The Polar Vortex Effect

Well, folks, it just so happens that the Polar Vortex collided with my husband heading to the frozen tundra of Ames, IA for five days of continuing education at the CNHI (Case, New Holland, International) Training Center.  Although it might not seem like a long time to be away, the excursion coupled with the cold weather has forced me to cash in a sizable amount of my stock piled CP & G points.  It has essentially created a perfect storm for using every single resource available to me under the CP & G category.  You are probably thinking, "What on earth is a CP & G point?" Not only are they the most valuable currency any parent can possess, but they are easy to abuse.  People, I'm talking about Crock Pot and Grandma (CP & G) points.  This is how they work:

Me: Can I drop off the kids at 5:30 so I can meet with some clients.
Grandma: Sure! We have already watched them all day, what's a few more hours?
Me: OK, you don't have to feed them because my appointment should only take an hour and I have supper in the crock pot.

...2 hours 37 minutes later...

Me: Sorry it took so long!  Decided to try and meet with some other customers before the middle of the week when the weather turns worse. I bet the boys are starving.
Grandma: It was no trouble!  I didn't want to spoil their supper, so we went ahead and ate ours because they didn't like what we were having.  They had almost a whole bag of potato chips, so they might not be super hungry when they get home.
Me: OK, thanks. See you in the morning!

...10 minutes later, arrive at home...

Me: Boys, would you like something to eat?
Boys: We're not hungry.
Me (talking to myself): Great, what am I going to do with all this roast? (Searches desperately for enough plastic containers to store it all.)

...1 hour 37 minutes later while lying in bed...

Boy: Mom, I hungee!  
Mom: Would you like some roast beef?
Boy: No, hotdog.
Mom: One or two?
Boy: Two, with mustard. No, ch-etchup! I want mustard.

...sleep six hours and do it all over again...

You get the picture.  Those CP & G points flew out the door pretty quickly this week, and it is only Wednesday.  I could probably survive without the crock pot, but it would be a hard road without Grandma and Grandpa close by to fill in the gaps.  I try not to abuse the privilege, but we are fortunate to have a great support team nearby for these times when work takes my husband and me in different directions.  And, I'm lucky to have clients and customers who understand when my boys need to come along for appointments.  That is often the saving grace to ensure that I can refuel my Grandma points for use at another time. You all are so kind and generous to our family!

If my husband can get his pickup started tomorrow, he should be home in time to put the boys to bed.  I'll be sure to have supper waiting for him in the crock pot, just so I can use up my last few CP points before I hit the end of the week.  Maybe he'll take me out to supper this weekend to help build some CP & G points back up again.  I won't hold him to showing up at the door with any roses though.  Welcome Home.

On the Next Episode of "Hoarders"...

The first step to self-improvement is admitting you have a problem.  Here goes: "My name is Trisha Peters, and I am a hoarder."  I literally keep everything until it is no longer useful (i.e. past the point of repairing).  I have dishclothes with the edges so shredded in my kitchen drawer that they wind up in a huge ball in the washing machine because the strings knot up.  I have my adjustable plastic locker shelf that was last used in 1999 because I think my 2 year old might use it in his locker someday (like that's cool, Mom.  By the time he is in school, all his books will be stored in 'the cloud').  I have mix tapes of music taped off the radio in the 1980s because every product of the 80s needs a homemade Casey's Top 40 mix tape.  (Ironically, I do not have a tape player!)  You get the picture.  It's a problem.  One that has been lurking in the darkness of my basement, and that has only recently come out to play as I try to regain control of my life.  Combine this trait with a husband who shares the same characteristic, and we are one chromosome away from being a TV reality show.  For crying out loud, he literally saved the boxes for all the toy tractors that he has displayed in a glass case.  Every time I look under the basement stairway, I want to pour gasoline on them and burn them in the backyard. But, that would get me arrested. And, jail would not be favorable to me.

Why in the world can't we throw anything away??  I blame it on my Grandma.  She used to wash out Ziploc bags and reuse them (guilty as charged).  When something can't be effectively reduced, reused, or recycled in our family, we just store it until it's dead or someone else renders it useless and throws it out for us.  Because, you know what, the second I throw those mix tapes out, I'm going to need them.  Happens. Every. Time.

Case in point, digging through a box last Saturday, I found my old Alphie II robot computer and Smart Start calculator.  I carefully replaced the 16 size C batteries each one required back in 1987 and waited anxiously to show them to the boys when they returned home from the farm with their dad.  By this time, I am well on my way to winning Mom of the Year.  Man, did their eyes light up when they saw that little plastic robot sitting on the kitchen counter.  I was tickled pink! Then, the highly unanticipated Scenario B played out. A huge fight ensued as I introduced the iPad of my day to the boys.  Little brother was ready to rumble for possession of that little robot even though he had no clue how to read the cards or answer the questions.  The oldest one deemed Alphie as "not working" because you have to push the buttons just right to get it to register the answer.  Seriously?  I played with that thing for like an hour Saturday afternoon and had no troubles!  Why do you think I didn't get any vacuuming done?  C'mon man!  This thing is retro...a classic!  As it turns out, my nostalgia is not the same nostalgia my children share.  Who knew?  Since then, I've managed to stub my toe on the dang thing seven times in the middle of the night because the only thing the kids think its good for is to have his face light up in the dark as they are laying in bed.  If anything can be said about 1980s plastic toys, it is that they were built to break a toe or at least roll an ankle! iPad, shmy-pad. Whatever, Bill Gates.

I guess the moral of the story is that if you are storing stuff in boxes that you haven't used since the 1980s, pour gasoline on it and burn it in the backyard.  Just don't let the cops catch you.  Jail isn't all real estate and roses. Welcome Home.

(Disclaimer: Blog author, Trisha Peters, does not encourage you or any others to perform dangerous activities. Pouring gasoline on anything and burning it is not recommended.  Advice is given strictly for comedic effect and is not meant to be practiced in real life.) 

'Til the Cows Come Home

The first week in January means that it is time to start the migration of the Hansen cow herd towards the home place from their winter feeding grounds.  This three mile trek over pasture and county roads requires a minimum of five off-road trail vehicles, a lead tractor and hayrack, and two grandmas (one to watch the littlest cowkids and another to stop traffic when we get the herd out on the road).  It's quite a production, and one that I haven't missed in many years. Here's why:

"Phase One of Annual Herd Migration complete: Three mile drive thru rough terrain. Mud made it inside the vehicle. Touch and go for a few seconds there. Maxed out cool points with the kids again. Tiny cowboys and cowgirl yelling between steel horses giggling about the anatomical differences between bulls and cows. Herd will get used to their nonstop banter just as humans have. In all the commotion, three whitetails stumbled into the action. What a sight! Herd secure. City Slickers home from the ranch."

Working our way across the section

Make sure the window is up before you go mud running!

Three whitetail deer decided to see what all of the fuss was about. It was fortunate I got to share this quiet moment with my oldest son as we waited for the rest of the gang to get the herd moved to our position.

Billy Crystal should be jealous of this yearly undertaking.  Unfortunately, in all these years, we still haven't found Curly's Gold (that's a '90s movie reference for those of you who don't remember)!  We do get the Karsky Family out of town for extra assistance, and with all the littles around these days, we adults have to keep our sweet talk for the bosses rated PG.  The weather was nice the Saturday we moved the herd, and we had some trouble getting the cows rounded up and through the first gate to start our journey.  Believe it or not, livestock actually moves more willingly when the weather is poor.  They felt good, but once they figured out where they were going, they didn't cause any problems. 

This is a therapeutic undertaking for me.  The farm has always been my sanctuary. A necessary haven  to restore the balance of my introverted personality with the demands of a sales career.  Coming down from the rush of the holidays and an extraordinarily busy December market, it was a chance to spend a morning doing something a little out of the ordinary.  There is something to be revered about a Nebraska sunrise, fog in the valleys, and frost on the fence posts.  Just me and my family, a few close friends, the smell of burnt clutch and scorched exhaust, and the cows. Each doing a little part while working as one cohesive unit, doing what we have always done, 'til the cows come home.

Onto new feeding grounds for a few weeks.

I'll admit, I don't get much time anymore to really spend with the herd.  I used to know every cow...her demeanor, her tag number, her given name.  Some of that has gotten away from me as the pressures of a full-time career and family have taken precedence.  My herd has shifted to one made of people.  I don't regret that shift, but I do love a chance to look over the cow herd once in a while. Like people, each head of livestock has its own personality.  Over time, you learn to look for those wild-eyed heifers who like to keep their head up in the air.  They will be the first to spoil a good day.  These spirited cows aren't loyal, and they can ruin your taste for the whole business if you let them.  Eventually, you find that the best way to deal with a cow like this is to haul her to market, but not before she breaks down some of your fences.  While mending fences, you learn how to look for the signs next time and protect yourself before another one jumps over your brand new shiny gate and makes an oversized U-joint out of it.

Those wild-eyed heifer types give you new respect for those cows who have paid their dues and methodically plod at the back of the main herd as they make the trek home.  Those are the stubborn bosses who are upwards of 20 years old and might have even been a part of the study group for your Neihardt Honors Colloquium at Wayne State College. There is a lot to learn from the wherewithal of those old cows.  They have endured because they produce good calves, give good milk, and weather the storms successfully.  Once the heart of the herd, they are the bloodlines to all the younger stock.  Those old girls have a hard time keeping up, but they have played a vital role in the overall success of the herd.

Knowing where the two extremes lie makes it easier to establish a mutually beneficial relationship with the rest of the herd.  It is safe to say that if they do their part, I will do mine, and all will be rewarded with greener pastures in the end.  There are many correlations that can be made between that cow herd and my human herd so long as you don't get all sensitive on me and take offense to the comparison.  Farm life taught me how to take care of my human herd.  If you put your trust in me, I'll do my very best for you right up 'til the cows come home.  After all, what fun would life be if it was all just real estate and roses?  Welcome Home.

Lock Down

I was inside the school building when the lock down occurred today at Wayne Community Schools.  I cannot begin to explain the range of emotions that went through my mind when the Principal announced that the school was in lock down over the loud speaker.  However, my first thoughts were, "Thank goodness I am here with my child." And, "We need to keep all of these kids safe."  In the organized chaos that followed as we quickly shuffled to safe zones, I scanned the halls making sure I found my nephews, the exits, self-defense weapons, and protective cover.  My heart was pounding.  I realized how every teacher must feel in these situations.  We had no idea the severity of the threat, but every threat needs to be taken seriously.  We need to keep our kids and educators safe.  To every teacher, staff member, school nurse, or administrator, I thank you.  Thank you for taking care of our kids.  Thank you for putting your life on the line.  Thank you for getting them to safety first.  The school and the Wayne Police Department did an excellent job of communicating today.  We are fortunate to have law enforcement and school administration who exercise great care in keeping our kids safe.

It is hard for me to express in words the feelings those few minutes in lock down produced. My mind immediately went to worst case scenario. I even went so far as to text my husband the, "School in lock down, we are OK. Stay by your phone. Love you!" message just in case. That being said, it causes me great distress that our educators and our children have to be subjected to lock downs.  I am sad that certain threats have created a need for such a thing as a lock down.  The fear it creates forces our children to sacrifice a part of their innocence.  So many questions follow from both the children and adults.  This has become our reality.  Our children deserve better than this.  We all deserve better than this. We need to keep our kids and our educators safe.  Choose kindness, choose love, choose to be a better person.  Life is so special. Life is not all real estate and roses.  Welcome Home.