HomeLife
How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. - Annie Dillard
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a writing exercise. sort of. or something like that.
I am sitting down tonight to type with absolutely no plan. (Is that free writing or free verse or something?) I have Pandora streaming “The Avett Brothers Station” and I don’t know why I’ve never done this before. Beautiful sounds from Old Crowe Medicine Show, The Wood Brothers and some lovely band called Dixie Hummingbirds. (The commercials are a real buzz killer though.) My stomach sort of hurts from the after ten p.m. snack of rice and black beans with cheese and tomatoes. (It was all that looked of interest in our fridge tonight.) Of course that stomach ache isn’t stopping my hand from reaching again and again into the…
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Tricks of the Trade. 5.
Six kids. Twelve hands. Even though we have vastly downsized our children’s toys, there’s still a lot of little hands with a lot of little playthings. Besides, you can take away the plastic dolls and the metal trucks but kids are still going to create entertainment out of nothing at all. Cardboard boxes into airplanes for their big-eyed animals, hair clips into prized possessions, you name it. My general rule is that toys belong upstairs. All of our kids sleep upstairs and I can handle the chaos of their toy playing selves if it is maintained upstairs primarily. Of course, this is not a hard and fast rule.…
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moments
It was a day made up of moments yesterday. (Like all good days.) One. The expectation of the breakfast schedule was actually met. Kevin with us. Bible read. Copywork completed. Times tables reviewed. Verses said. Maple muffins baked the night before (by Scout, my favorite fourth grader). Served beside strawberries. Two. School completed and done efficiently with pleasant attitudes. Early afternoon free to play Legos because of their hard work. Three. Hawkeye greeting two separate copywork assignments with no more than a blink of an eye and both written in less than eight minutes total. Four. Because of the hard work done earlier, being able to grab a glorious half…
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My Pinterest Test Kitchen. Cook This: Granola Bars.
And so after the rousing success of the cinnamon roll I told you I would share some of the recipes I’ve been whipping up lately. I have been racing through my Pinterest Cook This board. Maybe you’re like me and you pin a bunch of delicious looking food and sometimes you make it and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes I wonder if what my ring-laden hands create could ever possibly match the perfectly-lit photographic images on the computer screen. Could anything that divine be produced in my full sun yellow, usually somewhat disheveled, kitchen? Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Anyway. Here’s my plan. I pin it. I cook it. I tell you…
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me vs. expectations. a daily battle.
I struggle with expectations. I could start with that single sentence and go off in thirty different directions. (Maybe I’ll revisit expectations again later. It’s a beast of a problem, you know.) Today I’ll reign it all in around this: I struggle with this particular expectation – I should accomplish certain tasks every day. They could (and they do) vary with the rising of each sun. But I always go to bed with the next day’s to-do list on repeat in my brain. And I generally feel like a failure before my warm feet hit our freezing floor. I ignore the alarm too many times. There won’t be time to…
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Book Club: Island of the Blue Dolphins
Book Club. I’ve been loving it since it began. February brought us Island of the Blue Dolphins. I think Scott O’Dell should have put the author’s notes in the front of the novel this time instead of the back. It wasn’t until after I read the entire book that I realized that the fascinating story was based on true events. This was the first novel that London, Mosely and I each read separately. London first. Mosely second. Me third. Surprisingly, London was a big fan. She actually discussed this book on her own, pre-book club. (She reads books and usually responds with – “it wasn’t my favorite”.)…
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the road to adventure.
“I hope adventure finds you today.” That’s the text my friend sent out last Tuesday morning. Several of us were scheduled to attend a class about wolves about Pisgah National Park. The weather had other plans and snow on the mountain caused our class to be cancelled. We all joked about our day’s schedule being altered and she sent that text. “I hope adventure finds you today.” I had already planned the day as a field trip day. Lunch was already packed. Water bottles were filled. Shoot, I’d even baked homemade pita the night before. I looked at my kids – dressed in field trippin’ attire – and I said,…
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not responsible.
This week a friend of mine said she was going to stop reading my blog posts. Because they’ve been making her cry recently. I can’t say it’s been my goal to make any reader cry. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t somehow a tiny bit pleased that my words could strike a chord that would potentially make someone cry. I think I consider it a compliment. Not because I love tears. (Although you know I joined the ranks of The Criers not that long ago.) But because I love the power of words. The power of story. And it’s infinitely flattering to even hope my words occasionally…
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knowing my ones.
I’ve been watching them it seems all of their lives. Which, of course, is true. I have. I’ve been watching and memorizing and forgetting. And watching. And re-learning. Still, at the end of each day, as my eyes wearily close and my world grows dark, I know I will still forget. I know it’s not enough. I will never be full enough. There is no satisfying my insatiability to know know know these small humans whose care and training I have been given. May it always be a beautiful challenge, a marvelous mystery.
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ripple. we’ll be expecting you.
Many months in the planning, the women in our homeschool gathering had a bit of a grown up slumber party/retreat/call it what you want this weekend. And, frankly, I’m at a loss for words to describe the simple beauty of the few days spent in comfortable camaraderie with like-minded moms. (All you mothers out there – schedule one for yourself as soon as possible. It’s the anecdote to loads of concerns and troubles.) We started tossing the idea around probably five months ago and picked the weekend at least four months prior. That’s how you have to roll when five mothers represent eighteen children. (Thank you husbands for staying home…
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To Young Mothers. To All Mothers. To Me.
I remember being pregnant with Bergen. Early on. Sick sick sick. Sending a ten-year old to school and staring at two toddlers strapped into their booster seats in the kitchen. Spoon feeding them yogurt while I was sprawled across the tile on the dirty kitchen floor. Crying to myself and wondering how I would ever survive until lunch. Exhausting days. Surprisingly bittersweet recollections. I’ve stood in the bathroom at a Quizno’s throwing away poop-stained underwear. Realizing I had no back up spares packed for our day out. Trying to wrangle toddler hands from caressing the toilet seat. Tossing the equally poop-stained skirt in the trash too. Crammed in the tiny…
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flower love.
The kids pulled Kevin and I outside the other day, insisting that we close our eyes along the way. Which led to bumped shins and tripping through holes in our lawn. But when we opened our eyes – we saw this …… Happy Day of Hearts and Chocolate and Candy and All Things Pink.
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the surprise package
A package addressed to Otto and Piper arrived in the mail yesterday. That might have been thrill enough for them. Piper opened it right there in the car. It was something wrapped in thick padding. She carefully pulled off the extra paper. Every other kid is anxiously watching. Enjoying Piper and Otto’s obvious excitement. Inside the package is ……… a glass bottle! A glass bottle filled with sand and shells. Sand and shells and two letters. Otto wanted to hold the bottle while London read the words out loud to him. London read a darling invitation to Otto and Kevin read the adorable invitation to Piper that asked them both…
