The Iowa Way

"I'm trying to buy some straw to cover some grass seed I put down so I thought I would check to see if they sell it where we buy the chicken food," Mike whispered to me as he waited on the phone for someone at the farming supply store to answer.
"Hello?" a voice from the other end responded.
"I'm wondering if you sell straw," Mike asked.
"No, but Jim, who shops here, usually has some. Oh, he just walked in. I'll let you talk to him."
"Hello?" a loud second voice said.
"Do you sell straw?" Mike asked.
"I'm gonna have to let you talk to Charles again. I have a hearing aid and can't hear on these darn phones."
"Hello," the first voice said again.
"Can you ask Jim if he has straw for sell?" Mike asked.
"Hey Jim, do ya have any straw?" Charles shouted. "He says he does."
"Where can I get it?" Mike asked.
"Oh, it's in his barn."
"Okay. Where is his barn?"
"Well, ya take exit 70 south and turn in front of the old Imes Bridge. It's the only house on that road."
"Is there an address?"
"Hey Jim, ya got an address?"
"I ain't got no address. It's the only house."
"When will he be there so I can pick the straw up?" Mike asked.
"Oh, ya just drive your truck up to his barn. It's open. Load up how much ya want and leave the money in a jar."

And that is why raising your kids in Iowa is not such a bad idea.

Four Exclamation Points

Being a parent means living in a constant state of change. I plan, look ahead, schedule, organize, nail it down, pencil it in, wrap it up, and cover the bases. But still I had three roasts cooking when the kids called to say they would be eating at their friend's house. The next week, when they all had plans, I fixed a steak that Mike and I were sharing when they all suddenly came home asking for food in the middle of our romantic dinner.

The school nurse has seen me in my exercise clothes, still wet from a shower her call interrupted, dressed up to attend a midday ballet, and so sick I could barely made the drive to school to pick up my sick kid.

Sunday I arrived at church, talked to some friends, sang some songs, and sat down with the rest of the congregation to enjoy a half hour of bettering my soul. At that precise moment Drake and his cousin were downtown sending a text stating that instead of picking them up at noon I should pick them up now. I stood up and walked out in front of everybody. 

"I'm here," I texted Drake as I parked my car.

"Be down in 5," he texted back.

"Ok," I texted as I opened my Facebook app to pass some time while I waited.

"I love you!!!!" he texted me out of the blue with no prompting from anyone. With four exclamation points. Four. 

Constant state of change - worth it.

43

I turned 43 yesterday. My son, Josiah, gave me an extra squeezy hug and my son, Drake, gave me the highest of fives. I got some nice cards, including one from my grandma that was left completely blank inside.
"My cousin, Debbie, made that card," my mom told me.
"Grandma, you forgot to write inside the card," I said, showing it to my grandma.
"What?" That is always her first response.
"You forgot to write inside the card you gave me."
Then she stared me down, and I lost.
"It's pretty though. Debbie made it." I said to let her off the hook.
"Debbie made what?"
"This card," I said, showing it to her again.
"Oh, that's a pretty card."

 And that is when I learned that Grandma's ways are beyond me and not to be questioned.

The Mystery of Girls

During a game in which the boys were asked questions that, typically, girls would know the answers to and girls were asked questions that boys would know the answers to, the boys received this question: "During which season is it traditionally unacceptable to wear white shoes?"
"Why would it matter what color your shoes are?" Drake asked. "That's just crazy."
"That's a real thing?" Mike asked. "There's really a season when you can't wear white shoes?"
"It wouldn't be winter," Josiah stated, "because white shoes would match the white snow. That has to be allowed."
"Maybe summer," Drake suggested, "because you might step in mud and they would get dirty."
"Oh! It has to be either fall or spring because that is when it rains most and they would get the dirtiest," Josiah agreed.
"Let's go with spring," Mike suggested. "I think that is when it is the muddiest outside."
"The answer," Makenna announced, reading the back of the card in her hand, "is from Labor Day until Memorial Day."
"What?" they all sputtered together.
"That isn't a season!" Josiah shouted.
"Would that be winter?" Drake asked.
"No," Mike answered. "It's technically part of all the seasons."
"It's just traditional," I tried to explain, "to only wear white when it is warm."
"That's not a season!" Drake stated.
"I will never understand girls," Josiah said.

I kind of see their point.

Kitty Love

"I'm going to get some kittens to keep the mice away," I told Mike at the beginning of summer.
"I hate cats."
"I hate mice."
"I can see how this will end. Just please keep them away from me."
"They will be outside cats. You won't even know they live here."
"I hate cats."

So imagine my surprise when I walk into my front yard and see my cat-hating husband snuggled up in the grass with my kitten. I'm not calling my husband a softie. Not out loud so he can hear it, anyway.

To be fair, that kitten is irresistible. 

Wow Internet

"I didn't know my personal, private card that I gave you for our anniversary would end up on the internet," Mike said.
"Well, you'll have to be more of a jerk if you don't want stuff like that to happen."
"I already tried that. I still ended up on the internet."
"Good point. I guess it's your destiny."
"What other things that I do are going to show up on the internet?" he asked.
"Probably this," I told him as we steered our car through the maze of rural southern Illinois backroads. "How do we know this guy isn't some serial killer?"
"He seemed really nice on the phone," Mike confidently assured me.

Finally, around 11 PM, we found the remote location of the man Mike had located earlier that morning when he scoured Craigslist postings from the cities and towns along our route home from Nashville to Des Moines.

He wasn't a serial killer.

He was, in fact, super nice. He sold Mike the banjo of his dreams and spent the next hour showing Mike how to play. His surprisingly young wife and I made friendly chit chat, and I found her delightful. I was mesmerized by her horn rimmed glasses and bouffant hairdo. We all exchanged phone numbers and promised to keep in touch.

We left with an old banjo and some new friends.

Wow Internet. Wow.

Lucky

On our first wedding anniversary, we bought each other expensive, frivolous gifts and went out to eat at a restaurant we couldn't afford in fancy clothes we borrowed.

On our fifth anniversary we attended the ballet.

On our tenth we splurged for a night in a fancy hotel.

On our fifteenth we were in a marriage crisis and barely smiled.

On our twentieth we told God thank you for the miracle of saving our family, bought each other expensive, frivolous gifts and went out to eat at a restaurant we couldn't afford in fancy clothes that we should have borrowed but didn't.  

Friday we celebrated our twenty-second anniversary. By now we have actually had a chance to experience all those things you say in your vows. We have had and held from that day forward for better and for worse. We have been through sickness and health. We did richer and poorer. And then much poorer. We were clumsy about it, and we took a crooked path to get where we are.

To celebrate I bought my husband a wok the size of a bathtub because we regularly cook for a small army of teenagers. He bought me a DVD player because our dog ate the remote to our last one. We went out to eat at an affordable restaurant and returned home to find our house full of teenagers who wanted to join us in watching the romantic movie we rented.

Just when I thought it couldn't get better, Mike handed me a beautiful and sentimental card that sent love ripples through my heart.

Perfect.