The Toy that Made me Jump out of Bed Screaming - True Story

See this innocent wooden skewer? Well, last night it had me jumping out of bed (in the dark) screaming.

Why, you ask? Well, sit back and relax, because after the story you might not be able to relax.

The week before Christmas I was rushing around to get my boys off to school. It was a chilly morning, so I watched for the bus from the front door. As soon as the bus pulled away I noticed that the boys had left their bedroom lights on. Which is a cardinal sin in our house. Punishable by loss of computer time. So I went upstairs to turn off the lights. And then I remembered it was Tuesday. And Tuesday is the day I strip the bed and wash the sheets. (It used to be Friday, but with Spenser's new preschool schedule this year, it is Tuesday. It's subject to change next year when Sawyer starts preschool.)

So, as I picked up Joe's pillow to take off the pillowcase I noticed something. It was a freaking mouse sitting on my bed between our pillows. (See, I warned you that you wouldn't be able to relax after reading this.) Well, being the Lera that I am, I screamed. And then I screamed again. And then, because I am very good at screaming, I screamed again for good measure. I picked up the phone to call Joe, but soon realized I was on a corded phone. In a room with a mouse on the loose. I hung up the phone and ran to the kitchen and placed a frantic 9-1-1 call to Joe.

At first he couldn't understand me because I was so hysterical. I had to repeat myself. Luckily he had stopped for gas after leaving the house and was still local-ish. He came right back home. In the meantime, I sat in a chair in the dining room with my head in my hands, rocking back and forth, saying, "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! OH MY GOSH!!" repeatedly until I heard him come home. I was on the verge of losing all sanity.

To make a long story short, we found the mouse. And his friend. And I nearly moved out of my bedroom. I wanted to sleep in the family room, in the rocking chair. My mother suggested I find a way to suspend the rocking chair from the ceiling and I did contemplate the logistics of it. It just wasn't going to work.

So, what does this have to do with the wooden skewer? Well, you can imagine the uneasiness I feel every time I walk into my bedroom. (Yes, it has been two weeks. I realize this. But I have been sorely violated.) Last night as I rubbed lotion on my raw hands, Joe turned off the lamp. As I nestled into bed and slithered down the sheets, I felt something strange between my legs. Within a split second I was screaming, jumping out of bed, turning on my lamp and throwing down the blankets to discover ... a wooden skewer.

Never have I been happier to see a toy in my bed. It reminds me of the rubber and plastic bugs the boys put in my bed after the big lice incident. I laughed at each one. (Until a few months had passed and the bug placements stopped and suddenly started again.) I don't think anyone put the skewer in my bed on purpose. And Joe wonders how I made the bed with it there without noticing. My defense is that I had "helpers" (Spenser and Sawyer) making the bed and it just wasn't as perfect as it usually is.

(We think the mice hitched a ride up the laundry shoot that is in our closet. I am seriously considering getting rid of the sucker. It brings more harm than good.)

Buckwheat - RIP

We had our first chicken tragedy on Saturday. I went out to gather eggs and check the chickens, and noticed one wasn't running when I made my "kissing" sounds that make them come running. Without even looking at her, I knew she was dead.

Buckwheat. She was my favorite. She was an Aracauna with black and white feathers. She was beautiful. The kids sometimes called her Roadrunner because if she got out, that girl could run.

I ran up to the house to get Joe. Carter knew something was wrong. He is so attached to these chickens. He nearly beat Joe out the door trying to get there as fast as he could. Carter cried and, as I hugged him, I gave him the "life on a farm is tough" talk. Not that we live on a farm. But we do have a chicken coop, smokehouse, and barn on our property. It was once a little farm.

Joe scooped her up with a shovel and asked me what he should do with her. And, being the practical farm girl that I am, I replied, "Oh, just toss her over the fence into the brush near the railroad tracks." And he did. And now I almost feel guilty that I didn't prepare a proper burial for my favorite chicken.

And so Sawyer keeps asking if Buckwheat is coming back to life. I told him she is in chicken heaven. And then I said, "I bet Aunt Krissy is taking care of her." Which made me laugh. I can so hear Kristen's voice saying, "Thanks, Lera. Thanks for your chicken." With barely a smile on her face.

RIP Buckwheat. You were a good girl. And you laid some pretty eggs. We miss you lots. Even if I didn't cry that you're gone. And tossed your body over the fence. I'm sorry your chicken sisters started to eat you. It's just not fair.

*These photos were taken in the spring when we first moved them to their coop. The first picture is not a picture of the dead Buckwheat. Although Carter took some with his new Christmas camera and emailed them to his best friend.*

Merry Christmas

from our family to yours.

Candy Cane Pillows

First it was the candy corn craze and now it's the candy cane craze. Last Christmas I made a few candy cane things, but had ideas for many more. I just didn't have time to do anything about it. One of the things I wanted to make was a new pillow cover for the candy corn pillow.

After a quick stop to the fabric store for something last week, I noticed this candy-cane striped fleece as a remnant. I thought it might be the closest I would get to a candy cane pillow this year, so I snagged it. I washed it immediately and whipped up a quick pillow.

The kids love it, but it wasn't what I had in mind. And when Lera's mind is set on something, it is set on something. And there is no room for negotiating. So yesterday, amidst all the hustle and bustle of the holiday-birthday season, I sat down to think. And that usually translates into running or sewing. Since I had already run that morning, it only left sewing as my option.

I grabbed scraps of red and white and worked on it until it was finished. I worked around kids and homework and getting our last and final Christmas tree up and dinner and town council meeting. It was going to be finished.

And I'm so happy that it is. A year in the making.

I am the Mom of a Teenager

This teenager, in fact.

This boy has up and turned 13 today. It kills me. How did this happen? I was so not ready to have a teenager. And it suddenly makes me feel so old.

This is the boy that made me a mother. This is the boy that made me labor for days before he would exit my body. The boy that made this mama have contractions every five minutes for over 40 1/2 hours straight. The boy that was so large for this mama (a big 8 lbs. 13 oz.) that she pushed for an exhausting two hours and 42 minutes before he came into this world. The boy that was so very bloody that he looked like he had been dipped in red paint from his waist to the very top of his wee giant head. The boy that made his mama lose so much blood during delivery that she passed out and went into convulsions shortly after he was born. The boy who nurses nicknamed "the bloodiest baby we've ever seen," who made this mama nicknamed "the one who passes out."

Yes. It's that boy. The birthday boy.

What a fine young man he is turning into. The boy who finished his last merit badge (this past week) to earn his Eagle Scout award. The boy who will be an Eagle Scout after his project, which will be in the spring. The boy who is taking all accelerated classes in school. And taking Algebra (for high school credit!) while only in the seventh grade.

Happy birthday, my teenage boy. I hope you have a wonderful 13th year. I hope it's magical and fun and groovy and in all ways happy and merry. Happy birthday, Taylor. I will love you forever and ever.

It's Beginning to Look {a little} Like Christmas

Truth be told, I haven't really been full of the Christmas spirit this season. I think I could be in Christmas denial, but I want to blame it on the heavy birthday season that is coming upon us. I couldn't really think about Jackson's birthday (party) until Thanksgiving was over. And then, I couldn't start thinking about Taylor's birthday (this Sunday) until Jackson's was over. And then we have Christmas and Carter's birthday to end the year.

I've been going through the motions, just hoping for survival at the end.

Earlier in the week I decided it was time to start getting our Christmas trees up. Through past experience, I know better than to decorate the house before Jackson's party. If you recall the party from two years ago, the party goers flipped over my sofa during their banshee-style siege on my house.

As I started to decorate the tree in our formal living room I came upon an ornament that said, "celebrate" and another that said, "peace & joy." And I burst into tears. (I think the Christmas music in the background had something to do with it, too. It was "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.") It was a sweet and tender reminder that I'm not doing all of this for my children or myself. I'm doing it to celebrate the birth and life of my Savior. And suddenly, everything seemed much more important and took on a new perspective. It truly is the most wonderful time of the year.

And I realized that Mrs. Scrooge was gone and Lera was back.

And while I was busying myself in the red room, two little helper elves were decorating our little white tree in the upstairs hall.

Complete with a snowy village. These vintage houses belonged to Mom-Mom. Sawyer was so happy when he saw a temple (really a church with a steeple that he called a temple). We used some scrap white fleece and tulle to make it snowy and magical.

And then I remembered I had a few vintage ornaments from Mom-Mom that needed to go on the tree. Many decades ago my grandparents loved to bowl. I guess someone gave them this ornament for Christmas one year.

And this sweet vintage candy cane, which was one of several, but the one in the best shape.

I am grateful for the tender mercy given to me to that reminds me of the true meaning of this Christmas season. It is such an important thing and I lost sight of it. But in the end, I found it. Or maybe it found me.

Flower Shirt

I have already publicly professed my love of white shirts. So, when the idea of flowers hit me it was coupled with another flower idea. I knew it would have to be in white. I am the kind of gal who wears white after Labor Day.

This was so very quick and simple. It's just a $5 long-sleeved shirt from Target (not even on sale). I took an old white tee and cut a strip off. Then I did a long basting stitch along one long edge of the strip and gathered the bobbin thread. It ruffled perfectly. Then I sewed the ruffle directly onto the shirt, in a circle, close to the basting stitch. Easy peasy. Done and done. How's that for simple and quick?

I wore it Thanksgiving Day and as soon as I removed my cardigan, my sister exclaimed, "I just bought a shirt like that!" And then she admitted she spent more than $5.