He, our youngest son Barney, was laying on the kitchen floor, in the way, with a plastic chicken (of the barnyard type) singing.
Boc-boc-booooc-boc-boc-boc-boc-boc…boc-boc-boooooc-boc-boc-boc-boc.
(I know…this is the sorriest game of name that tune you’ve ever played. Please, bear with me.)
The tune sounded familiar to me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. So I kept listening…
…boc…boc…boc…
I giggled when I recognized it.
“Do you know that song, Grams?” I asked my mom. She’s not so good at this game.
“No,” she stated flatly, smiling.
“Hey Barney, what’s that yer singing?” I asked.
“It’s the song that a chicken sings,” he answered, continuing to scratch and peck around with his barnyard buddies.
“It’s Where He Leads Me I Will Follow, that old hymn,” I said, breaking into song.
I can hear my Savior calling. I can hear my Savior calling. I can hear my Savior calling. Take your cross and follow me.
Grams giggled and said, “He’s probably right, more that we know.”
I kept singing.
Where he leads me I will follow. Where he leads me I will follow. Where he leads me I will follow. I’ll go with Him, with Him, all the way.
Have you ever had a crisis of belief? Where you’ve been asked to do something that just might be your undoing, but just might be what God is nudging you to do? I have.
I got a phone call a few months back asking if I might speak at a women’s salad supper. Their topic this spring was “Keep It Simple, Sister” and since I have a blog named Reclaim Simplicity, I must know something about keeping life simple. Ha.What she didn’t know at the time was that blog name has little to do with what I know and everything to do with my prayers. I pray to reclaim simplicity in my life daily. Anyway. I had a passing moment of confidence and said yes.
By now, I’ve said all I had to say, the chickens are roosting, I’m almost fully recovered from hellish stage fright and am left to ponder. Why is it affirmation comes after a promise fulfilled and not before? If the phone ever rings again with someone calling for another speaker (using the definition lightly), will I sing the song that chickens sing or just chicken-out?
Simply,
Sis
Tags: chickens, God's will, leap of faith, she speaks, the song that a chicken sings, where he leads me I will follow
(Thanks to BlogHer PicApp for this picture of how my son might look at the end of the week.)
Back me up on this…there’s a few hills you don’t want to die on. Right? As parents of these two yeah-whos we find ourselves a few days before a battle and are trying to plan our stratagy accordingly.
The foe? Hair dye. Not just any hair dye, crimson and black. And not just any kid…W. Remember out of the two he is the responsible–good American. He may never have a wild and crazy day in his life if it wasn’t for his brother, Deputy Barney. W wants to play rock and roll instead of bluegrass, which is fine. Really! I wrote more about the rebellion here. Where I promised he could get his first tattoo at 18 and after his first paid gig. He was excited.
Now, since he can play Smoke On The Water and Barracuda he asked (very respectfully I might add) to color his brown hair red and black hair because he band’s name is Ghost Killers. Black for the ghost part and red for the killer-blood part. I say go for it W, with high hopes all of his friends will disown him and/or call him weird until it grows out, then quickly rush back to his side.
Ben is gong along with this (against his better judgement probably) adding…”but I want to go to school with you the first day after you do it, to hear what your friends say.”
So we’ve warned and explained the possible consequences and are now down to the chips falling where they may. He is convinced it’s going to look cool. I’m convinced I’m going to look cool when he gets humiliated and refuses to do anything strange in High School. (Yeah, right. I know, but dang-it, this is my pipe dream…let me tell it.)
So friends, Romans, countrymen…what would you do if your 10 year old wanted red-red and black-black permanent hair dye? Would you put your foot down, say no and dye die on that hill? Or say yes, let me help you with that and live to fight another day?
Comment below and tell me what you would do.
Simply,
Sis
Tags: boys, boys will be boys, bringing up boys, child rearing, dyeing kids hair, hair dye, parenting advice wanted, parenting advise, raising boys
HELLo dear ones. Notice where the emphasis is on that first word would ya? That is from whence I’m writing, garden hell. An alternate title for this post could be… Bipolar gardening (but then my ding-dang-dong-damn-it evil twin, SINthia, would have to write it–God forbid). She hasn’t been around since she tried shooting that Badger and ended up with a skunk–God bless her. She didn’t even report for our anniversary. Which in all honesty, Ben would have liked. He still laughs about the homemade G string.
Anyway. Where was I? Gardening. Bipolar gardening. When I started this blog I really wanted to share what little knowledge I had about simple living and gardens and such. Now, over a year later I’m thinking the more I garden the less I know. Take for example the garden plan I wrote about here. Great idea, really! I arrived at a plan this year by taking last year’s plan minus those painful broccoli and cauliflower plants plus a few more carrots, peppers and tomatoes. But, like that G string…It looked good on paper, but in reality it was a little crowded. I guess sometimes you gotta get yer hands dirty to figure things out. As I stood back a surveyed my problem, I asked myself what was I thinking?
To which SINthia answered, “Weeds don’t grow well in the shade. Just plant the darn things so we can sun tan.”
That’s a valid answer in my worlds. So I planted every last thing I had to plant from tatters to maters, just as stinking close together as I dared. When I got into my jams I noticed it was supposed to get down to 37 degrees that night. Crap on a stick are you kidding me?
SINthia just laughed her evil snicker and said, “Better shut off the water…Sure would hate to see icicles hanging off your tomato cages.”
After trekking outside in my undies, and tracking mud back into the house and into bed, I thought to myself, “I thought gardening was supposed to be fun.”
“Isn’t it you that says gardening is cheaper than therapy? Now you need therapy. So much for that theory. ”
“Shut-up, SINthia.”
“Hey I’ve got a theory for ya… what if we took out an ad in the paper for communal naked organic gardening. It would be fun and educational. That would give you something interesting to write about for a change, instead of how to make dirt or how to grow great tomatoes.”
Folks, if this bipolar-diatribe continues throughout the growing season, it will be one of the longest growing seasons in Kansas history. I may have to have one of those mercy killings and bury her remains in the garden, only the black birds and the crows will know about it. Besides, she’s so full it, she’ll make great fertilizer. Now that sounds like a plan.
Simply,
Sis
SINthia
PS ~ Don’t tell Sis, but I planted my name in lettuce where the flowers are supposed to be. I’ll be long gone by the time she figures this out. Snicker Snicker. I’m telling you forget all gardening rules and just have fun. Later.
Tags: evil twin, gardening, gardening 101, gardening the easy way, reality gardening, simple garden, SINthia, vegtable gardens
Ben and I are celebrating our 15 year anniversary today. Kind of. In reality? I need to finish planting our garden, put clean clothes away and whoop a clean on this dirty farm house. After school the kids will have homework and maybe ball practice. Ben has to work late, then has a bluegrass gig. Our plans for a romantic steak dinner for two with our traditional white cake and fresh strawberries (just like our wedding cake) will have to wait. A gal could just get mad, but I’m choosing to look at it differently. We’ve come a long way, the two of us.
Shortly after we met we decided we just couldn’t live without each other and had to get married, but waited for three months to tell our parents. MiMi, Ben’s mom, said “Oh-my-God, Ben, you can’t get married!…Oh congratulations! *hugs*…I need a cigarette!” (This outburst is still simply hilarious to me.) Fifteen minutes after my dad met Ben he said, “Hell, his ears ain’t but that big *holding up his encircled fingers*…no bigger than a quarter.” But agreed later to let Ben marry me anyway after he asked, regardless of his ear size. Truth was, Dad probably needed a cigarette too.
Four months later he gave his only daughter away in a tiny Marine Corps chapel in Arlington Cemetery,Virgina. The cherry blossoms were still in bloom and when the sun hit them that day it made the air smell great. I was in a homemade wedding dress and dad in a hand-me-down suit. Mom read from our old family Bible, and the lady I nannied for stood up with me. The flowers I held were white lilies tied with a piece of fraying fabric from my dress and there was a sprig of baby’s breath in my hair. Ben was in his dress blues. *sigh* Just the thought of it still makes my heart leap. Pictures were snap shots taken by friends and Tim, our best man, another Marine, saluted me with his sword. I felt rich, like a queen, even though my chariot was an old 1987 blue and white Chevy pick-up (with dents in each door and really loud pipes) and our wedding jewels weren’t jewels at all, just plain white-gold bands–paid for from tips I stashed while working at a steakhouse. It was simple, just like our love.
A lot can happen in fifteen years. That song, Remember When by Alan Jackson pretty well sums it up.
I guess when you marry young you’re not quite set in your ways and instead of trying to fit two stoic pieces into the marriage puzzle, young folks can be a little more shape-able. We have became one. A one that is still constantly changing, hopefully for the better, but at least together. Add to that weird mix a couple of boys, a couple of cats, an old farmhouse with issues, some home cooked meals, one homemade G string, some bluegrass music and here we are.
I don’t have any words of wisdom for staying together except read this book. I’ve learned that real love is fragile but resilient. It’s get-your-hands-dirty, messy. It’s gray not black and white. It’s happy and heartbreaking–a true paradox and the closest thing I’ll find to heaven this side of eternity. When I think of Ben, I think of riches untold, from talent to character. I’m sure lots of which I have yet to see in him or discover. It’s been quite a journey, one that I wouldn’t want to be on with anyone else.
There is nothing left to say except…Happy Anniversary, Darlin’, now hand me that pile of laundry…
Simply,
Sis
Tags: anniversaries, love, making a marriage last, marriage, relationships, Simple Love, true love
