Potted Goose

A trip worth waiting for

2011-10-17T21:27:00.000-05:00

My dad is on his way home from what may have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Two weeks ago, he left behind his crops (which are ready for harvest), his cattle, his wife and his job at the bank to travel to Russia on a Kansas Beef Marketing trip with the Kansas Secretary of Agriculture and the Governor of Kansas. He has spent the last two weeks spreading the word about Kansas beef to people on the other side of the world.

When I stop to think about the life he left behind compared to the world he has been exposed to in the last 14 days, it renders me, well, without words.

But maybe that's because I know his whole story.

The story that began with a young boy growing up chasing fly balls and quarterbacks in the neighborhoods of working-town St. Joseph, Missouri, and ended with a cattleman that earned the respect of a Governor and his fellow agriculturalists in the State of Kansas.

My dad learned of the farm and experienced the farm through his grandparents. His own dad wasn't able to take on a farming and ranching livelihood given the agricultural technology of the 1950's coupled with severe asthma and allergies. His dad, my grandpa, married my grandma, moved to St. Joseph, raised six children, sent them all to Catholic school, watched them all graduate from college, and only on rare occasions missed a little league game.

My dad went to Benedictine College in Atchison, Kansas. He played football and baseball - was fiercely competitive and athletically astute. He married my mom, earned a degree in English (his vocabulary dances circles around mine), and started a career teaching and coaching at his old high school.

Not long into his teaching and coaching gig, I came along. My brother followed 13 months later. Teaching and coaching at a catholic high school in the early 1980's wasn't exactly paying the bills.

He took a risk, moved his family, and tried his hand at banking. Turns out, he was good at that, too.

He took another risk. Moved us one more time. Took another banking job, and began investing in farm ground and trying his hand at farming. The farming thing really seemed to suit him.

My two younger sisters joined the family, the farming operation grew, and our family grew up chasing fly balls, quarterbacks, point gaurds, 4-H livestock, and Simmental cattle across the northeast Kansas countryside.

And that pretty much sums up life for the past twenty years. Add in college, some weddings and some grandkids, but mostly, you'll find my dad chasing cattle and following K-State football.

I have always had a deep respect for my dad. The trip to Russia didn't really change that. What I wholeheartedly admire is the way he has "delayed the gratification." He has spent his years quietly building his herd - his family and his cattle. And now, into his fifties, he is stepping away from the farm, the ballgames, the grandkids, and doing something that is personally rewarding. Satisfying. And well deserved.

I'm so proud that someone else recognized the knowledge and experience my dad can bring to Kansas agriculture. I've known it all along...

They just keep comin'...

2011-09-09T14:25:00.002-05:00

The changes. These changes just keep coming.

I dropped Tucker off on Tuesday for his first day of preschool. He was all smiles. And the report on the way home: "The work wasn't that hard, Momma."

By Thursday, he was eager to go back. As we approached the drop off, I saw all the other parents walking their children to the door, holding their hand.

Okay, we can do that, too.

From the backseat I hear , "Momma, can I walk up there by myself?"

"Sure, buddy!"

He grabbed his backpack, jumped out, and smiled and ran all the way to the front door. In a way, it was more emotional than walking him to the door holding his hand. And it was complete reassurance that waiting a year to send my summer-birthday-boy to school was the absolute right thing to do.

These moments of change are happening every day around here...

Wednesday evening, in celebration of a much needed relief from the summer's heat, we took bikes to the church parking lot. Noah scored a big-girl bike this summer. Her old training wheels don't touch the ground. So, it was time to really ride that bike.

I expected that after a long day at school, her endurance for bike riding would be short-lived.

Wouldn't ya know, that little gal proved me wrong! She was wobbly and wiggly, oh sure. And she took plenty of spills. But she jumped right up and persevered.

"I've almost got it, Mom!" she'd yell from across the parking lot. Sure enough, after a bit of support from Dad, she was riding the length of the parking lot. (And then crashing clumsily and getting up to do it again.)

We returned the next night for another go-round. That little gal could make it two complete laps around the parking lot. (Before crashing clumsily and getting up to do it again.)

Like I said, these changes are happening fast. Daily, in fact.

And while it's sad to watch them take these first steps from the nest, how beautiful and rewarding it is to watch them begin to fly.

Kindergarten sure changes things

2011-09-02T14:10:00.000-05:00

Noah started kindergarten. Two weeks ago. She's been a full-fledged kindergarten student for two whole weeks. I'm almost getting used to the idea.

Noah is the sort of daughter who any mom with heart-tugging-prone-to-tears emotional attachments to her first born baby should feel blessed to have as their first baby. And I do.

It makes the "sending them out the door to a school you're completely unfamiliar with and teachers and staff you barely know" much easier. (I have control issues, I know. That's why I had to stay home with my kids. I like to be in charge.).

But, as I was saying, it's easier to let go because Noah's a naturally bright little gal. And she's socially confident. (Have you met her Daddy?) I know she'll be a good student. So long as her academic motivations conquer her social motivations.

Two weeks in, and she's mastering the life of a kindergartener. Oh sure, she's had some after-school meltdowns that remind me of her toddler days. But the girl's completely exhausted. Bedtime is no longer a battle.

Aside from Noah's personal transition to school, and my emotional transition to mom-with-school-aged daughter, it seems we're all feeling the effects of an adjustment to school life.

The two younger kids are up and at 'em with Noah. (Or earlier.) Breakfast is wrapped up by 7:15, and we send Brent and Noah out the door by 7:45. It's not that we didn't have a schedule before, it's just that preschool didn't start until 9:00. There was time for some play, or cartoons, or an extra pancake. Our day is certainly much quieter. Tucker and Nell miss their buddy. She was the ring leader for the really fun stuff - like digging in the mud and turning the living room into a vet clinic. And now, nap time comes quickly after lunch so we can make it to the 3:05 dismissal.

Oh, dismissal. The time of day when every parent in town congregates at the same intersection. It's a lovely sort of chaos.

Then there's Brent. His entire morning routine has been over-run by our kindergarten student. Mornings have never been his thing. Now they come earlier. He has to get to work on time. And he doesn't have enough time to swing by his favorite convenience store for his morning Diet Dr. Pepper. Poor fella. I'm making him coffee each morning to try to cheer him up. But now all my favorite coffee thermoses are lost in his office. And, do you know how hard it is to try to enjoy my own morning coffee without my favorite thermos?

Sheesh. Who knew kindergarten had such over-reaching effects?

In four more days, Tucker will start preschool. That will leave Nell and I alone for two mornings each week. That'll certainly be something different. Completely different. A thought that I couldn't have comprehended when she was born two-and-a-half years ago.

I guess you could say things are changing around here. As a mom who likes to be in control, it's trying on me to let my little ones take these first steps out into the world. How thankful I am for the time I've invested in them. Albeit it frustrating and isolating at times, I know I'm completely responsible for my children's early, formative years. The good and the bad. I'm 100% accountable. I wouldn't have had it any other way.

4-H: Locally Sourced Food, Lifelong Learning

2011-07-17T15:19:00.002-05:00

Submitted for publication in the Ellsworth (Kansas) Independent Reporter

In response to: http://eatocracy.cnn.com/2011/06/23/does-4-h-desensitize-kids-to-killing/

A recent post on the CNN food blog site, Eatocracy, posed this question: “Does 4-H desensitize kids to killing?” A timely question considering county fair season is in full swing across America; yet a question that could have only come from someone who drove by a county fair. Once. A long time ago.

The Ellsworth County 4-H Fair is in full swing this week. Pigs, cows, chickens, sheep, rabbits, homemade baked goods and hand-crafted arts project have descended upon the fair grounds. It’s a great, low-cost outing for you and your family. And it’s a perfect opportunity for you to answer that question for yourself.

It’s becoming quite vogue in American culture to know where your food comes from. And while I firmly believe that it’s imperative to understand our food systems and to share that information with your children; it’s equally imperative that you base your information and food purchasing decisions on facts. From the source. Like a 4-H’er who has spent the past six months or more caring for his or her cows, pigs and chickens.

So as you and your family stroll down the aisles of animal exhibits at the fair, ask a 4-H’er about the care they gave to their animals. What type of feed did they use? How often did they water their animals? What did they do to keep them cool in this summer’s extreme heat? Will their animal be going to market or going home after the fair? How do they feel about that?

In my lifetime of 4-H experiences, I know that 4-H animals are among the best cared for livestock. They truly live a luxury life. If it’s possible for an animal to live in luxury. And I know that 4-H sensitizes and educates children about our animal production systems in America. I have been heartbroken over steers and pigs headed to market. But I was privileged to grow up in the understanding that animals destined for human consumption deserve a life of good care and respect.

I hope your trip to the county fair this week will allow you a glimpse into the world of livestock production. And that it will allow you to see how 4-H is preparing the next generation of livestock producers to care for and respect their animals in a way that you can feel good about.

A non-traditional DC vacation

2011-06-29T21:43:00.004-05:00

I'm just getting settled back home after what could be called a non-traditional DC vacation.

Or, a weekend in the Washington DC area as those who actually live there may wish to experience.

Because my little sister, Mary, actually lives there. And if you've seen the Capitol Mall on a Saturday in June plastered with tourists and students from every state, then you too, may wish for a bit of an escape in the hills of eastern Virginia.

Don't get me wrong. Every single American should take at least one traditional Washington DC vacation. Tours of the Monuments. The Capitol. The Museums. A stroll by the White House. (Unless you know people who know people who can you get a private tour of the West Wing. Accomplished this on the DC trip three years ago. The latest change in the administration means I no longer know people who know people.)

We arrived in DC on a Friday afternoon. Mary picked us up curbside in her new Volkswagon. No taxis. No tour buses. We were among the locals now.

Mary suggested we spend some time strolling around Old Town Alexandria to avoid the mess of rush-hour traffic. We stopped into a local coffee shop - I needed a little pick-me-up. I ordered an iced vanilla latte.

"We don't have flavors, mam."

Right. It was now apparent I was a Midwestern tourist with limited urban coffee drinking experience.

"Well, then, just make it skim, please."

Sister Molly - also a big city-dweller - then gave me a few "coffee snob" pointers so I could order coffee without the stress of a barista looking down his nose at me the next time. Sure wish she could have made those tips available before I perpetuated the (largely misguided) Kansas stereotype.

Moving on. We encountered tiny bundles of lavender selling for $15. (Mom has a beautiful plant in her yard.) And expensive Turkish hand-painted dishes where the shop owner kept a close eye on giggling Midwest sisters. Then got a glimpse of the wide Potomac. (Makes the Smoky Hill River look like a babbling brook.)

Then back to Mary's apartment. The third floor of a row house that overlooks the Library of Congress and is steps away from the Capitol. Six hundred square feet at a monthly rent price that will make your mortgage and 1,400 square feet home seem down-right cheap.

Mom had a new scarf to wear. And that meant we were going out for a nice dinner. You've got to love logic like that.

We decided on a Mediterranean restaurant in Eastern Market. And I'm almost embarrassed to say that I ate lamb for the first time. How's a farm girl live 32 years without eating lamb? Good question. But I liked it, and I will certainly eat it again.

Pause. Time for a mommy agvocacy moment. Given the growing popularity of Mediterranean food, lamb market prices are on the rise. I'm considering investing in some ewes (that's the mommy sheep), and some pasture, and a farmhouse, and a good sized barn for lambing, and a chicken house just because I like chickens...

Focus. The lamb was good. And so were the two drinks I ordered. Which turned into a conversation about a few more things "mom was right about."

A good day always begins with Good Morning America and good hairspray.

A handful of chocolate chips will make bad days melt away.

Early to bed, early to rise, makes a woman happy, healthy, wealthy and wise. (mostly)

So we headed home.

And Mary had us out the door and on a six mile walk by 8:00 am Saturday morning. (That's pretty early for vacation standards.)

We walked by the Capitol and down the National Mall, around the Washington Memorial, around the World War II Memorial, and down to the Lincoln Memorial. And back.

By then, the tourists were beginning to descend on the National Mall. So we headed east. Or south. I never know what direction I'm going in that city and that makes me crazy. (Type A personality. Not surprising.) We drove in the general directions of berries and vineyards in Virginia.

We climbed hills to pick strawberries and raspberries. I had just picked strawberries the week before and made strawberry jam. But the Middle Eastern family picking alongside us doubtfully picked strawberries and made jam the week before. Therefore, we should all be thankful for the opportunities provided by Virginia's agri-tourism farms. (Hand picked berries for the city-dwellers. Premium prices for Virgina farmers. I love free market capitalism.)

How about all these beautiful pictures? Mary snapped these with her snazzy camera.

And then to the vineyards. Along with never eating lamb, I've also never been to a wine tasting at a vineyard. I know, I know. I have lived a sheltered life.

The first vineyard, while picturesque, was a bit snooty. And their wine was a bit on the yucky side. (I'm not a wine snob, either. Yucky is an acceptable adjective if you're not a wine elitist.)

The second vineyard was more my style. Casual, rustic, comfortable. And the wine was yummy. Very yummy. (I should be a food writer.)

So yummy, in fact, I napped all the way back to the city. Where we made a strawberry and raspberry cobbler and had a cook-out with Mary's beau Tyler. I had failed to give consideration to the challenges of having a cook-out when you live in an apartment in a city. We hauled charcoal and a cooler full of food and sangria to a public park that had grills and picnic tables. Tyler expertly managed the grill...as if he owned his own and cooked on it every night.

The non-traditional DC vacation continued right on into Sunday. We leisurely made our way to 10:30 Mass and then Sunday brunch at a popular, hip little joint. And while I'm on a roll with "firsts," I'll add one more. I ordered my first "cocktail before Noon on a Sunday." The college-girl in me is so proud.

We walked off cocktails and brunch as we strolled through a flea market and farmer's market. I picked up goodies for each one of the kiddos, and we bought Mary a way-cute dress for her birthday at a funky little second hand store. (You're right. We got off cheap. I'll mail her a gift card.)

On the topic of Mary's birthday, we celebrated with frozen yogurt later that evening and a walk around our nation's Capitol, sans tourists. Well, only a small group of crazies on Segways. But otherwise, quiet and peaceful.

And sniff, sniff, it was time to drive Molly to the airport for her flight home to Detroit.

But don't be sad. Molly is considering a move to DC to be a potato lobbyist. Mary - employed by the big beef lobby - told her about the job and Molly thinks it's a perfect fit for her. She loves all things potato!

And we're not sad. We're already planning the next trip. We considered the vineyards of California; for a fleeting moment. Decided we're not hip enough. The casual, car-free atmosphere of Makinac Island sounds better suited for us.

You know, perhaps it seems silly to have flown all the way to DC to pick berries in the hills of Virginia. But, there's nothing silly about spending a little time with your mom and your sisters. Together. It was seriously worth the trip.

Mom was right...

2011-06-14T22:04:00.001-05:00

Turns out, my mom was right about a lot of things.

She was right about Hamburger Helper. That stuff's just not good for you.

She was right about plucking my eyebrows. "Sometimes it hurts to be beautiful, sweetie."

And about chasing a college education and a career. She knew I'd set it all aside to raise my babies one day.

She was right about reading books, never leaving the house without mascara and putting family first.

But the one thing she really had right. The thing that put her way ahead of her time. Our dinner plates.

About three weeks ago, the USDA released the new Choose My Plate visual aid, replacing the antiquated and complicated food pyramid.

For at least the past thirty-two years, this is how the dinner plates at my childhood home have looked. A fruit, a vegetable, meat, bread and milk. But always, a fruit and vegetable.

I put up plenty of fuss. I was certainly no angel! I smashed peas under my dinner plate. Forced myself to gag on hominy. Preferred extra servings of meat and bread and milk.

But, my mom made sure the fruits and vegetables were there. Every meal.

And it only took thirty-two years for the USDA to vindicate her meal-time choices. It took me about twenty years to get it right and really get serious about making fruits and vegetables a priority.

I have said a word (or two) about the new USDA dietary guidelines, no need to repeat myself. But I wanted you to see the new dinner plate. It's simple. Easy to understand. Do-able.

And while it pains me to give credit to the current federal administration - much like it's painful to admit when mom is right - I should give credit where credit is due.

Thank you USDA, First Lady and super-smart graphic design folks! This dinner plate thing deserves my sincerest "thank you."

(My mother said so.)

The Inaugural Camping Experience

2011-06-06T22:01:00.006-05:00

We survived our first family camping trip. And if you forget about the rain, the frightening gust of wind and collapsing tent, well then, you could even call it fun.

The kids definitely thought the trip was fun. Dirt digging, crawdad hunting, hot dog eating, no bath taking fun.

We arrived at Wilson Lake with almost everything we needed for the weekend. Except matches. Thank goodness for friendly park rangers.

We then unloaded our gear and successfully put up our (massive, yet accommodating) eight-foot-tall-tent, and met up with Brent's cousin, Scott, and his son, Jack, for a trip around the lake on their boat.

While swimming in a cove, cloudy skies turned to rain. Rain turned to wind. We feared for our eight-foot-tall-tent. We buzzed across the lake to see our campsite. And a collapsed tent. As the men climbed up to re-establish the tent, I could see towards the west huge swirls of dust blowing our direction. Did I forget to mention that I was holding the boat in the water while four small children waited along the shore?

Now back to those swirls of dust. That wind hit the water and what was happening before my eyes looked like something that should be happening in the middle of an ocean. Not on a lake in the middle of Kansas. That wind gust blew "spray" across the water and I watched the wind race toward us.

"Jack, hold onto Nell," I yelled as I braced the boat as if I could protect it from the nearby rocks. The wind and spray lashed at us. Tears and cries came from the four small children. Two worried daddies raced down to the shore.

Well, that wasn't exactly something I had considered to be a part of our first camping experience.

Moving on.

Boat to the marina. Set the tent up. Again. Cook burgers with Scott and Jack in the comfort of their cabin.

Explore nearby ponds, caves and wildlife.

Watch the sun set on a beautiful, still evening on the lake.

Patiently wait while Daddy starts a fire to cook Smores.

Get into the marshmallows while not-so-patiently waiting for Daddy to build a fire to cook Smores.

Create a wonderful ending to a rough start of a camping trip.

Ahhh...peaceful.

About two hours later. The wind came back. Why am I not surprised? Some really, really, really smart folks have built the largest wind farm in the state of Kansas just a couple miles south of Wilson Lake. Guess they knew what they were doing.

The tent held up quite well. I should know. I listened to the wind beat against the tent all night long. Waiting for the worst. Around 4:00 am, the southwest support pole gave way. Brent supported it with his feet while trying to sleep in Nell's pink sleeping bag. (Hilarious.) By 6:30 am, the entire southern half of the tent gave way, caving in on Brent, Tucker and Noah.

We got up. Got dressed. Fed the kids a hot dog and a bun for breakfast. I'd like to meet the man who could have started a fire and cooked monkey bread and scrambled eggs for the kids in that wind.

One quick trip down to the water to hunt for sea shells, and the inaugural Goss Family Camping Experience came to an abrupt ending.

Tired mommy + tired daddy = time to go home.

After a shower, a nap, and some time to reflect, I have decided there was just enough good to compensate for all the bad. I'm not yet giving up on conquering nature and creating dirt digging, crawdad hunting, hot dog eating, no bath taking fun for my family.

Just as soon as we buy a camper...

I is for Ice Cream

2011-06-03T22:10:00.001-05:00

Summer is off to a spectacular start around here. And if I survive the weekend, I'm certain I'll be ready for fall.

Monday was Memorial Day. Brats, hot dogs and margaritas (and Kool-Aid) with good friends.

Tuesday was our first t-ball game of the season.

Wednesday we broke in the new slip-n-slide and took a dip in the neighbor's hot tub. (More like a "warm" tub...just right for the kids.)

Thursday we played at the park and had our second t-ball game.

And today, Friday, we've been preparing (packing, grocery shopping, testing the tent and stressing) for the inaugural Goss Family Camping Trip.

Oh, and we're going to the swimming pool as soon as the kids wake up from a nap.

And we made ice cream.

By Sunday, I will be completely exhausted and ready for Noah to start kindergarten.

Or not. My baby girl surely can't be big enough for kindergarten. (A thought that will be running through my noggin until mid-August.)

But back to Friday. And ice cream. I is for Ice Cream. I've already lost control of this entire post thanks to the emotions flowing through me as I prepare to send my baby to kindergarten. (And the pending camping trip.)

Yes, I is for Ice Cream. Pause...I just checked facebook. And you won't believe this. It's Kansas Dairy Month. Wasn't that just like getting a little extra hot fudge on your sundae? Sweet!

Ice Cream comes from milk. Which comes from cows. Who live on a dairy farm. Remember? D is for Dairy Products.

I think we all - kids included - know where ice cream comes from. But did you know...

that in order for a frozen dairy product to be labeled "ice cream," by law it must contain at least 10% milk fat and 20% milk solids by weight. Otherwise, it has to be called something else. Like ice milk, or something else snazzy that a food science wiz-kid came up with.

Or did you know that ice cream flavors must be labeled either natural or artificial. For example, natural strawberry ice cream or strawberry-flavored ice cream. (Meaning: they really used strawberries or they substituted with some strawberry flavored syrup stuff.) Note to self: should have taken a food science class in college.

And did you know that a single serving of ice cream is about a half-cup worth. Awfully chintzy, huh? However, that half-cup serving contains 130 calories, 10% of your daily fat intake and 20% of your daily saturated fat intake. (Based on a normal adult's 2000 calorie diet.) Not so chintzy anymore, is it?

When ordering ice cream out, it's doubtful you get a half-cup serving. Think at least three to four times that much. However, Dairy Queen is picking up on America's need to slim down. They are offering a new "mini" blizzard this year; and at a premium price. Let me explain. "Smart, financially comfortable, weight conscious consumers are willing to pay a premium to enjoy a down-sized DQ blizzard without all the guilt."

Whatever.

May I suggest you hand crank your own homemade ice cream in a cute and rustic ice cream maker your father-in-law picked up at a farm auction.

That way, when you over-indulge in a full cup serving, you won't feel as guilty because you've spent twenty-five minutes in the summer heat cranking your own ice cream.

Tucker gets a cup and a half serving. It requires his entire body to turn the crank.

That's an intense look there, folks. He's saving a couple bucks and burning calories to make his own ice cream. This is a very serious moment for him.

Twenty-five minutes later - frozen dairy goodness.

Pour into recycled ice cream buckets. (I'm so hip.) Stir in frozen chocolate sandwich cookies. (The store brand, of course. Saved me a couple bucks.) And freeze.

A few hours later, enjoy on the patio with some friends after a trip to the swimming pool.

This is where I should have a picture of Nell eating ice cream since she was left out of the other photos. But I forgot. Because I'm stressed about tomorrow's camping trip.

H is for Herbs

2011-05-16T21:41:00.002-05:00

The second installment of the Potted Goose Herb Garden is well under way. If you'll recall from last year, we started an herb garden from seed using recycled egg cartons on Earth Day. That was some front page, super cool, foodie stuff right there. But you should also recall, I was country when country wasn't cool.

We had quite a successful herb garden last year. (I still have dried basil in my cabinet.) And a few failures, too. I learned just enough to want to try my hand at herb gardening again this year.

Noah, who suddenly quit eating anything green around age 4, will eat dishes made with the herbs we've grown. She'll ask about the green flecks in the dish, and when I tell her it's herbs, she's happy to eat it.

So here's my (short and sweet) take on H is for Herbs. By no means should you expect a full, comprehensive look at the dozens of herbs growing across the globe or an economic overview of the global herb market. We're keeping it local, as in my backyard and my kitchen local. Six herbs. Six suggestions for growing them in your backyard. And six tips on how to use them in your kitchen.

On May 3rd, we got started...

...filling (re-used) greenhouse flats (any extra egg cartons are going to Brent's nieces and their new laying hen adventure) with potting soil and planting basil, cilantro, chives and dill (they smell just like a pickle) seeds. With the help of six little hands, we did our best to keep the seeds in their proper location.

And we labeled each "area" with re-used plastic knives and popsicle sticks. (So green, so cool.)

Ten days and lots of gentle watering later...

we have herbs!! Or at least a very good start to the second annual herb garden. The basil, cilantro and dill were making an excellent start. The chives weren't so sure about showing themselves just yet. But by today, day 13, a few tiny sprouts are beginning to appear.

We keep the herbs in full sun and keep the soil moist. We are still several weeks away from moving them out of these flats and into pots. Last year, I kept all the herbs in pots on my patio. (I even gave away several pots...the stuff was prolific.) This year - and I'll explain more later - I want to put some in the ground and let them go to seed.

Basil

Basil was the easiest herb to grow and the most abundant producer. It grows easily from seed, and once the seedlings were 3-4 inches tall, we transplanted to pots. The pots stayed on our east patio - getting the best morning sun, and staying out of the scorching afternoon heat. We watered almost daily - it was easy to tell when the basil plants needed a drink.

To harvest, I used my kitchen scissors to cut away 3-4 inch sections of stem. I picked the leaves from the stem, and chopped the leaves to use fresh in tomato dishes or a fresh, summer stir fry. These plants were so abundant that I gave away pots of it to friends and neighbors. I harvested in large bunches, wrapped in moist paper towels and delivered to friends along with my bruschetta recipe (scroll down).

And at the end of the season, I harvested everything that was left and dried it. To dry the basil, I tied the stems together with a rubber band and hung in a basement closet that is dry and dark. This winter, I used the basil in tomato dishes and a new family favorite, slow cooker spaghetti sauce. However, bruschetta is far and away our favorite use for fresh basil.

Garden Fresh Bruschetta

14 slices French bread, 3/4" thick
Garlic powder
4 medium tomatoes, seeded and diced
1/4 cup chopped red onion
2 tablespoons olive oil, plus additional for brushing on bread
1-2 tablespoons minced fresh basil
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper

In a bowl, combine tomatoes, onion, oil, garlic, basil, salt and pepper. Chill in fridge at least 1 hour.

Brush French bread slices with olive oil and lightly sprinkle with garlic powder. Bake at 350 for 5 minutes, until lightly browned.

Place a heaping spoonful of tomato mixture onto each bread slice. Serve immediately.

Cilantro

The cilantro plant serves two purposes: the leaves are used in Mexican and Asian dishes, and when let go to seed, the seeds are harvested and dried and called "coriander." Ground coriander is used in meat dishes and has a Mediterranean flavor.

We grew the cilantro for the leaves; primarily for salsa. Brent grows lots of tomatoes and peppers in the vegetable garden. And I make lots of salsa each summer.

Cilantro is easy to start from seed, and transplants easily to pots once the plants are 3-4 inches tall. Some thinning will be required.

I was able to get one harvest from my cilantro plants. I've read that the will regrow, but mine did not. I have also read that you should start new seeds every three weeks during the growing season to ensure cilantro all summer long. I used what I could fresh and dried the rest, hanging upside down in paper bags that I placed in the basement.

Once the plant flowers and goes to seed, the flavor of the leaves will change. My plants were very potent last year - a little bit went a long way in a batch of salsa. When using fresh herbs, add them at the very end of the cooking process. When using dried herbs, add them at the beginning.

Chives

Chives are a tall, slender plant with beautiful, clover-like purple flowers. They give a mild onion flavor when used in recipes. I had mild success growing them from seed last year, and have since learned they are easier to plant established plants from a nursery. Or transplant from a nameless neighbor who has a beautiful patch of chives. This could be called "Plan B for the 2011 Chives."

Chives, when planted in the ground, will come back year after year. A perennial, in case you've forgotten. When planted in pots, they won't survive the winter.

I used my small chives crop last year when making potato dishes, dressings and anywhere I wanted to substitute for onions. My personal preference is for a more mild onion flavor anyway, so chives suit me just fine.

Dill

Dill can be easily started from seed. I read that it can be difficult to transplant, but I had no troubles last year moving it to pots on the patio. Dill does not like the extreme heat of July and August.

I harvested my dill before it went to seed. I used fresh dill in creamed peas and new potatoes and vegetable dips. I dried the rest and used it over the winter. You can also let your dill flower and harvest the seeds. Which would be a wonderful thing to do if you also grow cucumbers in your vegetable garden and want to take on the challenge of canning pickles. (Tried it once. Didn't come close to Vlassic.) Or, you can plant the dill in the ground and let it go to seed and it will come up the next spring.

Mint

Thanks to another nameless neighbor, we've added mint to the herb garden this year. If you've ever grown mint before, you know why my neighbor was happy to give me a bucket full of mint to transplant. The stuff is invasive. The stuff will take over your garden. I always like a good challenge. I planted some in a pot, and then planted a small patch in my flower garden.

Mint grows best when transplanted. Next year, I'll share some of mine with you. Mint likes to be kept moist, but will tolerate dry conditions. It should do just fine in my Central Kansas garden.

I intend to use mint sprigs to flavor lemonade and adult beverages that I intend to enjoy on my east patio that I suspect will be overflowing with herbs by mid-summer. I think you should join me!

Rosemary

This herb was a total failure last year. A complete flop. I think two or three seeds sprouted. And then quickly died. Months later I learned that rosemary is one of the most difficult herbs to start from seed. I didn't feel so bad anymore.

This year, I purchased a small pot of rosemary from my local greenhouse. It does not like to be over watered. Which in my case, means it needs to be located in a place where my two-year-old can't get to it. She loves to water the flowers. Usually the same pot over and over and over again.

Rosemary is one of my favorite herbs. I just the aroma! It can be over-powering, so a few leaves will more than flavor an entire dish of potatoes. I have used purchased, dried rosemary in my oven-roasted potato recipe. I am excited to try my own fresh rosemary this year.

Rosemary Roasted Potatoes

4-6 medium potatoes, cubed
Olive oil, salt, pepper, rosemary, garlic powder and parsley

Cube potatoes and spread evenly on a baking sheet. Drizzle generously with olive oil. Season generously with salt, less than generously with pepper, rosemary, garlic powder and parsley. Roast in oven at 400 degrees for 45-60 minutes, or until tender, tossing mid-way through.

For more detailed information on growing herbs, check out these resources:

K-state garden guide

Culinary herb guide

It's not too late to get started with your own herb garden. Pick herbs that are familiar to you; ones you'll be eager to cook with; flavors you think your family will enjoy.

I'm eager to get cooking with my herbs this year. And I'm looking forward to learning more about growing herbs and sharing that knowledge with my kiddos too!

The Perfect Oatmeal Cookie

2011-03-22T21:27:00.001-05:00

I have been in pursuit of making the perfect oatmeal cookie. I also gave up chocolate for Lent. Oatmeal cookies are a temporary substitute for sweet sanity when Tucker has pulled every t-shirt from his drawer for the fourth time in one day, Nell has experimented with crayon on the kitchen chairs, and Noah has turned my living room into a shelter for forty-two stuffed animals.

Finding just the right balance of chewy, soft, sweet, whole oat goodness baked into a little cookie is my Lenten alms giving. Who says you can't find a little piece of Heaven in an oatmeal cookie?

Three batches - 9 cups of rolled oats, 4 1/2 cups of flour and 3 sticks of butter - later, I have created the perfect oatmeal cookie. Chewy, soft, sweet, whole oat goodness yielding a little piece of Heaven in my kitchen this afternoon. Amen!

If only perfecting oatmeal cookies was as easy as parenting.

In the middle of my perfect cookie pursuit was Noah's preschool parent-teacher conference. While academically, she's more than ready for Kindergarten, it seems a few social skills "need improvement."

"Noah's a natural leader," her preschool teacher tells me, "but right now, she's competing with three other girls for the role of chief ." She goes on to say that Noah is competitive, quick to point out when other students aren't pulling their weight, and absolutely believes that her way is the right way.

We talk at length about Noah's misgivings, and it almost feels like I'm chatting with a counselor about my own, personal short-comings. Confident, bold, and at times, less than empathetic. It was a very humbling twenty-minutes.

I have learned, err, I'm still learning throughout my life how to temper the misgivings I have now passed on to my oldest daughter. Noah's grandpa said it best the other day, "As we grow older, we do not grow wiser. We are simply slower in showing our ignorance." (He's good at putting thoughts together like that.) (By the way, Noah's a third generation capitalist.)

If only I knew how to tweak the recipe comprising my five year old. I have learned - usually the hard way - when and when not to take control of situations; how to show empathy to those I love and those I barely know; and how to positively encourage others to do their part.

I've given much thought on how to be a bold, confident woman and mother raising a bold, confident daughter. How do I teach her empathy and understanding and self-control, all the while expecting her to be at the top of her class? My recipe needs time. Patience, love, and much time.

My own parenting recipe will not be perfected in a matter of weeks.

Scratch that.

My parenting recipe shall never be perfected. Salvation asks that we strive for perfection; not that we actually get there.

And if it takes a few oatmeal cookies to help simmer the bold, confident women in my household along the way, well then, at least I've got a perfect recipe.

Old Friends

2011-03-08T21:47:00.002-06:00

Eight years ago, when Brent and I made the move to this little town in Central Kansas, we were convinced we would be the youngest kids on the block. And for the most part, we were.

We were fresh, fresher-than-fresh, out of college, unmarried, apartment renting, take the only two jobs open in town kids in a town of seasoned, married, mortgage paying, steady job, two kids and dog folks.

While there were many things about growing up and getting a job that we weren't prepared for, perhaps the most unexpected change we faced was a welcoming, young(er), fun-loving group of friends who welcomed us into their lives and their community.

Friends who loved to get together - planned or unplanned. Who loved playing ball, watching ball games, celebrating birthdays, and finding interesting things to do (bar hopping across three counties) in a seemingly uninteresting part of the state (country, world).

I used to think I could never replace my college friends.

I've since learned that God grants friendships for every phase of your life.

My college friends saw to it that my 21st birthday was celebrated appropriately; saw to it that my dreams and goals were supported.

Those friends surrounding my present-day-life, brought casseroles each time I brought a baby home from the hospital; and help me to remember the woman behind the mommy.

God grants friendships for every phase of your life.

While I only recently entered my thirties, many of my present-day friends are entering their forties. (My mom always said I was born old. Should be no surprise I have older friends.)

My "youthfulness" may provide plenty of fodder for jokes, but I wanted them to know that I fully appreciate the benefits of having older friends. For example:

As soon as they are ready for botox, I'm tagging along and lying about my age.

I've never been much of night-owl. Old friends like to turn in early.

When age forces them to retire from recreational sports, I'll still be kickin' it.

Older friends offer sage advice on finances, cooking, home improvements, keeping up with teenagers, underwear and international travel. (In no particular order.)

Older friends force you to think about your life and and what you hope to accomplish by the time you're as old (young) as they are.

As I was saying, my (older) friends are a blessing. An unexpected blessing. A large part of the reason this little town in the middle of Kansas has been more than just a stepping stone for our lives.

And when I turn 40, in eight-and-one-half lo-o-o-ng years, I hope my (older) friends see to it that we celebrate appropriately!

F is for Flour

2011-03-01T21:33:00.004-06:00

Are you wondering about the "F is for Fish" post? Quit looking. You won't find it here. The government's nutritional guidelines may have guilted me into thinking I need to eat more fish, but the truth is I live in the middle of Kansas. The Wheat State. The Breadbasket of the World. Out here, folks, F is for Flour.

About 22,000 Kansas farmers, including my father-in-law and almost every farmer I know in the western two-thirds of this state, grow 20% of the entire US wheat crop. In a single year, we grow enough wheat to fill a train stretching from western Kansas to the Atlantic Ocean.

Kansas is the number one wheat producer, number one wheat exporter and the number one flour miller in the United States. And you thought we were just famous for tornadoes and sunflowers!

And while you should have know that flour comes from wheat, there are probably a few things about the wheat fields in Kansas you didn't know. Let's get down to the details...

There are six classes of wheat grown in the US. Three of those classes are grown in Kansas: Hard Red Winter, Soft Red Winter, and Hard White Winter. 95% of Kansas wheat is Hard Red Winter, the class of wheat best for bread because of its high protein and strong gluten content. But we'll talk more about that later.

The other three classes of wheat are White Wheat, Durum, and Hard Red Spring. Each class of wheat has different properties that ultimately result in a different end product. Nutrionally, the differences are insignificant, however, the varying protein levels among the varieties makes a significant difference in terms of baking properties. Durum wheat is the highest protein content, i.e, strongest, wheat and is therefore used to make pasta. Hard wheats are the next strongest and are ideal for yeast breads and all-purpose flour. Soft wheats are used in flat breads (tortillas), cakes, pastries and cereals.

What's the difference in spring and winter wheats? This simply refers to the time of year the wheat is planted. Winter wheats are planted in the fall. They emerge, go dormant over the winter, and emerge again in spring for an early summer harvest. Spring wheat is - you guessed it - planted in the spring.

If you're a Kansas mommy, take a drive down the highway with your kids today. See that green, grass-like looking stuff emerging from brown fields? That's wheat! Pick a spot you frequently drive by, and help your kids to notice the changes to the wheat fields between now and mid June.

That green, grass-like looking stuff continues to grow. Sometimes, cattle may even graze the wheat fields for a short period of time in the spring. The wheat eventually develops a head, turns beautiful shades of gold and amber (O beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain) and is harvested by every man, woman and child in the western two-thirds of Kansas. At least that's how it seems out here during wheat harvest. Everyone has a part to play. (Remember the lesson of the Little Red Hen?)

From the combine, to a truck and into town to the local elevator, grain is stored until it's transported to a flour mill. Wheat is sold by the farmer in bushels: 60 pounds per bushel. And, in today's market, a farmer is paid $8.10 per bushel. (A price that doubles the most recent ten-year average.) One bushel of wheat yields 42 pounds of white flour or 60 pounds of whole wheat flour. One bushel of wheat also yields 42 loaves of commercial white bread (1.5 pound loaves). Roughly speaking, a $2.00 loaf of bread contains 19 cents of wheat. Or, the five pound bag of all purpose, unbleached flour I bought last week at Dillons for $1.66 contains 96 cents of wheat. Ready to be a wheat farmer now, aren't ya?

Let's keep trucking. When you're a bushel of wheat in Kansas, you don't have far to go to get to a flour mill. There are ten mills across our humble state - remember, number one in milling!

Here's another chance to get the kiddos involved. I just happened to have a bag full of wheat in my kitchen. (Looks super cute in mason jars and topped with candles or American flags in the summertime.) And I just happen to have three kids who love to touch things. A quilt, a bowl full of wheat and some measuring cups made for great afternoon play!

But then two more pairs of hands woke up from their naps and joined the fun.

And six little hands playing in the wheat made a mess.

Now, back to milling that wheat into flour. The milling process is really quite simple. Grind, sift, grind, sift, grind and sift some more. Want whole wheat flour? A lot of grinding, not much sifting. How about all-purpose flour? Lots of grinding and lots of sifting.

Each kernel of wheat consists of three parts:

     Bran: outer layer, great source of fiber
     Endosperm: 83% of the kernel, source of white flour
     Germ: embryo, or sprouting section of the kernel

Milling the wheat involves grinding and sifting those three parts to get the desired product. Whoel wheat flour contains all three parts, the bran, endosperm and germ. All-purpose flours and other white flours contain only the endosperm. The bran and germ have been sifted out. Here's another chance to get your kids involved. Let them watch this short video with you about the K-State Flour Mill.

By the way, K-State is the only place in the country to earn a degree in milling science. And those guys and gals make big bucks - earning some of the highest starting salaries for college graduates.

Next time you're at the grocery store, take a look at all the different types of flour available for purchase. All-purpose flour, whole wheat flour, self-rising flour, cake flour. A different variety of wheat or a simple change in the milling process results in these varieties.

Remember when I said Kansas' famed wheat variety - Hard Red Winter - was the preferred flour for baking bread? Here's why. Flour derived from wheat is the only grain with sufficient gluten (protein) content to make leavened (raised) bread. The gluten gives the bread strength and elasticity allowing the gas bubbles to form and the bread to "rise" as a result of the leavening agent, yeast. Hard Red Winter wheat is high in protein.

And what about all the talk about the horrors of bleached, enriched flour? Flour is sometimes bleached to create a uniform, very white flour. This is a chemical process that speeds up the natural whitening and maturing of the flour. Bleaching the wheat gives a uniform, white appearance to the end product (white bread; not almost-white bread), and bleaching does not impact the nutritional value or leave residual chemicals. Unbleached flour is whitened and aged naturally, by the air, and is preferred for yeast breads as bleaching can impact gluten strength.

Flour is enriched so that some of what is milled out is replaced. The enrichment process has done wonders for our nation's health. Bread has been enriched since 1941, and the most recent addition of folic acid in 2002 has decreased neural tube defects in infants in this country by 26%. Amazing! Bleached, enriched flour is not bad for you. However, nothing but enriched, bleached flour is bad for you. Simply make half your grains whole. Whole wheat toast for breakfast, tortilla quesadillas for lunch, and throw some whole wheat flour into the cookies you make for dessert. It's an easy thing to do!

The latest nutritional guidelines tell us that grains are the foundation for our diet. The carbohydrates found in grains give us our energy, literally. And more specifically, the complex carbs found in grain based foods give us a longer lasting source of energy, versus the simple carbs of sugars. Grains are an easy, inexpensive, healthy part of your diet. (Here's just one more resource to use when your kids are climbing into the pantry looking for fruit snacks. I'm speaking from experience, here. Steer them towards some toast and peanut butter or a tortilla with cheese, instead.)

Now that you know all you need to know about flour - and you have the kids busy on the floor playing in a bowl of wheat - it's time to make Pioneer Woman's chocolate chip cookie sweet rolls. You must. Because after you do, you'll eat nothing but chocolate chip cookie sweet rolls for the rest of your life.

Or, you can begin the process with your "I'm too big for naps preschooler."

And then, after the first rise, involve your grumpy three-year old as soon as he wakes up.

Then eat these perfect rolls, with your sweet, perfect children for a guilt-free bedtime snack. Because you're now an expert on flour. And you deserve one, or two, or three...

Happy National FFA Week!

2011-02-23T14:09:00.006-06:00

This is the image of the National FFA Organization in 2011. A modern, forward thinking youth organization.

This may be the stereotype etched in your memory.

Gangly, awkward teenagers running around in less-than fashionable corduroy jackets.

And at times, in small towns across the country, there were lots of gangly, awkward teenagers running around town in corduroy jackets.

You may have even wondered, "What's up with all those kids and aren't they hot in those jackets?"

In case you didn't already know, it's National FFA Week. A week dedicated to celebrating all those kids and their corduroy jackets. And a few other things.

I could use this space to help you understand all the wonderful things about the National FFA Organization. (That's the name, now, by the way. They stopped calling if the Future Farmers of America twenty-three years ago.) Instead, I want to take this space to shed some light on the state of the agricultural education in my small town.

One year ago, ag education took a major hit in funding and support from the local administration and local school board. The program was cut back to half-time. Half the usual number of classes and a half-time teacher - who also was responsible for running the concession stand at dozens of home football games and coaching wrestling and track. This was the best the school district could put forth.

Today, things have changed. The school district has advertised to hire a full-time agriculture education instructor and re-instate the program to it full-time status. Much applause!

The timing couldn't be better - for a number of reasons:

- 25 ag education graduates from Kansas State University are seeking employment. Currently, there are two openings across the entire state. The opportunity to hire a young, eager, top-of-the-class teacher is literally knocking on the door.

- Current, local FFA membership is up. Involvement is down. That says we have lots of interested students - but a teacher without the time to get the students involved in valuable ag ed programs.

- 3% of Americans are food producers. But 20% of Americans have jobs tied to agribusiness. Take a quick drive around town and that's easy to see. Agriculture education benefits not just the future farmers, but the future Kan-Equip or John Deere employee, the future banker and the future machinist at Great Plains manufacturing. An investment in ag education is, simplistically, an investment in your future work force and the future patrons of your school district.

- 100% of Americans are food consumers. And the majority of those are generations removed from the farm and lack a basic understanding how food is produced in this country and around the globe. We need food literacy - we need people to understand how their food arrives at the local grocery store. Furthermore, we need 100% more food in the next 50 years to feed the growing world population. If you want your children to have job security, encourage them to learn about agricultural careers through the local ag education classes.

- Agriculture education has the solid support of this ranching, farming, and manufacturing community. Cutting back ag education here, can be likened to cutting back basketball in Milan, Indiana. (Don't take that wrong - I played and loved basketball in my small town high school. But making the all-county basketball team didn't help me get through college or instill within me the understanding and passion for an industry that feeds the world.)

For me, National FFA Week is a chance to remember all the wonderful ways my involvement helped me prepare for a lifetime of service to the agricultural industry. And, it's an opportunity to speak out to ensure the same opportunities are presented to the next generation of agriculturalists.

Happy National FFA Week, folks!

I was country, when country wasn't cool

2011-02-17T14:32:00.004-06:00

On a recent shopping trip, with my super-hip, fashion merchandising sister, Molly, I bought my first pair of leggings. Well, I owned some when I was twelve, but this was my first pair of leggings for my adult body. My sister provided plenty of encouragement to jump on board this fashionable leggings bandwagon.

And after several dress rehearsals around the house and plenty of reassurance from my husband (Are you sure I can leave the house in these?), I hit the town in my fashionable get-up. A few friends - whether truly being nice or just playing nice - even offered compliments. I've since worn them three times. I'm feeling pretty hip.

Because fashion isn't usually my thing. My favorite outfits revolve around jeans, solid-colored tops, and boots or tennis shoes. Maybe some cute jewelry here and there; but really, I am Sarah Plain and Tall.

And not just when it comes to clothes. My mantra for living has always been anything but hip and fashionable. My preferences for simple clothes, rustic decor and a homemade, do-it-yourself-, middle of Kansas, conservative way of life never earned the adjectives of hip, modern, en vogue, forward, or contemporary.

Until yesterday.

The March 2011 issue of Country Living Magazine landed in my mailbox. I flip to the editor's message on page 8 to find this: "Rural Is the New Urbane." Followed up with phrases like:

...an unexpected epicenter of cool: America's heartland.

...the most sophisticated restaurant in my Manhattan (New York) neighborhood is a comfort-food joint called Red Rooster.

Page 81 boldly features a quote from Loretta Lynn - the queen of all things country, "I have grown a vegetable garden my whole life - heck that was the only way we'd all eat. I remember folks thought that was so country! Now it's in style." (Ditto.)

This issue of the magazine devotes much of it's content to ways country decor, food, and lifestyles have penetrated urban places.

I thought I was feeling hip with a pair of leggings in my wardrobe, but now, I have been elevated to a new level of fashionable I never thought possible.

The center of the magazine features "25 people, projects and products redefining rustic." Here, I'm offering my own spin - a new-look at all things we, rustic, down-home, middle-of-the-country, do-it-yourself'er mommies have been doing since we hit the Kansas prairie running:

1. Repurposing. The barn wood and old barn hooks holding towels in my bathroom, the farm house window and old screen door decorating my living room, and the vintage tub collecting shoes at the back door are now fashionable looks.

2. Gardening. Remember when your mother made you pull weeds in the vegetable garden? Now that's called organic gardening and it's very cool.

3. Canning and preserving fruits and vegetables. Remember the hot summers days your spent helping your mother can those green beans and tomatoes? That's also very cool.

4. Made from scratch anything. I learned to make yeast breads and pie crusts from my mother, grandmother and 4-H cooking leader. I teach my own children each time we bake. Today, you can take a class in Brooklyn, New York to learn how to make your own pie crusts.

5. Foods like yeast rolls, pot roast, and homemade ice cream are called comfort foods and they are fashionable at urban restaurants. Out here, we call it supper.

6. Knitting, crocheting, quilting, crafting, sewing, and all those summertime projects we toiled over to enter in the county fair - they're cool, too.

7. Rustic clothing like denim and plaid, and leather boots that we wear for function; for warmth and safety in the elements. Again, fashionable.

8. Haycations: a weekend get-away to a farm where urban and suburban families take part in the farm chores, tend to gardens and livestock, and help prepare their own meals. Just another day in paradise, folks.

It's hard not to be cynical when something like this magazine drops in your mailbox. And it's especially hard not to be cynical when all of a sudden, the life you and I have known forever is now hip and subject to the criticisms of the majority, the urban and suburban consumers. Think of the louder, more visible voices out there jumping on our rural, rustic bandwagon and now telling us that the way we've been producing food and fiber isn't good enough anymore.

The sudden, emerging fashion appeal of agriculture and rural life is good and bad.

If you're serious about getting back to your rural roots - then come on back to Kansas. We could use a few more warm, able, hard-working bodies in our communities and rural schools.

But if you're just riding this wave of fashion until the next big thing comes along - then lend some respect to those who earned the right to be rustic because of the life they choose to live.

I will relish my few moments of "high-fashion-legging-wearing-mommy," but I certainly won't start telling you how to dress. I'll leave that to my sister, Molly. She's fully earned her fashion credibility.

Nell Ann, Our Sweet Charmer

2011-02-13T20:56:00.002-06:00

Dear Nell Ann,

Happy 2nd birthday! A few weeks ago, you emerged from my bedroom carrying the Book of Baby Names. Two thoughts came to mind: One, how many other books and trinkets have you removed from my shelf? Two, what is the meaning of your name? I don't ever recall looking that up before we chose your given name.

I decided to find out right then and there; because I didn't want to see how much of a mess you made in my bedroom. I flipped to Nell and found this:

Nell: (English), sweet charmer

Well, of course! You couldn't be more appropriately named had God himself whispered a name in my ear. At two years of age, sweet and charming aptly describe your budding personality. You give the best hugs and kisses; and share them without discrimination. And the way you tilt your head to the side and smile that sheepish little smile when you've just done something you shouldn't, could only be described as charming.

Your second birthday was so much fun for you - and for all of us. We loved sharing your day with you; and sought to honor you and love you the best ways we know how.

It was a mild February day - the 12 inch snow was beginning to melt, so you built a snowman with Noah, Tucker and Daddy.

And then you got "cooooold."

So, we came inside for lunch and a nap. And then we cleaned you up and put on your birthday dress. You chose the boots - you may be an emerging fashionista. Your Aunts Mary and Molly will be so pleased.

We encouraged you to say "cheese," for your pictures. You preferred to say "cheddar cheese" and then scrunch up your entire face. Adorable.

You sang along as we sang "Happy Birthday." And blew the candles out mid-way through the song. No worries; we re-lit and you blew 'em out again for a grand finale. You loved the cupcakes with purple sprinkles even though I flopped two batches of Great Grandma Geiger's Homemade Cooked Buttercream frosting. I hope I get it right by the time you're three (or eleven).

Presents were humble; but a success. You loved getting your own place mat with your name on it and big girl princess undies. I'll make that up to you one day...

When the news came - 2 years and 9 months ago - that we were expecting a third baby so soon, I was distraught. Not because I didn't want to welcome another baby into our lives, but I was scared that I would be able to love and care for each and everyone of my babies adequately.

To this day, I'd be foolish to say that some days go without challenge. But I look at these pictures and see a happy, healthy, loved and oh-so-loveable little girl. God knew what He was doing when He put you into our lives.

I love you, Baby Nell,

Mommy

10 free dietary guidelines, and a dash of the potted goose

2011-02-10T22:19:00.004-06:00

The USDA and HHS (United States Department of Agriculture and the Department of Health and Human Services) released the 2010 Dietary Guidlines for Americans earlier this week. They're the folks who make sure the food pyramid is posted in every school cafeteria across the country, among other things.

Every five years, they revise their recommendations, and those new recommendations were released to the general public this week. You probably haven't heard because headlines from Egypt and the Midwest blizzard blanketed the news. Or maybe it's because the entire report was, umm, uninspiring. Uninteresting. Unable to tell me something I (and you) didn't already know.

Let's begin with the "selected messages for consumers." Reading this is like listening to my mom tell me to eat my vegetables. Except I'm 31. And I now know that for myself.

Enjoy your food, but eat less
Avoid oversized portions
Make half your plate fruits and vegetables
Switch to fat-free or low-fat (1%) milk
Compare sodium in foods like soup, bread and frozen meals - and choose the foods with lower numbers
Drink water instead of sugary drinks

This is truly what was printed and posted for you and I to read. When Michelle Obama, and Secretaries Vilsack and Sebelius hit the road this month to promote the new guidelines, these will be their talking points. And the crowds will roll their eyes - all teenager like - reach for their cell phones and catch up on facebook until the speech is over.

There is a little more meat, err, in the form of fish, to the story. If you read the entire report, (I'd highly recommend the executive summary if your toddlers don't often allow you the freedom to read for hours uninterrupted) you'll quickly see the driving forces behind these new recommendations are poor diet and physical inactivity. Haven't I said that before?

Still, if you're not into reading government documents, I've taken the liberty of breaking down some key recommendations into tips that make sense for mommies, my beloved Vice President's of Grocery Shopping:

1. Eat less salt. A great place to start is canned soups. Cream of "whatever" can be a handy-dandy meal-time helper, but it's loaded with sodium. Look for brands labeled "reduced sodium" or "healthy choice." And, beware of store brands. I have often found that store brands - while cheaper - are higher in sodium content.

2. Butter is good, but butter is bad for you. And so is lard. Making stir fry, roasted potatoes or sautéed chicken breasts? Try olive oil or soybean (vegetable) oil. Save your butter for the really good stuff, like chocolate chip cookies. The stuff you eat in moderation. Moderation. Moderation. Moderation. I just don't think the report used this word enough. Now I feel better.

3. Reduce cholesterol. I love my cured pork products (bacon, sausage, ham) as much as any red-blooded American. And I love my cured pork products with a side of eggs. But I respect them. That means sausage and eggs are made for breakfast in moderation. One egg per day is a good thing. (Eased me through the first trimester with baby #3.) Again, what's the take home point? Cholesterol - whether from eggs, dairy, poultry, pork or beef - should be consumed in moderation with your fruits, veggies and grains.

4. Avoid over-processed foods. Thirty some years ago, my mom knew that Hamburger Helper was bad stuff. She was way ahead of her time. If your food comes from the middle aisles of the grocery store, or if it comes in a box and you just have to "warm it up," it's probably over-processed and un-healthy. Read the ingredients, ladies. If the label sounds like things you have in your pantry, it's good. If it sounds more like a chemical formula, it's bad.

5. Make half your grains whole. Whole grains that is. Whole grain bread is pricey. My thrifty husband introduced me to bread store outlets. We can usually get three loaves of whole wheat bread for $4.00. Check it out. And, start adding whole wheat flour to your baked goods. I use half whole wheat flour / half all purpose flour in nearly every bread, muffin, pancake, waffle, or cookie recipe I make. (With the exception of snickerdoodles and sugar cookies - they don't take well to whole wheat flour.) And I almost always reduce the sugar called for by 25%. I promise, you'll never miss it.

6. Fill up on fruits and veggies. There was a day in our house when I could serve steamed broccoli and brussel sprouts and my kids wouldn't flinch. They loved the stuff. But somewhere around age 4, Noah decided she didn't like much of anything besides cereal, bread, pasta, and applesauce. So, I tried deceiving them by hiding vegetable purees in recipes. And that still works some of the time, but it can be pricey to hide vegetables and serve them as a side dish. So, when I have vegetable leftovers, I sneak them into whatever we're having. Today, I had a leftover 1/4 cup of canned pumpkin (from a yummy pumpkin muffin snack) that I dumped into turkey and rice soup. No one noticed. I don't quit offering a variety of fruits and vegetables - there's one of each at every meal. My theory is that eventually they'll come back around. (Shh! Monday morning we'll be having pink heart shaped pancakes for Valentine's Day. The pink comes from pureed beets. Don't tell! The kids love them!)

7. Choose lean protein. Instead of barbecued meatloaf, go for grilled lean ground beef burgers with barbecue sauce on the side. Add some variety with plant based protein from beans. Not to mention, this can stretch your protein dollar given the rising costs of animal based proteins presently. I made a large batch of vegetable beef soup the other day. But instead of using two pounds of ground beef, I used only one pound and added a can of (rinsed) lima beans. Beans are a great source of cheap (that's for you, Mr. Potted Goose) protein.

8. Switch to 1% or low-fat milk. Growing up, we always drank 2%. In college, I weaned myself down to skim milk. I gradually stepped down to 1% and then to skim. It was an easy transition, and I still love to drink milk. I buy 1% now - that keeps everyone in the family happy. As for cream cheese and sour cream, I stick with the good stuff. Again, these are foods used in moderation, so I don't mind using "full fat." (Oh, and Mr. Potted Goose can sniff out low-fat sour cream from a mile away.)

9. Eat more seafood. I can respect this recommendation on its nutritional merit, but this one is hard to put into practice. I live in the middle of Kansas, thirty-five miles from a major grocer who carries fresh fish, and thousands of miles from the actual supply of said fish. Mr. Potted Goose fishes in the summer and we do consume his catch - deep fried. Of course. Mostly, I have a hard time understanding this recommendation (especially for pregnant women) because it suggests you eat more seafood but also take an iron supplement. Why not eat lean beef - which has an excellent source of iron - and forego the supplement? But what do I know? I'm not a nutritionist. (I'm working on a new post, F is for Fish...guess I do have a few things to learn.)

10. Exercise. Eighty years ago, our ancestors didn't need to exercise. They were up at dawn milking the cow, tending to the garden, and caring for the livestock. They ate sausage, cooked with lard and drank whole milk. And they burned off every extra calorie. Unfortunately, driving the mini-van to the grocery store isn't yielding the same results for me. Ergo, I exercise. Even more so now thanks to my $18,000 new hip. (Another post, another time.) And so do my kids. We take walks, we get outside as much as possible, we play at the parks around town. And we all feel better because of it. Well, I do. You can ask my three year old about our walks and he'll just tell you about all the puddles he stomped in along the way. Furthermore, the Potted Goose household is "Wii-tarded." I'm firmly holding my ground on video games - even the get up and move kind. There's simply no replacement for actually getting outside and running around.

There you have it, folks. That's my spin on the latest food buzz. Whatever your thoughts, you get what you paid for here. Otherwise, you can read the government's report. It only cost us $587,000.

E is for Eggs

2011-02-01T22:53:00.007-06:00

Welcome back to Agvocacy - Mommy Style. It's time for the letter E. While eggs are the obvious food of topic, this commodity has been through a lot in the past six months.

Remember the salmonella outbreak from two large Iowa egg farms last August? Contaminated feed was fed to the chickens which in turn caused the chickens to pass along the bacteria in the eggs they produced. This strain of salmonella did not make the chickens sick, however, the bacteria made its way to the chickens' ovaries and ultimately contaminated the contents of the shell eggs.

Thousands were made sick. Millions, maybe billions, any-ways, a lot of eggs were destroyed. Thankfully, that mess has since been cleaned up. However, its effects are lingering in the form of a new wide-reaching Food Safety bill signed into law by President Obama in January. The bill awaits funding from the new Congress, and that funding could be in jeopardy as that decision is in the hands of a new majority. We will all sit on the edge of our seats watching C-Span waiting to find out. Or not. But, you should be forewarned, the costs of implementing more extensive food safety plans are oftentimes passed on to you and I, consumers, in the form of higher egg prices. Just tellin' it like it is, folks.

Now, let's get back to the basics.

The scope of the egg industry is big. Billions big. The kind of numbers that really make you think; or cause your brain to shut down entirely. There are about 283 million laying hens in the US. Those hens laid an average of 74.9 eggs per day per 100 layers in 2010. More clearly: US layers produce about 250 eggs per year. And per capita consumption of eggs in the US was 246.6 for 2010. That means, if want to raise your own eggs, you need one laying hen for each member of your family.

Eggs are produced in every state, however 50% of production is concentrated in just five states (in ranking order): Iowa, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Indiana, California. Iowa alone has over 50 million layers. That's why the scope of the egg recall was such big news.

Most commercial egg producers prefer the White Leghorn breed. These chickens are great egg layers and efficient converters of feed. And because they have white feathers, they produce white eggs. Consumers in New England, however, prefer brown eggs. These are produced by breeds such as the New Hampshire Red, Rhode Island Red, Plymouth Rock. Get it? Are there nutritional differences in white shells and brown shells. Nope. Nill. It's simply determined by the color of the hen, and ultimately a consumer preference.

And most commercial egg producers prefer a cage system. Before you go believing the hype about the devastating life of chickens in cages, you should understand the history behind the cage system (loved these videos and so did my kiddos). Less than 100 years ago, eggs came from backyard farms. Families raised their own chickens and sold the rest at local markets. As America became increasingly urban and suburban, egg production shifted to commercial sized operations. Layers were kept outside and had a coop for laying. Uncontrollable factors such as weather, predators, parasites, and the hen's tendency to establish a pecking order resulted in annual mortality rates of 40%. Egg producers began to look for a better way.

Ohio State University first began experimenting with housing systems in the 1920's. While this eliminated some uncontrollable factors such as weather and predators, producers still saw mortality rates as high as 18%.

Then in the 1940's, Texas A&M University introduced what we know today as the cage system. Birds were kept in small groups in wire cages. Modernizations such as machinery and automation allowed bird waste to fall away from the hens and the eggs, eggs to automatically roll on belts to a central processing location where the eggs were washed and processed mechanically, and feed to be equally distributed to all hens. Egg production jumped from 150 eggs per year to 250 eggs per year because the birds were cleaner, healthier and had equal access to feed. Mortality rates fell to 5%.

Of course, this system has its flaws. Birds do not have access to the outdoors and do spend their lives in cages. But when it's done right - and not the unfortunate mess we saw in Iowa - hens lead a healthy, productive life.

If it's cage-free eggs you prefer, then that's your capitalistic freedom to choose. (Truth be told, I can't wait to move to the country and start my own little chicken farm. Not because I necessarily believe chickens must be free from cages, but more because I like the nostalgic idea of chickens wandering around the yard. And, I want my kids to see the eggs as an investment in their college education.) These eggs, like other specialty egg s such as organic, vegetarian, nutrient enhanced or pasteurized, have higher production costs and these costs are reflected in the retail prices you will have to pay. The Potted Goose household buys conventional eggs, but if you're a local farmer with a dozen or so extra farm-fresh eggs laying around, I could take them off your hands.

Want to know the most surprising thing I learned about eggs? Where the price of eggs is established. Out here in these rural parts, it's often you hear on the radio things such as, "Beef prices rallied today." Or, "wheat prices topped expectations today." (Of course, when the market is good that's what they say.) But, you never hear a thing about the price of eggs. At least I don't. And my agriculture extension agent husband just confirmed that from his comfy spot in the living room.

Wholesale egg prices are "discovered" here, at the Egg Clearinhouse, Inc. Offers to buy and sell are monitored through ECI, much in the same way the Kansas City Board of Trade or the Chicago Mercantile Exchange handle other commodities.

Current egg retail prices are running around $1.79/dozen. Extension agent hubby braved the blizzard and picked up two dozen at our local grocery store for $0.99/dozen. I've told you about his thriftiness.

Eggs have been in and out of food fashion. Currently - they're trending in. New research has shown that misconceptions linking cholesterol in eggs to heart disease are unfounded. Even the American Heart Association is on board. And, the benefits of egg consumption currently being touted include weight management - protein sources keep you fuller longer. Eggs also contain 13 essential nutrients, one of which being choline. A nutrient important for pregnancy as it contributes to fetal brain development and helps prevent birth defects. (I ate dozens of eggs when I was pregnant with #3 - seemed to be the only thing that tasted good and stayed down. And she is one smart cookie. I'm not necessarily making any connections here, and I'm certainly not boasting, but the almost-two-year old has it going on.)

When we're simply talking protein value, one egg equals one ounce of lean meat, fish or poultry. Or, one egg offers 6.29 grams of protein in 70 calories. A three ounce serving of lean ground beef offers 21.4 grams of protein in 173 calories. How does that impact your food budget? Given current retail prices, one egg costs $0.149; three ounces of lean ground beef runs $0.654. Eggs are a great buy for your protein dollar.

Now, how did all of this translate to teaching the kids about where their food comes from? Last summer, while visiting the dairy farm and while my camera batteries died, we also explored the small egg farm the dairymen are operating. And we took home a dozen eggs. Eggs come from chickens. 'Nuf said.

Yet on a snowy day in February, we drove the point home. The kids colored a picture of a White Leghorn hen I found online. We practiced cutting and gluing by cutting out an egg and a yolk and gluing them down to the picture.

Noah said she liked the Dominique breed over the White Leghorn and colored hers accordingly. That's how she rolls.

Is that a pretty, new oven in the background? Oh my!

The next day, we had hard-boiled eggs for lunch. A favorite for all of them. I released my "need to be in control of messy things" tendency and let them peel their own eggs. New textures - so fun for almost two-year-olds.

And of course, they ate them. All neat, polite, manners like.

And just for fun, and to get the wiggles out on a snowy day, we made a capital "E."

And we attempted a little "e." Attempted.

Helping your children to understand where their food comes from doesn't have to be complicated. But it is undeniably important. And I emphatically insist that your egg education lesson begin right now. Because eggs are on sale at the grocery store. Hurry!

Epilogue: Want to know what Mike Rowe (aka Dirty Jobs guy) has to say about egg farms? Check this out. http://www.mikeroweworks.com/2010/02/mike-rowe-egg-farming-its-a-tough-job/

Still want to know more? Read this.

A healthier Wal-Mart?

2011-01-26T14:16:00.001-06:00

Wal-Mart is many things to many people.

A retailer that has trompled Main Street in small towns across the country.

A welcomed business, employer and tax base to mid-sized regional centers.

A horrific corporate giant dictating prices for consumer goods and groceries.

An uber-convenient, inexpensive shopping experience. (Diapers, milk, birthday cards, digital cameras, craft supplies and tires for the mini-van all in one stop!)

The fact is - consumer goods aside - WalMart is the number one grocer in the United States; accounting for 25% market share. WalMart is double the size of its number two competitor, Kroger. When it comes to selling groceries, they know what they're doing.

Which is why Wal-Mart's latest adventure to roll-out healthier food choices and lower prices on produce left me scratching my head. Or, more like banging my head against the wall when I watched this news piece on the CBS Evening News. (You can read the store here.)

Did you see the reporter walking down the cookie/cracker aisle holding the bag of Oreos? Did you see it? Did it make you want to bang your head against the wall saying, "Changing a few ingredients in a package of oreos won't make America skinny, fella!" Okay, maybe that was just me.

The cynic in me says this: Wal-Mart has the muscle to do many things. But to think they can curb childhood and adult obesity by altering some ingredients in the foods they sell is silly. Ridiculous. Bang your head against the wall absurd.

Furthermore, to think Wal-Mart is doing this without considering their bottom line is naive. The opportunity to use Michelle Obama AND sell healthier foods is a nice bit of marketing. And to cut costs in their produce means further consolidation in fruit and vegetable production. Good-bye mid-sized California strawberry farmer. You're out!

Wal-Mart has never been my first choice for groceries, but I do some shopping there on occassion. My perception of the store is that the grocery department is geared to convenience shoppers. Think semi-homemade. I'm more of a "do-it-yourselfer." I don't need any help, Hamburger Helper, thank you very much. I prefer Dillon's. The store feels more like it's designed for folks who like to cook and bake, and I like the quality and price of their store (Kroger) brands. But that's just me.

If you want to continue shopping at Wal-Mart, go right ahead. I wouldn't even think about trying to stop you. But don't let yourself be duped into believing that buying Great Value oreo cookies is a healthy food choice.

Beef in Bulk

2011-01-23T21:42:00.005-06:00

Remember that grocery store trip from a couple weeks ago that ended sourly? Well on Saturday morning, a mere three weeks later, I finally made it to the big city and the big store. Good thing, too. The pantry was down to a tablespoon of oil, a cup of flour and some canned tomatoes. Figuring out what to feed the family was challenging my creativity.

While I filled my cart with purchases from every aisle, the one section of the store I didn't purchase anything from was the meat counter. Beef from the family farm, pork purchased from a local friend, or beloved 4H project animals stock our freezer.

And we are fortunate to have such connections to the livestock industry - especially when beef (and nearly all commodity prices) are at all-time highs. My husband - whether out of fear of starvation or pure love of red meat - never lets our meat supply dwindle. He closely monitors our supply as well as market prices, and always comes out money ahead. (I married this guy for good reason.)

Beef prices have been on the rise. Timely. Our supply of ground beef was exhausted. I do have a degree in economics, see? So my forward-thinking-meat-eating husband contracted with the local butcher to buy ground beef in bulk. He bought 80/20 and 90/10 ground beef, blended them and packaged them in neat one-pound plastic bags and stacked them in the freezer. Isn't he a dear? He created his own version of an (approximate) 85/15 blend for around $2.20/lb.

Know how much ground beef was selling for this weekend at that big city store? 90/10 ground beef: $4.39/lb. 80/20: $3.17/lb. Holy cow, folks.

Being thrifty (down-right cheap) has its advantages. Unless I want to get some popcorn of the off-chance (once every five years) he takes me to a movie. But I digress...

Not only do we have strong ties to beloved livestock producers, but my father-in-law has a mini-butcher shop - slash - sausage making shop at his farm. I don't exactly know how he came about owning a commercial meat grinder and mixer or a commercial-sized sausage stuffer. I don't even know what the technical names for these machines are. Obviously. I'm just thankful he knows how they work and makes sure my thrify (down-right cheap) husband doesn't cut off his fingers.

So what's the point here? Buy your ground beef in bulk, drive three hours to your in-laws farm. Mix and package your own beef and drive home.

Or, your could read the information posted by The Beef Checkoff here, and figure out a few ways to stretch your beef dollar. At times like this, when you have to think twice about how to spend your grocery dollar, there is no need deprive your family of tasty, filling, nutrient rich foods like beef.

High-Fructose Corn Syrup, Naturally

2011-01-09T16:49:00.002-06:00

We all expect to find bills in the mail box at the beginning of a new year. And, at this time of year, we all expect to be surrounded with information about how to improve our health. But would you expect to find both in the same envelope on the 4^th day of the new year?

Probably not.

When the bill from my friendly chiropractor arrived in the mail last week, I certainly did not expect to find a two-page, slighted article on the safety of consuming high-fructose corn syrup neatly folded behind my invoice. Stuffing invoices with misleading information about what I should be eating was something new from them. This liability surged my irritability.

There is an abundance of information about our food supply available these days. And it seems everyone, from the chiropractor all the way up to the First Lady, has an opinion on what exactly we should be eating. However, knowing that 97% of us no longer have a direct connection to the production of that food supply, it can be difficult to discern the truth from the buffet of information.

As daughter, daughter-in-law, and sister to three of my favorite Kansas corn farmers, I wanted my fellow chiropractic patients to know the truth about this very interesting and useful ingredient derived from corn, affectionately called high-fructose corn syrup, or HFCS.

HFCS was developed in the late 1950s and gained popularity as an ingredient in food production in the 1970s as US trade policy drove up the price of sugar. It has sustained that popularity not because of price, but because of the beneficial properties of HFCS as an ingredient. HFCS gives breads and cakes a soft-moist texture, protects the texture of canned and frozen fruits, enhances fruit and spice flavor in products such as ketchup and spaghetti sauce, and extends the shelf-life of carbonated beverages, just to name a few.

High-fructose corn syrup was specifically developed to provide an equal sweetness to sugar. This way, food and beverage producers could substitute sugar with HFCS, and consumers would not be able to discern a difference in taste or sweetness. Table sugar is 50% fructose, 50% glucose. HFCS is either 42% or 55% fructose; the remaining balance is glucose and higher sugars. Both sucrose and HFCS have the same number of calories, four per gram.

This particular article sought to slander high-fructose corn syrup by calling it “chemically altered,” and “not a natural food item.” When in fact, the processing methods for converting beet or cane into table sugar, or corn into high-fructose corn syrup, are surprisingly similar. Both are extracted from plant material and then both undergo processing steps including hydrolosis, flocculation/filtration, enzyme treatment, color/aroma removal, and concentration. Additionally, HFCS meets Food & Drug Administration guidelines to be labeled a “natural” food ingredient.

The article goes on to say that HFCS is not metabolized in our bodies the same way as sugar and other sweeteners. This corn farmer’s daughter further research, however, says this isn’t so. High-fructose corn syrup does not reduce the body’s ability to produce insulin, is metabolized in the same way sugar is in the body, and has the same effect on feelings of fullness as beverages sweetened with sugar or a glass of 1% milk.

My favorite line from the article was this: “…food items that include HFCS are sugary cereals, toaster pastries, soft drinks, juice pouches and boxes, jams and jellies, salad dressings, sauces, ketchup, canned fruit, cookies and crackers.” Thank goodness the chiropractor pointed this out for me.

Mostly, the article tries to pin the source of rising adult and childhood obesity rates squarely in the lap of corn producers and corn processors. And in a rural, agricultural based county in Kansas where corn production has quadrupled in the past eight years, I hardly see the dissemination of this article as a way to boost traffic through the doors of the chiropractor.

Seriously, folks, listen to your Midwest common sense. You and I know the reason folks need bigger and bigger pants sizes: too many calories in, too little energy expended. If toaster pastries and soft drinks keep appearing on your grocery list, you’re probably not dropping any pounds.

Am I boycotting my friendly chiropractor? Certainly not. But I refuse to accept information on the food I choose to feed my family from a source who fails to consider the farmer, the food processor, and every step involved in getting my food from farm to table. And you should too.

For more information, visit http://www.sweetsurprise.com

At least the oven's installed

2011-01-03T13:40:00.010-06:00

2011 can only be better than 2010. Especially considering the way 2010 went down.

December 31. New Year's Eve. I woke up to icy roads and a dusting of snow. And I had plans. And a four-wheel drive pick-up and years of practice driving on icy, snowy road conditions.

Home-improvement hubby had the day off and was planning to install my new oven. The stress of such projects combined with three small kids and a wife who loves to read instruction manuals didn't bode well for a quick install.

So, I planned to load up the kids, head to the big city, get a bit of shopping done and meet up with some mommy friends and their kids at the mall for lunch and a play date. I figured the quicker we hit the road, the quicker I'm baking cookies in a shiny, new oven.

We drove 45 mph in four-wheel-drive the entire 35 miles and arrived safely. The kids sang songs and enjoyed the drive. We made it successfully through our first store, and were working our way through the check-out when things started going south.

I was paying for our items and the kids were drooling over the candy selection. They seemed to be all eyes, no fingers, so I turned to finish paying. And then I heard Nell say, "Uh-oh, boken."

Tucker had a broken, $3.00, battery operated, spinning sucker in hand; the sucker cracked and smashed on the floor; and a piece of sucker in his mouth.

You've got to be kiddin' me.

I made him pick up the pieces. He immediately broke into sobbing and wailing - he knew he was guilty. And I marched him, the broken sucker and all its pieces, two girls and a cart full of goods to the service desk. He placed it on the counter and I instructed him to say, or gently squeezed the back of his neck until he said, "I broke it." I then dug $3.24 out of my purse, paid for the sucker, and marched my brood to the truck. I even went so far as to say, "I'm taking $3.24 out of your piggy bank, young man."

I was steaming mad, folks. Steaming.

Now en route to the mall for a play date and adult conversation, I got a call saying my mommy friends weren't in favor of braving the icy, snowy roads.

Smile. Stay positive. We can still have fun at the mall. We can still have fun at the mall.

We found the play area, and the kids enjoyed running and climbing all over the germ-filled contraptions. I ordered some pizza and root beer. I promised a ride on the mall's Christmas train if everyone ate a good lunch. They did and we trekked down to the train.

Where things got worse.

A sign posted by the train engine read: Train rides begin at 5:00 pm. The current time? 11:45 am.

Reluctantly, I relayed the information to the kids, bundled them up and headed out the door for the grocery store. Noah took it hard. Very hard. Tears turned to sobs. Sobs turned to wailing. And the wailing turned into throwing up all that pizza in the pick-up.

"No, no. Don't throw up. Don't you dare." (This has happened before. She has a tendency for turning the mildy sad into the majorly devastating.) Before I could get out, run around to her side and catch everything in her "blankie," Nell, sitting next to her, was sympathy pucking. Tucker was gagging.

"Look out the window, Tucker. Hold your nose. Look away."

I can't believe this is happening. I really can't believe this is happening.

I stripped the girls of their now yucky coats. Tossed everything "yucky" in the back of the pick-up and drove home. Without groceries. Which terribly annoyed my husband. Nevermind what I'd been through at this point, I was coming home without groceries. Without big-grocery-store-lower-priced-groceries. Not a good thing for my (thrify, economical, down-right cheap) husband.

We arrived home safely. By now, the sun had warmed the roads and the ice was beginning to melt. We cruised home in two-wheel-drive at a steady 55 mph.

I put the kids down for a nap, and went to the kitchen to admire my newly installed oven. Because I couldn't bake anything. Because I had no groceries. So I just admired it.

January 1; only eleven hours away. The first day of a new year. It could only get better...

Hot wheels, chilly morning, warming words

2010-12-23T12:37:00.006-06:00

'Twas Christmas morning at our house. We make a special request to the Big Man to make a special drop off a few days early at our house. He graciously complies.

I heard the first footsteps making their way down the hallway towards the Christmas tree at five minutes past six o'clock. "He came. Santa came," were the whispers that followed. Precious.

I had programmed my coffee pot to begin brewing at fifteen minutes past six o'clock. The present opening proceeded at sixteen minutes past six o'clock.

Thank goodness we open presents from youngest to oldest, because Nell had already begun to unwrap her presents at this point. And although the present situation looks a bit skimpy, scroll down to see the over-sized and under-priced goodies Santa left behind in the garage. (Santa worked miracles with the prices he paid for these gently used wheels.)

I insisted we wait until exactly ten o'clock this morning to take the first test drive, because by then the temperature was 25 degrees. Perfect weather for cruising around the yard.

I realized boys must come from the womb knowing how to drive anything. Tucker expertly maneurved around the yard; Noah crashed into three bushes and completely demolished a plastic Sesame Street scooter parked by the shed.

The power wheels were chilling fun for the kids, but I was most eager to give Brent a special present. I tried something new this year and wrote him a poem. I printed it off at home, found an old mat, repainted an old frame, and wrapped it up.

The inspiration came two weeks ago as I was recovering from hip surgery. The kids were away at Grandma's house, leaving Brent here to help me get around. It's rare these days we have any time alone, and somewhere amidst my pain I found inspiration.

The gift was a semi-success. First, it got lost in the excitement over the kids' toys. Secondly, he thought I found the poem online and printed it off. After a third read, he thought it was perhaps insulting. By the fourth read, and lengthy explanation, I think he sensed the sincerity.

I'll let you decide for yourself...

Sometimes it's hard to see the man behind the daddy
Tangled up with our toddlers
Hidden in a game of you can't find me

Sometimes it's hard to see the husband for the father
Lost in a game of t-ball
Or up to his elbows in bath water

Sometimes it's hard to see the spouse for the provider
Buried in a job
Forgoing his own desire

But today I caught a glimpse of the man I've missed
His humor, sport, love, support

My eyes were lost to a place years ago
Where I took that first step as God whispered, let go

Merry Christmas everyone!

I don't do Bunco

2010-12-15T21:26:00.006-06:00

I don't play Bunco.

Never been much of a game player, really. Unless, the game involved a ball, a court, and the chance to push around that girl from a few miles down the road whose blond, bouncy pony tail made me crazy. Then, I guess you could say, I was a bit of a game player.

Board games. Dice games. Gambling. Just not my sport.

And since the opportunities to lay a solid "box out" on a blond nemesis are slim post thirty, I choose to steer clear of the game playing scene.

Instead, I put in a few hours once a month on the local economic development board. A far reach from my preferred sport, but an investment of time that goes much further than a victory at the end of the night.

I just returned home from said meeting. Four women; counting an honorary high school board member. Eight men. Yours truly holds the gavel. Sometimes I think they - the old men - look right through me; and other times I consider rapping the gavel on their gray matter.

Tonight, the agenda covered a variety of topics, but none so compelling as a new wind farm development set to unfold in the northwest portions of the county.

At present, the largest wind farm in the state sits atop the northeastern townships of our county. The project discussed tonight, would become number two in the state.

The development of wind energy here - on the open Kansas prairie - didn't easily sweep across the Plains. It was welcomed by some. It remains unforgiven by others.

Someday, when the winds have settled, I will tell stories about the biggest wind farm development on the Kansas prairie. I was fresh out of college, and my first job gave me a front row seat for all that unfolded in this great story. Lasting impressions of how I have come to further understand the prairie, the rancher, farmer, Kansas, energy, government, private development, and the endless ways our lives, and livelihoods, are tumbled together.

Someday.

For now, my role as a volunteer board member no longer affords me a front row seat. But I remain informed, engaged, and have the opportunity to impact decisions and actions for those in the front row.

That's a helluva lot more than a night out at Bunco will get ya.

D is for Dairy Products

2010-09-22T14:13:00.006-05:00

The kids are back in school. Well, maybe yours are. We have one last year to refrain from all the "busy-ness" that real school brings. A final cherished year with all three babies at home. That's how I'm choosing to see this "school year."

Any-hoo...if kids are back in school, that means kids are eating school lunches. And if kids are eating school lunches, that means they are probably drinking school milk. Well, you hope they are drinking milk anyway, right? Right.

And you hope they are learning new things. Addition, prepositions, boyfriend aquisition; among other things.

So now would be a good time for us, too, to pull up a chair, get a glass of cold, creamy milk, and learn some new things.

Like this, for instance - Two years ago the "urban" population on planet Earth surpassed the "rural" population. Not a big surprise for us in rural Kansas. We know our state's small population of 2.8 million is concentrated in just five of our 105 counties. (Thank you to my newest Kansas Farm Bureau magazine for this insight.)

And we also know this - milk comes from cows. Dairy cows to be specific. Usually the black and white kind, you know, the tall, leggy, large bosom-ed kind.

Which we means we most definitely know that Chick-Fil-A uses a dairy animal to encourage you to "eat more chicken." A confusing message. Enough said.

And we know that the Nickelodeon movie Barnyard portrays a male dairy cow with an udder. Cute movie. Another very confusing message.

So if the folks at Chick-Fil-A (food making people for dang's sake) and Nickelodeon can't get it right; we know we have some work to do with that growing urban segment.

Let's start with dairy products. Dairy products are derived from milk. And milk is produced by these momma cows.

(Side note...Dairy Farming Today has produced these great videos available on You Tube. My kiddos and I enjoyed watching and learning!)

Today, there are over 9.3 million producing dairy cows spread out over 67,000 dairy farms. That makes a national average of 138 cows per farm; sounds pretty good. But that's only half the truth. The dairy industry has seen huge consolidation in recent history - 15 years ago there were twice that many dairy farms in the United States.

While there is an educated, economics-based reason for this, I'll give you my own "mommy interpretation."

The kids and I visited the Meng Dairy Farm in Troy, KS this summer. (Many thanks for Fred and Norman for their hospitality! My camera batteries crashed when we got there. Of course.) The Meng brothers milk about 100 cows, twice a day, every day. Each milking takes about three hours start to finish. That's six hours per day spent just milking. Six hours. And we haven't accounted for everything else that goes into taking care of the cows, calves, and ensuring a feed supply for them. All that work to support two families. And I said support them; not elevate them to wealth.

I don't really care what economics has to say about dairy industry consolidation; spending six hours a day, every day of the year in a milk barn to work to support a family says enough.

You can see why dairy farm numbers are dwindling, while herd sizes and farm sizes are growing.

US dairy cows produce, on average, 20,576 pounds of milk per year. That doesn't mean much to me - I need a visual.

That's much better. A gallon of milk weighs about 8 pounds. (The milk industry technically says 8.6 lbs/gallon.) That would mean an average US dairy cow produces 6.5 gallons of milk each day. Impressive. To produce that much milk, a dairy cow will consume 100 pounds of feed and 50 gallons of water each day.

Want to know what's more impressive? At any given time, a dairy cow's udder can hold up to 50 pounds of milk. (This former lactater just doubled over in pain.)

Cows are milked in a special barn called a milking parlor. Cows enter individual stalls, have their udders cleaned and examined, and then are hooked up to a milking machine. Works just like a breast pump, ladies.

The milk goes directly from the machine into either a bulk tank or a large truck. On a small farm, such as Meng Dairy, the milk will be stored in a bulk tank until it is hauled away by a truck every 2-3 days to a processing plant. The milk is kept cool and is gently stirred to prevent the milk and the cream from separating. On larger, commercial scale dairies, the milk is pumped directly onto a large tanker truck with a cooling unit. Once full, the truck goes directly to a processing facility.

Farmers are paid for their milk based on every 100 pounds sold. The price is established in the commodity markets at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. The current price for commodity milk is $15.95 per 100 pounds. Current retail milk prices are about $3.29 per gallon. That means a farmer's share of a gallon of milk is about $1.37. The remaining $1.92 goes to processing, transportation and retail.

At the processing facility, the milk is pasteurized and homogenized. Pasteurization means the milk is heated to 161 degrees Fahrenheit for not more than 15 seconds then cooled rapidly. This process removes any harmful pathogens present in the milk. Homogenization is the mechanical process of breaking up and evenly distributing fat throughout the milk. Without this important step, the cream would rise to the top.

Check out the label on the gallon of milk in your fridge. More than likely, it says "pasterized, homogenized and fortified." What's the fortified part all about?

Milk is fortified with Vitamins D and A. Why? Vitamin D helps your body absorb calcium. Since this vitamin is seldom present in any other foods, 98% of fluid milk contains this vitamin. Vitamin A is also added because during the process of removing the fat from the milk to make your preferred variety - 2%, 1%, or whole - this vitamin is stripped away. Read this for more information.

A mechanical separation process produces the different varieties of milk. And today, thanks to modern food production techniques, various mechanical processes also help produce some of our favorite dairy products - cheese , yogurt, butter, cream, and ice cream.

Organic is a favorite word in today's "foodie movement." Should you consider organic milk for your family? Certified organic milk refers specifically to the milk production techniques. The cows cannot be treated with antibiotics, cannot be administered BGH (bovine growth hormone), their feed must meet National Organic Standards for fertilizers and pesticides, and they must have access to pasture grazing. According to all research to date, organic and traditional milk have no differences in terms of quality, nutrition and safety. The biggest difference? Price. Up to double that of traditional milk. This article and this information can help you make up your own mind about organic milk.

And what about those hormones? About 25% of cows in the US are treated with BGH to stimulate milk production. The hormone occurs naturally in cows, and some dairy farmers administer BGH to their cows to boost production.

Let's remember what' most important here, mommies. Milk is a super food. A one cup serving of milk provides more than 10% of the daily recommended intake of calcium, Vitamin D, protein, potassium, vitamin A, vitamin B12, riboflavin and phosphorus. Kids age 2-8 should have two cups of milk each day; ages 9-18 should have three. And, kids who eat school lunch drink more milk than those who don't. You may also find it interesting that yogurt and cheese do not count toward the milk serving requirements for school lunch. And, chocolate or flavored milk is better than no milk at all. An eight-ounce serving of low-fat flavored milk contains an additional four teaspoons of sugar, compared six or seven teaspoons in an equivalent serving of juice or soda.

Here's hoping you and your kiddos are getting all the milk you need, and just a bit extra for some special "ice cream" moments like these...

Summer fun

2010-06-22T10:29:00.006-05:00

What happens when you let the kiddos decide how to dress and what to play...

I am not singing because I really like that song. I'm simply helping Noah learn the words. (Wink, wink.)

If we can forget about dishes, laundry, and a messy house for a moment, and let the kids run wild with their imagination, such fun can happen.

Have a great summer day!

Lost in Translation

2010-05-16T13:42:00.004-05:00

While saying our bedtime prayers a few evenings ago, Noah said she wanted to say prayers like we do in church, "Like the Mary one, Mama."

So the next night I suggested we begin with the Our Father. It's a part of every Mass, so I thought that would be a great place to get started.

"Repeat after me," I said. "Our Father,"

Noah, smiling sheepishly, "Our Father."

"Who art in heaven," I continued.

"Who aren't in heaven,"

Well, that's pretty close. I laughed out loud, paused to get my composure, and moved right along,

"Hallowed be thy name..."

C is for Corn

2010-05-07T06:27:00.009-05:00

Making a trip to the grocery store today? Then the chance you'll come home with an item containing corn are quite good. In fact, a typical grocery store contains over 4,000 items, or nearly 75% of all its products, with corn in some processed form listed in the ingredients. Of course we're talking about corn flakes, but also beer, breads, paper products and even your cosmetics. And don't forget your meat - more than likely, that animal consumed corn at some point in its lifetime.

Before you head to your pantry to start reading labels, stay with me to learn a bit more about how that corn made its way into your pantry so prolifically.

I want to assume that you know corn is annual plant and that the kernels of corn we eat or process grow from the ears on said plant. However, after a strange encounter in college during a trip to a leadership conference, I no longer make such assumptions.

A number of years ago, I was sitting on a bus next to a seemingly bright young lady studying at MIT. She was some sort of a biological engineering major - studying news ways to use plants and biological products. By this time, my "state university major in agricultural economics" wasn't holding water. Then she asked me about what was growing in the fields outside our bus window. We were traversing Illinois, and now feeling like I actually had something to offer to the conversation, I quickly replied, "Corn." To which she replied, "Really? I thought corn grew on trees and came back every year."

My state university education just became priceless.

To set the record straight - corn is an annual plant that grows 7-10 feet tall and is supported by a strong root system. A tassel grows from the top of the stalk and contains hundreds of pollen producing flowers. This pollen must come in contact with the ears' silks - long threads connected to each kernel - in order to produce a kernel of corn.

Corn is planted annually in the springtime - usually mid to late April - and corn acres are concentrated in the Corn Belt. Think the "I" states - Iowa, Illinois, Indiana. Throw in Nebraska and Minnesota and you'll have the majority of US corn production. Kansas ranks 8th nationally, but our production is a mere quarter of what Iowa can produce.

Conventional corn production requires an application of Nitrogen and Phosphorous to the fields just before planting. Corn, by nature, requires a readily available supply of Nitrogen in the soil. Weeds can be managed with an application of a herbicide. As no-till farming gains popularity - a practice of making fewer trips over the fields to cultivate weeds by allowing plant material to remain on the ground thus reducing soil erosion, holding water, and preventing weed emergence - farmers are using fewer herbicides. Herbicide and pesticide use has also decreased thanks to the technologies of genetically modified seed hybrids. Specifically, Bt corn (corn borer eats this corn plant and dies) and Round-Up Ready Corn (can spray weeds with Round-Up without killing the corn) are leading the way in reducing chemical applications.

Organic corn production uses manure, nitrogen fixation through using legumes in the crop rotation, and other sources such as cottonseed meal, blood meal, fish meal and feather meal to supply nitrogen. Other fertilizer needs are supplied through lime or other rock minerals. Weeds and pests are managed through a more extensive crop rotation system, in addition to other approved methods. For example, pests can be managed by introducing other types of pests to feed on the problem pest or by "feeding" the pest a (natural) product that will kill it. Weeds can be controlled though cultivation - passing over the field with a implement designed to "rip" the weeds from ground without harming the corn plant.

Organic production comprised 21% of the 2008 crop and returned premiums to the producer 20-50% higher than conventional corn. These premiums also result in higher prices at the grocery store. Why? Organic production has inherently higher production costs - more extensive crop rotation systems cause farmers to skip a cash crop growing season, it takes more acres to produce the same amount of corn, it involves more passes over the field, more intensive labor, and a carefully monitored processing system so that organic corn is not contaminated with conventional corn.

As of November 2009, organic corn was selling for $6.00 per bushel, its conventional counterpart, $3.96. A box of corn flakes contains less than a nickel's worth of corn.

In 2008, total US corn production was about 12 billion bushels. Here's what happened once that corn left the farm gate:

0.2% - Seed for next year's crop
1.6% - Food - Americans eat 120 million bushels of processed corn. My hubby thinks corn tortilla chips are a staple in his diet.
2% - Starch - for thickening foods and use in biodegradable plastics
30% - Ethanol
4% - Corn sweeteners, such as High Fructose Corn Syrup
44.4% - Livestock feed
14.6% - Exports
1.5% - Ending stocks, providing supply in the event of a poor crop year

What about sweet corn? Well, my friend Tera, over at Food for Thought, did some excellent research on sweet corn. Check this out! And at this time, I need to give credit to the excellent work my father-in-law and his sweet corn raising pals do each year with their sweet corn. Thanks to them, my kids will no longer eat any other kind of corn except their sweet, homegrown variety.

Oh, and what about popcorn? It's primarily grown in the northern Missouri and southern Iowa portion of the Corn Belt. Popcorn is an excellent high-fiber snack for you and your kiddos (if you can skimp on the salt and butter), and I fully recommend using a popper like this. You'll never go back to the microwave variety.

Corn processing involves one of two methods: wet milling or dry milling. Wet milling soaks the corn and then separates the components to yield starch, sweeteners and fermentation products. Dry milling removed the germ and the fiber, and then uses the starch and the protein to yield grits, corn meal and corn flour.

And now for the "bigger picture."

Is US corn production subsidized by the federal government?

Yes. Why? Because food production is risky business (think volatile to the weather), food security is important to a modern society, and these policies help to guarantee a world market for US production. Other countries, especially those in the European Union, heavily subsidize their production. (The Common Agriculture Policy in the EU represents 43 percent of the EU budget compared to 0.63 percent of the US federal budget. That does not include nutrition funding, which makes up 75 percent of farm bill funding. Nutrition has a different budget line.) Until they agree to level the playing field, the US is forced to implement WTO (World Trade Organization) compliant policies such as direct payments, counter-cyclical payments, the ACRE program and crop insurance. (Thanks to my sister, Mary, a belt-way insider, for the stats!)

Is corn produced for ethanol taking food away from hungry people?

No. Remember, we only eat a small percentage of the field corn produced in the way of processed foods (corn meal, cereals, chips). The majority of US corn exports go to feed livestock in developed countries. Additionally, new demand for corn is being met with increased supply, and farmers are doing that on fewer acres. In the past ten years, corn acres grew by 22%, but total yield grew by 40%.

Is sugar healthier than High Fructose Corn Syrup?

HFCS has a bit of an image problem these days. Read this for more information, but in the mean time, remember what the commerical has to say, "HFCS, just like sugar, is fine in moderation and as part of a balanced diet and active lifestyle."

All in all, corn is a pretty amazing commodity. One you'll certainly think differently about the next time you pick up a box of corn flakes.

How's that for an "ear" full about corn? If you have more questions, let me know. I have many more kernels of information to share with you!

Earth Day Egg-stravaganza

2010-04-22T20:42:00.007-05:00

Happy Earth Day! I know it may be hard to believe that a rural, conservative, meat-eating, Midwest mommy with agricultural roots is earth-conscious, but, we're trying to beat the stereotype around here. Thanks to two strong parental examples - my mom, a devoted recycler, and my dad, a conservation-minded agriculturalist - being earth friendly comes quite naturally.

I recycle everything my local recycling center will take. (I wash it, show the kids how to sort it into bins in the garage and then my husband lovingly hauls it to the center. Isn't he sweet?) We put all of our table scraps into a compost pile which we use to fill our flower pots in the springtime. I rewash plastic baggies (most of the time). And I recently gave up the Swiffer mopping pads in exchange for old towels cut to fit the mop.

Not trying to brag here; just want to make sure ya'all know that recycling and reusing are second nature to us "rural folks." It's simply doing the things our parents and grandparents have always done - live conservatively and be conscientious of your impact on Mother Nature.

Today, I took another step to "plant the seed" of this same lifestyle within my children. In honor of Earth Day, we started an herb garden from seed using recycled egg cartons and a re-used plastic flat from a greenhouse.

My mom - always one to suggest creative educational endeavors - thought we should create a worm farm for my kitchen. I opted for the herb garden. Worm farming was too much for even this farm girl.

The kids were helpful and enthusiastic about our endeavor today. They were messy, of course, but they were really excited about their project. Noah was even roaming about the yard afterwards signing a made-up song about Rosemary.

I hope you and your family found a special way to celebrate Earth Day, but more importantly, I hope you find ways to live your life each day cognizant about your impact on the Earth. Afterall, that's the way farmers, ranchers, and rural women spend every day.

B is for Beef

2010-04-14T13:57:00.017-05:00

Beef - it's more than just dinner around our house.

According to my mother, "cow" was my first word.

It was also the first word of my oldest daughter and son. (Surely not because we read hundreds of cow books and farm books.)

Some of my favorite childhood memories involve bucket calves and the sale barn.

My kids now love to feed the cows with grandpa every chance they get.

Tucker prays for the cows each night.

And prefers magazines about cows and beef production over standard children's books.

Their father relishes a ribeye in the same manner I devour brownies.

Cows - cattle - are part of my heritage; key to my family's livelihood.

They are our tradition - something I hope to pass along to my children.

And for the rest of America, beef is what's for dinner. Or more specifically, 53% of America's meat dollar goes to beef and 80% of individuals consume fresh beef an average of 1.6 times per week. (You could say we do slightly better than that around here.)

Yet there's a segment of America working hard to get beef off your dinner table. They are telling you beef (and almost all animal) production is inhumane, that cattle are pumped up on antibiotics and hormones, and that cows are the leading cause of greenhouse gases.

The Potted Goose is here to clarify a few things for you; shed light on the realities of US beef production; and help you to look forward to summer barbeques as a way to showcase your "average American tendency to prefer beef on the grill." (Will someone get me a margarita? I'm already excited!)

Let's begin with a baby calf. After all, it's springtime and these adorable little guys and gals are running and jumping across the Kansas prairies as we speak.

There are about 97 million of these cuties - mommies, daddies and cousins included - running around the US presently. The majority of them - 79% - are born on small, family farms whose cattle herd numbers 50 or less. Cattle and beef production is the largest segment of American agriculture and is concentrated in the Plains states. Even more interesting, there are about 6 million cattle and calves in the state of Kansas compared to 2.8 million people. There are almost three times as many beef animals in Kansas as there are people. (I knew I liked living here!)

Calves weigh between 60-100 pounds at birth and remain on the farm and on pastures with their mothers until weaning at 450-700 pounds. At this point, depending on the size of the calf, some may go to a backgrounder or stocker where they will continue to graze and put on weight. Others, will be sold at auction and moved to a feedlot. Cattle spend about four-six months at a feedlot, until they reach 1,200-1,400 pounds or reach 18-22 months of age.

During their short time in the feedlot, cattle are provided clean water and given rations balanced by a nutritionist. They are provided adequate room to move and exercise, and their health is monitored by a veterinarian.

The Beef Quality Assurance program is providing guidelines for proper management techniques at all levels of production. Over 90% of US cattle production is influenced by this program.

Once the cattle are "finished," they are transferred to a processing facility for harvest. U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) inspectors are stationed in all federally inspected packing plants and oversee the implementation of safety, quality and animal welfare standards from the time animals enter the plant until the final beef products are shipped to retail and foodservice establishments for consumers to purchase. My husband - a former member of a junior college meat's judging team (think prime or choice beef...somebody has to make that determination) - has had the pleasure of working inside one of these facilities. He would be happy to answer your more specific questions about the inner workings of a packing plant.

Processed beef is then sold to your retailer as "boxed beef." These are larger cuts of beef, such as the loin, which are then cut into steaks at your local grocer. Ground beef can be ground at the processing facility or at your local retailer.

And this is where you and I - Vice Presidents' for Groceries - come in to play. We make our meal plans for the week and head to the grocery store. Sloppy joe's on Tuesday, steaks on the grill for Friday. Ground beef and sirloin steaks have made the list. Let's say for the sake of this example, we made this trip in February. Then we would have paid $2.28 / lb for the ground beef and $5.42 for the steaks, for a total of $7.70 for our beef for the week. (Side note on ground beef. What does 80-20 mean? 80% meat, 20% fat. The higher the meat component, the more costly per pound, yet healthier for you.)

You may notice, as you walk away from the meat department, that chicken prices are on average lower than the beef prices. You ponder the cheaper chicken for a moment, and then realize the look on your husband's face when you produce chicken breasts instead of sirloin for Friday night's festivities. Ooohh...not good. Moving right along.

But, I'm trying to help make you a smarter shopper. So here are the facts behind the price differences in chicken and beef:

Beef prices averaged $3.89/lb in 2009, chicken $1.78

A slaughter ready steer weighs 1,200 lbs and takes 4-6 months to finish, a chicken 8 lbs and is finished after 6-7 weeks on feed

Cattle need 6 lbs of feed to gain 1 pound, chicken 2 lbs of feed per pound of gain

It simply costs more and takes longer to feed a steer from 600 pounds at weaning to 1,200 pounds at slaughter than it does to put 6 pounds of gain on to a chicken.

So what are you getting for your dollar? A nutrient rich, satisfying, pleasing food for your family. Beef is especially plentiful in iron, a nutrient necessary, and often found deficient, for children and pregnant women.

And finally, about all those folks trying to get beef off your dinner plate. Let's remember a few things. The entire US ag sector accounts for only 6% of US Greenhouse gas emissions. Antibiotics are used to treat infection, however, absolutely no meat can be sold in violation of FDA standards for residuals. And hormones - or growth promotants - increase an animal's ability to convert feed to pounds of gain, thereby reducing the amount of feed necessary to finish a beef animal. Hormones must also follow strict FDA standards.

But you have choices. Grass-fed, natural and organic beef products represent a growing market segment of beef production. Just remember - these production techniques have inherently higher costs and those costs will be passed on to you at the grocery store.

Whew, that's a lot of (bull) information. And there's so much more. I think we'll have to visit the letter B again. Or Chuck roast, Ground beef, Hamburger, Steak, Ribeyes...all this talk about applying beef to the letter of the alphabet makes me hungry. Fire up the grill, babe! It's dinner time!

A is for Apple

2010-04-06T21:03:00.018-05:00

Mommy to 4 year old daughter: Do you know where apples come from?

4 year old daughter to mommy: The store.

And just like that, the ABC's of Agvocacy is underway. Seems my subjects are prime for information absorption about the sources of their food. And, I know the timing couldn't be better for all of us mommies - VP's for Groceries - to pay more attention to where our food comes from.

My background is that of a conventional agriculture and livestock production operation. And today, those systems are extremely scrutinized. I won't point fingers, but I will take action. While agriculture has made great strides in capacity for production over the past fifty years, we have failed to tell our story.

So this is my way of helping the message to get out. First, to help mommies make more informed choices. Secondly, to make sure my kids don't become part of the problem. (And thirdly, to give me something else to think about when the mess, the laundry and the whining make me want to eat everything chocolate in sight.)

Our project begins with apples. Appropriately. My roots are in Doniphan County, Kansas - the most northeastern county in the state. A county that was once rich in orchards, especially in the eastern half.

In fact growing up, my best friend's family was in the apple orchard business. I remember playing in endless rows of apple trees, climbing tree after tree, and looking awestruck at the thousands of apples stored in the warehouse.

That's me perched about halfway up the tree. And that's my little brother standing below me on the ground - stuck inside a gray sweatshirt. (He did manage to get out of that sweatshirt and make quite a successful life for himself.)

Today, the orchards are mostly gone. Soybeans and corn now occupy the land once home to the orchards. Why? A number of reasons. Many of the orchards were located in the flood plains of the Missouri River. Significant floods - and diseases carried in those flood waters - wiped out many of the orchards. The orchards in more northern states such as New York and Washington enjoyed a climate more suitable to apple production, and it eventually became cheaper to grow apples in those states and ship them to Kansas. And lastly, orchards are extremely labor intensive. Apple production requires a minimum of 100 hours of labor per acre per year, compared to 3 or less hours to produce wheat. Fruit growers simply couldn't bear the burden of labor any longer.

Apples are still grown in every state in the United States, yet grown commercially in 36 states. Washington, New York, Pennsylvania, California and Virginia are the top producers. Approximately 7,500 apple growers managed orchards covering 379,000 acres in 2005.

Apple orchards are time intensive. Trees take 2-4 years before they reach maturity and are able to produce fruit. Tree must be pruned in the winter, blossoms managed in the spring, pests managed and grass mowed in the summer, and apples finally harvested in the fall. Because apples bruise easily, they are usually harvested by hand.

Two thirds of conventional apple orchards use integrated pest management - balancing pesticide use with cultural, mechanical and biological means of controlling pests. Most pesticides are removed or are inactive long before they reach your table.

Organic production does not use pesticides or chemicals to control pests, however this production is even more labor intensive and requires numerous naturally occuring agents for pest control, thus resulting in higher retail prices. Practices such as using Borax to control pests and painting tree trunks with latex paint to prevent borer attacks are considered acceptable organic practices. Organic apple production accounted for 4% of total apple production in 2007.

As of last week, Red Delicious apples are selling for $1.21 / lb retail in the Midwest; their organic counterparts for $1.49 / lb.

Apple growers, and other fruit and nut producers, are not eligible for commodity support programs from the federal government. However marketing programs, crop insurance and disaster assistance, protection against pests and diseases, export promotion, research, and domestic food assistance (nutrition programs) do serve to enhance the domestic fruit market and production.

And so in my household three basic tenets have been established:

1. Apples grow on trees.
2. Apple farms are called orchards. (This is a challenging word for a 4 year old.)
3. Apples come in different colors and varieties.

And let's not forget, apples are a tasty and nutritious snack. Some say the Gala apple is great for kids because of it's mild, sweet flavor and thin skin.

Thanks for tuning in. Be looking for beef and bovine information coming before long!

Reinventing the Potted Goose

2010-04-01T13:26:00.008-05:00

I made a new year's resolution to do a better job of keeping my blog site up do date. Now that three month's have passed, I guess I'll get started!

Seriously, though, I have been feeling a big unsatisfied with my blog. It seems like my stories are not much different that those already told by other, more dedicated mommy bloggers. You know, the stories about Noah washing the bathroom mirror with Febreeze; Nell reaching for yuckies in the toilet and Tucker wearing the same basketball shorts day in and day out.

So, I'm launching a new project next week. In an effort to satisfy my craving to write, a need to satiate my interest in educating mommies about where their food comes from, and to involve my kids in some sort of an educational pursuit, I'm devoting 26 posts to the ABC's of Agvocacy. Stay tuned for more.

But for now, here's a glimpse at our life over the last several weeks.

Remember how I said "I don't do princess." Well, Noah does. And she does it quite well. She paraded around in this gid-up for days - her new Easter shoes, the dress I wore to our rehearsal dinner, the vail from my bachellorette party and the tiara I wore as the Doniphan County Fair Princess. (No laughing. It was a really big deal - for about twenty minutes.)

The green rhetro chair makes this whole picture look rhetro. I actually took the photograph just a few days ago. The girls were doting their latest spring fashions, and I thought they were just as cute as bugs!

Ouch! Nell encountered her first significant boo-boo. She was trying to stand-up in the neighbor's drive way the way toddlers do - going to standing from a squating position. Her weight went too far forward and her head met the concrete before her hands.

And here's the boy - with his loot from the Easter Egg Hunt. Seems he has been left out in all this pretty girl business. No worries. He makes sure the family spends plenty of time building barns for the cows and playing basketball.

The crew following the Easter Egg Hunt. There was waaayyy too much excitement going on to pose for a picture.

"ECCO" ladies and I after we finished setting up for the Easter Egg Hunt just before hundreds of kids showed up to hunt goodies. These gals are a pleasure to work with - smart, capable, and fun to be with!

Oh yes, soccer. Noah's debut into the wide world of sports. Given her history of starring as the princess, cheerleader and damsel in distress, I was quite pleased with the level of execution at her inaugural game. Her little brother, however, thinks it just plain stinks that he has to endure two years of practice before he can enter the game.

For now, have a Happy and Blessed Easter!

And, come back next week for fun pictures and great information about the food you feed your family!

They actually published it!

2010-03-04T09:00:00.003-06:00

I am humbled by American Maggie's gesture to publish my article. And I'm pleased to have done "my small part" to tell agriculture's story to the bigger world.

On a lighter note, I'm giving thanks today for the sunshine and near 60 degree weather. And I'm giving thanks that I have almost made it through the long winter without needing medication. When we turned the clocks back last fall, I didn't think I could make it cooped up for months with three kids in this house. Isn't the promise of a new day divine??

Driving Trucks

2010-03-01T22:30:00.009-06:00

(Wrote this piece hoping for publication on a national, conservative women's blog site. I'll let you know how that goes.)

Here in the Midwest, we drive trucks. Everyone – well, almost everyone – drives a truck. And not because it’s a matter of style; rather, it’s a matter of necessity.

We haul hay bales and feed to the livestock. We pull trailers and implements. We haul fuel to the fields. We haul buckets and bags of seed and fencing supplies and tires and produce to the farmer’s market. Besides, how else would the high school football team get down Main Street for the Homecoming parade? And where would our dogs ride?

Our farmers drive them, of course. But so do our lawyers, teachers, politicians and bankers. Again, not for fashion, but function.

Out here, you see, we are part of a growing minority. We are – or are very closely connected to – the remaining 3% of our country’s population who are the food producers. We grow the wheat, corn and soybeans, and we raise the cattle, pigs and chickens that help to feed our nation.

But for the remaining 97% of our country, truck driving and wheat farming are becoming quite foreign. In fact, it has gone so far that it seems food producers and food consumers no longer speak the same language.

Even I fall into that guilty “consumer” column. My husband and I were just debating in the kitchen the other day about the difference in brown sugar and white sugar. I didn’t know where brown sugar came from. What I did know was that brown sugar is more popular among the “eat-healthy” advocates. But, even I didn’t know if brown sugar came from beets or cane, or how the sugar was refined and processed. (I have since done my homework.)

So it begs the question: If I, Kansas farm-girl, don’t know about the sources of food I use every day, how can those in more urban places, and those generations-removed from the farm, be expected to know and understand where their food comes from?

The gap is widening. The disconnect between producer and consumer, rural and urban is growing. And if we continue on the present course, our voice may be lost for good. Lost to an urban consumer whose food choices are en vogue, yet who lack a full understanding of how that food made the trek from farm to table and who may be unaware of how weather, world markets and politics played into the choices available to them at the grocery store.

What to do?

We can start by simply telling our story. The tools at our fingertips, literally at our fingertips, can put us in touch with that other 97% in nanoseconds. To a fault, we have been slower to adapt to the latest in Internet and social media technology. And beyond that, we’re still waiting for broadband service to reach every corner of my state. That’s not an excuse, just an admission of fact. But for those with access, the tools exist to make our story heard instantly.

But even telling the story can be a big leap for our truck-driving culture. People simply tend to be a bit more quiet in this middle section of the country, and furthermore, all those tied to the agricultural industry.

The best farmers and ranchers I know are humble, quiet, and devoted to the land and animals they serve. They tend to their soil while honoring the generations who have gone before them and preserving the land for future generations. Ranchers, livestock producers, dairymen and women, all care for their animals and see to their well being before taking care of themselves.

Yet, there is energy growing behind an anti-animal agriculture movement. And livestock producers have found themselves on the defensive, and a bit unprepared for the far-slinging tactics of a bigger, louder, angrier agenda. Energy continues to grow in the conventional agriculture versus organic agriculture debate. On the surface, organic production seems the gentle victor. But do consumers fully understand the production practices behind organic foods enough to justify paying premium prices?

So you should expect the volume to be turned up on the stories coming from the production sector. And you should expect to hear stories about men and women passionate about producing food; and stories of communities and families working so hard to preserve a rural culture; and of people who honor the land and respect the animals because it’s the right thing to do and because it also happens to make good business-sense. And you should listen. As the mother and chief-grocery-getter in my household, I intend to listen. I would prefer to hear about my food from its source; not from an exaggerated story spun in an urban office building.

Beyond growing soybeans and raising pigs, we also grow a lot of common sense in the Midwest. And be prepared, because just as soon as we figure out how to package it and sell it, we’re going to start hauling it to the cities in our pick-up trucks.

We've almost made it!

2010-02-09T13:47:00.004-06:00

It's three days away from Nell's first birthday. A day which I honestly believed would never come.

Somehow, in my mind, I could not get past the "trying to peacefully nurse a newborn with a three-year-old and a one-year-old running loose and wrecking havoc in the house" stage.

And, yet, here I am, almost one year later. Living. Breathing. And in my own opinion, rising just above surviving.

The baby tried (and liked) her first sample of whole milk today. My four-year-old is going to preschool and learning to write her letters. And my two-year-old is fully potty trained and can put on his own clothes.

I mean really, we must be a model family or something. (Wink, wink!)

So Friday will be a true celebration - for Nell and for her mommy. (And I think her Daddy may be feeling the same way, too.) Outwardly, of course, we'll celebrate with cake and candles and presents. But on the inside, I will be gushing with gratitude for the gift of life and the courage and strength to give all of myself to those young lives.

An angel for heaven

2009-12-31T14:15:00.003-06:00

The world lost a phenomenal woman this week. Dr. Ginger Senseman, my family's pediatrician, lost her battle with breast cancer. She is among the angels of heaven now.

And while my sorrow is but a mere tear drop of the grief experienced by her husband and two young boys, there are so many mothers out there right now feeling like they lost more than just their pediatrican. They lost the best doctor they may ever know to care for their children.

I will never forget the day Dr. Senseman met my first born daughter, Noah Grace. She walked into my hospital room during her morning rounds, and exclaimed, "Your daughter is just beautiful. She has the prettiest pink skin I have ever seen."

Perhaps she tells every first-time mother the same thing, but I don't care. The way she said it; the joy in her eyes; the compassion she expressed for Noah. That moment will carry with me forever.

And from that day on, I (secretly) loved going for doctor visits. My kids have never been critically ill, so I can't say that she saved their lives. But I can say she helped us to be a healthier, smarter family. And she helped me to be a confident mommy.

The world lost a phenomenal woman this week. And heaven gained an exceptional angel. Please watch over us from above, Dr. Senseman. Thank you for being a part of our lives.

2009-11-25T12:13:00.004-06:00

On this Eve of Thanksgiving, I wanted to take that proverbial moment to give thanks. To step back, reflect, and recognize the abundant blessings in my life.

And this year, it really boils down to the one blessing from which all the goodness in my life flows: the blessing of motherhood.

I remember one summer during college I spent driving around Kansas and Nebraska selling ag chemicals. While I didn't have much success in ag sales, I did learn to appreciate conservative talk radio. Dr. Laura became one of my favorites. Obviously, I didn't have children at the time, but I knew that her common sense approach to motherhood was something I wanted to keep with me until that day finally came. Dr. Laura always referred to herself as "her kids' mom." I didn't really get; until I became "my kids' mom".

My identity is completely and totally wrapped up in my role as mommy. My life as a woman, a career woman, a Kansan, an American are not seperate, distinguishable roles. They are one and the same.

I can't leave the house without carrying them with me in my thoughts. I can't step into a role in my community without considering their needs.

My life-before-kids is compeltely unrecognizable. And I'm okay with that.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

2009-10-08T20:49:00.002-05:00

The bug theme continues.

Let me update you on the status of Emily Elizabeth. She laid another egg sac! Our friendly neighbors say they are donating this sac to our house. It would fit right in with all the other buggy bugs living with us.

First, it was the flies in the kitchen. A normal part of fall - a few flies looking for a warm place to hang out until they go to fly heaven. I can handle a few flies.

Then, came the fruit flies. I think they "snuck across the border" on a some pears we purchased at the grocery store. I eliminated all fruit from the counters. Cleaned, cloroxed, went above and beyond to keep up with the dirty dishes. And. they. are. still. here.

But the final blow came just last night. Brent was playing in the living room with the kids when he noticed something unusal crawling in a tall glass vase filled with acorns the kids and I collected on a walk. Worms. Or grubs. Or something small, white and wiggling all over the vase and our treasured acorns. We crossed over into the "totally disgusting" category.

Flies, fruit flies, worms, and the anticipation of thousands of baby spiders come spring...this is one exciting place to live.

Some spider!

2009-09-28T20:55:00.017-05:00

I would like to introduce you to Emily Elizabeth. Not one of the impecably cute kids, but the large garden spider looming over their heads. See her? If not, look here.

Salutations! This is Emily Elizabeth. The friendly garden spider who has spun an amazing home just above the front door of our neighbor's house.

Emily Elizabeth has provided weeks of fascinating lessons about nature. Up close and personal. With the help of the neighborhood dads, we toss crickets and grasshoppers to her each night and watch her "wrap them up and suck their blood." Gross, yes. But absolutely fascinating.

Emily Elizabeth's days are numbered. She has laid her egg sack. Again, amazing. Her masterpiece is complete. Thanks, Emily Elizabeth, for the lessons you taught our children.

For your own good

2009-09-21T21:24:00.002-05:00

On Sunday, President Obama said a $3,800 tax isn't really a tax.

Interesting. I thought I might give this approach to reasoning a try...

"Time to get dressed" has been scrapped for "an opportunity to clothe yourself using your own creative approach to fashion."

"Nap time" is now "a restful period for your weary legs."

"Time out" will be substituted with "a retreat to a corner free of talking and distractions."

A "swat with the ruler" will become "a physical reminder that we must listen to instructions."

And finally, "bath time" will now be coined "purification."

...all in the name of "because it's for your own good."

2009-09-08T20:27:00.004-05:00

Dear Noah Grace,

Congratulations on your first day of preschool! Though it may not be a day you'll always remember, it is etched in my heart.

You have been entrusted to me for almost four years now, but today, I let a little piece of you go.

I see within you the yearning for knowledge and understanding about the world around you. How excited I am for you that you may now more fully begin to explore language, arts, sciences and music.

You are a treasure to our family - a blessing. We love your zest for life, your compassion for your family and friends, your colorful imagination.

We do not tell you enough how much we love you. I pray this first step in letting go will remind us to be more outwardly grateful of our special little girl.

Love you always & forever,

Mommy

Princesses and pigs

2009-08-20T21:47:00.007-05:00

A few brief thoughts I need to capture in cyber-world before they leave my mind...

The other morning at breakfast, Noah said, "Mom, what do I want to be when I grow up?"

"This should be interesting," I thought to myself. "I don't know, Noah. What do you want to be?" I asked.

"I want to be a princess."

Gheez. All this work and I've got a princess on my hands.

"Then I want to show pigs."

Alleluia!! God knows I don't do princess!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Tucker's vocabulary is growing by leaps and bounds right now. This week alone he has added:

noodles (more like, noones with a cute, scrunched up nose)

okay, mom!

play ball

And to top it all off, he had ZERO potty accidents today. Could it have been because last night at the sandbox, he trotted over to the fence, dropped his drawers and peed on the fence to a standing ovation from neighbors and manly-men Willis and Scott? Nah...men don't need encouragement like that.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Baby Nell had her six month check-up today. She's definitely the baby of the bunch - grasping for only the 20th percentile for height and weight. But she makes up for it with her big smiles!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
We returned from vacation last week. Thanks to my mom and dad for making a fun trip to Branson, MO possible! Here we are at the fish hatchery; just below Table Rock Lake Dam.

That's all for now, folks!

2009-07-01T21:10:00.005-05:00

I adhere to the "farm dog" method of taking care of your pets. It goes something like this:

- Dog bathes itself in the pond.
- Dog is fed on a semi-regular schedule and is supplemented with rabbits, mice and other various creatures.
- Dog has a small pan of water, but again, supplements with pond and creek water.
- Dog has a dog house for shelter, but prefers the hay loft of the barn.
- Dog roams hundreds of acres and returns home occasionally to chase the cows and nap in the flower bed.

Now that I live in town, the farm dog policies don't exactly apply. Seems it is appropriate to have a collar on your dog, keep its shots and tags up to date and to fence it in at all times.

I know so, because I just retrieved one of our precious dogs from the impound this afternoon.

Yesterday evening, as I was putting water in the kid's pool, I decided to let the dogs out. Brent was out of town - hiking and camping in the cool Colorado mountains - of course. (It was for work; so don't feel too sorry for me.) His black lab and I have had plenty of "near misses." I chased her down while six months pregnant with Noah as she began to thrash a neighbor's chihuahua to death on the street. I lost her another time Brent was away, but she came home hungry and thristy a few hours later. I thought this time would be no different.

The dogs had only been loose for a few minutes before I noticed she was missing. I heard lots of barking a couple houses down, and started after her. I spotted her, yelled for her (in my best "farm girl hollaring for the dog" voice), and watched her run the other way.

Thankfully, my mom was in town, so we put the kids in strollers and started to go after her. I "hollared" a few more times, but she was hot on the trail of a rabbit. So, we turned home. I filled her food dish and water pan and assumed she would be home in a couple hours.

Wrong.

By 9:00 am this morning, still no dog. I made the reluctant call to the police department. They returned my call shortly to inform me an officer had picked up the dog last night and that I could retrieve her from the impound after paying a $65 fee, getting her rabies shot up to date and renewing her tags.

$80.20 later, the dog is at home.

And just so you know, if I had never made that call, she would be been euthanized on the city's bill in seven days.

Something tells me I should have kept my mouth shut.

Or, we really need to move to the farm.

2009-06-13T21:25:00.003-05:00

Promises, schomises. So it's been a month and a half since I posted something. But who am I kidding? These days, I'm just happy to get dressed and have time to brush my teeth.

Nonetheless, yesterday was June 12, and my little boy turned two. And if you couldn't tell from the video above, he hasn't stopped playing basketball for the past 24 hours. In fact, he drug his new basketball in from outside and put it in his bed. Had to sleep with it. I know his Grandpa is grinning from ear to ear right now. Or perhaps, shedding a tear. Grandkids have caused him to "go soft."

(Oh, and sorry about the video being sideways. Will someone please tell me how to fix that!!)

As for the girls, they are already displaying their fair share of drama. Lately, Noah's mantra has been, "Whatever it takes to get a spanking, I'm willing to go that far." Sprint for the neighbors yard. Throw something at my brother. Tell my mommy "NO" for the thirty-fifth time. She is three to a tee.

Nell is now four months old. She can scoot to a sideways position in her crib, and is getting very close to rolling over. You can view her three month mug here.

The other good news from our household is that the daycare gig is finally over with. It had reached a point where I felt like it was taking away from time with my own children. I am left with a little angst over the stress on the family budget; but I am relieved to now be free to focus on my babies. Because if time continues to move at the pace is has in the past six weeks, it will be no time before I ship Nell off to kindergarten.

I'll leave you with this picture. This was Nell's baptism...just another peaceful, prayerful day in our blissful life.

Learning lessons

2009-04-25T08:49:00.004-05:00

Did you know that other moms have bad days, too? I would like to thank my neighbor for reminding me of this important lesson. As we watched our kids play in the backyard, she told me about all the ways her bad day went to worse with every turn. I tried to fill myself with empathy for all her misfortune, but instead I was laughing inside and feeling quite thankful for my neighbor and friend.

Later that evening, after the kids were in bed, I knocked on her front door carrying two bowls of ice cream. One bowl for her to wash away her bad day; one bowl for me to celebrate friendship.

...............................................................................................................................................................................

Yesterday, I tried reasoning with my three-year-old.

"If you made the mess, you must clean it up."

"If you don't eat your breakfast, you can't have a snack."

"If you don't take your nap, you won't be able to watch TV."

Simple reason and simple consequence, right? Not exactly.

The light bulb went on for me last night as she was taking her bath. She offered me some "tea" she had just made with the bath water. I politely said, "No thank, you." And she said, "I'll drink it."

She still drinks bath water. How can I possibly reason with that?

2009-04-15T13:26:00.007-05:00

Lately, I haven't agreed with Oprah on much of anything. Her glamorous, TV, urban Chicago lifestyle seems waaay out of touch with my middle-of-Kansas-stay-at-home-mom lifestyle. I even dropped my "O" magazine subscription. I just couldn't connect anymore.

But sometime last week, as I was feeding the baby and flipping through the channels, she caught my attention. She had devoted a show to mothers and had this to say,

"We hear from mothers all the time who say they feel alone. They feel overwhelmed; they feel sometimes inadequate. And you say you're afraid to admit the truth for fear of being judged."

I watched the rest of the show in (almost) total agreement.

I feel totally overwhelmed and quite inadequate - and I don't want to admit that. That's why I have been avoiding the Potted Goose. I don't want to face this honesty - face the feelings I have that I am not giving my best to my children and that my life seems to spin out of control any number of days of the week.

But watching the show made me realize that I am doing myself - and all moms out there who used to visit the Potted Goose - a serious injustice. I created this website as a means to connect with other moms, and as a means of self-therapy. You know that "I can laugh about it now" feeling that comes hours after your one year old threw a tantrum on the kitchen floor because you wouldn't let him have Easter candy at 8:05 in the morning.

So, I am really going to try to keep the Potted Goose up to date. Really. I mean it this time.

I guess Oprah still does have that inspirational thing going for her.

(The fam on Easter morning. We only made it to church on time thanks to the extra help from my mom and my two sisters.)

Love multiplies

2009-02-24T10:04:00.005-06:00

Someone once said - err, I read somewhere - err, my mother told me - well, whatever the source, I have experienced once again how a mother's love multiplies, it does not divide.

Though slightly frazzled, short of memory and sleep, I am so happy to welcome Nell Ann Goss to the world. Nell was born Thursday, February 12. She was a beautiful baby girl, weighing 7 lbs, 12 oz., and was 19 1/2 inches long.

We are 2 1/2 weeks into this new phase of life, and we're all a-d-j-u-s-t-i-n-g. Slowly, but surely. Each day, I feel better and able to do more, which in turn makes everyone else have a better day, too. Mostly, I am beginning to wonder what the heck I did all day during maternity leave with my first baby. Or, I now more fully understand why my first child is the way she is.

Nonetheless, Nell is a precious (and patient) addition to our household. She loves to be cuddled and tolerates well the way her brother and sister like to hold her. And I am so happy to be watching another child grow up in our home!

Our Christmas morning

2008-12-24T05:28:00.002-06:00

It's Christmas morning at our home. Santa made an early drop off since we're leaving later today to spend Christmas with Brent's family. The kids are still sleeping. And since I was lying awake, part with excitement for the morning and mostly with aches and pains, I decided to get up and make breakfast.

I am just hoping the kids - Noah especially - will be excited about this visit from Santa. We've been doing Christmas in phases this year so we can see all of our family. And I'm afraid Noah is slightly confused. Or, she is thinking that Santa is just alright, since he keeps coming and coming.

The only gift she has asked for over and over again is a pink house - namely a particular pink doll house. This is what Grandma and Grandpa...also under the disguise of Santa...had got for her. And that present was delivered over the weekend.

So while sitting on Santa's lap Monday evening (our neighbor plays a great Santa and makes house calls to kids around town every year), he asks her, "What do you want for Christmas, Noah?"

She matter-of-factly replies, "A pink house, but I already got it. You can get my brother one."

Santa, Mommy and Daddy are deflated.

Mommy and Daddy have really been looking forward to giving our budding performer a preschool karaoke toy (Fisher Price Star Station). And now we're just hoping she will feel the same way about it.

I'll let you know how things go.

Until then, cherish and treasure this time with your children, your families and your spouses.

Down and dirty

2008-12-19T06:14:00.004-06:00

I see dust everywhere. I don't know if it's because I have just six weeks left to go in this pregnancy, or that my mother and my very neat and organized sister-in-law are coming to visit this weekend, but whatever the reason, I feel like I am living in a dust pile.

I spent 30 minutes yesterday morning wiping down every surface in the refrigerator. But that wasn't enough. I soaked the "yucky looking grill thingy" at the base of the fridge in a vinegar bath in the tub.

Handprints and smears on the walls started to jump out at me. Nearly every wall surface within the reach of a three-year-old has been scrubbed with soapy water.

Yesterday, I cleaned the bathroom in all those corners to which I usually turn a blind eye. You know what I'm talking about - that hard to reach place all the way behind the toilet, the dust bunnies behind a decorative basket of towels. And just when I thought I was finished, I noticed the dust between the window and the window screen. That's where I'll be starting my day.

And I will also be dusting the wood blinds, disenfecting door knobs, and attacking the yuckiest place of all - the buffet that has accumlated under my kitchen table.

Happy holiday preparations, ya'all!

The Annual Christmas Letter

2008-12-17T12:57:00.010-06:00

Why waste creative effort only to mail out the letters? I say spread the effort around, and blog it!!

A few days after Thanksgiving, I began the process of decorating for Christmas. This year, it meant Brent had to climb into that awkward closet and begin lugging down box after box of my favorite things. I told myself, that at this point in my pregnancy, just the tree a few small things would be enough decorations for this year. But with each box I opened, I just couldn’t resist.

Alas, snowmen, Santa’s, strands of garland, stockings, three nativity scenes and five days of work later, the job was complete.

In the days that have passed, I have spent some portion of time each day on my hands and knees – remember, very pregnant - looking for baby Jesus. Of all the figures in the two out of three nativity scenes that are within reach of little hands, baby Jesus seems to be the favorite. I have found him under the couch, nestled among the Christmas books, baking in the toy oven, and sleeping at the bottom of the toy box.

I just could not stand to look at an incomplete nativity scene – especially one missing baby Jesus, himself. After all, we’re celebrating his big day!

During one particular search and rescue mission, where I found baby Jesus deep in the cushions of the couch, Jesus had this message of thanks for me,

“My dear, you are looking for me in all the wrong places.”

I heard his message. Loud and clear. And I’m wishing the same for all of you this year…

…that you find baby Jesus, not in the mess strung across your house, but in the faces of the precious children who made that mess…

…not in the crumbs under the kitchen table, but in the blessings of food and warmth…

…not in the broken decorations and ornaments, but in the grubby little hands that just wanted to throw a ball…

Some days, it can be so hard to see what is right in front of you.

Brent and I strive to be mindful each day of just how precious, and fleeting, these messes truly are. Noah, now 3, and Tucker, 18 months, can really wreck havoc on Christmas trees and nativity scenes. Oh and next year, when there are three of them, I just hope baby Jesus is up for a solid month of hide and seek.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and yours!

Brent, Sarah, Noah and Tucker

Invisible moms

2008-12-08T13:22:00.006-06:00

I am devoting full creative energy to our annual Christmas letter. But I received an email today from my Aunt Donna that I thought was soooo worth sharing. Thanks, Donna! And enjoy everyone!

Invisible Mother......

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store.

Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously, not.

No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I'm invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.' I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated sum a cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going; she's going; she is gone! One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England.

Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.

I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.

I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe.

I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:
'To My Dear Friend, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.' In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:

No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.

These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.

They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.' I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.

It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.' At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'you're going to love it there.' As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right.

And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Thankful...

2008-11-25T20:37:00.003-06:00

I just couldn't put my finger on what I was thankful for this year, until Monday morning. I was listening to a K-State press conference on the radio on my drive back from my doctor's appointment. The press conference where my alma matter announced a new football coach to lead our stumbling program - Bill Snyder was to return and take charge.

At first, I was disappointed in the university. Surely, they could be more visionary than this, right? Were they so scared that they had to turn backwards? Reach for the only security the football program has really ever known?

Afterall, is not this the time to be craving something more hopeful, more progressive, more symbolic of change? Seems to be the message in America these days...

But as the day went on, and I mulled over this news, I began to feel thankful. Thankful to be a Kansan. Thankful to be a K-Stater. Thankful to have been a student in the stadium on the night K-State defeated Nebraska for the first time in decades.

And in a bigger sense, thankful to be associated with a university that refused to be lured by the mere propsect of hope and change, but one that had the conviction to trust in a proven man, a proven leader. For in troubled times, why gamble? Why risk so much? Fans, family traditions, positive experiences for student athletes.

We know what we're getting with Snyder - absolute dedication to the job, an ability to attract quality coaches and student athletes, a tenacios defensive effort on the field, and a few "delay of game" calls.

Don't you wish you had that same feeling of security in the bigger world these days? Don't you wish you could turn on the TV and see a national or world leader you could trust? Someone saged, tested, proven?

I am thankful, this year, to live in a place that honors and respects leadership, families, traditions, education, and Saturday afternoons in the fall at Bill Snyder Family Stadium.

Scheming

2008-11-25T20:31:00.002-06:00

So...just as soon as I said I would update my blog from the early morning hours, it was as if my kids read the blog and began scheming. Scheming a plan to begin waking up at 5:30ish every day for the past 10 days. And then Tucker also decided to kill my afternoon blogging plans by taking abbreviated naps. Just write in the evening then, you say? You've got to be kidding! After beginning the day at 5:30, chasing around 5 kids, all the while being very pregnant, I can't even speak a sentence past 8:00pm.

There is one good thing that has come out of all this sleeplessness. Tucker fell asleep on my lap at church on Sunday. He was getting a bit tired, so he snuggled on my lap with his blankie and paci, and I rocked him right to sleep. I even had to carry him to communion. Which was a bit like lugging a feed sack with a little pair of cowboy boots stuck to the end across the church and back.

The kids are still battling coughs from the cold that began on Halloween. The cough really only bothers them at nighttime, so I don't think it's much to worry about. Still, it is enough to make me worry. I have humidifiers running, and I smear Vicks all over their chests each night. I will give it through the Thanksgiving weekend before I drag them to the pediatrician.

Here's hoping we all get some sleep tonight...

Eggs for breakfast

2008-11-14T06:16:00.005-06:00

Good morning, everyone! I am going to try updating the Potted Goose from the front side of the day. I have reached the point in my pregnany where too much of anything - including sleeping - begins to get uncomfortable. So, I thought I would get up, log on, enjoy a cup of hot chocolate, and make the kids some eggs for breakfast.

Speaking of eggs, I want to shed a little light on a recent California ballot issue. In case you haven't heard...and you probably haven't because the media does not seem to be able to take their eyes off our president-elect...but the State of California recently passed a piece of legislation referred to as Proposition 2.

Prop 2 is a bill that will now "phase out the use of modern housing methods in the production of eggs, pork and veal," according to American Farm Bureau. Still uncertain? Here's the way this Goose sees it...

You and I, for the most part, go to the grocery store to buy the food we need to feed our families, with little thought given to where that food came from or how it got to the grocery store. And that's okay, for the most part.

You see, you and I have made a choice to be a part of a modern society. We have chosen careers, and suburban or town living, over living on a farm and working to grow the food we need to feed our families. We have left that task behind...to American farmers. But here's where I take issue.

There is such a great chasm that exists in our country between those who produce the food and those who consume it. Even in the more rural State of Kansas, population 2.7 million, there are only about 64,000 farms in this state. That means each farm feeds about about 42 people.

And in California, where there happens to be a large concentration of egg production, an even larger disconnect exists. A majority of the people in that state, with little to no connection or understanding of production agriculture, voted to approve Prop 2 and essentially put the egg farmers out of business.

Egg farmers, over the course of the last century, have raised chickens in small, housing units. They have achieved great levels of efficiency while maintaining ethical treatment of the animal, and all the while producing eggs for all of us who don't want chickens in our back yard.

This legislation will drive egg farmers out of business and shift egg production to places outside of the US. Places where we have little control over the safety and quality of those eggs.

So, enjoy your eggs while you can, and in the meantime, I encourage you to watch this on Monday night...

http://www.kfb.org/news/animaldoc.htm

It will air Monday evening, 9:30 pm, on your local PBS station.

Have a great day!!

Up and Down

2008-11-10T14:13:00.016-06:00

Up and down. In and out. Home and away. The past six weeks have been a blur.

Either Brent or I, or all of us, have been away from home 11 nights in the past 35 days. We are presently entering a calm two and a half week period between now and Thanksgiving with no nights away, no meetings, nothing. Just time together at home.

Here's a look back at the ups and downs of the past six weeks.

The Changing Seasons agriculture student leadership conference was this past weekend. It's an event for K-State College of Ag students that I have been a part of since college.

Up: Changing Seasons always helps me to renew my focus, connect with old friends, and reenergize my passions for agriculture and building rural leadership.

Down: This was the fourth time in six weeks I was away from home overnight. And while it may have also been the fourth time in three years that I was away from home overnight, it was nonetheless wearing on my family, especially Noah Grace.

Up: Happy Halloween! Noah chose to be a pig this year - all by herself. She also decided her brother should be a turkey. I gently convinced her that her brother should be a pig as well. (I knew I could wing a snout and two ears out of craft foam; but an entire spread of turkey feathers seemed a bit impossible!)

Down: Halloween brought about our first cold of the season. Sore throats, fevers and yucky coughs landed us in the doctor's office the Monday following trick-or-treating.

Up: Our baby girl turned three years old last Saturday. That smile on her face perfectly captured the night. My kids' birthdays have truly become my favorite holidays.

Down: I wanted to give her the world, but I decided a purple care bear would be more sensible.

Kansas Hometown Prosperity is my first "work outside of the home" experience in three years. I traveled to three communities across the state working on the issue of youth retention. (It should be no surprise to you that our bright and talented rural Kansans are choosing to leave their homes for bigger places.) I spent the past two months working with a team of very sharp people who want to make our rural Kansas towns better places for young people and all people.

Up: I got my hands dirty working again, working with real adults, talking about real, challenging problems. And I made good money doing it.

Down: I spent four nights away from home and many, many hours working from home to get the task accomplished. While Tucker seemed to truck along through all of this, it really took a toll on Noah Grace. She learned that "meetings" are bad things; and I even think the anxiety caused her to start biting her nails.

Up: Conservative women across the country - much like myself - found political leadership and inspiration in a women named Sarah Palin. Personally, I renewed my conviction to voting for common-sense leadership, for those who respect life, and for those who will encourage us to be self-reliant and courageous.

Down: The majority in this country didn't see things my way. And presidential history was made.

And in the end, I'm up because I am down. Down at home, that is. Down on the floor, playing with my kids. Sitting down at my computer, trying to write my own little piece of history. Down in the back because my family has been blessed with life once again. Downtown, in a small town, reconnected with my hope for rural people and rural places.

Oh...and about the kids...

2008-09-18T20:34:00.010-05:00

Seem like I have been a little lost in myself lately? That's probably because I have been. Hard to admit, but yes, the sudden news of baby number three has caused me to stray off course.

Even we mommies with the best of intentions can get that way. Motherhood has a way of humbling us beyond humility.

But I wanted to take the time this week to let you know about the two little reasons that help me to regain my focus each day. After all, they are the inspiration behind this whole venture.

This is Noah in mid August at the end of my parent's driveway. Her face is smeared with a pink ice cream treat from Dairy Queen, and she's clutching a very special blue balloon. Back in July, she lost that balloon. She got the balloon from a parade, and a few days later, opened the front door of our house only to have the balloon swept out by the Kansas breeze. It was as high as the heavens in no time. She cried and moaned about that balloon for weeks. That's when a mommy genius moment struck.

What if we could "find" the balloon? And so I plotted, with Grandma's help, to recover the balloon swallowed up by the heavens. On the day we were to arrive at Grandma's house, the flower shop delivered a blue balloon with a pink string - just like the one we'd lost - to Grandma's house and tied it to her mailbox. Then, as we would pull in the driveway, Noah would boast with joy for her found balloon.

Well, twenty miles from Grandma's house that afternoon, we drove by a car dealership that had big balloons tied to every car on the lot.

"Look at those balloons, Momma!" she exclaimed. And then, so grown up like, she said,

"But I don't want anymore balloons...(pause to hold back the tears)...because they just blow away."

Mommy genius moment dissipated.

We pushed on and found her "lost" balloon. Her excitement, however, had been replaced with grave concern for the safety of her balloon. She was not settled until that balloon was tied safely to a chair in Grandma's house.

And so the summer has gone; Noah grasps the realities of the world around her more and more each day. The toddler in her is giving way to a more settled, more purposeful preschooler.

And then there's Tucker. That little baby boy who was content to sit on his mommy's lap is no more. He has been replaced with a ball throwing, bug eating, hair pulling toddler.

Oh sure, he looks innocent in this picture. He's just a happy kid helping his momma make a batch of cookies. But you should have seen the fit he threw when I took the cookie dough away.

And, he's beginning to figure out how to use his brute size to his advantage. Today, he tackled one of my daycare kids in pursuit of a ball. Sure, they were the same age. But still, he grabbed the back of the kid's shirt, yanked him to the ground and took the ball away from him. I took a moment to laugh before I resolved the incident.

He had a bit of a tough summer. He had tubes put in his ears at the end of June. And while that has solved his ear infections, he has been on a relentless teething streak, had to get rid of his favorite comfort, his bottle, and has entered full blown toddler terror. Now he is the one who gets escorted out of church each Sunday.

Boys should come with more explicit instructions. Seriously. The kid is only satisfied with things if you can throw them, eat them, or bang them.

And so I pause here. Because you know, mommies, we could go on and on about our kids. But seriously, if I don't get to bed soon, there's no way I'll make it through another day of this.

Substance behind the inspiration

2008-09-11T21:29:00.004-05:00

Let me follow up my story of inspiration with some substance.

I am supporting the McCain / Palin ticket, but not simply because an Alaskan hockey mom happens to be the VP candidate. I also happen to agree with their stance on the issues.

If you want to talk policy details and specifics, this isn't the place. I have a general knowledge of most issues, but I tend to get bored with the tidy details. Especially when it comes to policy. (Seriously, have you ever read a piece of legislation? Zzzzzzzzzz...)

I grew up in a family that spent our time at church, on the farm, and at sporting events. My political beliefs derive from those experiences.

I support plans to explore and drill for oil and natural gas. I believe the technology exists today to do this exercising great care for our natural world, a world I care deeply about.

I support agricultural policies that eliminate barriers to trade, reduce regulations, and allow food producers to grow products for a global consumer.

I support efforts to encourage young people to return to their rural roots. I believe providing incentives for our best and brightest to return home, and ensuring a strong education, health care system and culture of entrepreneurs in our rural communities will help our hometown's to be prosperous long into the future.

I support a strong national defense, and I am looking for a leader whom I can trust with my children's safety and security. I believe there are too many evils and too much hatred directed at our country to simply stand aside.

I believe in the power of a free market economy. I understand there are problems with our healthcare system. Yet, with rewards for wellness and prevention, I think our current system can be improved. Furthermore, I don't think it's fair that those without health insurance can receive the same care that I receive.

I support an education system that sets standards for achievement and holds schools accountable. I hope to see the best teachers rewarded, and I hope to see more incentives for teachers to get the training they need. (Oh, and could we encourage some of those great teachers to work in our rural districts, too?) And, I don't plan to pay for your children to go to college. I am just hoping I can pay for mine to make it through a semester. Afterall, what's the value in an education when you didn't have to earn it?

I support a child's right to life.

I support my husband's right to bear arms. (I am NOT a hunter. I used to show livestock, and that's about as wild as I like to get.)

And I, though a conservative Christian, have always thought myself to be concerned for women's rights. I simply cannot understand why anyone would think Sarah Palin is a step backwards for women.

I see a woman who has made a million steps forward on behalf of all women; all the while cherishing the role of wife and mother, balancing family and career, and seeking ways to serve something bigger than herself.

So, that's the substance behind the inspiration. I am not looking for a heated, political debate. I just want you to know that I'm not all lipstick.

Inspired

2008-09-09T21:04:00.004-05:00

I have been a little less than inspired lately. A lot less than inspired, actually. That is, until six days ago.

Because eighty-two days ago, I found myself at Alco buying a pregnancy test. My husband and I had plans to attend a big Catholic wedding that afternoon, and I had plans to open a bottle of wine. My you-know-what, however, was going on two weeks late. At my husband's prompting, I drove to the store and purchased the test from a cute, thin, blond teenage girl.

About thirty minutes later, I was crying on my husband's shoulder. He was laughing at me.

Why the tears, you ask?

Because that cute, teenage girl at the store still had her waistline...

Because I had two awfully young babies already...

Because this was the third time I had been pregnant in the not-even-yet four years we had been married...

Because I only had a three bedroom house...

Because I had actually had success losing weight...

Because (counter-productively) I liked wine, and margaritas, and caffeine...

And so the pity party began. I was ridden with guilt for the time I was stealing away from my two babies. I was worried that my body wouldn't be able to handle three back-to-back pregnancies. I was jealous of every family who had family close by to lend a helping hand. I wallowed in self pity for eighty-two days. Refusing to be thankful. Ignoring the positives. Pushing away any inspiration.

Six days ago, that all changed. I was on the couch crying, again, but this time with tears of inspiration.

I watched Sarah Palin address the Republican National Convention, and I let my pity party pass with each tear streaming down my cheek.

I had not felt that inspired since I was fourteen years old attending National FFA Convention in Kansas City, watching nineteen and twenty year old students giving incredible speeches about living a life of leadership and service.

If a moose-hunting mother of five from Alaska can find within herself the strength and courage to run for the Vice President of the United States, then surely, oh surely, I could muster the enthusiasm to be a mommy of three and a mere daycare provider.

If a forty-four year old woman can bravely bring a baby into this world knowing the baby will suffer from Down's Syndrome, then surely, oh surely, I could have my third child before the age of thirty.

If a PTA mom can answer the call to serve her community and her state, all the while rearing a family, then surely, oh surely, I could seek ways to answer my own call to serve.

Right?

Right.

I may have been one of thirty-seven million viewers that night, but hearing her words was worth more to me than a million dollars of inspiration.

I have never really been one to get so down on life. Sure, there have been a few down times. But I have always found a way to come back quickly, tenacious and focused.

So when an outdoorsy, athletic, hockey mom from Alaska spoke to this uninspired outdoorsy, athletic mom in Kansas, maybe you can see why I was inspired to tears.

The pity party is over. It's official. Baby Goss #3 will be arriving in February. She (we're 99% positive it's a girl) will fill up this house...but with the precious love and laughter only God's gift of children can give. And maybe someday, she'll be Vice President.

2008-06-12T21:25:00.000-05:00

My heart goes out to my fellow Kansans who suffered far greater than I from last night's tornadic weather.

I sat down to write this post last night, and was interrupted by storms that just kept coming. We suffered no loss, save a few leaves on the trees. Others not so far away lost livestock, entire wheat crops, homes, businesses and saw an old and beautiful college campus crumble.

I share these pictures with you, not to make drama out of our situation, but mostly so that someday Tucker can remember how we spent the day before his first birthday.

We had purchased this ball for Tucker on Tuesday after we left the Ear Nose and Throat doctor and scheduled an appointment to have tubes put in his ears. He loves balls, and he is ecstatic about this one. He didn't put it down for almost 24 hours.

Sensing Noah needed some special attention, we finger painted on Wednesday afternoon. Actually, we started sponge painting the numbers 1, 2 and 3. She ended up painting everything within reach.

Shortly after bath time, the tornado sirens went off. This was a first for the kids and I. Noah and Tucker had lots of fun playing in the closet under the stairs. Noah played "house." Tucker played "bang on stuff."

With the kids playing safely downstairs, Brent and I stepped out the back door to watch these eerie clouds forming just at the north edge of town.

The third storm that came through brought us this lovely gift - hail. There is a quarter to the right of the hail stone. We were awfully lucky considering the size of the hail.

There is nothing like the feeling of being helpless against Mother Nature. My heart goes out to everyone who experienced loss last night.

2008-06-05T21:38:00.002-05:00

Have you ever found yourself arguing with a two-year-old? I have. All too often lately. It's futile. Infuriating. Exhausting.

And so I ordered this book a few weeks ago online.

Because my daughter didn't come with an owner's manual. Because she leaves me perplexed. Baffled. Fearful that I am creating a spit fire, unruly child.

I have just started the book, and already I feel more composed during the day when I see she has found my brand new, expensive nail polish and commenced to painting her leg, her new shirt, and the couch.

According to the author, you cannot determine your child's "love language" until they are the age of five. I disagree, and I am taking his advice and applying to my young children. Seems to me so much of their personality is already in place. Why wait until they are five to figure out how to best understand and communicate with them?

If you are reading or have read this book, I would love to hear your reaction.

Until then, I am going to keep reading and I am going to keep (well, I am really, really going to try) my composure as my two-year-old tornado rips through my house every day.

One, two, three, floor!

2008-06-04T20:39:00.003-05:00

Tucker's birthday is just about one week away. As Brent was putting him in the bathtub this evening, he reminisced, "Wasn't life easier when there was just one of them?"

My first thought was of that last several weeks of pregnancy you-know-what. No, I thought, I am glad he's out here in the real world.

And then my thoughts turned to all the wonderful things Tucker has brought into our life. His chubby smile, his easy laugh, his kisses and all his snuggles.

Sure, life may have been a bit easier. But how I love the extra large dose of love Tucker has added to our family.

Yesterday, as we were playing in the kiddie pool in the backyard, Tucker took his first few steps. He was standing outside of the pool, holding on to the edge. He let go and wobbled two or three steps to his wagon.

Of course, he has been in intensive training ever since. Brent and I guide him in walking four of five feet between us as we sit on the floor. He is so proud of himself! He starts to clap in mid-walk and sends his body weight crashing forward. He gets up and crawls to the nearest parent for a big hug. (I think he loves the reward at the end as much as the walking itself.)

Like most mommy's, I just don't know how this year went by so fast.

And I have come to believe that birthday's are also a silent celebration for mommy's. Especially the first birthday. While everyone laughs as your baby eats cake, you silently celebrate inside, giving thanks for your beautiful baby and realizing you have accomplished the feat of rearing a baby through his first year of life.

Haven...

2008-06-02T13:32:00.004-05:00

Last Thursday, in the middle of "daddy's gone to camp" week, my favorite gal pals and I redeemed our Mother's Day gifts from our husbands- a massage at the Rock Haven Day Spa.

The mere stress of getting out the door made me tense from head to toe. Daddy was gone, remember? So I had to find a babysitter to watch my kids for what turned out to be a nine hour outing. Which means, I had to clean my house and organize snacks, drinks and meals for the majority of the day and explain to a fourteen year old girl how to specifically care for my two children.

I don't know if I've ever been so relieved to leave the house.

I volunteered to drive my mini-van and haul my five friends and to our westerly destination. It is with relief I can say that I will never have to drive again. In all the stress of leaving for the day, I didn't eat much lunch. Just after we pulled on to the highway, I reached for a bag of snacks. Apparently, I reached too far and the van swerved hard to the right. No one was hurt. I was ribbed sufficiently...and I will never have to drive again. Which is just fine by me. I prefer napping, reading magazines, and doing my nails in the car anyway.

We arrived to the spa, and they sent us up to the bungalow. The climb up the over-sized limestone rocks left us winded. And the luxury we stepped into completely took our breath away.

We each had a private dressing room, complete with toiletries, a robe, and a blow dryer. We changed into our swimming suits and we went to the whirlpool. We were served peach champagne, cheese and crackers, grapes and muffins. If the day had ended right there, I would have been just fine.

But there was more to come.

And they were running behind. An hour and a half behind.

The two and half bottles of peach champagne they provided us were gone in 30 minutes. We don't mess around.

We finally headed down for our massage. As we waited for our massage therapist, I watched this girl as she just finished her massage. She looked like she had just awoke from a three day nap. I silently panicked.

Other than the fact Michelle and I had to share a massage room - which meant we had to remove our robe and slip under the sheets oh-so discreetly - that massage felt like a three day nap. I let my mind wander to my happiest memories, while my body was relieved and rejuvenated. I left a part of me on that massage table. The part of me that has neglected to take care of myself, and more importantly, to take time for myself. I walked out of that room feeling woozy, yet determined to uncover those parts of myself that I have let go.

Oh, and I forgot to mention, during our massage, they dried our swimming suits for us. Can you believe that? I'm sure some of you regular spa-goers out there are laughing at my naivety.

It gets better. They then took us to the steam shower; after we dressed, of course. We sat in this rock walled shower as it filled with hot, hot steam. And, we then scrubbed away rough skin with this cooling, tingling scrub. We showered and even washed our hair. Yes, naivety.

Thinking back, I cannot recall I day where I have ever felt so good, in body and soul. My physical aches were relieved. My soul connected with good friends.

It was the best Mother's Day gift I have ever received...this being my third. The standard has been set, dear husband. I simply can't wait for next year!

I admit, I need help

2008-05-28T20:46:00.002-05:00

Daddy is away for work this week. It takes me about 48 hours of doing this all by myself, that I finally realize that I like having that guy around.

We make it through the mornings just fine. The kids watch some cartoons while I get dressed for the day. I would get up and get that done before they are awake, but when they are up by 6:00, I think cartoons are in order.

The two (and only two!!) daycare kids arrive and we proceed with our morning as usual. Play time, read stories and send the babies down for a nap.

The big girls color pictures or do puzzles while I finish up the breakfast dishes and figure out what we're having for lunch. Then it's more play time, and the babies wake up.

Here's the part where I start to miss Daddy.

Everyone is hungry. Really hungry. Lunch is almost ready, and two one-year-olds are pulling on my legs. When I ask the two-year-old girls to go find their cups for lunch, they proceed with chasing each other around the house.

With just a few tears and only some mild yelling, we sit down to lunch.

Then, everyone is ready to go outside and "run their sillies out." Again, I miss Daddy. I can't find four pair of shoes and four jackets fast enough. One heads out the front door, while I chase down a baby who escaped up the stairs. Just to corral them out the door takes enough energy to qualify as a 30 minute cardio workout.

Once out the door, we miss Daddy some more. The four children go in four different directions. One wants to look at the dog. Another heads for the sand box. Still another for the swing set. Wait. That's only three? Anybody seen number four?

30 minutes later we head inside. A few more tears and then everyone is down for a nap. Ahhh. Peace and quiet. I really don't miss Daddy right now. I sit down for a glass of tea and some HGTV.

The point is...seven kids, four kids, or just one. All mommies miss daddies. And kids miss their daddies even more. Here's to you mommies who swing it all alone. I don't know how you do it day in and day out. I'm simply trying to survive five days.

Daddy, it's true, we miss you. We hope you come home soon!

2008-05-21T20:25:00.006-05:00

Today marked the beginning of the end of the year. By Friday, I will have whittled my daycare crew from five down to two. It has been a long year, a long challenging year. Looking back, there were some really enjoyable moments. But most days just seemed to be on the border of "I'm absolutely losing my mind!"

I spent my days with some good kids. Individually. It was just when they all got together - and collaborated their backyard shenanigans - that it became hard to enjoy them collectively.

I now know a few things I didn't know before. (Why must I learn lessons the hard way?)

Boys and girls are only related in the sense that God put us together on earth to sustain his greatest creation. Other than that, we couldn't be more different. Boys chase each other around the yard with sticks, yelling "I am a superhero. I have great power over you." The girls, meanwhile, are in the sandbox making cupcakes.

It is very difficult to love another child as if it were your own. This is the hardest part of my job every day. Hands down.

Preschoolers and toddlers have short-term memory. Short as in, about one minute. I said, "Don't jump on the furniture," and "Take off your muddy shoes before walking on the carpet," and "Please don't hit your friends," seven hundred and thirty five times in the past nine months.

Perhaps the most important thing I learned this year, is that time goes by much too fast. My baby boy is almost one year old. My baby girl is scarcely a baby at all. My time at home with my babies is slipping by...

Here are two pictures from our adventure to the park today. We took a picnic lunch and one of the boys' mom brought treats from Dairy Queen. (There's one extra in this picture. We invited a friend to come along. And his mother. I'm not that crazy!)

After a nap and a change of clothes, I wanted to take pictures of my kids by the spirea bushes. They are in full bloom, and they are beautiful, just like my babies.

Have you stopped to admire your own flowers today?

~Sarah

All things natural

2008-05-15T20:32:00.005-05:00

Click this link...for a video about an "Eco Friendly Day Care"

Now that you have watched that, you should understand what my daycare is not.

Here's just one example.

After lunch yesterday, the three older boys were heading outside to play. I noticed that their shoes were quite muddy. Realizing that it had not rained in several days, I asked the boys how their shoes got so muddy.

"We made mud," the boys replied matter-of-factly.

"Where did you get the water?" I asked. The boys know they are not supposed to turn on the water.

"We all peed."

Yeah, this would be my daycare. Don't you want your children to come here?

Thanks Uncle Sam, but no thanks

2008-05-13T14:48:00.004-05:00

I went online to balance my checkbook this afternoon, and much to my surprise, there was a cushy balance. This is not what I expected upon returning home from vacation. I fully expected to tap our savings account to cover my shopping spree...and to ride things out a few more days until pay day. But much to my surprise, our tax refund had come in!

Woooohoooo! Just for a moment, I was pleased with those "hard working folks on Capitol Hill." And then I came back to reality.

I have to say that I am fed up with all the advertisements telling me how to spend my refund. And more than that, I am fed up with those who had their money spent well before the bill could pass through both Chambers of Congress.

I know times are tough. I find myself looking at our accounts at the end of each week wondering where the extra funds have gone. The cost of energy has us all crippled by our pocketbook. Gas to drive the car, food to feed the family, energy to heat the home and keep the lights on...we are all feeling the squeeze.

But I just don't believe that by burning my refund on a major purchase is doing my family any good.

Oh, believe me, I want to make a major purchase. I want a new oven. I want to makeover our basement. I want a new sectional for my living room. I want to go on vacation again. And the list goes on...

The sad part of this story is that the intent of these funds is "stimulation." You and I are supposed to stimulate the American economy with a major purchase. Giving businesses a boost, spurring manufacturing and securing jobs.

Yet, at this time - given the current economic conditions - I am putting my priority on financial security. I want the comfort of knowing that money is safely tucked away in my savings account, standing ready to help us out when we really need it.

So, thank you Lowe's, Nebraska Furniture Mart, and every other retailer who has given me oodles of ideas on how to spend my "stimulus check."

It is with much regret that I must pass over your enticing offers. Deep, sorrowful, aching regret...

And to our American economy, I am sorry I will not be doing my part to "stimulate." But let's be honest, if we all just sit around and wait for the government to bail us out of some hard times, will we really ever learn how to stand tall when the wind blows?

2008-05-12T12:50:00.003-05:00

Ahhhhh.....vacation. Let me take a moment from my Monday afternoon to tell you about my vacation. Because after the Monday morning I just had, that's all I want to think about.

We arrived to a warm and sunny San Antonio, leaving behind a cloudy and rainy Kansas. We stayed at the Emily Morgan hotel, which is just across the street from the Alamo. The accommodations were outstanding - complete with whirlpool tub and Aveda bath products. (Aveda just happens to be among my favorites.) What did we do first? Whirlpool tub, of course!
And we quickly followed that up with Margaritas! After all, we were on vacation. Okay, almost vacation. I was vacating; my husband was working.

I managed to fill the entire next day with shopping, a tour of the Alamo, and a pedicure at an excellent day spa. And, then what? Margaritas, of course! What did you expect?

That night, a few margaritas turned into a few more. And then a light supper and more margaritas. We (shamefully) checked out Coyote Ugly and spent most of the night in a piano bar. And just in case you've seen the movie, Coyote Ugly, the real bar is really not much different than the movie.

The next day, I tried to sleep in. I really, really tried. And by 7:15, I gave up and got the day started. (It's no wonder my kids are early birds.)

I checked out La Mercada (Market Square) - for some "local flavor." There were some really cool finds, that just wouldn't quite fit in my suitcase.

That afternoon, we went to Sea World. This was definitely not my choice. We had brought along six high school students (along with two additional adult chaperons) to attend the conference also. And since the students couldn't drink margaritas or go bar hopping, we thought it would be a good idea to take them to Sea World.

I don't like amusement parks. I especially don't like zoos. Therefore, I really didn't like Sea World. I gave this very high and very thrilling water ride a try - and I will never be trying it again. Something strange happened to my equilibrium after being pregnant. I can barely swing on our swing set...let alone free fall a hundred feet on some crazy water ride. We saw a few of the animals, and they were okay. I guess I would just rather see them in their natural habitat, you know?

On Friday, our final morning there, Brent and I walked up and down the Riverwalk. It's really beautiful...except for the places where the water seems stagnant. That's mostly next the bars - suppose that's any coincidence?

We loved all the vegetation, the lush, green and beautifully landscaped areas. We loved the culture, the food, the nightlife. And, we loved the chance to get away, together.

So long, Dorothy!

2008-05-05T21:41:00.003-05:00

Our vacation is finally here!

Okay, my vacation. Brent has to attend a conference in San Antonio, and I just happen to be tagging along. I have three days of shopping, museums and day spas planned. And I'm just chomping at the bit, this evening. Mostly...

Why - in the middle of packing bags, washing fifteen loads of laundry and finding three pair of matching socks - does that bout of mommy guilt well up? Where does that come from? Doesn't my mind know that it needs a break from the day to day chaos? Doesn't my spirit feel the need to rejuvenate (with the help of a pedicure)? Doesn't my body yearn for (margaritas) relaxation?

So I'm stricken with mommy guilt, ridden with anxiety over everything I have yet to accomplish, and worried my parents will never want to see my children again at the end of this week. All that stirred together should make for some interesting dreams tonight...

Alas, I have things to do...like figuring out how I'm going to fit seventy-three beauty products and medications into one cosmetic bag, selecting the perfect five pair of shoes to take on my four day trip, and saying the rosary while trying on my bathing suit for the first time in two years.

I will try to give an update from San Antonio, but I'm not sure we can fit a laptop in with my shoes.

Adios!

Typical!

2008-05-01T21:34:00.003-05:00

A very talented, and very special, someone shared this site with me today. It's a quick read - and an excellent synopsis of American farm policy. I highly recommend it!

We had another evening of gardening. Tucker's muddy adventures were cut short - he was cranky and started to run a fever. Noah, however, was still going strong at 8:00. Garden hose in hand, mud from head to toe, she was one busy little girl. A storm was blowing in, and we were all forced inside.

The real highlight of my day, though, came shortly after nap time. It typifies my life these days...

I awoke one of the daycare kids early from his nap- his cousins were picking him up early to go play at their house. Eager to begin the shuffling of kids out the door, I put his shoes on him and had him wait at the front door. I turned around to pick up his cap only to watch him stand right there and pee all over my floor.

You should know, I spent the past four days repainting the tile at my front door. Four days. Repainting tile. Two coats of primer. Two coats of paint. And a top coat of polyurethane. Four days. And just this morning, I removed my homemade barrier to the tile, unlocked the front door and let traffic commence on the newly painted tile.

And he peed all over it! I was without words. Exasperated. Sensing God laughing from above. Wanting to laugh, myself, and cry at the same time.

The good news? The paint job and the tile held up to the puddle. I mopped the puddle, disinfected, and got the kid some dry pants. And for goodness sakes, I sent him away with his cousins.

Down and dirty

2008-04-30T21:02:00.003-05:00

I have been less than faithful to my blog writing lately. And to all my devoted readers (mom), I'm sorry.

Spring has finally graced our corner of the world, and we have been spending so much time outdoors each evening. By the time we hose off the kids and sweep the piles of sand from their beds, I am without energy to put together sentences.

My kids seem to be the dirtiest kids I know. Perhaps it's because they are still so young. Or perhaps it's because I let them dig in the sand and dirt. Whatever it is, I have yet to see kids get as dirty as mine.

In fact, I have been trying to figure out how other kids stay so clean.

Are all the other kids strapped in strollers and wagons, only watching the dirt and sand?

For the last three nights, the sand and dirt on my kid's clothing has required intense soaking. And I'm pretty good at attacking stains, but mud has got to be the toughest.

Nonetheless, I noticed how clean my husband and I are not when we come into the house each evening. I wipe dirt on the back of my t-shirt, and usually have potting soil smeared on my legs. My husband has grass stains on his pants and dirt deep into his nail bed.

I guess the apples didn't fall far from the tree.

We love the outdoors, growing things, watching grass grow and flowers bloom. And we love all the dirt and mud and stains it takes to make that happen. I guess our kids do, too.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Only fourteen years until the prom

2008-04-24T21:35:00.004-05:00

Last Saturday was the prom. As a mother of a two year old daughter and a ten month old son, I am not affected in the slightest by the ongoings of a small town prom. I did notice a few fancy cars cruising down my street with drivers sporting up do's or tuxes. And while I did take notice, it didn't interrupt my day whatsoever.

Because as the mother of two small children, I take great pride in the fact that I do not have to go prom dress shopping for at least another fourteen years. I do not have to be asked for money for the tanning salon, drive my teenager and her girlfriends to a mall three hours away to try on thousands of dresses, or hand over the keys to my Honda Accord (because that's what I'll be driving as soon as I can get rid of my minivan) to my teenage son.

I know that I was a real pearl for my mother during my prom days. In fact, I was so good that I dread the day I have to take Noah shopping. I know God works like that. I know my penance is coming.

Nonetheless, I did take Noah to "promenade." That's the gathering in the auditorium where the community (nosy onlookers) can come see all the kids in their fancy get-ups. She sat on my lap like an angel and clapped after each dress crossed the stage. It was a bit of a special moment (only because I knew I still had those fourteen years).

Later that evening, as I laid down with Noah at her bedtime, we talked about the prom.

"Did you like the prom, Noah?"

"Yes, momma."

"Which was your favorite dress?"

"The pink one."

"What color dress do you want when you go to the prom, Noah."

"I want a blue one, momma. But, momma, you drive me, okay? Cause I not drive."

"Yes, Noah, mommy would love to drive you to the prom."

Mark my words, folks, in fourteen years I will be driving my daughter and her date in my Honda Accord to her junior prom. Mark my words.

Can you turn that into a personal mission statement?

2008-04-17T20:59:00.003-05:00

It has been a rather quiet week around our house. As quiet as things can be for a house with two small children and a handful of daycare kids. Oh sure, we have had our share of interesting things happening. Today, one of the daycare kids knocked four of his bottom teeth loose during a lunge for the couch. I found nine dollars in a coat pocket. And, I finally finished some adorable summer dresses for Noah and her cousins. None of these, however, make for exceptional blog material.

My sister, on the other hand, should be writing a blog this week. Her "much more exciting than a SAHM" life in Washington D.C., got her an up close look at the Pope from the White House lawn and a new job as a legislative aide for a US Congressman.

While she was shaking hands with people in power, I was wiping noses and doing the dishes.

Am I jealous? Nah. Just glad I have someone to talk to who does things that are interesting and worldly.

Or, at least that's what I keep telling myself.

Because if I keep wishing I was somewhere else, I am going to miss the beautiful things happening in front of me.

There are times in life when you feel purposeful and passionate and that you're living the life your were called to live. And then there are those times where you find yourself wondering what the heck is your purpose.

And as a mother, you seem to suspend all those questions for the sake of your children. For right or wrong, your answers to life's questions are not going to come when the baby needs a bottle and your toddler is washing the bathtub with toothpaste.

I - and I'm sure many of you, too - have so many questions. But I have to make myself live in the here and now. For in the here are now are two precious sleeping babies, two growing little bodies and minds, two lives entrusted to me. Someday, somehow, I will answer those questions. Just not yet, I have laundry to fold.

ABC's...Wildcat style

2008-04-15T20:45:00.006-05:00

There are many things over the course of the last two years that I have tried to teach my daughter. Things such as how to ride a tricycle, put on a jacket and draw a circle are things that quickly come to mind. The video you are about to watch - and you must watch - is one of the things I did not teach my daughter. Yes, I have helped to provide the basis for learning and singing her ABC's. But this is her own special version...something she created in her two year old mind.

She is destined to be a wildcat. (As if her father and I would allow her to go anywhere else?)

How do you remove gasoline from clothes?

2008-04-15T14:00:00.003-05:00

Noah, while searching for daddy's hidden stash of peanuts in the garage, encountered a small gasoline can. The can was full of gasoline intended for the lawnmower, of course. Noah, however, watered the garage with $3.26 per gallon fuel!

Now I have a stinky garage and some very stinky toddler clothes. And now I am looking for the best method to remove the stench of gasoline from clothing. Have suggestions?

(Please reserve your comments on my parental judgment. We all have let our children encounter dangerous substances from time to time, right?)

Email me or leave your comments. I will give away $10.00 worth of laundry detergent (your choice) for the most effective method!

Am grumpy. Have keyboard. Will publish.

2008-04-10T21:08:00.006-05:00

I have been having a few grumpy days. It could all be related to this, but that would be such a typical excuse. I know I can come up with a much better reason.

Like Noah ate my yogurt this morning. Yes, I am the parent in this situation. But it was my yogurt, and it is my digestive system that so desperately needs jump started every morning. Because when mommy's day starts with a high fiber supplement, whole grain cereal, yogurt and coffee, the day is just that much better.

Or, how about it's been raining for four days? It started raining Sunday night, and with the exception of the sunshine we saw for five minutes today, it hasn't stopped raining. Oh, we love the rain. Rain for the crops means happy farmers and happy families. But I would like a few of those farmers to spend four days in my house with seven children under the age of five. Let's just see what they think of the rain then, huh?

And hunting season makes me grumpy. Turkey season began on Wednesday. My husband took the entire day off work to go hunting. That is how he chose to celebrate his birthday. When it's my birthday, I am going to take the entire day off work and devote myself to an expensive, elaborate hobby...such as shopping.

Too add to the list - crying babies, dirty dishes, clutter, leftovers, cold coffee, an unmade bed, and mismatched socks all make me grumpy. And that's just what is happening within my own four walls.

I am trying - and praying - to get out of town sans kids for one night this weekend. Provided we all stay healthy for the next 24 hours, the trip is a go. At this point, I don't even care about all the things to do in the big city. I just want one night of uninterrupted sleep in a hotel room. That outta cure "grumpy" for a least a couple more weeks.

No news is good news

2008-04-08T20:33:00.003-05:00

It was a slow news day. I read a few other "mommy blogs," and read some sad, sad stories about problems much worse than Tucker's fifth ear infection. I heard really great news about some friends who, after years of trying to have another child, are bringing home an adopted child today. It was a slow news day at our house.

And I think that's just fine.

Tomorrow, is my husband's 30th birthday. I have offered to make his favorite breakfast. I have offered to make his favorite supper. He insists on spending the entire day turkey hunting. (I think we forgot to go over this during marriage prep some five years ago.)

Also, he is taking his turn at writing about the skyrocketing grain prices. I've included his latest article for the newspaper below. I'm sure he won't mind a little free press.

Searching for Gold

Ellsworth producers are searching for gold this summer. Are they all going to win the lottery? Are they going to inherit a large sum of money? Are they mining the mountains searching for the next big find? No. Ellsworth producers are growing wheat. Wheat, a very common crop in the county, could benefit producers this summer.

Today, the price of wheat is around $9.00 per bushel. The average price for Kansas wheat over the last 7 years has been $3.79. That's a significant increase.

The Ellsworth county producer has had some difficult harvests over the last several years due to dry conditions and late season freezes. The Ellsworth county average production has been 39 bushels per acre over the last 7 years. With the current prices, producers could double their profits with current grain prices. Due to higher input costs, such as fertilizer, machinery, fuel, and other operating costs, it is a good thing the price of wheat has jumped significantly.

Wet conditions during winter and early spring have the Ellsworth county producer favored with some pretty decent odds of raising a great crop. However, in a blink of an eye the odds can turn against the farmer and force them into a negative situation. Let's hope for favorable environmental conditions over the next sixty days to benefit our local producer.

Underneath every rainbow is a pot of gold - Ellsworth county has thousands of acres covered with green gold that might benefit the local economy more than you'll ever realize.

2008-04-06T20:52:00.006-05:00

So I took a picture of Tucker throwing the ball this weekend. And while I am certainly not a photographer, I did happen to capture the ball suspended in mid-air. Amazing, huh?

We were out of town all weekend for Brent's niece's first communion. Everything we took with us is still in a huge pile at the front door. Before I get too distracted to put away my mess before Monday morning comes, I just want to give a shout out to Brent's niece and her family.

His niece, upon the encouragement of her mother and grandmother, wore the dress her mother wore for her first communion many years ago. The dress was beautiful, yet dated. And while his niece certainly could have insisted on a brand new dress like all the other girls, she chose to honor her family and wear that very special dress.

At eight years old she may not fully understand what a courageous thing she did, but I sure hope she knows just how proud everyone was of her today.

Flowers blooming underfoot

2008-04-03T14:06:00.000-05:00

Lately, it seems I have been a bit consumed with the "big world that's out there." And while I have been getting my fix on economics and rural policy, it seems my kids have been doing some pretty amazing things. Tonight, I turn my focus to my home front.

When Noah, my defiant two-year-old, isn't having a complete melt-down because I said, "No more candy, today," she is practicing her new "pedaling" skills on her new trike. Can't you just see the look of determination in her face? Wednesday, she pedaled from the garage to the street. On the return trip, she crashed into the wall. Next week, we will be working on how to turn.

And if she isn't cruising on her pink and purple trike, she is singing. Singing her ABC's, all the nursery rhymes she can remember, and songs about Grandma and cow poop. (We have her Uncle N. to thank for the very educational lesson about cow poop.)

Noah will certainly be our tom-boy, yet this week she revealed her inner diva. When Daddy asked her if she'd like to go look for turkeys, she replied, "No, I'm going with momma to get my haircut." Precious. Furthermore, as she put on her Pull-Up at nap time the other day, she said, "Look, Daddy, Cinderella has pretty earrings," referencing the picture of Cinderella on the front of the Pull-Up. So sweet.

Tucker - in a matter of a few days this week - became a little boy. He has figured out how to throw a ball. (Notice I do not have a picture of this. He is my second child.) As soon as he throws the ball, he claps in approval of his efforts. It's splendid. He even pats the ball, much like a quarterback does when he's in the pocket looking for an open receiver. (Wow, that sounded good. Maybe I should write for ESPN.)

Although, if he's going to make quarterback, he is going to have to slim down and stretch out. Based on his build right now, I'd say he would make a great lineman.

His favorite foods are fruits, vegetables, sausages and hot dogs. (This may be contributing to his lineman stature.) Hey, the kid has to pay for his college education somehow!

While certainly more sensitive and reserved than his big sister, I have no doubts he will be a rough, tough and dirty little boy. Isn't that the way they are supposed to be?

Yes, my job and my life are these kids and my home. But it always refreshes me to take some time to grasp the big world that's out there. Just like a working mom, I, too, have to strike that balance between adult world and mommy world. Otherwise, my husband would have me committed.

You now owe $400,000

2008-04-03T13:07:00.003-05:00

Did you know that in addition to your own mortgage and consumer debts, your household also owes the government an additional $400,000 just to cover our nation's debt? This is fascinating information - and information that is certainly worth your fifteen minutes.

If you are banking on social security and medicare to pay your bills beyond retirement, especially if you are a member of my "thirty-ish" generation, think again.

These two programs alone are bankrupting our government. And there is simply not enough revenue - in the form of federal taxes - to continue to fund these programs at their current level. (Unless you can convince your parents (the babyboomers) to keep working until they are about 90.)

Imagine this - by 2040 there will just be enough federal funds to pay for these two programs. That would mean no schools, no highways, no farm programs, no national defense. Just think about that for a minute.

Please, please take the time to view these videos. Our nation needs you to know right from wrong.

2008-04-01T20:43:00.002-05:00

I am retiring early this evening. My blogging habits have been keeping me up way past my bedtime - which is usually 9:00. I make no concessions about it - I need my (beauty) sleep.

If you would like to read more about the food price issues, such as what Bessy is dealing with, see this.

Stay tuned for a post coming about how the products you are buying at the grocery store are shrinking in size...

2008-03-31T20:38:00.003-05:00

There aren't many days where I feel like I need "the heck outta Dodge," but today was one of them. Honestly, I love my kids. I love being with them every day. But the moment when they are both crying at my ankles - for like the eighty-fifth time - just sets me over the edge.

I went to the grocery store when my husband got home from work. (Because there's really nowhere else to go after 5:00 in a small town.) I picked up some milk (and some chocolate syrup), some breakfast sausage links (they were on sale), and I found a friend near the coolers and we stopped to talk (vent about our days and our children.)

She had the same look in her eyes that I had in mine. The look that said, "I have given every piece of myself away today. Will someone please just make supper?"

After supper, I stepped out for a brisk walk. Emphasis on the word, "brisk." Brrr! That north wind ripped through my jacket. Sort of hard to think clearly when you can't feel you fingers, nor your ears. So much for that!

The minute I stepped into the bathroom where daddy had the kids in the tub, Tucker started crying. I rescued him from evil daddy and tucked him into bed. There's really nothing like being needed by your kids, but some days...gheez.

The good news? I can admire my new floor while typing away about my day. Uh-oh, I see a crumb. Gotta run...

Out with the old...

2008-03-30T20:08:00.004-05:00

We installed new flooring in our kitchen this weekend. I say "we" as if I had something to do with the installation process. My role was to say, "I like this one," while shopping at the home improvement store, and to fork over the credit card to the cashier. Other than that, I really wasn't involved with the installation. I kept the kids out of the way while Brent and his buddy John provided the labor.

Here's a look at the old flooring...a mix of vinyl and carpet. The carpet was certainly not well suited for kids. (Case in point.)

I took this picture as we were nearing completion. I only lost my kitchen for 48 hours in this process - and I'm certainly not complaining. Do you see how pretty that floor looks?

And this is a completed view. Isn't it lovely!

Save for a few finishing touches, the job is complete. I will be making John an extra large batch of his favorite chocolate chip cookies tomorrow to thank him for his time. I sure hope I don't make a mess of my new floor.

And, I just can't go without saying that the job was slowed a bit because we celebrated my husband's thirtieth birthday on Friday night. His buddies and I threw a surprise party, and we needed nearly all Saturday morning to recover. I would show you the pictures - they are hilarious - but I think my husband would rather keep his professional career.

Bessy's banking my milk money!

2008-03-27T21:17:00.003-05:00

I started this post a couple weeks ago. Since then the price of milk has curtailed slightly - but the story is still relevant. Enjoy!)

I made a desperate run to the grocery store last night. There wasn’t a fruit or vegetable on the premise. The milk supply was down to a few sips in the bottom of the jug. And as far as bread goes, there was one stale bagel in the back of the refrigerator. We were desperate for groceries.

I headed out – alone – for the supermarket, leaving daddy and kids behind. If only there was time for the mall and the craft store, this would have been a fun trip. But not this time. I was on a mission. There would be another day for dark washed jeans and fabric for new throw pillows.

I made my way through the supermarket with ease. Isn’t it amazing how fast you can move without children hanging from the cart and a baby on your hip? That’s when I hit the milk coolers.

$4.00 for a gallon of milk?

I stepped back slowly from the cooler. Surely, this wasn’t right. I cautiously checked the prices on the rest of the coolers. 2%, 1%, whole and skim – all within pennies of $4.00 per gallon.

I knew the price of milk had gone up, but when did it hit $4.00? I thought I was an aware consumer, but this had me baffled.

I stood there, leaning against my cart, thinking about those four dollars.

$4.00 can buy lots of things – a new color of nail polish for spring, a pair of polka dot socks, a snazzy new pen for my day planner, several colors of Play Doh, twenty-one digital prints from the pharmacy, flower seeds, and lip gloss – all of which are fun things to buy for $4.00. But $4.00 for cow’s milk? Holy cow!

What self-righteous, greedy dairy cow was taking my $4.00 anyway?

I can picture ol’ Bessy, herself, decked out in hot pink nail polish, new shiny lip gloss, and doodling her favorite bull’s name in her day planner with her snazzy new pen. She’s probably gazing at her beautiful flowers from her barn window, and hanging up new pictures of a night out with the girls at the feed bunk.

By now, I was pretty annoyed with Bessy. But my family had to have milk, and I pulled a gallon from the cooler and placed it in my cart anyway. I walked away from those coolers determined to figure out the truth behind Bessy’s shopping spree.

As it turns out, Bessy is not on a shopping spree. Bessy, in fact, is having a hard time putting food on the table for her family. Her family like to eat corn, among other things, and the price of corn is breaking Bessy’s bank.

So what’s going on with corn? Seems the rest of the world thinks it would be a good idea if their automobiles would run on corn…err…ethanol. And while that may be a good idea, the choice between food and feed use for corn versus using it for fuel, is creating competition thus driving up the price of those little yellow kernels.

Furthermore, the US dollar is weak, presently, compared to other currencies around the globe. That means US products are more affordable in the global markets, and we have been exporting much of our grain supply to foreign countries.

Getting complicated? There’s more…

It takes oil – in the form of gas – to get that grain from the field, to a processor, to a retailer and then to your kitchen table. Oil is awfully expensive these days, as you certainly are aware.

Incomes are on the rise around the world – as are populations. We have more people, with more money, and that means more mouths to feed with a limited supply of land on which to produce that food.

Did I mention that is has been a poor crop year around the globe? Grain supplies are down all over the world, and demand continues to drive that price upward.

So…hold on a minute. Can’t figure out why grain production in a foreign country has anything to do with the gallon of milk you just pulled from the cooler at your grocery store?

Let’s review.

Cows give us milk.

Cows need to eat grain to produce that milk.

Grain is expensive at the present time.

The price of grain is high due to many factors – oil, ethanol, poor global crop, etc.

If Bessy is spending more money to produce the milk you want to buy, then you, too, will have to spend more money for Bessy’s milk.

That happens to be the way a market economy works. Take it or leave it. You’re not getting your milk (lunch) free.

You and I, mother to mother, we’re in this together. We have to buy milk. Our kids need it. (And we need it too, or our morning coffee just wouldn’t be quite right.)

And from the look of things, we had better just get used to it. It doesn’t sound like things will be getting better anytime soon.

I guess it’s like they say, “When life gives you expensive milk, make chocolate milk.” Or something like that…

Want to read more? See this and this.

Be Sloppy!

2008-03-25T13:15:00.005-05:00

Time is running out - don't miss your chance to enter your kiddos into Cargill Meat Solution's "Be Sloppy" contest. Simply take a picture of your messy child (under the age of 10) eating a delicious sloppy joe, submit to this website, and complete the release form.

You could win a $1,000 savings bond for your child's college education, or you could also win a year's supply of ground beef. (We're actually hoping for second place!)

We had fun today taking the pictures at lunch time. I "beefed up" my sloppy joe recipe with pureed red peppers and sweet potatoes. Tasty!

"Sloppy Noah"

"Sloppy Tucker"

I would show you the pictures of the daycare kids - but I should probably ask their parents before I post their picture. My mom still cringes when I put pictures up on my site. But I refuse to let some loony out there keep me from my creative ventures!

You can all go to the website and vote beginning April 12 through April 27.

Until then...be sloppy!

2008-03-23T21:02:00.008-05:00

We had a happy - yet chilly - Easter weekend. Here's the holiday in review...

Soon after we arrived, Noah began to decorate cookies. The onslaught of sugar had only just begun.

After checking cows with Grandpa and Daddy Saturday morning, we went into town for the community Easter Egg Hunt. Noah, and her cousin Henry, fared well. Henry, however, preferred the acorns and grass to the chocolates and treats.

Aunt Mary helped Noah dye Easter eggs - and Grandma's kitchen table as well as Noah's hands. That stuff actually comes off in the bathtub, but I can't say the same for the kitchen table.

The Easter Bunny found us at the farm. Tucker was the first to find an egg - 'atta boy!

Shortly after this picture, we all began to understand why two year old's should not have candy for breakfast.

Sure, they look cute now, but you should have seen them forty-five minutes into Mass. Cute clothes don't do anything for tired, sugar loaded babies.

I hope you all had a very special Easter!

By the way, I am looking for any charity wanting to accept oodles of chocolates and candy. I am in the spirit of giving (and maintaining my current pants size.)

Just let it go...

2008-03-20T12:31:00.002-05:00

I have spent the last twelve hours trying to teach myself HTML in order to get this new header to center properly on my page. I come to the conclusion that learning HTML would be like to trying to learn Arabic in twelve hours. They read right to left. I read left to right. Really, we just don't see eye to eye.

So, I had to let go of the dots on my background. This was sad. I liked those dots - thought they gave my site a more contemporary image. (Which is something I needed considering my life and my stories are more of the country, crafty style.)

Hey now - it's not that I don't like my country, crafty life. I am just saying that you don't have to dress the part. Even if you live near a barn, that doesn't mean your image has to reflect the fact you just stepped out of a dirty, dusty barn.

Anyway, I hope you like the new look and the new header. Thanks to my friend, Dixie, and her team at Graphic Arts of Topeka, for the snazzy header. Don't you think she did a great job?