MommyCoddle

motherhood

With all the baby talk around here, it seemed somewhat appropriate that this mama would drop her calf yesterday morning, just inside the fence on the edge of our property. She belongs to our neighbor, but my girls "adopt" these calves as if they were our own. 

There was much concern over this calf. Lots of checking in. Lots of reports coming in to me in the house. And a handful of stern warnings from me about nervous mama cows who need to protect their new calves. And the flimsy piece of barbed wire standing between you and that mama.

The patient nudging of this mama cow reminded me of where I was last week in my feelings about motherhood. I found myself in another season of feeling at the end of my rope. Feeling like nothing I was saying or doing was making a difference. Feeling like I somehow was failing at guiding my children in the right direction. Feeling like none of my children were inherently wanting to make the right and good decisions. Feeling like I had a house full of attitudes, that unfortunately and embarrassingly, probably matched my own. 

I shot an email to my husband at work -- what do I do? How do I handle this? What should I say to them? 

He gave me a few ideas. But a few minutes later he wrote me another email. Just remember, he said, it takes a long time to train a child. It’s like doing the dinner dishes. I get upset at the girl’s lack of attention but they are slowly (very slowly) getting better. It will take time for them to get in the habit of doing the job with the right amount of focus. Then it will take a while for them to learn how to do it right. Then it will take a while for them to anticipate what comes next so I won’t have to tell them. But this all takes time.

I keep reminding myself of that first and last line. It takes a long time to guide and train my children. This all takes time. 

Telling them once, doesn't equal a change in heart or an automatic change in the way they do things. They need to be reminded. Reminded again. Taught. Shown. Guided. Encouraged. And reminded again. 

Change comes. But it often comes slowly. Much more slowly than I'm willing to allow. But it does come, and is coming, if I look closely. 

If I give up, get frustrated, get angry, then no one is learning anything except the wrong way to handle a situation that requires resilience and endurance. And I wonder why I'm not seeing any change.

But the changes are there.

They're not leaving the sofa cushions on the floor when they're done.

The boots are (generally) making it back into the boot box.

She's trying to walk away from the situation instead of reacting in anger.

They're drying the dishes without complaining and reminding.

She's talking it out with her sister, before raising her voice. Sometimes.

This all takes times. 

It is the mantra that breathes an extra portion of patience into my mothering. 

thank you

Even though I turned off the comments on my last post, the outpouring of emails, phone calls, messages on twitter, has been overwhelming. I turned off the comments because I didn't want anyone to feel pressure to say anything. I turned off the comments because sometimes it's just good to say what you need to say and be done with it, expecting nothing in return. But that isn't to say that the messages from all of you that have still reached me, haven't touched me deeply, because they have. 

If you ever question the goodness and care of people, the relationships that have been forged through blogging, I can attest to the fact that both of these things run strong and true. 

The trip to Hopkins with Mary was eye-opening and reassuring. I left feeling nothing but impressed with the care and concern of the doctors, with the way they communicate with each other and respect what each one brings to the table. You know that you are in good hands. 

Again, sparing the details, and after much back and forth with the doctors we are going to take a cautious, but relaxed approach to what has been going on with her. All those difficult words and procedures are going to be put on the back burner, hopefully never to be brought up again, if the course of action we are taking right now takes care of the problems at hand.

They were optimistic. Cautious, concerned, but optimistic that we didn't need to jump in the deep waters of diseases and treatments.

Again, I cannot say it enough, thank you. I hope that I haven't worried you all too much, but frankly, I was worried. All those possibilities and probabilities were a bit daunting to think about. But I feel good about where we are now. 

Sitting in the crowded waiting room of the Hopkins Children's Clinic, one can't help but be overwhelmed. I found myself catching eyes with other mothers, filling out forms, juggling babies on laps, pulling entertainment out of our bags of snacks, crayons and coloring books. They were looks of curiosity -- why are you here? of understanding -- we're going through something too. I sat in my seat and watched a mother testing blood sugar on one child and dolling out snacks, and filling a syringe and giving a shot in the arm of another child sitting in the stroller beside her. I went to the bathroom where a mother had every stall filled. Her son with no arm below the elbow, a toddler waiting patiently on the changing table, another in the other stall. And she was juggling it all with grace and patience, and even had the energy left to joke with me about taking up all the room. 

As we were leaving, Dan said to me, "It is amazing how well we can adapt." How suddenly when faced with something difficult that we think we could never or would never handle, we do. You look across the room at another mother and say, "I could never do what she does." And yet, if you needed to, you would and you could. 

I was thankful to walk out of that clinic with answers. With a good outlook for the future. With an end in sight. But I was also impressed, strengthened and inspired by the families that surrounded me in that waiting room. 

weathering the storm

Stuck to my fridge are two sheets of paper ripped out of a spiral notebook. They are scribbled with notes and words, addresses, appointment times. Some scary words that I don't want to think about. Some possible procedures and roads that I hope we don't have to travel down. 

Without getting in to a lot of the details, every day last week found us in another doctor's office or lab. We are trying to piece together some of Mary's medical history and make sense of what might be the root of some of her troubles. The migraines. Some issues with her feet. The Lyme's Disease.

It's funny, but I find that I'm not overly worried yet. At least I don't think so. But I'm anxious for answers. Tomorrow we head to John's Hopkins to see a few specialists. I'm grateful to have such great medical care at our back door. 

But I would be lying to say that all of this isn't weighing me down. The back and forth to doctor's offices. Mary's deep fear of each new person we see, each blood test we have to take. It's agonizing. Even things like when do you fit in the grocery shopping? suddenly become extremely complicated issues.  

On Friday, I felt myself snap. All these worries, and exhaustion and back and forth suddenly came spilling out as I found myself lashing out at my children. It was totally uncalled for. It really had nothing to do with the problem at hand but had everything to do with my need to relieve some of the pressure bubbling up inside me. 

After sitting at the kitchen table alone for awhile, letting some of it go, I finally got up, took a breath, found them and apologized. On the outside, I was better, I was okay, but this aching funk still lingered on the inside.

It seems my first reaction in these kinds of moments, days, weeks is to walk away from this blog. It feels like the last thing I could muster up are words. I'm good at learning lessons and reflecting after the days have passed, but when I'm in the thick of it, I don't want to talk about it or think about it. But these days have got me thinking about what exactly it is that pulls me out of these funks. How do I shake the cloud hanging over my head?

I still don't know the full answer. 

But one thing I do know, is that there is healing and relief in writing it down. There is value in telling your story. There is comfort in putting words and sentences together, even if it is only a few. 

There is something about writing it down that sheds light on the situation -- whether it is a lesson learned, a new perspective or a releasing of some of that pressure. 

And still, still, in the midst of all of this, there is still so much to be grateful for. As I sit here at my desk and the sunset is hitting the cornfields and the little stone church across the road, after a day of grey and clouds, the light is already changing. 

i wish

i wish...

i'd brought my binoculars to get a closer look at the pair of hawks sitting shoulder to shoulder in the sycamore.

i'd brought a tissue, two in fact, for my nose and the nose of the little one holding my hand.

i'd brought my camera to capture the ice on the stream and the kittens frisking under the forsythia.

i'd brought a magnifying lens to look up-close at the patterns on the underside of the bark.

i'd brought a zoom lens (if i had one) to catch a picture of the bright red cardinals in the bare branches of the trees. are their colors getting deeper as the temperatures get colder or do they just stand out more against the backdrop of winter?

i'd brought a warmer pair of mittens.

Instead, it was just me and Elizabeth. Morning chores. The collecting of wood scraps to stir up the woodstove. A trail of cats in front of us, a line of chickens behind us. And lots of stopping along the way to notice, to look closely, to guess, to admire. 

And sometimes, that's perfectly enough.

2009 : in photos + words : april

: 26 april 2009 :

| Grateful To The Last |

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 ....

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 the love received and given, however much. No one who has gratitude is the onliest one. Let us pray to be grateful to the last. 

: 16 april 2009 :

| Black Walnut's Home Birth |

: 12 april 2009 :

| swarm and settle |

....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 whose 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 ....

: 7 april 2009 :

| little mysteries |

: 5 april 2009 :

| living a complex life |

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...

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 the complex life"....

: 20 april 2009 :

| chicken picnic |

2009 : in photos + words : february

: 25 February 2009 :

| Changing Our Pace  |

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 today.

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. ....

: 15 February 2009 :

| Cause For Celebration |

I feel like a proud mother. Or maybe a proud mother hen. We've been waiting for this day since September. And lately, with all the spring-like weather, and rooster hanky-panky, I had a feeling it would be happening soon ....

 : 17 February 2009 :

| Not Enough Protein At Lunch |

I began to literally walk from cupboard to cupboard, looking inside and trying to determine what I could possibly cover in chocolate ....

2009 : in photos + words : january

For the next twelve posts, I thought I'd take a look back at 2009, a month at a time. I'm going to pull a favorite picture or two, a few words from a post I want to remember and cherish. I feel like it's a good way to reflect, and a good way to go forward into the New Year. 

To celebrate the good things, the hard things I thought I might just not make it through, the "seasons" that have passed, the funny moments and the joys of 2009, before I wish her so long.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

: 15 January 2009 :

 Befriending a Rooster

I've got this thing with roosters. It goes back to my childhood growing up on a farm. There was Friendly, the rooster who did not live up to his name ....

: 13 January 2009 : 

: Cue The Doves : 

This morning in a sleepy stupor, I heard the rustling of children downstairs. Moments later, I woke to hushed giggles beside my bed and opened my eyes to a dove, preening her feathers on my pillow ....

: 05 January 2009 : 

New Year, New Project :

Habit was born out of a desire to capture little bits of our everyday lives--nothing staged--but real life moments we experience every day. It was meant to stretch us ....

lessons from the landscape

Sometimes I wish I had it all figured out. That I'd learned all of life's lessons so that I didn't need to be taught anymore. I wish my well of patience was overflowing and that when faced with annoyances, stresses, messes, unwelcome news, I could handle it with more grace and calm.

Yesterday my car broke down.

My laptop keyboard broke, leaving me to type this post at an excruciatingly slow speed.

I missed an ultrasound appointment.

My vacuum cleaner broke.

I felt the heavy strain of the same thing that always wears on me lately.

My two year old is waking way too early, napping way too briefly, and taking way too long to fall asleep.

And my house feels dirty and disorganized.

I can hear my mother's voice in my head, "this too shall pass." And I've said to my husband many times that I see the light at the end of the tunnel, yet for some reason we're on a treadmill.

Yesterday afternoon when Elizabeth woke up from her nap, crying, I went in to hold her, hoping to lull her back to sleep. I wrapped her in quilts and we sat in the chair, in her dark quiet room. Within seconds I felt the heaviness of her little body against mine and I heard her breathing switch to the raspy rhythms of sleep.

As I sat there in the chair, I tried to talk myself out of my mood. I tried to regain perspective. I prayed. But man, I just couldn't. I so wish I could have gotten that fresh breath, that new perspective, but it just wasn't coming. And I knew that I was being faced with one of those days where every reserve of patience is required. But I was either finding my reserve empty, or I was just unwilling to dip into it.

I have to say, I'm learning as I type this post. That sometimes on the hard days it feels easier to just rage against all that's wrong in your life. It feels easier to be in a bad mood. To snap at your children. To curse the mess. To allow yourself to believe that everyone else has it all together, has everything in their house working, has every load of laundry folded and put away. But if that is the path you choose it leaves you feeling worn out, exhausted, disappointed and does absolutely nothing to change the situation.

I've been thinking lately how the view out my window has changed. In what feels like the blink of an eye, the trees have shed their leaves, the zinnias flower heads have turned brown and gone to seed. But now, with the landscape stripped bare, it is amazing what hidden beauty comes into view. The trees are littered with nests. Tiny works of woven art. If I stand in the girls bedroom and look out the window, I can see the shimmer of the sun hitting the stream that runs at the back of our property.

When stripped bare, the landscape is revealing its inner beauty. When taken back to bare bones and twigs there is still something to behold.

In a small sense, yesterday stripped me bare. Some of my leaves were blown from the tree. And unfortunately, afterward, there wasn't much beauty to behold.

But I'm still learning. I'm still a young tree. I'm growing. And maybe next time when things seem to be falling down around me, there will be a little more beauty to behold on the inside.

dressing up the dresser

I've been on a bit of a mission lately. I'm capitalizing on this second trimester bliss--lots of energy, decent mobility before I get really huge and awkward and a strong desire to simplify everything around the house.

Yesterday, I bit the bullet and began my attack on Emma and Mary's bedroom. Their room has been going downhill lately. Swiftly downhill. To the point where I often don't even step foot into their bedroom because it overwhelms me. I tell them to throw their dirty laundry into their hallway, I retrieve it and look away. They make their beds each morning as part of our routine, but I haven't been cracking down much more than that.

Dan goes in their room each night to read and will often tell them that if he doesn't seem some improvement in their rooms when he gets home the next day there will be no horseback riding that week. But the girls' idea of room improvement is shoving things into random dresser drawers, under beds, and into toy baskets. That's not working.

It's not a new concept around here, but it's one that needs to be revisited more often:

Less is more.

Less toys means they play better. Less clothes means the laundry is more manageable, their dressers are tidy and there's a place for everything. Less "things" in their room, means less "things" on the floor, under beds, thrown into baskets.

So yesterday afternoon the three of us waded into their bedroom and began an attack. We cleaned out, reorganized, threw out, and gave away things from every corner of their room. Everything is gone from under beds. Every dresser drawer has been opened, folded and reorganized. Every book put back into place and many, many toys have found new "homes" out in the (storage) barn, or with another needier family.

I cut back their room to have just a few things : a small basket of schleich animals, with a fold-able wooden fence, a suitcase of dress-up clothes, a suitcase of doll clothes, and their books. But I'm thinking, once I get the downstairs toy situation under control, the suitcases will be moved there, instead.

It is amazing to me, what simplifying and organizing does for children's play. They could barely get through the last of the dusting and vacuuming before all three girls were belly down on the floor setting up elaborate scenes with their animals and fencing. The room felt lighter, happier and more peaceful. It was a space that they enjoyed.

Once we were completely finished, I gave them a tour of their room. We talked about what was in every drawer, where the Schleich toys went, how books go on the book shelf, where dirty laundry belongs. I pretended they were new children that were moving into my home who needed instruction on how we do things.

And then I gave them a quiz.

They ate it up.

As a treat, and because I had borrowed a sewing machine for another project, I secretly whipped out a little dresser scarf for each of the girls yesterday afternoon. Their bedside table tops are eye-sores. And this was one way to dress up the dresser and added a little touch of sweetness to their room. They were so excited.

About as excited as I was to have a sewing machine in my house again, even if it's only for a few days. When Emma found out I had it she said, "Good. Because I have sooo much sewing I need to get done." A girl after my own heart.

If you haven't heard, I've started an epidemic around blogland, introducing people to the inspiration that is tumblr. Each day a few new friends succumb to the disease. I love it. I have a few kids rooms posted on my tumblr from the past few days that are inspiring me lately--with the exception of the first one, with the bunk beds. I simply liked the beds, otherwise the room is a little too busy for my new simplifying mentality. :) So stop by, take a look around, be inspired. There is so much goodness out there to enjoy.

when all else fails, go to the stream

Each day, as part of our morning routine, I have the girls write a few things in their Gratitude Journals. I've found that it helps them reflect on their day and remember that they have many blessings and much to be thankful for.

Lately, I have to confess, I've been wallowing in some worry. Letting it get to me when my worry can do nothing to help or change the situation.

And it struck me on Monday, that I needed to be keeping a gratitude journal of my own. So I traded in my teacher hat, and became a learner, just like my children, spending a few quiet moments attempting to refocus my worry into what gifts and goodness I already had in my life.

Armed with my new attitude, and inspired by a much-needed day of sunshine, we blew off much of our typical school work and headed outside to the stream.

I packed my camera, my FLIP and we headed out to a newly-discovered spot in the stream--accessible now that the cooler temperatures have dried and pressed down the once long and overgrown grasses and vines. A turn in the stream that has been catching logs and debris for quite some time. It makes for a magical spot. Slightly nerve-wracking for the mother on the shore, but still quite a place to explore.

A little musical montage for you to enjoy....and lest you think that all is magical and perfect here on Thomas Run--allow me to let you in on the behind the scenes:

The movie is set to music because Mary was crying desperately  in the background since I wouldn't let her cross over the stream on the tree trunks without my help (in her very slippery, new cowgirl boots).

The movie is spliced together in order to edit out one child who wasn't completely clothed after needing to "use the facilities" once we got down to the stream, which subsequently led to each child needing to "use the facilities" Funny how that always happens.

And the littlest and probably the most fearless in my brood explores the edges of the water without any care or knowledge of the consequences if she were to fall into the water. (You'll notice the camera lurch when she slips on the shore, and I prepare to dive in and save her.)

Enjoy.

Happy Wednesday, friends. What are you thankful for today?

there and back again

This weekend, I did something that fell into two categories...something I haven't done in a really long time, and something I've always wanted to do.

On Friday morning, I packed my bags (equal parts knitting/camera supplies and clothing), waved goodbye to my three little girls and headed out on the road with my dear cousin Maggie. We were on a little pilgrimage of sorts--the something I've always wanted to do. We took a long weekend away to visit our other dear cousin Catherine and experience first-hand some of our family history.

We saw the homes that my father, grandmother, grandfather, and other "great-greats" grew up in or called home. We stood on the shores of the bay where my grandmother once played and sailed. We visited gravestones, yacht clubs, cottages and main streets.

We hoisted each other over tall privacy fences to snap pictures and get closer looks.

We sat around, knitting in our laps, watching old movies and slide shows mourning, yet adoring the loved ones we've lost.

We laughed until our sides ached.

We cried some more.

I tried to figure out a way to really describe my weekend away, but I am truly left without words. It feels like something that can only be understood by a handful of people who know what I know, have known what I have known and long for the same things I long for.

But I can tell you, that getting to experience my family's history in such a tangible way has left a deep impression on my heart.

I haven't done something like this in a very long time, leaving all my babes behind and going somewhere by myself. But I am returning with a sense of refreshment, contentment and a joyful sorrow that has been escaping me for quite some time.

normal is good

I read this quote last week on Ali's blog and it has left a serious impression on me. I don't know what it is about these words, but they really were the thing that I needed to hear.

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.

I think that sometimes, I get too thrown off by a slight bump in the road, an unexpected mess, a bit of disobedience, a forgotten errand or ingredient, an argument between little girls. I forget that these things are just part of life. These things are part of a normal day.

And while I strongly believe that each day holds bits that are glorious, and sweet, and tender and darn near perfect--a normal day, I'm reminded--is an excellent thing. It is something to be celebrated, and recognized for what it is.

Maybe I shouldn't open this can of worms, but I think the search for "some rare and perfect tomorrow" can be one of the downsides of blogging and blog reading. Because it is true, we pick and choose what we share, what we photograph, the stories we tell. We often capture moments that look like bliss. We zoom in on the children playing happily and don't zoom out on the piles of laundry on the sofa and the ping-pong-sized dust balls scampering around under the furniture.

And that's okay. If blogging were only about those piles of laundry and dust bunnies, it would lose a lot of its inspiration. And the celebration of those blissful days and moments and creativity is important.

But if we think that everyone is having a "rare and perfect tomorrow" but us, then we are beginning to lose perspective. If we think our day was less than wonderful just because it was "normal," than we need to step back and take a look at what is good and healthy and what is part of our every day lives.

And though I've somehow managed to change my pronouns from "I" to "we", I'm still mostly talking to myself. 

And on some days, when we may be lamenting "normal", there is someone else, somewhere, who is longing for just a little taste of normal once again.

So I hope you know, that this post is written for me. And that when I sat down to write this post, my intention was to only share the quote. I guess I had more to say. And I don't mean this to be a trashing of blogging because those thoughts showed up as I was writing. But lately, I've found myself really trying to keep my blogging habits in perspective.

Mostly I want this post and this quote to be an encouragement. Because while it left me thinking, it really encouraged me as well.

And this last week, I've really been enjoying my normal. Both the wonderful little nearly-perfect moments, the chaotic moments, and the mundane ones, too. Because they all make up my normal.

And normal is good.

a day like this

Saturday afternoon, Dan headed over to my Grandpa Sayre's farm to chop and split some wood. He took Mary and Emma with him. When Elizabeth woke up from her nap, she was heartbroken, that everyone had gone to Grandpa's without her. So we jumped in the car together and headed over.

We got there, just as the first hints of nightfall were arriving. The sun was leaving it's warming golden glow on every hillside and slipping between the trees.

I'm so glad I thought to throw the camera in the front seat of the car with me because I couldn't even make it up Grandpa's long driveway without having to pull over and take a few photographs.

When we finally pulled into the house, I could hear the chain saw, but couldn't see Dan anywhere. Down over the steep back hill, I found him slowly taking apart a downed Ash tree.

Elizabeth and I started the hike over the hill, knowing (and thankful) that we could get a ride back to the top in the truck. The girls met us from behind a few strides down the hill--they'd been down in the barn, jumping in the corn and checking out the cows.

When Dan finished, and we finally got back up to Grandpa's house, he came out to say goodbye. We stood there for a long time, the girls playing in the back of the truck, Grandpa and Dan talking about property lines, woodburners, farming and politics.

And I stood back, making sure no one toppled out of the truck bed and soaking in the scenery as the light changed from golden yellow to deep blues, to pink, to dark purple. 

At one point I stood with the sun setting at one shoulder, the moon reaching into the sky at the other.

It was remarkable.

Grandpa told the girls how, on nights like this, he comes out to those chairs and watches the clouds and waits for the deer to come out of the woods. And how just a few nights ago, he counted 37.

Some light rain finally chased us home--dirty children, a tired, sore and hungry husband.

As I pulled out of the driveway, waving to my girls sitting three across in the truck, all I could think was how blessed I am, we are. To have places like this to come to. To have views like this to cherish. To have people like Grandpa to share stories with and love. To have strong bodies to do work. Warm homes to protect us in bitter cold. And a place like this, and people like you to mark the moment, and share those feelings of fullness and contentment that come at the end of a day like this.

10 Ways To Get Outside--Even After School Starts

My friend Anne, from National Wildlife's Green Hour blog, asked if I would share these ten tips with all of you--on finding time to get outside with our children, even once the craziness of the school year starts. It is something that I believe is vital and important, so of course, I was happy to share them here. You can find the tips in their original location here on the Green Hour Blog--with live links, a few aren't working for me. Typepad is fussy.

And I would love to hear (and I'm sure Anne would too) the ways that you make time to get outside with your children, even once life gets busy. What are you favorite activities? Do you make time for a walk after dinner each night? Do you send them on a scavenger hunt? I'm sure we all have great ideas worth sharing.  It is amazing how easily children become engaged in the outside, natural world.

: BE OUT THERE : from NWF's Green Hour Blog :

Homework, soccer practice, ballet – is there time in the schedule to play outside? Here are some tips to get a Green Hour -- or at least part of an hour – during a busy day:

1. Scenario: Traffic made you late, there's no time to cook dinner, so you drive the family over to the rotisserie chicken place to get a quick meal.

Tip: Keep a picnic blanket in your car for an impromptu picnic on any spot of grass you can find!

2. Scenario: Backpack? Check. Lunch? Check. You're ready to head to school.

Tip: Whether you drive or walk to school, or wait with your child by the bus-stop, take a moment to notice nature. Make it a game of "I Spy" -- or download this nature scavenger hunt at greenhour.org/hunt.

3. Scenario: Your child is studying plants at school and, at the dinner table, recites how photosynthesis works. You, yourself, have never successfully kept a plant alive.

Tip: Start small: All you need is some bird-seed and a sponge. For sponge-garden instructions, visit greenhour.org/spongegarden. Next step: check out National Gardening Association’s parents’ primer for gardening with kids at kidsgardening.com/primer.asp.

3. Scenario: You and your youngest wait outside your older child's school, a few minutes before the bell rings.

Tip: Look up at the sky together. "Wait, mom -- is that a sheep or a donkey?" Picking out shapes in the clouds is a classic childhood activity -- and needs no special equipment.

4. Scenario: Your child looks at you and says, "Mom -- I'm a little old for cloud-watching!"

Tip: For older kids, combine technology with the outdoors and go geo-caching or, the lower-tech version, letterboxing. There are about 20,000 letterboxes and 250,000 geocaches hidden in North America. Visit geocaching.com and letterboxing.org.

5. Scenario: The kids get home from school and immediately plop in front of the TV. You suggest going outside. They respond, "Indoors is more fun!"

Tip #1: Set time-limits for TV watching and video game playing. It won't be popular, so make sure you have a back-up plan. If you have a backyard, kid-customize it with a homemade fort, dart boards, a trampoline, a craft table. Set up a bird house to keep wildlife visiting.

Tip #2: No backyard? Find your local parks using nwf.org/naturefind. For older kids, start stretching your child's boundaries, allowing them to go for unsupervised walks in the neighborhood with groups of friends. They'll love the feeling of independence.

6. Scenario: Outside, it’s a perfect fall day, but you look at your child’s homework assignments and realize outside play-time isn’t a reality.

Tip: Take homework outside! There’s no reason math problems can’t be done in the fresh air. Set up a clean outdoor workspace for your child on a patio table, perhaps.

7. Scenario: Your daughter comes home from school clutching new-found treasures: three crumbly leaves, two acorns and a dirt-encrusted rock.

Tip: Instead of putting them on the kitchen counter, a drawer, or -- gasp -- the trash, start a nature table. Set a limit of how many items they can have in the "nature museum" -- so they'll keep it to a manageable number. Other ideas: use an old tackle or sewing box, or a hanging shoe-organizer with clear plastic pockets. Have your kids decorate it!

9. Scenario: A blank piece of paper in front of her, your daughter asks you, "What should I draw?"

Tip: Have your child make a map of your neighborhood -- using only natural landmarks. This will heighten his or her observation skills and can be the first step in creating a "field guide" to the nature in your neighborhood.

10. Scenario: It's 8 p.m. Dinner's over, but not quite time for bed.

Tip: Keep flashlights near the door, and go for a neighborhood night hike. Kids will love the novelty -- and you can challenge them to identify "night sounds." Learn how to make a moon journal at greenhour.org/moonjournal.

Anne Keisman is Be Out There Editor for the National Wildlife Federation. Follow her on Twitter: @GreenHour.

ribbons and recipes

Last Tuesday afternoon, Emma and I found ourselves scrambling around a sticky hot kitchen. While I gave her directions on measuring this, leveling that, and "do you know what it means to cream the butter and sugar?" and "you should really crack the eggs in a separate bowl first, but we don't have time for that."; I also fielded the whining from a jealous little sister, "You never let me do anything in the kitchen!" and tried to comfort and keep tabs on my three house guests who I worried were wilting in the heat and bored out of their minds.

For the two days prior, we'd lost electricity in a storm that seemed to settle in and swirl around our valley. And so this day, fair day, we were left to prepare almost everything.

We were multi-tasking wonders--between baking and measuring, she'd do another touch-up on her painting. I'd dry the paint with the hair dryer while she wrote out the labels for her photography--I don't want to talk about how many times we had to redo the labels.....while the cake baked, she changed her clothes, threw her hair back in a ponytail and we searched for our gate passes and read through the all directions one more time.

I quizzed her on things I thought the judge might ask about each of her projects:

What kind of paints did you use?
What's the name of your cake?
At what temperature did you bake your cake?
What kind of camera did you use?

And I tried to give her gentle nudges of things she might want to share with the judge:

You could tell her that the eggs are from your own chickens.
You could tell her the story about how you finished your painting and then your little sister got into the paints and covered it in black.
You could tell her how your mother is this amazing photographer who takes stunning pictures and she taught you everything she knows and she has this photography project called ha......(kidding. i didn't say any of that. of course.)

And right on schedule at 4 o'clock, we all loaded into the car, her bag carefully packed with half a cake on a pretty teal plate, her photographs and her painting of a sheep. We made our way to the fairgrounds and found the judging table for the Clovers--the children who aren't quite old enough to be full-fledged 4-Hers yet.

She walked up to the table. And I stepped back.

The judge was sweet--overflowing with compliments, asking sweet simple questions, nowhere near as difficult as those she'd fielded from me. And I smiled as I heard Emma tell the judge the story of the ruined and rescued painting.

And then her things were carried away, into the big home arts building under the green flag of clovers. Set on display among other children's projects--birdhouses and scrapbooks, knitted turtles and cross-stitched pillows, model rockets and strawberry jam.

When we came back to the fair Friday night, I believe she entered the fairgrounds skipping. So proud of that little white card in her hand that proved she was a card-carrying 4-Her. So excited to show her Daddy her projects on display and dying to see those silky green ribbons she knew would be hanging from each one.

So, I thought this morning in honor of the sticky hot fair days that are behind us, I'd share Emma's recipe for Sour Cream Pound Cake. A recipe given to me years and years ago, which we've since made our own. It is so good and just the right amount of sweet. One of the judges even arrived at Emma's table, fork in hand, "I just have to try this cake." And afterward, I heard her whisper in Emma's ear, "You make one awesome cake little girl." and she reached for one more slice.

Enjoy.

COUNTY FAIR CAKE

3/4 c. butter, soft
2 1/4 c. sugar (and that's why it's so good)
4 eggs
2 1/4 c. flour
1/4 t. baking soda
3/4 c. sour cream (i like to make it an overflowing 3/4 cup.) (can also be subst. w/ yogurt)
1 t. vanilla
1/2 t. lemon extract (optional. we never add it)

Cream butter and sugar. Add eggs one at a time, beating after each. To creamed mixture add sour cream and flour mix, alternately. Starting and ending with the flour mix. Mix until just blended after each addition. Stir in flavorings.

Pour batter into a greased and sugared (that's the key) bundt pan. Bake at 325 degrees for an hour or until toothpick comes out clean. Cool in pan for 10 minutes. Remove from pan onto a wire rack and continue to cool. Sprinkle with powdered sugar.