MommyCoddle

the weekend report

Emma and I watched some college gymnastics on Saturday which inspired a whole weekend of  flips and routines. Emma doesn't miss a detail when she watches these things, hence the paper number on her back, the hair pulled back in a bun, the focused, dramatic pause before each routine, the arms-raised bow after each dismount. She even got out baby powder and chalked up her hands. Dan threw together a make-shift "bouncing beam" at the house to complete the shows I've been watching all weekend.

I finally remembered to take my camera over to the house to show some floor progress. It was pretty crappy weather all weekend, so they're not the best shots. But the fact that there is now a floor where there was only logs before? That's progress. We put a few pieces of furniture around in the living room for fun. And all of a sudden our things are looking very colonial. But I like it.

So my mother's day was another work day for us. (or for poor Dan. I was on kid-duty.) It was a bit of a disappointing day, but I think that maybe I was just having a pity-party for myself. As I was sitting in the chair putting Elizabeth down for a nap yesterday I was reminded what a gift it is to be a mother. To feel so full and satisfied. To love it so much. To wake up to something new every single day. It is really a privilege. And that is what is most important to me. My three girls are really the best gift, as cheesy as that might sound.

And before I forget...books! My good friend the random number generator picked out Sam and Ali for the two Shackleton books. Sam, I'm sending you Trapped by the Ice, and Ali, I'll send you Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World. So send me an email with your address and I'll wrap them up and put them in the mail. 

I hope you all have a lovely Monday. It's rainy, cold and WINDY here! Yuck. But I think we might make the trek to the hardware store for a mailbox for the new house, despite the weather. My sunflower seeds are coming to the new house, and there's no mailbox to deliver them to. Yay for house progress!

off the cutting room floor

The back of my National Geographic magazine has a page that shows one picture that didn't make the cut. One picture that was tossed aside and didn't make it into the preceding pages of stunning photography. Yet there was still something special about the photo. Special enough to rescue it from the cutting room floor and share it at the close of the magazine.
When I go through my week there are many posts that get written in my head that never make it to the blog. And there are many pictures that get taken but never shown. So today, I decided to rescue a few of those shots from my past week or so and share them here together--off my "cutting room" floor, if you will...

There is the picture that is one of my favorites I've taken in a really long time--shot holding my camera out the car window, feeling warm and blessed for the beautiful place where I live and wide open spaces.

The sunset shot, on the same evening that really captured the colors my eyes were seeing.

A day of lingering in the parking lot of the farm, watching the girls roller skate. The lingering that put me in the right place at the right time, to hear someone's cries for help, who was seriously hurt.

The post that made me notice and appreciate an early morning with all my girls in the kitchen with me.

The climax of the Star Magnolia tree outside my grandmother's porch.

The pillow--made for my dear college girlfriend--who sent me "the" envelope--and asked me to put together a package that would reveal the surprise to her and her husband. The pillow says, "oh boy!".....

The rainy day of math disguised as games...that started out so fun, but soon turned to attitude problems and then ended with me, sitting on the floor by myself wondering what happened.

Sometimes it makes me sad, when an idea or a moment, doesn't get shared. Because more often than not, I forget those moments. I've been keeping a five year journal now for the past six months. When I flip through old entries, I'm amazed while reading those four or five lines I jot down each night, how much I've forgotten. It's just the nature of life, I suppose. So maybe I'll start doing this a little more often--rescuing a few photos, a few stories off the cutting room floor at the end of the week. Then just maybe they won't be completely forgotten and that simple sentence or picture will remind me of a moment, a lesson learned, or a beautiful view that I don't want to lose.

pretty...funny

More of my obsession with the Magnolia tree...I remember last year, noticing the full buds, and then next thing I knew it was brown and wilting. I missed everything in between those two phases. (maybe it had something to do with a newborn baby?) Anyway, I am determined to watch the changes more closely this year and pay more attention to Spring before she slips away...

The first batch of the farm's spring kittens were born on Tuesday. I hope my children don't see this picture because they've been given strict orders NOT to pick up the kittens until their eyes are open.

In other randomness:

This afternoon the girls and I went over to the "new (old) house" and I finally remembered to bring my camera. So hopefully next week, you can see some in-progress pictures. We're hopefully just a few weeks away from our move-in date. hopefully.

I'm planning on printing out the questions and getting to work on my "About" page this weekend. Should be a fun way to pass a rainy weekend.

And Emma and I just made the BEST little recipe this afternoon. I'll share that next week, too.

Finally, a conversation I'd like to remember:

Me: What is chicken made from?
Mary: CHICKENS!!!!!

Me: What is orange juice made from?
Mary: ORANGES!!!!

Me: What are pork chops made from?
Mary: PORCUPINES!!!!

nice.

happy weekend, everyone. see you Monday.

fresh air

The house is quiet tonight. Elizabeth has been tucked in her crib for quite some time. Emma went to bed extra early after a meltdown. Dan fell asleep on the sofa after a tough day at work. And Mary was my sidekick, helping me finish up the last dinner dishes, setting the table for breakfast and sneaking off to her bed "quiet as a church mouse."

When I disappear from my blog, like I did last week, it is usually a sign that I'm overextended or something in my life is leaving me uninspired. And to be honest, I'm rarely that busy, so generally, it's the latter. This last week, it has been continued battles with my dear six year old. Is there something about this age? Is it spring fever? I'm not sure, but I'm pulling out all my parenting know-how, all my former teacher know-how, all my "someone I know tried this" know-how, and I'm having little success. I love the girl for the way she feels her way through life, and dives into everything to the fullest--but at the same time--she feels everything and dives into everything to the fullest. It means lots of emotions, and ups and downs, and hurt feelings, and disappointment, and frustration....phew. I can hear my mother's wisdom in my ears, "This too shall pass." I'm holding on to that truth.

So for me, it means I need to work harder to find my moments to refuel and relax. I found one moment this evening--dinner was warming on the stove, Dan and the girls were off on a quick errand and Elizabeth was asleep. I stuffed the baby monitor in my coat, a pair of scissors in my back pocket and headed down to my grandmother's gardens for something to brighten up my table.

The sun was golden and the air was perfectly crisp. It was the breath of air in my lungs that I needed in order to face the rest of my evening with grace and joy.

And now, a quiet house, a kitchen "put to rights" (to quote Mr. Berry), some daffodils on my table, a dark house, except for the glow at my desk, and the prospect of a warm bed and a good book. Another breath of air in my lungs, a release for my mind and my heart and I'm ready to face another day with joy and grace.

And I hope you'll see me here again tomorrow. That will be a good sign.   

note to myself...

...on the day that you slice your thumb open from cuticle towards the knuckle with your rotary cutter; and while applying pressure with a blood-stained paper towel back into a large clay pot and send it crashing to the floor in a mess of soil, green leaves and broken pottery, while the baby cries, and the children bicker....

REMEMBER THESE THINGS:

that this little one lays on your chest at bedtime and tucks her head under your chin so snugly that you can feel her eyelashes brushing against your neck. And while you sing the only song she'll settle down to, she coos and moans in rhythm along with your voice, and lets you rub her head and tuck her hair behind her ear, until her tired eyes finally close in sleep.

that almost once a week you get a taste of spring

that soon, very soon--you'll be spreading out. you'll have more room. you'll have your own space. you'll have your own garden. a table big enough to dine with friends and family, all together. a stream to play in. a barn to fill. a place to plant your feet.

that you have a full plate of projects and swaps. but it is good, creative kind of work. nothing you dread or don't enjoy. only things that need creative time, not dreaded time.

that you're healthy and happy. you have a good husband. laughing, creative, gentle children. a warm home. good food on the table. and a close family.

think on these things.

to be or not to be (independent)

These little guys are headed to the kiln today for their first firing. The downside of being part of this pottery workshop is that my kiln-firing schedule is at the mercy of others. I have no real say over when my things get fired, especially when the things I'm firing are so tiny and not worthy of their own firing in a big kiln. One of these days, I'm going to get myself a tiny little kiln and start working from home. One of these days...for now, I'm just happy to have clay in my hands again.

Over the weekend, Ms.CampCreek and I were discussing my experiences with Emma and her observational drawing lesson. If there is one word to describe Emma it is independent. (well, actually I might describe her as determined first, but independent is a close second). Lori and I were talking about how we strive for our children to be independent, to be able to do things on their own. But in the next breath, we're requiring them to do things "our way". It's that fine line--figure this out on your own, see if you can do that by yourself....no, you need to do this MY way!

I think I felt that imbalance last week, when I myself was feeling a bit frazzled. I've noticed that when Emma senses my stress, she gets into independent mode--make my own breakfast, clean my rubber boots in the bathroom sink, get out the paints by myself, etc. And in return, I become more frazzled because sometimes her independent outbursts leave a wake of confusion and mess. I heard myself saying over and over last week, "would you please just ask for my help?? That is what I'm here for!" Yet at other times, I'm the one pushing her to do things on her own--sometimes even those same things I just told her to do only with my help. "Emma, you can pour your cereal by yourself."

Does that make any sense?

Her independent spirit is bittersweet when it comes to home schooling. In one sense, she's completely driven. She'll figure things out on her own. Start things on her own. And work until she finds a solution. On the other hand, if I want to sit down and actually instruct her (heaven forbid!), she interrupts with a hand on my arm and a, "But mommy, what if we tried to do it this way?"

Parenting. It's all about give and take. Adjusting. Finding balance. Seeing each child for who they are. Finding their gifts and talents and encouraging them. It's also about guiding and instructing and disciplining. Now if I could just figure out how to do all those things, and do them well.

******And I almost forgot! Check out the wonderful treats we received from our miniswap partners:

here,

here ,

here,

and here. We were so spoiled!! Even if you didn't take part in the swap, there's lots of inspiration to be found in the flickr group.

3 + 2 + 1 =

six. Emma is six today.

These are a few of my favorite things:
--when I get mad, you get mad. But if my feelings get hurt, it really upsets you.
--you take your field guides and journal on every walk.
--everything has "horse" potential and all topics eventually wind their way back to horses.
--for your special birthday activity, you chose having lunch with your daddy
--you still suck your thumb and rub your toes against your heel--it's why you won't wear sleepers with feet.
--you know more about what's going on around the farm than I do and I always ask you for the details
--you sit and read a chapter book for an hour, even though you can't read them. You even put in a bookmark in the place you left off and come back to it later. You meticulously read through Charlotte's Web for two weeks. Now you're reading Misty of Chincoteague.
--you are a fool-proof mood-lifter for Elizabeth. You can pull her out of any crying  fit. And you watch out for her--taking paper out of her hands, dragging her away from the bowl of cat food, wiping unmentionables from her nose. It doesn't even gross you out.
--you still get in bed with me every morning and ask to slip in to the warm spot where I have been sleeping.
--you are as tough as nails and as fragile as a baby bird, all on the same day.

happy six years sweet love of mine. you were my first baby love. you changed my world.

december 19

"I can't hold back my tears any longer..."

That would be a quote from my five year old daughter as she lay prostrate on her bed, hugging the neck of her rocking horse that was pushed up alongside her.

"I just know I'm never going to get a real pony."
"Cricket(the pony) is the only thing I love in the whole world!"

Me: But don't you love mommy, and daddy, and mary and elizabeth, too?

"Yessss. I love you all, but Cricket is just the only thing that love. I can't hold back anymore."

I have to admit, my dear Emma feels deeply. It literally broke her heart last week when she had to put a big, doe-eyed stuffed fawn (a companion to this book) back on the shelf at Barnes and Noble.

"It just needs me. I can't bear to put it back on the shelf."

And it broke her heart even more this afternoon when she accidentally found it stashed away under my bed, waiting to be wrapped. But it was sweet. Her heart was broken for me, because...

"...we can't afford to get many presents. And now you won't have many special surprises for me."

(I hope you're reading all these quotes with lots of dramatic inflection and phrasing.)

She's just one big, soft, pulsing heart. She feels deeply and responds to everything deeply. Dan and I always remark that she's a lot like the classic nursery rhyme:

   

There was a little girl,
    Who had a little curl,
    In the middle of her forehead.
    And when she was good, she was very good.
    And when she was bad, she was horrid.

Well, at this point, I can't even remember what I came her to post about. Something about gingerbread houses or how absolutely edible this one is.
After I erected the structure of the gingerbread house today, I gave Emma full reign. I was going to try to make it something Martha-Stewart quality, but in the end decided to just let go and let her make her own fun. It was wonderful to watch.

Happy Wednesday.
Six days until Christmas....
Here's a song for you that we're singing along to today...

november 29

morning snack.

Today Emma was asking me about my grandfather who passed away about two years ago. She was curious to know how old she was when he died: "So was I like walking and talking? And I could carry around glasses?" It's funny to me how children mark time and milestones--walk? check. talk? check. carry fragile glassware around the house? check.  But I think at the heart of it, she's just trying to remember if she remembers him.

When we were out running an errand today, Emma was sitting in the back of the car waxing eloquent about horses, horse care, who she knew that had horses....She sounded so grown up and so mature. We were having such an adult conversation about it all. Then, I looked back in the rearview mirror at her and her mouth had a crown of chocolate smears around it from the cookie she'd been snacking on. And I thought, "you're still just a little girl."

november 27

I hung out laundry today. I wore gloves, but I still put my laundry up. There was just a bit of sun and too much good breeze not to pass up the chance. I'm finding that I catch my breath in the comfort of these mundane tasks. And a breath is what I really need today--home from traveling for the holiday, everyone recovering from the stomach flu, elizabeth still mourning the entrance of three teeth.

And I've been thinking a lot about time lately. In one sense, time can complicate my life. In another, it can bring rhythm and order to my day. And more importantly I want my children to know that I always have enough time for them. To use a very tired saying, I want to be present in each moment with them. If I am getting them dressed--then that is what we are doing. I don't want to be getting them dressed while tapping my toe at the other three tasks that are on my list next. If we're putting away toys--we're just putting away toys. No hurry. No multi-tasking. Just being. Just doing. Just keeping it simple.

Sometimes I face my day like I do cooking dinner. "Roast goes in the oven. While roast is cooking wash and chop vegetables. Start rice water boiling. While rice is boiling, heat oil in skillet. Sautee the vegetables. While vegetables soften in the skillet, set the table. Stir vegetables. Put lid on rice. Check roast. Unload dish drainer. Stir vegetables. Warm bread...." It's a balancing act. And sometimes it's quite an impressive dance I do to get everything perfectly timed and on the table warm and good.

It's a good system. But a system is not what I need to raise my children well.