When my daughter was a junior in high school she came to me and said she wanted to be the kicker for the varsity football team. I chuckled and basically brushed the idea aside. She was an excellent soccer player which gave her a definite advantage, however, I ignored her statement and assumed it was a passing whim. Her junior year came and went without any other conversations, and I didn’t give it a second thought.

Another favorite time was the birth of our spring lambs. The soft and wobbly new born lambs would capture our hearts. They would run, jump and play while their moms fed. Each year there would always be one or two lambs that would need to be bottle fed. What a wonderful learning experience that was for my children.

I am not really sure how it all began, but years earlier he would come home hungry, and couldn’t wait for dinner to be ready. He would impatiently stand next to me willing the meal to be done, which clearly made the process quicker……not. His impatience morphed into helping chop or stir, and eventually into complete meal preparation together.

From the time my daughter was little into young adulthood, she has always disliked the color purple. So much so, if I ever bought her clothing that had the slightest spec of purple, back to the store it went.

Growing up in a household of equal girl to boy ratio, I was exposed to a good mix of “sugar and spice” and “snakes and snails”. Whether it was summer, fall, winter or spring, racing was always in our blood and lives in some way. Over the years, my Dad and brothers raced in one form or fashion mini bikes, motocross, snowmobiles or cars, and the girls were always rooting them on in spirit, if not in person.

Buying gifts for my Dad is challenging, when asked what he wants the answer is usually “It’s not necessary to get me a gift” or “I don’t need a thing.” This Christmas was no exception. The only thing my Dad could come up with was t-shirts, but oh, by the way “Your sister already took that idea.” Drat!

Each year since my son was two, I have hung a hand made, advent tree for my children to enjoy, which has evolved over the years to the most current one……still tucked away. Reluctantly, last year I decided it would be the final showing for the long standing tradition. It was a sad, but overdue decision; my kids were growing up.

There are no expectations, other than spending a day with loved ones, enjoying good food, along with familiar family traditions. Like the tradition of peeling and cooking potatoes with my brothers. Funny as it seems, it’s something we look forward to each Thanksgiving. We laugh and joke while peeling a mile high, pile of spuds, that eventually turn into the most delicious mashed potatoes extraordinaire……that we are quite famous for. No matter how many we prepare, there are rarely leftovers.

A group of friends gather together every year or so to celebrate with dinner and wine, highlighting a wine’s specific region, country or state; the host’s choice. This year’s hosts decided upon the state of Washington, U.S.A. Each couple was responsible for a course and a Washington wine that paired well with the food.

He helped shape me into the woman I am today, and taught me unconditional love, humility, bravery and how to love deeper. Even though I miss the days he was a mama’s boy, I take pride in the independent man he has become.mom

My sister was recently in town for an extended period, and hadn’t spent that much time at home in many years.  She stayed at my parents home, but I usually saw her everyday. We had a few unplanned adventures that reminded me of our younger selves, growing up on the farm.

The start of her senior year, she was pumped to kick off her final season, and as usual trained hard all summer preparing for pre-season training. I was excited and yet sad this would be her last year. I spent many hours watching my children play soccer, and wondered what would ever take its place.

As a farm girl, having an abundance of sweet corn was a definite advantage.  Dad let us kids sell the plentiful corn, and what we made in sales was ours to keep.  His only condition was we had to do the work. From painting the signs on big scraps of plywood and strategically placing them down the road, making sure they were visible from both directions, to gathering the bags, setting up the stand, picking the corn (the ripe ones, of course) and loading up the #80 wagon and hauling it with the John Deere 110.

I jump on, and my brother says with great confidence, “It works just like a Haybine.” Ummmm…..as I think to myself….I don’t really recall ever running a Haybine in my farm days, but OK. He gives me a quick run down and let’s me go.  Still unsure, I grab the bars and start manipulating them and it begins turning in circles in a twerky, jerky, out of control way.  By now, I am laughing out loud and my brother is keeping me an arms length away at all times, assuring his safety.

Last week an important person in my family’s life had unexpected health issues that stopped us in our tracks.  In that moment, nothing was more important than being together.  Everything else melted away…troubles, responsibilities and day to day duties. Family and friends came together to lift up and support one another.

I can’t remember next if she called me or I called her, but she made it into town, but had almost hit a cat that ran out in front of her car. She had to slam on her brakes to avoid running over the feline, and began telling me about her story.

Family traditions connect us to our loved ones near and far, and can last for years and even generations.  They build bonds and can cross miles and time zones. Traditions may come and go, but the memories remain in our hearts.

My Mom wasn’t the picture you might imagine for a farmer’s wife, she always seemed so glamorous and beautiful to me.  She was a lady through and through, and it was important that her children were well-mannered and polite.  Going to church every Sunday was a must, no questions, no complaining…..it was a given.  We knew, even though Dad handled most of the discipline, it was under Mom’s direct order.