HomeLife
How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. - Annie Dillard
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the baking machine.
Goodness – I was a cooking machine today. I mean, every day I’m sort of a food-producing/preparing/cleaning/serving kind of machine anyway. It’s the price you pay for living with seven other humans – six of whom call you “momma” and assume a portion of your life is fashioned to be the Food Prep Guru. But today – today I felt like baking. I just went crazy. I clicked on all those pinterest tags I’ve been saving and went to town. (Not literally. Well – kind of. I did have to go to town first in order to purchase supplies. But once I returned home that’s when I really went to…
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broken.
The sound of breaking glass is not unfamiliar in this house. It no longer alarms me. Earlier this week my little Willow carried broken green remnants in to me in the kitchen. She was holding what used to be a hand made mug crafted by my aunt in Hawaii thirty-seven years ago. It was a pair. Now its partner will forever be alone. Yesterday Berg called to me from the bedroom. “Mommy? Can you come see this?” And in his hands he held the curtains from the kitchen door. Curtains that are meant to be on the kitchen door – not in his hands. The hook itself was damaged and…
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Love Letters
My mother loved tea pots. Lined up across the top of her kitchen cabinets were probably fifteen of them. No – more. I don’t remember. But there were a lot. Various sizes and shapes and colors. And I know they all had a story. But I wasn’t paying enough attention back then. (And for that, I will always be sorry.) But the teapots. All lined up. Packed carefully in boxes for each move. Half of them had some little treasure tucked away inside. Some of them had the tea pot’s own story written down in there in my mother’s harsh slanted cursive on torn pieces of notebook paper. And when…
Keep Reading . . .
Snap.Shot.
This Age.
Five Finds Friday (Saylor’s reading and Ryder got a haircut)
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I Like. A List
I like . . . . . . Saturdays spent with friends at an apple orchard. Evenings when kids are so exhausted they head to bed an hour earlier than usual and then they fall right asleep and I am left in a quiet home with my oldest daughter at work and my husband on a business trip, leftover fudge made by Julie and Netflix. Impromptu Sunday afternoon picnics downtown on an incredibly peaceful and perfect-weather kind of day. Beautiful handmade cloth napkins that match, gifted to me from my friend. (Even if the reason she gave them to me was because my own handmade ones were lacking in both…
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Autumn Crisp
The hope of cooler weather. Nights on the porch with a sweatshirt on. Glorious afternoon sun whose warmth feels like an invitation. Hello Autumn. So good to see you. Yellow flowers gathered by the armloads from the field out front. Warm glow of a campfire. Snuggling under the covers in the early a.m. with a couple of sweet intruders. Apple picking and apple eating and apple baking and all things apple. Oh Autumn – you must know that I love you. Bringing the outside in. Windows still open. It smells different. Better. Can you hug a season? Pumpkins and the smell of cinnamon and holding a warm beverage in…
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Wildwood: Creative Narration
I don’t give my children tests. Well, at least not my elementary student children. They don’t receive a multiple choice, true/false, fill in the blank piece of paper when they complete a chapter about Columbus or learn about narwhals in their science book. (They don’t ever really use textbooks either, but that’s another story.) As an advocate of a Charlotte Mason education, we employ the use of narration in our daily school routine. Narration means just what it sounds like. We read a chapter, learn about a subject, finish a novel – and when we do that – I ask the kids to tell me the story back in their…
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three is a funny number. and age. more a funny age than number really. three is funny.
You might remember that I think my little Willow is a funny little person. She still is. But lately my boy Otto Fox is giving her a run for her money. (Which leads me to think, maybe it’s not so much the kid as the age. Three is just plain old amusing.) As I tuck Otto into bed most nights I still sing to him his song – “Forever Young”. And he usually requests that I instead sing him the song that apparently he wishes was his song – “Beautiful Boy”. Like I said, he’s three now, and for as long as he has been communicating he asks for the…
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Keigley CAMPaign: Hamilton Branch
After we came up with the idea back in May, our first camping trip was to the lovely Lake Jocassee. (Seriously picturesque mountain views on this lake. Truly crowded camping experience because those views are so lovely.) Somehow Bergen received the luck of the draw and was allowed to choose our next camping destination. You know he loves birds so when Hawkeye read that Hamilton Branch State Park was well known for its unique bird sightings, his mind was already made up. The drive down closer to the Georgia state line was a bit farther than the drive across Highway 11. (And not nearly as scenic.) But the campsites were…
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and did you know this?
Guess what? You can get almost all of your children in a cool location. You can have them dressed in Mommy-approved-photo-attire. You can have enough time and patience and presence of mind to attempt a stylish photograph. And you can still blow it.
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My Friend T.S.
Thrift stores have really become my friends. (Can a store be one’s friend? I guess if I declare a store to be my friend, then a store is indeed my friend. End of discussion.) As I was saying, thrift stores are my friends. I mean, this story isn’t as impressive as the Frye Boot Discovery of 2012. I don’t actually expect to top that story this year. Maybe not even next year, but you never know. But I did find some little treasures last week. We’d like to bike a local trail near our house. The majority of our children’s heads have no helmets to protect them. (Remember Mosely’s bike…
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Sleep deprivation looks like this
I’ve been trying to tame my ways this school year. I’m getting up early. I don’t love the sound of my alarm and I don’t love the noise five roosters make (I don’t think they actually understand the definition of the word dawn.) and I don’t love getting out of my cozy bed. But I do love claiming the quiet of the morning. I do love our porch when the sun is rising and there’s fog on the mountain. The problem is …. I also love the night. I love sitting in the dark living room and watching “Raising Hope” with Kevin and Riley. I love finishing up projects that…
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a crib. re-born.
Otto is three. He was a baby. Now he’s not. Last week he graduated from the crib in which he had been sleeping his entire young life to an official “big boy” bed. (Generously given to him by our friends. Thanks Sunshine!) (I mean, he’s giving out interviews left and right these days. I guess he deserves a bed for that handsome big boy golden head of his.) Tucking my Fox into his big boy bed meant there was an unnecessarily large piece of furniture in the corner of the boys already Lego-crowded room. It had to go. And I’m not one to let furniture rearranging needs sit around for…
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The Interview Hath Returneth
It has been too long. And I’m not certain if I’ve ever even really tried this stunt with my Wilde Fox of a son. But I used to do a handful of these simple little interviews with my kids. Mainly because it cracked me up so. And since it’s been so long – tonight I’m interviewing my last little man who is quickly morphing into a big boy. Here we go ……. What’s your name? Otto. [He’s sitting in a chair beside me, blanket draped across and over his shoulder – comfort/cape style.] How do you spell that? O-T-T-O. Who do you live with, son? With you guys! [My subject…
