The Joys of Chores

Cora and I have been reading my old copies of Laura Ingalls Wilder's "Little House" books and have been simultaneously creating memories, reliving my childhood ones, and challenging both of our ideas about what she is capable of.  In "Little House in the Big Woods" Laura is just 5 years old and already she is doing things that I wouldn't trust a modern teenager to do without complaining or messing up.  Both Laura and her sister, Mary, spend their days helping their Ma first and then having time to themselves, rather than engaging in uninterrupted playtime and/or TV time, like my oldest was doing.  Granted, she is only three and a half, but there is lots I have not thought she was capable of until I pushed her just a little.  Since we began reading the books, we finish breakfast, make sure the baby (who is quickly becoming NOT a baby) is not going to destroy anything or play in the dog or toilet water and the begin our chores.

So far, she can do the following chores with me.  I'm always near to help but she needs it less and less.
 - Unload the silverware and all of the stuff that goes in the low cabinets from the dishwasher.  She pushes up a small chair, pulls out the heavy silverware drawer, sorts and puts away all of them, then pushes in the heavy drawer.
- Help me bake or mix things, dumping all of the ingredients in one at a time while I measure.
- Fold all of the napkins and other square things when we do laundry.
- Sort the laundry by colors.  I told her to choose all of the red, orange, purple and pink things today.
- Load the washer.  She pushes her 'helper stool' (a heavy duty step stool) up to the side of the washer, opens the heavy lid and then climbs up and down, filling it with her sorted pile.  Often Judah empties out the basket 'for her' (really he just likes to empty the basket).  Then she puts in her scoop of soap, asks what setting to put it on, (she knows H is hot, W is warm and C is cold) then closes the lid, climbs on top and pushes the start button.  (It's kind of a new fancy washer with a push button start)
- Push the wet clothes into the dryer as I throw them over from the washer.
- Feed the dog her scoop of food.
- Chop softer veggies. Today I showed her all about sharp knives and stood next to her chopping as she attempted to cut up a slice of zucchini.  She did pretty well and not a single cut on her!
- Set the table and help clear, as long as plates don't have rolly things like leftover grapes.

And the best part of it, she asks to do these things!  She enjoys helping me!  If she is in a funk and whining and crying about toys or a disagreement with Judah, (they don't like to share) I say it's time for chores and everything changes!  She takes pride in her work and I am just amazed at her.  Not to mention it's a pretty sweet deal having company and help with the monotonous rhythm of chores and caring for a house and small children.  For you mamas with older children, just go ahead and say it.  It took me long enough!  I mean, I have given her things to do before, but I never realized how much she could do!  So glad to figure out just a bit more of this parenting stuff.

Thanks, Laura!

Blocks and Cans of Soup

The kiddos are gorgeous.  Gorgeously snotty and sick, but still gorgeous.  Judah is this 'all boy' phase where he stomps around the house, usually carrying something heavy, hollaring about whatever pre-verbal nearly 14 month old boys have to hollar about.  Not mad, not sad, just loud.  He "comes by it honest", as they say where I am from.  He is into everything and his favorite thing lately is to raid my pantry so at night when I am putting things away that were forgotten, I usually find blocks and some Cream of Mushroom soup lurking under a chair.  Unopened cans are, in his opinion, perfect playthings.  They stack, they are heavy, the roll.  What more could a kid ask for? He is at this moment, in fact, siting with a plastic drum on his head, yelling at me about it.  In spite of the flushed cheeks, the rivers of snot, and the general feeling crummy, he still has stuff to do. 

Cora is learning how to skype with her grandparents and is further lost in her imaginative play.  Her daytime 'rest', because she gave up napping long ago, is filled with dressing up Bear and Bunny in her own clothes, cloths, scarves, underwear, whatever.  They have big adventures together.  Her imagination extends to the night when I am sometimes awakened by her crying and half awake telling me her floor is made of goo and she can't get out or other various situations.  No way this kid is getting anywhere near scary movies or shows.  Matt says she has my imagination and I suffer from nightmares if I am exposed to scary movies.  Even Dr. Who makes me have crazy dreams. (but I watch anyway!!)

2 weeks of time lost

I can't believe my brush with death was 2 weeks ago.  First of all, one of the side effects of anemia must be short term memory loss because I can't remember a LOT about the last two weeks and second of all...well I forgot what the second thing was, but I'm sure it will come back to me.  Oh yes!  Saying 'my brush with death' seems sorta melodramatic to me even though it was truly that.  I guess some part of myself can't even go there and so I turn to life, as it continues to bubble and flow all around me with beautiful children and wonderful husband and kind and generous family that gave of themselves and came at the drop of a hat when we needed them most. 

I went from surgery/blood transfusion and miscarriage to horrific cold and then a pinched nerve in my back.  All in two weeks.  Needless to say, my state of being has been taxing the limits of my dear family. I am as anxious for myself back as they are.  But time is the only thing that will make that happen and according to the doctors, it could be 6 weeks or 6 months before I'm back to normal.  So no babies in the works until then.  It really is a grace to slow down, sleep when I am able and say no to things.  My children are at wonderful ages and I just want to drink them in.  Judah is on the cusp of words and fills every waking moment stomping around our house on his pudgy baby legs grunting or yelling out half words to us.  He is constantly on the move, pushing cars, rolling things, throwing balls, playing in the dog water. (Sigh) Signing three new signs in a week!  (more, please, all done - they get him what he needs)  Cora is imagination run riot and we have 'conversations' about what she thinks about the world.  I am often astounded at what she comes up with.  I can't remember it all, but in the moment, it is wonderful. 

My sweet hubs continues to work full time as well help me with all of the heavy lifting that comes with housework and kiddos, plus holding me when I am a wreck and tired from an hour long trip to the grocery store.  I may not remember it all, but I know I am loved and cared for.

The day before Valentines Day - to the brink and back with a miscarriage gone wrong

This account is mainly for my record and to give praise to God for healing and help in my time of need.  Just so you know, there will be mention of blood and lots of it.  I don't want to forget.  Often medical professionals forget to tell us what is really going to happen when we miscarry or they sanitize it so we won't be afraid.  In both cases of my 2 miscarriages, they have forgotten to tell me what to watch for in case things go wrong.  This is my story of things going wrong.  Proceed with caution if you are squeamish.

I knew on the 3rd of February that this pregnancy was no longer viable.  I grieved.  I mourned.  I wrote.  I cried.  I felt ready for the miscarriage to begin.  I wanted it over with, but was grateful for the time I had to consider my lost girl without being in the throes of the actual loss.  I still am.  Yesterday would have been much harder if I was also mourning her still in the way I had been.

On Saturday night (the 11th) the miscarriage began with some spotting, but no cramping.  I went to pick up the meds that my Midwife had called in for me on Sunday morning and they had no record of a prescription on file for me right then.  I meant to check the other store nearby, but forgot.  This, in hindsight, was pretty crucial for me.

Sunday night, the cramping began and I was grateful that it was going to be over soon.  I sat in the tub letting the contractions come, but soon the water was deep red.  I emptied the tub and tried to get out, but the blood was running down my legs and I was making a mess of the bathroom.  I grabbed some old towels and one of those giant postpartum pads they gave me in the hospital when my son was born.  The ones that are literally a foot and a half long and 9 inches wide.  I went down to hang out with Matt while he watched Deep Space Nine on Netflix and then got ready for bed.  The pad was already halfway filled in half an hour.  I changed it to the last one I had and went to bed at 10:30pm.  I woke up at 3:45am and the pad was completely full, but not of dark red blood, just of fluid.  I went to the bathroom and a massive blood clot came out of me.  When I say massive, I mean it would have filled more than a pint sized bucket.  I got back in the tub, not realizing that this amount of blood loss was bad.  I had had lots of bleeding with my last miscarriage and though this was considerably more than that, I still felt like I was OK.  In hindsight that was wrong too.  I rinsed off and attempted to go back to sleep.  The only pads I had left were the huge overnight ones that they sell in the grocery store.  I put 4 of these side by side on the old pad to hold them in place and went back to bed.  More gushing.  More giant clots and in 20 minutes the 4 pads were full.  I figured I'd wait it out in the bathtub so I wouldn't make a mess.  It was nearly 5:30am by then and the children and hubs were still all asleep.

I began to get dizzy and I thought, "This can't be right.  I'd better wake up Matt and get him to call the midwife."  I made it to the bed and grabbed his leg and said "I need you." before the first wave of nausea hit me.  Let me just clarify and sat that I am one of those women who vomit easily.  I have a stomach like a rock so for this to happen to me was an unusual symptom.  I made it back to the toilet in time for another gush of blood and clotting and as I heaved into the sink I said, "Call 911!"  The baby woke up.  Hubs called 911.  My girl woke up and found me in the tub, full of questions which I tried to calmly answer.  The nausea and light headedness was passing and by the time the paramedics got there I was feeling better.  I rinsed all the blood away so Cora wouldn't see it and so neither did the paramedics.  I talked with the paramedics and my blood pressure seemed OK so I sent them away, promising to go in first thing to see the midwives.  Also a mistake.

Matt took the kids downstairs to feed them while I sat upstairs in the tub.  He had the baby monitor on so he could hear me.  Not 20 minutes later I found it hard to remain conscious and began to call for Matt.  He never heard me.  He heard a knocking sound on the bathtub that I have no recollection of making.  I'll just say the angel watching over me knocked.  By the time he came I was vomiting again and more clots and blood were coming out.  He called 911 again and the spell passed, again.  This time I went with them.  My 3 yr old girl watched with big eyes as they took her Mama away on a 'rolling bed' in nothing but a bloody nightshirt and Matt's coat thrown hastily on top of me, and into an ambulance while I yelled to Matt which hospital I would be at.  A kind friend came over and picked up the kids as I was being loaded up.

An ambulance ride.  2 bags of fluid.  More gushing bleeding and clots. My blood pressure was 90/50 in the ambulance.  Into the hospital.  More fluids.  More doctors.  More exams.  A huge clot again.  The doctor took a picture of it with her Iphone to send to OB for proof.  Matt found me.  They wanted to see how many pads I went through in an hour and handed me a large obstetric one.  It lasted less than 10 minutes.  Another pelvic exam by a resident that was possibly the most awful thing I've ever experienced.  She will be getting a letter from me about gentleness and talking to a patient.  I'm a person, not a cadaver. They talked to me about my options and  I opted for a D&C even though I had wanted to avoid it.  I knew I couldn't go home still bleeding like that, but I didn't know how bad I was.  I was still talking and not in much pain.  There was not a lot of cramping.  Some, but compared to labor, it was a 2 rather than a 10.  My BP wasn't recovering and they couldn't give me anything in the way of pain killers.

Upstairs to pre-op and I'm chatting with the nurses, asking where they are from and telling them about my family.  A friend came to see Matt for a moment and I chatted and joked with him.  I felt tired, but not in any pain.  I didn't realize that I was in bad shape.  My BP was low and they laid me flat.  I couldn't really lift my head, but I wasn't afraid.  Just tired.  The doctor started to talk to me about how I MIGHT need some blood.  She said they are careful about giving it since there is some risk, but how they only do it to save people's lives.  She then quickly reassured Matt who must have looked shocked at the news his wife was not gonna make it unless they gave me blood.  I told them "I am kinda seeing spots" and the doc rushed off to put in the order.  Within 10 minutes, I was receiving blood from some kind doner who had my universal blood donor type.  We can give to everybody, but only receive from each other.  Thank you, whomever you are!  I intend to donate when I am feeling better in thanks.

The operation and the first bits of recovery went by like a blur and suddenly it was after noon.  I was talking nonsense to the nurses and I'm pretty sure I started singing Three Little Birds by Bob Marley at one point...."Don't worry about a thing.  Cause every little thing's gonna be alright."   (Cora and I sing it a lot) I talked to Matt out of a drug haze and thought about how much I hate the drug haze and then little by little I am myself again.  My blood count came up.  My blood pressure came up.  I stopped bleeding, mostly.  The nurses were so glad to talk to me and telling me just how bad I had been and how they were pretty worried about me.  Apparently I had been white as a sheet.  By the time the doctor came in to see me, she was shocked!  I had color.  I was just coming back from the bathroom and she thought she had the wrong patent, I looked so good.  Needless to say, they thought my bloodwork and vitals were good enough to go home by 5pm.  So I did.  Grateful.  Alive.  And eager to remember that this day is a gift.  And that though I may not like lots of medical intervention, when it is necessary, it saved my life.  So did the angel who knocked on the tub.  Happy Valentine's Day.  Love well the ones you have.  I know I will be loving on mine extra today.

Remembering the sun

 

Judah may look a bit grumpy here, but I think he was reaching the 'tuckered out' stage our Nature Play adventure.

This has been such an odd winter.  Not really even winter at all, compared with last year when we had no less than 12 snows (unusual for Middle TN).  Just last week, I was sitting on a turquoise bench watching the kids dig in the mud and sand with bare feet.  Yes, bare feet in February.  Scandal!  As I sat there in my jeans and long sleeve shirt (with flip flops) I thought 'It's hot! How strange for February.'  And now the next week it's a little bit more chilly and the sky is grey.   So I'm remembering last weekand making a pumpkin pie.  Not that pie and sunshine have anything in common, I just want some. 

Show up

Sometimes the hardest thing I do every day is to show up. I am a superhero to my littles who think I know every answer and can do anything. I took one of the kid's toys apart and cleaned a little corrosion off and tightened some loose wires and my daughter ran through the house yelling "Mama fixed it, Mama fixed it!" as if I had just lept over the moon.

I'm in the middle of hard things.  I want to lie in my bed and just thing and cry sometimes. The morning dawns and I'm not ready.  The baby stirs beside me and throws his little chubby arm over my face and sometimes it makes me annoyed rather than delighted.  My three year old comes skipping in telling me the sun has come up and it's "Suntime" and I want to yell at her for waking me up.  I did, in fact, this morning. I am so grateful for the forgetful love of children who forgive me for being crazy.


I get caught up in the mess, in the cleaning, in eggs and fruit, and bottles and laundry and I turn on the music to give a flow to the insanity.  Then my little girl puts on her princess dress and paper crown and begins to dance around the room.  She is graceful and not, all at once.  And then she comes to me and says "Can I have you?  Will you dance with me?"  And I think of all the things I have to do and say and write and be and songs that will never get written during naptime because naptime no longer exists for one of my children and the other is in a battle of wills with me to give his up too.  And then I see her.  And I stop.  And we dance in the living room and she thinks my bathrobe spins like a pretty dress.


You don’t have to save the world. All that hero talk is only superficial stuff. If you want to change the world, all you gotta do is show up, show up, just show up.
No great things have I done, no great things have I done, only small things with great love.
Show Up by Jill Philips and Andy Gullahorn

Messy Mondays - pondering the excess

One of several baskets of 'stuff' on the toy shelf

Cora and I have just begun some of my favorite books, the "Little House" books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.  We usually get through one chapter per night but this morning she requested two extra ones!  I agreed and we had a cozy time reading while Judah got his wiggles out. (Walking, yelling, chomping things, crawling through the tunnel etc.)

 

Enough cars for 3 kids.  (there are more)

Then we began our chores for the day, a good portion of which is 'putting things away', and I began to wonder how we got to the state of having so many things.  In her story, Laura Ingalls had one doll, and that she got around her 4th Christmas.  Before that it was a corn cob wrapped in a handkerchief.  Not much for Ma to clean up.  But then again maybe she didn't anyway.  Girls of that era (and boys too) were expected to work, keep their things cleaned up, help their parents with chores, keep their beds made, and selves tidy, as well as schooling.

Of course, I don't envy Ma's regular work,  (We just read the chapter where they butchered the hog and Ma was making sausage by hand and rendering fat on her stove for days!  Pass.) and I can see why things were kept simple.  I know I've got it easy with my washing machine running and my dishwasher drying the dishes for me right now while I blog.  But at the same time, part of our messy life here is just too much stuff, too many clothes, too many things, both of my own and the children.

 

The storage room of shame.  In this room I am more like a hoarder.  People give me children's clothes and baby things and I say yes to all, regardless of need.  In my head it's because I want to pass it on to others who may need it, but reality gets in the way and it just sits here.

Seriously.  When I pack away each outgrown season of clothing, if they haven't even worn them all, there is a problem.  Granted, we have been so blessed by the sharing of friends that I literally have only bought shoes for my children in all their days of life, but we have been given more than we need.  It's time to pare down, to pass on, to give to others what we have been given.  To sort out all the things that are never used or lost in the heap.  To put away or give away.  But not put too much away, because my storage space, it overfloweth. 

 

Least you think it's just part of this giant room that is filled.  Oh no.  The whole room is filled with baby junk.  (And boxes and linens.  Sigh.  No closets in this old house!)

In some ways, losing this baby has given me a chance to get my act together before we really have a 3rd child. (5th child.  I count my angel babies in my heart.)  To make space for him/her in our home, not just in my heart.  To paint, to prepare, to sort, to pare down.  To rid my home of the extra so we can enjoy the gifts we have been blessed with.

(Messy Mondays are inspired by Flo Oaks and her Messy Monday blog)

For my lost girl

For the empty place that would have been filled by you
for the tears that must be cried that won't be put aside
And the dreams of you that I have had that died with you, sweet girl with you
These I mourn this dark morning.

For the sister friend who longs to know you more
For the heart that breaks in her, my lovely little bird
And the way she asks the unanswerable question why, that my heart also cries
These I mourn this dark morning

But the sun will rise in spite of the dark
And we will rise from this place and see you face to face
Someday.  When we see Him face to face.

Sorrow and Joy

Sometimes I wonder the wisdom of telling the world I am pregnant as soon as I find out, only to find out a month later that the baby never grew past cell stage and we've lost another one.  That makes 2 angel babies.  Last time I didn't have to explain to my 3 yr old why we weren't going to have a baby anymore.  A baby that she is convinced was a girl.  My big girl was only 1 then and I cried alone and with my hubs and she was oblivious to my grief.  Now my girl sits in my lap and cries and says "I want my baby sister to stay.  I don't want her to be dead."  She has a way of putting things together even if we avoid the word 'death'.  My little deep soul.  She breaks my heart with her yearning for her sister and I weep even more in my own grief for the loss of that sweet babe and the heartache that I see in her.  I hate death.  I hate pain.  I know they are a part of life, but I hate them.

Last time this happened (2010), I stopped blogging.  For a long long time.  I didn't want to share anything anymore.  I began again, but not the everyday joys and sorrows that I was spilling out into the internet universe.  For the very first time in my life I wanted to be quiet.  I wanted to be still and not talk about what I felt to people I didn't know.  Deep sorrow touched me for the first time.  Not that I had not had grief or death in my life before, but I was young and didn't know how to walk through the grief, so I avoided it. I got angry when anyone brought it up.  I was angry that they made me feel that again.  I wanted to forget it.  I wanted to get past it.

Now grief finds me again and I want to stay in it.  Long enough to remember and mourn.  But living babies call me and need me and are joyful and I find myself in a beautiful blend of sorrow and joy.  Joy for the lives I have been blessed with.  For the sweet boy and sweet girl that stayed and fill my life with wonder and beauty.  And sorrow for the sweet boy and girl that I lost that I will only see again in heaven.  And in this, I can move forward.

This week

 

* Paci wars - helping Judah learn how to sleep without it so he won't keep waking up Mama all night long when he loses it.  Not fun.  At all.  I am actually getting less sleep, but I know it will be worth it!

* First steps - Judah, motivated by a bouncy pink ball and fun with Mama took his first stepsoments wi
* First ballet class for Cora and while she took some warming up to it (crowds and new things are a bit hard for her at first), by the end she was hooked.  And now to find some ballet clothes that fit!
* Delicious moments with my two littles. Snuggles and giggles and fun.
* A Sad gray day when I could not make myself do anything other than let the kids watch musicals.  But they danced and sang and I didn't feel like I totally let them down.
* News that made me rethink the nest year and my word for the year and then realize it still applies, just in a new way (An inconclusive ultrasound - we have to wait 2 weeks for another to tell us more)
* Thinks knitted and things unraveled.
* Warm clothes dug out for a trip north to see family and friends
* Courage and patience prayed for again and again.
* Forgiveness sought from my children and hubs when I let sadness and fear fuel me to anger and harsh words.
* A week spent hoping for sunshine and receiving little.  But every little bit helps.
* A week of waiting and accepting and trying to trust that God set down these days before my life began and He meant them for good.

Messy Monday

My friend and fellow music mama posted this lovely post about the Beauty and the Mess.  About how mom bloggers post the perfectness of their lives and hardly ever the mess and how that can be discouraging for those of us who don't have our proverbial $hit together (like me).  In celebration of the mess, she called for others to join her in her imperfection.

This is not my first post about the mess that I hid in my photos.  About letting it go and enjoying relationships over a shiny floor.  It's not the first time I've let you know that I am SO far from having it all together.  But it's the first time I feel camaraderie with other blog mamas who are a work in progress.  Who aren't only willing to show how well they do life, but how badly or how messily, or how imperfectly.  And how beautiful that is.  So here is my contribution to Messy Monday.

 

My dining table. A mess on top, a mess underneath.

 

My beautiful daughter who has been wearing the same clothes for 2 days, bed hair and playing with the stroller which has been occupying the dining room for weeks now. 

 

And this. Which Cora so kindly pointed to for me. I think it is sweet potatoes and judging from how dried and crusty it is, it may have been there for weeks since that is the last time I mopped the floor. Usually I rely on the dog to clean up any leftover tidbits after dinner, but apparently she wasn't down with sweet potatoes. Classic.

Christmas Cheer

I love these little lovely babies.  I just had to share a couple of my favorite Christmas photos.

1 year

 

One wild year of blue eyed boy giggles and the ever louder 'yelling' that is the constant and singular form of communication he offers.  (Aside from 'Papa' when it's fun and 'Mamamamama' when he's sad) One year of joy, of tears, of midnight feedings that he held onto until LAST WEEK.  Of tired mama, of displaced sister who is slowly letting the little guy into her heart.

 

One year of stolen hubby kisses and extra baby snuggles and a horrifically messy house.  Seriously.  If you knew the level of grunge on my carpet at this very moment.  One year of the most gloriously wonderful loving little guy I have ever known, with his baby kisses and hugs and finally THINKING about learning to walk.  Of months and months with one dear little snaggle tooth on the bottom that made his little smiles so sweet and slightly lopsided and then within 2 weeks, 5 more appear.  Poor guy!

 

One sweet year of turning everything over so he could spin the wheels and yell.  One year of fishing countless items out of his little mouth and only 2 visits to the ER. 
One year of letting go and trusting that he will turn out OK, even if I don't spend time every day working with him on alphabet flash cards and shapes. (Yes,  I did it with Cora.  Don't judge!)  One year of E.C. and learning that he is going to do it his own way and in his own time.   I just gotta watch more closely!

   

One year with the happiest, most amazing, little guy.  I wouldn't have traded it for all of the sleep in the world.  Happy birthday little man!  We love you!

Word for the Year

I start out each year with the best of intentions. I’ve long since given up a list of resolutions because,
let’s face it, I stink at those. But this year I came across a new idea and for a harried mama
of little ones, it gave me pause and I thought, “I can do this!” I’ll let the author of the movement
spell it out for you in better language that I can.

“One word can change everything.
Forget New Year’s Resolutions. Scrap the long list of goals that you won’t remember three weeks
from now anyway. Choose just one word.
One word that sums up who you want to be or how you want to live or what you want to
achieve by the end of 2012.
One word that you can focus on every day, all year long.
It will take hard work, and will require intentionality and commitment. But if you let it, your word
will shape you and your year. It will guide your decisions and help you grow.
Discover the big impact one word can make.
One word.
365 days.”
A changed life.”

I’ve given much though to mine. I thought about Joy and Peace and Love and Hope, Gratitude and
all kinds of other words like that. But I think my word for the year is Acceptance. Accepting that I
won’t do this thing called motherhood perfectly or even well on some days. Accepting that I am
who I am right now, and it’s what I’m supposed to be, even if tomorrow it will change. Accepting
that my spouse can’t stand poopy diapers and I get stuck with most of them, and I love him anyway.
Accepting that baby number three is on his/her way even though it was not what we planned and I
will love every ounce of him/her, even if I don’t like being pregnant. And with acceptance, I’m
hoping that Joy will follow and all of those other words I pondered.
So I ask you this, what is your one word?
Happy New Year!

(for more details about the One Word idea, visit www.oneword365.com)

New

The new year is coming.  Just hours away.  All things will be made new.  I hold onto that promise and try to remember when I am tired or angry or lonely or just overwhelmed by the tidal wave that is 2 (and we just found out, soon 3) children and their needs and joys and clutter and wonder. 
Ignore the mess and drink in with joy the little wee man babe who is on the verge of walking and spends his days waving various and sundry objects at me while grunting and growling.  Ah, my boy who gently puts his hand on his Papa's bearded face and says 'pah pah' when he is happy and cries 'mamamamama' and reaches for me when he is sad. And the little girl child who flits through my day and imagines and dresses up every chance she gets and asks me earnest questions with her blue-green doe eyes upturned to me.  Why are things dead, Mama? How do reindeer fly, Mama? Are you losing your mind, Mama? (actual questions) and I laugh (sometimes internally) and do my best to answer.  My joyful boy and my serious girl who I lead again and again to joy.  And I wonder how I will stay afloat and then I realize that the things I'm worried about don't matter.  This season will pass and my little girl won't want to take me by the hand and say "I want to swing AND slide, with you, Mama" on our little 'date' to the park.  And my boy will be to big for kisses.  Oh those darling squishy cheeks! Never too big for kisses! And baby will become middle and 4 will become 5 and Matt and I will look at our dear babies and then look at each other and smile.  They are ours and the year/day/hour/moment is being made new.

Wonder - Welcome the Light

Something about December and the beauty of celebrating Christmas creates wonder every year.  This year, Cora, now three, asked her Papa if our house could have lights.  That girl has him wrapped around her finger!  So Papa got the lights out (that I bought 2 years ago in hopes), borrowed a ladder and put them up.  This is how the kids feel about it.  I feel the same way about them and the beautiful way they see the world.

This is Cora wondering why I am outside in the cold taking pictures of her through the window

And Judah wondering why he can't come outside too!

Still here - bandwidth wars

This picture-less post is brought to you by the Geek and his bandwidth hogging, working from home lately ways.  I'm still here, still snapping photos like crazy, but the battle of the bandwidth is ever present at my house.  The only time I have free to blog, or upload photos is after the kids (one of whom no longer naps) are in bed and since that doesn't happen in the daytime (see previous nap comment), it happens at night.  But the Geek is home at night, and inevitably, on his computer.  So I put off uploading so I don't have to clear it with him before hand.  Granted, I could plan better and put everything on the flickr uploadr with nice labels etc, but I'm the MUSICIAN half of this equation, so just read "non-planner" as a descriptive...mmmkay? 

Darling, if you are reading this, I love you.  I really, really, really do.  Can I please have some photo uploading time?  Kthnx!

(I can try blame it all on him, but it's me really; the slacker blogger who can't get it together lately.  Sorry.  I've done projects and taken pictures, I promise!  And I'll get back on the stick soon.  And you won't believe how big and beautiful the kids have gotten in the last month!  Delicious, I tell ya!)

Halloween!

Halloween is all crammed in there with Cora's birthday celebration so we just go with it.  Her birthday activities usually have a lot to do with costumes and fall themed fun.  This year was not much different.  We went as characters from Shaun the Sheep, at Cora's request.  I was Timmy's mom, Judah was Timmy, Matt was Shaun and Cora wanted to be Shirley.  I didn't have black socks so everyone wore wool socks.  I thought that was appropriate! (Costumes are just black shirts and pants, a tunic sewn from some white wooly material from Jo-ann Fabric, plus black $1 hats with black felt ears stitched on.  Mine is fancy with "rollers" made from toilet paper tubes painted pink.)

 

Matt herding the sheep toward our neighborhood Trick or Treat gathering.  (Matt's dad and step-mom also pictured)

And of course there is the requisite pumpkin carving, headed up by the Papa, himself. Cora always wants a happy jack-o-lantern, so here he is along with the carving and "helping" which boiled down to Cora drawing on herself with a Sharpie after the eyes and mouth were chosen. And a shot of me and the kids that Matt totally photobombed.

Happy Halloween!

Birthday Week - my girl turned 3

Around here, we don't celebrate a Birth'day'.  Oh no.  We have birthday WEEK! Cora turned 3 this year amidst a festival of beautiful Autumn leaves and gloriously sunny and yet cooler days.  Matt and I painted a mural on her walls that have long been languishing with just blue sky and green grass.  She asked for a tree.  She asked for flowers.  We gladly obliged.

She asked for a party with her favorite friends.  She asked for cake with carrots.  How can we deny her that?  And so, on a chilly and foggy morning, we packed up her requested pink tablecloth and carrot cake cupcakes and celebrated her in the park with her favorite friends.  Then the fog lifted and we could not have ordered a better day.  She wore her birthday crown (from The Creative Family - Amanda Blake Soule) and her new pink boots (ebay!).  She gathered 'bouquets of flowers' (ie. dried leaves) with her best gal pal, Suzi, and in general enjoyed everything that is delightful for a young girl on her third birthday.

I wrote in her journal a little love letter to her, all about her and who she is.  I put in all of the good and a little of the frustrating parts of her character because it's important to know who we are and who we were and where are roots are laid down deep.  My girl, with her beautiful imagination, her love of dancing and music, her shy face when I ask her to sing for anyone but me and Papa, her introverted tendencies, her temper, her passion for things, her meticulous nature that shines through in some areas, but not in how she cleans up her toys. My sweet Cora.  I'm sad and glad to see three arrive.  She's so very big, and yet so very small.  Happy birthday, my girl. 

The Wonder of Creative Play

In my last post, I talked about how wonderful it was to see the children at the campsite playing cooperatively with what they found and no one fought.  I also noticed that children who normally don't play together because of age difference were playing alongside each other and creating and using their brains!  It was pretty amazing.  Then Alice, one of the other moms at the camp out, linked to this amazing youtube video (on the free-range kids website) showing kids playing with 'found objects' in a school setting.  It made me so excited!  The other mothers in my local MOMS Club were practically giddy with the idea of setting up our own playpod for back yards, and for functions.  I am too!  Watch and enjoy the wonder of childhood imagination.  I may be raiding the scrap yard on Dickerson Road soon!