Remodeling is NOT for Sissies

I have to say, my husband Ladd and I have tackled many little home improvement projects since the purchase of our first, then second home. . . changing a light fixture, painting a room, even repairing some minor plumbing issues.  These little projects left us feeling empowered, in control of our home and honestly . . . accomplished.  I think these feelings may have seeped into our brains and made us a little dillusional when it came time for our biggest project yet . . . our third and final home.

We purchased an old farmstead, which hadn't been properly maintained for 10-15 years.  Don't get me wrong, the "bones" of the home are in good condition, but WOW is all I have to say about the rest.  Ladd and I knew when we took on this project that it would be labor intensive, especially since we are on a limited budget.  Little did we know what was in store for our little family of five.

Ladd and I sat down with pen and paper after doing a thorough walk-through, taking measurements, creating a necessary supplies listing and the projects were listed one-by-one in the order which they needed to be completed . . . electrical, plumbing, gutting, restoring, etc.  We put numbers to each of the projects and prayed that we had calculated every project correctly.  We were ready, or so we thought.

We dedicated every Friday night to family night, making sure to set aside all other cares or thoughts and just focus on our kiddos.  Each Saturday morning we would rise before the sun, pump ourselves full of coffee, kiss our little ones see-ya-later, leave a household Saturday chore list for the kiddos and head to "The Farm".  At first Ladd and I thought we needed to work on projects together, but soon discovered this was not an ideal match as we have two separate work styles and almost killed each other on day one.  We worked from before sun-up till sun-down, then drove home, crawled through the door (literally) and started our night with our kiddos.

Now please note that when I mentioned crawling through the door, it was literal.  Our bodies were sore and tired after standing on a ladder for 6 hours, ripping out walls, painting for 10 hours straight or holding hands over our heads installing walls or lighting for hours on end.  Many Saturday nights were spent with long, hot baths to remove paint, caulking, glue, spackling and various other construction materials.  Since our kiddos missed us and we missed them, you would often find me in the tub soaking with the shower curtains drawn while the girls chattered away telling me about their day and asking about what had been accomplished during our day of work.

Though we tried to stay consistent with our church attendance on Sundays, we often found ourselves doing a repeat of Saturday as we neared the end of our remodeling project.  We took turns going to "The Farm" throughout the week to finish miscellaneous projects and prepare for the following Saturday so we could tackle another big project.  We made sure to always have one of us home in the evenings to help the kiddos with homework, prepare a hot, nutritious dinner and follow bedtime routines.  Exhausted is what we felt, completely exhausted.  We started getting short with each other, even resorting to grunting what might be name calling when we were too exhausted to formulate coherent sentences.  I am not even sure we could fight properly as we were too exhausted.

At some point in this process we conceded to agree not to agree on all things and to listen to each other.  I mean really listen to each other, not the "oh I heard you, now I am going to do my own thing" kind of listening.  We would sit down and talk things through, sometimes having to draw pictures, ask questions which seemed strange to one another and wait while the other one spoke.  We learned to love each other's opinions, even if they differed from ours.  We had to be creative during this process of remodeling when we discovered there was no way we could accomplish a project within a budget because of a "surprise".  We learned to stop and hug each other and say "I love you" more often than before as we both needed to hear it.  We learned to thank our children for the sacrifices they made to manage our household duties on Saturday's while we were away.

We learned that remodeling is NOT for Sissies, but for those who are willing to accept the challenge of not just tearing down and reconstructing walls, but to really work at the true foundation of a home . . . love.

Mama Richter’s Fruity Pebbles Jelly

Mama Richter’s Fruity Pebbles Jelly

what you need

3-3/4 cups  prepared juice 

1 box  SURE-JELL Fruit Pectin

½ tsp.  butter or margarine (optional)

4-1/2 cups  sugar, measured into separate bowl

make it

JUICE berries thoroughly.  I use a combination of any leftover fruit which I have frozen throughout the fresh season (blackberries, blueberries, grapes, peaches, nectarines, raspberries, strawberries, etc.).  Combine all fruit into one pot, bring to boil, then simmer for 30-45 minutes.  Pour fruit into sieve over bowl, smoosh fruit to release juice then let sit for 1-2 hours.  Rinse sieve, place cheesecloth or a double layer of paper towels into sieve and pour juice through sieve once more to remove any additional pulp.  **Measure 3-3/4 cups juice. 

**At this step I place the juice in an airtight container and place in fridge for one day to one week to thoroughly combine flavors, not a necessity, just enriches the end flavor of the jelly.

BRING boiling-water canner, half full with water, to simmer. Wash jars and screw bands in hot soapy water; rinse with warm water. Pour boiling water over flat lids in saucepan off the heat. Let stand in hot water until ready to use. Drain jars well before filling.

STIR pectin into juice in saucepot. Add butter to reduce foaming. (I don’t do that step).  Bring mixture to full rolling boil (boil that doesn't stop bubbling when stirred) on high heat, stirring constantly. Stir in sugar. Return to full rolling boil and boil 1 min., stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Skim off any foam with metal spoon.

LADLE immediately into prepared jars, filling to within 1/8 inch of tops. Wipe jar rims and threads. Cover with two-piece lids. Screw bands tightly. Place jars on elevated rack in canner. Lower rack into canner. (Water must cover jars by 1 to 2 inches. Add boiling water, if necessary.) Cover; bring water to gentle boil. Process 5 min. Remove jars and place upright on towel to cool completely. After jars cool, check seals by pressing middles of lids with finger. (If lids spring back, lids are not sealed and refrigeration is necessary.)

This is some lip-smacking jelly that you won’t forget quickly!

$400 and a Tool Box

I have to admit, I didn't always listen when my Grandfather would tell his stories.  I was always crazy busy preparing dinner, tending to the kids, working, cleaning house or fussing over non-important things such as having Grandpa put on a shirt that didn't have a button missing or hot chocolate dribbled down the front.  It wasn't till he got pretty sick and was hospitalized that I realized, that last story I heard may be the last time I heard his loving voice talking to me.  From that point forward, each time I visited, I sat down on his couch and intently listened to every story he had to tell.  I didn't want to forget a word of what he said.  The only regret . . . I didn't tape record his stories.  What a treasure that would be today.

My favorite of all his stories is how he supported his family and began his business many years ago.   He never told this story as a way to boast of his doings, but simply to let each of his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren know that God could take a simple man with a willing heart and provide blessings in abundance.

I remember the first time I heard Grandpa tell this story to my family of five.  His words were said between bites of fried chicken, cornbread, fresh veggies from our little garden and a tall glass if cold milk.  He made sure to throw in some "mmmmmmm . . . . mmmmmm's" to let me know how much he appreciated this home-cooked meal.  I know he enjoyed these meals he spent with us, as Grandma had passed away several years before and his dinner meal usually consisted of cornbread, milk, a piece of onion and memories of his beautiful bride.

Grandpa always started his story out with praising God for giving him a strong back, even though he only had an 8th grade education.  He explained how he worked the cotton fields until the weevils ate up the fields and left his family to starve.  He moved his little family into town for work, where he dug ditches, barely making enough to keep food on the table. At this junction in the story he would always praise Grandma for her ability to make something out of nothing. I think he even said one time that she could take a rock and cook it just right to make a delicious meal fit for a king.  After complimenting Grandma, he would always credit the Lord for providing for his family, no matter how big or small, it was always enough.

While digging ditches one day, a man by the name of Homer stopped by and offered him a job and he accepted.  He worked for Homer for several years, but felt compelled to start his own business venture.  He prayed about the decision, then presented the idea to Grandma.  Of course Grandma supported Grandpa in his decision and they prayed together about when the right time would be to make this change.  They both knew this was a true leap of faith, because all Grandpa had to begin his business with was $400, a tool box, a breaker, and a willingness to work hard.

July 1, 1969, Conward's Heating and Cooling became a business located in downtown Harrison, Arkansas.  He drove a rickety, old truck that ran on a prayer.  He worked from sun-up to sun-down, tried to always do right by his customers, never took flack from anyone, and built a desired reputation for his family.  My Grandmother stood right next to him and neither complained of the long hours, for they knew they were blessed.  They treated their customers right, their employees like family and always gave thanks to the Lord.

My Grandfather always seemed surprised when he ended his story.  He explained that when he and my Grandmother retired, they were making over $100,000 a year.  They tucked money away for retirement and for their family.  He never understood how a man with an 8th grade education could be so blessed by God.  He went on to explain that the money was used to care for my Grandmother when she became ill.  He praised God that he had allowed provisions to care for my Grandmother.

Though my Grandfather worked hard for so many years and blessed many others along the way, he never felt he could give enough thanks or provide enough for those he loved.

Grandpa, you were enough.  You were more than enough.  You were a man of honor and we are proud to have known you as our Grandpa. You taught us that caring for your family isn't simply going to work each day, but it's Sunday dinners around the table and trying to always do the right thing. 

I thank God for your $400 and a tool box.  Thank you for sharing your story with me Grandpa, thank you.

My Blue Dress

This morning I awoke feeling incredibly tired.  With only a few hours of sleep last night due to a medicine I took and just a lot on my mind. I just didn't sleep.  No sleep, means exhaustion.  The two cups of coffee, quick walk outside to energize, and warm shower followed by a cold splash - nothing touched my sleepiness.  Just wanting to crawl back into bed and snuggle down in my warm comforter while the fan blocked out noises and the day ahead . . . that's what I wanted to do.

How do I beat down this feeling?  How can I carry about my day?

My remedy . . . my blue dress.  This is my go-to dress when I need to be energized.  The cobalt blue color which resembles the color of the deep ocean brings me life, energy, and a new spring in my step.  I paired it with my favorite "golden slippers" and golden chain necklace and I was made a new woman.  You may ask how a simple dress could energize me when all else failed?

No really, it's not the dress, it's what happens after I put the dress on.  My family thinks I look pretty in the dress.  I normally dress in neutral colors, so it's kind of shocking to them to see me in bright colors.  Alexandria woke this morning and before anything else was said "Mom, you look really pretty in that dress".  Ladd says "You look hot!".  Adam, "Mom, ya sure do look purty". Aggie, "Wow, you look like a blueberry jelly bean".  (Yes, that's a 6-year old's happiness).

My family's love pumped me full of energy this morning. Thank you beautiful cobalt blue, pleated dress with a cinch waist.  I will keep you forever in my thoughts.  Don't be alarmed folks if you see me working in the garden or cleaning out fence lines with my beautiful dress draped about my body, as I often need energy on Saturday mornings.

You are loved . . .my blue dress.

Ag the Nag

When our youngest daughter Aggie was just a little bit of a person, she earned her name "Ag the Nag".  She earned this little name through little actions of pulling her sisters long hair and entangling her fingers to the point I never thought we could get them removed.  By picking at her bigger brother to the point it would take him to tears or drive him to the edge of no return.  By laughing so hard she couldn't control herself each and every time she would "ag" someone beyond the point of return.

I remember her loud, uncontrollable cackles when Adam would literally get "roaring" mad.  You knew she had pushed the right button enough times, because you would hear a loud laugh followed by a "errrrrrhhhhhh", then a pounce, then a cry, then two parents running frantically to see if any real damage was done.  It would only be a few minutes till Aggie would be right back at her brother's side playing or lovingly "agging" him on.

I have watched our little Ag the Nag change from tot to school aged child, still lovingly and playfully nagging at her brother and sister to the point of no return.  She loves to play jokes on them, laugh till she can't talk, and dig at them till they feel insane.

She takes after her daddy in this regard.  He just can't stop or leave something alone, always keeping on keeping on till we all feel crazy.  It's not a bad thing, just his thing, now it's her thing.  They are two peas in a pod.  I feel blessed (a little crazy blessed) that they share this same trait.  It's what makes them unique, special and driven.  They are driven to succeed at what they do, even if it's just "nagging" someone to the point of reaction.

Love you Ag the Nag . . . though don't tell her that's her name she thinks it's "Ag the Ag", the one and only incredible special "Ag the Ag".

Tears Bring Strength

Tonight I was reminded of a very special lesson.  As I watched you cry and tears fell and hit the pillow, I was reminded that tears bring strength.

I often watch you go through your day acting as though everything is just fine, that you are just fine.  You keep things inside and put a beautiful smile on your face for others to see.  You answer everyone's questions with an "I'm fine" answer, all the while, I see the pain in your eyes.  You wonder what people think of you.  You wonder if this stage in your life will ever pass.  You wonder how you can move forward, how you can overcome these feelings.  I see it in your expressions when nobody is watching.  I hear you cry at night and wish I could take away all the pain.

I wipe your tears and let you know that I love you and that this will all pass.  That you will grow stronger and look back on this time in your life as a short season in the grand scheme of things. I remind you that you are a  good person, a specially created person.  You are strong and brave.

Let God catch your tears in the palms of His hands.  With each drop of a tear, you release your pain and sadness, frustration and anger.  The tears you shed allow room for strength to fill you.  Allow them to fall freely.  Allow yourself to feel the intensities of life and to grow and strengthen each day.

Just know that you are loved and cherished more than words could speak or that your mind could understand.  You are His and you are Ours.  Let your tears bring you strength.

For My Family

I am beginning this blog for my children.  I often hear myself wishing away my day, in hopes that tomorrow will be different . . . that the problems we face today would disappear like the hot wind blowing on my cheeks when a cool rain appears.  I truly do not wish this.  I wish Every Day Were Today.

I wish everyone had the opportunity to hug their children every morning when they wake and to kiss them goodnight when it's time for bed.  I wish everyone had the opportunity to fight so they could make-up afterwards.  I wish everyone could feel pain so they could appreciate joy and joy so that the pain would dissipate.  I wish everyone had someone they could call friend, lover, companion.

Today I do not wish away my day.  I embrace today with all it brings, in hopes that I may learn to be a better mother, wife, companion, friend, employee, giver, receiver, and servant.

I wish every day were like today.