MommyCoddle

Being brave when you're afraid

I'm probably not writing this post from the best of places. It's been a long, hard week. Parts of it, horrible. But other parts filled with those moments when you look at your children and admire their strength and bravery in the midst of things that are just plain hard.

I've questioned how much of this story to tell here. When we first moved back to Maryland and lived on my grandmother's farm, my uncle once said to me, "Life on a farm is tough." And indeed, we've learned that lesson many times over in our little family. 

I'll start at the beginning and share briefly without digging into the details that I've had to rehash over and over this week. 

On Friday morning, my girls were in the kitchen baking muffins for breakfast. We always leave the doors to our mudroom open during nice weather. The dog has her bed out there and we like her to be able to come and go--she's a good watch dog and always investigates anything that seems "off" around our house. 

But this Friday morning, Ruby was inside, lounging in the kitchen, most likely taking advantage of the sloppy baking going on. When Mary heard something crying, she went to the kitchen door to discover a raccoon on the mudroom. She frantically came to find me and when I discovered it, I blasted through the door to yell at it and get it off our porch. 

The worst part of all, was that the raccoon was killing our kittens, just about 8 weeks old. When I ran after it, it dropped the one in its mouth. The girls, coming out behind me, didn't realize the kitten was dead and begn to pet it to comfort it. 

Throughout the course of the rest of the day, we'd find the mother cat, badly injured, and the rest of the kittens, dead....all except for one that we named Cora. Cora was loved on and spoiled for the rest of the weekend. Her mother nursed her some, napped with her occasionally, but was pretty badly hurt and not her mothering self. But Cora was scooped up by our family, loved on, spoiled. We brought her in to the kitchen where the girls set up a special corner for her, with food and water and a pillow to sleep on. It seemed like all the grief was poured out in love for Cora, even my own sadness and disgust for all that had happened. Loving on her made everything feel okay. We had Cora. 

In the wee hours Sunday morning, I woke up with a thought that kept me from sleeping for the rest of the night. Though the raccoon on the mudroom was fluffy and healthy, it suddenly occured to me that the girls had touched the dead kitten that was covered in the saliva from the raccoon. Though they washed their hands, who knows in those minutes between if they touched their mouths, rubbed their eyes? 

Then there was the mother cat. We eventually made the decision later in the weekend to put her down. But was she injured by the raccoon? For safety reasons, we had to assume that yes, she was, and for this reason, she'd now exposed Cora, the kitten we'd been loving on all weekend. 

So with dread, I sent my pediatrician an email Sunday night, explaining the situation to her. She wrote me back right away--the girls, especially Mary and Elizabeth, who touched the dead kitten would have to be treated for rabies. And the rest of the family, would most likely have to be treated too, because of the interaction with Cora. 

So I called her husband, who happens to be our vet. Yes, our veterinarian and our pediatrican are married. I wonder what their conversations were that night around the dinner table. The vet confirmed what I worried would be true, the whole family needed to be treated. We needed to go to the ER. 

And worst of all, we had to face what needed to be done with Cora. 

So Monday morning, I spent hours on the phone, with doctors, vets, the health department...telling my story over and over. Hearing recommendations, some that completely contradicted another. I got texts on my phone from other family vets while in the ER with more questions, more possible scenarios, more recommendations. 

But rabies is something you can't take chances with. We all got treated. Though the chances our whole family was exposed to rabies is probably miniscule, who wants to flirt with the alternatives? 

Treatment for rabies involves shots, lots of them. The first day of treatment Dan and I had 8 shots, the girls had anywhere from four down to two, for Birdy. Mary and Elizabeth especially are mortified of shots. Even that description seems like an understatement. It was horrible. 

Yesterday we went back for round two. We'll go again, two more rounds to go. 

In the meantime, I feel wiped out. I feel drained. I can't finish the story, the Cora part because my kids don't know how the story ended yet. But I think that part, hurt me the most. You know? She was that one bright spot. 

But you know, my kids are amazing. Though they may buckle at times, and we've all had our moments, they are so strong and resilient. It's remarkable. They clench their teeth, they cry and ask if it could be some other way, but then they face the reality and handle it with bravery despite their fear. 

So, thanks friends, for listening to this long story. Keep our little family in your thoughts, prayers. 

xo.

 

crispy garlicky easy dill pickles (aka what to do with all those cucumbers)

I just dropped Emma off for a week of 4-H camp. The house feels remarkably empty without her. And my chore load has suddenly tripled because of all the daily work she does caring for the animals. She's a good little farm girl. And now I'll be picking up the slack while she's away.

The ease with which she kisses my cheek, waves goodbye and melts into a crowd of campers is a bit overwhelming for her mama as she drives away. She's a brave one. I am proud.

The other girls are standing beside me as I type this, anxious for a trip to the craft store where we'll be stocking up on art supplies for a week of prep for county fair entries. This is so unlike me to be organized so soon. 

But the real reason I am here is to tell you that if you are swimming in cucumbers, as I am, then you must must must make this recipe for refrigerator dills. 

The recipe could not be simpler. And in 24 hours the pickles come out crisp and fresh--with the perfect balance of garlic and dill. 

So good!

Alright, my friends. The weather has broken here in the mid-atlantic, and I am looking forward to a week of refreshing weather and finally some productive energy.

Happy Monday!

an end and a beginning

I was planning to sit down at my computer this morning and write a post about all our goings on...

But instead I find myself sitting down at this screen with tear stained cheeks.

Emma lost her cat Henry this morning. We found him on the road in front of our house just a few hours ago. He was the cat that came with us from Wisconsin, to live in the apartment on my grandparent's farm when we moved to Maryland, and finally here to Thomas Run. He was the first of what has grown into many pets and animals and cats for our family. But he was always there. Showing up at every morning round of chores. We are so heart-broken. 

But with every end their is a new beginning.

There is a story that I have been waiting to tell all of you. Anxiously holding the news close to my heart for the last two months as details have been worked out. But I also knew that it wasn't my story to tell first. 

I hope you'll take a moment to read Sarah's words, and learn of the new and the good for our family. And what brings tears of gratitude to my eyes this morning as well. 

Sorrow and wonder, all in the same breath.

(We are heading to the ocean...Dan is caring for the animals, and diving into some variety of house projects while we are away. More from me next week.)

xo, my friends.

Molly

Fireman

{A Post from Mary}:

I live with a four year old fireman. Having raised three children through different stages of obsessions.....horses, kittens, bulldozers....I am not unfamiliar with the pattern. So far, in my experience, the interests shift and change over time. And I usually do my best to be interested in their current love. We check out library books, usually cleaning out an entire shelf on one topic while the librarian raises her eyebrows. Gifts are given at birthdays. Special trips. The usual. But my youngest, Aiden, is stuck. Stuck with a love for firemen.

I enrolled him in a nursery school. Right next to the fire station.

There was the super realistic fireman outfit given by a sister in law---worn every day, no matter how hot it got. Seeing his face reddened and sweat beading up on his brow, but him being still determined to sport his getup like a real fireman would.

Fireman boots.

Fireman movies.

Fireman apps.

Playing at the playgrounds with, you guessed it, the tall fireman poles. We are beyond the typical "Stop, Drop and Roll! " He knows all about guages, detectors, extinguishers and hoses. Rolls and rolls of toilet paper unrolled and carried through the house as his "hose".

Making him an "air tank" out of a 2 liter bottle, some ribbon, foil and leftover nebulizer tubing.

Parking at our local grocery store, always in the space next to the one where the hydrant is. Letting him have "hydrant time" while I sit in the car and peruse the store flier. Multiple trips to the station to see the trucks and talk about fire with the very nice firefighters there. Random stops along the street to get out and see particularly nice hydrants.

Receiving a real fireman mask from a friend. And hoping he will only sleep with it and not put it on in the middle of the night. Knowing which public restrooms have the sprinkler systems or other smoke detectors to see. And faking the need to use the bathroom just to go see them. And talking about it. Talking about anything fire. My mom has one story from when a heat lamp in the barn caused a near fire, but the whole fire fighting crew came out. She has told and retold that story.

Seeing him get up on the stage at our latest 4-H meeting, in front of 50 people and without any hesitation, and do his own impromptu talk on firefighters without a shred of insecurity.

So last night, when I hastily finished the dinner dishes to go stand guard as he climbed up and down a ladder,

in only his briefs,

taking his mask on and off, as practice,

I tried to remember the days before the obsession with firemen. It has almost been a year, I think. And as much as I have learned about firefighting as we both have been through this journey, I am wondering if this is just going to be his thing. He wants to be a firefighter.

And you know what?

I am good with that. He will be a good one.

 

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.

 

moleskine + washi tape

I'm about to completely finish my first-ever moleskine journal. This is by far not my first-ever moleskine. I've owned several. But between losing motivation or just plain losing them, or never finding a "method" with them that worked for me, I've yet to ever completely fill one up. 

But I'm just a few pages shy of finishing up my first. Every page. Almost every blank space. I started it with no real rhyme or reason as to how I would use it. I didn't know if I'd journal in it. If it would only be for my list of three. If it would be my own personal scrapbook to clip, save and tape things into. 

Turns out it's been all of those things.

Instead of trying to decide WHAT it would be, I shifted my focus to letting it just be a notebook that was more about time than about what filled the pages. It didn't need to be just one thing or another. It could be everything. And anything.

Though it sounds silly to have that realization about a notebook, the whole thing was pretty freeing to me. 

Because I'm a person who really wants to be a journaller. I want to be a scrap saver, a note collector, a list maker, a calendar keeper, an idea brainstormer. But when I tried to force myself to be just one of those things it didn't work. 

Instead, I'm a little bit of all of those things.

And instead, my moleskine now chronicles many months of my life--the to-dos, the recipes, the scraps, the notes, the lists, the brainstorms. All of it. 

But just a month or so ago, I discovered that there was a way I could organize it just a bit. It's helpful for me to be able to jump back in my notebook and find something I'm looking for. Where I wrote down a phone number. A recipe. Where's that cute note Emma sent Mary on her birthday? Where's my grocery list. 

And there are other things, too. With my work at *Babycenter, I use my moleskine each week to write down what posts I plan to write, things I'm thinking of for the future, people I've been in conversation with. But I rely heavily on those notes because it's a ton to remember. 

So I had my little inspirational moment a few months ago when I realized I could use my rolls of washi tape to help me find some of the most important, most used pages in my notebook. And hello, a system was born. 

Not every page in my notebook gets the washi tape treatment--but the most often referenced ones do. Each Sunday when I'm finished my planning page for Babycenter, I get out my blue plaid washi tape and run a piece along and folded over the outside edge of the page. I do the same for my to-do lists, recipes, and grocery lists. Each with their own colored washi tape. Everything else in between doesn't require tape. That would get both colorful and crazy. 

Now, when my journal is closed, I can easily see where each "big ticket" item in my moleskine is. I can get to it easily, and I admit, I kinda like the well-loved look it gives my journal. 

I just updated my stash with some new tape from Lotta Jansdotter. The woman knows how to put together a bundle of tape that speaks to me. For my next moleskine, I may just change it up all together and break out new brighter tapes. Who knows. I'm crazy like that. (Though I do love me some yellows, browns and blues.)

It feels good to have it down. To finally have a system in place that works for me. 

But I'd love to hear what you guys do. Do you keep a journal? What kind of journaller are you? Are you a list maker? Do you keep your lists all together in one place? I'd love to hear from you, friends. 

------------------------------------------------

Speaking of Babycenter...I'm hosting a giveaway for a great little portable labeller from Epson right now. It will make you passionate about labels. 

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.

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. 

Letting go of the plough

I admit, that until recently, I was the kind of person who really disliked this trend of "me time". I sort of rolled my eyes and thought, "Give me a break. You are a mother. This is what you do. There is no break. No vacation. No me time."

Like many other (and much less important) things in my life, my approach to motherhood was this: Put your hand to the plough, keep your head down, get the job done.

Yes, you need breaks. Yes, you have your "moments". Yes, you'll rest sometimes. But for the most part "me" has been permanently replaced by the general "we". 

It feels like a very honorable stance. To be such a sold-out servant of your family, your husband, your children, your home. 

But with each new addition to this growing family of mine, I begin to understand this notion of needing time. The need to rest. There has to be a moment where we peel our cramped fingers from those wooden plough handles, stand up straight and stretch our backs, take our eyes off the ground and look up and feel the warmth of the sun on our face. 

This past Fall I had the privilege of taking part in one of Lisa Byrne's classes called Designed for Wellness. Lisa and I had actually spoken on the phone together before I ever thought of signing up for her class. When I was in the throes of my so-far undiagnosed post-partum depression after Birdy's birth, I sought out Lisa's wisdom and counsel as a possible solution to this strange funk I found myself unable to climb out of.

But several months later when our paths crossed again, and I signed up for her class I had different intentions. I took her class this Fall with the plan to lose some weight, learn about healthier ways to cook for my family and start making some healthy changes for everyone.

But what I walked away with from her class was completely differenet than what I set out to learn. While Lisa's class offered insight and information about all the things I hoped, what I didn't realize was how the class would really encourage and push me to look deeper into my own attitudes and perspectives. While there would be outward changes as a result of her class, most of the work was happening internally on my heart and mind. My eyes would be opened to some areas of my life that needed some real attention. 

One of those areas, brings me back to my thoughts above. While being the mother of four children (or three! or two! or one!) forces one to need a break every now and then (understatement), I learned as part of working through Lisa's course, that the time I was giving myself and marking off in my mind as "me time", as my momentary break from the duties of motherhood, was actually pretty worthless. 

I'd find myself sitting in front of the computer answering emails and sipping on a cup of tea, thinking "Yes. This is my break. This is time I have carved out and earned. This is going to refresh me." But later, when I put my mothering cap back on, I felt no different. There was no refreshment. I felt no more rested or more prepared to face the rest of the day. 

I think I walked away from Lisa's class learning a lot more about taking care of myself. And while I still battle the thought that it is so silly for me to even worry about how I'm caring for myself, I'm learning that it is the time I spend for myself that is what allows me to be a better mother, wife, person. 

I know this notion is really probably nothing new for many of you. But it was a very eye-opening moment for me. I've since begun to discover what things refill my spirit and refresh me. (FYI: It's not sipping tea and working my way through my inbox.) Some of the things are taking care of my outward self--a haircut regularly, or a long, luxurious hot shower after everyone is asleep and taking time afterwards to paint my nails or put on the good lotion. Asking my husband for a night out of the house and not feeling guilty for needing to get away for a few hours. I'm not high-maintenance. It doesn't take much. But it does take something. And definitely more than what I was doing before. 

These ideas are all kind of wrapped up in one of those New Year's Resolutions floating around in my head. To remember to tend to myself now and then. And to continue to discover what things truly refresh. And I hope you'll be encouraged to take a few moments to discover and invest in the things that refresh you as well.

**I promise I'm not working for Lisa... :) But through this course I feel like we've become good friends and she's someone I can count on for sage advice and wisdom. She has a new Designed For Wellness class beginning on January 16th. And once you join a session of her classes, you become a lifetime member of the site and are welcome to join in any other session thereafter. I whole-heartedly encourage you to consider it...**

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.

that's a lot of crazy awesome

I'm really excited to share with all of you something that has been in the works for a few months now. The lovely ladies Kristen Chase (Motherhood Uncensored, CoolMomPicks) and Meagan Francis (The Happiest Mom) asked me to join them in the launch of a new idea. 

Both mothers of a larger than average brood (4 or more to be exact) they wanted to create an online resource for the modern, larger family. So whether you are a mom of many kiddos, or maybe you see yourself going down that path in the future (and you want someone to talk you out of it. KIDDING. ) , or maybe you just want to stop on over and see what we're up to, I hope you'll come checkout 4 Kids or More.

I'll be covering Learning & Education with a little crafty thrown in for good measure. And Steph from Adventures in Babywearing and Lylah from WriteEditRepeat, will be writing and sharing their experiences as well. 

I'm looking forward to being part of this great resource--most selfishly because I'll finally be able to gather all these experienced mothers in one place and learn from their wisdom. How do I deal with 9 going on 16? Do you take them all to the grocery store? Do you ever see the end of the laundry pile?

With 22 kids among us all, that's a lot of crazy awesome. So come on by and say hello and see how we manage with our happy-oftentimes tired-hands full. 

the new calm

Last Tuesday marked the Offical First Day of homeschool for us.

I love the start of a new school year in the same way I love January first. The fresh start. Time to make new plans, new resolutions. Time to get organized and simplify. (An excuse to buy a new calendar, moleskine and favorite pens .)

But last Monday, as the "first day of school" loomed ever closer, I was a crazed madwoman. I felt this pressure to have everything in place before the Big First Day. I needed every detail worked out and decided. I needed to have every paper copied, every hole punched, every note read. 

On top of that, I needed my house to be perfect. Clutter gone. Floors mopped. Floorboards wiped. Closets cleaned out. Every speck of laundry washed, folded and put away. (that never happens.) One would think I was preparing for a real estate open house, or perhaps, to have the queen for tea. A tea in which she also happened to open every closet door and inspect under my bed. 

No, silly, it's just the first day of school. 

I don't know where it was coming from, but there it was--a suffocating feeling that this was my last chance to get everything together. That if it wasn't done by bedtime Monday, it was doomed to never be accomplished. Ever. Apparently my life, as well as my ability to accomplish any mothering task outside of the classroom was somehow going to cease the moment I slipped back into my teacher-mama clothes. 

But then, hallelujah, in a moment, sitting on the edge of the tub watching a chubby baby splash carelessly in the bubbles, it struck me. That this craziness was nonsense. Big time. That I needed to move forward at my own pace. That I needed to find MY rhythm. Our rhythm. 

I've often heard it said (okay, really only once, but I remember it often) that when a person starts their own business they must prepare themselves for the fact that it takes a good five years before they really have their feet under them. 

And I've always found myself applying the same logic to homeschooling. 

Last year, I wholeheartedly jumped in to a curriculum that was going to give me the structure and discpline that I felt our days so desperately needed. I wanted someone to tell me exactly what to do. I wanted a plan and a vision. I wanted to get on a path and systematically walk my way down it.

This year because of budget and because of the way that path seemed to go up a really steep hill at the end, and we got really tired and burned out, I decided to bag it. 

Instead, I consulted a good friend who knew me and my children and my needs pretty well. And who also happened to be educated and gifted in curriculum design. 

And late one night I sat in her little school room, at a tiny little kid-desk, and together we hammered out my year and figured out what seemed to fit just right. 

But what fits even more, is the sentiment behind everything we're doing. It's the new calm. 

That first day, we just jumped in. Instead of feeling the tug of the clock, we tackled bedrooms and laundry before we opened any books. It felt good to work to the hum of the washing machine running upstairs. And the sloshing of the dishwasher from the pantry. Instead of feeling the push to tackle lessons in every subject, I just let it be. We did Math, until Math was done. We read, until we didn't want to read anymore. When we got hungry, we ate. When it seemed like a good time to go check the pony, she did.  When there was an itch to practice piano, we scratched.

It's funny, how much we got accomplished. How nice the day felt. How good it is let go. How comfortable it is to seek out our rhythm versus some contrived and conceived pressure from who knows where. 

If only I would learn this lesson I apparently need to learn multiple times in this parenting journey. That so much of this happens naturally. We don't have to work so hard at it. Yes, it's work. But we're doing it. Naturally. There's goodness and learning and priceless, indespensable moments and experiences happening in every single day. Homeschool mom. Public school mom. Private school mom. It doesn't matter. It's happening for all of us. 

It's the trusting enough to let go. It's the freedom to find your own rhythm. It's the new calm. It blows through every day, if we'll only take a moment to feel it brush against our cheek.