Little Things Mean a Lot

From the Archives, February 2012. One of my all-time favorite posts! A good reminder of how important the little things are in a marriage! Still true six years later.

I’ve always loved quilts. I’m amazed at how a quilter can take separate pieces of material and turn them into one beautiful creation.

The definition of a quilt is simple – a bed coverlet of two layers of cloth filled with padding held in place by ties or stitched designs.

I’ve found from experience that the more stitches or ties that are binding the pieces together – the longer the quilt lasts.

Several years ago I sewed a quilt for Matt’s bed. It looked nice at first – but since I made it very quickly, the few ties that I put in to hold it together soon broke in the strain of use.

I have another quilt that my Grandma made for me during my college years. She carefully tied it every few inches making a tight and warm covering that has stood the test of time and is still being used today.

One quilt lasted and one didn’t.

Marriage is like a quilt.

It begins as two separate lives that are bound together by a vow.

Then the process of “quilting” begins.

A good quilter knows that many small stitches hold better than a few big ones. The same is true of marriage. It’s the little things in daily life that will make a marriage strong.

Little things that say “I love you and you are important to me.”

Things like – getting up early to make your husband breakfast and packing his lunch before he leaves for work.

And getting the special “thank you – I appreciate this” look while he holds your hand and blesses that breakfast.

It’s when your husband puts a CD in and immediately goes to your favorite song, or when he gives you all the M & M’s from his trail mix, or takes the dish towel from you and sends you to the couch to rest.

It’s letting your husband eat the last piece of apple pie, or choose what to watch on TV, or sleep undisturbed in the recliner on a Sunday afternoon.

It’s a kiss when they leave and a kiss when they return.

It’s a phone call at lunch break, a back rub, a shared joke.

It’s taking time to really listen.

It’s putting their needs ahead of your own.

It’s those little things.

Stitch by stitch. Everyday. Binding your hearts together.

“Little Things Mean A Lot”

Kitty Kallen

Blow me a kiss from across the room
Say I look nice when I’m not
Touch my hair as you pass my chair
Little things mean a lot

Give me your arm as we cross the street
Call me at six on the dot
A line a day when you’re far away
Little things mean a lot

Don’t have to buy me diamonds and pearls
Champagne, sables or such
I never cared much for diamonds and pearls
’cause honestly, honey, they just cost money

Give me your hand when I’ve lost the way
Give me a shoulder to cry on
Whether the day is bright or gray
Give me your heart to rely on

Send me the warmth of a secret smile
To show me you haven’t forgot
For always and ever, now and forever
Little things mean a lot

A Star in the Sky

My husband made me cry last week.

More than once.

They were good tears, though.

Happy “oh-my-goodness-I-can’t-believe-you-did-that!” tears.

For years I’ve admired Christmas stars on top of grain elevators and church steeples. There is just something in their beautiful simplicity that speaks to me.

So he made me one.

A big one.

And put lights on it.

And somehow managed to climb a ladder in the cold with it on his back to hang it on the light pole by himself.

Now – every night at 5:00 – my star starts shining.

And my heart sings.

I’m pretty sure that’s what love looks like.

A Prairie Wedding

My niece got married last week!

Talk about exciting!

And – to add to the fun – the ceremony and reception were at my parents home.

On their prairie surrounded by mom’s gorgeous flowers.

And two of my sons were groomsmen.

They’re the handsome chaps on the right.

See those ties?

They were my contribution to the wedding. I made all four of them. It looked like such an easy pattern – I mean really – how hard can it be to make a bow tie?

Ha! You have no ideas how many times I messed up that simple pattern!

And yes – I teared up when I saw Lexie in her wedding dress.

But I wasn’t the only one.

Her aunts and I were a puddle.

Seriously – it was just yesterday that she was a little tike running around Nana’s prairie with my kiddos shooting pretend bears with the bb guns.

And now she’s a bride – walking across that same prairie on her dad’s arm to meet her groom.

Sniff.

They grow up so fast!

25 Years Ago

Jan and I celebrated twenty-five years of marriage this week.

Twenty-five years!

It’s been a remembering kind of week.

I’ve pulled out the old pictures.

Marveling at how young we looked.

Surrounded by friends and family.

I look in our eyes and see the joy, the incredible joy we felt that day.

He loves me!

He chose me!

And now – 25 years later -there’s still joy.

And peace.

And contentment.

And more love than those two newlyweds could have ever imagined.

Forged in the day by day commitment of two hearts.

For better or worse.

For richer and poorer.

In sickness and health.

For as long as we both shall live.

“Come, grow old with me, for the best is yet to come.”

60 Years and Counting

We celebrated my husband’s parents 60th wedding anniversary last weekend.

60 years.

6 decades.

Over 21,900 days.

1955.

A lifetime ago.

A different world.

In a church filled with roses, a commitment was made.

To love, honor and cherish.

In sickness and in health.

Four kids.

20 grandchildren.

Thousands of meals.

Making a home wherever the Air Force sent them.

Times of joy and laughter.

Seasons of sorry and tears.

Still together.

A promise kept.

Two lives became one.

They didn’t just fall in love, they stayed in love.

Chick Date

Jan asked me on a date today.

He said he would pick me up as soon as he got home from work and then we would drive through the beautiful countryside on an adventure to pick up the week old baby chicks he bought from a guy on the Swap.

I like dates. I like baby chicks. I like drives through the beautiful countryside with my husband. So of course I said yes.

We took off in the Geo (the little tin can on wheels that Jan drives) across miles and miles of gravel roads.

And all those gravel roads were covered with new gravel.

Trust me when I say that driving on new gravel in the tin can car is not an enjoyable experience.

But we finally arrived at the farm of the nice older man who was selling the chicks. This fella was quite the character and entertained us for at least 15 minutes with stories punctuated with “dadgum” and “cotton picking” before he produced the chickens from somewhere inside the house.

We pronounced them perfect and paid him.

Then he continued, without a breath, for another twenty minutes with more “dadgum” and “cotton picking” stories.

We finally pulled ourselves away and took our box of chicks to the car.

I climbed in first and Jan handed me the box saying, “You better hold them.”

So I did.

Off we go, in the Geo, down the gravel road covered with new gravel, with a box of week old chicks in my lap.

Did I mention the fact the Geo makes makes strange and wondrous noises – especially when it is bouncing along on new gravel?

All these noises and wild bouncing frightens the little chicks. Do you know what little chicks do when they are frightened? I immediately wished for a thicker box as that tiny car started to smell very ripe.

I, of course, got a nose full and was praying for deliverance when my husband announces, “I think the guy we get our honey from lives down this road.” And he turns down a gravel road in the opposite direction.

The bumpy turn on new gravel really sets the little chicks off and they attempt to fly out of the box on my lap.

So now we are taking the long way home, in the Geo, on gravel roads with new gravel, while I’m holding a box of week old chicks who are pooping up a storm and trying to fly in my face.

It was a long, smelly ride.

It is safe to say that I did not enjoy the beautiful countryside, nor could I enjoy the lovely fragrance of the wild plum blossoms that lined the ditches on both sides of the road.

At least he came through with the adventure part.

Trust me when I say that I plan to be the only chick on our next date. 🙂

A Weekend of Surprises

I had a birthday this weekend. 🙂

And it was a crazy wonderful weekend – full of surprises!

It started on Friday night when Pedro unexpectedly drove in the driveway.

It was a surprise birthday visit – and he bought me flowers and a birthday gift!

Isn’t he handsome?!

He spent the night and the whole next day.

My momma heart was so happy!

Oh – but that was just the beginning!

On Sunday there were special surprises.

Hugs and chocolate and teasing and sweet gifts left in the car after church.

And Matt called and had time for a wonderfully long chat!

And the kids got me very thoughtful and sweet gifts.

But the biggest surprise of the weekend came from my husband who masterminded the perfect gift.

It started last fall, when we were in the big city – 90 miles from home – to pick up some car parts.

Since auto parts stores don’t hold my attention for long, I left Jan in the muffler section while I headed next door to Cecil’s – a consignment store.

I was mindlessly walking through the large back room of furniture when I saw the most wonderful antique wardrobe!

It was love at first sight.

It would make the perfect sewing cabinet! I could just imagine sorting all my material and notions into the drawers on the side.

But, alas, it was not to be. The store was closing in just a few minutes, we didn’t have a way to get it home, we had several more stops to make, and let’s face it – it just wasn’t in the budget.

So I left that beautiful oak wardrobe in the back room of Cecil’s , knowing that I would never see it again.

You know where this is going don’t you? 🙂

Unbeknownst to me – my sweet husband called Cecil’s and asked them to hold that perfect antique wardrobe for him – which they very happy to do.

Then he asked some amazing friends to pick it up and hide it in their spare bedroom – for several months.

These same friends just happened to show up at my house just as we were eating my birthday supper – which I must admit I found rather odd at the time.

And they sat with the kids and Jan while I opened my gifts – ending with the tiny box from my husband that held an antique key and a Cecil’s business card.

And then they helped Jan bring in my dream cupboard that they had delivered in the back of their van.

I was shocked speechless.

And then I started blubbering nonsense and I cried and everybody talked at once as the details of the surprise that was five months in the making came out.

I felt so humbled and so blessed.

Not just because I now have my dream wardrobe sitting in my sewing room – but because I have the most amazing husband, children and friends.

My heart is full to overflowing.

Checking Cows

Every afternoon when Jan comes home from work, he grabs a snack while I grab a coat and we head out for a walk.

The official term for this jaunt in the winter afternoon is “walking the fence line” or “checking the cows”.

He can call it whatever he wants – but I call it the best part of my day!

It’s a perfect excuse to hold my honey’s hand and hike across the frozen pastures, catching up on the days activities.

And – since it’s also the one time during the year that I can walk freely anywhere on the property with no fear of poison ivy – I’ve been in and out of ravines and to every remote corner.

These walks, however, are not without their hazards. There are always thorn trees, the evil multiflora rose bushes and the dreaded blackberry vines to scratch you and impede your progress.

Not to mention the the occasional slip on steep banks or frozen cow pies to trip you up.

And I guess one of these days we’ll actually find the cows.

And they won’t be where they are supposed to be.

And the fence will be down.

And our peaceful walk hand in hand through the pasture will turn into a cow chase and a trudge back to the barn for fence supplies.

But that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

‘Cause there’s something pretty wonderful about soaking up the late afternoon sunshine while walking hand in hand with my husband.

Frozen cow pies and all.

We All Have Our Gifts

One of the things I love about my big old farm house is the large attic.

Since we don’t have many closets, we use the attic for storage of off-season clothes, Christmas decorations, toys, sleeping bags and other very important things that the children cannot yet part with.

To access this space we have a pull down ladder.

I do not like this ladder. I do not like any ladders. I do not like heights.

But I had come to peace with it’s existence and could actually use it without a complete panic.

But then it broke.

Just like that.

At least it broke in the up position.

Jan removed it – leaving a hole in the ceiling in the hallway – and brought in a step ladder to provide access to the more nimble among us. Since using the step ladder involved climbing to the top and using your upper body strength to hoist yourself through the hole in the ceiling into the attic – it is valid to conclude that I have not seen the contents of the attic for some time.

Well – except for the one time that Jan brought in a real ladder and held it for me while patiently coaching up me up and then back down. All that just so that I could find the two missing blue flannel pillowcases.

He’s wonderful like that.

Otherwise I managed by bribing one of the children to go up the step ladder and then shouted directions from below.

“The blue pillow cases are there somewhere – keep looking!”

But that all ended last night.

The needed parts had arrived, the pull down ladder was fixed, and it was ready to be installed.

The installation itself proved to be a problem – since both of our big boys have left home to seek their fame and fortune in the big wide world.

And Dagmar was on call at the hospital.

Jan was left with Angel Girl, Buddy and I to assist him – and one of us was deathly afraid of heights.

And claustrophobic.

But my amazing husband figured out an simple solution involving a step ladder, four braces, 2 cordless drills, Buddy, Angel Girl and himself.

Did you notice that I was left out of this installation?

I decided my job would be to call 911 in case of emergency (which would prove interesting since Dagmar would be the one to come rescue us) and got my cell phone to be prepared.

And because the phone was in my hands – I started texting Dagmar a play by play of the action so she wouldn’t be surprised when the 911 call came through.

“So Dad, Buddy and Angel Girl are attempting to put in the attic stairs. Hopefully we won’t need to visit you.”

Jan and Angel Girl climbed into the attic on the step ladder and pulled up the repaired pull down ladder.

Then they carefully lowered the pull down ladder until it rested on the braces and used the first cordless drill to attach the ladder.

Buddy’s job was to climb the step ladder on the other side, use the second cordless drill to carefully remove the four braces, and pull down the ladder to let Jan and Angel Girl out.

Great plan right?

All went well till Buddy climbed up the ladder to unscrew the braces. As he struggled to balance himself on the step ladder while holding a heavy cordless drill over his head I heard Jan say, “Be careful you don’t strip the screws or we’ll be stuck up here.”

What?

Stuck in the attic?

I send Dagmar a text:

“Your dad and sister are currently stuck in the attic but don’t worry buddy and I have everything under control.”

Finally a job that I can handle – create drama.

We all have our gifts. 😉

Lunch Box Surprises

I pack my husband’s lunch every day.

Not only is it cheaper and healthier – it’s also faster for him.

That gives him time to call me every noon.

Ulterior motives. 🙂

When I’m really on top of things I get his lunch ready in the evening so I just need to pull it out and put it in his lunch pail in the dim light of early morning.

It’s when I’m not with it that things get interesting.

Like the time I grabbed a container from the freezer thinking it was left-over lasagna. It wasn’t.

My poor husband got a frozen hunk of left-over pinto beans.

Oops.

But even when I have things prepared – my mental capacity isn’t always the best first thing in the morning.

I few weeks ago I had his lunch prepared – but I grabbed the wrong container. I sent him a frantic text at noon when I opened the fridge and saw his main dish was still inside.

I asked him what he had for lunch.

His response – the yogurt was good.

Oops.

In recent days I’ve sent him an over ripe banana, stale pretzels, and the container of left-over smoked turkey meat instead of the smoked turkey sandwiches I had made for him.

But the one he really laughed about was the plastic container of dry, uncooked noodles that I grabbed from the cupboard in the haze of early morning thinking they were peanuts.

Poor guy.

And he never complains. (Well – except for the pinto bean incident!)

He should get a medal, that man of mine.