Ready, Set, Rosemaling

I remember my grandmother liked doing crafty things. She had a big bucket of beads that we would use dir making bracelets. Shed paint anything: spoons, saw blades, etc.

I also remember in my youth, my doodles were always a bit more involved that just doodling. There would be a center, maybe an eye or a letter, and then I’d branch out from here center circling around and around.

I was reminded of both of these things when I tried Rosemaling today! I went down to Fort Ransom with Sister M and we went to a multi-hour class on Rosemaling.

Rosemaling is a Norwegian folk art.  I come from Norwegian stock on my father’s side and recall seeing items that were rosemaled growing up and I’m always down for a crafty good time. 

First off we used an acrylic paint on a wooden disc as a base, which dries relatively quickly. We transferred an image with graphite paper onto our painted “plate” and then got to work painting the scrolls, leaves, and flowers. For the image we used oil paint. It takes awhile to dry and takes a couple weeks to really cure.

We painted a Telemark Rosemaling design which is asymmetrical so it’s “easier” because there’s no need to make sure you match what you painted previously.

Once I had the base and the leaves and flowers done, I was a bit sad at my plate but the instructor told us: the magic happens with the line work.

After a short tutorial, we got to work with the line work. We painted these little plates for about 6 hours and when it was all said and done, I was pretty proud of my Rosemaled plate.

I drove home, to show Hubby and the girls. As I got out off the car, Miss E reached for my plate, grasped it, putting her thumb right in the paint, smearing it across the plate. She instantly apologized, but the damage was done.

I suggest trying Rosemaling, but maybe don’t let anyone see your work until you’ve let it sit for two weeks so it’s cured. I’m going to go lie down now.

Opportunity Knocking

I hear something knocking… I currently work for the region’s largest independent seed company as the Logistics Coordinator, or should I say, I did work for the region’s largest independent seed company.

You see, last Friday was my last day.

In an unforeseen turn of events, I have found myself in a position to seize an opportunity. This is the kind of opportunity that I believe if I didn’t take, I would think about what could have been, which made this opportunity too good for me to pass.

Now I believe opportunities are all around us, closing doors-opening windows and such. A mistake is an opportunity to learn. Something uncomfortable is an opportunity to grow. Some of the best stories come from taking opportunities when they’re presented.

I was online with an unredeemed voucher trying to plan my family’s annual trip to Medora. In my youth, I spent a couple of summers working there and now with Hubby and our children, we vacation on the other side of the state at least once a year.

I wondered if they still hired gobs of teens, like they did when I was there, so I clicked the “careers” link. I saw all of the seasonal jobs, plus a year-round full-time position, as I clicked on it, I read the description and what they were looking for in a candidate, and said “Hubby-I think they’re looking for me.” He looked online and said, “Sure does. Reach out-doesn’t hurt anything.”

After a couple phone calls, a zoom interview, and a multi-hour, in-person panel interview, complete with off-roading tour, I was presented an opportunity I couldn’t refuse.

So I said goodbye to some of my favorite people who don’t live in my house. These people who I shared my days with while “solving the world’s problems one soybean at a time”, the people who lifted my family up when our garage burnt to the ground and again when Miss A spent three days in the hospital with a head injury. We went through Covid together, and holidays, and blizzards, and crud markets, and regular old Tuesdays. Our kids have gone to camp together, we’ve entertained each other in our homes, and helped us move houses.

I am opting for my favorite people who do live in my house. Once Miss E and Miss A wrap up school, Hubby and I will move our household to the other side of the state.

I have traded in the region’s largest independent seed company for North Dakota’s largest tourism destination.

The girls are JACKED. Hubby is excited. I am a mixture of enthusiasm and anxiety that I have told myself can only lead to great things, and the best part, according to Miss E: we get yard chickens.

So if anyone has a lead on Silkie chicks, I’ll be over here tearfully, but excitedly, breathing into a paper bag, while pouring myself another bulldog. I heard opportunity knocking, and answered, taking the door off the hinges.

Flinging Into Spring

It’s that time of year again: when the winter isn’t over but the summer is almost here and the ACTIVITIES are ramping up and registration signups are everywhere!

If I don’t have it in my calendar, it doesn’t exist folks. I check my calendar every weekend and go over “the week’s plan” with Hubby. Last week I had an appointment or meeting every day.

Miss E loves band and choir so she participates in the Young Musician’s Festival, but this year it was scheduled on the school’s ONE snow day this winter, so the one day festival has been rescheduled into three partial-day performances so I’m adding going to the school to watch Miss E perform to my roster.

The girls are registered for soccer. We are still having the great: baseball vs softball debate. I’m stalking the Parks website like a druggie waiting for their next hit as I’m waiting for swimming lessons to open up.

We’ve been fundraising: oh the fundraising! Puffins, and Kid’s Heart Challenge, and 4H fruit, and steak fry, and raffle tickets oh the raffle tickets! Wait…raffle tickets?? Shoot!! We forgot the dang raffle tickets.

As we fill out our books of tickets we “sold”, please remember those activities-parents just trying to hold it together as we go from quiet winter to end-of-school and welcome summer craziness!.

Now hand me a pen. I have a lot of tickets to fill out.

Birthday Magic

Today is my birthday. My kids believe in a certain amount of magic around birthdays. When it’s their birthdays, they wake up to balloons. I try to give them a special treat: muffins for breakfast, an ice cream stop, etc. There are usually gifts and maybe a special meal. Mom, with an assist from Dad, supply the magic.

My birthday fell on a Tuesday, which is our busiest night of the week with both girls having a dance class. When I walked out to my car, leaning next to my car were matching rocking chairs, that I had been eyeing for our front porch. I hear Hubby “Happy birthday Mama.”

I was off to work where my coworkers showered me with some birthday love.

Miss A has dance class directly after school so Miss E and I had a little alone time. “Do you know what I want?” I asked. “What?” Miss E responded. “I want a DQ birthday treat and a walk around the pond with you.” “Okay!” Miss E loves DQ and any outside alone time with a parent.

We pulled into Dairy Queen and ordered our treats. Then we went home, took care of the dogs, and went outside for a 58-degree walk around the park.

Then it was off to get Miss A from dance. I left Miss E to play with the dogs and went to get her younger sister. I asked “Do you know what I want for my birthday?” “What???” Miss A asked. “I want a treat and a clean car.” “what about Sister? Let’s go to the gas station!” Miss A declared, which just-so-happens to be one of Miss A’s favorite things to do.

Off we went to the gas station for a treat and a car wash. Miss A picked out the perfect pack of bubblegum and I grabbed some buns…I already had my treat and she wasn’t paying attention anyway.

When Hubby gets home, I ask him “What meal would you like to dine on your birthday?” “I’m debating between nachos or summer sausage, but it’s date night and we are eating out tomorrow night, so maybe we should stay home.” He looked at me and said “Well it is your birthday tonight.” So I took Miss E to dance, Hubby made himself less mechanic-looking, and we headed to our favorite watering hole. Miss E was done for class about the time food was served so we had a late dinner.

I took a pocket of quarters so the girls could play skeeball and the claw machine and we had a great night. When we got home, I opened the fridge and there was a cake. I looked at Hubby: “WHEN did you have time to get a cake?!?” He smiled “While you were sleeping last night. Happy birthday.”

Sometimes Hubby, on his own, provides the birthday magic.

Nuggles and No Sleep

Miss A is the Princess of ‘Nuggles. As she gets older, some things change, but some things stay the same.

Miss A hasn’t had a successful sleep over, unless we count when a friend took both children over night when we had the fire. Even then, Miss A wasn’t happy about it but she dealt.

She’s gone to a handful of birthday parties, some with sleepovers attached, but Hubby and I inevitably get the 9:30 call-she wants to come home.

She even tried having a friend stay at our house, and about 9:30 Miss A told me-she was ready for her friend to leave. The kid just turns into a pumpkin around 9:30 and doesn’t have time for people other than mom or dad.

This past weekend, one of her friends had a birthday party and Miss A didn’t even bother packing a bag. “I’ll go to the party, but I’m coming home at bedtime.” Then about an hour into the party, I get a phone call: “Mom, can you bring a bag? I’m going to try staying over.”

I told Hubby I was going to pack a bag and run it across town to the party. Miss A is going to attempt a sleepover.

“Uh huh.” He replied. I dropped the bag and told the hosting mom, I’ll have my phone on me if things change. Miss A grabbed the bag and took off.

About 11pm I decided to turn in, no call. My baby girl decided to sleep over. Part of me was proud, a little part was sad, one more first as she develops into her own independent person.

I picked her up the next morning, we pulled away from her friend’s house and she tells me “Mom I didn’t sleep.”

“You mean you didn’t sleep well?”

“No I didn’t sleep. You see, if I didn’t sleep, I didn’t need to call you because it was never bedtime. Me and Birthday-Girl stayed up ALL NIGHT long so I wouldn’t need to call you. I’m going to bed early tonight.”

I smirked as I drove home. Maybe my baby girl isn’t quite ready for sleepovers, but she was definitely ready for some ‘nuggles. Some things may change, but some things stay the same.

Do You Like Food? Check out an SCD

All across the country, including our state, we have soil conservation districts. What the heck is a soil conservation district?

A soil conservation district, or an SCD, has one goal: help conserve and preserve soil for future generations.

Do you like food? You need healthy soil in which to grow it and clean water. That’s a pretty straightforward goal.

SCDs are non-partisan groups because all side of the political coin agree: producing food for our planet is important and feeding more people on less soil, is an obstacle, so how can we help people to retain and enhance their practices to save soil and have clean water for generations?

Do you know what doesn’t help soil? Erosion. Wind erosion and water erosion can be a huge loss of topsoil when we leave soil uncovered. SCDs have programs that can help reduce erosion. A lot of people think, at least in our area, SCDs plant trees. Which they do! That isn’t all they do.

Healthy soil and water requires pollination and insects in the ecosystem. Want advice on native plants to attract birds and bees to boost your local ecosystem? Contact an SCD!

Are you on a local park board and want some guidance on how to choose plants for months, years, and decades into the future? Contact an SCD.

Whether it’s advice on what to plant in your small urban yard or garden, or how to adopt practices for your large farms’ fields and prairie, a district employee can help!

There’s no cost to call an SCD. When a district employee is working with you to identify your goals and needs, there most-likely is a cost-share program available to help too!

So the next time you think clean water and healthy soil, think about your local soil conservation district.

In fact, if you want to check out more of what I’m talking about, check out my home county’s SCD: http://cassscd.org!

Hellos and Goodbyes

We are a dog family.  Shortly after Hubby and I were married, we brought home our first dog, a pug: Tugger.  Then a few years later, after we bought our first house, we adopted another pug: Jack.  Then as old age caught up with Tigger, we adopted a shepherd mutt: Denali. 

We worried how Jack would be without Tugger around so we somehow thought Denali would help.  When Tugger was 15, we said goodbye.  Old age had caught up with him.   In the years since, Jack has not given two hoots that Denali exists.  Other than help barking at cars that dare drive on our block, Jack didn’t bind with Denali.  

Miss E claimed Denali.  Tugger was Hubby’s, and by default Jack is mine.  Let’s be clear: they all started as mine and then end up someone else’s. 

Jack was adopted from a shelter in Nebraska after being returned three times because he was un-housetrainable.  He had obviously been abused as he was afraid of EVERYTHING when we got him.  After months and months or patience, cleaning and training, Jack got house training.  He was afraid of the click-clacking his paws made on hard floors so we laid down rugs.  

We took him to the vet when he was drastically losing weight .  A lot of tests were run: he’s old, feed him whatever he wants was the diagnosis.  Then we found he was afraid of the food dish moving across the floor as he ate, so he’s walk away, and one of his siblings would steal his food.  We started feeding  him directly on the floor, and he gained weight. 

We took him to the vet when he was lethargic and were told he’s very old and in human years, he’d be older than any living human.  We said this isn’t that appointment-just give us some medicine and Jack got better.

His eyes clouded, his hearing is all but gone, and he isn’t afraid anymore.  He shuffles around our house scouting for food or feet to curl up on.  His back legs are starting to go, but he still dances for cheese and his little curled tail twitches back and forth as he smiles when we come home each day. 

He’s starting to have accidents, but neverin his crate.  Sometimes while struggling to stand, he’ll have an accident, and we’ll clean him and the floor and move on.  Our carpet shampooer is on standby at all times. 

Jack is 17 now.  We’ve talked to the girls about the inevitable.  We’ve talked about making the decision when his quality of life isn’t there.  Miss A and I shed lots of tears the other night after an episode where Jack went down and for a moment, I didn’t know if he’d get up. 

Miss A told me that she asked Jesus to let Jack live forever and she didn’t want to hear anything that may be contrary to that happening. 

I’m looking down the barrel of almost two decades of being a Pug Mom and soon will be pug-less.  Each day we wake up wondering if today is the day.  Is it time to say goodbye to our 15-year companion who’s been with us through four houses, numerous camping trips, and two kids?  

Are we saying Hello to a one-dog era?  We haven’t had only one dog since 2006.  Hubby is excited about one-dog life.

As we try to steel our nerves to say goodbye, I’m also keeping my heart open for a Hello.  Besides, I may have already reached out to a couple rescues…shhh don’t tell Hubby.

I Hate Picture Day

Today is dance class picture day. First of all: God Bless all teachers, instructors, and those who actively choose to herd small humans toward a common goal.

If you go around the state, you’ll find children’s dance classes in about every third town. Our town brings a photographer in one week day a year and all afternoon and evening groups of little girls after little girls come in and out of the studio to get their individual and group picture taken. I checked the schedule sheet six times to make sure I knew what time I need to bring Miss A and Miss E to the studio.

Let me set the scene: dozens of bedazzled little girls squawking, twirling, shrieking and whirling. The shrill splattering hum accompanied by outbursts of giggles, the door opening to let a blast of sub-zero air into the room, the occasional authority figure trying to calm the bouncing dance group, and dead-eyed parents wondering where they’d gone wrong. Whoever invented dance picture day is a special kind of masochist.

Apparently most, if not all, parents didn’t have “fill out dance picture order form” reach the top of their To-Do list in the past week so they hurriedly scratch out how many overpriced buttons they want and check the box indicating if they want $8 retouching services.

Click-flash-click-flash as the swell of little girls keeps flowing through the studio.

I leaned over to another mom: “You know picture day is used as a First World Mom Torture Device”.

She looked back at me with a knowing spark in her dead eyes: “I f**** HATE picture day”.

Three times I returned to the studio to bring one of my children make-upped, sequined, and a little more cracked-out from lack of sleep and lack of food. Each time I struck up a conversation with another dead-eyed waiting mom. I found that every mom I talked to tonight HATES picture day.

I figure picture day is like childbirth, or hosting family events, or getting a new piercing. While you’re in it, it SUCKS, but afterwards you forget the pain, discomfort and wishing for it to end, and just remember the nice parts of the experience or admire your memento.

Dance picture day is like that. I’ll have a new shiny magnet for my filing cabinet at work, and people will comment how Miss E is looking so grown up now or how cute Miss A is so cute in her sequins.

I’ll smile and forget the chaotic, over-stimulating, slush-covered floor, with sad-eyed parents, with work calls vibrating in my pocket as I hide the feeling of throwing an adult-tantrum, with polite conversation.

But then I’ll catch the knowing eye of another mom and we’ll both decree “I HATE picture day”.

THE WEEK

I saw a meme the other day that was something like “All the moms are losing their minds this week as all of the dads and kids are excitedly waiting for all the Christmas magic to appear”. I know moms are not 100% the Christmas magic, but let’s lean into this idea.

There’s cleaning, shopping, cooking, parties, programs, cards, and entertainment, I have broken my week into daily tasks leading up to the weekend, a to-do list. It looks something like:

Monday: work 9 or so hours, declutter house, make grocery lists, finish/stuff/mail Christmas letters-feel guilty over not writing individual messages in each one, move the elf.

Tuesday: work 1/2 day, Christmas lunch meeting, finish shopping, shuttle kids to 2 dance classes and a STEM club, laundry, feel guilty about taking the half-day off to run errands, move that friggin elf.

Wednesday: work 9-10 hours, get house cleaned, wrap remaining gifts, realize there’s no way I’m going to get the out-of-state gifts in the mail in time for Christmas, consider sending Valentine’s gifts instead, move that little red-hatted-evil elf.

Thursday: wrap up work for the week, feel guilty about only putting in an 8-hour day, connect with friends (who I haven’t seen in 6 months) over dinner, feel guilty because I could be getting so much done at home, don’t forget to move that f’ing elf.

Friday: pick up groceries, frantically track packages that haven’t arrived, entertain kids on first day of Christmas break, sister’s family arrives-chaos ensues, now dodge twice as many people trying to move this d@## elf.

Saturday: Christmas with Family One, drink lots, food prep for family Two, stumble around trying to move elf.

Sunday: Christmas with Family Two, wonder why my head hurts so much-remember the drinking lots the day before, church, Christmas Eve, ring bell to let Santa know we are home, listen to five kids argue about which Christmas movie to watch until it’s way too late and we have time start threatening Santa skipping our house if they don’t get the Heck to bed, FINALLY stuff that elf back in the box and send it back to back-of-closet Hell for another year.

Monday: Christmas morning with kids, sipping spiked coffee to make it through the morning, guests leave, collapse in heap from all of the Christmas cheer, wonder how the house became so messy and why my alcohol cabinet is depleted. Smile at all of the great memories made.

So when you see a frazzled woman this week, be a little more kind, a little more patient, and pour the drinks a little more strong. We are moms and it’s going to be a long week of doing all the things, having all of the guilt, moving that DUMB elf (seriously who agreed to this?!?) and making all of magic happen.

One More Song

You know those weeks where the doting <insert relative or friend> takes the kids and you and your spouse go out of town and just reconnect? Yeah-me neither. Hubby and I haven’t gone on a vacation, or any kind of weekend by ourselves for over seven years. SEVEN YEARS.

Sometimes we just sit in the car once we get home from errands and the kids leave the car, just enjoying each other’s company for just one more song.

Because of our lack of outlet, when we do get a glimmer of adult-time: we go hard. We hang for just one more song. Take last weekend…

It was Hubby’s employers Christmas party. We had 17 hours of grandma watching the girls. We had a room in town and we were ready.

There’s a cliche of the mom who doesn’t get out of the house and then ends up going over-the-top when finally given a little freedom: face tattoo, broken foot from dancing, arrested, etc, etc.

It was SUCH a fun night! We arrived for the social hour, had some cocktails, dinner, cocktails, danced, cocktails, Macarena, cocktails, and so on.

At one point Hubby’s coworkers asked if “the wife” had joined him for the evening, and Hubby let them know I was the woman aggressively playing the cowbell to “Don’t Fear The Reaper” a few moments ago.

As we wrapped up the evening dancing to our song: “You Shook Me All Night Long” and deciding we had finally had enough flavored whiskey, we heard the sweet siren song of pizza delivery and were ready to call it a night.

…that was until the band needed someone to sing the girl part to “Paradise By The Dashboard Light”.

Just one more song…