A post about Nicknames

We love nicknames in our family...

For as long as I can remember, nicknames have been a way to show affection and familial familiarity. I think maybe my grandfather started it... He called us all "Lemuel". Or "Lemmie".  Don't ask. I have no idea. My father called us "Munchkins". I do know where that came from! I called my baby sister "Chickie" or "Chicken".  And then I had my own children...

Sofi: Her first name was Cricket. That child had hiccups for nearly nine straights months in utero. My belly hopped around like a Mexican Jumping Bean while she trampolined off every internal organ.

And then we called her Chickie. Or Chicken. Because I was still figuring out how to transition from Big Sister to Mama and it seemed appropriate to call her the same pet name I used for my First Baby-- my little sister, Tess. Who was really my third baby anyway, because Sam and Polly were my babies, too, really. And besides, she squawked and chirped with her hungry mouth opened wide, just like a baby chickie....



Judah: Oh my that boy had the bluest baby blues... and so we called him Judah Blue. Judah Blue Eyed Boy.



And the fat rolls!! We called him Judah Buddha. His Aunt Polly, Queen of Fat Rolls herself, once upon a longlong time ago, gave him that name. And Sofi started calling him just "Buddha" The chiropracter tentatively asked me one day... "Is his name...Buddha? Is that it?" And I laughed and laughed....

His mama still calls him My White-Headed Boy, because he is. And sometimes Scooter, because he did-- for the longest time. And his daddy calls him Buddy, and Little Man.

And now there's Jamie. And he has four people who all make up their own nicknames for him.

Munchkin

Precious

Capital-T-Trouble

Scoofle-noodle

Cuddle Monster

That Boy 

Bo-bo

Jo-jo (because of his inititals)

Scooter

Scooby-doo

Jamie-Jo

..and most recently my favorite, which somehow morphed out of some tongue-tripping combination of those last three names:


Subito




Jamie-Jo, My Subito...

5 Happy Things For Easter Monday

1) 91 pieces of Origami.



2) Bright Red Geraniums in Pots.



3) Approximately 12 dozen egg-- real, plastic, or filled-with-confetti



4) 12 children hunting Easter Eggs. Eight of them are five and under. Five of them are two-year-olds.



5) Two days in the pool.





And now, Spring Break is Done.

When I was very very young, I don't know how old exactly, Grandmom took us to some kind of Fair, or Festival, or some such thing and I got my first taste of the violin. There was a troupe there of singer/dancer/violinists who sang and danced and played all together, all at the same time and it blew. my. mind. I have never forgotten that concert and at that moment I decided I HAD to play that instrument.

Grandmom promised me that one day she would give me one of her violins. One day, when I was old enough, and good enough, she'd let me choose one. She caught me leaving my case upside down a few times and would shake her head and predict that I'd never earn that violin. But one day, one Christmas, I believe, I had finally done it-- earned that violin-- despite my careless ways. She took me up to the spare room and pulled out three cases. They were in pretty bad disrepair, but the one that caught my eye had a story that would have intrigued anyone.

According to her, she caught the eye of an old German dude when she was in her teens. He had a luthier's workshop in a cave somewhere in the hills. He made her a violin as a gift.

I was HOOKED.

I have no idea if that story is really accurate, or not. Embellishment in the name of a good story is a family trait. But who cares? As far as I'm concerned, my violin was made in a cave in the PA hills by an old German dude who had a crush on my grandmother.

What more could you want?

One time...

... my sister and I, outraged over some perceived injustice from our parents, decided to run away from home. We drew a map of the route to our cousins' house, convinced they would hide us from the grownups and we'd conspire together to get "Out West". We stuffed the map and various and sundry necessary items (probably some pilfered snacks) into the denim knapsacks Mom had made us. The ones with the metal snaps Pop-pop installed at his Shop. Then we set off down the road.

Our house was situated across the street from my grandparents' house. You could look out our front door and into theirs-- although it was a decent distance away. Across a very busy road. A major highway, actually. Loud, fast and busy. Very loud.

And yet, we were still able to clearly hear...

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING???"

Grandmom, standing on her porch, phone in hand already calling Mom, the long curly, old-fashioned cord wrapped around her legs and trailing into the house behind her,

"YOU GET BACK IN THAT HOUSE RIGHT NOW! WHAT WEREYOUTHINKING!!??"

And we skedaddled, hightailed it, skat-skit-lickety-splitfastasyoucan into the back yard and hid in the pine trees by the chicken house.

I will draw a veil over the rest of the afternoon for the sake of my adult dignity.

In retrospect, Grandmom probably saved our lives that day. If that's not to dramatic to say out loud....

In Memoriam

From the time I was about five till I was about eleven we lived across the street from my maternal grandparents. We were also within 45 min (I believe) of my mother's entire family-- about ten cousins, or so, and counting... It was an idyllic period of my childhood.

Grandmom taught us how to make a snow fort and the excitement of getting to actually throw stuff at grownups was only slightly dimmed by what lousy shots we were. Grandmom would laugh when she'd catch us off guard and nip a handful of snow right down the back of our snowsuits...

"Grandmooo--ooom, ooowwww!! That hurts, it's SO cold!"

And she would laugh and laugh. She helped us make a snowman and we filled both our yards with snow angels.

She and Pop-pop taught us how to hold a bat and throw a ball. They played soccer with us and babysat us. Grandmom put the fear of God into us about tearing leaves off her plants to use for our mud soup, but we did it any way. The thrill of evasion was irresistible.

She taught us awesome words that our parents vaguely disaproved of. Words like "nincompoop" and "dipstick" and "darnit." She said "darnit" a lot. Especially when she'd catch us climbing up her Japanese Cherry Tree, which, I was personally convinced, came straight from Japan and was therefore irreplaceable.

"Darnit! You kids get down outta that Japanese Cherry Tree!! You're gonna kill it! Git. Outta. There. NOW."

Grandmom played the fiddle and yodeled for a cowboy band called "Jeannie and the Sundance Prairie Rider Boys". (or something like that... I was pretty little and my memory isn't what it used to be). I have actually heard her yodel in person, so I know this is true. Somewhere there exists an actual recording-- an LP, perhaps? of the band, complete with Grandmom yodeling and fiddling. I have this picture of her in her cowgirl get-up, hat and all, perched on a white fence, grinning into the camera. She was beautiful.

My mother looks just like her.

I look a lot like my mother.

And I play Grandmom's violin.

My grandmother passed away yesterday, after several long years of struggling with Alzheimers. I am sharing my memories of her here as they come to mind...

For Uncle Ben and Aunt Susi, who missed it :(

An excellent woman, who can find?

I was talking to a friend recently about the importance of finding creative ways to help "pad" the family income by working from home. As I've been thinking about it since then, I've come to the conclusion that I believe that women, no matter what the family income situation might be, ought to be involved in some way, no matter how small, in bringing home a little bacon on the side. Now, hear me out. I'm not talking about a big career, or hours spent away from home and children. I'm talking about using your God-given gifts in the context of your home and family to make a little money.

For starters, it's a great way to involve your children in the whole "bring money in, sending it back out" thing. Obviously Dad is the primary provider, but they don't actually get to see that in motion. You know what I mean? Children can learn a lot about the value of money when they actually see what it takes to bring it in and then see how quickly it can be spent. And I think they can participate and be paid appropriately for their participation.

In addition, there's something to be said for a little nest egg in your top drawer. Maybe it's only ten dollars, but I know that when I have ten dollars of babysitting money in my Paypal account, I don't have to feel guilty about taking a little to use for the extras-- a new blouse for the Christmas Party, for example :) It keeps me from feeling sorry for myself when things are a little tight. Or at least, it ought too!

As I was thinking about all this, I decided perhaps I ought to consult the Scriptures before solidifying my opinion, so I did. Voila! Good old Proverbs 31! Read it and tell me what you think of my ideas :)


10 An excellent wife, who can find?
For her worth is far above jewels.

11 The heart of her husband trusts in her,
And he will have no lack of gain.

12 She does him good and not evil
All the days of her life.

13 She looks for wool and flax
And works with her hands in delight.

14 She is like merchant ships;
She brings her food from afar.

15 She rises also while it is still night
And gives food to her household
And portions to her maidens.

16 She considers a field and buys it;
From her earnings she plants a vineyard.

17 She girds herself with strength
And makes her arms strong.

18 She senses that her gain is good;
Her lamp does not go out at night.

19 She stretches out her hands to the distaff,
And her hands grasp the spindle.

20 She extends her hand to the poor,
And she stretches out her hands to the needy.

21 She is not afraid of the snow for her household,
For all her household are clothed with scarlet.

22 She makes coverings for herself;
Her clothing is fine linen and purple.

23 Her husband is known in the gates,
When he sits among the elders of the land.

24 She makes linen garments and sells them,
And supplies belts to the tradesmen.

25 Strength and dignity are her clothing,
And she smiles at the future.

26 She opens her mouth in wisdom,
And the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.

27 She looks well to the ways of her household,
And does not eat the bread of idleness.

28 Her children rise up and bless her;
Her husband also, and he praises her, saying:

29 “Many daughters have done nobly,
But you excel them all.”

30 Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain,
But a woman who fears the LORD, she shall be praised.

31 Give her the product of her hands,
And let her works praise her in the gates.


Man! I just love that passage! What more can you say? Isn't that the woman we all want to be? The woman we want our sons to marry? It covers pretty much everything.

Oh yeah, it's THAT time of year again!

We go to the Back Home on the Farm Corn Maze and Family Fun every year! And it was unbelievably more fun to have COUSINS this year!!

Photo Dump: Goin' To the Fair!

Though the weather outside was frightful





The fair was quite delightful!

Not in the club anymore...

I am the eldest of five children. My parents home schooled me from Kindergarten through high school and part of college. Two of my best friends are number four and five out of seven home schooled kids. That was a pretty average size family among our circle of friends. One Herculean mother had fifteen and still counting, last time I checked. Her oldest is my brother's age and her youngest is recently out of diapers. They home school, too. This could be us:



I grew up reciting Psalm 127:3, right along side John 3:16 and the Ten Commandments. From the time I first knew to talk about it, I always said I wanted to have an even dozen kids. I modified that in adulthood to being satisfied with four. Two of each, please. I imagined how it would be... the happy chaos, the laughter, the family adventures, instant community--just add water and stir... I was full of careless arrogance towards women who had small families, assuming selfishness or mis-placed priorities on their part. It was Us and Them, and I was glad to be in the Us Club.

Fast-forward 20-odd years and I'm having this conversation with a woman visiting our church:

Her: Oh we're just visiting this morning. We've been member at HBC for a long time, but things are changing there...doctrinal stuff... and there just aren't many large families any more... I have five boys... we home school...

(me; thinking "oh great! A kindred soul! let's get to know each other)

Her: And your kids....?

me: This is Judah, and Sofi's away over there somewhere...

Her: Just the two?

*pause*

(me; awkwardly realizing that I'm one of those "not many large families anymore" from her old church)

*sound of heart breaking*

Me: mumble, mumble, mumble, fade away....

There's just no way to bring up in casual conversation that I consider myself the mother of three, arguably four, that I love children, that the Lord just had a different plan for our lives than we did, that I would gladly welcome her beautifully rowdy family of young men into my home any time. That I'm not One of Them, despite my regulation two children, one of each, conveniently spaced so as not to have two in diapers at the same time. I'm One of Us. Just... different.

Photo Dump: Fun with Cousins