Tagging calves.

Dear Mama Cow,

The tall, handsome man the others have told you about really is as nice as they say he is.  Trust them!

I will thank you - over and over again - for not charging him as he approaches you and your new baby with caution.  The needle in his mouth really is a "good" thing, and the tag ... well, I know you can't read, but for those of us that don't speak "cow" ... it's the best way we know how to keep track of which baby is yours.

If you change your mind and do decide to "charge" that nice, good looking  husband of mine, don't worry - he'll have your baby off the back of the pickup and onto the ground right next to you in a matter of seconds.  12 seconds to be exact.

12 seconds, a couple of numbers, and he'll leave you alone until April - I promise.  So be nice, watch from a distance, and know that if you did "charge" him, you'll get a not-so-nice word written next to your number in his "little red book."  I know you don't want him to forget your face, but sometimes, numbers without words are better - just so you know.  

See you on branding day,

Lindsay

Dear 7 year old driver,

Dear Mason,

Your dad has complete faith in you.  He has shown you what to do, let you practice, and is now letting you give this {driving} thing a go.  He is trusting and patient ... and I'm so thankful for that.  I think {I know} you are too.  You can barely see over the dash without sitting as far forward as possible, but when you sit on the edge of the well-worn seat, it's "just right."

Thank you for being determined and courageous.  Thank you for wanting to learn.  Thank you for giving us reason to trust you enough to stand on the back of the pickup you're driving and know that everything is going to be fine.

I'm not quite ready for you to hit the open road yet, but you're well on your way to a successful feed-truck driving future. 

Cheering you on with pride,

Mom

P.S.  Don't tell your friends or your teacher that you drive - your dad and I may get in trouble.

Dear January Ice,

Dearest Ice,

You were with us for 3 days.  3 really, really long days.  I didn't see much beauty in you until you were close to gone & the sun finally appeared.  Funny how the "sun" just makes things better.  You gave me 3 days off from school - which were really nothing remotely close to days of rest.  When you live where we live, and live how we live - there are no "snow days" or any other holiday for that matter - unless of course you consider  "bull sale" days a holiday.  I think we do. Anyway, my point is this:  snow days off from school that include ice =  one thing only ... CHAOS.   The chores still have to be done, the cows still need to be fed, and baby calves continue to be born - and adding you to the mixture just makes everything a MESS.

People that have lived in this area for years say they can't remember you being this "bad" in their lifetime.  I've only lived here for about 14 years, and I'm certain that if you ever were this bad before, I was doing what a lot of people do on "snow days" ... sleeping in, reading a book, baking cookies, and maybe watching a movie or two.  This year, none of the previous things mentioned happened in my world except for the baking of cookies.  Cookies make even you a little more tolerable.

You were thick, cold, and harsh.  We crawled a lot, slid a lot, chained up everything we owned, and swore more than I'd like to admit.  I feared you more than I've feared anything in months - maybe even years.  In fact, as the freezing fog made its way into our world this morning and I slid across the cattle guard on the on-ramp of the freeway, I caught myself tensing up and holding onto the steering wheel for dear life with the memory of you.  Driving anything -  especially feed trucks - was nearly impossible, and, at more times than I'd like to count, I was certain that I was going to slide into the bottom of the canyon and leave my boys "motherless."  I'd never wished for a rock or boulder, fence, or giant sagebrush to block my path until I found myself out of control under your spell. 

Don't worry, I don't totally "hate" you ... I just don't want to be living the life I live the next time you decide to visit.  Maybe if you would just call ahead a few days, I could find a  relative (Uncle John) to go and visit where the sun is plenty and the warmth is much!

Your friend from afar,

Lindsay

Dear Ian,

Dear Ian,

I think this {season} is always hardest for us.  We're both running just to stay caught up & not sleeping real well.  This morning I didn't even see you before the boys and I drove away at 6:45.  I hope you know that on days when our eyes don't meet until late in the day - your eyes are the ones I need most.  They're the ones that tell me I'm loved, they're the ones that laugh with me, and most importantly, they're the ones that look at the future with me.

Thank you for looking at me & knowing me ... and loving me no matter what.

Looking foward to the future our eyes will see,

Lindsay

Dear little red sled,

Dear little red sled,

You are the toughest sled I know - and I'm not exaggerating at all.  Well, maybe a bit, but you're definitely on my{top 10 list} of the sleds in my life.  I think you're on Mason's {top 3 list} as he's had only three sleds.  I'm still working on Mack, but I think the fact you steered him straight of the fence and right under the barbed wire the other day gives you quite a few points.  The true test will be during the next snow or freezing rain/ice that comes our way.

Thank you for being sturdy, resilient, and trustworthy.  Without even trying,  you have reminded me to live by faith and not by sight.  God promises to equip us with just the right tools as we journey through life & you're proof.  We never know when our path may take an abrupt turn or twist, and just like you {little red sled}, we need to trust that the chances we take each and every day are going to lead us to just the right destination.

I promise that the next time you make your way into our world, I will join my boys and embrace the joy you have to offer.  I will jump on - without hesitation - and keep my mind on the present {adventure} that God has placed me on.  A journey filled with twists, tumbles, sharp turns, spills and climbs ... but most importantly - a whole lot of JOY.

With appreciation for your boldness in my world,

Lindsay

 

Dear Mackinley Tellier,

Dear Mack,

Your middle name is Tellier.  It's hard to say, but carries so much meaning for our family.  It was the last name of your great-grandma's {Bama} mother and it is your dad's middle name too.  Wear it with pride, even if people do look at you a little funny when you try to say it for them.

You are a Murdock through and through.  You have the broad forehead, the small upper lip, and the dimple in your chin.  You will most likely get your dad's "height" too.  Again, definitely traits to be proud of.

You're 4 right now.  Actually, 4 1/2, but I'm going to keep you "little" for as long as I can.  You don't like wearing coats, you really don't like gloves, and you are just starting to agree with wearing a hat.  You are so different than your brother ... I don't know why I ever thought you'd be the same.  In any case, I'm finding that different is really a good thing.  It makes me appreciate the things that make you - YOU!

You weren't too sure what to think about this ice storm we had recently, and most of the time you just slid around the driveway with your hands in your pockets.  During our days at home, you wanted to feed the cows, you wanted to be with your dad, and you didn't want much to do with me.  You also avoided the camera as he often does, but I did manage to capture you both in the same photo more than once.  You stood the same way, walked the same way, and even followed the same path too.

Please know that your dad's footsteps are always worth following and his hand is one to hold on to for life.  You're going to be a wonderful man like him someday, so watch carefully, follow closely, and remember to smile for the camera once in a while - your wife will thank you!

I love you sweet boy - stay young for as long as you can!!

Your mom,

Me

Dear Yellow Raincoat,

"I know there is a hood on this thing."

"Do you see a hood Mack?"

"By the way, where is your coat Mack?"

"Please tell me if you see my hood."

"Well, I don't believe you because I think I can feel it."

"Yep, it was there all along. Good thing I had my hat on."

Dear Yellow Raincoat,

I bought you at the GAP five years ago when Mason turned two ... and look at you now! You were $7 on the clearance rack and I knew someday you would "fit." Although we don't live in area that has a great need for raincoats, I just couldn't pass you up. Who would have guessed that 5 years later you'd be so much more than a $7 raincoat?!

Thank you for being bright, light, and just the right size at just the right time. You added the {sunshine} to our days when the sun was hard to find, and nothing seemed bright at all. I've always been a big fan of yellow, and I think I like it even more after seeing these pictures.

May your color never fade, may you know how important you are, and may you continue to shine in the dark days we sometimes face - especially when undesirable weather hits hardest.

Your clearance rack friend,

Lindsay (and her boys too)

P.S. in a few years, you'll be just the right size again!