HomeLife
How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. - Annie Dillard
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Maybe I don’t clean enough after all.
I was reviewing some phonics with Mosely. We were matching the drawing to the correct sound of the first letter of the item drawn. Mosely finished three or four in a row by herself but was really stumped at one drawing. She wouldn’t even make an attempt at a sound to match the drawing. The drawing was a picture of a word that started with a “V”. “Mosely, do you know what this drawing shows?”, I asked her. “No,” she responded. “What is this drawing Mosely?” I persisted. “I don’t know Mommy,” she continued. “Seriously?” “No, I don’t. What is it?” Mosely asked, quite in earnest. Uh. Do you know…
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a couple of seven-year-olds
It’s usually at night when I am most aware of it. Lying between London and Mosely in their single loft bed. Listening to them recount their days. Answering the same series of questions London asks every evening about the next day. “What’s for breakfast? What’s for lunch? What’s for dinner? What are we doing all day? How many hours until morning will be here?” It’s during this nightly ritual that I notice all the details I have been too busy to see all day. The way these two girls really know one another. The way Mosely’s two new front teeth are inching their way fully into her wide little smile.…
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a word of advice.
If you happen to be a fellow human living in a home with small children, I think it is my duty to share with you a bit of advice that experience has taught me. Always look inside your cup before consuming said cup’s contents. Recently I was drinking. Enjoying my icy cold water. Sipping, gulping, while I worked tirelessly in the kitchen. Assuming what I saw out of my poor peripheral vision was an ice cube. A creamy looking ice cube? Pause. Investigate more closely. No. No, it was not an ice cube in my glass. Which would be perfectly normal. Completely acceptable. No. It was instead a chunk of…
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photo dump. true and false.
We are home. The Suburban has been unloaded. Two loads of laundry have been washed. I’m going to unload a plethora of photos on you. And relay a few true/false statements for you as well. Get comfy, here we go. Hiking is a fantastic whole-family-inclusive activity. True. The predicted rain ruined our first day of outdoor adventure. False. Hiking with a guide allows you to learn details you would not otherwise know. True. There is a tree called the black birch whose branches taste like spearmint and can serve as a natural mouth freshener. True. Our N.O.C. guide, Charles, taught us this. True. Charles made a friend of Piper the moment…
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Adventure: Day Two
Day two. It’s like this. Internet service is sketchy in the mountains. We are traveling with six children who are off their normal routine of eating and sleeping. One of them is not yet even two years old. I can only type this post from my iPhone. And we do not always have service. As previously mentioned. And I do not yet know how to add a photo to a post through the iPhone. King Solomon is that good. I am not. So. Forgive this abbreviated post. Please check out the many photos I have been sending through Twitter. (When it is available.). And trust that when I return home…
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The Hawke Has Landed
I sat down tonight (or last night, if you read this during the day, like regular folk. or tonight if you are alece and you read somehow in cyber space over my shoulder as I type in the nearly wee hours.) to type a little post about something else. I can’t even remember what right now. Because I was interrupted by a boy named Bergen who was telling me stories about his recent ManTrip 2011. It was really too late for him to be awake, but since he arrived home and crashed after the trip from about 5 p.m. until about 7 p.m. – wrecking both tonight’s rest and possibly…
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Love And Do Not Love: A List
Any given day has its highs and its lows. Any given person has their loves and their not-so loves. We can all agree upon that – right? Take today, for instance. I really love whoopie pies. And I love that our vacation begins this Wednesday. I do not love hearing my name called as if it really is on some horrible loop. “MommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommy.” I love King Solomon’s current background. I do not love white icing from the inside of whoopie pies smeared on the leather sofa. I love sitting up far too late into the evening and talking about life with Sarah. I love Aunt Sarah stopping in for a…
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wednesday afternoon.
I’ve had this idea rolling around in my head for a few months now. An idea about home school and community and the type of children Kevin and I want to raise and about help and asking for that help from my many talented friends. I’m not going to really explain the idea right now. I’ll save that for another post. But it’s an idea that I have pitched, but have not completely followed through with. Not surprising, really. Is it? Last week brought about the idea’s second glimmer. (That first bright spot is a story for another day. Wait for it.) Ryan Gillispie. Call him the forerunner. A herald.…
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Like Mother Like Daughter
As if we need further evidence that Piper Finnian Willow Lacey is my daughter indeed. But here it is just the same. I do not actually care for Oreo cookies. (gasp.) Not the traditional black and white numbers anyway. But ever since some genius in marketing over at the Oreo cookie factory brainstormed the idea of the Golden Oreo, I have been hooked. I could eat the entire bag. I try not to buy them when I will be alone. (I know my own weaknesses – okay?) My favorite part of the Oreo is the white cream center. I have long joked that there would be one simple way to know…
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as the pendulum swings
If you have read this blog for any length of time then you already know a-plenty about me. You know that I love a list. And I have a fondness for schedule. Let me tell you this, I can plan the mess out of something. I make a mean routine. I am a first-rate organizer. I draw it up in colorful coordination. Little squares, circles, colors assigned to each child, a day per activity. If there was a thrown-down for planning, I could take you. But, uh, I have a little problem that no amount of planning seems to solve. I think you call it follow-through. I mean, ask me…
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17.
Seventeen. This kid who was once six and Southern-sounding as all get out. This girl who changed her own name when she was nine and politely insisted that her third grade class refer to her as “Riley” henceforth. This waif who won my momma’s heart from the first hug as she wrapped her teeny arms around my mother’s neck as soon as they met. This team player who agreed to don full Little House on the Prairie clothes and enter a Laura Ingalls Look-Alike contest. This mini-athlete who wore a series of ill-fitting jerseys through every season of rec. league soccer with her daddy as her coach. This new teen…
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the big reveal.
I’m not going to lie. I love my new iPhone. I love taking pictures with it and then applying the instagram app to those photos and then suddenly seeming like a capable, artsy photographer. And I love how much time it has saved me with its ability to sync our family’s calendar and the well-timed reminders it intuitively knows to send me when an event’s date is approaching. I also love the shopping list I downloaded (at no cost) so that I never find myself in Publix with five children and no list without the presence of mind to remember if I needed sour cream for dinner or cream of…
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almost out the door
Perhaps my favorite phrase yelled at me by any human being that has ever existed. Berg. Dashing through the house. Decked out in full pirate attire. On his way to adventure and life. The great outdoors calling him. His hand is on the door knob. The entrance to What He Has Been Waiting All Morning For. He stops. Hesitates. Searches for me. Finds my eyes. And shouts, “I love you mom. I love you more than everything in the world except God!” And then he’s gone. Back to the wild which holds his heart.
