Come In and Sit ASpell

The thing I miss most about Kentucky is the language.  Oh, I can still speak it.  The moment I hear someone speaking it (even if it is in my own head), it all comes back to me and the words flow out of me in true Kentucky drawl.  My kids think it is funny.  They think I'm making it up.  They don't understand how that  kind of talking can just be inside of me.  Researchers think that the Appalachian Mountain talk is disappearing.  They say that with better education and the influence of  television and radio Mountain talk will disappear all together.

I always tell people I'm bi-lingual.  I was raised by a Californian mother, who spoke proper English and by a Kentucky Hillbilly father who spoke, well... Mountain English.  I can speak both.  My husband couldn't even understand my dad when he first met him. "What he say?", he'd keep asking...

My grandma Witt raised my dad in Clover Bottom, Jackson county.  She used words like "Day Law" when you'd tell her about gettin' straight A's, or when she realized how much you'd grown in a week.  And words like "a'fixin'" and "fla'r" and "quar" "chillan" "dreckly" and of course, "come in and rest aspel".  My dad used words like rat, y'all, holler and "givin' me the deadset".

I delivered the Richmond Daily Register in Richmond, Kentucky from the time I was 10 until I was 16.  I had two different routes during that time period, the first about 2 miles through Norwood to BellevueTerrace (the projects) and back to Main Street.  That route including the poorest of poor and the wealthy widows.  Mrs. Burnam was my favorite.  Her mansion was huge and red and reminded me of a castle.  Her yard was gated with a circle driveway.  She would always have lemonaid for me on collection day.  Inside her home, the ceilings were high and she had an seat lift on the staircase because she was too old to walk up the stairs.  She had a gardner and a servant, but other than that, I never knew if she had any other family.  Her yard was beautiful.  Why did I never know anymore about her?  Sometimes my dad would load up a wagon of vegetables from his garden for me to drag along behind me to give to the people who lived in the projects.  They'd come out of their homes to take a bag of tomatoes or 4 to 6 ears of corn or some cucumbers. (Did I mention how well a garden grows in Kentucky?) They'd speak the language and we were all the same despite our upbringing or our homes or our circumstances.  I wish I knew more about them now.

The other was Willis Manor.  Willis Manor was a 5 story home for old folks.  I would ride the elevator to the top floor and race down the hallways, dropping papers in front of nearly every door, flying down the stairs to the next floor.  Fifteen minutes, tops.  But my fondest memories of that route are the people, whose names are long since forgotten, but were the old people of the Kentucky Hills. 

One day, I knocked on a new customers door.  She about fainted dead away when she saw me.  I had never seen her before, but she look at me as if she'd seen a ghost.  She invited me in and started asking about me.  Who was my daddy?  Who was his daddy and so on...  Turns out, she used to babysit for my great grandmother Fannie Minter Collier around McKee, Jackson County, Kentucky.  And, aparently, I looked just like my great grandmother.

It seems as if I have digressed.  But I can't help but think of these amazing mountain people and aristrocrats of Kentucky when I think of the language.  The way we referred to "catty corners" and "backer" and "carn", "aigs" and "malk" and "I was aimin' to" and "what fer?".  That's what I miss.  Hearing the talk, soaking it in, living it, breathing it.  Something to be proud of, even if the rest of the country found it backwards... It was who we were and slowly began to define who we would become.

Silence of the Lambs

Lambs are not silent.  Ewes are really NOT silent. 

So, this year, we are sheep farmers.  Just saying that, because who knows if we will be sheep farmers next year.  We like cows better.  Cows aren't as much work.  You don't always have to wonder if a cow will up and die.  You don't have to worry if a coyote will eat your cow. Of course, with dogs like these girls, the coyotes probably won't touch our sheep either.

This is Sasha and Tibby, our livestock guardians.  Of course, I won't say more, because really, today is about sheep. 

It is interesting to raise sheep.  They are typically gentle and mostly just want food from you.  But I like to consider all of the Saviours references to sheep in the bible.  "Go, rather, to the lost sheep"  "If a man have an hundred sheep..."  "My sheep hear my voice"  "Feed my sheep"  "What shepherd, having many sheep doth not watch over them."  "I know my sheep"  These are just a few of His words, comparing His work to that of shepherding.  So I ponder those words, tend my sheep and begin to understand why Jesus used sheep in so many of His parables and stories.

"My sheep hear my voice."  The Bise sheep know my voice.  They come running when I call.  They are not fearful of me, nor are they protective of their young when I am around.  Of course, that grain bucket also entices sheep to come quickly.  Interestingly, lambs also know their mother's voice.  When 3 ewes and 5 babies are all in one place, the mommas will call until their respective baby(ies) are accounted for.  As followers of Jesus Christ, do we hear His voice when he calls?  Do we follow his footsteps to safety and peace?

"Feed my sheep."  Of course I feed my sheep.  Twice a day.  They really like alfalfa, but only the leafy part, not the stems.   They waste a lot of alfalfa.  Thank goodness for the cows.  The cows will eat the leftover stems.  The sheep love grain.  And bread.  They like to hog all the grain to themselves and use their heads and bodies to keep the other sheep away.  The Saviour, when He said "Feed my sheep"  meant for us to nourish those around us, both spiritually and physically.  We need to minister, to share, to love.

"I know my sheep."  I love this one.  Just as Jesus Christ knows each one of us individually, I know my sheep.  You may think that all sheep look alike.  Mine are Suffolk.  They have black heads and white bodies.  But I know my sheep.  Bella, Kipper, Pinky, Bluebell, Molly, Ducky, Baby and Curly.  Now there are 7 little lambs.  Zoe, Cathy, Chuck, Bertha Paintbrush, Francis and two brand new girls who don't have names yet.  And of course, there is Humphrey, also known as Rambo, our mostly nice ram.

One of  my favorites:  "If a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine and ... seeketh that which is gone astray."  When one sheep is missing, we go into full search mode til that girl found.  Usually she is just laying down somewhere, but sometimes a sheep will get out of a fence.  Luckily for us, our sheep don't stray very far.  They like to hang out at the barn where the hay and grain are.

We have several sets of twins at the barn and when it is time for a nap, they seem to seek each other out and lay next to or near each other.  Within a 3 1/2 week time period, our 4 momma ewes gave birth to 8 babies.  Kipper, the last to lamb, had triplets.  She had her first baby around one pm.  We went to check on her around 3 and we could tell that she had another baby to deliver.  She kept laying down, trying to push.  Sometimes a little hoof would come out.  But then she would stand back up.  Finally, around 5, Troy decided we needed to help her.  He told me to get her to lay down again.  I would like to say that I gently eased her to the ground, but that doesn't work with sheep.  I shoved and pushed until she went down, then I held her there.  Troy, my lovely husband who gags at the thought of cleaning up dog poo or barf, reached his hand up in there and grabbed the lambs head and legs and eased that stuck baby right out of there.  I was impressed.  He's like a sheep mid-wife (husband)...  Immediately a third baby slid right out.  What a surprise!  The 2nd baby wasn't doing so well. So Troy cleared her mouth and nostrils.  She still wasn't breathing.  He grabbed her feet and held her upside down.  Finally the breathing began.  We call her the monster baby.  She was twice the size of the other two.  Unfortunately, we lost the first baby.  We're not totally sure what happened.  Typically, a mother sheep cannot care for three babies.  So you take one away and bottle feed it.  Since we had seen the first baby nursing prior to the birth of the other 2, we decided to leave him with his momma overnight, so that he could get more colostrum.  Our plan was to take him or one of the babies in the morning.  But by morning, he was not doing so good at all.  We placed him in the warm tack room (overnight temps that night were -8), hoping to revive him, but he never regained consciousness.  Sad day.

It is a pretty funny sight so see all these little lambs kicking up their heels and running and running.  They love to play.  Even Cadie went into the stall and danced with the lambs (like dancing with wolves?)

Just so you know, Suffolk lambs are born black.  Usually, white wool is growing underneath the black.  When Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father created the world, they took into account predators and that's why those babies are black.  Not so easy to see in the dark.

Another thing that I didn't realize (really, I never even thought about it):  Lambs have tails...  Remember the nursery rhyme Little Bo Peep... "wagging their tales behind them"?  They have nice, long tails.  What happens to them?  Well, for reasons still unknown to me, you dock them.  We make it very painless.  We use the banding method, placing a tight green band around the tail, until it falls off.  The 2nd stanza of the nursery rhyme..."there she espied their tails side by side all hung on a tree to dry"?  Yeah.

The Spirit of Christmas

What do I do to have the Spirit of Christmas in my home?  I pondered this question and then felt very inadequate, because I wasn't sure I did anything special to have the Spirit of Christmas in my home.  I put up my decorations and tree as early as I can (often before Thanksgiving).  I turn on the Christmas music because I love the songs.  I purchase a wrap gifts for my children and family.  I make Christmas goodies to give to friends and neighbors.  We read the nativity story from Luke.  I began to realize that all of these traditions are part of what brings the Spirit of Christmas into my home.  It becomes a special time, different from the rest of the year.

A week or so ago, Cami (age 5) re-created a Christmas Nativity scene by placing nativity stickers on a doorhanger.  The Nativity characters were haphazardly arranged all over the place so Troy asked for an explanation.  "This," said Cami, pointing to the star, "Is the star.  And this is the donkey, eating the star."  "Well," asked Troy, "What are these three guys doing over here?"  "Those guys are fixing the barn," replied Cami.  "And why is baby Jesus way over here, by Himself?" asked Troy.  "He just wanted to crawl around in the hay," Cami answered.

Only a child would understand what baby Jesus was like.  Only a child would picture Him wanting to crawl around in the hay.  We adults just want to place Him in the manger and have Him stay there, just as we prefer our own children staying in bed.  I love viewing the world through the eyes of a five year old. 
Interesting to think too, that the wisemen were fixing the barn.  Shouldn't we also be looking for the needs of others at Christmas time along with handing out plates of goodies and gifts.  Service should be our goal all the time, but especially at Christmas time with so many who are lonely or lost.  What will I give?
 
President Monson once said that we only need to remove the last syllable and the Spirit of Christmas becomes the Spirit of Christ.  True joy comes when we serve others and in serving, we emulate the Saviour.  The Spirit of Christmas should be found in us all year round.

Grandmas

I have to grandmothers:  Grandma Pearl, my mother's mother and Grandma Witt, my father's mother.  When I was born, my dad called his mother to announce my birth.  She asked "Did you name her after me?"  My dad spontaneously replied, "We sure did;  Collette Elizabeth!"  And this is how I got my middle name.  My first name is Grandma Pearls last name:  Collett.

Grandma Pearl wore pink pantsuits; Grandma Witt wore flowered dresses.  Grandma Pearl grew roses; Grandma Witt grew vegetables.  Grandma Pearl had a dog named Mickey who did tricks; Grandma Witt had a dog named Red who ran and ran.  Grandma Pearl wore lots of jewelry; Grandma Witt wore none.  Grandma Pearl collected dolls; Grandma Witt just had amazing knicknacks. 

My Grandma Pearl's whole name is Pearl Angeline Dover.  She was a musician.  She played piano, learned to play the organ on THE organ in the tabernacle on temple square in SLC.  She really wanted to play in the Utah Mormon Symphony, so she got an upright bass and went to rehearsals, where she watch someone play and learned.  I believe it was the prophet Heber J Grant, who would excuse himself from whomever he was talking to to go lift his favorite bass player onto her stool so that she could reach the instrument. Grandma Pearl was refined, talented and always lovely.  Her bathroom had lavendar powders and creams.  She did all sorts of handiwork.  She sewed.  (She sewed my wedding dress...) She learned to paint and left us a legacy of paintings. 

Grandma Witt was very different from Grandma Pearl.  She was a farmer.  She could grow beautiful gardens.  She never had much, but could make do out of anything. She was funny.  She could tell the funniest stories.  She was a mother to Phyllis, my aunt with down's syndrome.  She cared for Phyllis until she died.  She wore flower dresses.  I'm trying to remember if I ever saw her in a pair of pants.  She could talk back to my dad, which was funny, because no one else could!  We loved going with mom to take Grandma to the grocery store.  We always stopped for an icecream cone before we went home.  Her name is Mary Elizabeth Smith.  Her second husband was a Witt and that is why we called her Grandma Witt.  She always had bonbons in her bedroom, which we kids would search for when no one was watching us.

My grandmas were very different...  I used to think of them as Beverly Hills and the Hillbilly...  but I think now that I'm older, that they had many similarities.  They both faced adversity head on.  I never heard any complaining (other than health complaints) from them.  They both had trials and difficult times.  Both women loved their grandchildren deeply.  Neither ever really doted on us, but we knew they loved us.

I miss my Grandmothers...

This Boy

This boy used to be my baby.  Now he is nearly 19.  This boy used to take 20 minute naps and eat everything in sight.  He started singing at 9 months.  At a year, he could sing "Folsom Prison Blues".  He built Legos, threatened to shock his younger brother and built "a tower to the Lord" out of all my kitchen chairs and stools.  All this before the age of 4.

At 6, he told his 1st grade teacher he didn't understand why there were signs on the road for slow children?  Why couldn't those kids be faster?  And when she asked him why he didn't do an assignment, he told her he was in "La La Land".

Pokemon, Soccer, then paintball and B-B guns.  Then middle school and a guitar for Christmas.  He took piano; didn't like it.  Played violin in the orchestra...  Did really well, til we realized that he couldn't read music.  He played by ear.  So we got him the guitar.  He taught himself to play over Christmas Vacation.  By the end of 7th grade, he formed THE BAND.  Those four boys played and played.  Robbie kept on singing. They got really good.  You can listen to one of my favorite songs here:

http://www.myspace.com/music/22476216/songs/70979549

High School brought 4 years of Cross Country and some Track on the side.  Run, Run, Run. First job, first date, driving, gray hairs (for me) and lots more of THE BAND.  In my basement; 2-3 times a month, or more.  Talent shows, then playing at places like the Cretin, The Boulevard and even the Knitting Factory.

Graduation.  Recording 4 original songs.

And now my baby boy is working and saving his money.  He just got called to serve as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  Paris, France.  He didn't do so well in French at the community college.  Not so well at all...  But the Lord REALLY wants that boy to speak French.

My baby boy who talked at 9 months, could swim before he could walk and who threw himself passionately into this big old world is leaving home to preach the gospel; to have the most amazing experience of all his life; to grow spiritually, mentally, emotionally.  This is what happens to baby boys, just so you know.

Food For Thought...

     I have a four year old daughter who won't eat ice cream, Oreo's, candy, chocolate or even a bite of  birthday cake.  When I tell people that, their first comments are "Wow, I wish I could refuse to eat that stuff."  Yeah, me, too!  She also won't eat much of anything else.  For the longest time, her diet has consisted of Quaker Oatmeal packet with an extra handful of quick oats, mixed with hot water and a container of Gerber 2nd food apple/blueberry mix (Breakfast... every day...  Won't eat cereal, eggs or toast).  Lunch, if I keep reminding her to finish, usually is a plain peanut butter sandwich.  She will eat Chicken nuggets and french fries, cheese, crackers and ham.  Dinner, almost always, is Gerber 3rd foods Chicken Noodle.  Yes she is four and still eats baby food.  We hoped for 3 years that she would grow out of this...
     Now maybe this just sounds like your typical picky preschooler... Perhaps....  And maybe you think I have somehow created this monster (but I have raised 5 other children, all who went through picky stage and all who try new foods....) 
     But consider this:  We were at a restraunt one night and ordered Chicken strips and fries for her.  Because this was a nice restraunt, the waiter brought all of us appetizers and brought her a small bowl of mixed fruit (watermelon cubed, cantalope, grapes and strawberries).  Cami was petrified.  She threw herself at me and buried her head in my lap.  She sobbed (silently), her shoulders shaking.  I quickly realized that she was terrified that she would have to eat this fruit; I convinced her that it was not for her, but for sharing with her brothers and sisters.
     She calmed down; and after a bit, began giving the pieces of fruit to her brothers and sisters.  She then ate a Chicken strip and a few fries.
     For a long time, I thought perhaps she just couldn't eat certain foods  Even as a two year old, she would put crackers in her mouth and mull them around til they softened and she could swallow them.  It would take her 30 minutes to process a one inch slice of bacon.  By the way, she love love loves salty foods...  She currently weighs about 34 pounds and is of a normal height for her age.  She gets most of her nutrition from Pediasure and those type of drink products.  She refuses to drink juice.
     But here is the key:  She has severe GERD (reflux) and the effects of that have made her very afraid of food.  Many "Failure to thrive" children receive g-tubes...  Cami was a labeled "failure to thrive" when she was one and a half..  but she would eat SOMETHING and she would drink that pediasure...  What I am learning now is that she, like other severe GERD kids and g-tube kids, has a deep fear of food.  She needs to control what goes in her mouth so that she won't have pain and she won't gag.  You cannot convince her to eat anything...  She has to decide on her own.  In just the last few months, she has started telling me she is hungry... before that I wonder if she even felt hunger pains.  One professional health worker told me that most kids rate their favorite food as a 10 on a scale of 1-10.  Cami's favorite foods are just a 4... In other words, she doesn't have much interst in eating and taste isn't playing a huge part... texture is.
     So we are going to the Achieve center in Spokane, where, for the first time, I have found speech and occupational therapists that are familiar with this type of eating disorder (painful to call it that, but it is what it is) and are working with her to help broaden her horizons when it comes to food. 
     The first few times at the center, when an unfamiliar food was placed before her, Cami would turn away quickly.  She wouldn't even look at it.  The therapists would play with the food (ie: whip cream, jam) and encourage Cami  to draw in it.  As they've continued to work with her, we are implementing a kiss it or lick it strategy.  When Cami eats, she is given her familiar food along with something she hasn't tried before.  She immediately says, "I don't like that" or "I don't want that" and we say, "It's OK.  You don't have to eat it, you just have to kiss it or lick it."  If it's something salty, we encourage the lick.  But no other pressure...  She even kissed her first ice cream on Jordon's birthday!  It's baby steps, for sure.  But at least it is a step closer to eating her first bite...
     It's been painful, as her mother, to watch her and not understand why...  We were sent to every specialist in town, from gastro-intestinal ot genetics, but no real understanding until now.  I hope this is the answer, because sometimes I get tired of trying to explain why my four year old won't eat that sucker you just gave her, or why she is still eating babyfood, or why she has no interest in that candy bar that has been offered to her that most four year olds would be thrilled to have....

Breakfast in Bed

Happy Mother's day!  The tradition at my house is that I wake up first and then I have to stay in bed (which is very very hard for me), while my hubby rouses the children and herds them into the kitchen to prepare my "Breakfast in Bed".  Now you may find this very sweet and you may even like to have this yourself, but let me just say that it is a bit awkward.  I mean, 6 kids pile into the bedroom with sleepy smiles, wishing me a happy mother's day.  They deposit homemade gifts and cards on me, along with a large tray full of breakfast items.  They stand around staring at me while I take my first bite and then they disperse quickly to go eat their own breakfasts!  I am left alone in a bouncy bed with a tray full of food and water and juice, expected to balance it all on my legs and not slosh anything.  Then I have to call to them to come get my tray, because I am afraid to switch positions, for fear of spilling.  And, by the way, I don't like to eat breakfast first thing in the morning.  I usually wait until around 10....  So if I leave something untouched, I hear about it...  "Didn't you like the eggs?  Didn't you like the toast?"

All the same, I wouldn't change it.  I just find the "Breakfast in Bed" thing a bit over-rated.  Today, my cute girls asked my favorite question:  "When is it kids day?"  And Robbie told them my favorite answer:  "Everyday is kids day!"  "So," asked the girls, "Why don't we get breakfast in bed?"  So I will make them breakfast in bed....

I am so blessed to have 6 amazing children.  So blessed to be a mother to three wonderful boys and three beautiful girls. This is all I ever wanted.  Thank you to my wonderful husband who is my partner in all of this!