F Words


One afternoon when I was multitasking as I was helping my daughter with math, she asked me, “Mom, what is 37 minus 23?” And at that precise moment, I clumsily slammed my funny bone on the corner of a counter. Out of my mouth shot, “Ow! Fuuuuh-” and I stopped myself. My son across the counter, asked, “Fuuuuh-ourteen?” We all chuckled.

I’m really honest with my kids about words. I tell them what they mean. We talk about picking good ones, and we talk about communication being only half what you deliver, and the other half being what the person receives. Early on in raising these fabulous people, they started repeating some swear words, some of which they had heard from me. So I made a homeschool lesson out of it. I wrote out all the common 4 letter words, explained what they actually mean, what they mean to the general public, and how they will likely be received if you choose to use them. It was a great lesson in etymology, the evolution of our language, and how culture affects our interpretations of meaning. And of course, later that day, my mother in-law asked my kids what they had learned in school that day, and they gleefully replied, “Mom taught us our swear words today!”

I really love words. And even more than that, I love names. One of my favorite stories in the Bible is when God brings the animals to Adam “to see what he would name them.” (Genesis 2:19) I think the authority of naming things is a gift given to us by God. And I think choosing good names matters. We’ve lived on our property for 8 years, and during that time, we have tossed around a variety of names for our homestead. We love to name things. Alex and I had our first two kids’ names picked out before we graduated from high school. We chose our first dog’s name while we still lived in an apartment that didn't allow pets. All our cars have had names. But for some reason, the land stumps us. In 8 years, we have experimented much with farming and had countless failures. I’ve tried on a lot of hats and discarded most of them. What I seem to be left with now are a bunch of F-words: farm, family, faith, fiber, fruit, and fostering.

Some people say that you shouldn’t name things you don’t want to get attached to. Especially in farming, it might not be a great idea to name an animal you intend to later kill and eat. At times I have seen the wisdom in this, and at other times, I have felt that names help us to own the story. Burying a pet with a name may cause you to have stronger feelings in your heart, but having names and good words with which to tell a story allows your heart to heal. Nameless hurts seem to never go away. 

Recently we watched my husband’s truck, Bean Thief, be loaded onto the back of a tow truck to be hauled away to the junkyard. It was a sad moment, as we all remembered squeezing our whole family into that pickup truck and going fun places together. We all loved that truck. But saying, “Goodbye Bean Thief,” was a clean and uncomplicated sadness.

I used to try to control other people’s words. I used to tell my kids what not to say. I am learning now that not putting thoughts into words can just keep them stuck in your mind forever. So I try to help my children choose good words. I invite them to say what they feel and then ask them if there’s a way to say it that is more true, then ask if there are other things that are true that are more beautiful. I’m growing. I am a work in progress. I often just get overwhelmed by all the ugly words in my home, and point the shaming finger, shouting, “Can’t you hear yourself?” The truth is that, in that moment, I can’t hear myself.

One of the founding beliefs of our country is that we have the right to choose our own words. And social media has given everyone a platform from which to be heard. We all have a voice. And we are choosing our words during a season of pain and frustration. What names will we choose for the story we are living right now? Are there better words that are more true? Are there truths that are more beautiful?

Popular posts from this blog

"Lick my tongue Dad!"

I am learning that a crude sense of humor may not necessarily be learned, but can also be genetic. Eden, my 3 year old daughter, has every ounce of her father's appreciation for rude humor. And we have been pretty careful to not teach her any of it. She is fascinated with certain body parts as was mentioned earlier in this blog. She likes to add the word butt to other words, and then laugh hysterically. She does these things to entertain herself, not to get a reaction out of other people. When she was "cleaning" her room one day, Alex looked in to see how it was going. She was pulling things out of her drawer, singing, "Naked Butt, Naked Butt, NAY-ked... BUUUUUTT!" One day we made the mistake of laughing when she pulled her pants down, stuck her butt in her brother's face and started chanting, "Booh-ut, booh-ut, booh-ut..." In our defense, it was hilarious, unfortunately she thought so too, and many serious conversations about privacy hav...
Read more

Amelia Soup

I find myself having little patience with people who think something is gross or beneath them, when they are simply coming from a place of ignorance. Sure, it is easier for people to not think about where their food comes from. But it is absurd to believe they are somehow better because they refuse to think about these things. I have even had people act disturbed by our eggs, because they did not like being brought to the realization that the eggs they eat were once inside an animal. Thanks to Disney movies and a consumerist lifestyle, we can have this distorted and glorified view of nature, without ever touching it. Not my family, we touch it, plant it, grow it, eat it, raise it, feed it, scoop its poop, butcher it, and eat it. From my high horse I like to pretend this does not phase me at all. We are connected with our food and the natural world around us, and I like to act like this is a higher plane of existence. But I have to confess, there are times that the city girl in me...
Read more

Babies Pt 1

Two weeks before the arrival of our third child, I went into labor... that's right. I had been having Braxton Hicks contractions for a while, and they were getting more intense, but one day they just kept coming. I kept track of them all day... 15 minutes apart... 10 minutes apart. We went about our normal business, taking care of our children and put our kids to bed. Alex and I sat up watching a movie, timing contractions, when we heard the unmistakable sound of vomit. We ended up spending most of the night cleaning up our son and changing sheets, while he fought the stomach flu. By 5 am , my contractions were 5 min apart and a minute long... time to head to the hospital. So we packed up our kids, and brought Micah a bucket. I sat in the hospital for an hour or so while the nurses monitored my contractions. It seemed I was in labor, the contractions were real. But when they checked my cervix, there was no progress, which was not normal. Well, then I started vomitting. The low po...
Read more