A Tale of Pumpkins

Last October we went to The Proverbial Pumpkin Patch as we try to do every fall. We took most of my siblings again, going with a group always makes for more fun. Last years trip was an especially memorable adventure because on our way home we were the first to arrive on the scene of an accident. A woman had lost control and crashed into a telephone pole causing it to sever at the top. Long story short; the woman was able to walk away (guided by police), un injured, aside from her brain cells thanks to marijuana and too much alcohol, the latter of which Wesley saw her throw the empty bottle into the cornfield after she assured him she was fine and had just swerved to miss a dog. She had insisted she didn’t need us to call the police but we unapologetically informed her we already had, because clearly the power lines needed to be dealt with and they would need to be sure she was all right.

The girls and I had each chosen pumpkins and we left them out in our living room through the fall as decorations. The girls were disappointed I wouldn’t let them carve theirs but I promised it wasn’t worth it, we would enjoy them much more as pies, cakes, and muffins than as a face for a few days that would end in rot and the garbage can. I appeased their disappointment by letting them draw faces. Unfortunately Éowyn’s suffered too many injuries and began to mold as a result of Emmitt’s many “soccer” games. Éowyn was very sad but I assured her my pumpkin could become hers so she too could enjoy field to table claim  when we finally made something yummy.

Time went on, the girls would ask to cook them, I would say “not today, I don’t have time”, even though I probably did, I just didn’t prioritize it into pumpkin processing. Eventually I moved the two remaining pumpkins to the garage so the heated house wouldn’t cause them to rot. Once they were in the garage they became nearly forgotten altogether. I’d see them, coming in from shopping or church going and think ‘oh, I should cook those’. Then I noticed one was starting to shrivel, ‘man, I really need to cook those or it’s going to rot’. Another month went by, Jerusha’s was really looking sad, ‘It’s going to be a total waste if I don’t cook mine at least’.

And then one day, we were quarantined by our county, thanks to its proactive approach to the Covid 19 pandemic, and I was bored, (even though I already spent all my time at home, even before quarantine) and I had the taste for a pumpkin pie. I had canned pumpkin but I also had pumpkins to cook, a sleeping content baby, and I’d written ‘cook pumpkin’ in my to-do list for the week - something that I find pretty motivating. So I brought the good pumpkin and the slightly shriveled pumpkin in from the garage, turned on the oven and started. The kids of course wanted the help so after I cut them both in half I let them scoop out the seeds. I just threw the seeds away because the whole boil and roast was more effort than I was going to go through, shame on me. I was happy to find even Jerusha’s shriveling pumpkin was still healthy inside. I had called my sister over at Simple Inspirations and asked her to remind me what temperature and for how long to roast them, in case you have pumpkins to cook: she recommended 300 for an hour or until you can tell they’re adequately soft and remember to cook them face side down so they steam, though I knew the last part on my own. Into the oven they went. After awhile I poked one with the knife I’d used for cutting them in half and decided they were done. I let them cool, scooped out the flesh, blended it in my ninja blender, froze 6 cups of pulp in 2 cups incriminates since that’s what most of my recipes call for, used 2 cups for pie, and put the extra cup in the fridge, I assumed  I’d end up throwing it away after not deciding what would only take 1 cup of pumpkin.

I used my “Hot Water Pie Crust” which I’m well aware is inferior to real crust but it makes one generous amount, enough for one crust with extra dough to let kids eat, or enough to scrape a thin double crust out of, most of the time we use the first option because I tend to top pies in streusel if they need topping.

I only ever use the Libby or Carnation milk’s recipe for Pumpkin Pie, which are exactly the same and recommend each other as ingredients - I’d guess they share the same umbrella company but I’m not googling it right now,  I do add extra amounts of Cinnamon and Cloves but in general, it always  makes a fine pumpkin pie. I had a can of Libby’s pumpkin so I got it out and followed the recipe on the side.

When Wesley had gone shopping for me, because grocery buying is “essential travel”,  I’d had him buy the exorbitantly priced Reddi Whip because when I have pumpkin pie it has to have whipped cream and no cheaper whipped hydrogenated oils (I’m referring to nasty coolwhip) can take it’s place. We didn’t wait for the pie to cool completely, just as long as we could keep the children from starting into it without permission. So we had kind of warm pie, deliciously fluffy cold sweetened and whipped cream and I, at least, had the feeling of great success having not wasted our $4 pumpkins.

I’m also happy to report that the extra 1 cup of pulp didn’t go to waste, Sunday morning I used it to make cafe size Pumpkin Chip Muffin’s using a half recipe.

It’s been awhile since I’ve really blogged, I hope I can get back into it, I miss writing and as long as I can write again without it coming out dark and depressing I will try.
~Haley

Estel’s Birth Story

My birth stories go into all the details, so read only if you’re prepared for that. 

Estel Hiram Smith birth story

I woke up January 10th at around 2AM to contractions, like I have nearly every morning for the last three weeks, this time they were strong enough I couldn’t sleep through them though. I began timing and they were inconsistent, 6-12 minutes, so I tried sleeping. By 5 they hadn’t changed in strength but they were consistently 7 minutes apart. I rolled to my right side to alleviate left hip pain and they immediately spread back out to 12-15 minutes. After an hour of rest I got up to bounce on my birthing ball, walk, have some breakfast and see if I could get things going again. I had Wesley stay home from work because I was sure it was the beginning of real labor, just a slow beginning. I called my mom, not insisting she come yet but hoping it would work into the schedule of her day. I called my midwife to give her a heads up that eventually I thought today would be the day. 

I continued walking and bouncing, my contractions never changing, consistently inconsistent. 

My mom arrived. 

I continued to slowly labor. 

The contractions increased in strength while growing farther apart and they weakened while growing closer. There was no consistency and little hope of it ending soon. I asked my midwife to come check on me around 8 PM. It was disheartening news, I was dilated to 4, 50% effaced, prodromal labor. She prescribed Tylenol for a good nights rest and hope and prayers to wake up to stronger labor, if I didn’t, castor oil would be a good contender. 

5AM I woke to the same inconsistent strong but not strong enough contractions. By 6 I made the decision to try castor oil. Left on its own the labor would eventually produce a baby but I wasn’t sure I could handle not feeling the end was within sight. 

[Fun fact: castor oil does not cause labor by giving you violent diarrhea and therefore causing contractions. It does cause diarrhea, that’s for sure, but it also causes uterine contractions, not as a side effect to the intestinal cramping. It also causes the production of prostaglandins which helps soften the cervix. ]

I downed 2oz, then chased it with some juice. It wasn’t as terrible as my mom made it sound. After about an hour things started moving. Lots of trips to the bathroom, lots of contractions, still not very strong. Things tapered off about the three hour mark. My midwife called and said to take the second 2oz dose by 10. Same process. 

At 12:15 I called my midwife and let her know the contractions were consistently painfully strong and coming about every 6 minutes. She came to check on things. I was hoping for lots of progress so I could be encouraged and keep going. Little to no progress, so long to go. She asked if I’d mind if she sat in a corner and stayed or if I’d feel like a watched pot. I didn’t mind, I was my own watched pot, if she was willing to stay maybe she thought I was actually going to produce a baby. 

I showered at 1:00, my contractions increased in strength and frequency. After the shower I tried laying down. Too painful. I tried bouncing on the ball, that worked for several contractions before that was too painful. I tried kneeling. I tried sitting. Wesley helped get me into what I hoped would be comfortable positions. Eventually none of them were. I was crying to Wesley, knowing I had so far to go and knowing everything I tried seemed to only make them less bearable. 

My midwife came from the kitchen to where I was laboring in the living room, she said “This sounds like it’s really hard on you, have you ever had a lip problem?”

“Yes, every time MaryAnn (my midwife before we moved) had to hold the lip while I pushed”

Diane, my current midwife, suggested I move to bed where she would help hold the cervical lip through a few contractions. We did that, it hurt, she instructed I push gently for two contractions, my water started leaking, she decided to stop and have me labor through half an hour on my side to finish stretching it. All the while I was unsure how much progress I’d made, if any. For five contractions I tried to bear the pain and not panic. Diane offered words of encouragement and Wesley held me as I grasped his hand and the bed frame. On the sixth contraction I pushed even though I was trying not to, I tried sitting up, moving, anything, crying out “I can’t do this, I can’t keep doing this!” My water began gushing. I felt like the baby was crowning although I didn’t say anything because I was sure I still had a long way to go. 

“Get her to the pool” Diane directed as she headed down the hall. It’s a 30 step hallway from our bedroom to the kitchen/entry where the birthing pool was. Wesley had spent all morning emptying our water heater and boiling pot after pot of water to fill it. 

I waddled down the hall hoping the contractions would hold off, Wesley following, I was still sure the baby had crowned, but still sure it wasn’t possible. 

“Can you step in?” Diane asked as I stood at the edge not moving, another contraction beginning to build.

“No, it crowned, the baby’s coming its coming!” I reached down and felt the head. I didn’t even push, I just cradled the head as the rest of my baby slipped out, I scooped it with both hands, cradling it in my arms, noticing immediately it was a boy. 

“He’s here, it’s my baby, Estel, it’s a boy.” He was breathing clearly, squawking a little cry. 

“3:33, I have it at 3:33” my midwife announced, recording the time of birth. 

I tried lifting the baby towards my chest but his cord stopped him at my hips. I gently pulled up, his breathing changed. I then felt stupid, his cord, I’ve watched countless birth videos, how had I forgotten to check for his cord? It was wrapped a full time around his neck and a second loop around his right shoulder. We unwrapped him and I held him slightly higher, he still had a very short cord tethering him. I decided to step into the pool, it was warm and inviting and I’d hated to have wasted all Wesley’s efforts. It felt perfect. I relaxed in the water, snuggling my baby boy, waiting on the placenta to detach and come, waiting on the cord to quit pulsing so my baby could receive all the blood belonging him. 

Things wrapped up, I moved from the birthing pool back to bed. My bleeding seemed normal, Estel latched right away but my uterus wasn’t hardening so as a preventative measure my midwife administered Pitocin since my history includes a hemorrhage. 

We settled in. After he’d nursed for about half an hour we began discovering the details. 

Estel Hiram Smith, born at 3:33 PM, weighing 8lbs 14oz, 21 1/2” long, 14 1/4” head. 

35ish hours of slow prodromal labor, 2 and a half hours of hard labor, one accidental push. 

Estel Hiram Smith

Our baby has arrived. He took his precious time growing, not deciding to exit until 42 weeks.
Estel Hiram Smith
Saturday, January 11th, 2020 - 3:33PM
8 pounds, 14 ounces
21 1/2 inches long
14 1/4 inch head circumference

Here are some new born pictures and a story for some relevancy on the last one.
The OREO story:
My great grandpa, Pawpaw, was named Estel and I’ve always loved his name and had it on my running baby name list. Wesley loves all ‘E’ names so we settled on Estel as our boy name awhile ago.
Rewind some 20 years ago to my visits at Pawpaw’s house. When he knew we’d be coming he always had a stash of Oreo cookies, creme filled waffers, and Tang for us. He’d set us up on his counter and let us look through the cabinets until we found the bounty.
During this pregnancy I bought a package of double stuffed Oreos and the moment I took a bite I was transferred back to Pawpaw’s house. I didn’t remember his being double stuffed, but I’ve eaten a lot of Oreo cookies in the time since Pawpaw has been gone and now and never been transported back in time like that. I called my mom and asked if Pawpaw always had double stuffed and she said yes, double stuffed were what he’d have for us. So when we picked Estel, and the double stuffed Oreos reminded me of Pawpaw, I decided I needed a picture to connect his name and memory. 😊

Baby Bump the Fourth

Since I’ve not been blogging regularly, or at all, I never announced I was pregnant with our fourth baby. We had been hoping and praying for another baby. I just can’t seem to get enough of babies, the second my youngest seems to have a bit of self reliance I need to replace them with an all consuming new baby. Emmitt reached that stage a long while ago and I had to wait on God’s timing for this baby, not my own.
After a few days of unexplained  exhaustion and general horrible feeling I realized what my symptoms were a result of and took a test. Positive! Later that day we told the girls “God has given us something we’ve been praying for for awhile.” And before we’d even finished saying it Jerusha was jumping around shouting “I know, a baby!!”
We went out that Saturday for breakfast as we traditionally have. With all the other pregnancies it has been on a Sunday morning to Putnam Inn but this time we went on a Saturday and were forced to choose a new location, a hometown diner here in Greentown. The following weekend we went “home” and Emmitt wore an “I’m a big brother” shirt to tell my parents and siblings at home then  we sent out a text to family and posted our announcement on social media.
It might be my favorite announcement yet.

I’m due at the end of December, 33ish weeks currently, and today I finally finished this baby’s painting. You may, or may not, remember that I paint each of my expected babies a picture, I suppose when they’re grown, if they like it, they can take it with for their own home.
It took me a long time to decide how to do this painting. It was a hard thing, there are so many feelings behind it. I wanted a baby badly, but since the joy of that positive test, I have a growing worry, a fear, an anger, that I will be bringing this baby into a dark world. I hate living here, away from my people, so isolated and alone. My depression has been a more constant battle, a daily enemy, but more often than not, simply my old friend. I hate the thought of this baby entering our world of isolation. Growing up without his or her aunts and uncles as play mates, without weekly Sunday dinners at Grandma’s house, not favoring Papa’s lap, not recognizing family members by living beside and growing with them rather having to be introduced, having to split time at “home” between its daddy’s side of our family and mine. To bring a baby into a world, mothered by a woman who daily has to force herself to function and believe in living; it’s a dark and dismal picture, but none of that takes away from the joy and blessing this child is. And somehow, I wanted to paint that. So here it is, a dark, horribly miserable looking dreary day, the pure innocent joy of a child, and home at the end of this walk.

Kitchen with Kiddos

This post won’t explain my hiatus from blogging, maybe someday there will be one but mostly it can be summed up in; I miss “home” and I left my heart there, and writing comes from my heart.

But today the girls and I had fun and I documented it with pictures so decided I should put it on my blog at least for memories sake.

Last week we got a couple of kid friendly cookbooks at the new library and we’ve been dreaming through them deciding what to make first. We all agreed and settled on “hedgehog cookies” or “hegdog cookies” in Éowyn’s language.

Ours didn’t turn out quite as cute and lifelike as the originals but, we had fun making them and they tasted yummy.
~Haley

2018 - Ending

As our year ends I figured I should summarize it for my blog. I haven’t kept up. At. All. lately on recent events like trips and projects because I haven’t felt like it. 

January 

Being super uncomfortable pregnant. 

Jerusha went on her first daddy-daughter date in true princess style to ihop and Disney on ice. We took a trip to the Indianapolis Zoo with sibling/cousins, the Keeney family. It was snowy and cold but very empty and enjoyable. 

February 

Trip to the Terre Haute Children’s Museum. Pregnancy ended with my easiest labor and delivery yet as Emmitt Wesley entered the world. 

March

Jerusha turned 3. 

Took our first family vacation of the year, it started out with horrendous traffic, the middle was wonderful and ended on a sick kids note. 

April

My parents moved 2 miles west to a bigger house, a change that wasn’t too hard because well, two miles, and my brother bought ‘the farm’. 

We paid off our little home. 

Celebrated our 4th wedding anniversary with a stay at Turkey Run Inn, we decided it’s a little slow for us and in the future our getaways will be to more hopping destinations. 

May

Éowyn turned 2. 

Market season began and turned out to be our best season yet(ever). 

June

Wesley’s Birthday 

July

Canoe trip on the 4th followed up with an Indianapolis Indians game for Wesley, Emmitt and myself. 

Fourth of July cookout at my parents and fireworks in Bainbridge the following weekend. 

My birthday. 

August 

Second family vacation, this time with Wesley’s side to Holden Beach. We split rent with a couple of Wesley’s brothers to have a separate house this year, best decision ever. It was such a relaxing week. 

Adopted a bunny, our first pet, who has proven to be a nearly non existent addition. Hollis self cage trained so roams the house and aside from cleaning, feeding, and the occasional chewed up cord, you wouldn’t know she lived here. 

September

The only thing I can remember is spending a few days in Lafayette where Wesley was working from.

October 

Wesley and I took a trip by train to Chicago where we spent one night, visited lots of restaurants, and put in several miles of walking. 

November 

My newest baby brother, Zachariah, arrived. All things Thanksgiving. Most of my siblings were in town the Friday of Thanksgiving week and we all had wonderful times together. 

Wesley was offered a new position with Casey’s, District Manager of northern Indiana and Ohio.

December 

The beginning of lots of ‘lasts’. 

Hosted Christmas again for the Smith side. 

In the process of buying our second house. 

So basically all was good, baby, vacations, and then... with Wesley’s new job we are required to relocate to the area about 2 hours north. I’m less than enthused. Yes, it’ll be nice and better for the kids to have their daddy home every night, but I despise change, discomfort, and deviation from my lifelong dreams. 

2019 is going to start hard. 

I’m going to miss my mom more than I ever thought would be possible. It has shattered my heart to watch my kids interact with their aunts, uncles, grandma and papa the last month knowing soon it will change. Soon they won’t see them on a daily/weekly basis, they’ll grow apart, the memories will fade, life will change and someday they’ll be left without their (would be, should be) best friends. So far in adult life when I was having a bad day, I could pack up, leave it all behind, and return when I wanted with little to no effort, now if I can’t handle life, I’ll have to because “escaping” will take as much effort as survival. The thought is just insane, I can’t process it, so, that’s why you haven’t heard about it, until now, I’ve just chosen to ignore the impending doom. My struggle with depression/suicidal thoughts and tendencies hasn’t been hidden from my blog readers so I’ll be honest now, it scares me to think about being away from my escapes, my helps, the 24/7 network of reliable people, minutes away who can save me from myself. I’m afraid I can’t survive without it but I guess we’ve arrived at the point in life where I’ll be forced to find out. 

I’m going to miss home. 

Honestly it’s my people that make Bainbridge, IN home. If they all up and relocated, I could join them wherever they went and it would, with much less heartache, become home. My parents, all but two of my siblings, nearly all of Wesley’s family, all live within 15 minutes of us currently, it’s home, it probably always will be. People will ask where I’m from and I’ll say “Bainbridge, IN, straight west of Indy” and I know, even if I never move back it will be home, coming back for visits will be coming home, as long as this is where the majority of my people are, this will be home, and no matter how I try to quench the embers of hope, they’re going to remain, barely burning, until I’m an ancient old lady, still living in Greentown (or wherever else Casey’s relocates is over the years), dreaming about ‘moving home’. 

So we’ve found a house, our offer has been accepted, and as soon as the process of selling ours is finished, we will be moving away. 

I know I sound dramatic, maybe I am, but for me, a person who struggles with anxiety, depression and etc. this seemingly little change is unfathomably hard because living here, surrounded by family, marrying my childhood friend who also did most of his growing up here, buying our first home, having our three children here, this is concrete, this is known, this is home and this is the only way and place I’ve ever imagined or wanted my life; I was 100% living 100% of my dream, now, I won’t be. 

Seamstress-ing

I really enjoy sewing but don’t get to do much of it these days. My sewing days began back in 3rd grade when I (my mom actually) signed up for sewing in 4-H. I made a skirt that year that I am still proud of although I’m not even sure it still exists. My seams were flawless and precise. I won a blue, honor, and reserve champion, boy did I love sewing! The next year I made another skirt. I did my own thing, not caring for the instructions on my pattern. I got a red. I hated sewing. My mom made me preserveer though and over my 11 years in 4-H I signed up for sewing more often than not. As I grew in the project I discovered it wasn’t that I hated sewing and was being forced to do it, rather that I loved creating and hated being told how to do it.
When I was twelve, I think, I made myself a swim set, shirt, shorts, and a short ruffled skirt. I was working with thick and shifty spandex, no pattern, and loved the end result. My peers liked it, my mom friends were proud and my now mother-in-law had me make her daughter one. Thats the project that made me realize I enjoyed sewing and hoped to someday make money off of it.
So here I am today, taking in wedding dress alterations. I’ve done lots of prom dresses, formals, and everyday clothes alterations. I enjoy it, figuring out the best way to adjust things, making some money in the process, but what I really love is creating, or even recreating, clothes. I wish I had pictures of all the projects I’ve done but I always go into it assuming it’ll be a fail and when I love the final product think ‘oh, I should’ve taken a before picture!’.
Last night I took a long sleeved shirt of mine and turned it into this cute little dress for my Éowyn to wear in our teal themed beach picture next week. I had just finished a wedding dress and had the leftover appliqué pieces that I added to her dress.

Éowyn’s dress

I created  this dress from a sheet with no pattern,
just some sketches and ideas. 

My wedding dress which was strapless but I took it in, added a top,
and created the neckline and back. 

I in no way intend to brag in this post, creating/sewing is just something I love and I’ve been having fun with it so I felt like sharing.
~Haley