finding reason to be excited

Well, it has finally happened. Seriously. No more TTC roller coaster and overanalyzing every little "new feeling", hoping that finally we had something "stick".

We are pregnant.

I remember when we started this journey and girls would lament either in person or on my online support boards about how hard it was for them when they were TTC'ing. The ups and downs of just wanting to know.

They had been trying for  less than six months. HA. Six months? I'll take that and raise you 22 months.

Your move.

Since it took us longer than we had thought, it was incredibly surreal for me. when we got the call from the specialist. I felt guilty that I was pregnnat.  The kind of guilt that takes away the joy from something that should be joyful. And something that you and your hubby have spent hours and unspeakable amounts of money on. I felt that I was not worthy.

Well, hell, if I'm not worthy, who is?

With my first pregnancy, I was embarassed. I felt that I had no choice but to "hide" it. I was newly divorced and was a practicing Catholic. Things like unplanned pregnancies do not happen to the "good" people. Those were dark and unexplainable painful moments for me, five years back. I hated that child. God, I hated that child. Here I was, finally able to move on with my life and start a new chapter, that was all about ME. And then, this pregnancy happens? Excuse me?! I needed someone to blame. And the most innocent person in my life, was the target. Please, realize, that today, it kills me that I am admitting my hatred toward my child, in the beggining of his pregnancy. He was the innocent one, the one who did nothing wrong. I knew that, deep down. But, I was so pissed that I was having to "go through this".

I had to visibly carry the mark of pain. I did not feel blessed. I did not feel joy. I did not feel chosen by God.  I went aimlessly through majority of that pregnancy, going through the motions. I mentally have blocked out all doctor's appointment, ultra sounds, etc. It was easier for me to "keep moving", if I didn't allow myself the time to process what was going on.  However, it is when you bury pain and hurt, that it comes back when you least expect it.

It came back late May-through June for me.

I knew that I should have been excited about the pregnancy. I mean, this was what Aaron and I had wanted for so damn long. However you throw in some PCOS and other issues, and you're looking at a long road. It was not easy nor cheap for us. So, you would think I would have been on top of a MOUNTAIN singing and dancing like Goldilocks. And maybe it was the fact that IVF is such a timed and precise process, that it became almost anti-climatic for me. And then, when I should have been glowing with pride over my growing child, I was mentally back in September 2008. I truly felt that if I were to be excited over this pregnancy, then I was somehow cheating something from Colton.  It would only be fair to treat this pregnnacy as I did with Colton. With pain and quietness.

Seeing is believing. Last Monday, Aaron and I went to visit Colton and his family, while on our MHK to KC vacation. Between the random Kansas State football chants and push ups and throwing any kind of ball in their living room to either his Dad or Aaron, I found my peace. I never have ever second guessed my decison for adoption nor the parents I chose.  For some odd reason, on that muggy Kansas night, I found the joy and blessing that I needed, that it was ok to move on from that pregnancy and onto this one.

With full hearts.

7.22.13

Connecting Charles Ingalls to Aaron Leiker

For my regular readers, you know that "Little House on the Prairie" was a staple in the Bergkamp household growing up. I remember one specific episode, early in the series.

Charles had a stellar wheat crop. So stellar that he was making plans on how to spend the extra money that was destined to come in at harvest. He was going to extend their kitchen and the girls who were anxious to purchase the cloth for new dresses.  Flash to that night and a wicked hail storm blows through the area. Caroline is waiting up for him to get back in from the rain and thunder. Just remembering this scene, brings tears. When he gets into the house, he tries to make small talk about how it's really come down out there.  Then he admits

"It's gone. The wheat's gone."

Grant it, it wasn't THAT dramatic, coming to the realization that thanks to our drought and powerful winds, that our wheat, too, is gone. It's been a rough several months for anyone who has ground or livestock in SE Colorado. The days that we are told by our "college educated idiot meteorologists" to prepare for heavy snow or rain, always ended with us staring at the skies wondering "Where the hell is it?".  94% of the time, it ended up in central Kansas. We'd read facebook statuses of people complaining about "the horrible snow", etc and fummed, because we'd give ANYTHING to have a fraction of their "inconsiderate" snow dumpings.  The "good thing" about this drought effect, is that we're not the only ones in this boat. Sadly, that doesn't give us discounts on groceries or gives me peace over wanting to trade in our car for a Tahoe.

Oh, the irony in that this is our first year starting the slow process of managing Leiker Farms and there's ain't crap to be had. I know my Daddy's advice that "You'll look back 20 years from now and think "You know, it wasn't that bad," is true. And I know and remember really really tough times for him and Mom, while we were growing up on our farm in central Kansas.

They made it. We will, too, even if it's in our abused dirt road battered car that squeaks when brakes applied, due to God knows how many rocks are lodge under it. These are the tough times that molds young farmers (and wives) to appreciate the years that are bin-busters.  And, it's not like I'm going to starve (thank you chickens) or go naked (thank you, over zealous online shopping self) or go without love (thank you to the kindest 6'4 man I know). 

God will provide for all that we need. 

But, I wonder if he knows that I "need" a sexy Tahoe. Doubting it.

I guess the lasting moment of this post, is  that if you find yourself complaining about the snow or mud (what's that) or rain or that squeaky car with red dirt plastered on the back, "honey hush". 

Because we're making history.

bucking up, Princess

After making it through what had been the worst day of my life (Holy Saturday), I woke up Easter Sunday with a 180 degree positive outlook change.  The thoughts and feelings that literally weighed me down Saturday, evaporated come Sunday morning. I know that is part of my personality (you can ask the hubby or my sisters and family): I blow up and have a massive break down. Then, give me time, and I'll pick myself up again and move on. Our TTC journey has not been any different. And although Aaron's not looking forward to  making a dozen trips to Denver over the next month and a few weeks (because Park Meadows mall is literally half a mile from our doctors office), we both are looking at this next step as possibly the final long haul. 

To whom much is given, much is tested.

If I did not have the husband or the resources that we have been blessed with, there is no way I could have made it this far. And "this far", has been a long, long, draining climb. However, I look at Aaron and I's relationship and I know that this journey has brought us so much closer. I look at couples who never have struggled with this aspect of life, and I know that our bond is stronger. We fight messier and harder, but that is what bonds relationships.  We've had to experience situations and emotional breakdowns that most couples married a year and half, haven't touched on yet. 

I look at the men in my past, and they all would have turned tail and ran the other way. Some did. And I am stronger for that and there's a beautiful family in KS with two boys who benefited from that cowardice.

I don't know what our summer will hold for us (and at this drought rate, summer won't be full of harvest). Selfishly, I pray it is full with excitment and heart burn. But, please, not heart break. Then, I'm reminded of Jesus in the garden: "Not my will, but yours be done".

So, I am taking this next month of reduced meds, to get back to what I loved doing: running. And it has felt so.damn.good. I'm loving my hormone-freed body, complete w/no break outs or bloated bellies.  However, I know that will soon come back around.  And I'll be ready to kick its ass. And we are praying/hoping that it is paid back with tiny steady beautiful heart beats.  And we're givers: we'll take more than one :)

So, here is to every morning being Easter Sunday.

 

on to 21

Holy Week might as well had been coined "Hell Week", in our house growing up.  Like good Catholics, we attended mass Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. For those who are not Catholic, Holy Week servcies/mass last for.e.ver. When we were in college, my sisters and I came home not very much during Easter. I wonder why.

It seems that every major holiday has held some bitterness for Aaron and I on this journey. Every Christmas and Thanksgiving only brought forced family/social times and little heartbreaks, that Aaron and I carried silently. Easter, this year by the will of God, is no exception.

Typing that only brings hot tears. And anger. And biterness. And betryal. And more anger. And a knot in the throat. How am I suppose to praise, devote and be a loyal Christian, when I feel abandoned?  I feel that Aaron and I's desire are ignored. Yet, I still need to "trust in the Lord's plan"?! Excuse me?! I'd be fine with a little trust in whatever is coming "down the pipes", but after 20 months of emotional breaking, I'm losing steam in the "trusting in the plan" bit. 

Yes, I could be paralyzed or have a fatal illness. But, then with that, I would know what the problem is and not mindlessly wondering through injections, blood work, ultra sounds, more blood work, pill poppin', false hopes, etc.

We've made more trips to Denver in the past month, than we had in the past two years living here. And it's only going to increase. I know the journey will be worth it, but for the first time, I am wondering if the ending is what I thought it would be.  I chucked running, per regard of our specialist. However, as of Easter Sunday, I am strapping back on my Asics and hititng the ground again. Because that's the only way I know how to work through stress/anger/pain/hurt/anger. 

"What are you going to do if you can't have more children and here you are, giving up this one?": Haunts me.

I didn't realize the gift that I took for granted.  I see women toting their children around and their growing bellies and I wonder "Do you even realize the hell others have to go through to have that?" Yes, I have been given so much. I understand that and am thankful. I have one kick ass husband who has supported me through this trip.  I have the best social circle of friends this side of the Mississippi. I love my "hick town". 

I just want to share our blessed life with our own children. 


This post is scattered everywhere. And I do not need pity or pious advice. I just needed to type.      

 

Where's my "Idiots guide to praying and getting what you want"

When Aaron and I started the TTC journey, my prayers were vague.  It's amazing that while this process has continued on and challenged us, the spectrum these words to God have changed/developed.

At first, I was specific "That we are able to get pregnant", then after the months wore on, I felt that maybe I was being too specific and that God was mad at me, for being so "demanding" in my wants. So, the mantra changed to "So we can have peace". "Peace", meaning comfort and acceptance in God's plan for us. As the months continued to wear on, it went back to "if it is in your Plan, that we're able to have a child". And although, we're back to "wanting peace", I can't help but selfishly wonder if we're not pregnant, because God isn't "getting it" (my request). Maybe, I'm not being specific enough (as if God doesn't get the whole "how does a woman become pregnant process".) Which, I know is malarkey.  I also know that God knows everything about me and has "counted all the hairs on my head" and knows my innermost desires and thoughts. He does get it and has felt the desires that Aaron and I have when it comes to raising children. But, that doesn't keep me from feeling guilty when I specifically "request" that I am able to conceive. Then, I over think my prayer inquiries and feel guilty for assuming that God can't read my mind.Then, though, when I ask for "peace in our Plan", and we roll negatives, I think "Crap, it's because I wasn't specific enough! God misread my prayer text. Duh!!! Let me try this again, then."  And here we go, again.

I AM thankful that it hasn't been easy for us, I really am (I say this with a bit of a smirk. Just a touch). There will be that moment, that we say to each other "This was the one that was meant for us". Obviously, it's not in our plans now.

And there will be someone in my future, who will benefit from my trials and struggles and endless knowledge.  Maybe by then, I'll know the "appropriate prayer structure procedure". Until next time

Pray On*********

Break Time

Break time.

That's the mantra that Aaron and I are taking for the next couple months. The double edge of being so open about my life and our pursuit of a LeikerLegend, is that I feel the need to keep you updated on our journey. It's like the Pandora's Box; I've opened it and I plan to continue to keep it open.

After another obstacle in our journey, we have decided to give my reproductive organs a break from hormones and fertility treatments, until after Christmas. And, to be honest, after the God-Willing Kansas State Bowl Game, in a fabulous destination, yet to be determined. Instead of going down the modern medicine path, I am going to check out acupuncture, based off the suggestions from some amazing girlfriends. So, for now, we're on Chill Mode and checking into Enjoying Life mode. We plan on traveling with the team and going to the bowl game, wherever that may be. And, it'll be much more fun to enjoy it with my newly turned-21-sister and sister-in-law, with a cold adult beverage. 

I received so much support from you all, after my last posting. I have never felt so supported and loved by the words and experiences that you shared with me, publicly and privately. It was so humbling, knowing that I am not going through this alone. Again, this is a benefit of putting my life out there and writing: there is always someone who can connect with what I am experiencing. 

So, in closing, I can honestly say, that I am at peace with this decision. We are so very  much looking forward to our Christmas vacation get-a-way, especially with Sister Number Three comes with. Then, with the start of the new year, we'll start the next step in the process and make an appointment with a specialist. The only time frame we are racing against, is in our own minds. We are so young, yet in Small-Town-USA time, I should be hearing my biological clock ticking. But, I don't hear that noise. I am more than happy with putting my fall semester teaching pay stub to two tickets to a warm, sunny, southern destination, with my husband. No holding back. Just two young kids enjoying life without responsibilities, commitments, and the promise of looming college education funds to support, etc.

And that feels better than pumping hormones, etc into my exhausted body.

Break time, indeed.

BFN

BFN.


If you don't know what that stands for, then you haven't been living the life that we have the past 15 months. Big fat negative. And I don't mean "negative" in regards to a crappy attitude, although it has a tendency to influence the mood. Negative in regards to HPT (home pregnancy tests). I think I have peed on more sticks the past 15 months, than a bear in the woods.  I have charted temperatures, "the stuff that comes out down there" (yes, Mother. I did just say that), cramps, no cramps, sex (yup, said that too), and exercise routines. I have researched the miracle process of conception. A process that Aaron and I both have gained so much respect for. We've watched "The Incredible Sperm Race" video on youtube (it's amazing) and Aaron knows more about "the stuff that comes out down there" than a male, who doesn't have "Dr." preceding his name, should. We have watched and celebrated those around us, who started working towards having families after we did, bring their babies home from the hospitals and announce their BFP (big fat positives) with heavy hearts. We have wondered "When the hell is it going to be our turn?!" We learned that there are sticks out there to tell you when you are ovulating (I know, I am getting too technical for some people) and we have spent more on Digital OPKs than I have on Miss Me jeans (OK, that's a lie).  I have found websites that support the trying to conceive process (fertilityfriend.com) and women who honestly know what it feels like, to be on a TTC roller coaster.  We have met with doctors and driven roughly 35 hours to figure out what's going on.  I have been pricked with needles and scanned with scanny-things and answered personal questions that I never thought I would know the answers to. And now for the truly emotional draining part.

I have felt the sting of not feeling adequate enough to do what my biology and DNA says I should be able to do. I have experienced the emotional upheaval feeling that I will never be good enough to do whatever everyone else around me, seems to be able to do quite normally. We have been asked countless times "When are you two going to have kids?" or "You're such a natural! When are you going to have your own?!" I have had to bit my sarcastic cynical tongue and not responded with "Well, first off. It's none of your damn business that my hormones are so out of whack, not even medications seem to be helping.  Yet, as if I need more crazy in my life, the medications pump MORE hormones in me, so I'm as happy as an Irishmen on St. Patricks Day. Yes, I know I am a natural and that is what burns the most. Thank you."

Women who experience infertility are not suppose to talk about it. It's almost like it's our dirty little secret and that we should feel guilty that we aren't able to look at our husbands and partners and POOF be pregnant. We should just "relax" and have "lots of sex". I can tell you, you can't fight hormonal numbers. No amount of "relaxing" will alleviate that. Getting advice from everyone else, although it truly does come from a good place, only complicates and pisses women who are experiencing infertility off more. I think by the time that you meet with doctors, that you kind of "get" the sex=baby process. We get that sex "should" equal baby. We just have, for some reason, issues in getting the sperm and egg to be cool with each other. You go through so many emotions when trying to conceive that I feel more like a hormonal teenager than a 28 year old house wife.

What stings more for me, is that I was pregnant before. It was not planned, in "my plan". The timing was not right for me or the father. But, the timing was right for Colton's adoptive parents and family. I hated being pregnant, because it was "such an inconvenience" for me. It totally wrecked my dating life and clothing budget (maternity clothes are not cheap). My running routine was put on hold and I had to resort to, snore, walking. I despised that child, when I first found out. How could this happen to me?! This is unfair. And now?????

All we want is to have our social life wrecked and as far as my clothing budget, I can explain those charges to Aaron :) Hell, I'd even make a bet with God to wear a moo-moo throughout the pregnancy, if that's what it would take. But, we don't know what it'll take for us. We're still learning. And waiting. And praying. And cursing. And crying. And screaming in our cars. And throwing random things. And burying our heads in our hands as we sob.  And leaning on each other and those in our intimate inner circle who have been amazing to us and never critiqued, only supported.

The point of this blog was selfish, I have to admit. I needed to vent this out. This is how I grieve and work through the emotions that have been pulling at me, specifically these past several months.  And to show that getting pregnant is not easy for everyone and if you're one of those people that is beautifully does come easy for, give thanks quietly and realize that it's not the same for everyone else. Us girls who are on "medically stimulated cycles" do not want your pity or your sorrow. We only want you to be informed and educated about the other side of fertility. If you're a male reading this may God give you graces for reading this.  If only one person reading this can relate and can gain strength from our fertility blessings, then I do not feel crazy for putting my business out here. This side of fertility MUST be known and talked about. There is nothing wrong with our bodies. We are beautiful creatures, working through this beautiful process taking a different route than what's considered "traditional".

Here is to pushing through God's plan and accepting that, as an amazing women recently told me, our perfect child is still out there, waiting for us.

Seriously.. harvest mode, already??

Well, hello there!! It has been awhile, hasn't it? May was an incredibly busy month for us here at Leiker Farms; we had weddings every Saturday, that took us to Manhattan, Lamar, Kansas City, and LA. School wrapped up and finished and of my 12 students, I had 6 of 'em with D's or F's. Outstanding!!! My favorite quote of the semester, was from one precious soul who informed me that he has learned so much in the class and has actually enjoyed it, he just doesn't have the best grade to show it. So true, young academic. So true. I learned several new things I need to add to my regime next semester; for example, tardies. It never occurred to me to affect the students grade for them, because in college your professor doesn't keep track of who is tardy and who is there for the lecture. It's part of that responsibility bit. Little did I know, that I would need to have consequences for, say, 25 tardies in a semester. It's all fine, though, because this was a learning semester for me and my kids. Now, I know that fall semester should be tweaked a bit. For those of you keeping track, I'll be teaching College Sociology for fall 2012 at Holly High.  Anyways, May was a busy little group of days for us, with traveling, packing, grading, reading, and cleaning. When one ride ends, the other begins.

We will start moving equipment this Friday (June 8) to commence that taxing 3-week period commonly refereed to as harvest. This will be the earliest Leiker Farms has ever started. Last year, June 18 was the earliest we had started and with the warmest March on record, June 8 will take the prize. That means, that this HV County Farmers Daughter has to start getting into harvest mode. What exactly is harvest mode, you may ask? Well, it's when you have to start preparing yourself for the possibility of having chaff and wheat and dust in every crevice of your body. Eye drops are a must. Chap stick cannot be missed. Lots of water, with ice, is desired, if you have to unfortunate experience of your air conditioning in your choice combine failing on you (which is horrid. If I happen to end up in hell, I think my punishment will be cutting endless fields with terraces with no air conditioner, blowing winds in every direction, open doors allowing said dust and chaff in and crappy radio). Stopping for a warm homemade lunch? Forget about it. We here at Leiker Farms will cut until the last ray of sunlight has fell from the sky. No stopping for lunch, so stock up on anything that doesn't require a microwave, stove, oven, or anything that would allude to modern conveniences .  You may think this is a time where one loses weight, right? Hell no. We're sitting for 12+ hours a day, eating crap food. You think I have the energy to run 3-4 miles a night, after a full day of cutting? Hell no. You are exhausted. The only maintenance on my summer plan that happens, is that wonderful cut-off tan that will be golden brown, come July 4th. Cannot forget paper towels that can also sub as toilet paper. Actually, forget that "can sub", change to "will sub". Pop and squat for those natural desires.

My uniform for harvest consists of my hair in a bandanna, much like the 1940s housewives when they would be cleaning their homes.  Old Navy boot cut jeans with Stetson boots and a cut off, that isnt' too cut off, because keep in mind that this is a family affair. I had thought about just wearing a bikini top, to help with those crusty tan lines. Oh, yeah, not happening with the father in law around. And then there's the chaff and dust. Ew. No make up and no foxy curls curling gel to help with frizz. With my smashing bandanna, there's no need to worry about frizz.

Oh, sigh. It truly is a romantic time of year. Harvest, that is. There are always those moments that tensions are so high and everyone is exhausted and tired of each other, that tempers snap. Big time. But, it's also such a proud moment for us farmers (and farmer wives). This is what we did, with the help of God. Total sense of ownership with what we're doing and do during the year. It's something that city slickers just do not quite get. Yeah, I am sure they think it's "hard work" and "hot". I doubt though they truly understand the process.  Time stops for us during harvest. Totally. This (the land) is our job and we devote all our attention, time, energy, motivation, and love.  Our houses are not cleaned. Our mail may get picked up. The bills had better be paid before we start, because our lives revolve around big green machines. I pray we do not have the massive amount of breakdowns, blown tires, thrown coolers in anger, and random electrical fires this year. However, if it does happen, we will get through it. Move on.

Because we are damn tough. Tough as the weathered skin on my Daddys hands and face. So, the next time you speed past a field with cutters or a farmer doing "something" in the field, you had best say a little prayer in thanksgiving. And when you're in such a hurry and that damned old farmer is going 20 mph in his big thing, keep calm. Because you have no idea what they're going through. We know that you're in a hurry and that we're slowing you down, but honestly: Chill Out.

Everyone has their vocation calling in life.  The lucky ones get to keep playing with tractors and trucks, long after the sandbox days.

Again, though, this is all a HV County Farmers Daughters opinion. And I wear my bandanna with pride.

"The month that gives me the most ups and downs..."

I'll admit it, April is probably the winner of my "The month that gives me the most ups and downs", if that were a legit contest. Spring, in general, is a time that is the epitomy of bittersweet for this HV County farmers daughter. Perhaps I should have a sign/trendy V-neck baseball tee that I wear everyday in April that forwarns of said emotional ups and downs. As I laid in bed last night, the one question I kept asking myself was "When will I not be affected by this damn month....", and I realized (as I usually do) that I'll never be "over it". 

Because I am not suppose to ever just "get over it". It's all about coping skills and allowing the pain, exctiement, nerves, frustration to wash over me. Not let it consume me, though, in a pit of self pity and selflishness.  I falter on that one, a lot. I would never take back that moment on April 29, 2009 when I gave birth to Colton. Never would I go back on my decision to choose adoption for Colton. Never. But that doesn't mean that my heart breaks over and over and over in April. I wonder when will the pain stop? When will I not want to close my eyes and let hot tears swell when I think back to that month, 3 years ago. I remember walking out of my office on April 27, 2009 and knowing that in less than 24 hours, I would start the final phase of the time that I had left with Colton.  I was anxious, naturally seeing my that ankles were squish-squish-squish when I walked and my body was less "runner proof" and more "maternity full on". As I walking through Cardwell to my car, I saw a red cardinal.

Big whoop to the normal Kansanan (sadly, I have not seen ONE cardinal living out here). After my Grandma Bergkamps, perhaps the thriftiest of thrify Depression-era woman, passed away, I saw a cardinal outside my parents house. I made a prayer to Grandma that everytime I would see a cardinal, I would take that as her prescence to me. A gentle reminder that she's there and she's never leaving and to pick up strength from her prescence and carry on. To say that Celestine was a warrior, is an understatment. When ever you want to think of stauch stubborn German Catholic women, you can just think of Celestine. Seeing that cardinal that day, that anxious day, was such a relief to me.  I knew that if Grandma were alive to ask her opinion on my decison, she would support it 110%, because the life that I was giving Colton would be so much more than I could have provided him, at that moment in my life. She would have reminded me to do what is best for that child, and ignore what you want for yourself.

No matter how heartbreaking and painful it was for me. And still is.

What's the point of this post? I'm still trying to figure that out; I think I just wanted to write about how each of us have those bitter months/days. It may be the anniversary of someones who was near to us passing from this earth. For me, it was the "handing of the torch", to Coltons parents that day in April.  I had done the best that I could with him, in our 9 months together, and now it was his parents turn to take the reins.  And I could not have handed the reins over to a better family. 

So to those of you who have bitter months or days or weeks in your lives, I join you in our journey of wading through the emotions that tie us to those close to us, for however long you had them in your life. Whether it was 50 years, 12 years, or 9 months.



<-------  My Reason

peace...piece..... peace....

Peace. May God give you peace. May you have peace in your day. May peace be in your heart. So much peace, we talk about.

What is peace to you? For me, yesterday, peace was getting church in and my work out. Peace also included cleaning my bathroom counter, vacuuming the house, and scrubbing my blue jay egg blue bathroom toilet. A bonus was getting in a few episodes of LOST (finished Part II of III of 1st season). Aaron and I also contributed to our community by volunteering at the Holly Pride Theatre dinner. By the end of the evening, I remembered why I am so glad that I'm not catering with Bockers II Catering anymore. The smell on your hands and sweat on your brow. Luckily for me and the brood of junior high/high school volunteer servers, we avoided cranky drunk mother of the brides and wasted handsy groomsmen (ahem, weddings in Manhattan). The evening went smooth and the sold out crowd will surely make for a good head start to our $80, 000 goal. But yeah, surely do not miss those long nights at the Alumni Center, clearing plates and refilling drinks, and hiding under tables in hallways. Oh, the good ole days of working during college trying to get peace of mind in the bank account.

It is curious to me, how each of us have different versions of what peace, in our personal lives, consists of. For my mother, when we were growing up, peace for her heart was just that "peace and quiet" in the house. For me, peace was feeling affiliated and having a group to belong with. For Daddy, peace was knowing that he covered all his bases in the field and was prepared for whatever "came down the pipes". Hence, where I earned the control aspect of my personality.

I feel that as my obstacles in life were presented and cleared, peace for me became more centered around what God has in his plan for me. I guess I should rephrase that, peace is my acceptance in what God has planned for me (and Aaron). It's a total surrender of self and will, to what God's will deems. It's a release of what I want or I feel I need, to what God wants or God needs from me. So simple in phrase, yet hard in practice, yes?

Right now, for Mel, peace would be getting that darn baby out of her, so her and Mason can start this new chapter in their lives, as a family of 3. Then, I am sure her peace will revolve around whatever Mom's peace was when we were growing up.

As for Aaron and I, we pray each night that "God gives us peace". I got that idea off another blogger on one of those TTC sites (and if you don't know what TTC means, then you probably don't know what BD is, either. Count yourself lucky). As we continue with our days and I continue teaching to my precious group of kids enrolled in College Psychology at Holly High and then running off to whatever sub call the district needs, we lose that sense of peace. But, given time to center ourselves as a couple following what God wants out of us, we find that peace. It's society that pulls us from that track, from that silent path from Him. And we feel that strain from the Outside World on our marriage and our restless anxious hearts. The trick is to breathe deep and remind ourselves that that anxiety and worry has already been felt before by someone. Someone who truly knows what is best for us and our marriage and this power also knows when the time will truly be right for his blessings. Does knowing this make toughing out hard times automatically easier? Ah, hell no. It does, however, give peace and hope. And that's what having faith is all about; believing in that which you cannot see.

What is peace to you today?

learn to use the phone.....

Well, oh well. No, I did not lose my sanity out here in southeast Colorado and run screaming into the Buffalo Creek Canal. My life has been busy, because of the new teaching gig I took on at the high school, with their dual-credit College Psychology class. Now, in the evenings instead of reading and losing myself in a book (Oh, Belle of Beauty and the Beast.....), I spend my nights as if I was in graduate school again, reading psychology textbooks. Alas, let me be honest: I never read THIS much in graduate school; I relied on the always-over-achieving-non-traditional-student to do the readings and lead class discussions.

I have really enjoyed this stint, even though I am not rolling in the dough. I still sub, nearly everyday, so the "hats" that I wear on any given day changes. I start out being "teacher" hat, then to elementary pe, making sure kids don't punch each others lights out, while trying to juggle. You think I'm joking, oh but I am serious. And random, in pe, I never remember learning skills. Usually we'd resort to scooters (which I HATED, because I was the chubby kid and trying to find your center of gravity at 10 years old, is hard enough. Thank you very much) or parachutes. Yeah, so no skills really were learned. Kids nowadays, at least here at Holly, are learning "stuff" during pe. And yes, the pe teacher is a close friend of mine, so naturally I'd see things her way. However, the point still stands: she makes them accountable. Where was I going with this?? Oh, yeah. That my days language changes 180 degrees, all the time, and that I've been busy.

I truly enjoy my all-be-it small "career" here in Holly. There really is minimal stress, minus my brief 911 call last week. At my previous place of fabulous employment, you would dial 9-1, then your number. So, naturally, I assume that all life is like Manhattan, duh. Nope. Here at Holly, when you dial 9-1-, then your 1877 number, you reach 911 dispatch. Marvelous. I had meant to call Viarro customer service (because I avoid the office nearest to us, like the black plague), and instead of Viarro, I got "911. What's your emergency?" "Uh, yeah. So, um, my phone won't go to my home screen. And, like, I really need my phone to check my LadyTimer application. So, can you, like, help me with this?" No. I did not bring mortal shame to my family and tell the lovely dispatcher that. I simply hung up, but not before saying that I was trying to reach Viarro Customer Service and I hope that he has a good day. Click.

Yeah, then dispatch called the school and was sending a patrol car out. This was read over the scanner and, yeah, you can guess what happens next in a small town. Needless to say, I was asked next time to stay on the line. And not freak out, like a 5 year caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

So, I reckon the moral of this story, boys and girls, is to be sure to inquire how to use the phones at your new job, if you want to save yourself the embarrassment of having the police almost show up at your job. I feel so safe.

Free will and the struggle

Oh, rules. Rules and regulations and protocol. Each organization, club, community, family, church, school, etc have them. Some of them make sense and are designed to protect and better serve those who rely on them for direction. Some seem pointless and seem to better serve the pocketbook of someone, who is never you. A lesson I learned a long time growing up from my Daddy was that you may not see the lesson in the rule, but that's not the point. You still are going to have to follow, like it or not. And keep your whining to yourself, unless you wanted to endure a harsher punishment.

No matter the age, we still have someone elses' rules to follow and abide by. A particular organization that has rules that I'm struggling to smile through is my beloved Catholic Church. I am sure there is someone somewhere who will read this and instantly connect to the phrase "rules of the Catholic Church" with disgust. We're kind of known for our rules and regulations and protocol. Being Catholic is not a religion, but a lifestyle. And a lot of people find struggle in following our Church, because they don't' like "that rule" or "that teaching". They feel their freedom is being strangled by being told to not eat meat on Fridays during Lent. That's cool for them, however again, I learned that there will never be something that has rules that I'll always 110% agree with.

My marriage to Aaron is my second. My previous marriage was in the Catholic Church and we both were not the best spouses to each other. We both made our mistakes and believed that divorce was the best route for each of us to find true happiness. And I sure as hell found my happiness and can only hope that he found that as well. One little glitch in my dreams of becoming Mrs. Leiker.

In the eyes of the Catholic Church, I was still married. Marriage is a sacrament for those of the Catholic faith (an outward sign, instituted by Christ to give grace, if you're a memorizing kind of person) and it's not as easy as signing a piece of paper in a court room to erase that off your soul. Enter the annulment process and I made the decision to start this long tedious chapter in my life in May 2010. Endless pages of writing testimony and answering personal questions followed by myself listing several witnesses, who were also contacted for their long endless testimony in regards to me and him. The small speed bump of the refusal by him, his family, and his friends to participate only lengthened the process, because apparently by applying for the annulment meant that I was needing to "get over it" and he didn't want to have anything to do with it. Ahem, yes. That was WHY I had started the process, thank you very much. However, that was his freewill (thank you God for that blessed gift way back when....) to participate and he chose not to.

It is now 2012 and we have yet to have the official word from the Salina Diocese. It's been a long roller coaster of emotions, frustrations, bafflement, and anger. Aaron and I did not want to wait to get married, because we could not be given an exact guarantee that the annulment would be through by a certain time. And thank God we didn't wait to become married, or we'd still be waiting. We made the decision to become married by a judge last July and that decision had a stingy ripple effect through the waves of my extended family. Many members refused to celebrate our marriage, because it was not in the Catholic Church. Oh well, that was one less Thank You Aaron had to sign and I had to write. And don't forget the 44 cents we saved. Aaron and I have not participated in Holy Communion since the Sunday prior to our wedding, because "we are living in sin" since we live together and are not married through the sacrament of marriage. I teach catechism for junior high and explained to my kids why I don't receive Communion and only cross my chest for a blessing. And I am honest and blunt when asked. I have a mortal sin on my soul and that is no environment for the Body of Christ. It burns when I hear people testify that they do not attend the Catholic Church, because they just don't agree with "all those rules". Those rules probably did not personally affect them as they have me. They just hate to be told what to do and they think the Church is outdated and old fashioned and the Church needs to "catch up" with the times. Why should a Church have to mold itself to society?! Irony.

I am proud to be a practicing Catholic. No, I do not agree with the annulment process and the cost that I will be graciously levied to pay when the annulment verdict is delivered. No, I did not enjoy the hurt that I felt when my family chose to avoid my wedding, because they did not agree with the location. No, I do not enjoy not being able to fully participate in Mass on Sunday. However, it was my free will to get married outside the Church. Just as it is the free will of fallen away Catholics to choose not to follow the Church. And some of those fallen away Catholics are close friends and family to me and some of my friends are not (gasp) Catholic. Oh my word, how do I function?!

Rules. You will fail to avoid them. And all the hot air you blow venting and steaming and fuming over having to follow them is wasted. But one thing you have to decide everyday when you wake up, is what your priorities are and if you'll follow through with those today.

You have the free will. Use it. Just make sure what you do follows those priorities you agree to in the morning.

And you can bet your lucky 2011 penny that the moment (or the next Saturday) we have the annulment granted, Aaron and I will have our marrige blessed at our church in Holly with our close family present. And we'll be able to enjoy deeper the celebration of Mass on Sundays and will have a greater gratitude for the Church and the sacrament of marriage.

butterscotch schnapps

The past few nights, the Leiker family household has been enjoying classic black and white holiday movies: Holiday Inn and It's a Wonderful Life. This added to the "By Kansas standards Blizzard, by Colorado standards A lot of Snow" conditions outside, it definitely has helped the Christmas warm and fuzzy feelings. We woke up this morning to major drifts outside, as in no-way-are-we-getting-out-of-our-driveway-for-the-next-few-days. I remember growing up and when we did have "major" snow storms, Mom would dress us up in our rag-tag of snow ski pants (hand me downs or Goodwill discoveries) and gleefully send us outside with strict instructions to find all the drifts (ie: I did not plan for this snow day and you girls being inside this house yelling and tearing at each other, is killing me. So, how about you try killing yourselves outside and give your mother some peace. OK? Great. Fabulous. GO!). The sad thing is, after 20 minutes of being outside, I was "over it" and the snow wasn't that cool. Besides, these were the few days that Mom would allow us to have hot chocolate (with Always Save MARSHMALLOWS) and I wanted my watered-down hot chocolate, darn it. Even if there was two inches of snow, she probably did still send us out. I can't communicate how much my sisters (specifically Mel and I) pushed each others buttons. My strong, strong mother. And to think, the girl doesn't drink or swear.

While I am positive there are mothers in Southeast Colorado who are lively cursing the snow and looking for their bottles of Merlot wine, because their kids are at each others throats, I am enjoying the peace and quiet of the slow drips of water melting off our roof. The twinkle of the Christmas lights (and actively dreading the electric bill for this month, since my husband believes that Christmas without lights on the inside and outside is sacrilegious) and the efforts of our neighbor and his 4960 to move the snow from County Road JJ are the only things going on in our lives today. We'll probably venture outside and try to sled with our laundry baskets, but since I don't have my rag-tag ski pants and gloves, my clothes will get drenched and I'll be "over it" in 20 minutes. I could wrap my remaining Christmas gifts (for my nephew and Aaron) or repaint my nails. But before that, I need to make sure I have enough scotch tape, since my form of wrapping is 90% scotch tape and 10% misjudging the wrapping paper scissor lines. Which is why I am ecstatic that my husband loves wrapping, as in he wishes I'd let him blow our budget on bows and ribbons.

So on this day of avoiding cabin fever, I am hoping that our car is able to maneuver a way out before Christmas in Kansas and that we do not run out of butterscotch schnapps. Hmmm, maybe THAT was why Mom wanted us out of the house on snow days: butterscotch schnapps. Smart woman.

is it all about the benjamins, baby?

I love to read and always have. Growing up, it was the Baby Sitters Club, Sweet Valley High, Boxcar Children (I never did quite grasp that possibility that these kids were homeless in a boxcar and didn't turn out in juvenile lock up), Mary Higgins Clark, Nancy Drew, and various other authors. If you ask me today "What sort of books do you ready?" I'd answer historical fiction. I do not like "fluff" books, anymore (Sorry twins Elizabeth and Jessica ie: Sweet Valley High) and will never ever read Twilight or Harry Potter. And absolutely "No" to anything science fiction or books whose plots are no way believable. I feel that reading is a past time that todays generation is missing out on, sorely. Reading improves comprehension and your general knowledge of words that are not common. You'd be amazed at how horrible reading comprehension is with todays kids. When I am reading a book, I get to leave small town America and am transferred to a different time and place. It's a whole new world (ignore the urge to start singing Disney show tunes).

The book I am reading now is by Tom Brokaw "The Greatest Generation" and it's a.ma.zing. Not only when you're reading it do you feel that you can hear his voice (again, a.ma.zing voice) reading to you, but the content is easy to follow. Brokaw sat down and had conversations with those young men and women who lived through WWII. These contributors had various backgrounds and callings during the War. Some were on the home front, while others were in the heat of battle. If you want a strong smack in the face as to what reality was for our grandparents, read this book. You want to feel like a schmuck for getting upset when your credit cards are taken away (thank you Daddy, 5 years ago) or anytime that you whined about a little w o r k, enjoy this book. A common theme found in a lot of the conversations with this men and women is a hesitation in the future of our country. I would argue that they were the greatest generation, hands down. However, when it comes to my generation and the one following, I share their hesitation. 110% The bond of values and honesty have taken a back seat to loss of morals and lying to get by. "How will I benefit from this? How much money can I make? What is the bare minimum that I can do to get by?" Disgusting. Embarrassing. And sadly, becoming the norm.

The point of this post is not to bash and insult my generation and the following one. I know there are issues with the kids now and perhaps we're all to blame for this lax sense of responsibility that we are letting them benefit from. When I was at K-State, I tried to install some sort of accountability with my students and many times, that "meanness" was met with dismay from the Deans Office, as all it took was a kids parent to call and complain and the situation, even when the blame was the precious childs, was absolved. The second, the very moment, we allow money to dictate our ethics and morals, we have already lost in the race.

I was facing a debate between money and happiness these past few weeks. I could take option A and have a steady income flowing in for Aaron and I; what was left from our debts would be dealt with before harvest. However, option A would take me from the schools here, which has been a strong source of happiness for me since moving. I adore these kids. I see the unbelievable potential they house in their futures and how it just takes a little care and commitment for it to shine. Option B would keep me with the students and Holly, but not making as much money. However, I'd be closer to home and my community. My community. The community that I am invested in.

No, we're not the greatest generation. And God forbid we are attacked the way the Japanese attacked that day in December. However, if we all took the time to give back to our communities and not worry about the bottom line in our checkbooks, could we have this next generation be a great generation? Put your money where your mouth is.

I chose Option B. It's my way of giving back to a community that will give me and my family a solid foundation. And I can teach College Psychology to a great group of kids that have no idea what they're in for. And to be honest, neither do I.

God bless America. Let's earn it.

home clothes

Home clothes v. nice clothes

When I say "home clothes", I can imagine that visions going through your head. No, I don't mean couture vintage pioneer dresses and lace up black boots. Growing up, we had two distinct categories of clothes. We had home clothes, which consisted of older sweat pants and mismatched shirts from old tee ball teams and junior high basketball camps. We never would wear jeans (those were specifically "nice clothes") at home. Nice shirts? Nope, those were strictly reserved for public outings. Keep in mind that we lived in the country and our only visitors were the Crop Quest guy on Monday mornings and the UPS lady when she delivered whatever farm gadget Daddy had ordered. If it isn't obvious, we had no need to dress to impress on the Ponderosa. And since they were home clothes, there was no need to wash them after wearing them once, even if it was all day. They were worn at home, so what is the purpose in fluffy linen smelling Burrton Recreation tee-ball shirts? No harm in wearing the shirt a couple or several times!

As time has marched on, I have realized that many of the habits that I hated growing up, have somehow trailed me to Holly and my young adult life on the farm. If you were to pop in on me on my Ponderosa, you may be a bit taken back. Right now, I am sporting grey socks, a Sunset Revival 2004 orange-yellow tie-dyed shirt, pink VS sweats (that I have worn for the 3rd day straight), hair is classic poof with no heat applied today void of eye liner, brow color, foundation, or finishing powder. Later today, I'll be heading up north with the boys and I just might wear a shirt with my work jeans that I've worn, wait for it, TWICE.

And through all my lovely homegrown habits, poor Aaron is the one who has to suffer.

I've been known to pull Aarons JEANS that he wears at HOME ONCE from the laundry basket and put them back in his drawer. The only adventure that Aaron does now that it's winter, is to go to town get the mail. So, why the need to put clothes in the wash daily? He's not pulling up irrigation pipes or sweating in a Versatile with a failed air conditioner. My laundry basket is plum full after two days of his jeans and sweatshirts. What's the harm in wearing clothes twice maybe three times, when you're not working hard and sweating? Perhaps I am way too much a product of my upbringing. Or perhaps I'm only try to help save water and energy and not running the washer every other day.

So, if you want a cheap thrill, stop by my Holly Ponderosa to see a possible home clothes masterpiece of fashion proporations. And chuckle at my background, because there's plenty to chuckle about.

War Horse and aggie ville specials

No, we did not lose Internet connection. Yes, we still have electricity. Of course, we still have running water. I just have been busy the past month with subbing, serving fabulous wine and spirits at our local small town liquor store, and fighting off every damn virus and infection that has entered the doors at Shanner and Holly High School. Holy Mary. First, it was the wonderful sinus infection, that still partly remains, and lately it was a stomach virus that left me clinging to indoor plumbing early Thanksgiving morning. Our priest told Aaron that first year teachers are sick the whole year, as their body is adjusting to the influx of germs. You add that to my clients that I see at the liquor store, and I can bet that I'm exposed to more strains of germs than Lindsay Lohan is at a New Years Eve party at Paris Hiltons. But, God bless the husband, who has been there every moment asking "Is there anything I can do?" (Yes, honey. You can body vacuum my mucus out of my nasal passages and sterilize everything I touched, a week ago). Needless to say, my energy levels have been sub par lately.

However, I keep on living. And buying NyQuill and putting vaseline everywhere on my body.

With the CHRISTas season approaching, it seems so many commercials are slanted towards giving us that holly jolly spirit of buying stupid crap we don't need and making us feel guilty for not buying stupid crap for everyone we encounter on a daily basis (lame). There is one commercial, trailer actually, that brings the tear ducts to life. The movie "War Horse" revolves around a boy who buys a horse that apparently isn't as "umph" as his farm family needs, yet he promises to work him out and make him a strong asset to the farm. An incredibly bond is formed and when the boy is drafted into the service, the horse goes as well (this is where the details get scattered) and somehow they're separated, I think. Anyways, the boy gets back from duty and lo and behold, the horse finds his way back to the farm. It may not tear at your emotional strands by these words, but I promise, it's intense. I feel as though I can relate to the heartache of the horse. Yes, of the horse, because at one point, he was unwanted and people didn't know what to do with him.

When I was pregnant, I lost friends. Friends who didn't know what to do or say to me or how to treat me. We were "so close" in college, because our common connections were being able to rattle off Aggieville specials or enjoying the same sort of television shows or having a deep love for fashion and style. Then, the second after a rough marriage and an unplanned pregnancy, look out. Somehow they disappeared or became incredibly busy with their first-job out of college lives. It stung. Horribly. I was bearing a child, choosing adoption, and the sorting through the pain of a failed marriage. I had a fabulous walking partner/shoe loving friend who was eager to keep me healthy and my mind free. Another GAP bestie who took me in when I needed a place between homes. Another stunning friend I met through the shoe pal, financially gave me breathing room. And I am sure there were others who, in their minds, though they were doing good things for me by leaving me alone. It's human nature to stay away when you don't know what to say in a situation. You assume that by not saying or doing anything, you're doing what the person wants. I can't begin to tell you the times I heard "I'm sorry" over those spirit-testing times. It got old. Frustrating. At the time, I was trying to process so much that was changing in my life, physically and emotionally. There is a bible verse that recites something to the effect of being tested in fire and I feel that those friendships were tested during those times. Many failed. Some passed.

Looking back, though. I am glad those friends decided to bail. It helped me weed out the ones that were true friends, in the grown up sense, from the ones who were friends, in the college fun-times sense. We all have those friends, who were friends for reasons or seasons. And it does take all sorts and types to get us through these times on earth.

However, a word for those of you who know someone who is going through a difficult transition or unplanned event in their course of life. Be there for them and verbally tell them that. Do not assume that they can hear your head rattle and they just know that you're "there" for them. When you're carrying on with your ideal perfect life, check in on them. Just to say "hey" or ask how things are going. Try to avoid "I'm sorry", because it sounds as though you're pitying them and that is the last last last last thing they want to feel, in addition to everything else. Because, when your world is turned upside down and you are trying to process what has happened, the last thing you want to deal with is mind reading. Trust me.

It is what it is. People come into our lives and leave, as quickly as that. The ones we wish would stay away forever, seem to always linger back. But, the stout hearted and strong willed ones, never really leave. Now, that my life has finally (thank the holy Trinity) settled, I am developing strong friendships with women who are the kind that songs and cheesy poems are written about. Christmas gifts are no longer bottles of pricey vodka and PJ sets from GAP, but cook books, kitchen appliances, and home decor. Am I getting old? Nah, well, maybe. But, I never felt so alive and true.

Like a war horse, that has been to hell and back.

never the popular kid

I was never the popular girl in elementary school. Definitely not the cool girl in junior high. Nor was I the "it" girl in high school. Far from it. I hated when the teacher would announce "Now, find a partner....." or "split into teams....." My stomach would get in knots and I'd anxiously look at the floor, wishing it'd swallow me up and save me from the embarrassment of being the last girl chosen. Ugh. No PE teacher should have the kids pick teams. That was one of the most fabulous feelings in the world, let me tell you. It was always left to me and the girl in the wheelchair. Go me.

When we did go to football or basketball games, it was usually me sitting with my Dad, while everyone else in my class would run up and down the track like a bunch of hooligans. Total "L" on my forehead ("loser" for the layman). Perhaps I am dramatizing the crappy social experience of my life as a pre-teen and teenager. However, it's not by much. Maybe that is why I loved writing and reading so much, even back then. When I was reading, I could transport myself to "Sweet Valley High" or was one of the babysitters in the Babysitters Club. I wasn't the odd and awkward farm girl, with hips too big and hair too poofy (sadly, my locks did not know a flat iron until college). With writing, I could ignore the blabber of junior high and high school drama crap and be the creator of my own world, instead of being a side item to theirs.

That is why, I am still getting used to going to athletic events at Holly.

I.am.popular.

I am the girl that the kids are excited to see and that the parents are pleased to finally meet. I have heard "Mrs Leiker!" more times than I have heard "Well, looks like you're the last one, Monica". It's so odd to me that people know and not like "Now, who is that girl?? No, not that one. The one with the not-so-big glitter belt buckle and embossed cowboy boots. Who is that girl..... I think I went to her wedding, maybe..." It's more like "That's Monica Leiker. She's Hayden's sub and the kids love her. I know, right? The kids actually enjoy a sub and she hasn't been ridiculed yet by the students."

Between Aaron and I, I'm the one that people recognize more than him. For example, at the homecoming pep rally that Aaron was announcing, a group of students were asking amongst themselves "Who is that guy announcing?" One girl answered "That's Aaron Leiker. He's Monica Leiker's husband."

Greatest.moment.of.my.life (with the exception of the birth of Colton, the marriage to Aaron, K-State beating OU for the Big XII championship in 2003, and finally graduating Graduate School).

For once since our move, I wasn't an accessory to my handsome tall blond husband. I was the main deal and he was the accessory and in his home town, no less. Fabulous. Simply fabulous.

I've told Aaron that I'm already jealous of our not-yet-born-herd-of-six-kids. They'll be popular. People will know them. They'll like them and just "Oh, she's nice"-like them. They'll go to football and volleyball games and have kids to run like hooligans with around the track. They may be picked last in PE, if they inherit their mother's fear of flying balls.

I guess this post is to those kids who were always and constantly pickled last in anything. Who doesn't seem to have found their niche in junior high or high school and to be honest: Who wants to have hit their peak in HIGH SCHOOL?! It's silly, looking back at those "cool kids" back then. The ones that thought their little worlds were THE world, sadly never left and still hang out with the same crowd. Eh, maybe it works for them, but it sure as heck did not work for me.

Someday, maybe someday, you'll be able to say that when you walk through the lunchroom during elementary chow time, you have a bunch of little bodies that want Mrs. Leiker to enjoy Chicken and Noodles with them.

sandwich cookies and pumpkin patches

Yesterday, I found myself sitting the PreSchool room, amongst 14 youngsters who were exhausted from our recent trip to the pumpkin patch. When I was first told that today is the day of the pumpkin patch trip, I instantly froze in fear. "Oh, lord. Is it going to be muddy? I didn't wear my boots today, instead I opted for my boat shoes. And wait, 14 pre school kids running around crazy searching for that "perfect" pumpkin? Yeah, right. They'll never find their perfect piece of orange heaven and it will consist of me running all around the 5 acre plot of pumpkins screeching their names, while sticker plants invade the precious soles of my Sperrys. Fabulous." To be true to the experience, it went off without a hitch. Although, I'm not sure some of them realized that when they told Mrs. Leiker this is the one they want and gnawed it off the vine and wrote their name on the bottom, that meant it was THEIRS. Perhaps the memory line of possession hasn't quite developed fully for their ittle brains. And Mrs. Leiker was able to trot home with 3 pumpkins for herself, her hubby, and the roommate who resides in our basement. And, I didn't even have to pay for it. Perfection, in my world.

Back to the exhausted Mrs. Leiker sitting on the carpet (no, I was not in time out), watching 14 preschools tikes wolf down their snack of orange jello and mandarin oranges and cookies. However, these cookies they were enjoying were the kind that us girls grew up on.

Generic. Generic vanilla sandwich cookies.

I forgot that part of my childhood that included always Price Saver or Shur Fine generic sandwich cookies. It's obvious as to the real deal that they were striving after: Oreos. Our mother would never ever ever purchase Oreo brand cookies. Perhaps, if someone was visiting. However, if it was a family member: forget it. Chances are, they grew up with generic cookies so why should Mom spend an extra dollar on cousin so-and-so? Not happening. I can't begin to tell you the cases of those sandwich cookies we went through. Vanilla. Chocolate. Then the mix of Vanilla AND Chocolate. Stale heaven, folks. Stale heaven. Our Mom purchased everything generic. Toilet paper. Cereal. Cream corn (vomit). Canned vegetables (which are horrible, in comparison to their steamfresh counter parts). I still do the same thing. I'll stand in front of the food aisle, analyzing the prices of the various competition. It's easier, yes, to grab and go. But, then I think of the cents I could be saving, and I'll stand there as long as I have to until I figure out what is the cheapest. Poor Aaron.

Is there a noticeable difference between Oreo and sandwich cookies? You bet your glass of milk there is! Is that even a question?? But, for this sub teacher in the PreSchool room, I silently gave thanks that my mother was the generic genius that she is. Because, if she hadn't only purchased cheap food, I would not have had that sweet memory yesterday of sneaking into the pantry to OD on stale cookies with hardened filling, while having preschool kids hang on my arms and legs.

Daddy, a zenith TV, and bad TV

People still find it hilarious that the only show us girls were permitted to watch growing up was "Little House on the Prairie". That statement from my mouth, is usually followed by shocked looks of disbelief and denial. I am asked "How did you survive?!" (Um, by food. Yeah, food. usually does the trick. Final answer). Or "What did you DO after school?!?!?!" (Um, wow. What did we do after school? Oh yes, homework. Or played outside on the farm or in the shelter belts that protected our house. I had one helluva imagination. Which is probably why I love writing so much. And reading so much. Oh yeah, we read a lot, too. For FUN. Yeah, I know, right?! Who does that?!). We didn't have Nintendo or PlayStation or any other miscellaneous stuff that falls int the category of "Sitting on your rear and stare at the television. Be sure to block out everything else that is going on in the house and what your mom is telling you to do."

Now, to be fair, we were allowed to watch other shows than LHOTP, but Daddy or Mom had to be in the room with us. These included "Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman", "Home Improvement", and "Walker: Texas Ranger." If by chance, we'd veer off that channel of good-ole-family-fun, and were watching something else that even HINTED to the vices of sex, cursing, drinking, or anything else that causes a 5th grade boy to squirm (and a father of four girls to hit his knees and pray), Daddy would, without doubt, clear his throat and ask in a disgusted-at-social-media voice:

"Isn't there anything else on?!" Even though, it was HIM who changed the channel. Again, that's totally irrelevant, right?

You can always tell when the dialogue of the show is getting nasty and going down that path to "Satan's playground" (again, another Daddy term that he picked up from his mother). I'd tense up, knowing that sooner or later the "sex" word would be uttered or the characters would engage in activities that should not be shown on tv. Especially when a daddy and his daughters are watching. Ugh. That awkward feeling is uncomfortable. You add the fact that you're in high school and the thought of watching anything that involves sexual activity and your Dad, is similar to the desire of being locked in a tanning bed.

When I was home two weekends ago, Daddy and I were watching an episode of something I can't even remember. The characters started making out and the next thing you know..... I start getting that awkward feeling of wanting to melt into our circa 1970s couch covered with a beige upholstery cover. And I am 27 years old. Married. That same feeling was there: awkward. And the kicker of the deal?

Daddy was out. Snoozing in his chair. Dreaming of 9770 S-series combines and 60 bushel wheat. Visions of him riding away in his 1974 two-tone blue Chevy pickup, with Shadow (our family dog) into the sunset.

And I still was still nervous as all heck that he'd somehow come out of his 8:00 pm slumber. And ask that old phrase that made all us girls stomachs turn from embarrassment:

"Hey, isn't there anything else on?!"

An old Zenith and an unhooked dishwasher

Next month, my parents will be celebrating 30 years of marriage. 30 years that were blessed with five children and countless dollars spent on prom and homecoming dresses and back to school crayons (NEVER Crayola. Rose Art, anyone?) Looking back on the years living at home, never once, did I think "Well, this is it. This is the fight that will leave my sisters and I choosing which parent we want to spend Christmas and Ash Wednesday with." Sure, they had discussions and arguments, but never fights. Never had yell-at-the-top-of-your-lungs fights sprinkled with pull-out-all-the-stops fights. If they did, they never conducted that sort of business in front of us girls. I am sure there were those "discussions" that had the possibility of escalating into nasty emotional drama, but we never were prived to that sort of immature mud slinging. My role model for a healthy marriage? My parents. Easy.

So, how do you gift your parents with a gift that symbolizes that respect and admiration? How do you put into a thing the thoughts and love and honor you reserve for them? You would assume looking at my parents house and based on my blogs poking fun at Mom's lack of interior decorating preference, that it would be easy. Me, the girl with matching green plaid seat cushions that correspond with her Lemon Pepper table runner, that jive with her Aspen red plate settings. I've got nothing. When I posed the question to Aaron about what to get Mom and Dad, he suggested reasonable items. Items that would solve all the issues I have with their house. For example, he suggested getting rid of their old Zenith, which the new Plasma sits. Author note: the "new plasma" has been in their house for over 3 years. It's still new to me and my sisters. It'll probably always be "new" to us. Anyways, their new TV sits on top of their old TV. This is the TV that I first watched the beloved "Little House on the Prairie" so many Fridays on PBS ago. The TV that we religiously watched "America's Funniest Home Videos" Sunday evenings. The TV that I watched "This Old House" on Sundays after Mass, while Daddy "dozed" in his chair. The TV that played countless, I mean countless, Disney VHS tapes. "Walker Texas Ranger"? You bet, it had a home in our Saturday evening hearts (and the eyes of the ranger are always upon you). How could Aaron suggest that we get RID of this decorating surreal work? Nope. Tacky TV on TV action stays.

Next idea was a dishwasher, that works. We have one, oh yes, we have one. It's old and not hooked up and houses many old rags and dish towels and the molding things you use to mold hamburger patties. I think there is also some frosting decorating tools in old bread sacks. So, yeah. We don't have one. I know what you're thinking, with angst: "How did they do all those dishes?! By hand?! Oh! The horrible display of sanitation!!" If the fact that we did our dishes by hand disgusts you, then I'll leave out the garbage container that is an old butter container that sits on our counter. So many, so many memories are housed for me around that beloved sink. Throwing water at Mel, when she put back dishes that I had quickly washed; screaming in terror, when Daddy would put his nostrils against the outside window, hoping to scare the crap out his daughters (which he always succeeded). Watching TV and hearing Mom screech "I need some dish dryers" and then Daddy anxiously pushing us (ok, more like demanding) to get into the kitchen to help our mother. At the time, I would have given anything to have a dish washer like all my friends; being able to load it and walk away and NOT have to spend one more minute with my slimy, stinky sister. Pure torture.

I'd give anything to go back to those days of having Mel closer to me.... And life not being so complicated with the responsibility of finding health insurance since we're self employed (darn farming) and proving previous coverage prior to September 1. I miss those days sharing a room with her and making CLEAR divisions as to what MY side was and what HER side was. I digress.

You see, all the things that we sisters agonized over as annoying and frustrating while we were growing up............ Those hick deals made us who we are today. The memories. The yelling. The tears. The soaked shirts. Standing in front of that old Zenith to say the blessing before meals and making sure that Mel and Alayna weren't looking at the TV while praying. Horrible Catholics. Writing this is even making me bittersweet emotional. It's a flood of memories that are kept in that TV on TV action and that dishwasher full of old rags.

So, I think we're all at a loss as to what to give Mom and Dad next month........ Because they've already given us everything a Harvey County daughter could want. A vintage TV and smelly dishwasher.