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!

Branding fun!! (Auntie Linda-friendly) :)

Okay, Auntie Linda (and Maria!!), I promise that there will be no actual pictures of calves being branded in this post--so you can look at it! I actually forgot my camera, so you guys are just lucky.

A friend took some really cute ones, though, of Matthias playing with her 6-year-old boy, and I just had to share.  They were both having a ball.

Chief of Sinners though I be....

Behold, the Chief of Sinners.

Whoa. Am I the meanest mom or what? To put a picture that perfectly describes Matthias'....perfection, and caption it thus?

I often have the lines to the hymn of the same name in my head....Chief of Sinners though I be, Jesus shed his blood for me...I can't rightly remember the rest of the verse, but I find the hymn powerful, even spine-tingling, whenever I hear it. Once I posted the lyrics on Facebook, only to be met with a volley of comments assuring me that I couldn't be the Chief of Sinners. You're a good person, they assured me.

Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm not. I'm the Chief of Sinners. To burst it further, so is Matthias. So are you. I have been reminded of it a lot lately in my role as a parent. I love-love-love Matthias so much that I could just squeezehimsniffhimkisshimlovehimup all the time!! I am constantly bragging about how Matthias is the Sweetest, Cutest, Snuggliest Baby on Earth. But how fair is it of me to bestow him with this title? To put him on this high pedestal?

For Matthias has been learning the meaning of the word "no" lately. With a roomful of toys at his disposal, he finds my plants, my antique radio, and my cell phone among the most tantalizing things in his little world. "No," and I lead him away. "You can have this, or this, or this. But you can't have Mommy's plant." Sometimes a flick of my finger removes his grip on the leaves. Sometimes he grimaces, sometimes he laughs in my face, sometimes he cries. But to the plant he returns.

Am I saying Matthias is a "bad baby?" No way! All my previous comments still apply. But it's so apparent to me, as the mother, why Matthias can't have the (fill in the blank). But he wants it. It reminds me of the garden in Genesis, where our ancestors Adam and Eve coveted the ONE THING they were instructed not to have....and how, as adults, we continue in that same pattern, not understanding when or why God tells us, "no."

What I'm getting at is this....Matthias, no matter how earthly-perfect of a little person he may be, has a sinful nature. It is unfair of me to hold him to a standard of impossible perfection, poor critter. You, I, all of us...no matter how earthly-perfect we may be...have sinful natures. Doing good deeds, donating our money, "being good people," can't change it. If we think that our puny deeds can erase the dark mark of sin, we are stuck. Stuck. It is only through the saving grace of our Lord Jesus Christ that we have any chance at all. And by "any chance," I mean "eternal life." Whoo-hoo! It is such a relief to know that Matthias and I and anyone else can rest assured knowing that we don't have to earn our trip to Heaven, for that would be impossible, because we're the Sinners-in-Chief, after all.

By God's grace we can do good things--be a sweet, wonderful baby, an attentive mother, a conscientious worker.  But we don't have to rely on those good things for our salvation. All we have to rely on is Jesus!

In this Easter season, I say that calls for a Hallelujah!

Look who's talking!

I could have probably been a little more creative in picking a title. I could have refrained from using a cliche title from an obnoxious early 90s movie. Okay, I've never actually seen that movie but the whole premise of adult speech dubbed onto babies is quite obnoxious to me (unless it's the e-trade baby), along with the fact that they made, what, three of those movies??

Anyway, oops. I just realized I made an editing mistake. My comment about a spoiler alert was supposed to go on this post. Whatever. Here's something cute:

I was pretty pleased when Matthias started in with "mamamamamama" a few days previous. Jon was even more tickled when he changed it to "dadadadada." So was I!

Oops. Wrong video. That one showcases his signature "swimming" crawl.

Here he is in the correct video:

Look what I can do!

I'm going to go ahead and pull the "sleep deprived" card as an excuse for any cliches and/or grammatical errors in the following posts. It's probably the one thing I enjoy about being sleep deprived--being able to use it as an excuse for innumerable foibles.

Why am I sleep-deprived? Matthias is certainly past that newborn stage. Could you tell him that? Could you also reassure him that he doesn't need to eat every 2-3 hours at night? That Mommy is still there, even if he can't see her?

Honestly, anyone who knows me has probably heard me complain ad nauseum about Matthias' failing sleep habits. I've gotten every bit of advice, from feeding cereal before bed, letting him cry, letting him sleep with us, to "suck it up and deal with it." So before you offer advice, I've probably already heard it! Unless, of course, I ask you for advice!

I've read the Baby Whisperer, the Sleep Lady, Weissbluth and Pantley along with numerous blogs and discussion forums. The only constants I have found are....
-I'm not the only parent with a sleepless 8-9 month old child.
-Babies often lose sleep around important developmental milestones.
-Babies Matthias' age are learning about object permanence, which can trigger some separation anxiety (i.e., "I know Mommy still exists even when I can't see her...but where is she? Is she coming back??)
-Babies need a schedule. This includes good naps at regular times.

So we are doing somewhat of a "schedule boot camp" around here, which means Matthias is getting more of a routine, and I am having more at home time. Neither of which is totally bad.

WOW. That was a huge tangent. I'm going to pluck the "developmental milestone" from the above gobbledegook and go from there. Matthias has been making several of these. He can now pull himself up in his crib, as well as anywhere else, to a standing position. He can also walk around the couch, holding on. He loves to push his choo-choo train with Mom's help. But most importantly....

Crane your neck to the left!

"Whoops! He got my coffee mug!" said Jon one evening.

Gotta help Mommy with laundry!

....and housework!

I love my bath!!

...and the humidifier. That is a fun toy!

Oh, and the camera! I think that would be a very fun toy, if Mommy would let me touch it!

Welllll...I guess these are fun toys, too....

If I don't have a huge grin, I've got to have at least a little one!

Oh, for the most important and exciting thing, you'll have to read my next post which will have a video. Spoiler alert: the title of this post is kind of self explanatory.

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.

Harvest Time!

This fall I was privileged to be able to go to my parents' and help with harvest. Usually I am in the classroom by that time of year and unable to get away to help with the farming. Because it's been my plan for the past several years to go home and learn as much about farming as possible, this was something I had been looking forward to for, well, several years. It would be perfect--I would get to be outside farming all day with breaks for feeding Matthias, and my mom would get a break and some fun grandson time.

The first couple days went great--Matthias slept all morning, I got out to ride horse and still had time to help my dad grease up the combine. Then I would ride in the combine, learning the ropes, hopping off to haul the grain home and dump it in the bin.

Then I lost my voice, and Matthias ended up with a cold. So there was an unfortunate change of plans for me, who was looking sooo forward to some "outside" time, and my mom, who was looking soooo forward to some "inside" time, especially with such a cute little guy. We ended up being inside much of the day, taking supper out to the field in the evening.


I was able to get out quite a bit, though, and spend time with my dad in the combine. During these rides I had a great time visiting with my dad about farming. I should have had a tape recorder because I knew I'd forget the way he worded things that made them make so much more sense and mean so much more than the way I just type them. There's just something so calming about driving along, watching the wheat heads feeding in, bumping against the reel, pouring in an amber wave out of the auger and into the truck. For all the changes that I've seen in farming since I was a kid, those things have remained a constant.

Which reminds me of one conversation my dad and I had about the changes and advances made in farming. From the horsedrawn equipment that my grandpa used to the Easy-Steer, GPS and DVD players that some farmers enjoy in their equipment today, it's hard to say what is an advancement and what isn't.  Yes, bigger equipment has absolutely revolutionized farming and made it more efficient. It's foolish to think that we'd really, truly be better off if we were still using the single-bottom horse-drawn plow. Because the steel plow itself was a huge revolution of the time--do you suppose many farmers mourned the loss of their previous, less-advanced farm equipment with the advent of that plow? Maybe. I doubt it.

But along with the advancement in efficiency, there comes a bit of a loss of connection to the land. My dad told about farming with an open tractor--no cab, certainly no A/C. "You were close to the dirt. You could smell it and feel it." You would see the gophers and field mice as you worked. So I suppose many of the farmers of the day joked about how "soft" these modern farmers were getting--a padded seat on the tractor for their delicate tush, an umbrella so they don't get sunburned. Pshaw. What is farming coming to? Heaven forbid cabs...and air conditioning! The combine we had as a kid even had an 8-track player! What luxury!

The distinction I have drawn as far as the advancement of farm machinery is this: does it help the farmer be more efficient and do a better job doing the thing he (or she!!) loves? If so, great! Most all the advancements I listed above (save the 8-track) had the purpose of helping the farmer do a better job. As our equipment becomes more and more gargantuan, it does continue to help the farmer do more work with less help. Great.

But when does it become about having the "biggest" and "best?" There seems to have been a shift in farming even from the time I was young to now. Sure, yes, farmers have proudly shown off their new equipment for eons. But I grew up in a Norwegian community. No matter how proud you were of something new, you didn't brag on it. It was kind of a joke (but not too far from the truth) that if someone would buy a new vehicle they would practically hide it away for the first few weeks until they got over the embarrassment of having bought something "new."

It's values like those mentioned above that draw me to farming. Later I'm going to post a poem I found posted in my dad's "office" (gun room). That does a better job of summing it up. But knowing that it's not just a job, not just a career, not even just a business. It's a lifestyle that allows a person to enjoy the values of a hard day's work, the satisfaction of being your own boss (Mother Nature notwithstanding), the enjoyment of watching wildlife in the field, even when it means losing some extra time to allow that mother pheasant and her chicks to cross your path safely, or leaving a few heads of grain untouched for the wildlife to feast on during the winter. I could go on, but I see how long this is already, so I will leave you with a few pictures.

We did spend some time out in the field! Matthias was dressed appropriately.

He sneaked in some naps in the pickup.

Daddy came to visit us!! We were sure happy to see each other!