Solheim

He caught a big one

2011-06-22T22:33:00.004-06:00

With our creek running at its peak, we've been spending more time at the water's edge. It's been too fast for wading in, but the kids recently decided that "fishing" was a worthwhile alternative. I helped them find long sticks and tied on some twine and a large, plastic clip meant for anchoring balloons.

They were happily occupied for several afternoons, (even digging some worms for bait) but announced that they wanted Papa to take them fishing, for real. They buzzed with anticipation for a few days.

The day they had planned on going, ominous black clouds swirled overhead. The wind blew and it hailed, but they were confident that the storm would pass quickly. Their optimism prevailed and they piled into Papa's truck, all wiggly and smelling of insect repellent.

They returned a few hours later, bursting through the back door and announcing, "Samuel caught a big one. It's in the bucket!" Those of us who had stayed at the house got up to investigate.

I had half expected the "big fish" to be a smallish one. But I was wrong; Samuel had indeed caught a big fish. (Apparently, after he reeled it in and caught a glimpse of it flopping around on the dock, he turned tail and ran. It wasn't surprising, then, that it took some coaxing for him to pose with his catch.)

After we all had a look and snapped a few photographs, the kids headed outside to release the big guy into our creek. Though he was a little sluggish, he eventually perked up and headed down stream, where he no doubt made his way back to the lake where Samuel had caught him.

Samuel beamed until we put him to bed. And he awoke the next morning, still smelling of fish and still talking about his big catch.

Our (mostly) free chicken tractor

2011-06-15T13:33:00.003-06:00

It didn't take me long to realize, that pastoral as it might seem, loose chickens are not good for gardens. When they were out, it was like having three more children to keep track of. And like children, they were getting into mischief--and tearing up my perennial beds.

Of course, we now know something first-hand about the term "being cooped up." Though we have a small fenced area for them attached to their coop, we really would rather not leave these ladies penned up all day. Besides, they're fabulous aerators, thatchers, and pest controllers--not to mention fertilizers. Their proper place truly is in the yard (just not in my flowers).

So we decided that building a chicken tractor really was our best option; they get to be outside and do what they do best, and I get to keep my gardens intact. The only problem was that we didn't want to spend a whole lot on the project. In fact, we didn't want to spend anything at all.

We scrounged around and found some cedar pieces leftover from our porch addition and used a large piece of reclaimed flashing to give the chickies a little shade. The handles on each end were leftover from other projects, too. Our only expenditure to complete the project was another roll of chicken wire. (We had some bits leftover from last spring, but not quite enough to finish the job.) For a few dollar's worth of materials, we now have ourselves a tidy little chicken tractor.

We're still hoping to add some wheels so that the tractor is easier to move. We bought a pair of salvaged wheels, but they won't work without a little retrofitting.

In the meantime, however, we've put those chickens to work on our next project, which is to build a planting/patio area on the northeast corner of the house. Even as I write, they are tearing up the sod and adding nitrogen to our soil. This has been a boon to my aching back. (I started digging out the grass a few days ago, but I think they are much more proficient than me.) Now, I can sit back and sip a glass of iced tea while my chickens do all the hard work.

Five!

2011-04-14T15:04:00.002-06:00

Just a few days before this boy was born, I was climbing on the side of a steep hill. It was warm, and I was wearing a pair of shorts and some rubber boots. We were trying to gather flat rocks to finish our front path, and we knew we were running out of time to get house projects completed. (Little did we know, then, that we had far less time than we had expected.)

Our neighbors stopped to visit with us, and they jokingly asked if I was trying to start labor. I laughed, and heaved another stone into the wheelbarrow.

I think we finished the path that afternoon. The next night, I finished packing our bags and decided to pull out the baby name book one last time. We still had three full weeks before my due date, but my body must have known what I didn't yet grasp.

We headed to the hospital the next morning. And at 8:00 pm, we held our little Samuel for the first time.

It seems impossible that five years should have passed so quickly. It seems impossible that we have witnessed him morph from a chubby, scooting babe, to a boy with a big heart and a generous spirit.

He's nothing if not consistent. He's slept on his tummy and loved powdered sugar donuts for as long as I can remember. He never has been able to resist a stick (or a strawberry), though balloons have always been his true passion. I love how he squirms and his eyes light up when he sees one.

Fittingly, he asked for nothing more than balloons for his birthday.

Slowing down (and making pasta)

2011-04-05T21:58:00.001-06:00

I stir a pot of soup with a baby on my hip, read books while I'm giving baths, try to sip tea in between rounds of playroom hoops. In the name of expediency and efficiency, I sometimes find myself moving too fast, trying to do too much.

I chase balled-up socks and dust bunnies, boys with chocolatey hands, and chickens who can't resist fresh mulch. Sometimes, it feels like I'm always running somewhere, or after someone (or something).

Slowing down takes a concerted effort around here, but when I do, I'm always so glad. A few nights ago, I climbed onto the wobbly kitchen stool in my kitchen and brought down my Italian paster maker, still in its original box. It was a gift from my late grandfather. He'd had it set aside for me in the front hall closet of his house, pulling it out and pressing it into my hands when I came to visit. I still remember how his brown eyes softened when he handed it to me, but he didn't say a thing.

With the littles occupied in another room, I had the kitchen to myself. I didn't bother with a bowl, but made a mound of flour on the counter, pressed a well in its center, and cracked three golden-yolked eggs inside. The sticky, soft dough clung to my fingers as I massaged it into a ball.

Kneading the dough smooth was meditative. I thought about my grandfather and his gift. I thought about how thankful I was to move without someone underfoot, but mostly I thought about the simple joy of cutting pasta by hand.

Porch Details and Summer Plans

2011-03-03T14:35:00.007-07:00

Take a look at those chickies, who love to congregate in the loose dirt around the foundation of the house and the new screened-in porch. I knew chickens gave themselves dust baths, but I didn't understand the magnitude of their messes. Of course, little chicken-made potholes aren't the only mess these girls leave behind. It should be an interesting summer trying to keep the ladies out of my garden and flower beds.

We (and when I say "we," I really mean Jory) may just have to make building a chicken tractor the first summer project. With a movable pen, we could still let the chickens out into the yard, but we'd have a bit more control over exactly where they went (and therefore where they dig and poop).

Originally, we thought we'd get a few more chicks this spring, but now that we're typically getting two eggs a day (yesterday we got three), we'll hold off. That way we won't be tied down with tending to hatchlings when we'd rather be working on other projects.

Those other projects include building a playhouse for the kids and a flagstone patio on the north side of the new porch. The playhouse will be recycled chic; we'll be trolling the reuse center for materials in the coming months and will make the plan on the fly. To stay within county limits, and to avoid having to buy a building permit, we'll keep the playhouse to around 10 by 12.

While Jory's thinking structure, I'm pondering louvered shutters and painted porch spindles, built in bunks and little nooks. We'll be meeting somewhere in the middle, to meld reality with fantasy.

As for the patio, we've decided to save ourselves the hassle of tending to yet another flower bed. Rocks are definitely lower maintenance than beds that need watering and weeding, composting and mulching--and that serve as little havens for pesky chickens. We'll probably plant a few shrubs and grasses, mainly low-growing evergreens and ground covers.

Between these projects and the garden, we'll have plenty to keep us busy this summer. My mind is already there--to that place called summer. But I know full well that time moves plenty fast without me wishing it away. So I'll concentrate on celebrating this moment, chicken potholes and all.

Chasing the Sun

2011-02-25T21:57:00.004-07:00

On sunny days, when the temperature makes it to around 40 degrees, we're finding ourselves spending lots of time in this little space. It's surprisingly warm in here, roughly 25 degrees warmer than the outside temperature. And what a boon this place has been when the wind is howling!

The kids make runs back and forth from the house to the porch, bringing in all the necessary "supplies" for art projects and house play, race tracks and bridges. And when the three biggest kids do venture out, Amelia keeps tabs on them from her post inside. I know when she leaves the window that the "bigs" have moved onto another area of play.

A few bits of nature inside our home remind us that spring is ever-so-close. In the meantime, we'll be hanging here, chasing the sun and feeling thankful for this little sliver of space.

A Paper Crown Kind of Morning

2011-01-12T15:46:00.003-07:00

These sunny rooms are a ruse; the temperature has barely been above zero during the day. At night, we've dipped to 20 below zero. This has resulted in four stir crazy kids and one mama who rests decidedly in the same category.

To make the most of all this family "closeness," we've been trying a few new things to keep us all sane. Paper crowns were a little bit of magic, if even for an hour. The kids were transformed into kings and queens, knights and princesses, dragon slayers, and circus performers. They sported daggers and capes, swords, and handbags (What princess, after all, would be without her accessories?).

A bowl of "story stones" (smooth stones decoupaged with themed illustrations) have helped to keep us occupied, too. (The idea is not my own, but one I saw online.)

I clipped illustrations for our story stones from a 1950s children's book that I picked up at a thrift store for a few pennies. The storyline was peculiar enough that the book wasn't exactly a good read. Nevertheless, the brilliantly-colored evergreens, the wee woodland creatures perched on toadstools and stumps, and the clumps of wildflowers were captivating enough that I saved the book, not yet knowing what I would do with it.

Our stones are sitting in a handmade pottery bowl I got at Goodwill for $.50. Though the completed project is low on cost, it isn't short on entertainment value. We've heard many tales already about a chipmunk, bird, and extra-leggy frog who live in the forest. Even William, who is three, has woven a story or two of his own.

The simplest of things always bring us the most joy around here. Cheers to paper crowns and smooth stones of the storytelling variety.

The Long-Awaited Egg

2010-12-04T15:20:00.003-07:00

I'd started to worry about those hens of ours, wondering if we might have a few duds on our hands. It turns out I needed only to wait a bit longer than expected. In the gray twilight, resting safely in the hay of our nesting box, the first, long-awaited egg.

We busted out a flashlight and paraded the kids to the coop. Each, in turn, cradled the egg in their hands. Ella, forever our caregiver, immediately exclaimed, "It's cold. Let's get something to warm it up." She rummaged around for a soft cloth and stood waiting for me to place the egg in the little makeshift nest she had made.

I explained that we wouldn't be trying to hatch the egg, noting that it was impossible without a rooster. "What will we do with it then?" was the next question.

"Eat it," I answered.

"Yuck. Why would we eat it?"

"This is where all eggs come from, even the scrambled ones that Papa makes."

The answer seemed to satisfy them all for the moment. We'll see, though, when it comes time to crack that darlin' open for breakfast.

Oh, the wonder and excitement of such simple, close-to-the-earth pleasures. Our first egg--of many, we hope.

Fall Bits

2010-10-23T11:42:00.008-06:00

October ushers in a month of celebrating at our house. There is much to celebrate, indeed--the pumpkins harvested from our little garden plot, the giant pot of vibrant, red mums. (Sadly, the mums were shredded, not by the deer as I had worried, but by two wiley boys with very busy hands.) The golden light of fall, bathing the valley, the smell of drying leaves, the gray-green glow in the yard, carrots made sweeter by frost and eaten out of hand.

And fall around here means birthdays and lots of them. Three of them to be exact. Here's the rainbow birthday wreath on the front door, a signal to all that we're celebrating.

And a special request birthday breakfast in bed, complete with a vase of flowers, a "grown-up" glass, and banana bread in the shape of butterflies. If it looks as though she just woke up, it's because she had. It's rare that this girl sleeps in, so I was glad I had the opportunity to sneak upstairs to surprise her.

We waited a few days after both girls' birthdays to have a shared rainbow-themed party. The wonders of Google image search resulted in this Skittle-laden creation. And every rainbow needs some white, puffy clouds.

And every baby turning one needs the freedom to smear frosting on her face and stuff as much cake in her mouth as possible. Those round, sweet cheeks. I just want to eat them, frosting and all.

On the Trail of Adventure

2010-10-19T21:36:00.002-06:00

On an early fall afternoon, we found adventure on a forest trail. Our children ran in the dappled light of pine needle-covered trails.

They shook trees and foraged for sticks. Picked up shiny rocks. And negotiated gnarled roots like wee mountain goats.

There was some disagreement about who the true king of the forest might be.

But the misty spray and the sound of rushing water were enough to make them forget about who won the battle of the small tree.

This trio perched up on the fence, the golden light falling on their heads, their sense of wonder and amazement at all of God's creation--priceless.

An Early-Morning Flight

2010-10-02T10:19:00.002-06:00

In the dark of night, he wakes. Still pasty and rubbing sleep from his eyes, he snaps to attention when he hears the word, "balloon." He can't hold down his voice, or his excitement. He dresses quickly and slips out the back door.

A purple-gray glow hangs over the canyon. It's cold enough for bluish lips and rosy cheeks and chattering teeth, but no matter, when you're surrounded by giant balloons that can fly.

It's like the stuff of a fairytale. A fire-breathing dragon puffing up the biggest balloon you've ever seen. Even better, it has a basket attached to it that carries people!

The night finally retreats, giving way to a blue sky. A blue so blue that it looks like the skies in your drawings. Finally, lift off. You crane your neck and squint, watching--watching. Your favorite is the red, white and blue one with stars. You watch until it and all the others are tiny specks in the sky. And then you come back home to tell the story of the balloons in a meadow to anyone who will listen.

An Ode to Simple Pleasures

2010-09-13T07:44:00.004-06:00

Life can be awfully complicated--around here (and everywhere). Even the business of doing what has to be done--paying bills and getting teeth filled, buying groceries and changing diapers--can easily become consuming. I have been doing battle with the complicated, and here are some notes from the field.

Relish all the firsts of my last babe: first time pulling herself to standing.

Make things together.

Dig out retro toys I played with as a child and watch new artists at work.

Fill a crystal bowl with the last blooms of the summer.

Enjoy the beauty of this spider who set up shop in my garden. (Look at the crazy, intricate design on her back.)

The Things I've Learned (and Gratuitous Photographs of the Garden)

2010-08-10T15:30:00.002-06:00

As Mama to four wee ones, my days are full to capacity, overflowing. Sometimes, what overflows is my exhaustion and frustration. But boy, am I learning. Learning. Learning. Every day.

I thought I'd share a snippet of my mama knowledge, offered here in no particular order.

1. Write it down. You think you'll remember that funny thing your son said or when your daughter lost her first tooth. You won't. Get out a journal and WRITE IT DOWN.

2. Buy furniture the color of dirt. No really, then you won't worry about filthy black toes and the spaghetti sauce you missed on the back of someone's pants.

3. Let the rice dry before you attempt to sweep it up. Much, much easier.

4. Don't underestimate the power of a bucket of water and a paint brush. "Painting" the back patio has given me many much-needed moments of solitude.

5. Start dinner long before the house threatens to erupt into anarchy. And if you haven't done this, have the Ritz Crackers at-the-ready.

6. Kiss your spouse in front of your children, and often.

7. Don't be startled if your children mimic your very worst qualities. Let them teach you things and ways you want to change.

8. Ask your children to have quiet time, even long after they've given up napping.

9. Leave an old towel and a bucket filled with soapy water by the back door. They'll have so much fun with the bucket that they won't even notice that they're cleaning up.

10. Plant a garden if you want your children to love eating vegetables.

11. Let them help. Even if it's painful to watch them stir the pancake batter.

12. Teach them to tell one good joke.

13. Make art with them.

14. Keep dum-dums in your purse. Always. Trust me on this one.

15. Take more pictures than necessary. But don't leave them on your camera or on your computer.

Summer Loves

2010-07-13T14:43:00.003-06:00

Girls in sundresses--one sleeping, one smiling.

Girls in gingham--again one smiling, another attempting to pet her chicken

And haircuts--outside.

Blooms, A Baby, and a House for Boo-Boo

2010-06-26T23:05:00.012-06:00

Oh, hello summer! So nice to see you again. Thanks so much for nudging those flowers into bloom, to billow and spill onto our meandering walkway. The purple catmint do love you so.

Even better, you give us an occasion to put a bright pink sunhat on the cheekiest baby you've seen. You can't see her downy-soft hair under the rosy glow of her hat, but it's there. You also can't see her itty-bitty teeth, but she's got two of them. She wants so badly to move, to keep pace with her sister and brothers. Next time you come around, summer, she's likely to be racing through the long, green grass. So if you don't mind, we'll be happy to keep her (and her sweet rubberband wrists and elbows) to ourselves just a little bit longer.

And so kind of you to give us the sunshine we needed to build a house for Boo-Boo and her buddies, Rainbow and Mater. I think those chickens are glad you're here, too. They're already strutting around their new coop like they own the place.

We'll excuse your late arrival because we're so very glad you've come. Do stick around. We've got a whole lot of playing to do. Expect to see us having a tea party outside and enjoying a picnic with balloons. We'll be having a family squirt gun fight and flying kites, too. And we can't forget to track down a jumpie castle, camp in the backyard, see some fireworks, and dangle our toes in the icy creek.

Here's to you, summer!

Camera-Shy Chickens

2010-06-01T21:23:00.005-06:00

Boo Boo, Rainbow, and Mater (names our children chose, of course) are a bit camera shy, it seems. I chased the trio around the brooder in our bathtub for at least ten minutes to snap these photographs. They're quieter than I thought they would be--but altogether messier.

Bringing them home was a bit like becoming a new parent all over again. Was the brooder the right size? Were they warm enough? Were they too hot? Should they be pooping that much? Why are they perching on the feeder? At a $1.99 a piece they weren't exactly a big investment, but we still didn't want to kill any of them on account of being chicken newbies. (There's still time for that, but we've managed to keep them alive so far.)

When it came time to buy the chicks at the feed store, I already felt the weight of regret. But we've been talking chickens for more than a year, and Ella had already named her chick. It wasn't a time for going back on our word. I suppose this will teach us to be reasonably certain about things before we say anything to our children.

I'm already looking forward to the golden yellow yokes of our own farm fresh eggs. Between now and then, though, there's the business of building a coop and critter-proofing, moving them from the brooder into their new home and the poo scooping, which will never end, of course.

Chickens are a baby step to my microfarm dreams. So are the raspberry bushes, strawberry plants, grape vines, and the cherry bushes I just planted in my garden. They're already leafing out, so it appears that, for the moment at least, I've managed to keep something else alive. Now, it's just a matter of going toe-to-toe, so to speak, with the marauding gopher that's been setting up shop in the garden.

A Garden Visit

2010-05-14T21:30:00.003-06:00

In what feels like the first warm day of spring, we took a little jaunt to visit this lovely garden. I got the grand tour, while all the littles played with Daddy at a nearby park. The garden is so full of life, already bursting into bloom. All the thoughtful details made me feel like I was in a secret place.

Lucky for me, the resident gardner, Gloria, was willing to share more than her knowledge. She sent me home with eight boxes full of plants. She made iced tea and let the kids feed the goldfish in her pond, too.

As soon as I got home this evening, I peeled off my boots and warm sweater and shot out the front door to play in the dirt. It felt so good. That fresh, cool dirt going deep under my nails. The long, smooth worms slipping by my trowel. I'm now that good kind of sore and tired--and ever so anxious for more of the same.

A Reminder

2010-05-13T15:01:00.001-06:00

Saturday Morning Cinnamon Rolls

2010-03-30T14:34:00.003-06:00

Carving out traditions, something we can eagerly anticipate, sets a tone for our lives and gives rhythm to our days. Saturday morning cinnamon rolls are the very best of this tradition. I now make the dough from memory--rolling it out and spreading the cinnamon mixture, just as the preheat timer dings. Three little monkeys wait for their second breakfast. (I'm never up early enough to make them in time for three "starving" children.)

The smell of cinnamon sweetens the air. And we pour icy cold glasses of milk, steep hot tea, drizzle the powdered sugar icing, and all belly up to the counter. We eat the rolls still warm and crumbly.

I hope the tradition sticks and that we never grow tired of this simple pleasure.

Making Me Happy Right Now

2010-03-03T15:57:00.004-07:00

Helping hands and happy hearts!

Paint that (mostly) makes it onto the paper.

Drawings that are becoming more and more detailed all the time--with flowers and winding paths.

A white orchid on a old, china plate.

This little pink bunny.

Trying to get a snapshot of this pajama-clad rider . . .

And another of this diaper-wearing speedster. Man, are these little guys fast!

What I've Been Doing

2010-02-22T14:34:00.005-07:00

The pictures probably speak for themselves. Lately, our home has been a triage unit, of sorts. (Good thing I know a fabulous nurse.) Events of late have had me curious about what's around the next bend.

It's frustrating to feel beset by injury and illness, but it's also a reminder of just how blessed I am. Our recent forays to the Emergency Room (there were three in less than a week) have me feeling thankful that I live in a time and place where gaining access to modern medicine is as easy as jumping in the car. In particular, my situation conjures up images of displaced Haitians still reeling from the distastrous earthquake. The choas and confusion continue amid the rubble.

For us, a short hospital stay and a few stitches were enough to get us back up and running. For so many others around the world, medical help is so precious and rare. So as we return to a normal(ish) routine, I am pausing to reflect on my many blessings, which include a mended head and a happy, healthy babe.

Undaunted

2010-01-25T15:16:00.003-07:00

Sure, my garden might look like this, with drifted snow and scrubby plants. It might have been assaulted by a tunneling, bulb-eating pocket gopher.

It might be resting . . . for the next two months--or longer.

But I am undaunted. I am paging through these babies as though they were steamy romance novels. Onion sets and seeds for purple carrots are dancing in my head. Heritage raspberries. Yep. Plump, red strawberries. Yep. Sweet Ann sugar snap peas. More basil for pesto. Broccoli for vegetable-fried rice. Yes. Yes. And Yes.

For now, though, I will have find comfort in last season's remaining carrots and rhubarb. There's a lot of comfort to be found in carrot cake and warm rhubarb-apple crisp. The only trouble is in deciding which one to make.

A Little Craftiness

2009-11-09T14:12:00.004-07:00

In between nursing, wiping up sticky fingers, and trying to reign in the inevitable chaos, I managed to finish a little project I'd been meaning to do. I have a thing for little birdies and their sweet shapes, not to mention beautiful printed paper. I spray painted (okay so Jory spray painted) these junk store frames in a sagey green and I (literally) raced into the craft store to find paper in coordinating designs.

I searched for a bird silhouette using Google and traced it from my screen. (That's what happens when you're out of printer ink and don't want to make a trip--or take out a small loan--to buy more.) I traced the bird design onto the pretty paper, cut them out, and mounted them on the cut-to-size background.

The photographs are a bit wonky, but the project does a nice job of sprucing up the main wall in the playroom. I also bought a really funky lamp for $2.25 that I plan to rehab so that I can create a little reading nook for my brood. (I'll post the before and afters when I get another chance to go (I mean race) into a craft store.)

This project, like everything else in our household, happened within slivers of time. And though it takes more effort than ever to get things done, and it certainly isn't perfect, I'm glad for this wee bit of artistic expression that's now hanging on the wall.

Here's to little birdies (my own and the paper variety), small slivers of time, and spray paint!

Drinking Sweet Nectar

2009-10-21T20:33:00.003-06:00

A new babe . . . a wonder that is the sweetest gift to the world, a gift that this mama of four is doing her best to drink in--slowly, deliberately. I'm relishing the downy-soft swirls of hair on her head, the crooked-sleep smiles, the chest-to-chest snuggles, and wishing that I could find some way to capture all of this. To bottle it up and keep it forever.

Bringing in the Harvest

2009-09-24T15:53:00.004-06:00

Three, proud little farmers brought in the last of this year's harvest, with chatter of making pumpkin pie and pumpkin cake. And with much enthusiasm about what kind of face the largest of these orbs will be sporting. (The youngest of farmers was launching the pumpkins, as if they were balls, so the head farmer did a little yelling about garden decorum.)

Except for a few gigantic carrots that are now sprouting extra "legs" sticking out the surface of the dirt, the general garden clean-up is complete. We can't say that we were sorry to see the squash and zucchini plants get zapped by the early frost, (I slipped that stuff into everything imaginable), but I wish the happy zinnias might have been spared. Oh and the roses and old farm house clematis too. But, of course, there's always the joy and anticipation of seeing them come to life again next year. And then there's the planning that will start about the time that snowflakes begin to blow. Ah, seed catalogs are a northern gardener's solace, a companion of hope.

We're hoping to expand the garden to the east to add a mini orchard next year. I can already taste plump raspberries and strawberries still warm from the sun. And I'll work on refining my planting plan, as I've come to acknowledge that tomatoes will never work here, that I always plant entirely too much lettuce, that I don't really want to eat the cauliflower or peppers when they're ready to harvest, and that one hill (I repeat, one hill) of zucchini and squash are all we can handle. Gardening without a bulging belly will be a welcome change--and will make it easier to spy those zuchs that lurk under a canopy of leaves.

I'm thankful for the that little plot that has become my own canvas. It's as close to a painter as I'll ever get. But I'll take it . . . and all zucchini that come with it.

Happy Fall!

Waiting

2009-09-17T10:05:00.002-06:00

Oh, to see those feet of mine again and to dispense with what Jory has lovingly dubbed my "cankles." Why is that two weeks in pregnancy time seems like eons?

We've been slowly preparing for baby #4's arrival. This has meant sorting through mounds of onesies and blankets, washing, and refolding, cleaning up the garden after our first hard frost, and packing for all the wee ones that will stay with auntie as they await the birth of their new baby or brother. Add getting a bit ahead of my work curve to this list.

Ella continues to insist that she'll be helping with a baby sister, but no doubt she'll be ecstatic with whomever that bundle ends up being.

We watch. We wait. And we pray. Come little one, come.

A Mid-Morning Tea Party

2009-08-27T10:27:00.004-06:00

What do you get when you take three wee ones, add some water, and throw in a handful of chocolate-covered raisins? What else but a tea party! Everyone sat quietly and graciously while Ella served up some mid-morning tea. It's a rare moment of complete cooperation, a moment worthy of capturing and savoring.

Feeling Grateful

2009-07-21T22:08:00.005-06:00

At some point during the evening, I looked over to see William with one of his shoes off, trudging through the same patch of lawn a half a dozen times, mumbling something I didn't quite understand. On closer inspection, I see he's tramping through dog poo, flattening it out like a pancake with his shoeless foot.

Around the same time, I was making egg salad, and trying to peel the eggs was like pulling a hundred price tags off a new piece of merchandise. Add to this that Samuel (with a little "encouraging" from his Dad) was launching a scoot-along tractor down the slide, to the chagrin of his sister who responded to the wayward launch by screaming loudly and pinching her brother's cheeks.

More drama ensued during bath time. It was one of those nights when I let out an audible sigh of relief when I heard the click of the bedroom doors closing behind me. I had tucked in the troops and could slip out to the garden to find solace among the lilies and zucchini.

It's hard to stay in a sour mood when you see the cabbage-like heads of powder pink roses, with blooms so heavy that they dip and sway when I brush past them. One look at the mass of flowers on the pink clematis both stuns and satiates. Just one turn around the garden was enough to melt away all those little frustrations that felt so big just minutes before.

I am awash in abundance, both from the bounty of my garden and from the blessings that abound in my life. Tis been 10 years since I committed my life forever to my husband. Ten years (and almost four children later), I'm more in love now than I have ever been. And I am grateful.

This Other Boy

2009-07-14T14:33:00.004-06:00

This other boy, who sleeps with cars, squeals when he can't eat with cars, who pulls me by the hand to come and drive cars on the floor with him, is such pure fun.
He wakes up happy, waves to cars and trucks headed down the highway, is ever so full of spunk and energy. He is a lover who offers unsolicited hugs and kisses, who asks me to sing him the same lullaby each night, and who will soon no longer hold the post of baby in this family. It seems strange that he'll graduate to big brother and will find a new place in the pecking order of this household.

The two of us are alone for the next week, while sister and brother are off with Grandma and Grandpa. He's clearly relishing the attention, while I am enjoying having this boy all to myself. I can't believe how having one child at home feels like I have all the time in the world. I got to sleep in, eat breakfast without interruption, do a few loads of laundry, bathe the dog, weed my flower beds, clean our bedroom and bathroom, scrub the oven, and get to other sundry gunk that's been lurking about the house. A nap is on the horizon.

Here's to giving in to requests for chocolate milk for breakfast, to tight hugs from my youngest, and to loving this small, but welcomed respite.

This Boy

2009-07-03T14:28:00.005-06:00

This boy . . . who loves anything remotely shaped like a stick, who always begs for more fruit, who has a penchant for crank flashlights, and who so willingly plays along with games of baby and princess has stolen my heart.

His sweetness and sensitivity wash over me and fill me with joy.

He is big brother and little brother. Valiant knight and dragon slayer. Been known to tell me that the Bible says that parents should give their kids ice cream. Prone to messiness and daydreaming . . .

and almost always flashing a smile like this.

My "I Did List"

2009-06-28T14:18:00.003-06:00

I have to-do lists scribbled on recycled scraps of paper and to-do lists floating around in my head. I have "goal lists" (really glorified to-do lists) chronicled in my journal, and I have to-do lists written in my pocket calendar. I am a woman of many lists. Lists help me to focus my day, to get done what needs to get done, but these very lists, as much as they are designed to help, sometimes become a burden. Something always needs to be done: a dentist visit scheduled, a dog's nails trimmed, a birthday present wrapped and dropped in the mail, and so it goes. The lists never really end. As a busy mum, I sometimes focus too much on what has yet to be accomplished. I'm guessing I'm not alone in this. and so today, I give you my: I did list--a list to celebrate today's accomplishments, a list that reflects how I should live each and every day.
I did resist the urge to throw out the turkey feathers and the worm boxes brought home last night as gifts from Papa. I am often at war with the flotsam and jetsam of childhood--bits and bobs, rocks and papers, collected and scavenged. For today, the feathers and the worm boxes can stay.
I did have a civilized breakfast: a farm fresh egg on half an English muffin, topped with Vermont cheddar cheese and a tomato. (Please notice the real china plate--to continue the theme of civilized. Never mind that I ate an uncivilized glazed donut about two hours later.)
I did let my half-dressed toddler handle the vacuuming this morning, even if he missed half the crumbs.

I did . . .

get the garden watered, not worrying about the three sticky faces pressed to the window.
get all three children dressed and out the door on time to church by myself.
run the dishwasher and wash a load of household laundry, which included a very disgusting dog bed.
"play school" with Ella.
let Samuel play with his rector set, even though he always loses pieces and screams when the drill doesn't work like he wants it to.

And I did all of this before nap time.

What's on your "I did" list today? Celebrate, no matter how small those accomplishments might seem. In my book, an accomplishment is an accomplishment.

Sum Sum Summer Time

2009-06-25T21:05:00.004-06:00

I'm glad to say that I can still see my feet and that they aren't yet the likes of Hobbitses. The weather, so wanton not long ago, has finally decided to act like summer. The front yard is a pastiche of color, so vibrant and happy. But the flowers aren't the only happy things around here.

Our wee ones are clamoring to head outside before I can utter the word, sunscreen. Yesterday was like a vacation at home. In swimsuits all day, ice cream on the back patio, ambushing Daddy in the shed with water guns, Mascato and chicken fried rice at sunset.

It was all so lovely and yet another reminder to soak up each day and be present in the moment. By the way, we're making good progress on my Summer Manifesto: we've licked homemade fruit pops, been digging in the sand at the lake, have a dirty floor (recall the truce I made with dirt), and linger outside until the darkness (and the mosquitoes) chase us in. We ate fresh garden lettuce and ping pong radishes tonight and slurped up purple cows . . . followed immediately by "don't touch anything on the way" baths.

Masterpieces

2009-06-09T13:35:00.004-06:00

I had a childhood friend whose Mum was an art teacher. At their house, we were always creating something: looming rugs, sculpting paper, baking brownies, or whipping up some other concoction in the kitchen. Her parents were eccentrics who panned for gold nearly every weekend, bought twelve Australian band hats at an auction--just because they thought they were cool, and who gave us the freedom to make messes. And make messes we did.

Art really does imitate life. It is messy and beautiful all at once. It often requires great patience and perserverance. It sometimes necessitates sacrifice, and it always takes vision. This could, of course, be a description of parenting: messy, beautiful, requiring patience, sacrifice, and vision.

I'm happiest when I'm creating something beautiful, whether this be making a home, a garden, or dinner. And I know I need to plan for those moments that mean the most to me, even if this means working within small slivers of time. And along the way, I could definitely use more patience and vision in all my creative endeavors.

On My Make and To-Do List Right Now:

Create an art wall in the playroom with birdie and flower silhouettes.
Hang the wrought iron planters on the front of the shed.
Embroider a birthday card for my Mum.
Use the damask wall paper stencil in the powder room.
Organize my huge stash of home and garden magazines and tear sheets.
Make aspen tepees in the garden for trailing plants.
Build a rustic birch arbor for the slate path.
Sew some pillows for the playroom.
Prune the rose bushes.
Perfect a flour-less chocolate cake.
Plant cutting garden.

My Summer Manifesto

2009-06-03T15:40:00.011-06:00

These are the signs of summer's beginnings. The garden, latent until just a few weeks ago, is sprouting to life. The much-loved peonies, a transplant from my husband's Grandmother, show their red, feathery leaves. Velvety lambs ear surround the obelisk in the heart of the garden. Catmint, already large, round orbs show the promise of purple blooms to come. The lettuces are finally sprouting, and the peas, are coming along.

Almost-neon creeping phlox catch my eye when I pass by the window, and they make me smile. A fire pit, ready for hot dog roasts and gooey marshmallows, dripping from their sticks and onto already-dirty faces.

The possibilities make me antsy. Summer always seems to slip through my fingers like hot sand. And so . . .

My Summer Manifesto

Make grilled peaches with homemade ice cream drizzled with lime juice and honey.
Eat the zucchini before they become the size of small children.
Care less about dirt and play more.
Run through the sprinkler with my wee ones.
Eat outside whenever possible.
Keep beach gear at-the-ready and go to the lake often.
Pick summer apples at my parent's house and make applesauce.
Draw plans for a screened-in porch.
Make homemade fruit popsicles.
Get up early at least once a week so that I can enjoy garden chores without "little helpers."
Journal about the days of summer--at least twice a week.
Cook an entire non-hot dog meal on an open fire.
Make grilled pizza.
Camp--in the backyard, at the lake, in the woods.
Pack a gourmet picnic and enjoy it close to home.
Get the sewing machine down from the top of the closet, get it serviced, and sew something, anything.
Drink plenty of water.
Make cucumber salad, and lots of it.
Pick fresh flowers for my bedside and the table.
Invite friends to roast hot dogs and play bocce ball.
Host a neighborhood potluck.
Create art outside with the kiddos.

Here's to a full and happy summer!

Feeling Both Sides of the Sun

2009-05-24T16:47:00.006-06:00

Prairie Goldenpeas

Catching a Few Warm Rays in Mama's Arms

Careful Bridge-Crossing

What began as a trip to the creek to dangle our toes turned into . . . well, something a bit more. It's these dips in the creek, the treks up the rocky slopes to gather fragrant, yellow prairie goldenpeas that I hope settle deep into my childrens' memories. My own fondest memories are of late afternoons spent at the swimming hole, rambling around in the woods making stick and rock fortresses. It was the stuff of simple pleasures.

"To love and to be loved is to feel the sun from both sides," says David Viscott. I have felt the sun from both sides, and it is a lovely thing to feel.

Any Excuse to Wear a Raincoat

2009-05-16T14:55:00.003-06:00

A grayish afternoon and the allure of rushing water were enough of an excuse to pull out the raincoats. No matter that it wasn't actually raining; it just might have, necessitating those treasured coats come down from their hooks. Like most things around here, I have no idea where the coats actually came from--again such details matter little to boys eager for a splash.

Finding joy in a raincoat, in the prospect of touching icy-cold water, of trying out the new "bridge" that Daddy made reminds me how much joy the simple brings. It's the lilac bloom in the mason jar, whose fragrance perfumes the house, the clean laundry, folded and stacked neatly, the pile of pancakes ravenously devoured after a day spent rambling around outside.

I so love the simple and am so in love with the little ones that are here to remind me every day that simple is what counts. No matter that the house looks as though it's exploded, or that the laundry hasn't quite become the neat pile--I shall don my raincoat, giddy with the possibility that it just might rain.

At Our House

2009-04-29T22:33:00.009-06:00

Reading Together in the Morning Light

Sleeping So Soundly

Dreaming about the Big Dance

The Beautiful and the Mundane

2009-04-25T22:39:00.006-06:00

I love gardening: the dirt as it sifts through my fingers, the tiny green shoots so full of promise, the anticipation of harvesting the work of my hands. But without the hard work of cutting back perennials, turning compost heaps, readying garden beds, and planting tiny seeds, none of this beauty would be possible.

I spent several hours, hunched over, poking microscopic seeds into the dirt a few days ago. But I did it because I know what those seeds hold. So it seems that the mundane and the beautiful are often companions.

As a mama, I have those moments when the mundane is all I can see. I've stepped on three matchbox cars, even though I've been picking up toys all day long. Meals, snacks, and cleanups, playing referee, wiping noses, bottoms, and trying to serve as potty training cheerleader. But there's a tempo, a rhythm to these moments. There's also great beauty, when I'm willing to open my eyes.

There's the three-year-old boy, who begs me to kiss his neck and to duel with swords. The four-year-old who weaves fantastical stories of fairies and dancing with such detail and precision that I almost believe them. And the eighteen-month-old firecracker who loves to read the same books over and over, who delights in putting down the toilet seat, and who gives the tightest hugs imaginable. That's beauty.

And despite those moments of utter frustration and exhaustion, when I wish I could disappear, if only for a minute, I love the mundane. Because without it, I wouldn't be able to relish all the beauty that's around me every single day.