I Didn’t Know I Married My Father in Law

After 22 years of wedded bliss with this man I call Cowboy, it has become evident that I am married to my father-in-law.

I first met my father-in-law, Big Dad, over 25 years ago. At the time he was a burly and bearded semi driver, but his smiling eyes gave him away instantly. He teased, poked, and prodded at me, and we quickly formed a bond. I became his daughter.

A natural story-teller, I’ve often shaken my head at the yarns my father-in-law spins. He always has a funny story to tell, and he never fails to deliver increasing dramatics as his audience responds with howls of laughter. Big Dad has never met a stranger in all his born days. The man could talk the ear off a lamp post. And intuition…oh yes…if he gets a feeling that someone is having a bad day, he’ll do something to make them laugh. It’s his duty.

Big Dad is one huge tease. He pokes, prods and cajoles anyone and everyone (nearly to the point of exasperation). To say his is stubborn would be an understatement. He, of course, will deny this to his dying day. And probably the biggest thing of all:  Big Dad hates to be late to anything…that is, unless he is galavanting all over town, visiting and chatting to his heart’s content…then it’s okay to be late. It’s his call. And trust me, when he makes the call, and the man says it is time to GO, he turns completely impatient and you GO…now! There is no waiting, no last-minute chatting, no time for belabored good-byes, you simply GO. If you don’t go, he’ll leave you. I’ve witnessed it. Once when Big Dad and Mom B were visiting us, Big Dad determined it was time to leave. He threw up his hand, yelled “Goodbye!” and headed out the door. Mom B, of course, could not leave without a few parting words, hugs and kisses. By the time she made it out the door, Big Dad’s truck was rumbling down the driveway. Cowboy and I stood on the porch giggling as we watched Mom B chasing Big Dad, laughing the entire way!  

A flashback of this particular incident came to mind a couple of years later when our little family of five was preparing to meet Cowboy’s parents for dinner.  Roughly three times throughout the day Cowboy had stated what time we would leave, and roughly five more times when the bewitching hour was near, Cowboy warned his daughters that the bus would leave with or without them. That magic hour struck, and the girls were still fussing over silliness, not prepared to leave. Cowboy took me by the hand and calmly escorted me to the waiting truck. He turned the key in the ignition, backed out of the parking space, and with a honk of the horn, began slowly driving down the lane. In an instant, three little girls came flying out the door, running down the drive screaming “WAIT!  WAIT!  STOP!”  With heavy sigh and glint in his eye, Cowboy put on the brakes, rolled down the window, and asked them if they would like a ride. We made it to dinner on time. All five of us.

When I first met Cowboy, I couldn’t help but think his personality was a lot like his mother’s.  Kind, gentle, patient, helpful, bubbly and fun…but over the years he seems to have morphed into a younger version of Big Dad…that “left behind” moment was probably the first big indication.

Also like Big Dad, Cowboy is a story teller. Something always reminds him of a happening from his younger days, and time after time the girls have asked him to repeat a story he’s shared before. When the girls were really little, Cowboy would make up stories about a fictional character named “Granny Fletcher.”  To this day I imagine they think she was a real person who did the craziest things. 

Probably the strongest intuition Cowboy possesses is his ability, like Big Dad, to hone in on people’s emotions. We’ve gone to dinner many times when he has turned to me and said “our waitress is having a bad day…I’ll see what I can do about that.”  Generally I groan and say “No, please…leave her alone!” But every time that notion has struck him, he’s turned on the silliness, and we’ve always left the restaurant to the sound of a laughing waitress. 

And harassment teasing…? Cowboy, like Big Dad, has mastered it.  He often approaches drive up windows looking like a…well…a crazy man.  I was with him once when he made his away through a Wendy’s drive-up at lunch time.  When we reached the window he immediately began messing with the cashier, asking for pepper packets, knowing full well that they didn’t carry any. The fun  teasing lasted for several minutes. Finally, the girl said “wait” and quickly returned, flung a gray plastic pepper shaker through Cowboy’s truck window, and laughed “There…take that…are you happy now?” He kept that pepper shaker in his glove box for months.

I can’t even begin to list the things he has done to the tellers at our bank. It’s embarrassing. Truly. I apologize to them every time I visit.

One day this week Cowboy stayed home from the jobsite to take care of some things here at home. Just before noon he announced that he needed to run some errands. Knowing this trip would likely turn into a Big-Dad-style galavant unless someone (a.k.a. ME) was able to intervene, I spoke up, “I’ll go with you.” With a curled up  nose and a frown he looked at me and said “Who invited you?”  Not to be deterred, I grabbed my bag and headed to his truck. We made two stops: TSC and Lowe’s (or, as Cowboy calls it, “Slows”).  He of course teased and poked and prodded the staff at each store, and he of course stopped to talk to anyone and everyone he knew (and even someone he didn’t really know) when the opportunity arose, but I am proud to say I managed to keep him on a narrow path and we arrived home in time to get Lil to her dance class. Success!

One thing I can say is unique about Cowboy is that he has a knack for coming up with the strangest ideas. For instance, this morning Cowboy and I had a discussion. It was a silly discussion surrounding a check. Yes, you read that right, a check…written to me by a friend. As we sat at the kitchen table drinking our morning coffee, Cowboy looked over at the check on my errands pile and said “Wow, she has really good handwriting.”

I nodded.

“No really, look at this…that’s good handwriting.”

Again, I nodded.

“Oh my gosh, look…she used a straight edge to draw that line right there…look at that…” and he held it up for me to see, “she used a straight edge!”

This is where I spoke up. “Oh, don’t be silly, she did not use a straight edge, she simply drew a nice straight line.” 

And then it surfaced…that Big Dad stubbornness.

I listened for several minutes as Cowboy tried desperately to convince me that my friend must use a straight edge to write her checks. I kept shaking my head no. I watched as Cowboy dug through the junk drawer and pulled out a straight edge, laying it across the line drawn on the check, viewing it at several different angles. He continued to insist she used a straight edge. I continued to shake my head no, and I might have sort of laughed. A lot. This must have irritated him a bit, for it was then that he spoke a little louder: “I’ll betcha a hunnerd bucks she used a straight edge!” Seizing the opportunity, I stretched out my hand and said, “I’ll take that bet, partner…let’s shake on it!” 

Soon after, a flutter of text messages began back and forth between myself and my friend. To make a long story short, I’ll just say…I won the bet.

To further expound, let’s just say…Cowboy isn’t over it yet. He contends that she must first PROVE to him that she can draw a straight line without a straight edge. Furthermore, he’s just stubborn enough about this (and tight-fisted enough) that I’m certain I’ll never see my “hunnerd bucks.”

Following this epic disaster of a bet, and a few household chores, Cowboy announced that he was “going to town.” I groaned and reminded him that we had a family reunion at noon and we would leave promptly at 11:30. I don’t think it was a nagging type of reminder, but I can’t be sure.

Really, I knew I should have ridden with him. That little voice inside my head kept saying “someone needs to go with him!” but I had so much to do, and I figured I could always call him repeatedly on his cell phone if worse came to worse, right…? So, away he went. Alone. Disaster in the making.

My first call to his cell phone was at 11:46. No answer.

My second call to his cell phone was made as I made my way through the kitchen at 11:48. While awaiting his answer, I looked at Emma and said, “Is your phone ringing? I hear a phone ringing.” Emma rushed to find her phone, “Nope…not mine.”

Where was that ringtone coming from?  “Emma, there is a phone ringing…I hear it…it’s playing ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’” That’s when it hit me. Cowboy’s phone is programmed with a unique ringtone for each of us, and MY ringtone…you guessed it… is ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’ Wouldn’t you know it…Cowboy’s phone was lying right there on the kitchen counter. NOW WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO?!

I stood for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “What would Cowboy do in this situation?” I asked myself. Then, I took a page out of Big Dad’s book. I looked at my daughters and said “We’re leaving…dad will just have to figure it out.” We jumped in the car, and as we began our descent down the lane, guess who pulled in…grinning.

Flashback: to a time when I watched Big Dad pull away with Mom B running after him. Flashback: that moment I first became aware that I was seated next to a younger version of Big Dad, driving away from home with three screaming girls chasing us. 

Yes, it’s true, I’m married to a younger version of Big Dad. But I just can’t help but love them both dearly, quirks and all.

Blessings & Healing

The song “Blessings” by Laura Story has touched my heart since the first time I heard it played on the radio.  This morning, however, it opened a deeper awakening within me.

As you likely know by now, our biggest surprise, my pregnancy, has ended.  The entire experience was an eleven-week roller coaster ride that started with painful lows, moved into uncertain loops, soared to incredible highs, and came crashing down into devastation.  It has been like nothing I’ve ever experienced before -- both wonderful and horrible wrapped up into one.  It was a blessing that has touched me like no other blessing ever has. 

Since the beginning of my miscarriage I’ve tried multiple times to put my experience into words, writing for what seemed like hours, only to delete all of my thoughts and start over.  I simply couldn’t express the peace surrounding me with enough emphasis.  Something was missing…that is…until this morning.  As I lay in bed reflecting, the song “Blessings” came on the radio.  I’ve heard the song at least one hundred times, but today, when she came to the end of the song:

“What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy?
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise?”

I had a revelation…THAT’S IT…PERFECTLY!  This is exactly what I’ve been feeling but couldn’t express!  Losing Gus (the nickname our baby was tagged with from the first day of our announcement) was a huge disappointment. It was the biggest heartache of my life because not only was I filled with grief, but I watched helplessly as my husband and daughters openly grieved too.  A day that should have been filled with excitement became instead a day of mourning. 

But grief is a funny thing, and in this case, it re-awakened my senses to my greater thirst…Heaven.  You see, although I have relied on my faith and my relationship with Jesus for nearly my entire life, in all of the recent busy-ness of our family life, Heaven had been pushed back into the recesses of my mind, locked away for reflection at a later, less-busy time.  It took our family’s great loss, and the ensuing “waiting” period, a time of intentional, un-plugged quiet, to focus on this one crucial aspect of my longing, reviving my thirst. 

What if the trials of this life are His mercies in disguise?  Our loss was certainly Gus’s gain.  None of us can know the challenges that might have awaited him in this world, and as Brian pointed out very soon after confirmation of our loss, God sees the bigger picture that we can’t possibly know.  It is His infinite wisdom and mercy that sometimes saves us before a greater heartache is revealed.

So here we are, approaching the other side of this journey, and though I can’t yet look back on the fullness of it, I can honestly say I already count myself richer and more joyful because of it.  I’ve learned so many things about myself and my family along the way.  I have absolutely no idea what God has in store for us now, but I know we are bonded in a way that we’ve never been before.  Our future cannot be controlled by us.  It is God’s.  Whatever He has in store, I am willing.

Life is not without heartache, and thankfully, it is certainly not without blessings…each, in its own way, a surprise much like the kind I’ve always resisted in the past.  Through this one particular surprise, and its ensuing heartache, I have come to realize that my journey will be filled with countless surprises, several heartaches, but all blessings in disguise. And I’m okay with that.

Things that make me feel OLD

I wrote this on Monday, April 11, 2011, a day that made me feel really old:

I feel really really old.  Why?

1.  I am pregnant.  At age 42.  I used to be able to ignore my age, but no more…I have never been so obsessed with my age as I have since March 18, the day I realized I was pregnant.

2.  My oldest daughter will soon be 20.  TWENTY!!  I have never been so obsessed with her age as I have since March 18, the day I realized I was pregnant.

3.  My middle daughter is now 16.  SIXTEEN!!  I have never been so obsessed with her age as I have since March 18, the day I realized I was pregnant.

4.  My youngest daughter will soon be 13. TEENAGER!! I have never been so obsessed…okay, I’m sure you get the idea by now…

5.  Brian and I double dated with friends Friday night. I must admit we women acted like teenagers. Sue and I guffawed through dinner, made snarky comments at the theatre, drank coffee at 11:00 p.m., ate cookies at midnight, and texted ridiculous messages back and forth as Cowboy drove me home. I didn’t get to bed until after 1:00 a.m., and I dreamed silly coffee and cookie dreams which woke me repeatedly throughout the night. I had a this-is-what-you-get-for-acting-that-way hangover all day Saturday. It wasn’t pretty. 

6.  Today I’m sore all over and can barely make it up and down my stairs.  This has nothing to do with my pregnancy and everything to do with carrying filled pizza boxes (stacks of ten at a time) five hundred and seventy three miles, then performing fourteen hundred and ninety four squats and bends with said stacks in hand. (Saturday was 4-H pizza making day…it was exhausting.)

7.  I have never felt like sleeping so much in all of my born days.  I attribute this fully to #1, #5, and #6.

8.  Today I called my obstetrician’s office to schedule my first appointment.  The receptionist’s first question was “how can I help you?”  After explaining “I’m pregnant,” her second question was “what is your birth date?” I felt a quiver in my stomach and mumbled “3/1/69.” There was a long pause followed by “Let me transfer you to the nurse’s station.  Your age is cause for concern.”

I feel very old.  I’ve. Never. Felt. So. Old.

Accentuate the Positive

Remember that old song?  Once that chorus gets into my brain, it nags me for hours on end…

“Accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, latch on to the affirmative, don’t mess with Mister In-Between.”

Cowboy and I determined years ago to use that as our mantra. After going through a few tough knocks, being treated unfairly, and ultimately paying the price (literally) for someone else’s misdeeds, we found ourselves in a tough financial spot, and we were down and depressed. We carried that burden for several years, and we were not happy people. It wasn’t until we made a concerted effort to embrace a spirit of POSITIVE that we overcame that feeling of defeat. 

We chose to eliminate our negative “this is so unfair” attitude and embrace a more positive “life isn’t always fair” perspective. It was a rocky road, but experience is a great teacher. 

When we are bound by an attitude that everything must be “fair,” we find ourselves concentrating on everything that is NOT fair. In this state of mind, it is really simple to focus entirely on negatives.  But once we come to realize that NOTHING in life is fair, it’s easier to ignore the negative.  Releasing the negative gives us room to focus on the positive.

We are closely acquainted with a family who has a teenage son whose life has always been challenging. There is nothing physical about his appearance that tells you otherwise, but his brain processes thoughts and ideas at a slower pace than most people. When given a task to do, it takes a few extra beats between his ears hearing the directions, his brain registering what was said, and his movements processing the task. His parents and loved ones have learned to adapt to this by creating routines and patterns for daily living. It’s a joint effort that has worked for their family very well. More importantly than how they have adapted, however, is the attitude they have instilled in him. Rather than focusing on the “unfairness” of it all, they have chosen to focus on the positives that surround him…his strengths, not his weaknesses. Their positive outlook eliminates any focus on negatives.

Have you spent time with a person who constantly focuses on negatives? It’s incredibly draining. They are never satisfied; they are never happy; they can’t find joy in anything. Activities or events that they look forward to participating in are a let-down because they are so busy focusing on each and every negative aspect that they can’t enjoy the activity itself.  Cowboy and I have been around people like this, but nothing is more heart-wrenching than watching a child live this type of negative life.

Children need a serious dose of positive outlook while they’re young. Trust me, it is much easier to grow up to become a productive and positive adult if you’re taught early-on how to be a productive and positive kid.  Keep an ear open to what your children are saying.  If they’re being too negative, help them find the positive.  How do you do this?  Pay attention…this is the best part of the song:

“Ya got to spread joy up to the maximum, bring gloom down to the minimum, have faith or pandemonium’s liable to walk upon the scene!”

I Don’t Like Surprises

I have never ever liked surprises…not any surprise of any kind…at all. In 22 years of marriage Cowboy has tried three times to surprise me. The first time he came home from work early and said he was whisking me away for the weekend. I had a meltdown in the car. The second time he called me about an hour before he came home, saying nothing more than “pack a bag.” I had a mini-meltdown prior to his arrival. The third time he gave me nine days to absorb and prepare. He told me he’d learned a few things over the years. 

Keeping this in mind, imagine my surprise at a totally new revelation…me…the one who doesn’t like surprises…at 42 years of age…with three nearly grown children…PREGNANT?  GASP!  Now imagine the ensuing meltdown after realization struck.  It wasn’t pretty.

The first niggling thought hit me on Friday afternoon, March 18th.  I spent the afternoon with my nephew Grant, who is four, while my sister Nikki (who is expecting in July) taught a theatre class for our local homeschoolers.  When Grant and I returned from our excursion, Nikki and I sat talking for a moment about how she was feeling. She commented repeatedly about how quickly her belly was expanding. I put my arm around her shoulders in that big-sister way and said, “Sweetie, we both may have been born small in stature, but our pregnancies always make us big as boats…” and before I could finish voicing my thought, I felt the color drain from my face. Immediately my inward struggle began “Am I pregnant?… Me? ….I can’t be pregnant…can I?…Really, Lord…?…NO!…this can’t be happening…wait…I don’t even LIKE surprises!”  I suddenly felt very queasy. 

That night Lindsay, Lily, my mother, and I went to dinner and a high school play with my aunt Marjorie. I was with my family; I had looked forward to that night; I should have been enjoying it…but I was gloomy and miserable, and I was trying with all of my might to act normal and not show any signs of distress. The night is a blur…you’d have to ask them how it went.

The next day, Brian, his mother, and I drove to Lexington, Kentucky, to pick up Emma from her spring break internship.  I could not carry a conversation to save my soul. I was lost in thought, begging God, hoping my suspicions were wrong, and pushing down that growing feeling of nausea.

On Sunday following morning church services, I sat at the lunch table with my pregnant sister and our friend Carrie. The conversation quickly turned to pregnancy, of course. I was caught between the urge to bawl my eyes out and flee.

That evening, Cowboy looked at me and said “what is up with you?  Are you sick?  Are you upset about something? You’ve been acting strange for days.”  I could only stare back at him.  He continued, “Do we need to go somewhere and talk?”  I will never forget the look on his face when I said “Ummm…maybe…I don’t know for sure…I think I might have some news for you that could quite possibly bring a HUGE life-changing experience around November or so.” At his shrug, shake of head, and the look of “I’m-completely-confused-by-women,” I whispered “I…think…I…might…be…” and I put my hand on my belly.  His glance shifted to my deliberately-placed hand, and when his eyes returned to mine, I was somewhat amused by the wave of realization that I watched slowly roll over him.  There he stood, wide-eyed and speechless. Then he laughed, “YOU? The one who doesn’t like surprises…? Well, SURPRISE HONEY!”

On Monday I decided I had to know for sure, so I trekked to our local CVS and bought a pregnancy test.  Still in complete denial, I figured I had just wasted a perfectly good $10 bill, but to my horror the next morning, that little plus sign appeared.  I slowly descended the stairs to tell Cowboy the news.  Hands shaking, I held up the stick for him to see, and immediately incoherent drivel began tumbling out of his mouth, “What’s this mean?…The lighting in here is terrible…Do I see what I think I see?…Why are you shaking…?”

Yes.  Positive.  Pregnant.  Parents over 40 with three children half-way out of the nest, and there we stood…staring at the little pink plus sign that without uttering a single word told us definitively we would soon be starting ALL over.

I closed myself in my bedroom that Tuesday, March 22nd, and I cried.  I prayed for wisdom, guidance, and most of all DESIRE for the growing baby inside me.  “Lord, I need desire for this child…please give me the desire to be a new mother again!”  I sent crazy hormonal texts to Cowboy…. I can’t DO this! … What is God THINKING?  …  Can I DO this? … WHY????!!!! …  How long do you think we can keep this a secret? … Let’s not tell until June…maybe July… We’re good parents, right? …  This is a miracle, right? 

After about 50 of those messages, I received ONE in return: “We may think we have life all mapped out, but it’s not about us, it’s about God’s plan. It’s all about reconciliation. I love you.” 

I wanted to clutch my hands around his neck, squeeze and shake until his eyes popped out…but instead I sent one final message: “Is THAT supposed to make me feel BETTER?!”

From that moment, there was no end to the odd little conversations that swirled around me.  Had everyone always talked about babies and pregnancy as much as they were now?  What was WRONG with these people?!

For example, that Tuesday night, mere hours after my pregnancy was confirmed, we went to dinner with our good friends, Bruce and Ann.  Cowboy asked if I was up for it.  “It will be good for me,” I said, “take my mind off of this for a while.” No such luck. Bruce just HAD to share the story about a friend who, several years ago, was surprised by his wife’s pregnancy…one they had determined would NEVER happen…they had taken deliberate measures to ensure it wouldn’t. Bruce and Ann laughed whole-heartedly as he related the story. Brian and I just sat stunned.

On Wednesday I saw my chiropractor friend Dr. Julie, who had recently been in contact with another 40-something friend who’d just found out she was pregnant.  “She, like you, has a 20-year-old and a 16-year-old…can you IMAGINE?!” I stood there speechless as the thought ‘Er…ummm…uh…well…NO…honestly, I CAN’T imagine…and by the way, can I get her number….?’ raced through my head.  In the end, all I could utter was a simple “Wow.”

At the dinner table that evening, out of the clear blue sky, Lindsay asked “Mom, what exactly is post-partum depression?”  Okay, God…if THIS is the way you bring me around to DESIRE, you need to try a different approach…seriously…

By Friday I was so far into the denial stage that I had convinced myself something else was dreadfully wrong. I was SURE it must be some kind of life-threatening cancer which caused that dumb pregnancy test to show a false positive. Yes, that MUST be it…I needed to talk to Susan, my nurse friend. As I related my symptoms to Susan and told her about the pregnancy test (denial CLEARLY filling my soul), I saw a look of sympathy cross her face. She cocked her head to the side and gently said, “Honey, you’re pregnant.” I stood stunned. “No, no, no Sue…you aren’t hearing me…I CAN’T be pregnant. I can’t. Something else is horribly wrong.” Another sympathetic (or was that a ‘how-can-you-be-so-stupid?’) look, “No. Sandy. Listen to me. You’re pregnant.” Then she wrapped her arms around me tight, cried with me, prayed for me, and assured me it was okay to feel angry or mad or sad or hurt or whatever I felt…it would all come in due time…God’s timing is perfect. 

On Saturday, March 26th, we had a family luncheon with that gargantuan group of descendants named “Bane.”  Sixty-seven aunts, uncles & cousins gathered at MCL Cafeteria.  Among them all, there was ONE baby present. Baby Bentley. That precious, smiling, six-month-old wonder baby, who in his short lifetime, has already overcome a myriad of challenges. I held him, fed him his lunch, snuggled with him, and the entire time kept thinking “oh wow…I don’t think I can DO this!”  Brian took him from me just as a cousin looked over and said “Does that give you any ideas, guys?”  Another walked up and said “Whoa…did you guys forget to tell us something?!”  It was all in jest, of course, and I half-heartedly laughed, but the entire time I kept thinking “If ONLY you people KNEW!” 

Another Sunday rolled around, and during lunch, my dear friend Carrie and I were playing with toddler Luke.  She shot off the smart-alleck remark “It’s not too late for you and Brother Brian to have another one, you know!”  She laughed. I squirmed.

On Monday, the 28th I saw my massage therapist.  While she was cranking away on my sore shoulder, she said “Sandy, you spend so much time taking care of everyone else…tell me what you ever do for YOU when you have the time.” I nearly cried… TIME? WHAT TIME?  DON’T YOU KNOW I’M STARTING ALL OVER AGAIN?!  I simply answered “I don’t really know…I guess I’ll have to think on that,” then I followed up with an un-voiced prayer…. “Desire, dear Lord, please give me DESIRE!” 

On Tuesday, the 29th, we saw Bruce & Ann again. Ann said “Can you believe your babies will be all grown up soon?  What will you DO when you have an empty nest?!” I simply shrugged my shoulders and said “Oh…I have a feeling Brian and I will always be surrounded by kids.”  

Desire, Lord…Desire….I know I’m selfish…I admit it…but remember, I don’t like surprises!

Sunday, April 3rd. Beautiful sunny day. I sat soaking up the sun in my lawn chair, book in hand. Cowboy walked up behind me, wrapped his right arm around my neck, and placed his left hand on my belly. “I love both of you,” he whispered, then he kissed my cheek and walked away. As joyful tears filled my eyes, the weight of my guilt was lifted, and I felt an odd feeling wash over me.  “What IS this…?” I wondered, “Joy…?  Love…?  Happiness…?” Yes, all of the above, and maybe a just a tiny hint of desire. “Oh Lord, I am so humbled by your gifts…thank you!” 

I am richly blessed, I know this for a fact. I’m beginning to come around.  Maybe this surprise won’t turn out to be so bad after all!

It’s a GIRL!

This little girl was born to Dixie on Saturday, April 23, just before 1:00 a.m.  She is a compact tiny little thing with TONS of attitude.

We still can’t settle on a name…any ideas?

It’s a BOY!

“Pablo” was born to Baby on Sunday, April 17, shortly after midnight.  We are so very proud of this little guy!

He’s a real beauty, and a people-lover!  We can’t wait for you to meet him!

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

The week of April 11 was rough for Cowboy and Girl 2.  Nightly checks at two-hour intervals were beginning to take their toll, and Cowboy was staggering around looking like he hadn’t slept in days.  When he came inside for breakfast following his early morning mare check, he said every sign was telling him we would soon have a foal.  Yep, he was sure it was going to happen TODAY!  He muttered something incoherent like “she’s really bagged up…looks like she’s waxing…soft in the poll…uhh…no, wait…I’M the one soft in the poll….SHE’S soft at the dock!”  (For you non-horse people out there, the “dock,” or top of the tail, gets soft just before a mare goes into the labor…the “poll,” on the other hand, is the top of a horse’s head!) It was very plain to see Cowboy needed a good long night of uninterrupted sleep.  But as we all know, there is no rest for the weary…and good things come to those who wait.

Cowboy and I had a meeting to attend, so arrangements were made for Girl 2 to stay behind and keep an eye on things, and she had strict instructions to text message me if anything started happening.  By 11:00 a.m. I was SURE she must be in the the middle of a tough delivery and she hadn’t texted me yet (the nerve!), so I sent her a message:

ME: “anything happening?”

EMMA: “nope. just moving around alot. how close are they when water breaks?”

ME: “CLOSE! Her water broke?”

EMMA: “no.”

I did a mental eye roll and then a new messaged popped up.

EMMA:  “when i go out to the barn she stands still and munches on hay. when i go inside she starts pacing and breathing hard.”

ME:  “stay out of the barn until she is down on the ground. i know from experience when you’re in labor you just want to be left alone.”

EMMA: “mom…really?…TMI.”

(For those of you not up on the acronym lingo, TMI stands for ‘Too Much Information.’)  I giggled and tossed my phone in my purse.  I would wait.  Good things come to those who wait.

When we returned home from our meeting, we anticipated a mare lying in her stall, but no…Baby stood in the corner, tossing her head at us.  Lifting her nose and curling her lips, she glared at us in defiance as if to say “GET OUT OF MY BARN!”

11:00 p.m.: still no foal. Cowboy scheduled “foal watch” with Girl 1 and Girl 2, and we headed to bed.

12:21 p.m.: I was rudely awakened by a slamming door and sat straight up in bed. I muttered to Brian “I think we have a baby,” as I heard boots running through the family room and up the stairs.  Girl 1 poked her head in the bedroom door, “DAD!  THERE’S A FOAL ON THE GROUND!” Then she turned on her heel and ran back down the stairs.

Cowboy laid, breathing deeply, no movement.  I reached out and touched him, “Brian…there’s a foal on the ground.”  He turned toward me, but laid silent. 

“Brian, are you awake?  Honey, Baby had her foal….” 

Slowly he sat up, and I could see him trying to clear his head.  He stood, walked to the bedroom door, closed it, then returned to the foot of the bed and looked at me. 

“Honey, turn on the light and get your clothes on,” I said, “Do you know what’s happening?” 

“Ummmm…yeah…something is in the house…?”

“No dear, it’s the foal.  Baby had her foal.”

“What?! How in the devil did it get in the HOUSE?"!”

Okay, this is where I realized some SERIOUS intervention would be necessary…so I got a little loud…

“BRIAN! GET YOUR CLOTHES ON AND GO TO THE BARN; THERE’S A FOAL ON THE GROUND!”

That did it.  He jumped as if shocked by a ‘ZAP!’  “Oh my GOSH!”  He grabbed his pants and his boots and took off for the barn.

By the time we reached the barn, the foal was on the ground, Baby was standing over him.  Within minutes, Pablo was up on his long wobbly legs, trying to get around to his momma, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to nurse.  So we waited…and waited…and waited…

At 2:00 a.m., Pablo was still standing, pacing back and forth in the stall, and he still hadn’t found the path to the udder.  I announced I was going back to bed. “I hope he figures out how to nurse soon,” I said, “he sure is a strong little guy; he hasn’t laid down yet!”

At 2:15 a.m., Brian joined me in the bedroom.  “The girls are going to watch him until he starts nursing.  I need some sleep.”

At 2:30 a.m., Lindsay popped her head in the door, “Dad, he’s still not nursing and he won’t lay down either.”  Brian sighed deeply and said “Can you give me about 30 more minutes?”  She could.  She did.  3:00 a.m. came around pretty quickly, and she knocked on the door once again.  “Dad…?  Still nothing…I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.”  Once again, Cowboy rose, pulled on his pants and boots, and headed back to the barn.

At 5:00 a.m., I went out to see if I could relieve him and give him a chance to sleep.  Church would be starting in 5 short hours, and Cowboy was going to have to preach.  He really needed some rest.  When I got to the barn, he was on his knees milking Baby, trying to save as much of that all-important colostrum he could save.  “He still can’t do it, and he still has not laid down. Dummy Foal Syndrome. I called the vet.”  Three hours later, still no nursing, still no laying down, still no vet.  But good things come to those who wait.  Patiently.  Or…not so patiently. 

At 9:00 a.m., the vet finally arrived to a very sleepy (but still refusing to lie down) and quickly dehydrating (nine hours, no nourishment) foal.  Doc took a quick look, said “He’s too pretty to let anything happen to him, let’s fix this!” And in short order, the colt was tubed, the momma milked, and colostrum distributed directly into the colt’s stomach.  Pablo soon found his way to the ground, took his first nap, and we waited.  At 11:15 a.m., he stood and nursed for the first time!  See…good things come to those who wait!

Following church I asked Cowboy to lay down and nap for a while, but he insisted he would be fine.  I don’t know how he did it, but he got through the day on about 2 hours of sleep.  At 8:45 p.m., his head hit the pillow and he was out like a light. I wish I could say the story ends there.  But no.  At 9:00 p.m., there was a soft knock on our bedroom door, and Girl 2 peeked in.  “Dad…?  You awake…?  Pablo is constipated and really straining.  I think he needs an enema.”  From the lump next to me came a low rumbling growl.  Cowboy sat up…pulled on his pants and boots…mumbled “why do I DO this?” and he descended the stairs, journeying again to the barn.

And guess what…?  We are expecting foal #2 any day!  Good things come to those who wait.

When A Cowboy Travels

Cowboy and I come from a long line of home bodies. We never have been good travelers; we prefer to just be home. This past weekend, however, we were provided an opportunity to expand our definition of “HOME” when we travelled to a little town called Cannonsburg in eastern Kentucky. 

Early in our marriage when we had two tiny children and nothing but time, Cowboy and I traveled frequently to attend church meetings. We have been blessed to meet church people from Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, Georgia, Alabama, and Texas. Once upon a time, when Girl #2 was only six weeks old, we met a wonderful preacher, Elder Glenn, who asked us to visit his church in the Ohio/Kentucky/West Virginia tri-state area. Sixteen years and huge guilty conscience later, we did just that.  It was a visit long-overdue…but I’ll get to that in a minute…first I have to tell you about our welcoming committee in that area of Kentucky. 

Our first official “state” meeting came soon after crossing the border. Two gentlemen in an ancient pick up truck were driving very slowly in the left lane. The truck, decked with a truck-cap-style camper perched precariously on the rusted bed and held in place with bungee cords, had no side or rear view mirrors. The camper was whopper-jawed in a way that made the truck look as if it was strolling sideways down the road. Cowboy determined that Uncle Cletus had bumped a little too hard against one side wall in his sleep, sending the whole kit and kaboodle rolling into a ditch. Poor fella. But as we cautiously passed them on the right, we noted Uncle Cletus looked alive and well as he sat driving that old truck with his nephew riding shotgun, a trusty pit bull between them. It couldn’t have been a more fitting scene had the words “WELCOME TO THE BLUEGRASS STATE” been emblazoned on the back bumper!

Our first “in-person” meeting was with Jimmy, who worked the counter at the Hampton Inn Ashland. His friendly welcoming smile and sweet southern accent diverted my attention away from the first impression of faded blue jeans and a button-down shirt open to reveal what must have been his favorite tee. He gave us our room key, explained that it worked better if you swipe them slowly, informed us that snacks and coffee were around the corner, wished us a wonderful stay, and told us to call the front desk if we needed “anything…anything at all.” And we knew he meant it.

Cowboy and I boarded the elevator, pressed the button for the 2nd floor and made our way down the hall to find the doorplate of our room (#233) adorned with a picture of a white cowboy hat. It made Cowboy feel very special to think they reserved that particular room just for him.

After depositing our bags in the room, we ventured back downstairs just in time to meet up with our church friends Elder Frank and his wife, who treated us to dinner at a nearby Bob Evans, where we met Julie, our waitress. Julie was a lively, fun and spunky red head who called us all “baby,” and high-fived the preacher Frank when she learned he was a Wildcats fan (ahem…who ISN’T a Wildcats fan in Kentucky?).

After taking our drink orders, Julie turned to Cowboy and asked “Where y’all from?” Cowboy replied “Indiana.” Julie looked at him quizzically, then started, “You know, I went to Indiana once with my boyfriend to a big monster truck rally thing that he likes…anyway…it was in Indy, at that Lucas Oil stadium…? I kept sayin ‘what in the world do they have all these huge pictures of Peyton Manning for…do they like him here or somethin?’” Stifling a giggle, Cowboy explained that Lucas Oil Stadium is THE Colt’s stadium… “you know, where they play?”    “Ooooooh” she said, “that makes COMPLETE sense now!”  Julie was a southern sweetheart we Hoosiers couldn’t help but fall in love with. She apparently felt the same since she spent many long moments with us sharing stories about her boyfriend, her church, her daddy, and her Wildcats (the 2009 team was her favorite).

Being the home body that I am, it was evident very early on that we needed to make a stop at the local Wal-Mart.  Being the man that he is, Cowboy dropped me at the door and said he’d wait in the car.  Even in the relative solitude of the car, it didn’t take long before he made a friend.  As Cowboy sat fiddling with the radio, he looked up to see a woman walking toward him, pushing several Wal-Mart carts. She motioned for him to roll down his window.  Surprised by the gesture, Cowboy complied, and she began to explain, “My husband is inside doin our shoppin. I didn’t feel like goin in, so I figured I could gather up the carts while I’m waitin.”  Cowboy wasn’t sure if this was her way of pointing out that he should also find something productive to do, or if she was just being friendly. It turned out to be the latter. After finishing her commentary, she prepared to walk away, but first said “Nice car, by the way!” Yes, there are definitely some friendly folk in that neck of the woods, and they fulfilled their “welcome committee” duties quite well.

Without a doubt, the best part of the trip was arriving at the church for their Saturday night meeting. It was there, in that humble little building that Cowboy finally had the 16-year reunion with Elder Glen that he’d been longing for. Elder Glen proudly announced to everyone that he “knew this young man when he was but a little boy!” (We didn’t have the heart to remind him that Cowboy was a grown and married man with two young children at the time of their first meeting!) In addition to the reunion with Elder Glen and his wife, we met Brenda, Geneva, Katie, Joe, Charlie, and so many many more whose names currently escape me, but whose love for the Lord and their church family was certainly undeniable. They shared with us, hugged us, asked about our lives, our blessings, our church, and our family. They encouraged us with their words of wisdom and their pure hearts.  And it was there, in that little town 4-1/2 hours from home, that we realized we were home. 

This weekend, in Cannonsburg, Kentucky, we found it to be true…home really IS where your heart is. <3