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shopping for sunglasses



 
Anyone else have an identity crisis when you go to pick out a pair of sunglasses?
 

As I try on each pair I begin to wonder, Who am I? Am I girl who can wear aviators? Who can wear aviators? I saw that woman at Lake Harriet that day with an awesome pair of aviators, but maybe those were expensive. What makes sunglasses expensive? Isn't it just plastic and metal. Or what about these? The big purple plastic frames that are back from the eighties. Is it right that these are back so soon? And if I wear these does it look like I'm trying to keep up with the trends? Should I be? Is it bad that my favorite outfit is flip flops, hoodie sweatshirt and jeans? Should I try harder?

And after I tucker out from trying so many pair I begin to look at myself in the mirror, without sunglasses. You look really tired. You've got some dark circles under those eyes. That's not hair gel holding that clump of hair together. It's spit up. You are a mother of two. How in the world? And I wonder if I'll ever feel like a grown up and how if I have two kids, I probably should know what my style of sunglasses is by now.

Then I start to look at all of the fine lines and wrinkles around my eyes. Annika recommended that night time face cream. You should get some when you're here. But it was like twenty-five bucks. Rory would probably love you more if  you just saved that money...

Just grab a pair.

And in the end I seem to always buy the most non-descript pair of sun glasses that are sure to be sat on or lost within the next few weeks anyway. And then I'll be back in that same spot, having the same identity crisis.

messes

Life is exciting with an almost two-year-old around. Ivar is really gifted at finding creative things to do with his time while I am nursing. The more quiet he gets the more certain I am that I will have a photo opportunity waiting for me.

Those are all nice words I have chosen to explain that Ivar is a tornado. He leaves a path of destruction everywhere he goes and I am always cleaning up his messes. This first picture is all of our paper products. Clearly he was sitting in the middle as he spread out the plates and silverware. Please keep this picture in mind if you are ever over at my house and I serve you anything on paper. You may kindly ask for an actual plate and fork.
This is pretty normal for an almost 2 year old...unrolling the toilet paper. But below you'll see a mess that is a bit more original. He got the full and open can of pineapple off of the counter, pulled it down (that's juice on the floor), put some pineapple in each of these Ivar bowls and ate the entire can. I only found out about this mess when he ran into the living room with guilt and glee and a very sticky face, feet and fingers yelling, "No! Pie Apple! All gone! No!"
I don't always get the camera for Ivar's messes. Only the ones that make me grin a bit. I didn't get the camera when Ivar dumped his alphabet crayons onto my three-day-old laptop last week leaving bits of wax covering the keyboard. Nope. No picture of that mess. And thankfully no video with audio either. I was mad. Could only blame myself, but that didn't make me any less mad.
 
In the end, the laptop is fine, the paper products never get used anyway, the toilet paper is reusable, Ivar loves pineapple and somehow I have the joy of watching this little boy discover and learn each day. He makes me laugh so hard.
 

 
 

good news, good news, bad news, good news


I have the happiest news to share: Toonces found a home! At least when I went to the Humane Society webpage his picture was gone and the lady on the phone said that means he was adopted. I am just going to take her at her word and celebrate this news.

I tell you what, I checked that page many a time, only to end up crying myself to sleep. (I loved him a lot, plus I've got hormones like you wouldn't believe...and I'm sleep deprived!) But now he is living a new adventure and certainly giving lots of good snuggles, licks and motor purrs to his new owner.

More good news! FARM CATS! They are awesome! They live outside and you just don't know when they're going to show up. This one came out of the woods the day we were clearing all the of the trees we had just taken down the day before. He's so scrawny and was so sweet and affectionate. Rory wanted his name to commemorate the trees we were clearing out. I thought the name Chainsaw was perfectly ironic for such a mild, skinny, calm cat. Heh. I make myself laugh. Hearing Ivar say Chainsaw is the best.

But then we had sad news. Our neighbors two houses down came to introduce themselves and then told us they were going to take a bunch of cats to the humane society because their dogs were barking at them in the night and keeping them up. We had just met these neighbors and I didn't know what to say..."but hey, I love those cats that keep you up at night...especially the one I named Chainsaw."

But since Chainsaw was taken away, two more cats have appeared. And that's the final good news. Because farm cats just keep multiplying I'm finding out. And if you put a little dish of milk out for them, they'll come back every time.

cow hunts





With Ivar's love for cows, we have added a new pastime to our family adventures: cow hunts. We try to find gravel roads we haven't been on before and look for cows. It is the very best way to fill that sometimes very long hour between supper and bedtime. John Denver sings to us about country roads and being a country boy and we take in a setting sun, mooing cows, our beautiful new neighborhood, and a very happy boy in the back seat. 

how elsie got her name


This picture? Come on. I love this girl so much.

Elsie Rebecca Groves is a sweet, sweet girl. Full of smiles and eyes that beg you to keep looking at her sweet self. She has started to babble back a bit, and I got a good breathy laugh out of her the other day when I kept quickly sticking my tongue out like a lizard. She is a joy.

So here's how Elsie got her name. First, her middle name is after...me. I had someone ask me that. Made me laugh. But here's the thing. My dad and brother share a middle name. My mom and sister share a middle name. And I, as the third child, did not share my middle name with anyone. This bothered me so that when we got our cat, Emily, when I was 9 or 10, I made sure everyone knew that Emily's middle name was Ann, just like me. I shared my middle name with the cat.

For Elsie, rather than Ann, I went with Rebecca. I liked how it sounded with Elsie. And this way Elsie also shares her middle name with two wonderful ladies: Svea Rebecca, my awesome niece who got in trouble today at daycare for being too silly during naptime entertaining the other kids, and Bailey Rebecca, my amazingly talented goddaughter who loves color and art just as much as I do. Elsie Rebecca is in great company sharing a middle name with these great ladies.

Her first name was chosen the day I read the following email from my Grandma. Annika had asked Grandma about sister Elsie and Grandma replied with this description of her sister. I loved that Elsie was a storyteller. (And by Grandma's retelling, it is obvious that Grandma, too, was a great storyteller.) I wasn't pregnant yet, but Rory and I were talking a lot about babies and names and the next season to come. After I read this email we decided on Elsie as our girls name.

I am going to copy and paste Grandma's exact email. I love how it reads in Grandma's voice.

My sister,  Elsie was born in 1915,  I, in 1918, we were considered four years apart?  Floyd was in between us.  She seemed much older than I. She was a great story teller. When our little brother Wayne appeared, he often slept with Elsie and I and she was always ready to tell stories. Her stories were fantastic. Little tiny people, only and inch and a half tall, that could live in an elephants ear, or a lions mane. They could climb trees, really bushes and hide from spiders and ants.  She could make all kinds of sounds that no one else could say. 

But I was a little jealous of her, it seemed she got to do the fun things, like sewing or baking and I had to do the dishes or dusting. She learned to make carmel rolls when she was about 13 and she sold them for 25cents a dozen to the ladies in town.  When one lady said that was too much, Elsie quit.  It cost more than that to bake them and deliver them—we were happy, then we got to eat them.  All bread was home-made either rye or white buns.

One day I was given the task to make pie dough.  I did get the flour and lard crumbled together but then I cried—this will never make pie dough.  Elsie and Mother were sewing in the other room and Mom asked Elsie to go and rescue me.  Elsie was very disgusted—all I had to do was add water.  Bet that dough was tough.

Elsie’s first year of High School was spent in Dunnell. There she learned the most wonderful ability to wrap a package perfectly—square corners, perfect.  I thought that was all she needed to know.  Her second year she worked for her board and room at Brodts in Sherburn. For her third year, Uncle Fred thought she could go and live with his children in Fairmont and go to a much better school.  He and Aunt Carrie had moved to a farm and the kids were to finish the year in Fairmont. Cousin Gladys was attending ‘Teachers college’ in Mankato and Elsie could ride heard on Arlin and Minnie who were younger till she got home each evening,  Elsie spent her fourth year living with Dr. Zemkes , working for her board and room.  They loved her rolls. 

A little brother had been born that spring. And Elsie stayed at home to help Mother the next year. Then off she went to Swedish Hospital in the cities for nurses training.  While there, the nurses had the privilege of attending parties for the men in training at Fort Snelling.  What did she do but fall in love with one, named Charles Cash.  She brought him to the farm to meet the family and ask for her hand.  Of course Dad thought he was fine and said, yes. They spent that Christmas Eve with Phil and I at our home.  Janice was a tiny baby.  I remember laying there listening to an excited sister who couldn’t sleep for joy. 

They were married that spring. Charles was an officer and  they were sent to Kansas City for a year or so and then to California and to the south east part of the states.  After the war they returned to Kansas City. Elsie and the boys spent many summers with the folks and us. Elsie was a great volunteer—in church, Cub scouts, after their two sons were grown she sewed many little dresses and shirts for the Needle Work Guild that were sent to needy children in other countries. Then she decided to go back to nursing—went for a refresher course and worked for many years at a hospital. 

She and Chuck sold their home and moved to Arizona in the eighties. She was with us when Mother died in Venture Out the Christmas of ’84.  They built a home in Sun City,  Elsie fell while walking to the car, stumbling over the cement retainer and broke her hip. That soon healed, and I had the privilege of staying with her a week while she gained her strength back. We had such a good time—but-- her leukemia that had been in remission for a few years came back with a vengeance.  She went to be with her Lord September 8, 1990


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To read how Ivar got his name, click here.