A post from Mary...
Step one: Make a really big ball of snow. Love on it some.
Add a second ball of snow. Get your Dad to help. It is going to be heavy.
And use coal for eyes. Add wooden buttons and a scarf. And of course a fireman's hat. Dad will help.
Stop for a photo before it melts away.
It was the last day of spring break and we were up for something. The Easter break had had it's usual fun. Family picnic---the pigs were a hit. Church. Family time. The weather was cool, but we decided to check out a new spot. Little did I know that our county owned a 30-acre wetland area complete with one mile of boardwalk to protect the delicate happenings there.
Red-winged Blackbirds were calling everywhere. Even globs of salamander eggs. No one else was there. But raccoons had been the night before.
The perfect end to a great spring break.
Good morning and Happy Valentine's my friends. Oh, I missed this place. I'm completely procrastinating on things like laundry and school work and showers and a huge mess in the kitchen from pink chocolate chips pancakes. But, it's been too long. So, hello. How about a list this morning, shall we?
1. I cashed in on my Christmas present this past weekend. A girls weekend away with two of my bestest cousins. We had grand plans of doing important things like historical tours and traditional working-farm visits--but it happily and comfortably turned into lounging and knitting in hotel rooms, long dinners out and antique shopping. It was perfect. And while, you know, I fought that mama-guilt about being away, it was such a good weekend. So so good. I have made it official that my husband can give me the same gift every year.
2. Do you see this aisle of goodness I stumbled upon in the very back of one shop? I may have had trembling hands when I took this picture.
3. First tractor-driving lessons with her great uncle. The report is that she's a pro and only stalled it out once. Learning to drive a tractor is on my to-do list. I think she just beat me to it. When asked if she wanted to trade in her pony for a tractor, we only got a roll of the pre-teen eyeballs.
4. My new favorite and also perfect Valentine's listening: Us & Our Daughters (with a hat tip to my music soulmate. You know who you are.) On their site they share that last year was a tough year for them and their love. But they took to songwriting as their therapy. It pulled them through and this album is the fruit of that time. It's beautiful.
5. Some love of the 4-hooved variety.
6. This knitted lovely is going in the queue.
7. Some love it's good to remember.
xo.
Molly
play soccer in your pajamas, tutu and rainboots!
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.
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.
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.
When Ariel came under our care one of the first things we had to tackle was dealing with some of her drastic weight loss. We'd come to find out that she had Lymes Disease (ironically, so did Emma. Doubly ironic, they're on the same antibiotic), and another illness called Cushings Syndrome that was pretty rare for a pony of her age.
So every day, along with her grain she gets 40 pills to deal with the Lymes (Aren't you glad you don't take pony-doses of medicine??!) and a liquid medicine by mouth. And I watch in awe as Emma administers it. Slipping an arm over her head, reaching her finger in her mouth to pull out any grass or hay and squeezing in a dose of medicine, that the pony hates. I don't get involved, because if I did, Ariel would know something was up. It's better to keep things calm and relaxed so she doesn't get worked up.
And now the improvements in Ariel are really starting to show up. She's losing her bony look, there's even the bulge of some muscle in her back end, and we can tell--by the new spunky side she's showing--that she's feeling better, too.
Last week, Ariel had her first farrier visit here at our house. Brooke, who, along with her husband, is the farrier at the barn where Emma rides, Ariel's temporary home before she moved here--showed up to take care of Ariel's hooves.
It's a pretty neat process to watch.
And Brooke's encouragement about Ariel's progress and how she just "looked happy and content" is always good to hear.
It's funny, through the big decision of taking Ariel and the learning curve (mostly mine) of having a pony under our care, I have felt more than ever that so many people are on our side. That people are rooting for us, helping us, supporting us.
Last week, I got an email about Ariel's vet bill. The bill was a doozy. A horse-sized bill that makes one sputter and gasp just a bit. But I also knew this was part of the package. In that email I found out an "anonymous angel", who read my blog post about bringing Ariel to our home, had covered almost all of the bill. People are amazing.
God is good.
I just keep thinking for all the years of wishing and wanting and hoping that went on before Ariel was even a possibility, that patience and trust really pay off. When I get anxious about things, or want to force them to happen, my husband often reminds me to take the approach of waiting and knowing that the right doors will open. At the right time. We could have forced this pony thing to happen, or the fencing, years ago.
But we didn't.
And when the right door opened, there we were with open arms, ready to answer.
Oh my. Hello from the long-awaited land of lights that turn on, toilets that flush, washing machines that hum, water that runs from the tap.
Hurricane Irene hit us at 2am last weekend and by 3am, we had lost our power. By 7am, trees were still falling down, even after holding out so long through the storm.
It was an adventure at first. So fun! So exciting! We're like pioneers!
I had written this fun little post in my head highlighting all the great fun we were having on our adventure:
Haha! The outfits Elizabeth has been putting together when she can't find clothes in her dark bedroom!
Haha! Look at Birdy playing in the puddles!
Haha! She's so dirty! She's having such a good time!
Haha? I don't have a way to wash those clothes!
Haha? I just ruined those cute leggings!
Haha? I don't have a way to give her a bath!
By Tuesday, it was no longer fun.
Tuesday night (I think it was Tuesday. At this point, it all becomes a blur.), we hit a low point. Little Mary was suffering from a migraine. A doozy which was accompanied by throwing up (haha! towels I can't wash!). It was pitch black in the house. Birdy was toddling around, tripping, banging herself about, screaming. Dan went to turn on the generator that had been powering our freezer, in order to at least turn on a light....Nothing. Broken. No generator. All children exhausted, crying. (I know you mamas know what it's like when ALL your children are crying simultaneously.) Mary, still sick. Grumpiness. Yes, there was much grumpiness. And all in pitch blackness.
But you know, I believe, now that I'm on this side of it, I can probably pull a little light from this darkness.
We talked to and helped our neighbor more in the last week, than we have in the last month.
Driving through developments, I saw more children outside playing, than I think I ever have. It was like spotting some rare, endangered species on the side of the road.
I met neighbors up the road, that I've never even seen before. Standing outside, one lady holding her glass of wine, talking to the neighbor in his flourescent yellow tshirt--the mark of a county roads man, talking to the old man, unshaven and a little greasy (aren't we all?) whose suspenders hold up his ratty old khaki pants. And me. All of us laughing about how tough it's been. Talking about what we've done to survive.
And I thought, "We can do this. When we're put to little tests like this, we can all be pretty tough and pretty resourceful." That's not to say I didn't have my moments. That one morning, I decided to just crawl back in bed and hide for a few minutes (or maybe it was an hour).
But we survived. We can be tough. My husband, toughest of all. We can haul water from the stream to the toilets. And take our showers in the freezing cold spring-fed pool at my granparents' farm. And eat a lot of cereal. And figure out a way to make chocolate chip pancakes even though there's no electricity.
We can do it, if we must.
But still.... hello. And still....it's good to be back.
So, so good.
....about yesterday's earthquake that rattled the Mid-Atlantic. We East Coasters aren't used to such phenomenon. I was on a conference call with my Babycenter pals when the whole house started to shudder. And of course, earthquake wasn't even in my frame of reference, so I immediately thought, "This is it. This old farmhouse has finally had enough. It's falling down.This must be what it's like."
I was relieved all the girls were outside "babysitting" Birdy while I was on the phone. I ran outside, staring up at the house expecting to witness the walls and roof give way. And I thought, "Shoot. I'm still in my grey pajama pants {in my defense I'd been cleaning all morning}. My hair is a mess. I have no make-up on. And the baby is wearing soaking wet clothes from playing in the water tub."
Of course, I was slightly mistaken. My house wasn't falling down, we were just experiencing the tremors of the quake in Virginia. (Which also happens to be almost EXACTLY where we were on vacation. We even stopped for ice cream cones in Mineral.)
And now that the earthquakes have subsided, we've moved on to the next natural disaster, waiting to see what this hurricane stirs up over the weekend....
But alas, let's discuss something much cuter....meet, Girl.
She was the special project that was included in our farm-sitting duties at my uncle's farm. Rescued when she was just a day or two old, she's been bottle-fed and cared for by their family ever since.
We saw her on her first days home, when she was refusing to take a bottle. Her legs like little twigs. I never imagined them to be so fragile. But now, having mastered the bottle, she's thriving.
Girl hangs out in the fields around my uncle's farm and comes in around the same time each day when she's feeling hungry. Some days she'd be eagerly waiting on the front porch, another day I only found her by the tiny brown ears sticking up out of the bean field.
These are the moments when I want to take my childrens' little faces in my hands, look them square in the eyes and say, "Do you realize how special this is? Do you realize how blessed you are, to be doing this?"
If there's one thing I want to instill in them, it's gratitude for these moments they experience almost every day, for the views out our kitchen window, for the open spaces to explore and run. For the closeness they have to the natural world around them.
If you stand in our back field and look past the stream, over the corn and bean fields, and to the top of the hill, there sits my uncle's farm. While we were in Virginia two weeks ago, his oldest son, took care of our place--chickens, barn cats, Ruby, the doves and guinea pigs. So when my uncle's family headed on their own vacation last week, we returned the favor.
Along with the job of farm-sitting for my uncle comes the use of his RTV. It was our means to get back and forth from his place to ours--over the stream crossing, along the woods, up the waterways in the corn fields...(and yes, where I sometimes enjoyed my morning cup of coffee.)
With Mary kneeling in back, Elizabeth in the cab and Birdy tucked in on Emma's lap beside me, it was pure bliss for these girls. By the end of the week, the words "Let's take a ride in the Kubota." sent Birdy squealing and toddling to the porch door and everyone scrambling to find flip-flops and boots. (Why can't my children move so quickly any other time I try to get them all out the door?)
My uncle's chores are a little more involved than ours--pumping water Little House-style and hauling it to the horses, feeding, changing water and collecting eggs for his thirty-some hens, dogs, ponies, a pet turkey named Jimmy (who turns out to be a hen).
And my main helper was worthless--lost in a field of ponies.
But the other two did their best to help me get the jobs done, while wrangling the baby and rounding up houdini chickens who didn't want to stay in their pens.
It was nothing but fun. A little sweaty. Still fun.
But there was one special animal that we had to take care of that made the week even more amazing. She'd wander in from the bean fields, or be waiting for us (obviously running late) on the front porch. But she's cute enough to get her own page in the story, so for now, just a wee sneak peek.....
Just an hour ago, I dropped Emma off in the woods. For the next four days she'll be off at 4-H Camp.
We checked in, dropped sunscreen and bug spray with the camp nurse, got checked for head lice, and tucked her in to her top bunk. She met her counselors, her Nanticoke tribemates, and she latched on to her friends.
I checked to be sure she was okay. "Are you nervous? Are you sure??"
And I checked again. And then maybe even one more time.
And then that was it. I'd done all I could do. I kissed her--a big wet one right on the lips.
She said goodbye to her sisters.
And she gave Birdy the biggest, longest hug and kiss of all of us.
There was no working up to this. No easing in to being away from home for so many nights. Suddenly she was just ready. Fearless.
And all this week, I'm going to tell myself that her independence is a sign of good parenting, and that she misses us, and this afternoon we'll probably write her a letter--because nothings better than camp mail.
I'm ready for this, right? Growing up is a good thing.
I think.
I'm extremely guilty of attempting to fit way too many things in on the weekends. But when my weeks are full, and I really need to be home in order to do things like, oh, I don't know, homeschool my children, oftentimes the weekends are my only chance to get the to-do list done.
On Saturday, one of the things on my list was to workout. And suddenly, I discovered it was late afternoon-- I still needed to shower before going out for the evening with my cousin. I needed to make dinner. I needed to keep working on lessons plans. But I really needed to exercise.
So instead of slipping off to the gym, alone, (and you know me, feeling guilty about it) I plopped Birdy in the backpack and took the children who weren't napping (good girl, Elizabeth) for a walk.
It was the most beautiful exercise I've had in months. I said it on habit, but I hope my children never ever take for granted the beauty in their backyard.
We crossed the stream (there's a hole in my Muck Boot boot!) and walked and walked, following the mowed paths around my uncle's dormant cornfields. It was breathtaking, cold, beautiful, funny and sometimes a little back-breaking with that chubby toddler hanging from my shoulders.
The girls rolled down hills,
stomped in mud, kept tabs on the barn cat that followed us the whole time,
jammed sticks down fox dens,
scraped notes into the mud for their uncle, and did their best to stay in plain sight of their littlest sister on my back, who whined only when she couldn't see what her sisters were doing.
Sometimes this kind of exercise is best not only for the body, but also for the heart.
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