HomeLife
How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. - Annie Dillard
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I will not define myself by my flaws.
Why do we define ourselves by the very thing we like least about ourselves? Victim. The shy one. Divorced. The girl with the scar on her left cheek. Like some dangerous self-fulfilling prophecy that keeps us low before anyone has a chance to push us back down. We do it with our homes. The house with the broken shutter. Right next to the dumpster. The one whose lawn is unruly and whose trees need to be trimmed. With ourselves. The bad haircut. The out of date clothes. The acne scars. Like we’re asking people to see what’s awful about us. I dare you to like me. I dare you to…
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slow down.
Lately my heart is beating to the mantra – “Slow down. Slow down.” I’m saying it to myself. I’m saying it to my husband. I’m saying it to the sky and to the wind and to the sunshine. And I’m especially saying it to the five littles who live under our roof and the one not-so-little who lives in another country. Slow down. And we’ve been trying. (We’re still plodding along in our “Just Say No” campaign. It’s progressing kind of nicely friends.) I just feel so very aware of the sheer speed at which life moves. I know that, in so many big and little ways, RIGHT NOW is…
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the answer for the long days and the hard ones.
You’re sure the kitchen will never be clean. The yard can never stay tidy. The laundry will always be dirty. The dirt on the floors will always return. The water dripping from the tub can never be controlled. The mold fights back harder than you. The taste of hopelessness. The smell of it heavy and lingering on your clothes, like the smell of burned chicken or a lone french fry lost in the bottom of your oven. It tastes bad and it seems to last and last. And the only hint of a cure I’ve ever found yet is sunshine, wind, grass and trees. A step outside and a look…
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The Two Nights Baby Timmy Was Missing.
Two long nights. For two very long nights Baby Timmy was missing in action. Baby Timmy. Otto’s precious sleeping/living/hang out blanket. (If you’ve ever seen Baby Timmy, you know “blanket” is a bit of stretch for that tired, tattered bit of has-been blanket.) But he loves it and we love Otto and so, by default, we all love Baby Timmy too. (It’s funny, of course. We worked to wean sweet little Mo-Town from her long-ago blanket addiction. But young Sir Otto’s blanket affection has never even been called into question. Some might say it’s because with Child Number Six parents are more lenient. Or more exhausted. Or worse at their…
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cover blown.
Bergen is a night owl. I guess he inherited it straight from both of his parents. And occasionally a part of his solitary evening involves him lying in bed and working out plans to quietly enter our bedroom after we have fallen asleep and cuddling up under the covers with us for the remainder of the night. Now – I’ve always known this was true. I mean, a boy in your bed the next morning is a pretty easy give away. Recently, however, Bergen’s slip of the tongue gave him away twice. First time: “I don’t care for that one squeaky area at the bottom of the steps,” Bergen confided.…
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Merry Autumn Days
Merry Autumn Days By Charles Dickens ‘Tis pleasant on a fine spring morn To see the buds expand. ‘Tis pleasant in the summer time To see the fruitful land. ‘Tis pleasant on a winter’s night To sit around the blaze. But what are joys like these, my boys, To merry autumn days! We hail the merry Autumn days, When leaves are turning red; Because they’re far more beautiful Than anyone has said. We hail the merry harvest time, The gayest of the year; The time of rich and bounteous crops, Rejoicing and good cheer.
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when play imitates life
These are the best conversations …… “Want to play with me momma?” “Sure – what should we play?” “Okay. I’ll be the son and you be the mom.” Umm. Alright.
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Autumn’s Bounty
Weekends in October in the foothills. They’re made for apple picking and BBQ eating. Good friends reclining on the porch. Boys with Nerf swords and whiffle balls crowding the yard. Catching up and checking in and stories of this and that. Sunshine and morning runs. Cinnamon rolls and chocolate cake. Potato soup and homemade salsa. Late nights and conversation and falling asleep while watching Parenthood. It’s a comfortable kind of weekend. Weather just right for the afternoon sun to feel like a warm embrace on bare arms. (But maybe a tad too warm for a corn maze at high noon with eight children and four grown ups and lunch on…
Keep Reading . . .
here we go ….
weekend ramble (the stillest of weekends)
When Buying Local Is So Cute
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better days.
Monday was not a stellar homeschool day. I had a schedule. (I’ve always had a schedule, but this year I have a planner – a spiral bound, blank squares across a page – kind of planner.) And I stuck to the schedule. At all cost. We didn’t finish school until four p.m. I made certain every tiny pencil-drawn square on my planner was checked off. We accomplished every goal – lofty or minute – which I had previously planned. All math. All writing. All science. All narrations. And no one in our house had a really great day. When I was vacuuming up the school room from the mess my…
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exactly.
I am so glad to live in a world where there are Octobers. – Anne of Green Gables
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conversing.
You press your fingers hard against your eyes. Pushing the tears back. Ten year old attempts at Holding It All In. Baby. Daughter. My sweet girl. You do not need to resist The Tears. The sadness. The thick feeling in your throat and the crumbly tearing at your heart. Feel it. Just feel it all. Remember when we talked about growing up? You listened. Quietly. Head nodding politely. Grimace, grin, crinkly face you make when my words splash into deep waters. Now you say to me, “Mommy – I think I’m having those things.” I lock my mommy eyes onto your daughter eyes with sympathy and love. “Those things. The…
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no. yes.
Silence. Crickets chirping. Blank screen. It’s been a while, my friends. It’s been a while. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on with me and words of late. I’m tired. A touch of writer’s block, I suppose. Big things to think about – no time to process. We finally have two cars again. That’s nice. Kevin is moving his office upstairs at our house. The kids were asking what we would do with Riley’s room. I guess we know. Put an office in it for now. And it’s already October, for goodness sake. Also, there’s been this: Busy. Out and out preoccupied . Edited a novel in exchange for actual…
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Here and there. A hodge podge.
This week is ending? What? I feel like I should sing that song, “it’s closing time”. Although I can’t remember any of it except that one line about “every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end”. Honesty, I haven’t thought of that song in years, but this summer at our annual July Fourth Pigg River tubing trip, Maggie reminded me. She said I used to sing it to the point of annoyance. I have no recollection of that. (I’m sorry Maggie that you do.) Isn’t it a little disconcerting how you can absolutely forget certain parts of your own life? I guess it’s time I should warn you. This…
