Brand New Daddy, December 18, 1971

Lanny, gowned in hospital blue, and his brand-new, first-born daughter: Kristy Noel.

Fathers could see and hold their babes in the hospital in 1971. It wasn't too much earlier that if Dad was in the hospital room, the babe had to go back to the nursery.

We three were lucky!

Kristy's Happy Birth Day

I was 21, barely, when my first babe was born.

Lanny and I were quite excited to learn that I was “expecting” – ecstatic! We both wanted to start our family as soon as we could. In those days you didn’t go to the doctor until you were three months pregnant. They wouldn’t even see you if you weren’t that far along. So, meanwhile, waiting for those first three months to be up, I bought a paperback Pregnancy Book and studied all the signs and symptoms so I knew I was “expecting” before I went to the doctor and even had the due date figured. The first time I went to the doctor was my first ever exam. I had a lot to learn and experience in the next six months.

I enjoyed being pregnant (all 4 times!) and looked forward to having a babe of my own. The first time I felt the baby move, and knew for sure, was while I was at Woolco with Grandma. What a surprise! What a wonder! I don’t think Grandma was very comfortable talking about it in Woolco but it was so exciting, I had to mention it. Of course, had it been Granny instead of Grandma, I probably wouldn’t have said a word.

The baby was due December 7, 1971. I quit work two weeks early. Mama had told me, on a first baby, just add two weeks to the delivery date but I was hoping that the babe would arrive as scheduled. Lanny and I didn’t do any Christmas shopping because we thought the baby would arrive and then we could go shopping. I think we had one little squeeze toy bought for baby, receiving blankets, a few baby t-shirts and a couple of dozen cloth diapers. I had made some flannel kimonos and shirts and a crocheted blanket. We had splurged on a crib/stroller that converted to a high chair. It was a set, bought from a salesman, and was well made. On Friday, December 17, I had a surge of energy and totally cleaned the house and the bathroom. The hard Sioux City water had dripped a track down the old-fashioned pedestal sink. I scoured and scraped it clean. I remember that in the evening, I filled the claw foot tub with hot water and soaked to my heart’s content.

At one of my earlier doctor appointments, I had asked my male doctor if I would know when I was in labor. Sure, if it’s your first pregnancy, you’ll know, he said. Ha! On Saturday, I awoke in the predawn hours suffering with what I thought was "gas". I was bloated and miserable and took some Phillips Milk of Magnesia and went back to bed. Arising later, I had a backache, discovered other signs discussed in my books and told my young husband that we probably would be having a baby later today.I checked my previously packed suitcase. He watched football. I looked at the few baby things we had. He watched football. I tried to time my contractions. He watched football. I reread the section in my book on Labor and the one on Delivery and when the backache got so bad that I wasn't sure I could manage, I said let's go. He said, could you wait 'til half time? He watched football and I waited.

I didn't wait for him and half time but I had heard all the horror stories about how long first labors are and figured we had plenty of time. Also, I was some scared at what was to come so I found some intestinal fortitude and waited. Thought I’d rather be anxious at home than at the hospital! Finally, about 5:00 pm, we put the suitcase in the car and drove the half-mile to St. Lukes hospital.

The nurses checked me in, took me to the labor room and put me on a hard gurney. And left me there. We had had no Lamaze, no child birth classes, so we were docile parents-to-be and did what the nurses said. Even though I wanted to get up and walk, I lay on that gurney suffering "back labor" – the worst backache ever! We couldn't really time the abdominal contractions and the nurses were only interested in how I was dilating. Finally, when I had dilated enough for the nurses, Dr. Youngblade broke the water and it wasn’t long until I was taken to a very cold delivery room with metal lights hanging above. My impression now, looking back, was of a very institutional-like basement room. My arms were strapped down and my feet up in stirrups. They tried to give me some gas but I fought that and, as much as I wanted that baby, I wondered how on earth did I end up here in this cold room and how can I get out?

Very soon though, here was a beautiful babe lying on my chest! Kristy Noel was delivered at 7:42 p.m. without more trauma and shock then I could stand. However it was a shock, and a bit traumatic. I don’t know if I ever tried to explain the process to Lanny. I’m sure he would have thought I was exaggerating. He waited out in the hall, alone, or in the father’s waiting room I suppose, as fathers weren’t allowed in the delivery room and we didn’t call our folks until it was all over.

It was wonderful. A miracle, one I had waited for from my earliest memory. A baby. My baby.

I think, that "Daddy" got see to see this new babe as they were moving me from the delivery room to the recovery room but I am not sure. Later, in my own room, the new father got to come in to see and hold his new beautiful daughter. We examined every inch of this babe, marveled that she weighed 8 # 8 oz and was 22 inches long. In the baby book, I recorded her hair as being “long, dark”. It’s odd, that until I went to write this, I remembered all four babes as being born blonde headed but all the baby books except Johanna’s, says that three of you were born with “dark” hair.

Alone in my room, Lanny and I held the baby, counted toes and fingers, admired the fine, round head, the lips, ears, hair and lusty cry. It felt unreal, a dream, and yet there she was in our arms and hearts. I said she has her daddy’s eyes, she has my dimples in her back, she looks like . . . and her daddy said, as he did about all our children, she looks like “Kristy Noel”!

We were lucky to have a Polaroid camera and we took photos of Miss Kristy there in the hospital room. Something new that hospitals were doing was bringing the baby's bed into the room and allowing the new parents time to get to know the babe. Prior to this, the baby was kept in the nursery and only taken to Mom to eat and maybe the new father even had to leave the room. I felt very lucky that this hospital was progressive!

It was all "firsts" with this babe. I learned how to suckle her, to swaddle her and to hold her close so that I could smell my baby's fresh, sweet breath. I learned to burp, to clean a tiny belly button, to clean lint between toes and wipe bottoms. And I learned how big a mother’s heart can swell with love and tenderness and pride. Later, as I found all my babes did in the hours after birth, she lay on by chest and we looked into each other's eyes for the longest time, as though we had both been waiting to see what the other looked like, or as of a recognition . . . oh! So this is you! This is what you look like!

I stayed in the hospital three days after Kristy was born, as that was the rule then. Granmma Hof came to stay when it was time to go home and we dressed Kristy up in a pretty little dress and took her home to 1503 Rebecca Street, Sioux City, Iowa where, after Gramma went home, we played with our dolly to our hearts’ content.

Kristy Noel was and still is a bundle of joy!

Happy 35th, Kristy Noel.

Oh, what a beautiful baby! December 18, 1971

Mama and her bundle of joy!

Mother and Daughter (#5 of 6)

Mama

I spent time with my dear mother today. They are bittersweet, our visits, these days. Mama is in the throes of Alzheimer's. Her more vivid memories now, are of her childhood, her mother and father, her siblings and Grandmother and Granddad Vaughan. In the last few years, she seemed not always to recognize photos of my father, her husband of 59 years. Today, however, she talked of "your dad", and looked and looked at a photo taken 12 years ago. They were sitting with Dad's arm around her under the arbor in the back yard. She wasn't sure that was her husband because "your dad wasn't that heavy". She embraces older memories of when they were young farmers, when Dad ate like a horse but worked it all off. He was slight of frame and slender then.

She has been a widow almost nine years. And we have come full circle.

Her daughters are her mother now. Daughters divvie out her medicine from a locked box. We buy the groceries. We make sure her hair is combed and that she bathes. We check to see if she is eating and ask nosey questions about her bowels. We clean up after her. We boss her, encourage her and tell her what to do, when to do it and why. I find myself talking to her as tho she is a toddler, explaining, reminding and preparing her for the event ahead.

Mom had a bad day yesterday. She couldn't get her front door open to get her afternoon newspaper. She was scared, shaking and trembling when my brother and his wife came by. They couldn't calm her. She needed to call someone! My brother helped her call, Mary, her youngest daughter, two blocks away. Mary came and helped soothe her. Now the talk is of nursing home. Our aim had been to keep her at home just as long as possible.
What is the best for our dear mother? The noise and commotion of a nursing home where strangers will tell her when to dress, when to eat, when to use the lavatory instead of her daughters? What if she tries to leave the nursing home to find her "real" home -- the home that she sometimes looks around now and says "how did I get here?" because in her mind, she is living in a rural farm house with a slightly built, handsome , young farmer? Or would it be best to leave her be , leave her to mostly quiet days at home until she forgets the next thing or can't get the door open and is scared and shaking and out of control? But forgets later about the terror, the panic. I pray for the answer -- but my siblings may make the decision for me. I sense the tide going out. I sense the swing. I dread the nursing home where strangers will judge my Mama.

Tonight, I give Mama a bedtime snack. I pull her bedspread back, fluff her pillow and lay out her nightgown. I wait for her to do her nightly hygiene, ingrained for 86-1/2 years. I kiss her goodnight.

Good night, Mama. I love you.

Dale and Leurine Hofmeister

Leurine Sychra married Dale Hofmeister on May 11, 1942.

This photo is dated July 4, 1942 so they were newlyweds. This might have been taken at one of their parents houses because there are yard chickens in the background. Leurene never told me the the details about this photo but weren't they a handsome couple!

They first met at a dance out to Williamson. I think they watched each other awhile and finally managed an introduction and danced together the rest of the time. Before the night was over, Dale asked, and got permission to take Leurine home. The rest, they say, is history.

They fell in love and married during the Second World War. Dale first worked in an aircraft plant in Kansas City. Leurine joined him there in a small apartment and from the little Leurine told me, it was a very happy time. They had a motor scooter and zipped around the city. They socialized with friends, laughed and enjoyed their marriage and each other.


Dale entered the US Army on April 15, 1945. Leurine and their 18-month old son, Larry, went back to stay with Gramma Sychra while Dale attended flight school. Dale wrote some letters while he was there -- to his folks, his sister and his brothers but the love letters he wrote to Leurine were seen only by her.
I first met my new inlaws on my wedding day. I had dragged their son out to my folks a few times but he had never "taken me home" to meet his parents although Lanny's Mother caught us on the street once in Creston and I was introduced to her there! I'm sure they must have been surprised when Lanny brought me into their home and said "this is my wife". Maybe, he said "this is my wife, Nancy" !! There were congratulations all around and I'm sure a few questions, but not many. I was bashful and a little uncomfortable and we didn't stay long and we were soon back in the car and driving towards my new home in Sioux City.

But the introduction, the welcome and the unflappablity of this wonderful couple set the tone for our relationship in the years following. They were always warm and hospitable, calm and caring, responding with help and advice when asked but never critical or complaining. They admired and loved our babies, took us in without hesitation when we showed up on the doorstep unannounced for the weekend. Leurine washed baby faces, gave baby baths and powdered their little behinds. Dale walked little ones around the yard and sat them on tractors, lawn mowers and boats.

The folks helped us move many a time and Leurine always made sure the beds were made up that first night in a new home, with clean sheets. Dale helped shingle, made a coat rack for the preschool, threatened to spank the older girls when they wouldn't leave "Tanks" and would meet us at Williamson at 10 p.m. when Johanna wanted to stay with Gramma and Grampa but couldn't quite do it.

Now, this October, Dale has been gone 5 years and Leurine almost 10 years. Those years have flown by -- it seems as though it was just yesterday that lovely, smiling Leurine reached out her hands for a baby . . . and proud Dale held Morghan Grace on his lap and saw newborn Jack in the hospital.

Leurine set a high standard -- but if I can do one thing, I hope that I can be the same kind of parent-in-law that Leurine and Dale were for me.

October fun . . .

The family gathered round this weekend to celebrate Lanny's birthday. We will be off for vacation on his actual birthday so we celebrated it up good this weekend.

This hour of fun in the driveway with a huge pile of dry leaves was a side benefit.

All five grandchildren joined in and there were no tears, no harsh words, no hesitation. They all jumped in and raked and pushed and worked hard. They threw leaves into the evening sky and had a fall romp. We lost shoes and socks and entire children in that leaf pile -- then had fun finding them all.

May we enjoy many more such hours. I was, again, entertained.

borrowed from: http://www.cafepress.com/zoooglebunny8

and I am entertained

I love children and their imaginations and I've heard or read that children sometimes can't tell the difference between reality and those other thoughts that swirl around in their dear little heads until they are 6 or 7 years old (depending on the child, of course). So I always tried to be gentle when one of my children or now, my grandchildren, told me a whopper.

First of all it can be highly entertaining for me and it is good for little ones to use and stretch their imaginations. They could grow up to be writers or artists or storytellers and then it is good practice for the teenage years too! So, I listen to their story and then remind them that it was a story -- and a good one! Sometimes you can tell the child must have dreamed the sequence of events and you can remind them that the wonderful story was a dream and happened in their sleep. Of course, if it a frightening dream, they need a hug and reassurance.

Morghan Grace, a few months back told me an especially charming story of how she kept a bunny rabbit in the house all one winter without her Mama knowing. The mama rabbit naturally had babies and Morghan got to witness that and then she had the chore of hiding a mama rabbit and a bunch of babies. We were both giggling by the time she got done; we both knew she was telling a story. And we both enjoyed every minute of it!

Jack Gibson, 5 years old

Jack, all boy

Jack Gibson turned 5 years old the other day. He had a party with his Mom, Dad, big sister, little sister and two sets of grandparents. He was the star of the party and enjoyed every minute of it.

Jack attends daycare and preschool. Jack likes dinosaurs, cars, trains and all things "boy". Jack also likes girls but that is another story for another day. Jack usually has a twinkle in his eye and loves to joke and tease. He is at that stage where he likes to pick on his big sister and even likes to tease his little sister but after scaring Maddie Mae one day by wearing a frightful monster mask, he patted her and tried to comfort her. "Its okay, Maddie. Its okay." Jack has a mind of his own and a bit of an ornery streak but is also kind and loving.

Jack can be very determined. If he makes up his mind to something, he does it. He learned to ride the 2-wheeler when he was only 3-1/2 years old. If he decides he doesn't like a food, forget trying to coax him into eating it. At the cabin this summer, he asked me if he could put the wooden truck in the swimming pool. I said, Jack, if you do, the wood will swell up and it might warp. (Try explaining "warped" to a 4-1/2 year old.) After several conversations, Jack did indeed put the truck in the pool. So later, after swimming at the beach, Jack was upset to find that the wheels wouldn't turn on the truck. "Well, Jack, you put the wooden truck in the water and the wood swelled." Jack was VERY unhappy and wanted it fixed right Now! I told him only time might fix it. That did not make him one bit happy but he put the truck in the air-conditioned cabin and was delighted the next morning when the wood had dried out and the wheels turned once again.

Jack is athletic and tall, kind and caring. Ornery boy. Jack Gibson, Nana loves you!

Mt. Zion

Morghan Grace, age 7, helps her PaPa with the flags at the stone of her great grandparents, Dale and LaRene Hofmeister, Memorial Day 2006

Decoration Day

Decoration Day

Originally, it was called Decoration Day and it was observed on May 30, not the last Monday of May.

Each Memorial Day or the Sunday before, Mom would cut what flowers were in bloom. She usually had iris and bridal wreath and Gramma Austin would provide peonies. Then, with whatever kids would fit in the car and Gramma and Grampa Austin, Dad would head out to several cemeteries. There was the Lorimor cemetery where Uncle Bob was buried. This was always sad as Uncle Bob died from being struck by lightening when he was just 34, leaving a widow and two young children. Everyone would stand around the grave, solemnly, and Gramma would wipe her eyes with her pretty lace handkerchief.

Oak Hill cemetery, in southeast Union County, held the graves of Dad’s grandparents and great grandparents. This cemetery sat high on a hill with evergreen trees standing guard and we children could always find pine cones or run over and look around the Church. This cemetery wasn’t so sad as the grandparents were old when they died and the great grandparents, although a source of pride as they were some of the earliest settlers in Union County, had not been known, not even by my father. Cornwall was just a couple of miles away, and again, the great-grandparents there had died before my dad was born but the cemetery was old and interesting and we kids had plenty to look at and take in while here.

Shannon City Cemetery was another sad place as Dad’s sister, Betty Jane, was buried there. She died as a baby. It was during a bad time with Gramma and Grampa Austin. They were living at Arispe, out at Gramma Austin’s parent house, I think. Grampa had diabetes and doctors were just beginning to use insulin to treat it but you had to have money to buy it. Times were hard.

Gramma had been sick, as well as several of the children, and it was too much for baby Betty Jane when she came down with the flu. Uncle Bob, the oldest child, had been directed to go after the doctor. “Take the car and get the doctor, Bob.” In those days, the car had to be hand-cranked at the front of the car. If you weren’t careful, not thinking about what you were doing, scared for your baby sister or just unlucky, the crank would come back and break your arm. So, along with the sickness inside, there was Uncle Bob outside with a broken arm. Things were very bleak that winter and when wee Betty Jane died, she was buried at Shannon City, probably driven over in a little casket in the trunk of the car that broke Uncle Robert’s arm. It was very sad to think of a baby being in that cemetery and sad to hear the details of that long winter.

There were other family members in the Shannon City cemetery too. One, more distant, relative’s family had not had enough money for a grave stone so the survivor, a daughter, I think, had marked the grave with colored, broken glass. Originally, the grave had looked gay and bright with the bits of glass outlining the plot and catching the sun on a beautiful spring day but when I was a child, one had to get down and look closely to see some of the bits. A few years ago, Granny and I stopped out there and I could not find the grave. Could not see a loved ones grave decorated, for lack of something more substantial, with many – thousands -- of multi-colored pieces of glass so that their loved one would be remembered.

In early May I will take a basket of pretty flowers to my father's grave and will put out an American flag that Lanny asks me to display for his patriotic, conservative father-in-law. I will stop every two or three days and talk to my daddy and water the basket until the cemetery’s deadline for decorations, shortly after Memorial Day. I do this because I want to; I do it gladly.

Lanny and I will drive out to Mt. Zion Cemetery. We will carry artificial flowers and two flags to decorate his parents’ grave, LaRene and Dale. After honoring and remembering his good parents, we will stroll up and pay homage to his grandparents, Shorty and Mary. Then we’ll go to the west end and visit the stone of his Great Grandmother Eva Hofmeister. She died when her twin boys were 1-1/2 or 2 years old. She must have been RH negative, a dangerous situation in those days and while pregnant, or after delivering her third child, her own antibodies attacked her and she died too young along with her babe. Her parents are there too, Norman and Mary Keesler Walker. They came to Iowa from Ohio to live near their daughter. In their photos they look like good, caring folks – hardy stock. Norman lived to be 85 years and Great-great Grandmother Mary Walker died at 92 years.

There are other family members there. There are several Maxedon stones but I would need my family history charts to make the family connection; however, this year I tell Morghan Grace, age 7, that the Maxedon’s were family. It is my duty to plant some seeds, to make some memories with young ones so that in future years, Morghan Grace can take little ones around and show them the old folks, the old stones and tell them about the five generations of family here, at Mt. Zion.

In 2006, I do not keep the tradition, as I should. Granny and I wander the country at odd times, stopping at cemeteries in Union County. We don’t carry in the peonies, bridal wreath and iris of yore but just drive through and remember the old ones with some conversation and thoughts. We might stop and get out of the car and look at a stone here or there -- and reminisce of lost family or trips in years past. In our own way, we remember and celebrate Decoration Day.