I totally pulled the grandma-wouldn’t-want-you-to-do that card this week.
Totally.
Little Miss is in a mean phase.
At least I hope it’s a phase.
When she wants to sit somewhere her brother is sitting she shoves him until he moves. When she wants what her brother has she takes it. When she wants to play with his Legos she tries to shove him out of the way so she can stand at his Lego table.
She doesn’t do this with other children. Only her brother.
He’s eight years older than her. She doesn’t care. The age gap doesn’t intimidate her.
She is a bully.
I’ve been reading articles and wracking my brain how to teach her not to be mean. So far it’s been time outs and long talks asking her how she’d feel if her brother was mean to her instead.
But the other night I changed my strategy, one my own mother has been grooming me for since I was born.
I used mother guilt.
I knew it would all be worth it one day.
My son was hugging me at bedtime, laying across me, and his sister didn’t want him to hug me so she stuck her toes in his armpits and pushed hard with her foot, trying to dislodge him.
That’s when brilliance struck. I felt very proud of myself when I said: “Oh my, this would make Grandma so sad. She thinks you are just the sweetest little girl and if she saw you being mean to your brother she would be so disappointed and so sad.”
She continued to push but was watching me and I could tell she was thinking.
“She would. She says you’re so sweet and your brother loves you…she’d just be upset.”
“Grandma? She’d be upset?” She asked. Her legs weren’t pushing as hard now. “With me?”
“Sad, yes,” I said. “Not mad, but very disappointed and sad.”
She took her toes out of his armpits and lowered her legs.
“Oh my! Grandma would be upset at me! She’d be sad!”
She turned to her brother.
“Grandma is upset at me! She sad!”
The mother guilt was getting a little out of hand so I reassured her Grandma would be happy now because she had stopped being mean to her brother.
“Oh. Okay.” She said, hesitantly relieved.
I’m quite pleased my tactic worked.
For now.
I may not be as happy when the therapy bills start coming in though.
However, none of my therapy bills were related to my mom’s superior mom guilt so I think it will be okay.
More posts
10 on 10 for July and all that jazz
Today is the day I showcase ten photos from the previous month as part of the 10 on 10 Lifestyle blog circle.
June was a month of discoveries and for me I discovered, or shall I say, finally admitted I am never going to have a photography business. Eight years of rejection is enough. We are told to keep pushing forward on our dreams but sometimes I think we have to know when one dream is dead and gone. That dream I had apparently was not God’s plan for me, at least not while I live where I am living now.
I have gone over and over in my head, trying to find the correct formula to make this business a success, but none of it has worked. Friends have assured me it’s not me or my photography, but even with price reductions no one would hire me. And without clients there is no budget for advertising so it’s a real catch 22.
I have even considered maybe I need to change my style, how I edit and what I shoot, but know that changing who I am to fit someone else’s view isn’t healthy for me over all. At that point one has to ask themselves if the dream has become an idol above all else. In my case, it’s possible that has been happening so laying it down is what needs to happen at this time.
In between the sadness of finally giving up on photographing clients, there has been fun with the children-water hose fights and pool time at their grandparents and simply exploring in general.
Be sure to follow the circle around by visiting Lauren Cypher next!
More you might like . . .
Tell Me More About . . . Engelbert Farms, Nichols, N.Y.
Thank you to Lisa Engelbert of Engelbert Farms in Nichols, N.Y. for being part of this edition of Tell Me More About. Engelbert Farms is owned by Lisa and her husband Kevin. It is a family owned and operated business with her sons and their families also participating in day-to-day operations. According to their site: “Engelbert Farms, LLC is a certified organic dairy farm, certified by Vermont Organic Farmers (NOFA-VT). It is a true family farm, farming in the same location since 1911. Kevin, Lisa and their sons Joe and John all actively work on the farm. Their other son, Kris is often around helping out, too.”
I recently visited their farm store and highly recommend their homemade cheeses, especially the lemon and thyme moovache which is only in stock during the summer months. My children and I had a sample and agreed it was the best cheese we have ever tasted.
Tell Me More About is a feature where I showcase artists, business people, businesses or simply every day people with an interesting story.
Can you tell me a little about your farm, how long you’ve had it and how you got started in farming?
I grew up on a dairy farm in Athens, Pa. When my older brothers decided they didn’t want to farm, my dad sold the cows and took a job off the farm. I’ve always loved animals and loved to grow things, so farming always had a special place in my heart. The Engelbert family had been farming in Nichols since 1911, and in the Southern Tier of New York since 1848. My husband, Kevin and I got married in 1980, and took over management of the family farm from my father-in-law. In 1981, we started farming organically, and became certified organic in 1984. We didn’t know it at the time, but we were the first certified organic dairy farm in the US! We are first and foremost an organic dairy farm, but when our sons graduated from college and came back to the farm, we realized we needed to diversify to be able to support more families. Our operation now includes organic meats (beef, pork, veal), cheeses, small-scale seasonal vegetables, and field crops. With the exception of the small amount of milk that is kept back to be made into cheese, all of our milk is sold through Organic Valley.
What does your farm offer the community?
We have a farm store on the farm to sell our organic, farm-raised meats, cheeses and vegetables directly to our customers. Every piece of our meat is traceable back to the day the animal was born, and our cheeses are made by hand exclusively with our milk. Later in the summer, as vegetables are harvested, we have potatoes, garlic, onions, and other seasonal vegetables available. Products from other sustainable farms are available as well – eggs, chicken, turkey, honey, maple syrup, jams & jellies, salsa and pasta sauces. We also sell meat and cheese to stores and restaurants in the Valley, as well as Endicott, Binghamton, Ithaca and Watkins Glen, and as far as the Hudson Valley and Long Island. Our farm is part of the Tioga Farm Trail, and the Finger Lakes Cheese Alliance. Several times a year, we have an open house on our farm and offer samples of our cheeses and smoked sausages, as well as farm tours. Both my husband and I have been heavily involved in organic agriculture at the state and national level, and have done presentations at numerous workshops and field days on organic farming over the past 35 years.
How is farming changing today? What is the future of farming?
Farming has always been a challenging profession, but it keeps getting more difficult to do business and make a profit. Regulations, taxes and land prices continue to increase, putting more and more burden on farmers. Farms are getting bigger and bigger and small farms are getting squeezed out. I would love to see farms start getting smaller and more diversified, with their products being processed and sold regionally. In my mind that would contribute to national security with less imported food, reduced miles that food travels to get to the consumer, and would provide a fresher, safer, more traceable product. I believe to be truly sustainable and profitable in the future, farms will need to sell as much as possible of what they produce directly to the consumer.
What is the most rewarding part of owning a small farm?
My favorite part of owning a family farm is dealing directly with our customers and talking with youth groups. We have met some incredible people over the years, and have made many new friends. It is very rewarding to know that we are providing high-quality, healthy products. We like to know who our customers are, and our customers appreciate knowing how and where their food is grown. When we get thank you notes from customers and from kids that have come for farm tours, it makes us feel like we’re making a difference, and makes all of the hard work worthwhile.
Where can people find out more about your farm and what it offers?
Our farm store is located right on our farm just east of the Village of Nichols, at 182 Sunnyside Road in Nichols, NY- look for the little red building attached to the yellow barn. We’re open Friday and Saturday 10 to 3, year round, unless it’s a holiday. Our website is www.engelbertfarms.com and we have an Engelbert Farms Facebook page, which I try to keep active with what’s happening on the farm.
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To submit ideas for a Tell Me More About … feature email lisa at lisahoweler@gmail.com or use the contact form under Info at the top of the page. People featured in Tell Me More About are from various walks of life, backgrounds and jobs because we all have a story to tell.
More Tell Me About
The yard sale and the lonely old man
I was inside when he pulled up to our yard sale. My son and husband were outside with him but I stepped out to see if he had any questions about the items he was looking at. He did but only about a film camera I was selling, which turned out to be his launching point for telling stories about his life.
“I took photos a long time ago, when I was in Korea in the service. Of course I traveled other places too. I have a box of color slides at home. My son takes photos, he knows more about these things than I do. You say it still works?”
It did, that I knew of, but had been passed down to me from someone else. I always told myself I was going to learn how to shoot film, but I’d never got there and had decided it was time to give up and sell the cameras, one of which had a broken lever.
Before I knew it and without speaking much at all myself, I learned the hunched over older man was 88, had flown planes for years, had traveled the world, had lost his wife in 2009, and had almost remarried two years ago.
As we talked I realized I knew the man but thankfully he didn’t remember me at all.
It was one of those times I was happy to see someone suffering from the ill mental effects of old age. I had written a feature story on him in my old life as a small town newspaper reporter and had been quite proud of the story of a war veteran and local hero who had established a fundraiser for cancer research with his wife in memory of their son. He wasn’t as impressed. His lack of praise for the article didn’t come from inaccurate information I had presented but the fact I had made him look “too good.”
Apparently I had idealized him too much and given him so much positive coverage he felt embarrassed and humiliated, as if he had been bragging about himself. So there I stood one day, in the front of the office of the small town paper I worked for, listening as he scolded me for saying too many nice things about him. I didn’t even know how to respond, other than to silently consider digging up some nasty dirt on him to balance out the portrayal.
This annoyed response to a positive article actually wasn’t the only of its kind for me. A few years before that the mom of a friend had told me the same about an article I wrote on their dairy farm. My personal affection for what I saw as an idyllic rural upbringing transferred the story, in her opinion, into an unrealistic view of their world and made it appear that she and her family were perfect, when she knew they weren’t.
Again, I was stumped. After these incidents if I began to second guess positive feature stories I wrote, wondering if should throw in some negative antidotes about the subject or ask them to provide me with some personal failings to flush out the story and make them look less appealing as a human being. I tried my best after those complaints to never make a person look “too good” again.
The man at the yard sale talked away, saying my name sounded familiar, thought he knew someone with my last name (he does and it’s me and my husband, who he’s also been interviewed by for another story about the fundraising event held in memory of the man’s late son.).
“I used to have one of these. Took photos when I was in the Air Force,” he says, the camera strap hooked around his neck now. “I’ve got some old color slides in my attic. Korea and Greece and places like that. My son knows about cameras. He takes photos. He lives over in South Waverly. Just down the road here.”
Each item he looked at seemed to trigger another thought.
“I almost got remarried a couple years ago. I knew her in high school or course. We used to go to the roller rink. She got married and has some kids and so did I. My wife, Joan, she died in 2009 and her husband had died. She would pull up in front of house and I’d go out and we’d talk. Well one night I went to hug her and she pulled away and said “what are you doing? I’m not a hugger.’ I said to myself ‘well, that’s that, because I’m a hugger.'”
He talked away, about nothing and everything.
I listened because I knew he needed someone to listen.
Even though he didn’t remember me or know that I knew him, I did remember and I did know.
I knew he was alone in a tiny little house he’d once shared with his wife and his twin boys and a daughter. I knew one boy had died from cancer as a teenager.
I knew his life had been hard, full of pain, but also joy. I knew he was humble and didn’t like anyone to think he thought he was better than anyone else.
I knew he needed to talk and he needed someone to really listen because really it’s what we all want – someone to really listen when we talk and not just listen, but really hear.
I told him to stop by and show me the photos he took with the camera. He said my address out loud a couple of times, to commit it to a memory slowly failing him and promised he’d stop by again.
He crossed our busy street, back to his van, and we waved our goodbyes.
I didn’t know if he’d remember me later, or even the conversation we’d had that day, but I was glad to have been someone who listened to stories of his past on that summer day.
Straight in the eye
I heard Pastor Jimmy Evans say today in a sermon that some children come out of the womb looking you straight in the eye as if to challenge you from the start and those children are natural born leaders and will do great things. This one is going to be some kind of leader apparently…..
The days are long
Lightstock photo by Lisa R. Howeler
It’s the end of a very long day and all I can think is:
Did I pay attention to them enough today?
Did I listen to them?
Do they know I love them?
Was I too distracted?
Too strict?
Too overwhelmed with other things that were not important?
The answer to some of those questions are ‘no’ and some are ‘yes’ and my heart aches as I scroll in my mind back through the day, recalling moments of failure, playing it all back like an old movie reel.
It’s summer and bedtime seems to be later and later each night. It also makes days longer and breaks of quit time for me non-existent. No stolen moments to recharge leaves me mentally depleted, drained, overwhelmed.
I want to try to embrace these long days as a gift – more time with them – instead of resenting the loss of free time. Some days I do but often I fail.
She’s laying next to me in a diaper, finally asleep after begging to hold a flashlight at bedtime that she kept shining in me eyes, asking to turn a light on, lay on one side of the bed instead of the other, anything to not have to actually lay down. There is red and green and blue streaks of marker on her legs and belly from when she drew on herself earlier in the day.
I mentally chide myself for not giving her a bath to scrub off all the mess but then I smile as I look at it with the light of the phone and think about her wild spirit, her determination, her laughter when she found me to ask “how do I look?” after she’d drawn on her skin.
Her stubbornness often has my emotions knotted up in frustration. She insists she no longer needs naps but without one she bristles like a bear at the smallest provoking.
Today she refused a nap, yet I knew if we left the house to do something she’d cry and cling and it would be clear she had needed the nap.
“I just can’t do this anymore!” I told her, finally at the end of my rope.
“Yes you can!” She declared, leaning in close. “Be brave.”
The irony was not lost on me that I’ve been listening to a series of sermons imploring us to “be brave.”
Be brave when we are anxious.
Be brave when we doubt.
Be brave when we don’t understand.
Be brave when nothing seems to be going right.
Be brave when dreams are lost.
Be brave when inadequacy rules your feelings.
Be brave and embrace the moments that don’t fit where you thought they should.
Embrace the unexpected, the changes, the winding trails through motherhood and life.
The saying is true – the days are long but the years are short.
It wasn’t long ago he was two instead of ten. He was stubborn and tough and full of energy.
He and I survived those long days when I embraced our time together, accepting some days would be long, some days too short.
Maybe instead of seeing a day as long I need to see it as full.
Full is good.
Full is positive.
Full is life.
Even long is good.
Long is more.
Long is more time for hugs.
Long is more time for learning.
Long is more laughter.
Long is more moments, more smiles, more touches, more life lived fully alive.
The Garden
Rain fell steady just like the weather app said it would and I felt a twinge of disappointment. I knew it would mean a couple more days of waiting to plant the garden my son and I have wanted for a couple of years now.
I had always dismissed the idea of a garden because we live in town on a busy, noisy street and somehow, for this country girl, gardens are meant for quiet, out of the way yards where they can be admired on a warm summer evening in golden hour light.
I had wanted to wait until we actually moved to the country to create a garden but since that doesn’t seem to be remotely close to reality at the moment, we started planning what we wanted to plant and where, early in the spring.
Pumpkins, squash and various herbs for him.
Cucumbers, carrots, green beans, peas, and potatoes for me.
Strawberries and watermelon for her.
What makes this year different is that for the first time in 13 years we don’t have a dog to consider and worry about digging up the plants. This lack of a puppy has me fairly heartbroken and I sat next to the garden space one day this week and cried from the grief of missing our Copper.
My dad brought his rototiller up to “the big city” and made the space for our garden. My son helped to break up the dirt and smooth it out and his sister worked next to him, most likely negating all the work he had already done.
Dad was only supposed to drop the rototiller off but instead he broke the ground for us. He then gave advice on what to plant and where.
There are days that living in town has its advantages, like when an old friend is driving to her daughter’s band concert at the school across the street and sees you standing outside. The friend, who I have barely seen in several years walked across the lawn with a sun-infused smile (or some might say Son-infused), her hair as blond now at 39 as I remember it at 19. Looking at her has always made me think of the “got milk” commercials, partly because of her sparkling white teeth and smooth skin but also because her family are diary farmers about ten miles from us.
Standing out with the sun pouring across the lawn and the kids, and Dad and potential, catching up on our families made a busy week seem less busy and more manageable.
It was dark by the time the garden was done and Dad reminded my son that when the dirt crumbles in your hand it’s the best time to plant.
The kids had dirt in their finger nails like I had at their age. My legs and arms were bit up by mosquitoes because apparently they love my blood. My head was full of ideas but also of thoughts the Father, Son and Holy Spirit after Dad brought me a file of thoughts he had gathered about healing, Christ, and souls on fire.
He stood there as the sun set and pondered people who have prophetic dreams and people who are filled with the Holy Spirit, but don’t understand it. Pondering God and how He works and why He works the way he does is something he’s done all my life. Though not a big reader of fiction, he’d often sit at his desk (now his computer) and pour over books on theology, blessing, curses, and God’s role in our lives.
I called Mom when he pulled out, a tradition, and told her he was on his way home, since he often is out late helping others, or if not, wandering aimlessly in Lowe’s admiring planks of wood and nuts and bolts to add to his collection, and forgets to update her on where he is.
Baths were late.
Bedtime was late.
But lungs were filled with fresh air, bonding time was spent, hard work was done, and deep, well earned slumber followed.
Tell Me More About . . . Mina Mimbu, artist and photographer
What a thrill for me to feature Mina Mimbu this week! Her work is captivating and catapults the viewer into another world.
Mina was born and raised in Japan until 14, then moved to beautiful New Zealand. She has two boys, two and one, who are often the subjects of her work.
“They’ve been keeping me very busy!” she says.
Thank you to Mina for participating!
How did you become interested in photography?
I always loved photography since I was young, but I started taking it seriously after my first boy was born. Like most of ‘momtographers,’ I wanted to document my children growing up.
What’s in your camera bag?
I don’t carry a camera bag! I really wish I could, but I have to carry a large nappy (diaper for Americans) bag instead! My favorite gear is my Sony a7r2, 24-70 mm F2.8 and 85 mm f1.4, which I use most of the time to shoot my children. I have to carry a heavy bag and hold my kids so I love mirrorless cameras because they are really small and light weight.
How do you come up with the amazing images you create? What inspires you?
Children are my biggest inspiration. I believe they see a world differently than us adults.
I think the world to them is much bigger, brighter and more colorful, and full of wonder and excitement. I want to see it, capture it, and create an art of how they are seeing the world. I want people to see the world of childhood through my images. I hope my photographs make people feel something.I hope they make people wonder and dream.
What advice do you have for other photographers or digital artists?
Enjoy shooting! There are no rules in art. Experiment! I used to get caught up with reaches and followers and likes on social media and it was affecting my confidence. But then I realized I am not shooting for numbers. I shoot because that’s what I love doing. I am grateful for social media as I have had amazing opportunities and made wonderful friendships. But it isn’t everything. Don’t equate the value of yourself with how many reaches and likes you have. Just keep enjoying shooting!!!
Learn more about Mina and her work on her Facebook page, Instagram and website.
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