You Could Be a Farmer in Those Clothes.

Jolley Family, Sunday Morning, Winter-style.

As I write this post, June is wearing her favorite dog-onesie pajamas whilst also sporting her new dragon wings we bought from Goodwill and arguing with me about whether animals and snowmen should get baptized. "Animals are intelligent, MOM!" she yells in my ear as I try to type about really important things like our family heritage and legacy and also what we wore to church today.

Now she's talking about her latest reading of the Fudge series by Judy Blume. Gwen just asked me, "Mom, what can I do?" Harris is wearing his pajamas with his Sunday tie on top. He likes to wear a tie whenever he can, though he still claims to hate Sundays and church and primary. Beck is wreaking havoc in the toy room, but at least he's in the toy room and not IN. HERE.

We went to the farm show yesterday. The Farm Show is a Big Deal here in Pennsylvania. The first weekend we moved here, the Farm Show was going on and people at the hotel we were staying at thought we were in town from New Jersey for the Farm Show. Alas, we were not. I ventured to the show last year with a friend. But it was pretty tricky to do without Dan. So we waited for a Saturday trip to the Farm Show this year, and Dan came. It was cold, and we had to park far away and take a shuttle to the Farm Show Complex. 

(June and Gwen just marched into my room to let me know that they want to borrow their baby blessing dresses for a fake wedding they are planning between Beck and a toddler girl at church they want him to marry.)

The farm show was pretty fun. The kids loved the exhibits and the animals, and we bought the famous PA Dairymen's Association milkshakes. June cried that we made it to the calving corner too late and all of the calves had already been birthed.

I like living in a rural place. I'm not a really rural person, but I appreciate the people and their skills. I feel like a huge wimp around them.

We belong to a hiking group through one of our homeschooling co-ops. It's called "Forest School". During one of our recent romps through the woods, the Forest School leader asked if we would like to take a longer way back. I love walking and said sure. We walked for quite a long time, and I was happy to know that we were almost done because Beck had been more than done for quite awhile. We hit the 3-mile marker, and the leader let us know that we were halfway done.

Halfway? Wut.

The entire hike ended up being close to 7 miles. 7 miles is a lot for a three-year-old, and I had to lug him quite a bit at the end. Luckily, another mom named Jill decided to stay at the end with me and help me. I hardly even know Jill, but she was my angel that day. Just when I thought Beck couldn't possibly go any farther, we saw an old train caboose car. Beck found new energy and ran to the car and played and was able to finish the hike.

Speaking of trains, our neighbors Donna and Dave have invited us to come see their Christmas village train set-up three years in a row. It's a fabulous Christmas tradition for us.

Part of the tradition is having a big talk on the way over to their house about how we aren't going to touch anything while we are there, and the other big tradition is leaving early because one of the kids did, in fact, touch something. Donna and Dave are always nice about it, but it stresses me out because their train set is REALLY nice and takes them hours to set up every year.

And we are trying to be sporty again. The girls are playing basketball. Gwen is aggressive and gets in a little trouble for it. But she also switches from being aggressive to using the moves she has learned in dance classes to play defense. She will jazz hands that ball right away from you. 

June is the reason we signed up. Due to her small size and some of the challenges she faces, the league agreed to place her in a much younger group. Her coaches are saint-like and follow her around and remind her where to stand and what to do. Both girls are enjoying it.

And Harris is wrestling. Meaning, he attends wrestling practice. He likes learning the moves and being a part of the team. He LOVES wearing the wrestling t shirt and sweatshirt (even despite his intense hatred for long sleeves), but as far as actual wrestling goes, he struggles to apply what he has learned. He's only 5. He will get there. It's pretty funny seeing the much older kids on the team try to tear each other apart, whereas Harris just collapses to the ground the second his opponent comes close to him.

Harris is the third from the right, front row.

And a throwback. I forgot to post this picture of my crew ready for church Christmas morning. Dan had bought me a dreamy golden dress I was wearing for the occasion but alas, I took the photo and wasn't in it. My memoir shall be titled Woe is Me: A Mother Martyr, available wherever books are sold.

 

The End.