappointing 6th and 7th in their classes and were scheduled to show near the end of the auction.  Prices started a lot lower than last year and the grand champion steer went for $3 less per pound.  That made us nervous but it was going to be whatever it was going to be.

Last year, I remember being so nervous for Seth in the ring.  I worried that he'd be dragged or kicked or  lose control of his steer but this year, for both boys, I knew they'd be fine.  We even sent Henry into the ring with them to carry the buyers baskets.  It was a huge relief and brought me surprising birthday joy when Seth's sold for $3.50/lb and Sam's for $3.25/lb.  I know it would have been more fun to place higher and have that accolade for having a pretty steer but when it comes down to it, they are raising and showing market beef.  Not pretty cows.  And their steers were great looking.  They just didn't have poofy, soft coats of hair.  But, who eats the hair???








Look at how cute he is as a cowboy!  I love the little curry comb in his pocket.



It didn't seem to me like the judge even looked at sam's steer but this picture proves me wrong.  I must have taken it in the nanosecond that he did.

sa











Seth did a great job too.  It's weird to think that only a year ago, we were so worried and nervous for him.  Now...he's like a pro!



At the auction.





Look at how cute Henry is in his cowboy get up. Unfortunately, he did drop the buyer basket, which was filled with pie making things (pie plate, spatula, flour, apples) a couple of times.  



So, this was a weird post in that it combined my waxing philosophical on birthdays and fair results but that is how I knew I had become a grown up.  My boys' successful fair results were like a great birthday present.  Their smiles and relief and redemption were my gifts.  I spent the majority of the day surrounded by pooping cows and, by the end of the night, I was happy.  I celebrated me...as an adult.




Patty and Delanie heart-attacked me.  I love it!



My mother-in-law brought me a beautiful bouquet of flowers from her amazing garden.  

I hope I never give up my birthday attitude.  I hope I always strive to make the day different and celebratory and acknowledge the uniqueness that is me but I'm glad I realized, at the ripe ol' age of 37 that I am more than me now.  I have these little people who are a part of me and when I celebrate them...I get to celebrate me too.

The calm will come.  And when it does, I have a hunch I'll miss the roar...even the roar of a fair.