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Post Halloween

11/1/2016

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When my older kids were little, we didn't really do the whole Halloween thing. Part of the reason was due to a misguided pseudo-religious conviction, but mostly I was just lazy. Or overwhelmed. But probably both. (Just to give you some perspective, there was a time when I had 5 children under 6 years old. I loved that period of my life, but boy howdy, was I ever exhausted!)

​By the time Halloween 2008 rolled around, I was finally ready to do costumes and candy with my kids. (And again, for perspective, I had 9 children ranging in age from 15 years down to 1 year old.) I don't remember what costumes my kids wore that year, because I am pretty sure I had very limited involvement in the decision process. Instead, I had farmed that out to the teens and tweens as part of their well-rounded homeschool education.

​However, I recall with much fondness the costume I created for the one year old and me. I dressed up in a blue turtle neck with coordinating blue jeans and also dressed the baby in a matching blue onesie. I affixed cloud-like clumps of white batting to each of us and carried her around on my hip like usual. I also carried a squirt bottle full of water and randomly spritzed into the air. When people naturally asked me what I was dressed up as, I sprayed a fine mist of water in their direction and told them with a very straight face that I was -- wait for it -- Partly Cloudy with a Chance of Rain.


Then there was Halloween 2011, when I wore my beekeeping gear while holding the newest Romeo child on my hip whom I had dressed up as a bee. (My forte seems to be mother and child combo costumes.)

Fast forward to now.

My 18 year old daughter is keenly aware of how quickly time is passing; next year at this time she will be away at college. As if to make up for all the lost years of not carving a single pumpkin as a family, she set out to carve six unique pumpkins by herself. There's probably a lesson in this, but I'll leave it up to you, dear reader, to find it. (Because I'm still lazy that way.)
The Romeo child I dressed up as a bee in 2011 is old enough now to use my cell phone. I had given it to her while I was making dinner and her sister was carving pumpkins, assuming she would play a game on it, like Goat Simulator or Angry Birds. Nope. She recorded videos instead. I think she's lobbying for her own YouTube channel.

You can watch her cute video and running commentary of the pumpkin carving below.

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Appalachia Day (with photos!)

10/11/2016

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This past weekend, I took a trip to eastern Kentucky with some of my favorite people for Alice Lloyd College's Appalachia Day. Like last year, I sold my handmade goat milk soap and Natalie sold her handmade jewelry, but mostly it was an excuse to visit my college girl. And of course, with the ever-looming anniversary of Maxwell's death, October could use a bright spot.

​And now, commence with the poorly-framed and hastily snapped photos.  

Would you like to watch a short video? Of course you do. This is a new song for the Voices of Appalachia, Natalie's college choir. It is based on a poem by James Stills, a former poet laureate of Kentucky, and composed for them by a friend of the choir director from Cornwall.

(The wind was wicked during their performance, and this is the first time they sang it for an audience. Given those constraints, I think it's still quite lovely.)


I arrived home on Sunday night to a large package. In it were two quilts that were lovingly and painstakingly created for me by my mom. I could describe them to you, but instead, I think I'll show you.
You're looking at Max's t-shirts. I am undone.
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Age and Treachery

9/27/2016

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​Today is a big day for my fourth born child because today she's 18 year's old! How is this possible? I mean, what sort of weird time-bending bubble do I live in where my children are aging faster than me? Surely I'm not old enough to be the mother of yet another child who has reached the age of adulthood.

Yesterday I realized something. When you're the oldest person in the classroom, don't shy away from it. Rather, you should own it! That's the thing I wish I knew last fall when I started back to school.

(I'm not always the oldest person in the classroom.)
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Music triggers

9/20/2016

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Some days more than others, I am reminded of how important music is to me. For instance, this song -- actually the entire album from which it came -- helped lull Max to sleep when he was a baby. I hadn't thought about this little memory tidbit in ages.

​Thanks, Harvest Moon 2016, for allowing me to remember a little slice of joy from my life with my son.

Recently, I was sitting in Roger's music studio listening to a song that my 11 year old recorded when he was 6. I was simultaneously struck by 2 things:
1) It's really good.
2) When he dies, I'll want to know where to find this for the funeral.


That, my friends, is what my brain does every day.

​Since then, I've had this next song running in continuous loop in my head. Facebook reminded me that I had shared this on my page in

2010, well before Max died and while deeply pregnant with my last baby when I was really worried about someone very, very dear to me.

If a song can stick with a person through many intensely emotional seasons, it must be good.

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Spring Rites

5/7/2016

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Mother's Day and graduation ceremonies are all colluding this year to kill me. Or at least that's what it feels like.

But first...


...Mamas, I rejoice with you as you celebrate and share the accomplishments of your children. You are so, so, SO very proud of them, and damn well you should be. You worked hard, prayed hard, cried hard, and loved hard to help shepherd them to reach their goals.

Ya done good, Ma. 



I submitted one of my final projects tonight. With finals next week, I'm this close to finishing the semester, and unless I flub it completely, I think I will be able to maintain my 4.0 GPA for awhile longer.


But there's this heaviness, a weighty oppression that sucks the oxygen out of the room, that reminds me while I'm studying and while I'm not that none of this is normal.

Not one damned thing of this is normal.

Maxwell should be the one agonizing over finals week. Not me. In fact, Maxwell should be graduating from Kent State in six days.
I should be proud of all he's done and fretting about his future. I should be bragging about him on Facebook and bombarding my loved ones with photos documenting his triumphs. In short, I should be doing regular mom stuff.



I wish I could tell you that I am going somewhere with this maudlin navel-gazing. Alas. I am not. Except, perhaps, for this:

If you have a mother, please hug or call her this weekend. If you are a mother, please hug or call your children this weekend. And if you know a bereaved mother, please know that this is probably an intensively difficult time for her.

Mother's Day and graduation days are likely conspiring to undo her.

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A Sure Sign of Spring

3/10/2016

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This is Sally. In October of last year, Sally and her herdmates were each bred to our Lamancha buck so that in the spring, they would have babies. And we would have milk.

(Goat pregnancies last about 5 months, so the time is near for babies to be born.)

A couple of weeks ago, Calvin -- my intrepid 10 year old goat farmer -- told me that Sally wasn't eating like the rest of the goats and that she spent much of her time lying down.



This is almost always bad news.

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Fearing the worst, I went down to the barn to check her out. I did a thorough examination and could find nothing wrong with her. Her temperature was fine. Her eyelid color was nice and pink. Her poop looked normal. She wasn't in pain, and her respiration was normal. She was chewing her cud, and when offered food, she ate it with gusto.

So I concluded that she was just in the very end stages of pregnancy and didn't have the energy to fight the other goats for access to the hay feeders. And then I prayed that I was correct in my diagnosis.

This past Sunday morning, as the family was scrambling to eat breakfast, get dressed for church, and finish all the animal chores, Calvin hollered from the door: "SALLY HAD BABIES!"

Well alright then! All hands on deck in the barn!



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Three babies! That's a lot for a goat. It's not unheard of, but it certainly explains her general malaise for the past two weeks.
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All's well that ends well.

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Thanksgiving

11/27/2013

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Driving home tonight, I passed a car much like the one my son used to drive. (This happens a lot. Who knew that the red Cavalier circa 1999 is a popular car in this part of Ohio?) I scrutinized the driver; I always do.

"Maybe it will be Max", my irrational heart thought. (Of course it wasn't. It never is. I know he's dead. I'm not crazy.)

Then I asked God to protect that young man on the drive to his destination so that his mother would never know the pain of losing him.

(Holidays are hard for bereaved parents. If you have one in your life, please read this powerful essay.)

Happy Thanksgiving, friends.
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One Year Later

10/17/2013

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In the still small hours one year ago, I held my dying son's hand. The only sounds were the terrible din of the ventilator and the heart monitor. I held his warm hand and sang the only song that came to me: Psalm 23 from the psalter we use at church. Why this song? I don't know. I sang and prayed, prayed and sang. Hours passed.

He was supposed to have a math exam that day. Instead, doctors pronounced him dead in the afternoon. The hardest thing I have ever done was to leave his lifeless body alone in that sterile hospital room and drive away.


The past year has been filled with the most excruciating pain I have ever known. But because of the faith I have in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, I know I will be reunited with Maxwell one glorious day in heaven.


“O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” (I Corinthians 15:55)
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Dreams

6/22/2013

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In my dream, Max fell from a tall tree and got stuck in some lower branches. I ran over to help him and hugged him around his broad shoulders. I asked, "How are you doing?"

He replied in a feigned Bronx accent, "I'm always doin'. How YOU doin'?" (This is an inside family joke.)

I said, "I want to help you."

To which he replied, "You can't. I'm okay."

Then I woke up. I like when I get to spend time with him in my dreams, no matter how briefly.
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Balloons

5/27/2013

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I wanted to do something special for the unveiling of Maxwell's memorial stone.  So this past Saturday, friends and family gathered at his grave to release balloons. The weather was spectacular and the turnout overwhelmed me.  It was truly an emotional time of peace and pain, laughter and tears.
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There they go, soaring as a group over the lake and up to the heavens.
Afterward, we went to the park and had a lovely lunch of pulled pork sandwiches, potato salad, coleslaw, cappuccino cookies, and brownies.  (Max would have pigged out on this lunch.)  Sometime after lunch I heard much shrieking and cackling coming from the steep hill beyond the pavilion.  Alarmed, I determined to find out just what the heck was going on and discovered some of the children rolling down a steep hill at top speed, screaming the whole way down.

So I did what any good mother would do.  I told them to STOP IT...until I could get my camera to take video.  Here it is.  I think it's pretty funny.  What do you think?  (YouTube won't let it be viewable on mobile devices, so watch it on your computer. It's better that way, anyway.)
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    Who's that?

    Much of the blame belongs to me,  Alison.  I am:  Wife to 1 man, Mom to 10 kids, and Farmer to a great many critters.

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