Reminders why we left.

 Gretty got up this morning with some spunk and we put pigtails in her hair for the first time this year. You will not get pigtails into her hair, ever, by way of coaxing, but on a morning she decides it is a pigtail day, then it is big energy.

Speaking of energy, I attended FC's basketball practice night last night because Joe was sick and couldn't be there. (I think we are definitely pushing thru the so-called "Delta variant". Looking back, it's probably what had me down a couple weeks ago. Joe has sore legs and major congestion, I was mostly a huge, lethargic grouch.) 
Well, turns out I have lots of pent-up enthusiasm for second grade boy basketball. How fun! How novel, to be with other people, in a gym, together, while our kids play ball?!
I realize this might sound crazy that I love it so much, but I'm coming hot off Colorado where high schoolers were required to wear masks while they played basketball, volleyball, and every indoor sport.  Insanity. I can truly say they were losing their minds out there. And yet...I have an aunt who vacationed out there in Durango this past week and she posted photos, and I am completely heartbroken at the same time that I don't live there anymore. It was incredibly beautiful, an enviable life. Many wonderful friends.
So it's hard to explain why we left Colorado in those instances. I need to temper my answers (to PTO ladies and school board members, who are the only school people I've met, for the most part--so far, anyway). I need to bring up the point that kids were being masked while they had to sprint up and down the court. Madness.
No one was pursuing health--it was completely about exuding control over people. Who has ever healthily sucked fabric in against their teeth, each breath, heart racing, lungs burning? Whoever has forced it on a child?

Plus I get to see Grandma Terri and PopPop whenever I want out here. And my sister's baby, who is my favorite thing in the world. And Jube and Lu play music. And my barn is looking slightly more promising when it comes to future barn dances and jams. We have a peaceable life compared to the stress we were feeling in Colorado.

FC is crazy over this new basketball team. I realize he's never been on a team before, and so he's the most eager, earnest little dribbler. He has almost zero coordination, his arms and legs flailing like spaghetti, his head bobbing around. I mean, he's always been the heaviest-footed kid we have, bumbling around the house, tripping onto and into everything. "Slow down!" is our common refrain. It's comical to watch him, because he wants so much and tries so hard, but nothing is natural to him. So we are practicing in the evenings. Body control, hand-eye coordination. He's the kid that if you ask him to hop on one foot he can do it maybe once before he topples over.
But he also really wants to be the best teammate ever, so he holds his hand out to high-five everyone which is 100% ignored 100% of the time. Forever the optimist.
He is also a kid that is easily crushed so I'm crossing my fingers this season is a real team-building experience.
He's told me he gets teased at school for sneezing so much. I don't think it is mean teasing, but he is utterly aware of how people are feeling and how people make him feel. He also really is a faucet, so I'm hoping when we go for a checkup at the doctor they refer us to an allergist so he can rely on something a little stronger than Claritin.

love languages

 The weather is turning magic. I cannot believe I am back in my home state, living through my favorite fall season. I love how there's a very slight chill in the mornings and by the time the kids get off the bus it is summery again. Yesterday a rain cloud rolled in right at six o'clock and the sky went dark. This is what I really missed--a good, soaking rain. It gives me superpowers. I pulled out my chicken thighs with renewed inspiration and stuffed them with spinach and feta and rolled them in crushed Ritz crackers. Then I made some tomato sauce from my garden tomatoes. Then I regretted all the dirty dishes.
Why? Why do I make more dishes because of rain? I have no idea. Something about rain makes me busy inside. I think I could get anything done with a thunderstorm to keep me company.
Kids came home with a cruddy cold and passed it to me this week, so I kept them home the last couple days and we were puny together. I always feel like a terrible mom when I'm sick, super short-tempered with everybody.  Everyone looked great this morning, so I sent them off to school and came back home and rested. It was glorious to just lay in bed and feel bad by myself. Ha!

Over the weekend I took J and L to a Patriot parade (9/11) while the littles stayed home with Daddy and snotty noses. We ended up checking out a little boardgame cafe while we were out and about. Can I just reemphasize how I hate learning new board games? I have a very specific aversion to reading the rules. Jubal sort of loves it. So I sat there and let him try to teach us how to play some weird Disney game where the bad guys are the heroes and each player has their own individual playing board. We wasted a good hour and a half (my parking meter steadily running out of money) but I kept telling myself it's J and L's love language. I can't get over how much they love trying to learn a new board game (even if they end up playing it totally wrong). 

Later we were talking about love languages and Joe was sincerely trying to explain it to the boys. I know it shouldn't, but it made me roll my eyes. First of all, he's trying to explain how people feel loved to little boys who don't care, but secondly, I signed off that love language thing a long time ago when I realized in life it is very possible one might have to just take what they can get when it comes to feeling loved. How miserable could a person get if they kept waiting for someone to speak their love language? How sad if we kept longing for something to fulfill us simply because we've taken a personality test and continually judge how we are loved with a weird measuring stick? How awful to not be satisfied.
I think this is why I eventually tired of the enneagram thing, too. It's helpful to a point, but it never gets to the heart of things, only skirts the surface and treats the superficial emotions. I like those blanket verses, like "in humility, consider others better than yourselves" and "be content with what you have, for God has said 'never will I leave you nor forsake you'". 
The Golden Rule and all that. It really is wise, much wiser and simpler to live this way than constantly evaluating my feelings. I know my boys love board games, therefore I give them opportunities to play, because if I were in their shoes, that would make me feel loved. (Or maybe I'm just spoiling them and calling it love. Oops.)

Anyway, Joe noticed my mild derision. This always makes me think it is a thing worth writing about. Why (except for being the daughter of Roger) do I roll my eyes? I can't always explain why I think things need to be written down, but it helps me to consider things thoughtfully. I don't mean to scoff at what Joe or anyone else might think is valuable (love languages or anything else)--after all, this is what my dad always did, my whole life. He basically had a very out-of-the-box opinion on everything, and it seemed to me like he mocked the whole world, calling out their stupidity. Oftentimes he was very correct in the points he made, but he was really too harsh. He did not cushion his words with love. There is a place for Gary Chapman and his love languages, just like there's a place for Dr. Dobson and parenting, Beth Moore and Baptists, Enneagram and Ian Crohn. These are all people with valid life experience and a unique worldview.

Whew, that took a turn. Joe asked me what my love language was, and I was like, "I think it might be being left alone." (Acts of service?? Definitely not words of affirmation. Thunderstorms and being quiet.) Whereas I'm pretty sure his is physical touch. 
Which might be exactly why I've reasoned my way into blowing off love languages. LOL. Neither one of us has much to offer the other. Love truly is the opposite of selfishness, because we have to definitely deny ourselves in a major way to love one another well on a daily basis.

Okay, now I'm letting kids watch Clifford in the dark because there's about a half hour before bedtime. I'm back in the public school swing of things, and screen time is a viable downtime option. 

Life Changes!

 Wow, it really is incredible how much things keep changing for us here at Honey Creek. I can't believe Gretty has begun KINDERGARTEN, what.
So I've sent my baby out into the world and she's doing great. Except for the day she embarrassed Luke and called him "stupid" on the playground. And then again on the bus. And she also threw his glasses off his face. Wooh, boy. We had to have a talkin' to after that one. (I imagine all the attention was on her and she was embarrassed enough to make a fool out of the situation. Maybe I've been there, done that. It feels familiar in my memories, anyway--embarrassment that skyrockets into stupidity.)
The kids were so excited to start, and I was so excited to send them. Zero tears, people, zero. I've been jogging at the track behind the school as soon as I drop them off in the morning. It feels amazing. This last year and a half I was definitely losing some healthy habits simply because I was at the end of my rope. We are wrapping up 12 years of straight up stay at home mom business, and I honestly don't know how women multitask that sort of job. I basically can do nothing but mom and sort of cleaning stuff (but not even that really). I think I have a mindset of if my children are in the vicinity I must be a really good mom. Like, read to littles. Play music with them. Listen to them one-on-one. Perch them on the counter as I bake cookies. Tell stories. Color. Draw. Give out chores. Supervise chores. Limit screen time (I'm realizing I'm the queen of limited screen time).
I think it has made them smart and well-adjusted, but it's also really exhausting. 
So I kind of thought I would relax a little when they went to school, but guess what?! Joe works from home now! Ha, ha, ha. He doesn't get up in the mornings and make coffee and then leave before I've rolled out of bed. Nope. I get up and make coffee and wake up kids and he supervises. The whole day is completely different than I'd ever imagined it being when I eventually sent all the kids off to school.
It's very weird, because now I feel like there are eyes on me and I ought to be even more productive than ever. He promises me he's not on my case, but when he takes a break from his computer/phone duties, he inevitably comes down to check out what I'm up to, which is not something I love. 
He's been with me most of the time when I drop kids off at school, and he'll walk the track while I jog. This is ok, and I do think exercise is a must for the work from home sort of folk. But what if I want to run longer? What if I want to run a whole hour or do sprints or stretch or run hills? See, I can't have a Joe tagging along all the time. He hates that sort of dragging-it-out exercise.
He's been a boss at work so long and now he's home and it's just me and I feel a little bossed. That is all.

So. Back to school. We have Covid situations popping up in classrooms. Of course we have no idea what this entails here at our little country school. In Denver schools, it was a huge deal. As in, I was getting many an email from the district there (mind you, I was homeschooling at the time) that was a very strong you-better-not-be-running-around-outside-of-school-and-then-bringing-your-germs-here sort of deal. Everyone was already masked, all the time. High schoolers didn't even make it into in-seat schooling till the last eight weeks of school, and only four days of the week when they did start. If you were even in close contact, you were sent straight home to quarantine.
Here, I got a text that said my child was in close contact. Gretty came home and when she hopped off the bus she pulled a mask out of her backpack. She said the teacher (actually the sub, since her normal teacher is on day 8 of her own quarantine since her daughter tested positive) said they all needed to walk down to the nurse's office and the nurse passed masks out to everyone and also put a buzzy thing in each kid's ear (thermometer?). They have to wear masks for the next couple weeks. 
Good luck, I say! I can barely get a mask to stay on that chica, her forward-facing ears refuse to pin back the straps.

I'm bummed for the kids, because they are all so ready and excited about school, and every sniffly nose (and Foy has a million sniffles all the time) raises a red flag.

Speaking of FC, he has begin basketball. His arms and legs are jumbles of energy, none in harmony with the others, but his energy and ambition is commendable, so basketball it is, of the second grade variety. Thursday nights. None of the others have any extracurriculars as of yet, and I am glad. I am overwhelmed by the thought of committing more time outside of school...I do realize this is public school--how did my mom do it? She let us participate in everything we wanted. I can barely remember it's picture day tomorrow and to send the sixth grader's solar oven. I'm really depending on Joe to pull through with some amazing dad skills, but this is another odd quirk of our family: he is the homeschooled dad still learning what public school is all about. Hence, he doesn't grasp the idea of me going to a PTO meeting just for the sake of feeling out the school and the people. He's thinking we will run around the farm and shoot guns for fun, not go to basketball practice every Thursday.

Jubal has a trombone and has joined band class. I asked him what he thought of sixth grade and he said it wasn't hard, but it is long, and it tests his endurance ("a good thing, since I'm going to have to get a real job someday and I'll need it," he reassures). 

Luke is blazing through all the books fourth grade has to offer and asking to switch desks so he doesn't have to "listen to so-and-so talk while I try to get my work done." He's begging me to take a cold lunch, but his cold hearted mother will not hear of it, since school lunch is completely free this year and he needs to work on being less picky. Good thing, chicken patty Wednesdays are delicious (he was pleasantly surprised) and the BBQ sandwich, though drenched in sauce, can be salvaged with some napkins.

They are learning plenty, I think. Jubal is reading Huckleberry Finn and thumping the upright bass in the evenings. Very little homework, which isn't a bad thing at all. I don't know where academia ranks here in the middle of nowhere, but I'm confident my kids are going to be okay, and it's mostly because they are growing up, doing normal kid things.

I went to a sort of swanky meetup last Thursday. I'd come across a local magazine (I think it was being sent to me courtesy of the city, since I'm a new resident) and there was an advertisement for a party to celebrate the latest issue (September/October). I took FC and my mom and (very bravely) struck up conversation with the editor and publishers of the magazine. Well, I'm trying to write a few articles for them. So it feels very new and exciting but still too soon to know if I have a real thing going or if I'm fooling myself. In the meanwhile, I have a huge barn sorting project (I've already cleaned much of the garage) and unpacking remnants from our move. Everything is wonderful and busy and I am crossing my fingers that the virus doesn't force me to homeschool again. 

Married!

 My baby brother got married today!

I'd say I can't believe it, but I actually can. The rest of us siblings took a hot minute to get married. Basically we got married before we knew what happened...But Hugh took his sweet time. He probably could've gotten married a couple years ago but he and his new wifey waited till they were done with school. What smarties! Ha. They seem like they know what they want in life. They are patient and driven, in all the best ways. I think in my twenty-twos I was deciding on a third career of becoming a personal trainer. Boy has that ship sailed!
The ceremony was in St. Louis. I can't believe I'm at a point in my life where I have four kids that can go somewhere with very little car crying or eating or fussing in general. They even kept their shirts clean. A modern miracle.
Luke was a little squirrely but I probably shouldn't have brought my fancy camera and then let him play photographer. It turned annoying fast. He also stole my cute little white fedora and disappeared right when the real photographer asked for "all the nephews and nieces" to pose with the new couple. Ugh!
Still, at the end of the day he sighed a very satisfied sigh and said, "Finally! I've gotten to see someone get married."
(I reminded him he has been to a couple other weddings in his life, but he shrugged--like they weren't the ones that mattered.)

Foy grabbed my arm in the middle of the ceremony and whispered, "Aren't you just so embarrassed?!" 
"No," I whispered back, "why should I be?"
"Your BROTHER is GETTING MARRIED!" he hissed.

But it feels significant that we can handle weddings. And not to brag (because that's how folks maybe end up with surprise late in life babies) but I was actually able to sit down and talk to adults while Jordan's wife chased their two year old and Beth chased her one-year old. I tried not to feel smug when she told me how poorly she slept with the baby in their VRBO last night. I'm not gloating, I just know 100 percent how miserable it can be (she's also pregnant) and yet...I made it! Muahaha!

Anyway, the whole thing happened at kind of a weird little venue. It was just off the highway and we all sat outside a "lodge" in these white chairs. The highway noise was so loud we couldn't hear the preacher (It was Dad. He had to fill in last minute because the original guy got covid) and we were sitting on concrete in the full sun. Then we passed back in and thru the "lodge"--quotes needed because it was less than impressive (me, coming from Colorado, land of swanky lodges)--the ladies' bathroom was decorated with purses nailed to the wall (purses sewn from jean pants, purses that looked liked animals, ect. Nothing like a purse-themed bathroom to settle the wedding nerves)--and we walked a long parking walk to the eating part of the venue. There was a shuttle bus, but we like to make little five year old girls tottle around in heels. The parking lot was also shared with Saturday bicyclers of the joy-riding and also serious-athlete variety.
So then we ate little bruschettas and fruit and waited for...well, who knows what. We waited while the wedding party sat out in the waiting room. Then eventually they came in, cut the cake, and did some toasting. Hugh's was the first open bar wedding in Keene history. He probably didn't even know it was going to happen, so little did he care about the ins and outs of the wedding details. We had a boring but good meal served directly off of Sternos, boring because it was steamed herbed potatoes and green beans and sliced turkey, but good because my kids ate it and it was free. The perfect combination! Then we snuck over to the cake table and tried to taste all three layers. Fortunately we were sitting very close to the table and it wasn't well protected.

I'm so glad it is over for him, and that he got to have a wedding, because this whole covid situation continues. I don't know if it'll ever get back to a real normal, but this wedding felt suuuper normal. Almost everyone was there, and it was great. (My favorite aunt Karen was not there, though, so I sent her pictures and video clips so she wouldn't miss out.)

Last Saturday was our anniversary date (17!) so maybe I'll be able to remember Hugh's. Probably not, though. August wedding anniversaries are asking a lot to be remembered. Seventeen! I can't believe it.

I would also like to drop in a note here that Gretel is indeed scheduled for kindergarten. We dragged her, kicking and screaming to get her shots. She didn't kick and scream till after the shots appeared because I did my due diligence and invited Grandma Terri to come to the health department with us. God bless her! After we dragged out our limp Gretty Kay and our braver Jubal, we treated ourselves to ice cream. 
Gretel has had some thoughtful things to say about kindergarten shots, but over all I think she is pleased the experience is over and there's nothing holding her back from school anymore. We did her kindergarten screening last week and they said she was ready. 
Jubal and Gma Terri and I drove down to Willow Springs for a gig he had with his little bluegrass group from camp this summer--Fresh Cut Bluegrass. The nice lady who coached them at camp invited the group to her hometown where she runs a little monthly theatre bluegrass show. And she even paid the kids real money. Twenty bucks! Jubal is over the moon with this gigging business (I should've reminded him it only scratched the surface when it comes to paying for a hotel room, but I'm not mean) and he's ready to make more money. So let me know if you're looking for a guitar picker to hire. 

 I think the curse of the first born must be that your parents re-live childhood first again through you. 
It's not necessarily a curse to the first born, but to the kids who follow and aren't as closely watched. At least, that's what I'm thinking. When Jubal rode the bus as a kindergartner, I fretted every morning that he was probably upset because I'd yelled at him to eat his oatmeal faster. Or that he was lonely. Or being taught nasty things by older kids. But last week I called the bus coordinator out here and signed up all four of my kids, sight unseen. (Time will still tell if GK even goes to kinder, but I think she'd do great on a bus.) I really cared when Jubal got into the latter half of Harry Potter. Was it too soon, too mature? With Luke I'm like, have at it! 

Jubal is turning out fine, I might say (pre-sixth grade). Ha. Sixth thru eighth grade scares the baloney out of me but I try not to let anyone notice. I hate how everyone has cell phones and is on tik tok losing their minds and wasting hours of time.
I can waste an hour or two (easy) on random internet places, just researching junk. So can my kids. I hate that we're feeding an addiction by handing them a cell phone. I've held out for a long while and now I'm hoping I can do it a bit longer. Jubal and Luke basically have no self-control when it comes to browsing the internet (neither do I, which is why I keep it out of hand).
But, sixth grade. Pray.

We are so happy and bug-bitten here at Honey Creek. I don't even know where to catch up to date. We did the local Lutheran church VBS and it was such an interesting experience. Obviously we've been out of the rural MO culture for longer than we thought. Everyone here knows of us since it's big news to get new neighbors. The Lutherans here have a long two hundred year history of intermarrying (and sometimes bringing in new Catholic blood from Mary's Home, a village south of here). I discovered the men's group at the church happens to do bluegrass music, so I snooped and found they had a fundraiser for the youth group at the grocery store parking lot last Saturday. Then I surreptitiously went shopping there and spied till I got the nerve to go introduce myself. I met a guy by the last name Sommerer--which is the maiden name of the woman whose husband built this old house we are in. I asked the fellow what his mother's maiden name was, thinking it might be one I recognized from the deed records in my house...Well, his mom's maiden name was Sommerer, too.

Eesh. It was a little awkward. I need to keep my questions to myself. So, here we are, bringing even fresher, Protestant blood to Honey Creek.

We've set up the badminton court near a small patch of poison ivy just to tempt fate, I guess.  We're watching Olympics and you know how you get inspired. The boys and I are destined for greatness, we can feel it.

Jubal plays guitar, mandolin, upright bass--probably four hours out of the day. The cello sits lonely in his corner, falling more and more out of tune. 
Luke picks up his violin a couple times a week. They both have really good ears and I don't feel too guilty not having them in lessons. We can actually play together and not be too fussy because they know what they are doing. Remember when it was so dang hard to get Jubal to practice his cello because he was a little six year old punk? I was fighting the babies while I was trying to get him to sit in an actual chair instead of leaning back on the sofa. I wanted him to watch his bowings and he blew me off, trying to play each piece as fast as possible. Those were years of frustration.
When we get out the instruments, Foy wants to beat on the cajon, and we remind him that bluegrass generally doesn't use cajons and he reminds us everytime that he doesn't really like bluegrass. We've tried to set up the cello as a mini bass for him but the strings won't hold the note and it feels weird, not like a bass at all. Foy is so patient with me. He really wants to take drum lessons or piano lessons and I keep putting him off. I don't think we wasted time with starting Jubal and Luke early, but I do think we wasted a little money starting Luke with the teacher we did, and I think third grade is perfect for beginning piano. Plus, Foy is an awesome drummer. This morning I had a sore throat and Joe's out of town, so we just sang some songs here in the living room and did our own church thing. Jubal played guitar, Foy beat on the cajon, Luke did a little violin and sang with me and GK. It is perfect. 

I'm counting the days till school but then when I count I berate myself for counting down. School isn't always easy, and I forget that while it hasn't been my favorite year being home with kids round the clock, I have had it super easy. I controlled everything--the tech, the time, the routine, the interaction. I wasn't such a controller before Covid was forced upon us, and I don't do a great job of it now, but I can see how a mom gets into a loop thinking she's got everything under her thumb and, what could go wrong?! So I counter my excitement for school with dread.
Like, I really don't like selling things to earn stupid prizes at school. I don't like forking out money for school lunch. I really like avoiding annoying people. There, I said it. School is full of annoying kids, and I've spared all of us the trouble of dealing with them. Even typing that out is a good kick in the pants, because we cannot hide out any longer. The mini homeschooler inside me cringes at the waste of time that is sixth grade. The mini public schooler in me cheers.

Well, this post has been a nice warm up. I need to get a good Honey Creek and Average Pearl post in this week while Joe is gone. If those darn Olympics weren't so fun to watch!

On To Honey Creek

 My kids are still putting library books on hold, so obviously they aren't convinced we will be moving in under a week.

We're down to the last scrappy days. You know, the ones were you pack and clean and then sit at the table and drink a kombucha while staring blankly at the to-do list. Maybe it was simpler days to load up the old covered wagon with tack and vittles and make the big kids jog alongside. I am such a scattered person. Basically I stand around and get almost nothing done, then I make the kids write and sing songs with me, or I start a new creative project, or pick flowers and paint them. Or mow the yard. I really don't understand how people in life can do two things at once, like watch kids and (fill in the blank). Which explains why I am a stay at home mom, actually. The idea of having a job and being a mom is incomprehensible. There: this is my truth.

My plan is to drive a couple kids and sedated dog (please give us a few good pills, Dr. Bob) to Missouri this weekend with the random household stuff that ought not fit into a moving truck with a sectional couch and lawnmower.
I'm not looking forward to it, driving back and forth, but I think it's the only thing to do.

Joe's new job title will be something along the lines as a "nationwide purchaser" (probably got that very wrong), so we are trying to drum up some good internet out in the country. I'm trying to envision him working from home in the middle of nowhere. Like, getting up and sending kids off to school and then it's just me and him at home? Yeah, I can't even imagine it.

Gretty zooms her "motorcycle" around in the driveway and stops to hug her giant poppies and sunflowers. She has a pretend dog friend she calls Invisibee. She chats and chats with him. And sometimes she informs me her name is not Gretel, but Karen, so we play a game where I'm Ellen and she's Karen and we are introducing ourselves as new friends.
"Oh, hi, Karen! Nice to meet you. Would you like a popsicle?"
"No thanks, Ellen. Gretel likes popsicles, but I'm Karen. Karen is allergic to popsicles."

She's had a terrible cold the last week, so we've put off saying goodbye to friends until now. She's on the fence about kindergarten because she doesn't want to get a shot at the dr's office. Jubal is also due for his eleven year old booster, so I'm trying to squeeze that in before we leave.

I'm so excited to be headed back to school in the fall. Out here in Colorado, the news about vaccine for covid is making me begin to despise the leaders and people in authority. Polis, the governor, has decided he'll dole out several million dollar lotteries (5) and I don't know how many $50k scholarships (for the under 18 vaxxed crowd). I can't believe this is happening in our world. Public schools and teachers are scrounging for funding--hey, lets make kids sell cookie dough and wrapping paper door to door and we'll give them a free junky keychain!--and here is Polis with deep, deep pockets (apparently), taking our tax money and using it as a carrot to get people vaxxed.

It's not cool.

So call it conservative or whatever you want, but I'm glad to be moving to Missouri where hard work is still appreciated and no bull is taken. Go back to work, people! Leaders, quit pretending the money is yours!

Enough of dreaded politics.
Jubal is amazing me with his guitar skills--actually it is more his repertoire of guitar chords up in his head that impresses me. Yesterday we recorded an Alison Krauss song together. I'm trying to record things so we can see how much we improve. My mandolin is improving but still very beginner-ish. I wish I could've started when I was ten. I think the piano lessons were great but I was no piano player. It's like following board game rules: too many do this, don't do thats and not enough free play.

Luke is drawing a million dragons and taping the pictures to his walls. I keep reminding him we're going to have to scrape them off before we leave, but his goal is to fill the whole room.
They've been listening to Hank the Cowdog outside on the porch. When they get tired of it, they turn the sprinkler on under the trampoline and pretend they're cage fighters.
Foy is begging to take piano lessons and practice his cajon. I need to make that a priority once we get settled into Jeff City. He loves drumming along on his cajon when we jam with our instruments, but he needs some direction. 
Foy is currently the underrated brother in our household, a math whiz, sweet as can be, the best eater (and biggest eater), the kindest neighbor, the most helpful (usually). Man, whatever teacher gets him for second grade is going to be lucky (and she'll also have her hands full trying to correct his terrible penmanship). He is pretty sneezy and snotty and allergic to basically everything, so pray for him as we adjust to Missouri.

Also... drum roll. I might regret this, but I started another blog because I'm thinking it would be so fun to record our move to Honey Creek and our forthcoming shenanigans. I need to work on the logo and web design, but I honestly need to pack and clean my house more. Ugh. 
Check it out and tell me I'm crazy: www.onhoneycreek.wordpress.com

We are moving!

 I probably should read that last post I wrote before I go on ahead and write a new one, because things are moving at such an alarming rate, and I can't remember what I've said.
We drove to Missouri and bought a farm--that's the long and short of it. 
We closed on our house here in Denver and then drove out east because we had not a clue what to do or where to move. Joe has been up and down. back and forth more than me because his job is going to be up in the air over this whole shebang, and that is pretty scary, I think.
Without getting into the nitty gritty, diary-worthy details, I can vouch that the enneagram is pretty spot on when it comes to numbers and the direction one moves in stress. What I mean by that is this: I turn flighty and can't settle down and need a thousand distractions (Marvel movies) and Joe goes all 6 on me, which is to say he becomes a Debbie Downer who thinks of every potential problem and cannot be assuaged.

(I can follow a wormhole till it ends, and I try not to do that with enneagram anymore. Still, it is apparent to me we have very normal tendencies that hamstring just about all of our decisions, if we let them.)

Anyway, the house, the house! We got to Kansas City, spent the night in a hotel, then drove two days straight through the soggy hills of southern Missouri, looking for everything and stopping for nothing. I was ready to turn around and come home because Joe was the worst kind of silent. I spent lots of time in the passenger seat refreshing my realtor.com homepage on my phone. Siri took us to the middle of nowhere north of Springfield and we parked and got out at a little state park where I called my mom. I'd found a place in Centralia and told her we were just going to drive towards her house, and if she could watch the kids, pretty please?--we'd go look at the place.

Well, that place was cool, but not up Joe's alley. So we spent another day sort of sulking, and when I was about to give up (Sunday evening), I was scrolling on realtor.com and found a farm house near Mom and Dad's little cabin south of Jeff City. I thought there was no way Joe would be interested in looking at it because it's so close to relatives, and plus it's 96 years old, but it was 40 acres, and we didn't have a better plan. I called the realtor and set up an appointment for Monday morning. 
Mom met us there and it was just too good to be true. The house was completely renovated in 2004. It still has all the wacky closets in the upstairs and is completely charming, but outfitted with heating and a/c. There's a jetted tub and sweet pocket sliding doors...It's adorable and my kids can't destroy it because it's old.

Remind me I said that in about a month when I am spending 8 hours a week mowing the lawn and fighting ticks and poison ivy. I mean, remind me how I said it was too good to be true.
The night after we checked it out, I spent an hour under the covers looking at old genealogy records of the man that built the place. The farm has been in the family for four or five generations.
I was so hopeful we might buy it. I could see my next blog/book: The Stegners on Honey Creek. And then, the next morning, Joe told me he didn't think it was the right place. So then I was upset. But by noon he had changed his mind. So we made an offer. Which was pretty much accepted. And then again by supper he was pissed off because he was sure he'd lose his job because of the move. 
I'm telling you, too much drama for this girl. The thing is, we need a big change. And big changes are painful and hard, especially for us. I can't think of a single life change that wasn't massively stressful. Even having babies was definitely tainted by unmet expectations and a major lack of emotional support. I'm really looking forward to at least having my mom nearby, because she's a helpful friend to both of us when it comes to voicing our frustrations or talking out problems.
I am thinking this will be a really great move for us since we will finally have extended family for our kids. And school, and extracurriculars. 
I'm dreaming about a strawberry farm or a bluegrass venue or a barn bakery. Ahh.
I'm trying not to think about potential in-law problems, eek.