Go fly a kite!

Sunnybook Farm Revisited

By Susan Manzke  

 

            I have a few columns that are on my list of favorites. The one that follows is one of them. I don’t need to read it to remember that day on Gardner Road. It’s etched in my brain. Our kids could really get to me back then and I don’t mean with bad behavior. This shows how they could stab me in the heart with only a few choice words.

 

Go fly a kite

 

            “Mommy, are you awake?” Muffled words spoken inches from my pillow tickled my sleeping ear.

 

            “Mommy, can we do it today?”

 

            “Do what?” I blinked again and again, trying to focus and recognize the speaker. The night’s cobwebs were not easily jarred away.

 

            “Oh, you remember, Mommy, the kite thing. Can we fly it?”

 

            In my muddled condition, I agreed to fly “the kite thing.” It turned out to be a big mistake. I should have checked the weather first before agreeing to the project. I found out too late there wasn’t enough breeze blowing to make a lighted match flicker.

 

            The lack of wind forced me to explain the facts of kite to our young children. “I’m sorry. We can’t fly the kite today, Kids. There’s no wind.”

 

            “But you promised, Mommy. You promised.” Three sets of teary blue eyes looked up at their mother, the traitor.

 

            “Kites need wind to fly. I can’t make them stick up in the sky. The wind lifts them and holds them up. I just hold the string….” Their faces told me they didn’t believe a work I said. They probably thought I was backing out and making up a story. I had to show them the kite wouldn’t fly.

 

            I took their new, tailless kite and raced around the yard. The purple triangle fluttered a foot above my outstretched arm, desperately clinging to the trickle of wind I created for it by running.

 

            “It’s flying! It’s flying!” A cheer went up from the crowd of little onlookers.

 

            “Oh no. That’s not the way a kite is supposed to go.” I panted. “It’s supposed to fly way up in the clouds, with the wind. It’s not supposed to fly because Mommy’s running around the yard like a crazy person.”

 

            “But it was flying. It was flying right above your head. You just didn’t see it because you turned your back.”

 

            “Maybe the wind will be better later,” I said.

 

            “Yeah, sure,” their leader, Robby, said. “We’ll get Daddy to fly the kite later…. He can do it. He loves us. You’re too busy….” He took the kite from me and led the others back to the garage. They marched slowly away from me with their heads bowed and their feet scuffing the gravel.

 

            “I wanted to fly the kite, kids. I really did. I like kites. It’s the wind….” I tagged meekly behind, head bowed, shoulders slumped and kicking at an innocent stone. The darn wind stole my mother’s magic.

Eli & Arianna, our twin grandchildren

Sunnybook Farm Revisited

originally published in the early 80s

 

By Susan Manzke

 

            Our oldest son has never been at a loss for words, especially when he was a little boy. In fact, his handle when we used a CB radio was Jabber-jaws. You never knew what Robby was going to say as recorded in this column when he was five years old.

 

The assignment

 

            Some time ago, my son Robby returned from Sunday School with a homework assignment, a drawing. The topic of his work was, “Mommy is the best…”

 

            The budding Rembrandt waved the piece of paper in front of my nose. “See this square. I’m going to put you right here.”

 

            He was so excited about his homework. And I, his Mommy was to be his model. I could not have been prouder.

 

            I realized my face would be a slightly out of shape circle and my eyes would probably be two more cock-eyed circles. As in his other drawings, I knew my nose would be represented by two tiny dots. Which was fine. I always wanted a smaller honker.

 

            But what was I best at? Or what did he think I was best at? I began to fantasize what a little boy would consider tops in the Mommy field.

 

            I could be the best cook. I make gourmet peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. No, at the moment, food was not his top priority.

 

            Maybe I was tops at taking care of baby Russell. No one could change a diaper faster than me and have it stay secure. Though this feat might not count. No one else wants to change Russell. Still, I am the best.

 

            Of course, my son could and should think about Mommy’s writing. I have never been in JACK AND JILL, but he may remember me telling him to be quiet while I worked at the typewriter.

 

             Maybe he would think about my picture-taking. All the kids must think their mother has three eyes – the third being the camera.

 

            Then there’s my famous story-telling. I’ve gone through a library of books – stories about dogs and cats, horses and bunnies, boys and girls. I’ve read with parched lips and dry throat. I know I mumble a little and change a line or two in the books, but otherwise I’m one of the two best story-tellers in our house – the other being Daddy, who is the only other reader living here.

 

            As all the best things ran through my mind, my little boy sat looking at his blank piece of paper. He was stumped.

 

            “What are you going to draw me doing? What am I the best at?” I knew I should let him make his own decision. I shouldn’t lead him. All the books say a child shows his true feelings in his art work. So I waited for my son’s true feelings about me.

           

            His eyes lit up. “I know. I’ll draw you washing dishes. You’re the best at washing dishes.”

 

            “WHAT? Out of everything you think I’m the best DISHWASHER? Can’t you come up with anything else? I don’t want to go down in history as a dishwasher…. How about writing or reading or diapering…. Please not dishwashing.” I couldn’t help myself. He took me by surprise. I had to say something. Sue me.

 

            By the way, he finally drew me at my typewriter. Bright boy.

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''Dear Lucky Agent'' Contest: Middle Grade and Young Adult (with agent Regina Brooks)

A long ago column

Sunnybook Farm Revisited

By Susan Manzke

 

            This particular column was written in 1981, very early in my column writing career. We’ve changed, our weather varies from year to year, but farmer’s heavenly requests continue. We keep on praying to get sun and rain in just the right amount and try to live with what we’re allotted. This past spring, many farmers were in their fields early. Some got rain when needed, others did not but no matter what, we seem to be always asking God for something.

 

Farmer’s Prayer

 

It’s always silent. Not a word is ever heard. It’s the heart of every man or woman concerned with crops out in the field. It’s the farmer’s prayer.

 

My heavenly requests started in mid winter. I was trapped indoors with three children and a man crazed with cabin fever. The one who could end our imprisonment was reached only through prayer.

 

“Oh God, let the sun warm the hills and the valleys. Let green spring come. And let my nervous husband sit once more on his tractor to till the soil…. His winter pacing has a ten-foot path worn across the living room run. … Amen.”

 

My prayer was answered … finally spring arrived. A little late, in my opinion, but it arrived. Was it my fault it came as a wet, rainy spring? Did I forget to say I wanted a dry spring?

 

“P.S. God, thank you for the glorious spring. I appreciated it very much. But I do have to ask you to hold back the rain. My husband’s still in the house. Now that living room path is 15 feet long…. Amen.”

 

Well, He heard my prayer again and our crops found their way to the ground and there they sat high and dry…. I must have forgotten something again.

 

“It’s me again…. I’m sorry to bother you, but remember that rain you so graciously turned off?  Well it would be greatly appreciated if you could turn it back on again…. Please?”

 

This year my prayers were answered tenfold. The rain came and gave life to failing fields. But again it didn’t want to stop. So I humbly approached the Almighty once more … and after awhile, the weather changed. The clouds remained, but they were dry. Only trouble now is the slight shiver threatening an early, killing frost.

 

“God, I know winter has to come. I’ll even welcome its white beauty, in time. But would you mind holding the cold off until we get our crops out of the fields…. I promise not to complain… much … about a long, cold winter. If only you let fall continue warm and dry a little longer…. Amen.”

 

I’m not sure what the answer will be to this last prayer, yet. But I know it won’t be my last request.

Cold winter

Too many days of cold. Too many days at home. Bob and I started out going to Fleet Farm this morning only having to stop and charge up the car. The new battery was too low to start. Guess it would help if we started it more often, but we've been staying home a lot with the cold. Soon we will be off to Green Bay for some needed items. Spring can't come soon enough for me.

Dewey: the small-town library cat

Soon I will be deep in my books for my final semester at UWGB. Before I jump into those textbooks, I'm doing some fun reading.

I just finished Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World. The story by Vicki Myron, Dewey's mom, was touching. It was a lot about Vicki and the people of Spencer, Iowa along with stories about Dewey.

When reading about the life of an animal, be prepared for the end. It's a no-brainer what happens to all living things after a long life. Like the book and now movie about the dog, Marley and me, when reading about Dewey be prepared for a sad ending. I thought I was, but as with Marley, I cried.... both are still good stories. If you want to take in the fun about animals, quit reading before the last episode/chapter or walk out of the movie. You know what happens. My advice for sentimental readers is to take the best part of the stories, the fillet as it were, and leave the rest. Either that or get out a box of tissues. 

Day off
Now Playing: What flower are you?

Bob and I went to the movies today. We're cheap, so we went to the Budget theater and saw the new Narnia movie. We actually enjoyed it better then the first one. I liked that the children all worked together. In the first one, Edward was a trator to his family.

We got a tiny shower this morning. Looking for more rain. Soy beans in the sandy soil are showing the lack of moisture.

What flower are you?  I'm an Echinacea

Thursday

Farm Technology Days are over. It didn't last long enough, only half the allotted time. Rain swamped the event halfway through day two. Too bad.

Tuesday I spoke in the Family Living tent about saving family stories. I followed the UW-Madison band, or at least a small portion of the band. They were good and loud.

The audience seemed to enjoy my stories and many came up to Bob and me afterwards. So very nice people.

I had been so nervous I didn't sleep the night before, but after I got up on stage I didn't feel nervous at all. I was looking forward to day two and my second talk.

On Wednesday clouds followed us to the event. I carried an umbrella to ward off rain, but that didn't help. About an hour before I was to go on, the announcement came that Farm Technology Days was closing because of bad weather.

Bob and I were near the exit so we left right away. We were out of the vender parking lot before most people even started for their cars. ... I felt bad that I wouldn't get to speak and then meet people afterwards. Hopefully my next event will not be interrupted by thunderstorms.

Now Playing: Me and Bob

Since I'm learning about posting to this blog, I thought I'd try adding a photo.

Here we are,  Bob and me at Rachel's and Dave's home this summer.

Just enjoying time with our family and each other.