MommyCoddle

the weekend

Yesterday afternoon our house was silent except for the humming of the fans. Every single member of the family fell sound asleep for Sunday naps. Very long, deep Sunday naps.

It had been a big weekend--my cousin's wedding and reception at their farm, lots of family in town, and the beginnings of going through some of my grandparents' things. There were many moments where I felt like I was moving through time in slow-motion, puffy-eyed and exhausted by emotion and other moments of belly-aching laughter and sweetness that I never want to forget.

I think that's a sign of a well-lived weekend.

I've got more things to share with you including some new additions to our growing animal kingdom--if I can just get them to get over their shyness in front of the camera. But for now, I think I'll spend the rest of the day in recovery mode--reclaiming the house and tackling a much neglected mountain of laundry.

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Chronicle Books winners:

Little Oink :  Ericka

Oh, Little Oink looks so cute! I've been checking out all of the "let's clean up" books from the library that I can find...it's not a favorite chore of my 2 year olds. Or mine really! And Secrets of Simplicity, someone PLEASE tell me what they are! Where are they hiding?

Horse Crazy :  Meghan

Always love books! I like the looks of Horse Crazy :)

Secrets of Simplicity : Shannon

My daughter is crazy for horse books and is just beginning to truely develop the love of reading and I am much in need of a little simplicity. Thanks for sharing!

Winners: Please send me an email with your mailing information and I'll pass it on to Chronicle Books.

how to hang laundry on the line (and a few other things)

So, while we're talking about great things our grandmothers have passed down to us, it occurred to me yesterday, as I hung a late-afternoon load of laundry on the line, that it was my grandmother who taught me the most efficient way to hang laundry on the clothesline. And not to be a laundry-line-know-it-all, but when I see other people's pictures of their clothes hanging out, I realize not everyone knows this wee bit of insight that makes all the difference.

I love hanging clothes on the line. I've overcome my distaste for stiff jeans and crunchy towels. But I'm also married to the dryer police. Though I've been known to hang out laundry in my mittens, I think my husband would like to see one of those Amish-esque laundry lines running from our upstairs window out to a tall corner of the barn. (He'd also probably like to go to work in a horse drawn buggy, but that's another story....) When he hears the dryer running, it's like he hears money and dollars bills banging around inside, shrinking and shrivelling up into nothingness.

(I snapped my clothesline last week. And now it is a saggy mess. One of these days, I'll upgrade to something a little more permanent. In the meantime, this one gets the job done.)

I remember the first day I hung my laundry out on my grandmother's line. It was when we were living on her farm, while we made the transition to our new life in Maryland. She was coming in from morning Mass and stopped to talk to me while I draped shirts and pants over the line and stuck on a few pins.

She stopped me and told me I needed to figure out which way the wind was blowing. (On her laundry line, there's a little piece of string tied to one end. I don't know if this was meant to tell wind direction or not, but that is what I used it for.) Once you determine which way the wind is blowing you hang the clothes up so that they are open to the wind. This means only pinning one side of your clothes. As the wind blows, it will fill up and flow through your clothing.

There wasn't much wind blowing when I took yesterday's photographs, but you can see how my pillowcases are filling with the breeze in this older picture from my grandmother's laundry line.

It is remarkable how quickly your clothes will dry. It really makes a difference. Especially when you are trying to get multiple loads on the line in one day, or you're married to the dryer police chief--who is also very good at taking clothes off the line and folding them. :)

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In other news:

**you must stop by Nancy's blog and read about the new home for two of Black Walnut's kittens.

**edited to add: Anke! How did I miss your blog?? You can see the other kitten, now named "Sweetie" who found a home with Anke. Details on her blog! Oh the wonders of blogging.....

**here is an interesting article from Food Woolf on how to help your local dairy farmer. I'll be interested to hear my husband's perspective on the article. He works in the ag industry and Horizon is one of his major customers. When I complain about the price of milk, he says it's good for the farmer that the price is high. Apparently there are rumors that a local dairy may start home delivery. I'd be the first to sign up.

**a few weeks ago, I introduced my children to the sweetness that is a Wendy's frosty. They'd never had one before. But Amy at MomAdvice makes her own at home.

**And lastly, a very thought-provoking, stir up your thoughts about schooling, blog post at Wild Parenting. (via simplemom)

my last recipe box

I find myself wondering when that pit in my stomach will disappear in those moments when I realize my grandmother is no longer just around the corner, putting on soup at her kitchen stove, deadheading the roses along the driveway, or balancing her checkbook in the back living room. There are days that life just happens and the fact that she is missing from it, seems to be part of what's normal. And then there are days where her absences brings a tightness to my throat and a welling of tears in my eyes. Or days that I forget she is gone and I catch myself thinking that we should head there for lunch, or stop by to tell her there are three ducklings taking up residence in our downstairs bathroom once again, because I know she'll laugh and be excited for the girls.

A few weekends ago, my cousins and I sat in my living room, enjoying a glass of wine together and reminiscing. I made the comment that while I was thankful her passing was quick, and not a long, drawn-out decline, it also made it difficult for me to grasp it all. It was too easy to remember her healthy, strong, and just fine. Wasn't it just last week that we were sitting together on the bench under the Sweet Gum tree? Or checking in with each other to see who needed cat food from the feed mill?

Last week, I sat in the kitchen with her big wooden recipe box in front of me. I was looking for a few family-favorite recipes. Of course, pouring over your grandmother's recipe box is not exactly the best thing to do to lift your spirits, but there was still a sweetness to it all. The greasy recipe cards typed up on a typewriter, the little slips of paper with her handwriting-- recipes from Terry, NancyAnn, Paige....

Judging by the recipe box and the recipes inside, I can tell my grandmother has had this for a really long time. I'm guessing it's been the recipe box that's been sitting on her counter for as long as any can remember.

When I went home that afternoon, to file away my copied recipes, I remembered that I'd had it on my mind lately to organize my recipe box. I have a recipe box on top of my stove full of a some favorite recipes, as well as some I've never tried, some I've clipped from magazines. And I also have a stack of notecards scattered in a drawer. And  a file folder of recipes stashed between the cookbooks on my shelf. And a few blowing around the top of my dresser upstairs.

I decided it's time to start my last recipe box. The one that will sit on my counter for as long as anyone can remember.

Several months ago, I bought myself a new recipe box with this in mind. But it has been sitting empty on my countertop. After going through my grandmother's recipe box, I realized how much of her is inside that box. Her handwriting. Her favorites. My favorites. Family favorites.

So I'm slowly cooking and baking my way through my disorganized, mismatched collection of recipes. When something is a standard, a classic in my kitchen, I move it to it's new, final home. Eventually, I hope to have my own recipe box full of recipes--tattered and splotched from years of use. That they'll become our family favorites. Passed down. Collected. Copied. Loved.

How to say yes

I walked in to the guest room a few weeks ago to find Emma on her knees, on the floor, hunched over something. She was obviously working quietly and intently, and secretively. I stepped closer and she looked up.

In front of her on the floor was a whole battery of off-limits items from my craft stash--sewing scissors, expensive yarn, scraps of fabric, rubber stamp pads, good heavy papers and permanent markers.

I felt my blood boil. "EMMA!!! WHAT are you doing??! These are my things!"

"I had this idea.", she said with a defeated sigh.

I was still upset. This had been happening a lot lately. The sneaking off while I was occupied elsewhere in the house. The getting in to things that normally require supervision. Craft stuff. Food from the pantry. Gardening tools. Things that stay inside the house being dragged outside.

It was making me crazy. Didn't my children understand any boundaries? Didn't they realize they couldn't get into anything and everything, whenever they pleased?

I questioned her further, "Why didn't you just ask?"

"Because I knew you'd say no. You always say no."

And there it was. I was confronted with the truth. Or at least what felt like the truth to her.

Now obviously, I don't say no all the time. But sometimes, I think my pile of "no's" far outweighs my pile of "yes". In fact it could easily bury the pile of yes. Sometimes the no's come from exhaustion--the not wanting to make another mess, the not wanting to break open all the paints or get out the sewing machine, the not wanting to fill another sink with dishes, the not wanting to hike to the stream and carry home dirty toddlers and ten pounds of streambed in a metal bucket.

And sometimes, I catch myself saying no because I think that's what I'm supposed to say. It's what parents do. That somehow I'm teaching them some life skill--to wait, to be patient, that you don't always get your way. And then I find myself thinking, "Now wait. Why did I say no to that?"

And I also realized in some odd way, my barrage of 'no's' was driving Emma to deception. She had ideas and plans that were burning inside of her. Things she had to try. Experiments she had to concoct. Recipes she had to make. She needed to bring these ideas in her head to fruition. And sometimes, the supplies she had at her disposal--some watercolor paints, construction paper, a pair of tiny right-handed scissors, just wouldn't cut it. And more often than not, when she brought her plans before the queen of the house, she was shot down before she even got started.

You've heard me say it a hundred times before, this job of parenting is a continual learning process. And once again, I've learned a lesson. I'm not saying all my no's have magically become a yes--I'm not planning to let Emma float Elizabeth down the stream on an inner tube anytime soon. However, my no doesn't come as quickly these days.

I don't want her to give up on me. To think she has me figured out. To decide that I'm always a no. I want to say yes sometimes. More times. I want to surprise her. I want to follow through on a few of those crazy ideas and see just where that idea takes us. I want her to tell me everything because she knows I'll be just as excited and curious and creative as she is.

I'll say no, when a no is what's really called for. But more than that, I want to be a yes.

ONE simple question, no. 4

A few weeks ago sheri asked me to take part in her series on CafeMom's Home and Garden section called, "Nesting and Nurturing", she posed this question to me:

What does home mean to you?

I have to tell you, for as much as I blog about my home, raising a family, fixing up a house, teaching my children, it was such a nice exercise to sit down and actually put my thoughts about home into words.

You can read my response, as well as take a few peeks inside my home. I'd love for you to stop by.

Sheri will be continuing her series and asking the same question of other women around blogland. I've really loved reading a few of the previous responses, especially these from Rachel Saldana (of buttons magee), Kate Inglis (of sweet | salty ), Tracey Clark (of shutter sisters) , Elizabeth Fleming  (of Tethered).

I thought this afternoon, I'd ask the same question of all of you. It can be a few words, a few sentences, but I'd love to know, what does home mean to you?

grateful to the last

I haven't been sure if I was going to write this post. But tonight it feels right, sitting in a quiet house. Rain hitting the window behind the chair I'm sitting in. Dog sleeping soundly across my feet.

My grandmother died last Saturday. It happened very quickly. Which I know was merciful. Just days ago, on Elizabeth's birthday, we sat at the table and I listened as she sang her 'happy birthday'. I remember purposely not joining in, because I wanted to savor the moment. Her voice. Her joy. Her love for my sweet little Elizabeth.

And I knew she wasn't doing well. But I still held out hope. She was this force in my life who I knew, deep down, wouldn't be there forever. But somewhere, this little child inside me wanted her to be and wouldn't acknowledge it being any other way.

Her passing truly marks the end of an era. Her influence reaches well beyond her fifteen children, her grandchildren, her great grand children and into neighbors, the community, the church, even lives in other parts of the world.

I hold those two years we lived on her farm close to my heart. I find myself frantically searching my mind for memories, moments we shared. My family, my children became part of her routine--expected for lunch, Sunday dinner, the walk up to feed the kitties, the push-mowing of the driveway, the daily paper laid out beside the telephone.  Having us there became normal.

I learned her routine. If I didn't hear her pull out of the garage for Mass at 8:35, I'd make my way over to the house to find her, make sure everything was okay. If she wasn't home by 9:30, I'd know it was a grocery store day and I'd try my best to be home at 11:00--to help her carry bags into the house.

What I learned from her and what she taught me in those two years is endless and not easily put into words. Some of it is simple, some of it has become such a part of me now, I can't figure out when it wasn't there at all.

There are gifts that she gave to my children, that I hope I can continue to give them.

People ask me how I'm doing. I'm doing okay and I'm not doing okay. I feel blessed to have had my life become intertwined with hers for those two years. I feel blessed that I was able to help with her care, in her last days. That I was able to sing for her. And tell her that I loved her. And that she taught me so much. That I got to kiss her soft cheek many, many times. That I walked to her bedside one evening, and she looked up and said my name, the way she did every time I walked in the door to her kitchen.

I feel blessed.

That one day, we stood shoulder to shoulder and made granola at her counter.

That one day, she told me I was an amazing mother.

That one day, I listened to her tell someone else what wonderful children I have.

That one day, she told me how much she loved hearing me sing and play her piano.

That one day, she brought over six baby chicks in the back of her car and handed them to my little girls.

That one day, she stood against a fence post and watched my daughter ride.

That one day, she told me I was looking particularly lovely.

That one day, we sat on the edge of her bed and watched derby races.

That one day, we worked in her garden.

There were many, many days.

I feel blessed. I will miss her dearly. But I know we'll see each other again, in a much better place.

Until then, I'll see her in others, in her gardens, in my father, in my children, in myself.

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“We measure time by its deaths, yes, and by its births. For time is told also by life. As some depart, others come. The hand opened in farewell remains open in welcome. I, who once had grandparents and parents, now have children and grandchildren. Like the flowing river that is yet always present, time that is always going is always coming. And time that is told by death and birth is held and redeemed by love, which is always present. Time, then is told by love’s losses, and by the coming of love, and by love continuing in gratitude for what is lost. It is folded and enfolded and unfolded forever and ever, the love by which the dead are alive and the unborn welcomed into the womb. The question for the old and the dying, I think, is not if they have loved and been loved enough, but if they have been grateful enough for love received and given, however much. No one who has gratitude is the onliest one. Let us pray to be grateful to the last.”

{Wendell Berry :: Andy Catlett}

another simple question

Since my last simple question was such a success, I have another one for you this evening:

What is your dinner style? Buffet? Family style? Serve yourself?

Let me explain....for me, the moments right before we sit down to a meal can be pure chaos. Kids are whining for dinner, Dan is walking in the door, I'm still counting out forks and napkins, and realizing I forgot to put out everyone's drinks.

And I'm notoriously guilty of calling everyone in for dinner way too early--so that they're champing at the bit, mulling around the kitchen, and I'm still running around getting things together. (In my defense, it seems like the days I wait until every detail is taken care of, "people" lolly-gag too long and end up sitting down  to a table full of cold food.)

I used to be a fan of the "buffet style" dinner, where I'd serve everything up from the stove and pass out plates to people sitting at the table. But sometimes, this gets a little crazy--the lack of counter space, the ones waiting for their plates to be fixed, hungry little ones digging in (and sometimes devouring) before we've even said grace, the getting up and down every time something is forgotten or someone needs more.

So lately, I've been bringing everything to the table and serving it up family style. It makes for a full table but it seems to make for less trips up and down and a smoother transition into dinner. I *think*.

But I'd love to hear your style.

How do you get everything on the table, get settled and enjoy a family meal?

sewing that stays home

One thing I've always loved about my grandmother's house, is that her handiwork is everywhere--a framed picture of  a family tree made of thumbprinted "leaves" turned into masked raccoons, embroidered and appliqued pillows, cross stitch, oil paintings, curtains, laundry bags, down jackets.

And as I walked through her house a few weeks ago, I was struck that the majority of crafting I do, goes out the door. Though there's nothing wrong with that, I generally craft for gifts, for other people--pillows, knitting, appliqued tees. And accept for a few curtains, a knitted hat or a pillowcase dress here and there, not much of my hand work is around.

With this in mind, I've made a new resolution which I *hope* I can continue. I want to make the girls a yearly wall hanging, for each birthday (a little late this year) that illustrates a few significant events or interests from their past year.

I started with Emma--a horse jumping since this was the year of her first jumps (and falls). And a house-- we've moved into this house almost one year ago. (Is it ironic that it's a little crooked and pieced together with a few stitches?? I think not.)

I only used what I had on hand and most of the fabrics came out of my scrap basket. And a few of them have some special significance--a scrap from Emma's great grandmother, a bit from my own mother.

After I did all the stitching and zig-zagging (lots of zig-zagging), I went back and added some hand-stitching....her initials, the date, a little secret message in the corner, a few buttons, some little stitches here and there.

It felt a lot like scrapbooking with fabric...adding little elements here and there.

Yesterday I hung it from some willow branches, which I still need to trim back and eventually, once she stops shoving it in her bag and showing it people, I envision it hanging above her bed, until it's replaced by another year of growing.

That is, if I let her get any older....

swarm and settle

I hope you had a lovely weekend. We spent Easter dinner at my grandfather's farm. It is one of my favorite places to be. My grandfather must have one of the best views around--sitting atop a grassy green hill, looking out over his field dotted with black cows and their calves. Watching the grackles swarm and then settle in a different spot in the field. Swarm and settle. Chuckling at a calf who's slipped under the fence, kicking up its heels at its freedom. Watching the collies as they work over the bulls, who are only slightly bothered by their presence.

I found a link to Days With My Father on Molly's blog this weekend. And under the circumstances in my life right now, it really moved me. If nothing else, it will impress upon you the importance of listening, and documenting and even photographing your loved ones. It was really the perfect thing for me to see and read.

The winner of Melissa's honey pot was Rain who said:

That honey pot absolutely sings to me!

Rain, please drop me an email and I will pass your contact information on to Melissa. And thank you, Melissa for this wonderful giveaway!

living a complex life

This weekend has been a strange one for me. I'm not sure what it is exactly. I feel like I've experienced all the ups and downs of life in a "fixer upper farmhouse in the country". I feel them all weighing on me in a spectrum of emotions.

I find myself in one moment, swooning over the setting sun on the forsythia and the pure white muzzle of a new born calf at the fence. I stand back and watch as my 72 year-old neighbor, a man who was born in our house and now lives next door, slowly rolls his tractor into our yard. Using a two-bottom plow that he hasn't hooked up to his tractor in more than fifteen years, he pulls it back and forth, slicing through the green earth and turning it over to reveal damp dark soil underneath that will be our vegetable garden.  I sit on the back porch and stitch, while my husband builds bluebird boxes, and I listen to the faint squeals of my girls wading barefoot at the stream crossing.

I send a container of my oatmeal raisin cookies to the neighbor as a thank you, and throw brush on a burn pile--that Dan has cut back from a fence row in order to help the neighbor, for helping us. I stand outside and am struck that the only thing I can hear are the spring peepers and the ticking of our neighbor's electric fence across the road.

But despite these obvious treasures that come with where we've planted our feet, I find myself also feeling frustration with some of the trials. I get tired of every weekend being sucked up by something that is broken, needing repair. This weekend--an upstairs toilet, leaking down into the kitchen ceiling. I want to take a shower, but have to use a wrench and a pair of pliers to turn on the water and adjust the temperature, because the handle has fallen off and there hasn't been time to fix it. I get tired of always having to figure out how to do it ourselves because we don't have the time or the money to call someone else up and get the job done.

I once again experienced animals being animals, acting on their ingrained instincts, and yet I hate being faced with the near-death and the worry and the trauma. I get tired of twisting ankles on rubber boots kicked off just inside the door and weary of a kitchen floor that is never lacking its collection of mud and grass and leaf litter. I get tired of working, working, working and figuring out how to make work-time into family-time. I wonder if there will ever be a weekend where there isn't a major project on the agenda. I wonder if I'm cut out for this.

Late last night, when we were finally sitting down to dinner at eight o'clock, I know Dan could sense my weariness. And he said something to me that has not left the back of my mind for the rest of the weekend. It was something he heard Wendell Berry say. In so many words, Wendell Berry says that this life we are leading or striving for, so many people refer to as "the simple life" or "living simply". But in reality, what we should be striving for, is actually "the complex life".

It is simple to go to the store and get your strawberries in January, or call up the repairman on the weekend and get your toilet fixed and your shower handle replaced, or throw your load of laundry in the dryer. But what we think of as the simple life, is actually very complex. It is work and sacrifice and timing and waiting and figuring out how to make do. It is far from simple.

My mother always says, "this too shall pass" and those words are also ringing in my head tonight. It seems whenever I write a post like this, I find that the next morning, once I've slept on it, I have to resist the urge to go in and delete. I want to go back and add a footnote and say that I'll be fine. That these feelings will pass. That there is joy to be found in a new day. That often, all it takes is spewing out all the thoughts and frustrations and emotions. And then they are gone. Weightless. Carried away.

And as I sit here in the dark, typing, I can hear the raspy breathing of a little girl asleep in bed beside me, in droopy, tangled pigtails and a flannel nightgown. And I hear knocking and banging behind the closed bathroom door and know that repairs are being made and he's still working. And he's okay with it. And he's probably doing it for me. And I've married a good man, who works hard.

And I know that tomorrow this place will win favor with me again. And a good song will come on the radio while I'm sweeping the kitchen floor and picking up boots. And I'll stop trying to figure out why my life isn't simple and marvel at how beautiful a complex life can be.

family stories

Every year my family puts out a calendar. When there are fifteen children and forty-plus grandchildren, and 10 great grand children, there are a lot of birthdays and anniversaries to keep track of.

Since I moved back here to Maryland, I've been helping with the calendar--taking over the picture-collecting and sorting, and laying out each month's photo pages. It never fails, no matter how many "cushion months" I give myself on the previous year's calendar, I find myself scrambling at the last minute to get it done. It's a lot of work, and my plate is full, but I don't have the heart to give it up or let it slide.

This winter, when I was putting something away for my grandmother in a back closet, I found a big box of slides hiding on a top shelf, boxes with faded labels and years scribbled on the sides. Weddings. Parties. Hand-raised owls and hawks. Big snow storms. Peacocks. Lambs and Jersey milk cows.

Last night, after everyone was in bed, I sat down at the dining room table, turned down the lights and clicked on the fan and bulb of my grandmother's old silver slide projector. I sat with the box of slides and told myself I'd just try to go through two or three boxes and see if there were any good pictures I could put in this year's calendar.

A few hours later, I found myself sitting among stacks of small, banded paper boxes, hard plastic cases and carousels and the original box, empty. I went through each slide, all the way to the bottom of the box.

I sorted, tried to make out faces, noticed how much someone's children look exactly like they did, when they were that age. Marveled at my grandmother, poolside--a handful of kids splashing in the water, a few toddlers watching from wooden playpens in the grass. Children spread around long wooden tables covered in newspaper on the patio, dipping eggs into colored water. Girls bareback on horses. Weddings on the front lawn with green tents, bright yellow table cloths and daisies. Volkswagen buses and BB guns.

Those boxes are full of family stories. Most I don't know. A few I do, but only because some things just don't seem to change. But because I'm a part of this family, I guess it does make it part of my history as well.

And somehow, I going to find a way to save these bits of our family's story before I box them back up and slide them into the top shelf of that closet.

changing our pace

A few weeks ago, I sat down at the computer and wrote a meltdown email to my husband at work. It said things like, "just getting by each day", "losing everything", "no time for anything", "disorganized", "grumpy", "tired", "always rushing"....

And since email is never the best way to communicate, especially with your own husband, his response wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear...."Maybe if you had dinner ready right when I got home, it would make the evenings less stressful and rushed at bedtime."

Thankfully, I know my husband well and I know that he meant to be helpful with his response, but of course in my fit, I took it all wrong. I think I wrote something back along the lines of, "but it's all the stuff BEFORE dinner that I'm having a hard time with!!!!!" (you jerk!) no. I'm kidding. I didn't call him a jerk.

But after unloading to him in that email, I was somehow reminded that most of the mood of our home life is set by me. I set the tone for our days and my attitudes and outlook are extremely contagious for the rest of my family.

That afternoon, I sat down with a large stack of blank paper and began writing down all the things that I felt needed to change. From simple "rules" like "no toys in the bathroom", to a weekly schedule of which days the kids would take their baths and showers. I put down everything I could think of on those pieces of paper--homeschool lesson ideas, meal ideas, things that I needed to finish or find (ugh.) and reminded myself of the things that would help me feel like I was back in control of our home life.  If nothing else, it felt so good to get all those things out of my head and into print that I could read and scratch through and erase.

Oftentimes, I feel like I need to hit a rock bottom of sorts, before I snap out of my funk, shake off the dust and get my act together again. It takes me getting a little overwhelmed before I make real changes. I wish it weren't that way. But unfortunately, that's often my reality.

So we're not uber-organized now. I'm not the drill sergeant demanding a tightly run household as a result of my latest meltdown. In fact, it may be just the opposite.

I've toned things down. I've slowed down. I've let go of a lot of things. I've said "no" to things. I've made some healthy changes. I've returned to some good habits I used to have.

A few specifics?

I've started planning our meals again.

I've started counting points again. And being extremely mindful about what I put into my body, and my children's bodies--(another thing I want to write about)

I've given my children a few things to look forward to on specific days. Things they can count on.

I've stayed away from the computer until afternoon naps. (sometimes I sneak in a check of email, but that's about it.)

I cut back on my babycenter posts. No more "A Bushel and A Peck".

And the other thing I'm trying to do is not be so super-focused on the things I have to accomplish each day. They weigh me down and distract my attention away from my children.

 Today, it was 11:00am before I had the breakfast dishes completely done and all the school work set out on the table. I let my loading of the dishwasher be interrupted by a trip to the chicken coop, a toddler wanting to feed her doll in the highchair and a little girl wanting to hold her dove and have me take pictures.

And the irony is, though I felt like I was moving at a snail's pace this morning and wasn't getting very far, very quickly, I still got everything accomplished today that needed to be accomplished, today.

And I realized there's still tomorrow. Except for a few things...

Tomorrow, my children will be a little bit older.

And tomorrow they'll be carrying around memories of yesterday.

And I can stand behind them and rush, rush, rush them through to tomorrow.

Or I can stay with them, and alongside them, and savor them. Today.

Just an Innocent Walk in the Snow

So I thought it would be a good idea to go outside first thing this morning. Get the girls some fresh air. Spend a little time exploring in the lightly falling snow.

Look for tracks.

Look at the snow hanging delicately on the pine branches.

Feed the chickens.

Take a few pictures.

By the time we made it out to the back field, around to the chicken coop and back to the front walk again..............

Mary and Emma had gotten in an argument because Mary wouldn't walk down to the stream with Emma. And Emma pushed Mary, sending her tumbling into the snow. Which left Mary crying over freezing cold hands and wet knees. (Mary can't handle any extreme temperatures--hot or cold.)

Emma then continued to give me a little attitude and was sent into the house and her attendance at tonight's 4-H meeting is in jeopardy.

Elizabeth tripped over her own feet and had an up-close encounter with the sidewalk.

By the time I got to the front door, I had three crying girls in the middle of meltdowns while I tried to remove coats, and hats and boots, attend to freezing cold hands, deal with attitudes and check for bloody chins.

Sometimes, in these moments, I have to admit, that I lose my cool. But sometimes the absolute craziness of it becomes suddenly humorous to me, and I'm able to handle it with a cool attitude and a calm demeanor.

Thankfully, that's what happened this morning. And I still managed to snap off a few pictures of the pretty snow.

I love it when things don't go exactly as planned.

Happy Tuesday.

a few notes

While I was away, I kept a few notes of the things I had been doing, tucked in my back pocket. I....

...cleaned the house. And watched it get dirty again.
...filled the bird feeders. Twice.
...thought about sewing. But didn't.
...watched Emma on ice skates on my grandparents' pond.
...had habit withdrawal.
...played a game of memory.
...cooked in my dutch oven. Three times.
...nursed a black eye.
...made soup.
...bought new books. And fell in love with homeschooling again.
...got a better internet connection.
...thanked my husband for a freshly painted pantry.
...administered Tylenol.

...mourned the end of a favorite magazine.
...fussed with my camera settings.
...thought about writing that children's book.
...told my girls the story.
...took a nap. Or two. Or three.
...made spring rolls.
...confiscated angry notes to little sisters.

...gave everyone in the family a haircut.
...started a new book .
...finished a project.

...knit.
...paid bills.
...bought a wing in the library in library fines.

...removed peanuts from nostrils.
...created and shipped out ten valentine crafts for babycenter.
...baked granola.

...made ambitious garden plans. Extremely ambitious.
...turned a fridge door into a dry erase board.
...got overwhelmed by messes. And then recovered.

...fixed a woodstove door that fell off in my hands. Again.
...watched a heron fly low across the yard.
...nursed a rooster with a sore toe.

...ignored the laundry and watched a movie with the girls.
...enjoyed empty moments in my day.
...missed all of YOU!

Hi! I'm back. Yay.

Glimpses of Reality, Followed by Inspiration

I believe a few glimpses of reality are nice every once in awhile. Healthy, even. Here are a few glimpses of reality from my day:

I am making grilled cheese sandwiches while I write this post. My laptop is sitting on the counter beside the stove.

My girls are watching a movie about penguins. And I'm okay with that. Because our morning was full or play and creativity.

I'm listening to Diana Krall on the radio show Art of The Song which reminds me of a boyfriend in college. Which I didn't think of until just this instant. (this is a new-found favorite on the radio and gets my inner singer, songwriter stirred up.)

This is where the girls spent most of the morning. A secret club meets under there. In order to get in, you must be wearing a tee shirt with the name of your favorite sport on it. Mary's says horseback riding. Emma's says soccer. And you must bring a sketch book. If I could fit, I'd be in that club, too.

Later, the girls commandeered the bathroom. Which, when the door is shut, is the warmest spot in the house--when the furnace is working, of course. Which isn't something you can count on.

That's Elizabeth, trying to get into the club. Yes, she's wearing underwear, over her clothes, which is another post to come. Yes, you'd break an ankle trying to get into that room. You should try to navigate it in the middle of the night. Yes, their beds are unmade. Morning "chores" were postponed this morning.

That's my kitchen table yesterday, about thirty minutes after I should have been elbow-deep in dinner prep. Instead I'm up to my elbows in red and pink and hearts and cupids and fancy paper and pipe cleaners. I'm working on some crafts for a new section on babycenter's website. They need 10 crafts, designed, instructions written out, and shipped to be professionally photographed in 7 days. Am I crazy? My deadline is tomorrow.

And now some inspiration to balance out my reality:

**Molly's photography in this post about her new restaurant, Delancy.
**Ali Edward's office tour. I'm getting Dan to build me some of those wooden bins on the wall, asap!
**Kristin's handmade doll clothes, which I think would be great to make for the girls' new dolls. I've already reserved the book from the library.
**This peek at Heather's new work. Stunning.
**Cassi's button clips.
**This post over at Ordinary Courage. It's actually her take on Oprah's latest magazine cover, but her thoughts on addiction, body image are really eye-opening. I'm not sure anyone could read the post without taking something positive away from it.

And back to reality......I burned the second side of the grilled cheese. Bummer.