My Doppelganger... almost

I don't have pictures with me right now, but if you put the women in my family in a room full of unrelated people and then asked a stranger to pick out which of us was related, the stranger would have no problem figuring it out. My mom and her sisters, while different in many ways have facial structures that clearly define their relationship. My aunts' daughters look like their mothers as much as I look like mine. My mom came to visit a few months ago, and she walked into church before I did and people who had never seen or met her knew exactly who she had to be by looking at her.

I spent my whole life assuming my daughters would look like me as well. It just seemed obvious to me. Boy, was I wrong. Except for Chet, who is the spitting image of my brother, my kids look like their dad and grandparents. They have their dad's ears, his curly hair, his height, his long feet, his father's eyes.  Kyle, with the exception of my green eyes and freckled nose, looks exactly like Jack. Faith doesn't look just like Jack, but she doesn't look like me either. (When she was little, she told people we adopted her from a family in the North Pole. I like to tease her and tell her she looks like her polar bear cousins.)

As a baby, Beth looked like another cookie-cutter version of her dad. But something has happened as she is growing. She is starting to look like, dare I say it... me. Oh she still has those ears her dad has imposed on his kids, and she has my mom's brown eyes (although they show the signs of turning green like mine did), but she has my nose. She has those lines around my mouth. Her hair is the same color mine was at her age. She is  starting to grow some of my freckles, and she even has the same cowlicks I do. And those cheekbones, those cheekbones that I associate with the women in my family, they are mine.

They are my mom's cheekbones. And my aunts'. And my gramma's. And my great-gramma's.

And for some reason, that really struck me when I saw this picture Faith took of Beth and I the other night. It makes me wonder about unanswerable things, such as how many generations in my matriarchal line previously have passed those cheekbones to their daughters'.

I think the frog-obsession come's from Jack's side, though. I can't take the credit for everything!

She'll never be a farmgirl.

To date, my daughter has lived less than half of her life in a city, and the rest in the mountaintop country. She has learned many farming and agriculture terms out here, but that doesn't necessarily mean they have all sunk in. Sometimes the call of the city is just too strong to override a countrified education.

Occasionally we wake up to the escaped horses grazing on our front property. As long as the escapee isn't  MY horse, this is a fine and pleasant way to wake up. I love watching them ramble around.

So does Beth. "Look, Mommy," she called and pointed. "They brought their calves with them!"

While she may be a renowned herpetologist when it comes to frogs, I think it is apparent that her equestrian vocabulary needs a little work.

Cleaning Up The Yard

Today we did some clean-up in our front yard. With our engine blown on the Expedition, and the damage to the green car when Jack and Mom took it sledding in the snow, we had some ugly yard ornaments. In fact, we were teetering badly on becoming a Jeff Foxworthy redneck joke.

So we called the salvage yard, and once they arrived they loaded up the Expedition.

Then we had to sign the titles over.

Next it was time to load up the green car.  This little car was such a good car. It made dozens of cross-country trips, and only ever asked for oil and gas in return. I was so sad to see it go.

After the green car was safely buckled for its ride to town, I bid my final adieus.

And then the towtruck drove off with the last major physical vestiges of our life in Vegas.

Who knew sprucing up your front yard could cause homesickness?