More Sweetness

At long last, I've decided it's time to write down the day's events, mostly because I don't want to forget some of the cute things Matthias has been doing lately!

I'm convinced he's in a growth spurt--he's been sleeping through the night all week and eating portions that are much larger than usual. After today I think his mind is also experiencing such a growth spurt!

Luckily Jon got home from work early today so he got to enjoy many of our little man's antics. At about 11:30, Matthias called to me from the window, saying, "Daddy home! Daddy home!" Considering he's "the boy who cried wolf" when it comes to Daddy actually being home, I told him he was being silly and that Daddy might be home for supper. Then I heard the basement door shut and realized that it hadn't just been wishful thinking on Matthias' part!

In some ways he really takes after Jon. I'm finding this to be mostly a good thing, especially when it comes to cleaning up his toys. Tonight before bed he took all his toy equipment from the stairs and tucked them out of the way by the piano, saying, "night night" to each piece of equipment. I didn't even have to ask!

However, Jon regularly claims to have OCD. I tell him that OCD is a real condition that can be quite debilitating and that I doubt he is actually afflicted with it. Sure, Jon may have the overwhelming urge to say a word in a "New Joizy" accent if he hears me say it, and he may drive around the yard a few times occasionally so that the mileage on the vehicle "looks right" when it is parked, but what I'll call his "quirks" are far from serious.

I caught a glimpse of Jon's "quirks" tonight with Matthias. He insisted on taking his own socks off at bed time, and wanted to know where to put them as the laundry hamper was downstairs. I showed him the spot on the floor and he took off his first sock and laid it neatly on the floor. When he took off his other sock it was crumpled. He immediately went to his other sock and crumpled it up so that it matched the other sock. I almost cried with laughter.

Shortly afterward he decided that he must be feeling a little shaggy, for he grabbed the clipper from under the sink and took it to Daddy, declaring, "Haircut. Haircut!" He was satisfied when we told him he'd get one in the morning, and put the clipper back in its spot.

Matthias is also becoming quite a polite little man. He now says "Dee-doo," (Thank you) at almost every opportunity, and reminds me to say it, as well, when he gives me something. He greets people with a firm handshake, although when asked for his name generally smirks and says, "Outdoor," which is his nickname for his kitty Kermit. Oh, to be two.

Other than the sock thing, my favorite part of today came after nap time. He slept for two and a half hours, a little less than his usual three, and just wasn't ready to get up and face the world, so we snuggled for a half hour (bliss!!) in the chair. Snuggle time with Matthias is something I find particularly heavenly! He usually still enjoys being "cheek to cheek" with Mommy, and often showers my cheeks with kisses, although lately there has been an abundance of what he calls "kitty kisses," which are slobbery licks. Yuck! At least the cats have dry, sandpapery tongues!

I try to use our snuggle time, whenever I can get it, to remind Matthias how much we love him and how wonderful a blessing he is to us. There are some days when I feel like my threats of, "Mommy will give you a swat" put my parenting skills in the camp of the cigarette-smoking, pajama-clad woman at Wal-Mart cursing at her children. But then there are days like today, when it hits me that maybe he really does hear what we say and take it to heart!

3-layer cakes and the "good old days"....

I've been thinking a lot lately about the "good old days." How are they defined? Growing up I would, from time to time, hear about an era and think to myself, "those must have been the good old days that everyone talks about." Then I'd hear about something terrible associated with that time period. For example, that cocaine was routinely prescribed for fussy Victorian-era babies. Or you could Google the term "twilight birth," which was routine from the 1920s-1960s. Time after time, I have been disappointed. Every era has its downsides.

Now, I am struggling not to launch into too much of a tirade describing my recent enlightenment about the "good old days." I'm going to try to focus on two things that have been going on in our lives lately.

The first is that I have had the great privilege of translating some World War II-era letters from a mother and father in Watford City, N. D., to their son who was a soldier. After reading Tom Brokaw's The Greatest Generation, I was pretty sure that, if not the "good old days," the people that lived in that generation were somehow "different" than people today--nobler, tougher, and much more morally fibrous.

What I found in the letters was eye-opening; the son, who wrote to his parents in English, described the service, where he didn't seem to quite "fit in," as there was so much smoking, drinking and swearing by the rest of the troops. When this guy would find a "good Christian fellow" to "chum around with," he would write happily to his parents about it. Sounds a lot like my college experience. Of course this guy was a lot more "holy" than I am in that he also avoided the wicked temptation of "the picture shows" and all the filthy sin that was portrayed therein.

In his parents' letters back to him (which were written in Norwegian) I found a distinctly more familiar form of faith expression--simple words like "God bless you," "God willing," etc. Although this guy (who was 26 at the time) grew up in a Christian home, he displayed a lot of the same exuberance about his faith that a lot of young Christians do when they are first "out in the world." Hmm. It just seemed so familiar.

I also learned of the family's trials, spread out over the years 1942-1945. The family had lost a 9-year-old son in 1941 to a burst appendix, and another son in 1945, "skyt i hjel av tyskerne" (shot by the Germans), just when things were beginning to settle down. "Kindly" gossip is interspersed about who married whom, who didn't get an inheritance because he is "pickled" far too often, and who was moving west in the great North Dakota outmigration.

It has been such a privilege, a wonderful experience, to be able to get to know this family through their letters. It's helped me brush up on my rapidly-deteriorating Norwegian and helped me remember that the "good old days" are now, while we are making them.

2 pounds of powdered sugar? I don't know what that is, but it sounds yummy!

Okay, now to the other event--Matthias' first birthday. I'm not one to make a big show of celebrations--usually the harder you try the more things there are to get messed up, which really does make for good memories down the road but a lot of work in the short run.  So after poring over pictures of elaborate John Deere cakes, I chose to continue my grandma's and mom's tradition and make Matthias a 3-layer white cake. I doubt my grandma used a cake mix, but my mom did and so did I, but I made this frosting by hand with almost 2 pounds each of butter and powdered sugar!

Obviously, this is not the cake. The picture of the cake is on my camera's hard drive and I can't find the cord so here's Matthias' cupcake.

I actually made a "practice cake" and took it to my Lutheran Women are Awesome group (where three other gals and I read the Lutheran Confessions together while our children wreak havoc). That was probably the most time-consuming thing I did, other than the frosting.

My mom always sighs when I ask for the 3-layer cake. It never turns out quite "right," in her opinion. Either the top layer slides slightly to the side, or splits apart altogether. I'm not sure how my grandma got her 3-layers to turn out so well. I'm not sure, either, how Matthias' 3-layer turned out so well. In the world of cake decorating, this one might be considered a "fail," but it was definitely a "win" for me!

Now, to prove that my ramblings have a common thread, I will close with it. The things that we remember about special occasions like birthdays aren't how the green of the plates matched the green of the frosting, or how there is a perfect shot of the birthday child sticking their head strategically into the strategically-made "smash cake." At least not for me. The things I remember and treasure are the cracked top layers of cakes, oozing with Mom's powdered-sugar frosting, the time that powdered sugar was used to thicken gravy instead of flour (whoops!), and the prescence of loved ones. Make the pictures black-and-white, and one might even think that the party happened in the "good old days," which, of course, it did!

Farmer's Creed

I believe a man’s greatest possession is his dignity and that no calling bestows this more abundantly than farming.

I believe hard work and honest sweat are the building blocks of a person’s character.

I believe that farming, despite its hardships and disappointments, is the most honest and honorable way a man can spend his days on this earth.

I believe farming nurtures the close family ties that make life rich in ways money can’t buy.

I believe my children are learning values that will last a lifetime and can be learned in no other way.

I believe farming provides education for life and that no other occupation teaches so much about birth, growth and maturity in such a variety of ways.

I believe many of the best things in life are indeed free: the splendor of a sunrise, the rapture of wide open spaces, the exhilarating sight of your land greening each spring.

I believe true happiness comes from watching your crops ripen in the field, your children grow tall in the sun, your whole family feel the pride that springs from their shared experience.

I believe that by my toil I am giving more to the world than I am taking from it, an honor that does not come to all men.

I believe my life will be measured ultimately by what I have done for my fellowman, and by this standard I fear no judgment.

I believe when a man grows old and sums up his days, he should be able to stand tall and feel pride in the life he’s lived.

I believe in farming because it makes all this possible.