Never Too Young

Another snow day!  I thought I would never say this but this is getting ridiculous.   We will be going through June to make up the days!
On the bright side of this snow day is I got to spend it with my grandson, Kassen. 
He has always had this obsession with books.  When he was only 10 months old he would sit in your lap to look at a book.  He is 15 months now and still has that passion for books.  Of course I had to nurture this and dug out all of my kids books from their childhood along with purchasing some. 
My enthusiasm spread to my daughter who also is reading to Kassen from her children's book collection that I had been accumulating for her. Not only that but she is constantly on the look out for good deals in the used book stores and second hand stores.  I have to chuckle when she proudly shows me her treasures.  Most of the books that Ashley chooses for Kassen are the classics that I had read to her when she was a little girl and now they are his favorites. 
Kassen Picks:  Brown Bear, Brown Bear
                         The Hungry Caterpillar
                         The Artist Who Painted The Blue Horse- along with several other Eric Carle books
                         Giant Machines
                         Foot Book
                         John Deere Farm
                         Itsy Bitsy Spider
                         The Little Blue Truck
He loves the farm and so I have to make sure that we have lots of books about tractors, trucks, combines, horses, sheep, cows or pigs. 
One evening their family was shopping in the mall.  As they strolled through the toy store Kassen giggled, pointed and babbled at the trucks, tractors, and other toys.  When they strolled into the bookstore and down the children's aisle he went crazy. He was reaching for them all, going absolutely crazy to get a hold of a book! 
I am just hoping that this will be an indicator that he will be a successful reader as he grows older. 

Puppy Discoveries

The hint of spring is not only bringing out the animals at school but also here at the farm.
 Our rather large Mountain Bernese puppies greeted me at the door wagging their tails hoping I was there to spread some love amongst the brothers.  I soon was stopped dead in my tracks by the very pungent odor.  "Oh my!  Boys have discovered a skunk!"  Their only response was to wag their tails and leap straight in the air oblivious to the fact that they stunk to high heaven!  Let's just say they were very confused for a few days on why I wouldn't just give them a big bear hug. 
Puppy Discovery #1- Skunks.
This morning when our driver came to work like any other day he tipped the hood on the semi to check the oil and then quickly changed his mind because for there on the engine hissing at Mike was a rather perturbed raccoon. The boys decided when raccoons run that it's the chase is great fun.  I've heard of dogs treeing a raccoon but not "semi - ing" one.  Mike drove off thinking that the raccoon would just skedaddle out from under the hood when he got rolling.  When he arrived at the woods to load logs on the flatbed trailer there sitting on the deck was that same raccoon, no worse for wear.  The raccoon climbed under the cab of the semi and aboard the trailer for a chilly ride to a new destination  that is.....Dog Free!
Puppy Discovery #2 - Raccoons.
What will be next?

Writing Life

As I sit here waiting for my next conference at school it's quiet, too quiet.  I stare at a blank screen, drained from the day thinking what in the world am I going to write.
My reflection is on how this commitment to post a blog everyday has allowed me to grow as a writer. 
I realize now that I was making excuses to not write and that is exactly what happens with my students.  It takes work to write and any of the least resistance or set back gives us an excuse to quit.  When my son passed away I made it my mission to write everything that I could about Trent.  I worried that everyone would forget about him and not remember him anymore.  Then I began to worry that I would forget.  Forget what color eyes he had, his favorite foods, how he smelled, how his hugs felt... I had a journal to write down all the stories.  But I felt strange getting it out when my husband was around to write in it afraid he would ask and that I would upset him.  When I did get it out there was so much to write down, before I forgot, that it became overwhelming and I would just stare at it.  I bought a special pen thinking that would make it happen, that didn't work.  It was beginning to weigh on me and I felt that I was letting Trent down for not writing.  Finally,it just got easier to just not write.  Oh, I wrote in front of my students, even stories about Ashley and Trent but it was only occasionally.
Then at lunch one day at school I was having a conversation with some colleagues about funny stories in life.  As we were talking, Betsy shared with us about how she writes on her blog and that I should think about doing it too. Shortly after she helped me get started.  I wrote a few blogs my only audience was Betsy and Robin (Safe :) 
A few weeks ago I became frustrated with my students they were becoming stagnant in their writing and we were all loosing our enthusiasm.  So, when Betsy reminded me of the slice of life challenge in March I though Ah yes if I want my students to write more I need to write along with them. 
We were going through the motions of how to become a good writer but I never give them a reason to do it.
Now, that I have set up their blog they are excited to have others read their writing ... having an audience.  They are also excited when I read snippets of their quick writes everyday and share my connections that I have with their writing.  They love the feedback. Their class blog is: http://shrontzwriters.blogspot.com/ if you feel like checking it out.  It's a work in progress.  I have just a few kids type their quick writes as we have the time.
I am working through my writing demons along with my students.  I've come to realize there are kids that also have a difficult time writing about personal topics because of obstacles in their lives but if I can show them that I can do it hopefully it will give them the strength to write. 
I hope that people don't forget about Trent and more importantly I hope I won't forget those little things about him either.
Thank you Betsy for giving me that push that was well needed!
P.S. Trent's eyes were blue, he had a mole on his right upper lip like mine, he had dimples in his cheeks, he had blond hair, if you looked real close he had a few bits of asphalt left in his skin from a bicycle accident in 6th grade, he smelled like Old Spice Original (I know because I wear it everyday to remind me) and he had the most amazing hugs ever!  I wake up thinking about him and go to bed thinking about him.  I miss him more than anyone can imagine.

A Visit to the Hair Salon

My daughter is always looking out for me: doing my bookwork, picking up sheep feed, making appointments... on and on.  I am so grateful for it, too. 
Thursday, Ashley informed me that she had made a hair appointment for Saturday.  "Cool!  I can't remember that last time I've taken time to get my hair cut." I told her.
"Yeah, me either and I have a uni brow going on that I need taken care of." Ashley replied.

 Saturday arrived, Ashley and I headed to the hair salon along with her two step kids, Audrie ,5yrs old and Kassen, 15 months old.
As soon as we walked in we recognized our neighbor Sandy who had her five year old granddaughter with her.  Audrie was excited to have another little girl to play with and Ashley immediately  sat down next to Sandy to chit chat.
 Meanwhile, I had a hold of Kassen who got his second hair cut and hammed it up!  He loved the clippers as they tickled his skin and he giggled and showing his adorable dimples.  

Then it was my turn... I took my seat and showed Beth, the hair stylist a picture that I had pinned on Pintrest.  Beth claimed she loved it and made double sure that was I wanted  since she was going to cut lots of hair off.  As she began to cut we gossiped about everyone in our neighborhood... the one that is getting a divorce and thinks that he is the local Rico Suave because he's lost 65 pounds and is hitting on every single woman in the area, the ex-wife that Beth saw crying at her picnic table down by the road while walking her dog and how her son will be turning 21 in just a few weeks. 
The kids were running back and forth in the salon, and Beth ignored it all and kept cutting.  Ashley and Beth reminisced about the old days, Beth kept cutting.  Kassen  run back and forth playing peek-a-boo with me, Beth kept cutting.  Audrie and the other little girl were giggling with each other , Beth kept cutting.
Then Beth was done.  Let's just say it's a good thing hair grows back!

We all left the hair salon with hair cuts and our eyebrows waxed...  now that's another story!  Mission accomplished.

Playing the Accordion

Something that most people don't know about me and would probably be surprised!

My grandpa Minarik was born in Czechoslovakia and then came to Michigan when he was a small boy.  For entertainment his 13 brothers and sisters along with his parents would dance to polkas and waltzes.  He learned to play the accordion and became very accomplished at it.  When we were kids he would often get his red and ivory peril accordion out to play a lively polka such as the "Beer Barrel Polka" and we would dance around the kitchen.  It was amazing to watch him play it, tapping his foot, running his fingers over the ivory keys on the one side and pushing the buttons on the other and at the same time stretching the bellows out as far as they would go, then squeezing them back together.  He would be singing along with the song and it seemed so easy for him.
My mother carried on the Czech. tradition as well.  My grandpa bought her a beautiful accordion that she would occasionally play.
So, I think after my older sister learned to play the piano successfully my grandpa assumed that I may have been born with a musical bone like my sister.
I can still remember the day my grandpa took me to the back room in their house to show me a surprise that he had for me.  Naturally, I was excited so when he started to pull the suitcase out from under the bed I knew what it was going to be.  He opened the suitcase to reveal a shiny black and white accordion.  It looked so beautiful in the box.  There was red velvet lining in the box that made that black and white accordion stand out even more.  I ran my fingers over the peril ivory keys and the rows of bellows.
My grandpa explained to me that it was a very expensive instrument but that he thought that I would enjoy learning how to play the accordion like he did. 
My mom took me for lessons along with my sister.  She learning piano and me the accordion.  It was difficult and I struggled.  My mom had to nag me to practice. The room that we practiced in was the dining room which was the center of our hundred year old farm house.    When my sister practiced the piano it was pleasant and enjoyable to listen.  When I practiced the accordion, doors closed and everyone disappeared.  It was hard for me to coordinate the bellows with the keys and the buttons.  I wanted to give up and my mom would not let me.  Worse yet the older I got the more I had to keep it a secret from my friends at school.  The definition of cool did not include playing an accordion.  I was sure that if anyone found out I would be made fun of and it would be the end of any kind of social life at all!
My grandpa would come over and insist I get my accordion out to play a lively polka or waltz for him.  He never said a bad word about my ability in fact he would be grinning ear to ear as if I played the most Divine song.  This didn't help!
Finally, after several years my mom gave up and let me quit.
Now, this should have made me happy but I knew that I had probably disappointed my grandpa.  He of course never said so but I was the only grandchild that was provided with this opportunity to carry on his old world family tradition that.
I still have that accordion that my grandpa bought for me so many years ago.  My grandpa passed away almost 15 years ago. That tradition has since faded.   I've had fleeting thoughts of getting that accordion out and give it another whirl. 
Hmmm... I guess it's never too late. 

Late night winter lambing

Pulling on my carhartts, muck boots, knit hat and gloves I prepare myself for the blast of cold air.  The boys (our farm dogs) greet me at the door hopping in the air excited that I've come out to play.  I trudge down the long driveway in the dark with only the moonlight to guide me.  The  snow crunching underneath my boots and the huffing of the boys are the only sounds in the dark of night until I get around the corner of the pasture where the girls (my ewes, girl sheep) start bleating hoping that they will get a midnight snack of grain. 
The boys won't leave me alone... grabbing my gloved hand just as if they are guiding me down to the barn and throwing themselves down in front of me trying to get a pat on the head.
Finally, I reach the barn door.  I listen carefully as I get closer for any sounds of the small bleating of a new born lamb. 
I don't hear anything so I click on the light and scan the pen for any signs of a mama ewe giving birth or a baby lamb laying in straw. 
A ewe is standing in the corner and turns to look at me and gives me a low blat in her throat.  Right there nestled in the yellow straw is a damp, pitch black lamb.  "Awe what a good mama"  I talk softly to her as I pull open the gate walking into the pen. 
She turned back to tend to her baby licking the clear sack off the baby, talking to it the whole time.  As I take a step closer I realize that she doesn't just have one but there are two.  The other is standing a bit wobbly as it searches for the ewe's teat and the mama is talking low, nudging it with her nose. 
"Yes, your a good 'ol mama"  I talked to her as I scooped them up to get them settled into a lambing pen with a heat lamp that will keep them cozy as the cold weather blisters outside the barn. 
"Come on, boys!"  I shoo them out of the barn pulling the door closed behind us. Then I trudge back to the house, tired but satisfied that I've got two new lambs to add to the herd.

Boots

Footwear

What you wear on your feet define you.  Trent, my son, was wearing a size men's 11 when he passed away at 15 years old. 
He loved his Red Wing lace up leather boots.  He got them that summer in Grand Rapids at one of those once a year Red Wing deals, buy one pair and get one free.  So, Trent talked his dad into going.  All the guys from the farm went.... Trent, His Dad (Brad), Nick and Kraig. He was feeling more like a man to be included in those rare men shopping trips.   Lucky for Trent his Dad couldn't find a pair that he wanted so that meant he got two Red Wing boots. 
You might be asking what is the big deal about Red Wing.  Well, as it was explained to me by Trent... they are made in the USA (not Japan like all the other boots) and they have a life time guarantee.  "Really mom, they will replace the souls for free when I wear them out!"
 "Of course, Son!"  I replied back.
Trent wore them everywhere... riding dirt bikes, pitching manure, working in the fields, shopping, even at school while everyone else thought that it wasn't cool.  Oh, he had tennis shoes but they were rarely worn.  I think he even would have slept in them if I allowed him.
They were his trademark and he was proud of that fact.  They defined him.  He was a country boy to the core.  He thrived on getting your hands dirty and getting the job done!
Those boots were well worn in when he passed away.  The toes were wore through so you could see the shiny steel toe peeking out.  The laces were tied together on one of the boots.  The leather was no longer just one color, it was darker in some spots where grease, oil or worse manure had saturated it.  The heels were starting to show some wear with some of the deep groves no longer aggressive but smooth from gripping the pedals on his quad or dirt bike.  Whew! You could smell the pungent odor of the insides of them from a room away but that didn't seem to bother him.  He just grinned.
Yes! those boots defined Trent... comfy in his boots.. proud to be a country boy!