Pumpkinhead

Fall is in the air. Just as summer never fully developed, September felt like October. The boys are bundled one day, and kicking back on the deck the next. Football has started, and Cubs gear has given way to the Bears garb that uncle Chris graciously donated. The gardens are still alive and producing nicely, with the help of the 4000 watts of electricity that protected it during the brief snow showers and near freezing temperatures. Some pumpkins are ready........ for whatever there is to do with pumpkins. We have our eyes on two that have a nice shape and color. The plan is to carve/decorate each one into the likeness of a lad, and call it good for fall decorating. Finley's pumpkin has a striking resemblance which makes things easier. Just hollow it out and throw on a ball cap- good to go. That may sound harsh, but they are nearly 6 months old and not even talking yet. What gives? They are making some progress I suppose. Finn has been celebrating the discovery of his own feet for the past week, and Eliot now opens his mouth while tracking the cereal as you try to eat breakfast. Baby steps, right?

Tomatoes and hot peppers were piling up in the kitchen a few weeks back, when Bethany sent word that the city her Rugby team plays in would be hosting a chili cook off! I like to think the boys enjoyed helping roast peppers, and they even showed it by rubbing their eyes for two days. The competition was not going well and my unmarked pan of chili sat 3/4 full for way too long. My guest, Beth, finally arrived and instantly had a giant portion of that neglected 5-alarm chili. I thought it was way too spicy, but she maintained her composure well as she cruised the room chattering (and persuasively) about the garden fresh stew.

We weren't surprised that the boys' aunt Bethany would have such an active role in their babyhood, but the constant support is reassuring for a transplanted family with roots 1000 miles away. She has never been the type to praise herself for her positive nature, but instead remains humble and insists that she is the one receiving a favor. I was either working on the road or odd hours for much of Kristin's pregnancy, and Beth living at the house was probably the only reason Kristin kept her sanity. I soon realized that sisters just help each other out, and any expression of special gratitude would be awkward and unnecessary.

The girls and their family are very passive in expressing feelings of both approval and disappointment. At some point in time, their northern European descendants decided to share their feelings by staring at each other and eating pickled herring. The contrast between families is important to understand you see. If my brother Dan wins at one of those scratch-off lotto tickets, my family will turn the closest living room into a public house, raise a glass, and commence congratulating each other for the next hour. Whoever is talking the loudest wins. And yes, it is a competition.

Bottom Line: Great job at being a sister, sister-in-law and Aunt Beth.

Airplanes and Holy Water

We recently made another trip back to IL, this time for a family wedding, and to have the boys baptized. Why even think about driving when you have the chance to change a diaper at 35,000 feet? If that alone isn't worth the ticket price, seeing the faces of the 4 poor souls in our row made it worth every dime. Kristin, who is much less bitter toward humanity, actually took her crying lad to the back of the plane, while Finn and I just sat in our seats and cried about the leg room. She later returned with a free Toblerone candy bar, and grumbled something about karma being a bitch. After snatching it from her hand and chowing it in one swift motion, I asked if she was sure about that.

Our driver (Russ) showed up promptly as usual, and we were both ready to hand off babies to the waiting Grandmothers. In regards to baby care, our weekend was a piece of cake. Its the referee duties that kept us both on our toes. Time spent with the boys has evolved and is now categorized into different tiers of quality. Group time doesn't count, and alone time is to be split evenly 50/50 without question. And if either Grandmother tells you they aren't counting the minutes, send them on their way. That isn't to say that we all can't play nice together because we can and did. But, alone time with the boys, when nobody else can see the ridiculous faces that are made, is gold for a Grandma.

Above: Nina and Steve, the Godparents of Finley Jacob

The wedding service for Kristin's cousin Lindsey went well. The boys were well behaved until the bride walked down the aisle. Eliot and I then decided to inspect the neighboring soybean field, while Grandma Cyndi and Finn went on their own field trip through the parking lot and beyond. All things considered, having one of the creatures during the church service is the way to go, especially if you are occasionally bored by the droning sound of chanting in unison. And no disrespect intended, even the boys mustered up the reverence to participate in their rite of passage the following morning.

The church service was about to begin when we got the message that my brother Dan was lost, but we could go ahead and start anyways. Thank God. So it began, and eventually both sets of Godparents were holding a boy, renounced the evils of the world, and dunked him. Steve and Nina are close as both family and friends, and may be the only source of steady sanity in a chaotic family. Brett and Britt, cousins from Kristin's side, are now forced to make a trip or two out west to check on their nephews and instruct them in the ways of running a football. These four folks combined with the mix of Catholic and Lutheran

onlookers, offered a balanced welcome into the world of God, good, and religion. All four Godparents sponsored a boy in part because they have a strong moral fiber; they might not ask what it takes to be a good person, but they also don't have to be told. And the other part is their gift giving capabilities, which they all demonstrated well on Sunday.

Right: Brett and Britt, Godparents of Eliot Cash

The service continued on, and soon enough we had our first experience in the cry room, where we found Shawn's entire family camped out. We left the boys and paid a visit to Dan and Carly sitting in the back row, who gave me some story about how they showed up just in the nick of time to witness the blessing. Carly reeked bourbon from the previous night, and Dan forgot his clothes as he left Chicago in a hazy stupor. He walked up to receive communion wearing my dad's clothes and having to use one hand to hold up his pants. Most people would be embarrassed, but Dan and his baggy pants arrived back at his pew with a smile on his face and said, "its hammer time."

The Catholic side of the family made fun of the Lutheran communion offering individual portions of wine, both red and white (as if they have any room to talk.) And the Lutheran side made fun of the Catholics for using the baptism bath as holy water to make the sign of the cross with. I still don't see the problem with that, but laugh it up. Good times had by all, and the boys are blessed and on their way.

Gouda and Great Granparents

Five years from now I want a goat named Gouda. I want to make my own goat variation of Holland goodness, and it would be really nice to have something compete with the Super Mario Brothers for the boys' attention. I'm not saying the fellas will opt for milking the goat on a lazy Saturday, and I'm not saying they need to strut around wearing spurs either. It just seems nowadays kids have their parents convinced that if they play enough video games, they will all grow up to be fighter pilots. Don't kid yourselves, too much Donkey Kong leads to too much Mario Kart leads to a liberal arts degree. Papa Kettle over here didn't need 30 lives to beat Contra, so we may have to consult the elder generations for some back-to-basics wisdom.

Bob and Judy, the new Great Grandparents, were the most recent visitors the boys had the pleasure of entertaining, and are a welcome influence whether on the farm or at the cabin. They stopped by on their way to explore the western slope of the Rockies, making Colorado the third state in which they have been able to spend time with the boys. A group of 8 or so arrived by train, a classy way of snubbing the super-highways that Bob refuses to travel. I'm not sure Judy appreciated having to share the babies with friends during such a brief visit, but she hid that well.

Judy was first able to meet the boys a few months ago back in their pre-mature state, and needing to be fed every 2 hours - the help was awesome. She even picked Rhubarb from the yard (albeit of the 'weed variety' that we grow out here in Colorado) and made pies! Never mind the fact that she made the thousand mile journey alone with her son-in-law. I'm just glad she had the chance to set him straight.

Bob, a retired basketball coach and farmer, doesn't miss a sunrise and has some great stories if you can make it up for breakfast. Some people celebrated the birth of the fellas with a toast, and others with a card or phone call. Not Bob. Bob honored the boys by naming his newborn horses Eli and Finn. And that was after his failed attempt to name our sons Oscar and Oli. I'm not sure if having the boys sit on the horses was entirely necessary, but Bob seemed like it was the normal thing for any 2 month old child. I just figured all that manure would make for a nice soft landing if one of the lad lost his balance. Who needs video games when you can race your brother on a horse? Heck, Bob has wagons and draft horses they can race if the little colts become a bore.

With a little luck, some of those values and ways of life will trickle down to the boys. Even Russ claims to have invented the Rag Ball when he should have been bailing hay! My parents can put them to work in the future vineyard, Russ has them stitching rag balls, Cyndi has them making gourds, and Bob has them fixing wagons. Between those wholesome chores and milking Gouda the goat, maybe Kristin and I can finally eat cheese, drink wine and play Sega.