Would you believe there is – right at this very moment – a coffee maker, a French press, and a coffee grinder sitting on my counter?!

And two different kinds of coffee beans in the freezer, and an assortment of creamers and simple syrups in the fridge?

And I don’t even like the stuff! Honestly – how can something that smells so heavenly taste so nasty?!

I guess I better get used to it – with two highly-caffeinated, coffee-loving teens living in the house now.

I find it very humorous when they put coffee beans on the grocery list. What? You want me to aid in this addiction?

I stop laughing when I hit the coffee aisle.

Oh my! The choices! Whole bean or ground? Decaf or caffeinated? Flavored or plain? And how do want them roasted?  Light? Medium? Dark?  What’s the difference anyway? Then there’s all the brands to choose from!

So tell me – when did coffee drinking get so complicated? When I was growing up, coffee came in big tin cans and my mom brewed it in a peculator and would offer cream or sugar to guests.

Now you have the mocha, the latte, the frappe, the cappuccino, the macchiato, the expresso and even a half-breed frappuccino.

And they can come in almost any flavor you can imagine -  pumpkin, peppermint, gingerbread, vanilla, chocolate, caramel, almond, and the list goes on and on and on.

Do you want that hot or cold?

Steamed, pressed, brewed or dripped? Whatever that is.

How about some whipped cream on top? Sure. How about some sprinkles, too.

I’m sorry. It’s just all too confusing.

That’s why I drink tea.

A mug. Some leaves. Hot water. 6 minutes. Perfect.

Now – what kind of tea should I have? Black? Green? Herbal? Chai?  Earl Grey? Oolong? Darjeeling? Hot? Cold? Loose leaf or tea bag? With sugar or lemon or a touch of honey? Hot? Cold?

Photo courtesy of Julious Schorzman.

We’ll be calmly and quietly driving down the road when all of a sudden kids will hit the roof of the car and yell “Yellow Car” (or truck or van or bus.)

I guess the idea is that you want to be the first to spot the yellow vehicle, slap the roof of the car and yell it out. Whoever has the most amount of hits at the end of the journey wins.

Now Jan and I play a similar game trying to spot Land Cruisers. It started on our honeymoon. The older the Land Cruiser, the more points you get. But we don’t hit the roof and yell – we just smugly point it out to each other and announce our new point total.

Even my folks make a game of spotting trains when they’re on the road delivering Winnebagos. Ten points for every train – another 10 for whoever spots the engine first and 50 points for a passenger train or caboose. Again – no hitting involved – just a little bragging!

These are both quiet, calm games with that don’t sound like we’ve just been hit by artillery fire.

I guess I shouldn’t complain. At least the kids are hitting the car and not each other. Remember the slug bug game we used to play? Whenever we saw a Volkswagon Beetle we would hit the person next to us and yell “Slug bug”.

It was a great game until somebody got hit too hard and Dad had to lay down the law. 

I will have to admit the kids are good at spotting yellow vehicles.

Really good.

On a recent adventure with my sister-in-law Julie, the kids were totally dominating us in the yellow car game. They were slapping that roof before our brains could register the fact that a car was coming – let alone what color it was.

So we decided to make up our own rules.

Anything yellow was game.

We saw a yellow house and slapped the roof of the van – “yellow house”.

We saw a yellow mailbox. Slap – “yellow mailbox!”

Slap – “yellow swing set!”

Slap – “yellow curtains!”

Then we got a little silly! You know that broken yellow line that divides a two lane road?

Yep! We did it.

Slap – “Yellow line!”

Slap – “Yellow line!”

Slap – “Yellow line!”

Slap – “Yellow line!”

The kids were not impressed.

But we sure had fun!

Slap – “Yellow line!”

We decided if you can’t beat them – just change the rules!

She let the rest of the family know that we were coming and before the  night was over my parents and all of my siblings had arrived for an impromptu party!

Not only was impromptu – it was short. We had just 24 hours together.

Do you have any idea how much fun a bunch of cousins can cram into 24 hours? Especially when they don’t sleep?

They put Angel Girl behind the camera and  filmed an epic movie – complete with costumes and a rap.

They played hilarious games, did some wild singing, and laughed at all their inside jokes.

There was a lot of dancing – both with Dance Central and then some line dancing in the basement, followed by some swing dancing and a little “Hunting the Fox”.

Then there was the great deer head adventure. One of the uncles had hit a deer with his van and it was still laying in the ditch. The kids decided to go and rescue the antlers for him. The only problem was – they couldn’t get the antlers off.

So they brought him the whole head.

I know he appreciated it!

They had a midnight toast with homemade ice cream, ate cold pizza at 2 AM and consumed lots of Christmas goodies between times.

But most of all – they just loved being together! (And yes – there is a cousin hidden in the wolf costume!)

Now that was 24 hours of fun and excitement!

I opened it to discover two adorable Amish children on my step, a little girl about seven and her five year old brother.

All rosy cheeked with big eyes – I decided that they must be from Herman’s, our southern neighbors, since the youngest ones to the north are all boys.

I couldn’t help but smile at their cuteness as I said, ” Well hello. How can I help you?”

The adorable little Amish girl looked terrified as she handed me a plastic grocery bag, “This is for you.”

I smile again and said, “Oh, thank you!”

My response must have given her courage, because she gave me a tentative little smile and added, “It’s ‘fwesh’ sausage.”

Then I understood – Herman’s had butchered that week and the older ones were all busy helping, so the younger ones were given the task of delivering a gift of sausage to the neighbor lady -me!

I gave them an even bigger smile and said, “Oh – that sounds yummy!”

She smiled a little bigger and said eagerly, “It’s ‘alweady’ salted and peppered!”

“Oh , so all I need to do is cook it and eat it?” I ask.

She’s nodded and added, “It’s for your Chwistmas!”

“Oh, Christmas sausage! That’s the best kind!” I say.

I’m rewarded with two very big, very relieved smiles.

“You stay right there!” I tell them – and walk into the kitchen and find two of the most sprinkle-covered sugar cookies.

Their eyes got big and they grinned from ear-to-ear as I put one in each of their mitten-covered hands.

“Thank you!” was their heart-felt response as they turned and started the half- mile walk home.

I smiled as I watched them go.

“Chwistmas” sausage, indeed!

What child doesn’t love the excitement of Christmas Eve?!

Do you remember how hard it was to sleep after hanging your stockings?

Every year I would toss and turn in bed, trying to stay awake so that I could hear when those mysterious presents appeared under the tree.

I wasn’t the only one. My siblings were the same way.

One year in particular my brother, sister and I made an elaborate plan.

We would stay up until the presents appeared – and then we would sneak downstairs and check them out!

We lived in a big old farmhouse in rural Iowa. I was about 10 years old, which would make Sandy, 9 and Tim, 12.

We obediently went to bed when we were told and waited anxiously until all was quiet in the house. Then Sandy and I very quietly slipped out of bed and headed to Tim’s room at the top of the stairs.

He was waiting and ready with our secret stash of pilfered chocolate chips and dry Tang. We sat feasting in the light of our flashlights, trying not to giggle while we waited for the perfect time to make our foray downstairs.

When we were sure that everyone in the house was asleep – or maybe it was when we ran out of chocolate chips – we began our descent down the stairs.

Now remember – this is an older farm house and the stairs were pretty creaky. But my brother had been testing them for weeks. He knew exactly where each step creaked and had the pattern memorized so that we could sneak down those stairs without a sound.

Right side on the first step.

Middle on the second.

Back to the right on the third.

The fourth step is bad, skip it totally and go on to the left side of the fifth.

Step by step he silently led us down the stairs, my sister and I stepping exactly where he stepped.

We didn’t make a sound.

At the bottom of the stairs there were 2 doors. One opened into the living room with the tree and the stockings and all the gifts. The other opened into the newer addition which included a bathroom, utility room, and kitchen.

The door into the living room was closed and it creaked, but the bathroom door was open. The plan was to quietly go through the bathroom, out the other door to the utility room, circle around through the kitchen, and enter the living room where we would use our flashlights to scope out our presents.

The three of us were in line. Tim, in the lead, noiselessly slipped through the first bathroom door like a hunter stalking his prey. I was close behind, followed by Sandy.

Now that we were in the newer part of the house the floors didn’t creak. We were close now! Our excitement surged and Tim picked up speed. He took the next bathroom door at a semi-run with me right at his heels. We had just about rounded the utility room when we heard the loud crash!

We looked back in horror to see Sandy in a heap on the floor – she had gone too fast and tripped on the bathroom rug!

It took a second for the reality of the situation to hit – we were out of bed at midnight on Christmas Eve with flashlights and the smell of pilfered chocolate chips on our breath!

And we had just made enough noise in the quiet house to wake the dead!

We turned tail and took the stairs three at a time. We jumped into bed, pulling the covers up over our heads.

Then, despite our excitement and all that extra sugar, we fell sound asleep.

Before we knew it – it was Christmas morning and we hadn’t been caught!

We ran down the stairs with sheepish expressions and saw all the gifts that had eluded us the night before.

As far as I can remember, that was our last Christmas Eve mission. We soon grew too old for those midnight raids, but it sure makes a fun memory!

You know – I haven’t had dry Tang in years!

The kids spent a good part of last weekend cleaning and putting up Christmas decorations. Even the guys helped – although I think they weren’t as excited about the decorating as they were about eating our traditional chocolate fondue while they did it!

To me, decorating for Christmas is a special time when we share the memories of Christmas’s past and pass on traditions.

Traditions like our red Christmas stockings.

When we were born, my siblings and I each received a handmade red Christmas stocking from Grandma Griner.

Since we never had a fireplace mantle to hang them, every year Mom would hang those 5 stockings on the wall until Christmas Eve.

(Okay – something I’ve wondered for years – how in the world did Mom get them to stay on the wall all month?)

Then – just before bed on Christmas Eve – we would take our stockings and safety pin them to the couch – most of the time using diaper pins (you know the ones with little pastel duckies and bunnies on them!)

And we would sit, in order of age, in our handmade jammies, with excited faces, and take a picture.

Every year.

Even the year we had mumps.

Trust me – some of those pictures are really embarrassing! Especially when we got into our teens.

When each of us got married and started our own families, my sister Teresa continued the tradition. She presented each of our children with their very own red Christmas stocking, just like the ones Grandma made.

Since I also don’t have a fireplace to hang them, our stockings get hung on our open staircase until Christmas Eve, when – you guessed it – we take them down and hang them on the couch!

And I bet you’ve figured out what we do next!

That’s right – we sit the kids down in birth order and take a picture of them  – in their jammies with excited faces just before they go to bed.

Every year.

Even the year they all had the head colds and bright red chapped noses.

Trust me – some of these pictures are really embarrassing, too!

Especially now that they are in their teens!

But what a special memory!

It’s a tradition that ties us together, past and present.

A special bond we share together as a family.

And as my kids start leaving the nests to set up their own households, their red Christmas stocking will go with them.

Then, in December when they pull out the Christmas decorations, they will see their bright red Christmas stocking and remember.

We celebrated this momentous occasion with a very unique birthday cake designed by the birthday boy himself.

I asked him what kind of cake he wanted and I was asked to bake a plain vanilla cake with a Cool Whip frosting.

He would take care of all the decorating.

And of boy – did he ever!

When the cake was baked, cooled and frosted, He brought what looked to me like a pile of Lego pieces into the kitchen.

As he methodically began to place them on the cake, I realized that he had designed a Lego platform for his stuffed pica, Trent, to sit on.

Yes, you read that correctly.

We had a birthday cake with a rodent on top.

(Although Buddy insists that a pica is not a rodent – he is actually a member of the rabbit family. But seriously people – he looks rodent-like to me!)

That wasn’t all – he also designed a catapult to swing M & M’s directly into Trent’s mouth. Now that’s one lucky rodent! (Oops! I mean – pica!)

Thankfully Trent survived his moment of fame without getting any frosting on his fake fur or going up in flames.

Makes me wonder what next year’s cake will be like? I mean, honestly – how can you top a stuffed pica with a flaming M & M catapult?!

Happy birthday, Buddy! We love you!

“I felt a bit overwhelmed today. Today was “coat sorting day”. A warm coat for church, a warm coat for farm chores, a warm coat for town, don’t forget a lightweight coat for the days that it goes back up to 60…”

I can totally relate.

This is one of those rural realities that you just have to live with.

Everybody needs a warm coat to wear around the farm – one that they can do chores in, go sledding in and get muddy on four-wheeler rides.

But they also need a warm coat that stays nice to wear to church and to town.

Ditto for lighter weight coats for spring and fall and rain gear and sweatshirts and fleeces.

You start multiplying my family members and the number of coats per person and you soon see how overwhelming it can be.

And don’t forget the hats, mittens, overalls, boots and shoes – all in multiples.

It’s not just the outer wear! We almost need 2 separate wardrobes – one for going away and one for staying at home.

It is a known fact that whatever clothes are worn outside to do chores will get dirty, stained, ripped and otherwise made unfit for public wear. That’s why we set aside some clothes just for that purpose.

Trust me, the chickens and cows don’t care.

But we have other clothes that are saved just for going away where people will actually see us.

Although it never fails that the one day you don’t wash your hair, have on your worst looking jeans and the t-shirt with stains – will be the one day that you need to run to town to buy a bolt and pick up baler wire.

Never fails.

I get a chuckle every time I see a magazine article describing how to simply your wardrobe. Ha! What I need is some hints on how to practically store the gazillion coats, hats, mittens, boots, and shoes that are piled in my mud room.

But then – as my friend said -

“..multiply that times 12 and you get 48 coats in our closet. That is nuts- but thank you Lord for all 48 coats.”

So true! Thank you for Lord for each and every coat – and the healthy bodies to wear them!

And anywhere that Kimmer is – there is laughter – lots of laughter!

We were browsing through the racks at the local thrift store when Kimmer quickly picked up on the fact that my kids thought our taste in clothes was a little dated – so she started pulling out ridiculous pieces to show them.

She was gushing and embarrassing them royally when – out of the craziness – Dagmar finds a nice pair of jeans of Pedro.

I look at them and say “awesome”.

Kimmer looks at them and says, “Precious!”

Dagmar almost chokes. “Awesome and precious?! Oh really! These are beastly sick pants!”

Kimmer and I look at each other blankly, “Beastly sick?”

Dagmar just shakes her head and moves on.

Okay – so maybe it’s more than our taste in clothes that’s a little dated.

At home later on that afternoon -  I asked Pedro to try on the clothes that his sister found for him.

As he come out wearing his new pants, we looked at each other and tried very hard to remember the words Laura used to describe them.

Now – I should insert here that the night before we had stayed up much later than any two 40-something mothers of nine kids should – so we were pretty much brain dead.

As we were frantically trying to remember the correct terminology – Kimmer blurts out, “I know – the word starts with an F – I know it – they’re fruity!”

The room erupts with laughter.

There’s never a dull moment with Kimmer around!

There I was – sitting at the table with four of the kids surrounded by a pile of blocks and Duplo people.

A few years ago that sight would have been commonplace – but now that 3 of those 4 kids are teenagers – it was a little unusual.

So unusual that it made him pause and ask, “What are you doing?!”

“I am being brilliant!” was my reply.

He looked at me quizzically.

Okay – so maybe brilliant isn’t the best word. Maybe creative would be better.

I explained that it was time to stage the Children’s Christmas Program – and since that was traditionally a very confusing and noisy rehearsal – I had the brilliant idea to use Duplo people and stage it on the kitchen table before using live children.

The kids found the right number of Duploes and helped me name them. We added a few blocks to act as the piano and the riser and my cell phone became the manger.

We went through the script scene by scene, moving our Duplo characters across the stage.

It went pretty well except that I often forgot who was who and would occasionally call them “carrot nose” and “fireman” and “mustache dude” instead of Eli, Jotham and Levi.

Funny thing was – because of my large hand maneuvering them – those plastic kids still fell off the riser and often knocked each other over!

But at least they didn’t talk out of turn!

I still think it was brilliant.