MommyCoddle

A sneak peek // Maggie's nursery

My dear friend + cousin Maggie (whose beautiful farm wedding you may remember from the summer) has had quite the year. Just days ago she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy who I cannot wait to get into my arms to snuggle, and fill my lungs with that luscious newborn scent.

 

A few weeks before he arrived, Maggie sent me a couple pictures of his nursery. Maggie and I share a love for mixing the old with the new. Most importantly, nostalgic touches that remind us of our roots. And her nursery does that, too. Old vintage pictures of family and a silver hair brush that belonged to a great grandmother. A sheepskin draped over a modern rocker. The mallard stool that used to sit beside our grandmother's bed.

I asked Maggie to take a few more pictures and thought I'd share them here with all of you. I love little sneak peeks--and a new baby nursery most of all. Not only that, Maggie is my knitting hero. This baby boy is wrapped in love and handmade knits. 

Thank you, Maggie for somehow managing to navigate the new waters of motherhood, and send me pictures of your beautiful nursery. You are an amazing mama. I know it! 

Instagram in print

There are a lot of things on my list of "Things I wish I was more diligent about". One of those is keeping track of our days in a more everyday way. There's the five year journal I've started and stopped. The 365 projects I've never signed on for. The Project Life series I've never been brave enough to try.

Then there's the notion of my grandmother's scrapbooks kept for her family of 15, full of report cards, doctor's bills, greeting cards, family letters--years and years worth of big, overstuffed leather-bound scrapbooks. 

The other thing on my more diligent list is printing pictures. I take a ton of pictures. And now with this shiny little iPhone in my hand, I take even more. But I never, ever print. When Emma was a baby and there was no such thing as digital cameras, I took and printed pictures. Slipped them into albums, captioned each, wrote a few lines, memories. And now the album is falling apart with use and love. 

Then, there's Instagram. While I don't do anything so organized as post every day or try to capture anything in particular, it has naturally evolved into this beautiful collection of special moments in my family's day. A trip out, the way they're sitting together at the kitchen table, a typical day running errands, a special moment at the stream. It's unrehearsed. Unposed. Natural. And, honestly, above all, convenient.

So when I recently discovered that Blurb has a bookmaking process that sucks all the photos in your *Instagram stream, right onto the pages of a book I was intriguied. And late one night when there were a million things to do but this thing, I decided to see what it was like. 

It was simple. I put them in my book in chronological order. Deleted and moved around a few that I didn't want in there, and basically held by breath and hit publish. 

But here's the thing. Just like my personal discovery that my moleskine journal needed to stop being what I thought it should be, and could just be what I needed it to be, I applied that same thinking to this book. I've thought about doing photobooks before but have gotten stuck on the idea of design, captions, and making it perfect. 

But while I wanted to see these photos in print, in something my kids could hold in their hands and flip through, I also wanted my personal imprint to be on the pages. So I decided to print every page with nothing else but a photo. 

Now with the (beautifully published) book in hand, I'm adding my imprint to the book in the form of captions and dates in my own **handwriting. 

And honestly, it's exactly what I wanted. It's turned into the perfect balance of my photographs plus my own hand. Something that I hope my kids will love to flip through and read and enjoy for years to come.

And I hope there will be more.

Once again, I let go of what everyone else was doing, what I thought I should be doing and gave myself the freedom to do what I wanted and needed to do. I needed it to be simple. I wanted it to be personal. And I found a way to capture both. 

I'm so happy with the way it's turning out. 

*I'm mollybalint on Instagram. Come find me!

**The pen I'm using is this one, which also happens to be my favorite pen, which also happens to be the pen I use in my moleskine, which also happens to be perfect for this as well.

Things to love and a bonus

1. A pre-bed pile up in the backyard.

2. Embroidered cyanotypes

3. This kitchen scene

Source: thatkindofwoman.tumblr.com via Molly on Pinterest

 

4. This lovely little path.

5. Forgetting. Then remembering, this CD.

6. This playhouse.

Source: blogs.babycenter.com via Molly on Pinterest

 

7. This moment that feels so true to my crazy little family, including the begging. And yes, the duck came, too. And seriously, why do they always talk me into getting the big, unweildy truck cart? Because they NEVER ride in it. Obviously.

8. This gave me a chuckle.

9. This is huge.

10. And this, totally inspired me. (via DesignMom

BONUS: Know what I don't love? Stink bugs. If you have no idea what these are, thank your lucky stars. But, seriously, if I get dive-bombed one more time while reading in my bed, or sitting here working at my desk, I may just cry. I'm sorry, but I can't find any reason to be grateful for stink bugs.

When to step back. When to step in.

Oh my goodness, hello. Phew, there has been lots of animal drama and changes and excitement around here this past week. I'll be updating very soon, but we're still recovering and regrouping from a crazy-busy weekend. Dan put in 16 hours on Saturday alone, just working on a new project for the girls and me. And he was up again Sunday morning, before church, putting in more time. He's a good, good man. And now a very tired and sore man.

In the meantime, I'm back tracking a bit, to catch up and catch my breath...

With a house full of four girls the dynamics are very interesting to observe. The girls go through so many different phases. Even with the baby, I love seeing how one of her sisters will emerge at different stages to be the one that has what we call the "magic touch". When Birdy was in those early newborn stages, it was Mary. With her gentle hands and cooing whispers in her tiny ears. Then Emma was a master at that crawling, giggly stage--all peekaboo and belly laughs and carrying her outside on her hip to tackle morning chores. Now Birdy and Elizabeth are partners in play, though Birdy's joy when any of her sisters walks in the room is downright contagious. 

But the same kind of dynamics happen with my older girls, too. This winter, Mary and Elizabeth were bound at the hip. There were all things dress-up, Little House on The Prairie and dance parties. And Emma was on the outside, feeling a little too old, sometimes left out, and not exactly sure how to jump in. 

In the last month or so, there's been a shift again. Mary and Emma are "grown up" best buddies. Sometimes a little too cool, oftentimes too cool for their little sister, Elizabeth, who finds herself waffling between trying to keep up with their "big girl" plans or playing "baby games" with her littlest sister.

As a parent it's sometimes hard to watch. I want to step in and get involved, but I find it's best to sort of let things be, as long as no one is being purposely left out or hurt. As long as no one is being mean or rude, I try to let the changes play out their own way. 

But last week, my sweet Elizabeth was feeling out of sorts. Her sisters were either deep into school work, or making big plans for projects and things she wasn't involved in. I could tell she needed a little something special, just for her. 

And so I pulled an oldie out of my parenting carpet bag. I knew she needed a project. Needed something to do with me, just the two of us. Something special. So I dug deep into my recipe box (very, very deep) and pulled out an old faded, wrinkled recipe for homemade play dough. 

It's nothing new or earth-shattering, I know. But the making of the dough, the choosing of colors, the kneading of the warm dough, was just what she needed. I've always believed there is something therapeutic about making things with kids. It softens hearts, repairs hurt feelings, brings everyone around the table, together. 

And that's just what happened. Eventually, her sisters wandered into the kitchen with us--playdough knows no age limits. "Elizabeth, can I play with the green? Elizabeth, want me to get out the cookie cutters? Elizabeth, lets see who can make the best cake out of all the colors." Suddenly the playing field was level again. Everyone was included. And Elizabeth found her place at the table again. 

This parenting gig isn't easy. The when to step back, when to step in question always challenges me--whether its letting them work out differences, play out different relationships or solve problems. Whether it's walking a hard line or extending grace. 

But on this day, I think maybe with dough in-hand (and ground into the carpet) I got it right. 

I had to dig pretty deep for my playdough recipe. It's always nice to have it handy, so I've shared mine below. 

Click HERE to download the recipe card.

 

In progress: the four square garden

With every year we spend in our house, Dan tries to focus on a new gardening project each Spring. One year it was the vegetable garden, then it was supposed to be flower beds. But it turned out the vegetable garden needed more tweaking. And it still does. Gardening is such a continual learning experience. Trial and error. Jump in. See what works. Try again. 

But this year we're finally breaking ground on one project that has been continually shoved to the back burner.

We're finally putting in what we all refer to as "the four square garden". It is inspired by (though it will never be as wonderful as) "the four square garden" at my grandparents' farm, above. It is one of my favorite spots at my grandparents' home. A spot that was backdrop to many a family photograph (15 original children + their children + their children's children), a wedding photo session, my girls' favorite place to play when we lived on the farm, and it's the path everyone walks through on their way down to the swimming pool. 

Our four square will never have quite the grandeur of my grandmother's but it is the inspiration for the one we are putting in. 

And while this is a whole other train of thought...things are changing dramatically at my grandparents' place and I'm forced to let go of what was. I'm learning that I must bring those memories and experiences and plant them in my own life, and in my own home, and for my own children. No amount of change changes that.

For now, Dan has begun to rip out and level out an existing garden that is where the four square will go. A big mounded up thing that we found out (from our neighbor who grew up in our house) was a dumping ground for the ashes from their coal stove. The garden had some pretty elements, but mostly it was overrun by bind weed--(which I'm convinced comes straight from the hand of the devil) and thistle (a farmer's foe). We moved as many plants as we could and are using the remaining bush as a central point. 

The fencing around is both because we love it, but also because we have serious chicken problems without it. Our free-range girls get around and love to pick and dig and nibble on flower heads and buds. 

Eventually, there will be four plots in each corner. And hopefully a pea gravel path in between each. 

I envision the pickets weathering to a nice grey finish. And viney things winding and wrapping their way around and through the boards. And herbs. And interesting plant varieties. 

This weekend, we made a trek to a place I have been begging to go to since I heard about it over a year ago-- Terrain. 

People. Seriously. Terrain is my heaven on earth. One of those stores where you walk in and every. single. thing. fits perfectly with your style and esthetic and vision of what look you'd like in your home. 

And your garden. 

We went for inspiration. I was hoping to bring home a few plants that might get us going. At the very least, we were ready to put in a row of plants on the outside of the fence. 

But Dan and I were both a bit overwhelmed by the experience. 

So we came home empty-handed but with a better vision for what we want to do. I have notes scribbled down on a piece of paper and photos snapped on my phone. 

We'll definitely go back when we're a little more advanced in our project. 

This weekend, the fence was finished (except for a gate) and the tiller was repaired. (Thanks to Birdy, of course.) 

This week, a row of day lilies will go in a row along the outside of the fence. 

We're making progress. Slowly. A labor of love and nostalgia. 

I'll keep you updated with photos as we move along. But I'd love to hear what's going on in your gardens. Flowers? Vegetables? New plans? Container gardens? I'd love to hear from you.

on Friday

Molly:

Locally sourced. (And how she does breakfast every morning.)

Mary:

Outside my bedroom window. Wakes me every morning with a grateful heart for the beauty of the season.

Happy Weekend friends!

xo.

Molly

 

 

how we do two

It's become a tradition in this house that for the early birthdays, I make ice cream cone cupcakes. It's really nothing earth-shattering--just pouring the cupcake batter into cake cones, baking and frosting. I'm sure there's probably some fancy-schmancy holder out there for this job, but I just set each cone inside my cupcake tins.

The hardest part is maneuvering the cupcakes from the counter into the oven. It takes a very steady hand. I recommend holding your breath while attempting. But there's something about the cake batter baked inside those cake cones that is SO good. Seriously. I think when my birthday rolls around I just might have to choose these for myself.

But more importantly, for the small set they make a perfect little cupcake that's easy to hold on to and devour. It's become a family tradition of sorts. 

More soon, including some pictures from my sister's on-going kitchen remodel, some guerrila goodness and other general randomness, as always!

 

Beware the sound of silence

Birdy is whole heartedly at the age where silence in my house means something very mischievous must be happening somewhere. 

It's no longer innocent either. 

And it usually involves markers.

You'd think I'd learn by now to keep the markers out of reach. And actually, I'm pretty sure I've made some rule about keeping markers in the metal can and keeping the can on top of the bookshelves in the school room. 

But when everyone else in the house is up to their elbows in daily art projects and sign-making for bedroom doors, and charts, and secret club sign-up sheets, it's hard to remember to always put the markers away. I guess. 

I've learned that the first place to check for her is under tables. If they're covered in a tablecloth, even more secretive and ideal.There will generally be a small collection of toys that don't belong to her. And a marker. Coloring her cheeks used to be her thing. Now, she colors her cheeks and lips, but quickly moves on to decorating the toys, too. 

She has also decorated the sofa arm. And inside the towel cupboard in the bathroom. And of course the walls. I've come to expect the wall-decorating. 

She highlighted the bookshelf in the living room. As well as running that same highlighter along the binding of each of Dan's books on the top shelf. How kind of her. We appreciate her hard highlighting work, we do. 

Two nights ago, after her bath, she discovered the joys climbing into the dryer. To be honest, I'm surprised it's taken her this long to make the discovery. She's a child who likes a "house" to engage in all her mischievous work. It used to a cupboard in the bathroom. My clue would be the towels all over the bathroom floor. And the closed cubpoard doors. And the silence. 

But two nights ago when she realized she could very easily climb into the dryer, and it fit several stuffed animals, and it echoed when you squealed inside? She was sold. 

When I hung up after a phone call yesterday and realized the house was silent, I began the (slightly panicked) search for Birdy. She doesn't answer when I call for her (something we're working on). And Mary couldn't find her upstairs. I couldn't find her downstairs. Or outside. 

Eventually she was discovered in the dryer. 

These are probably things I shouldn't admit openly. Losing track of my toddler. Or the damage she does while unattended. But this Birdy is a firecracker. She moves to the beat of her own drum. Determined. Strong-willed. All those things. 

And as of six days ago, facing the world as a newly crowned two year old. Here we go.

Today on Thomas Run

When Birdy went missing.

Last week, while I was on the phone with Emily, all the kids were outside playing. Birdy, who jumps at any opportunity to be outside, was standing at my hip crying because she was inside and everyone else was out. When her screaming to go out became too much to talk over, I hung up with Emily long enough to put Birdy in her boots and sent her outside--calling to her sisters to keep any eye on her. 

Emily and I continued to talk and I watched as some of the girls wandered back into the house. Finally, much later, Emma came in. Alone. 

Where's Birdy? I asked.

She's inside with the girls. 

No, she's not. You were watching her outside.

No one told me I was watching her. 

And then, there's that parenting moment where you get the immediate pit in your stomach. Deep, deep down you're pretty sure everything is just fine. But in a flash, you've systematically worked through every possible horrible scenario that could happen to your unattended toddler. And what steps you'll take to deal with the emergency. As well as the fact that you haven't showered and if you're going to need to now make a trip to the emergency room, you're looking pretty scruffy and maybe you'll be able to at least wash your hair in the kitchen sink before you go. 

Please. Tell me I'm not the only one who manages all these thoughts in course of 12 seconds?

But of course,  we found her.

And of course where else would she be but playing in the muddiest corner or our property, where the driveway meets the grass. Where the water gathers after every rain. And mixes with mud and stone and mulch and soil. 

And of course, she was wearing one of my favorite sweaters. And her best pair of jeans.

But who was watching her? Her very best pal.

Of course. 

hello again

This is my desk this morning.

It's actually a new little space I created for myself in the kitchen. While I try to do a few things this morning, Birdy is bringing me her stash of animals. I can hear her coming now. And she's dragging a xylophone behind her. Eventually, I'll start giving them back to her. "Back" she'll say and toddle with them back to her room. She's so meticulous. Picking up bits of trash and carrying them all the way to the kitchen trash can. Picking up her sleepers and putting them in her laundry basket. Pushing a chair under the kitchen table when she sees it out of place. I wonder how to nurture this behavior because I love it. I go a little overboard for now when she puts things where they belong. I'm hoping this will encourage her. 

Today is Monday and it marks the first day of a new "adventure" for me. It's a new writing opportunity that kinda shakes out to more than just the here and there kind of freelance writing I've been doing in the past. The work will be with Babycenter but I'll have to wait a bit to get the all-clear to give more details. Sorry. I hate it when people do that. But I'm writing about it here to let you know that there are going to be some growing pains at first. It's definitely more of a commitment. More of a job now, than a hobby. But a job I'm excited about with a company and group of people I'm so happy to be part of. And, to be completely honest, a blessing for my family--somewhat flexible, work-from-home, still homeschool my children, work with great people, add to our family's income. It really is a good thing. 

For now it feels a bit like bringing home a newborn. How it takes a bit to determine your new normal. Figuring out how you'll manage to still do laundry, make dinner and vaccuum the rugs, even though you have this little baby to care for. I know a routine will develop and I'll find ways to carve out time to get everything done. And I know, I'll be asking for help when I need it. 

So hello and thanks for listening and that's the news from Thomas Run. 

More soon, hopefully sooner...

7 Tips for taking a perfect family Christmas card photo

1. Take your photograph when your children are well-fed and rested. (Not right after church when the baby is looong overdue for a nap and everyone's low-blood sugar is resulting in impatience and grumpiness.)

2. Make sure your husband is well-fed. (Because you'll need his help to wrangle babies, arrange children, shoo chickens, and hold ponies. And if he's hungry {see above}, he'll give up on your perfect holiday photo shoot way too quickly.

3. Find a clean, white pony to add something unique and meaningful to your family's photo. (Preferrably not one that was rolling in her muddy field just as you are all walking outside to take pictures.)

4. Make sure your children are well-groomed and bathed. (or else they'll be wearing handknits in all the pictures to cover up)

5. Drain all tubs of standing water. (Because you know the baby will find them. And while you're directing the brushing of the pony and making sure noone gets stomped on by the same nervous pony, the baby will find the water and be up to her elbows in it before you turn back around.)

6. Lock in the chickens. (They distract the photographer.)

7. Remember that one of the things you love most about your family is that it's big, crazy and chaotic. But every once in awhile, you get a glimpse of almost-perfection. And there among the five hundred wacky outtakes, there'll be one that captures just that. 

 

A warmer heart

I've got a new sidekick when it comes to morning chores. 

I can't even utter the word "outside" unless I have her completely bundled. Otherwise, I'll be attempting to dress, shoe and bundle a baby squirming and wailing at the mudroom door, eager to break free from her indoor jail. 

Some days, we can't even be bothered with shoes. I'm lucky if I can get a sweater over her head and a hat secured under her chin before she's pushing through the door. 

She often brings her morning banana. I try not to think about where and how many times it is dropped. And what bits of dirt and whoknowswhat that cling to it. Or which animals she's offered a lick before taking another tiger-sized bite off the end. 

Instead of lugging her on my hip, we've discovered the garden cart makes a pretty convenient way to trek back and forth to the chicken coop. 

I put her on the concrete pad in front of the coop while I work.

She sits in the pile of chicken feed like it was a sandbox created just for her. The hens eye her cautiously, pecking around her, as she tries to feed them from her chubby palms. This must be why the hens follow her around so closely. They know she offers food.

I collect eggs, check on the babies, freshen up water, and throw clumps of soft, fresh green grass into their pen. 

When we cross back over the little wooden bridge on the way home, she is thrilled by the water running under our feet. I'm amazed at her ability to perch on the very edge of the bridge, crouched down, babbling at the water. I miss that kind of flexibility and balance. She's telling me a lot of things about that little stream. I talk back to her like I understand every word. 

Eventually, I convince her there's more to see on the other side of the bridge. But before she hits that slippery, muddy patch, I swoop her up and plop her back in our farmer's stroller. 

Her favorite friend blocks our path with a croquet ball in her mouth. A leaf dangles from her lips. She's relentless. 

If I'd let her, she'd stay out here all day. The only way I can coax her back inside is to bring the dog and a small furry kitten with me. She finally follows, waving goodbye to the crowd of animals gathered around her, like the queen of the animal kingdom.

I peel off layers, wipe her runny nose and notice her muddy sleeper-feet. And she's gone again. Disappearing into the belly of the house. Following the dog. Calling for her sisters. And I'm left to hang up sweaters, shove hats back in the basket and pry the barn boots from my feet.

The house feels warmer now than it did when we first set out this morning.

So does my heart.

Bird Dog

I wish I had adequate words to describe the relationship between these two. I mean, we knew she was a special dog from the beginning, even before her accident.

It was why we emptied our piggy banks to save her. 

But to watch these two, is to watch something pretty special. 

Wherever Ruby is, you'll find Birdy. If Ruby's sprawled out on the living room floor, you'll find Birdy settled into her chest, nestled in the crook between her paws. Ruby puts up with the riding, and tugging, and hanging on. Lip "inspections" and eye pokes. 

Birdy rolls and flops and plays on her. Ruby sits and, I believe, enjoys it. She mouths her hands gently, licks her right on the kisser. 

I'll gladly put up with the dog hair- plastered footies. I'll pick the hair out of lips and noses. I'll excuse the excessive amount of food that gets shared. I'll even, just this once, dismiss the fact that she nosed her way into the room of a sleeping baby to see if she was awake. 

She wasn't.

Happy Weekend, friends.

I'll be back Monday with something new and fun....

Maybe I should call her Catherine

We have a rooster problem.

It's nothing new around here. I've chronicled our rooster troubles many times. There was Hedgie, the original rooster at Thomas Run, who helped me overcome some childhood fears and bad blood that already existed between me and the rooster-kind. He was my favorite. But we lost him on the night we lost almost everyone. 

Then, there was Roosevelt. It took two posts to write about Roosevelt, who was last seen waddling up the center line of Thomas Run, headed for the hills (or the heavens). 

But now, there's a new problem. This Spring when I purchased half a dozen chicks from the feed mill, that were supposed to all be hens, it turned out that two of those six were not. And so we now have two large Rhode Island Red roosters courting the ladies and fighting for their affections. 

Unfortunately, these roosters are a little too full of themselves. One of them has a strong dislike for one of my favorite hens and has her quarantined to the far side of the farm. If she dares cross the stream with the rest of the hens, he attacks. 

Though that alone is enough for removal from Thomas Run, it is the latest offense that is even more inexcusable. 

The roosters have set their sites on Birdy.

The first time it happened the scene was pretty confusing. There was some commotion. Birdy was on the ground crying. The rooster was near but I didn't put it all together.

The second time, I was standing right there--as he came up behind her, head bowed, feathers splayed, doing his little dance.  He jumped up, pecking her on the back of the head and knocking her onto the ground. I was too far away to do anything but shout. And it didn't deter him.

He must think she's one of his hens.

And yesterday, he did it again. 

The funny thing is, I don't think Birdy has any idea who or what is randomly coming up behind her and knocking her to the ground. She still happily wanders around behind the chickens, hands outstretched, calling them kitty. (We're working on it. Kitty. Chicky. She'll get there eventually.)

It makes time outside a little nerve-wracking. Always on the watch for the courting rooster who has a crush on Birdy.  Maybe I should start referring to her as Catherine around the hens, to keep the confusion to a minimum. 

But, alas, I sent my husband another one of those emails yesterday:

The roosters must go.