HomeLife
How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. - Annie Dillard
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Kipling Speaks
Our poet for this term is Rudyard Kipling. We’ve been learning about his terribly sad childhood where his parents literally hired a family to raise Kipling and his sister when he was only six so that they wouldn’t be burdened with the responsibility. As an adult, Kipling’s daughter died when she was only six and his son was killed in the World War. It didn’t all add up to a joy-filled life or a smooth ride. Yes, he earned fame for his writing during his own lifetime and he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. Highs and lows, the man had, for certain. I’ve been reading his poem “If…
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the six year old that lives here
His knees are brown. And it’s not from being tanned. The calendar says September and our basking in the sun days have faded with the end of summer. It’s dirt. Streaky and stained. The boy is just filthy. Ankles. Fingernails. Knee caps. He’s boy dirty. From running and chasing and frog finding and idea hunting and game gathering. It’s the kind of dirt that says his day was well-spent. He enjoyed the gift of time. The privilege of being a boy growing up outside with the type of freedom a parent has to be intentional to create. The kind of life that says no to more so it can say yes…
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there is no profound here.
There are some nights when the right words – or the wrong words – just don’t arrive on time or in any sort of tidy fashion. Some days you’ve just used up all your speaking and all your feeling and all your you before lunch time even arrives. And when that happens, you find yourself waiting. In word limbo. Sometimes it’s good to sit in silence. It’s a luxury I am not often afforded these days.
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my answer.
Dear Kids, Will you grow up and look at me one day and ask, Mom. How did you do it? There were so many of us. You were outnumbered by lots. We had so many sticky hands and dirty feet and frogs in our pockets and demands in our voices. What will I say? What can I say? I think I’ll say . . . You are worth it. Every step of the way. You. Are. Worth. It. Because these sticky, exhausting, busy, full years with you guys by my side are my favorite. You are worth it. Always and always. Worth it. That’s what I’ll say because that…
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(hey momma, in case you’ve forgotten …. )
There are days we feel as if we don’t matter. I think, as moms, we really can tap into these negative feelings easily. I was texting with my friend Hilary. And I was reminding her of how I see her – of how much I think she matters – (and I really really do) when I was suddenly reminded of a story with my own mom. I started to text this story right then to Hilary but at the late hour I just couldn’t wrap my brain around the whole thought so I waited and decided to type it this way instead. For Hilary. For all mommas. The summer after…
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dichotomy
I can hear them from where I sit. Downstairs. On my bed. I’m typing and tears are in my eyes. Carrying the heavy in my heart and across my wrinkled forehead and all alone in this bedroom made for two but only hosting one. Their laughter is sweet. Their game play is kind and momentarily all completely happy and universally enjoyable by all five of them. My heart aches from the sounds – the happy upstairs, the hurt downstairs. For all the goo and the gunk and the ugly and the dark, I think my kids are finding happy in this day. I couldn’t be more grateful. And I couldn’t…
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tuesday.
Days have been too busy to have very much sit-down writing time for me. With homeschool (and maybe all school) you not only have to fight against spring fever, you have to fight against fall fever. I think fall fever is harder to beat than spring fever. (But that’s probably only because right now it’s fall (ish) and so whatever struggle I find myself in at the moment feels like the hardest one – you know?) I want to be outside all day long – but I don’t want to be doing school all day long. Some days we compromise – we do school outside. Today we sat at the…
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marriage, that old couple
I still believe in marriage. Is that a weird thing to say? I still believe in the picture of Christ’s love for His people that marriage represents. In fact, I believe in it more today than I did last year. If marriage was entirely for our own individual glory or pleasure, if the picture of marriage was to bring honor to ourselves alone, then my story – and countless others’ stories – would be playing out so differently and would matter so much less. Recently I saw an older couple sit down together in church across the aisle from where I sat. He put his arm around her shoulder. Leaned…
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let’s call this one quits already
Today was a lousy day. I mean. I don’t even think I have what it takes to type it out and turn it into a story. I know I’m due a post about the Plexus Pink Drink Experiment. I have a cute article about picking apples with kids to post. I’m sure one of my children said something adorable or funny or embarrassing that I could write about. But instead I think I might just go to bed unreasonably early and let this day die the slow, sad death it deserves. You guys – we just never know what a day holds when our feet reluctantly hit the bedroom floor…
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piper finnian says …..
Lying in bed one night recently, Piper Finn sits up quickly with a bit of a gasp. “Oh my word,” she says to me. “Underneath my silly bands is party of germs!”
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trash day.
Tuesday is Trash Day. I dislike Trash Day. (Just as I dislike putting air in my tires and gas in the tank of my car.) I set an alarm on my phone to remind me that the trash needs to be down by the mailbox before 7 a.m. Wednesday morning. Which means I should haul it down the driveway Tuesday night. And some days the kids and I remember to do just that. (And some days angels and leprachauns and unicorns apparently drag it down without my knowledge. I rejoice loudly on those days.) But then there are these other days. Days like this: “You guys! It’s after 8 p.m.! It’s…
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poetry and tea.
Last week I borrowed a homeschooling idea from a friend. Because that’s what we all do – right? Earlier in the week, I invited the kids to meet me on Thursday afternoon at 3 p.m. at our kitchen table. They were invited to bring a stuffed friend, a happy heart and a poem to share. I wrote it on our family menu board. The Poet Tea. And then it was three o’clock and the table was set and the desserts were stacked on the high platter. The poetry books covered the table. Heavy on the Shel Silverstein. We all tried chamomile lavender tea with a dash of maple syrup. (The…
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wisdom from harper lee
I made myself reread Harper Lee’s famous novel To Kill A Mockingbird this summer before I would allow myself to begin her summer release of Go Set a Watchman. (And no, sadly, I have not finished the new novel yet. I’m just so slow at reading books these days. My nights are busy and my days are busy and my brain cells are busy and well, you get my point.) There is just so much good in that first novel though. So much quote worthy. So much courage and so much strength of character. So much solid classic that is that original story of Scout and Atticus and Jem and Boo.…
