My kids love motion. From the time they were each tiny, even before they could walk, motion was what kept them the happiest for the longest. I started this, I suppose, when I started using a Teddy Bear Baby Swing, at 2 months. When I wasn't holding the babies I'd put them in a swing, push the little bear up the ladder and let that swing run while I made dinner, cleaned the house, or changed another baby's diaper.
As the kids grew they became interested in their own versions of motion.
For Michelle it was riding in a wagon, a buggy, a stroller, a slide, anything with speed. When we lived in Nevada I'd put her in a wagon and walk to the mail box, 1/2 mile away. That daily trip made her so happy. Then I got an old fashioned baby carriage, with big wheels and a bonnet. She didn't care that she might be a little big for it, she's sit in that carriage with Luke on our daily mailbox trips and squeal with delight. She especially loved the bumps. The gravel road was always graded with a washboard effect and she loved making her voice go haywire as I pushed, walking faster and faster for the best special effect.
Luke loved his rocking horse, jumping high and rocking the thing till I thought it would come off its springs. He'd wake up at 5:30 am, put on his Lone Ranger mask, strap on his pistols and race down the stairs with Bailey Bear to jump on that horse. At 6 a.m. we'd turn on the Old Mickey Mouse Club and watch the western skits they always had. Luke would stay on that horse until school started, often unwilling to take off the mask. Sometimes he'd even sit on that horse and read his readers, saying that the Lone Ranger probably had homework, too.
Amanda loved to rock. She liked a traditional wooden rocking horse, as well as a simple rocking chair. Her siblings already had a little rocking chair but when Amanda came along she claimed it permanently. For hours and hours Amanda would sit in her chair and rock. Sometimes she'd just watch her brother and sister play. Sometimes she'd nod off, unwilling to leave the peace and tranquility of her little chair. I have pictures of her asleep in that chair in a dozen different positions, some of them I still don't know how they're possible. Her love of a rocker lasted well into adulthood, when, after having her babies, the family all pitched in and bought her a gliding rocker like the one I used to have in Tahoe.
Amanda also liked a simple push toy with wheels sometimes. She liked the slow rides, nothing that would thrill or surprise her. I guess she just wanted to know what to expect.
Stevie lived most days in a jumper. His main love of motion was swinging. Our house was so tiny, with a red-hot wood stove right in the middle. I couldn't risk toddling Stevie bumping into that thing so I'd hang his jumper from the open staircase and he'd run circles under the stairs for hours. He'd jump and laugh and chase his siblings as they ran past. He'd fall asleep jumping, still in motion as his little head bobbed against the straps. When he finally graduated to the swing set his interest was the same. His love of motion was equally divided between the see-saw and the regular swing, although it took him a bit longer to figure out how to make the swing go high all by himself.
They were really fun kids, funny too. It was simple, everyday motion and fun. I sure do cherish those times.
Kids really don't need much. They appreciate simple things, like sitting in Nana's lap or walking to the park. That's what makes them happy, the attention.
It's nice when someone pays attention. If someone takes time with a child, especially in hectic times, they know they're special, and they won't forget it.
Moving can be hectic and full of tension, but if you notice, kids aren't as stressed if they have people they love around them. Alora sees her house in total chaos here but she's happy, because her family is there, paying attention. Alyssa just sees something new to get in to, as she sits nearby and explores, jabbering to me about what she discovered.
Our babies are special to us. I hope they grow up knowing it, never forgetting it. But it's not only while they're small that they're special, they always will be.
I'm going to miss them being here.
They finally got packed and pulled out Tuesday night. They looked a little like the Clampets, minus Granny and the rocker. I don't envy them this trip, it's a long one.
Remind me to never move again.
Today was a sad day, the day we had to say goodbye to our precious babies. The fact that I knew they were close by was always comforting. We'd see each other each week at Aunt Mae's house, or Amanda and the kids would drop by. People would ask me where my kids all lived and I just loved saying that my daughter and her three children lived near me. Now that's all changing.
Amanda brought the kids over today so they could kiss us goodbye, say farewell to the animals, and play on the farm one last time. I took the kids outdoors to play with the goats, chase the cats, and climb the fences. The dogs are really going to miss the kids, especially Andy. He'll be the saddest of all.
Papa won't be as far away from the kids as I will. He'll be within a couple of hours of seeing them, while I'll be more like 3000 miles away.
I'll miss all my babies. Amanda, too. She's my baby as much as the others and I'll miss them all equally. There's just something comforting in knowing that someone you love is just a few minutes away, even if you don't see them every day.
Things always change. Change can be good, even if it is sometimes sad. I hope this change will be good for them. I also, selfishly, hope it won't last all that long, that by some long-shot they'll choose to come back, at least within a hundred miles or so.
No one can blame me for being hopeful.
I'd been looking forward to time with Ethan in the fall, coming over to play video games.
I hope the kids don't forget about me, what I look like, what I sound like, and how to say my name. I really hope they miss me, just a little. I'm SO MUCH going to miss them.
When I was growing up in Michigan, Labor Day was the last day of summer. It was the last chance to get in one final barbecue, church picnic, or one last long weekend trip. The day following Labor Day was the first day of school, the day life officially ended for another year.
In some places, Labor Day is just another work day in the yard or on the farm. It would be the perfect day for these chores if the hardware store was open. Today, for instance, Steve tore/burned down the chicken coop, re-graded the driveway, moved a pile of rocks and scooped out the goat pen, and hung my bicycle. For him it was just another work day, but his labor is greatly appreciated. All I did was piddle around in the garage, make a pile of trash, and run the vacuum cleaner.
Labor Day is pretty important. It's not like Mother's Day, or another Hallmark day. Labor Day is meant to appreciate the people in our country that do the hard work. The real labor.
Growing up in Michigan, a big Union state, you'd think I'd have realized why we even have a Labor Day. Since we weren't actually in school though, maybe it just wasn't taught.
The first Labor Day in the United States was observed on September 5, 1882, but didn't become an official holiday until 1894. It all happened because a few laborers died at the hands of U.S. Marshals. It involved America's first and largest union. A big nationwide railroad strike caused such an uproar that the President thought it was necessary to send in military troops to break up the party. That, of course, got out of hand.
Isn't it interesting that, when someone dies, people suddenly sit up and listen?
The railroad was hard work. People didn't, and don't, think about how food gets to our shelves, how cars get to the dealerships, or the amount of work it takes to bring all those piles of rocks, dirt, and mulch to the garden shop.
It's the same old story. Physical labor is not appreciated. We take for granted that the buildings we shop in, work in, and sleep in, are safe but we don't think about the men (and women) who build them. We barely even stop to consider the hard work that goes into putting those buildings in place, so that they stay there. Most people just go on our merry way, getting grumpy when our favorite product is out of stock.
Truly, we're pathetic. Most of us don't even know what hard work really is. A few people still do hard work, but most of us live in comfort, having our chores done for us, hiring a lawn man to mow, and even (heaven forbid) someone else to clean the kitchen.
I appreciate my laboring husband. He deserves a little rest. He works hard, both on the job and off. One day a year is devoted to his trade, labor. I think that, while we're all enjoying our barbecue on this day, we should just stop and think about the men and women that put in physical labor to make our lives easier. And of course, the U.S. Congress who so willingly made Labor Day an official day, even if it is the last day of summer.
When I was in junior high school I took a liking to male tenor voices. In those days, several bands frequented Detroit's Downriver area and once I got my license I would drive all over the county just to hear a good tenor in any of the half-dozen bands I enjoyed.
Hank Williams was the first tenor voice I remember liking. My dad used to play Hank's songs on old LP albums in the basement while he worked in his wood shop. I loved that music, and, living in Michigan, my classmates often made fun of me for my musical taste.
My tastes haven't changed. Tonight Steve and I went over to Loretta Lynn's Ranch to hear the Dotson-Brown Band. That's the band my cousin's husband, Joe Smith, sings in. Joe sings a mean tenor. If I close my eyes while he sings I swear can smell sawdust from my dad's basement workshop.
I can't help smiling when Joe sings, especially when it's one of my favorite songs.
You can see Joe here on the right. Every time I hear them play, I wait for Joe to sing my favorite songs. One song I really like to hear Joe sing is this one, Keep Your Hands to Yourself. I recorded it tonight holding my little Canon camera under a table.
(click the picture below if you want to hear it)
I only recorded a few songs tonight but I should have captured more. The sound didn't come out half-bad on this little camera. It surprised me. Just think, if they sound this good on a little Canon snapshot camera held under a table, how much better they probably sounded tonight, live and in-person.
Here are a few other songs from tonight.
Don't Rock the Juke Box
That'll Be the Day
Can't You See
Helping is the best activity. It's useful, it's enjoyable, and it's probably the only time my kids don't mind having me hang around for more than a couple of days. But I do love to help.
Last year I helped Michelle have a baby. Then Steve and I helped Stevie and Annie throw a wedding.
Now it's helping Luke and Katie with a new house.
The thing about helping is that, if people know you like to help, they don't mind asking. We never knew who to ask for help, so typically, we never did. Once in a while someone would just show up, and that was nice, especially when there was something heavy to move. But when you don't know who to ask, it's hard to reach out.
Steve loves to help, too. He enjoyed working on the new floor with Luke. He felt useful, and that always makes him happy.
He loves to get phone calls from his kids asking him how to do things. Steve can do just about anything, too. Except he doesn't really like plumbing. He'll do it - but it's a good idea to put away the hammers and mallets before asking for his help in that area.
I love to paint. Just give me a nice brush and I'm happy. I'll paint anything, walls, doors, even ceilings if they really need it.
Now we're home.
I'm making sure this week at home that Steve feels useful here, too.
After all, I want him to be happy.
So far he's fixed the driveway, cleaned out the rain gutters and started washing the siding on the house. Such a happy man.
After a good day at helping it's nice to relax. A man with fire and a little charcoal will always smile.
I do love a happy man. Especially one without a hammer in hand.
