Memory Making

I really write all of this down to remember.   The details of life are so small, but I know that at this point in life, they are also so unique to the age and stage of our kids.  So, let me catch up a bit.  I am clearly awful at sitting down and writing during a move!  

  The first thing to remember I have no picture of.  We went to the beach for a few days before our move, trying to play as a family before the work ahead.  John Mac loves the beach.  Of all our kids, he loves being outdoors, being messy, and so the sand and surf are just a perfect combination for Mac.  Well, this year we took our bikes.  The first time we told John Mac that he could bike in the edge of the surf he was so excited.  He took off splashing through puddles as he drove down the hard sand of the beach.  And then he kept going. and going. and going.  I suddenly panicked.  He was atleast a mile down the beach before I was able to keep everyone safe and signal Brandon to bike off and rescue him.  Of course, when Brandon did catch up to John Mac, Brandon found him to be completely surprised that he had travelled so far.  He was just delighted to be riding down the beach.  The next day John Mac had a speckled sun burn on his back from the sand that had sprayed across his back while he rode in the surf.

  On to the pictures.  The first picture is from shortly after we made it to our new old house on Long Meadow.  Hannah really hurt her nose on the brick patio.  She fell and cut the bridge of her nose badly.  She was in tears from the pain and it of course bled copiously.  Caroline swooped in without a word.  She found a small Tinkerbell sticker to cover up the last Spiderman bandaid that we had had to use on Hannah's nose.  Then she took Hannah to her room to play dolls and she dressed Hannah up like on of her dolls and then dressed up herself.  It was the perfect cure for this four year old girl.  This picture was taken just an hour after the injury;  immediate improvement!

This is Caroline and William climbing on one of the trees to the side of our new old home.  The best part of our home so far has been the yard.  The kids have loved to explore and play and climb.  We have played wiffleball with all the bases and they have hideouts of mudpies and kitchen tools.  We have found roses and gerber daises and now blooming hydrangeas.  There have been many gifts to our whole family outside.

Caroline turned nine recently and she had her ears pierced.  This is my favorite picture from our time: her friend Sydney taking pictures of Caroline during the piercing.  Sydney and her mom came with us to celebrate and she was as excited as Caroline, maybe more so.  It was a great gift to be with old friends while doing something new and different.

I have to write about Henry and William.  They are so very similar.  I feel like I am having a great big do-over!  But the sweet part is that they have a real common understanding of each other.  Henry can make William laugh and smile when all is lost.  He has given his momma lots of sanity in this!  Here they are just playing around on the sofa.

And finally, I need to remember how friendships with siblings grow and change.  Hannah and William are sharing a room now and they have become fast friends (or double trouble depending on the day!).  They are having a great time playing together and it has been fun to remember how similar they are to Caroline and Henry when they were this age.  Dressing up is always fun and it seems that girls outfits are always more fun as well.

Canyon Trail

There is a house in my heart that is my favorite house.  It is on Canyon Trail and I know I can never go back and see it, because the pictures in my mind are so good, so beautiful that reality would only harm them.  I lived there for a short time when I was around the age of three.  It is a yellow two story with hardwood floors and high ceilings and windows that shout with light.  And I love it.  My memories of the wooden stairs and small kitchen make me feel safe and small and happy.  And I remember the smell of dry leaves there while playing in the carport.  I know I made my first batch of real "candy" with a tall thermometer in that kitchen.  We only lived in that house a few months, a time of transition.  It was never even owned by my parents, but by my godparents.  But it my mind it is what a home should be with simplicity and warmth and classic lines.  No frills or fancy, a little small even....but practical.

As we are looking for a home in Columbia, my children want to go back to our small yellow house in Williamsburg.  They talk about the yellow paint and the red door, and the boys love their "blue room".  And I wonder if that will be the home they always love.  Nothing logical about it...not necessarily where life was more blessed or money was more plentiful.  Just because it is the home in their heart.  

To start....this is a picture of post-nap William.  He is now fulling entering the land of being two, where everything is intense and extreme: the way he runs, his frequent demands, his relentless questions and the way he sleeps.   He sleeps hard and wakes up even harder.  It is a reminder to me that time is passing quickly.  It is the post-nap grumpies that finally encourage a mother to let go of the afternoon nap and quiet and aim for an early bedtime instead.  But it will be the end of a season; the end of forced quiet and being homebound for afternoons.  Naptime can be good for the whole family.  

And this is a picture of my Dansko shoes that fell apart after 15 years.  Yes, fifteen years.  Fifteen years that included walking hospital floors, walking city sidewalks and occasionally through snow.  Years in which I wiped bodily fluids off of them after lots of different exposures and years in which my body was always grateful for 24-36 hrs. of a shoe I could live with.  These were my "doctor" shoes and this week when I put them on, they felt different.   I looked down and saw the gap with saw tooth staples smiling back at me.  It is time; they are finished.  But somehow it feels wrong to throw them away.  They are a piece of that life, one that I have so little material reminders of any more.  Soaked with fluids of patients I cared for, babies I delivered....it is a shoe tied to the lives of others.

The very same day these shoes fell apart, I had a strange reminder of the medical world.  I went to see a new dermatologist, well recommended by local friends.  And she was a strange reflection of the world, the life I decided not to pursue.  She is within a year of my age.  She is beautiful and professional with four small children, the oldest also 8 years old.  She is married to a doctor and has a full time nanny.  We talked and as her eyes and fingers graced over my moles and bumps she asked about my life.  But how do you do it? Do you have a babysitter?  What does your husband do?  I could hear the confusion in her voice: you chose this?  And quite honestly, with a paper towel dress wrapped around my shoulders, I was not sure why I walked away from her world; from the independence of respect and income.  A woman with jeans on and a toddler on her hip does not often have people that wait to hear her opinion on a matter.  I do miss walking fast and having a reason, other than my personal pleasure, to have a phone.  Or knowing that I needed my clothes to match the level of my intellect.  (perhaps they do now!)  But after our short visit, she stayed at her office.  Just like she is at that office most of the week.  And I went home.  And I read books and got hugs and made lunch.  And that is the choice I feel very lucky to make for today..  

Hannah's songs

Lately Hannah asks to sing me a song at night after I have tucked her in.  Who could refuse such an offer?  She sings and brushes my hair and face with her fingers making up words and a tune as well.  Her songs are always different, but they are all some variation of:
Santa come soon,
come tomorrow and bring presents
I love Christmas and fun and presents
I love you Mommy
Jesus loves you
She sings with a soft high voice that echoes the good news of which she is sharing.  At first, I wanted to correct her that life is not only Christmas and Santa; there is so much more.  But then I realized, if she doesn't see more of the good, it is only a reflection of the small picture we have shown to her of the good. We have been studying the book of James at church and thinking through sufferings with a small "s" and sufferings with a big "S" in life.  I have found that just like my children I want to sing of Santa and presents and good times.  And while this is good, there are minor chords in life as well.  James teaches that God is with me and has His good for me, even on the days that are not Christmas and presents....which is a good 363 days of the year.  Hannah's singing at night sure makes it feel like Christmas every day to Mommy though.  May I be grateful for His presence with me on the non-holi-days.

Thinking thoughts....

Words:
William when I got him up from his afternoon nap:  "Mommy, the sun brightened me and I woke up."
Henry's persistent word for nightmares: night dreams.  "Mom, I had a bad night dream."

A picture:
Caroline and Henry, 15 months apart in age, sitting and laughing in the back seat of the van.  She is the only one with whom he has no shame, no embarassment, no striving.  He rests in her company and she in his.

We are looking at houses and trying to find one.  Another move.  But to something older, smaller, closer, cheaper.  We are hoping to be true to us, to our calling as a family.  It may need paint, perhaps an appliance or two? We feel good about moving despite the unknowns...hopeful that He has gone before us to a place where we can really settle in.  Perhaps that is why I didn't send out "we've moved" cards?  I was not really settled here?  We are glad to be in Columbia and hoping to find a section of this area that is a little more like us....a few more chinks, some work to be done, lots of outdoors trying to creep in...

A Good Quitter

Hannah Barrett is a good quitter.  I have just learned this about her.  She is my only thumb-sucker, and quite honestly, she has been "hitting it pretty hard" lately.  She turns four this coming April, and I had decided that would be the time to insist she stops.  I had mentally prepared myself for a few conversations this spring about the importance of not thumb-sucking.  Interesting... in that I have convinced Hannah to do very few things in her short life.  She, herself, climbed out of her crib to let me know it was time for a change, and when she was two she decided over the period of a weekend to stop using diapers after watching her cousin Dory's potty independence.
Last week, we went to the library.  In our usual fury of keeping small children safe and obtaining books for five people at the same time, there were many items in my bag that I did not pick out knowingly.  One of them was called "Thumb-love".  It is the story of a young girl who decides to quit sucking her thumb and the methods she uses to stop.  It is clever and creative and cute.  I read it to Hannah; she had Daddy read it to her.  And then she stopped.  That was it.  A decision.  She told us she was not going to suck her thumb any more and she didn't.  That was about 10 days ago.  No moments of weakness, no crazy tears or long discussions.  WOW.  If only I was that decisive!

Help from a Toddler

Some of my favorite things are small and consumable:  a good cup of coffee, cut flowers in a vase, a good smelling soap or lotion, a candle.  My husband has always been glad that I am easily delighted by things in the less than ten dollar price range (he would prefer an iPad to make him happy).  But I often won't actually use the small good thing I've been given.  I'll just smell that soap in its wrapper, or hold on to the lotion for a special day.  I don't want it to be gone....so I am afraid to use it.
Today I jumped in the shower after Brandon had left early for work.  My toddler busted in through the closed door.  After several minutes of instructing him how to shut the door, (since the neighbors all had a great view through the window and open door), he went and found the new bar of soap my aunt had given me for Christmas.  Now, I had sniffed this soap several times.  It is great.  And the paper is pretty.  Left to myself, I would have saved it and smelled it for quite a while.  William had seen me holding it and had asked me about it.  He knew it was soap and he knew Mommy was excited about it.  So when he realized I was in the shower, he went and found it in the cabinet and unwrapped it before my eyes.  "Here Mommy,"he said with great pride.  No saving this soap for another time.  No more holding and sniffing it without actually using it.
There are so many good things in my life that I actually end up holding at a distance;  I don't want to miss them if they are gone.  My family, God's many blessings...they are good things to enjoy.  I don't need to worry about leaving the wrapper on.  God's good things are to be enjoyed.  So glad for a toddler to help me enjoy the small things.

Gifts for me...

I have already opened a few gifts for me.  Small glimpses of goodness that were unexpected joys.  The first was a few days ago.  One of our children has always been our most generous natured child.  She is the one to share without question, to make gifts and plan parties of her own design.  The other day, she told me she was saving up her money for a compassion gift.  This is not surprising, in and of itself; I know she is a generous kid, I know she would enjoy giving gifts to anyone, even deserving children overseas.  But it went a bit further.  She started to explain about how little girls need bikes, in order to ride safely to school.  And how duck eggs are an important source of income for needy families in certain parts of the world.  She said that even goats can provide needed milk for a family.  She had studied this catalog.  She had spent time learning about the needs of others.  She was excited to be a part of making a difference in the lives of people she hasn't met yet.  It was a gift to see my child catch a glimpse of something bigger than herself and her own story...and want to be a part of it.

The other gift came this morning.  I was driving Hannah to church and we were talking about family.  In the middle of talking about her sister,  Hannah told me she asked God to be her King last night.  I responded tentatively but with encouragement, that it was exciting that she wanted God to be her King and that the fruit of His Spirit (love, joy, peace, patience, ...) would grow in her life if He was her king. We somehow started to talk about heaven and she asked me if our whole family would be in heaven.  I said that whoever has Jesus as their King will be in heaven with them, and that I didn't know if certain members of our family, like young William, have Jesus as their King yet.  She quickly turned to William, grabbing his hand in the carseat beside her and said, "William, you want Jesus to be your king, right?".  I loved her excited to include him, to be with him in heaven.  We talked about how God made Hannah and knows her and loves her best; how heaven will be full of just what Hannah needs because the God who made her is preparing a place for her.  As a typical parent, I said He will know the favor of ice cream she likes best, the things she likes to do best.  But Hannah quickly interjected with excitement,"And I will get to be with God!".  What a Christmas gift indeed!  To be reminded by my toddler that being in the presence of God is a great joy.

Playing host...(also Pretending Part 2)

One important character I left out of my blog on the importance of pretending...is the host or hostess.  I am thinking about this as I plan yet another Christmas party at our house and once again find myself woefully lacking in many of the hostess skills (thinking ahead, caring a great deal about decorations, and planning in detail about non-life-threatening matters).  The best host or hostess is actually a great pretender.  They smile and greet you as if they had not lifted a finger all day.  The floors always look this good, the bathrooms are always this clean.  They enjoy conversation at the party as if there is no carpet to clean, no food to clear away in just a few hours.  They pretend the moment of this party is all there is, nothing before and nothing to come, just this time to enjoy together.  They are never tired and do not yawn.  And so we settle in and enjoy, and we are blessed by their hospitality and kindness.  We laugh and talk and leave the details of real life far away.  The host or hostess gives us a gift as they pretend this hosting is effortless on their part.  We are all nervous in the presence of an anxious host; the one who worries aloud or seems unable to settle down and be with us.  You have seen this person, they move quickly, constantly refilling cups or moving food about tables.  They are never able to talk, just to be about the task.  The host or hostess who is unable to pretend takes away from the moment; we begin to worry for them.  Instead of being present at the party, we start to think ahead as well.  Should we go ahead and clear the dishes?  Do we need to leave early?  Are they tired already?  Children are very different from adults. They love parties without question.  Perhaps this is because they give no concern to whether or not their host/hostess is a good pretender.  They are able to enjoy the moment regardless.  I have a dear friend who is an excellent hostess.  I went and stole away at her home for solace and rest recently.  I knew I would feel no burden in being there.  I knew I could rest in the moment because she is always able to make it all effortless. And it was healing; it was a gift to me.  For us adults, we need a great pretender to help us enjoy the moment and leave the worries and details behind.  Is this what Jesus did at the Last Supper?  Did He invite them to a feast with a peace and calm despite terrible details he knew in his mind?  But he wasn't pretending.  He knew the events to follow this party were worth it.  He knew the real after-party, the life everlasting, the new heavens and new earth, was actually the best part.  Here's to a Christmas where we can enjoy the moment...because the real after-party is yet to come....

Pretending....

There is value in pretending.  Children already know this.  We adults think it is childish to pretend and so we discredit its power.  The other week the kids and I read about the Sun King, Louis XIV of France and how he attributed the success of his leadership to being a divinely appointed king, one due all manner of honor and privileges.  He pretended to be all worthy, exemplary in every way.  He made the little things in his daily life into great ceremonies, even giving individuals the "great privilege" of emptying his chamber pots.  The nobles of France were swept into his act, the theater of his kingship. And he served on the throne for many years.
 In medical school, they tell you to "pretend" that you know what you are doing as you enter the room with a patient those early years of practicing.  They explain that entering that room with clumsy manners and sweaty insecurity is actually harmful to the patient.  It creates anxiety for them instead of allowing them to be given the art of medicine, the reassurance of a doctor's presence.  And they are right.  The patient wants to believe that just the presence of the doctor is the beginning of a helpful path of healing.  I remember how hard this idea was for me to "pretend" prior to my clinical experiences.  Would I be lying to my patients?  And yet, when I stepped into the room, I found how much it seemed helpful.  I put aside my own self, full of insecurities and questions, and stepped into a role, a role in which I would better serve others.
I think that part of being a good parent is pretending.  Pretending that you do know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what you are doing when you tell them that it is important to obey and go to bed and stay there.  Pretending that you are most definitely worthy of honor and respect when you really feel that you make a thousand mistakes a day.  They are young.  As they are trying to understand the big-ness of this full-sensory adventure ride of a world, they need to know there is a steady guide, a calm hand at the stern of the ship.  One day there will be nuance and multi-layers of color to all of this, but for now it is simple.  No, as a five year old, you will not be allowed to decide  what you should eat or with whom you should play.  We know what we are doing up here in the cockpit.  Sit back and enjoy the ride.  And hopefully this "pretending" will give them grace to sit back and enjoy the much greater adventure of life; being a small part of God's big kingdom plan when His ways are much higher than your ways.

These days...

Time seems to be not marching, but skipping happily through our home.  While we still have one in diapers, there is no longer a baby in our home but a full-fledged toddler.  I think Brandon and I are especially aware of this new phase of life.  No cumbersome nap schedules or complex feeding issues to worry about when we head out as a family.  But also nothing to truly slow us down in the same way, and thus, the pace has picked up a bit.  Now, we have to fight it back ourselves rather than relying on a baby to tie us down.  Here is our new two year old, leaning over the dock at his grandparents house to explore the lake water.  It was a warm T'giving!

This is Hannah "reading" her book.  She too has seemed so old lately as her legs have finally grown a bit longer.  (She is truly a petite ball of fire.)  She calls her book, "The Fellowship".  She has asked us to pay her a penny for each book she "reads" at night.  Last week she insisted her father buy her a flashlight for reading at night.  She doesn't want to learn her abcs, or work on phonics, but she is certain that she wants to be a reader one day like her big brother and sister.  

This last picture is for me.  All our indians dressed up and playing together.  While we do have lots of days of bickering and quarreling, we also have some days where I marvel at how well the five of them play "together", across ages and stages.  They grow, they change, and they continue to learn how to work and play together in each new season.  Plus, look at that little indian on the left, isn't that face great?

The song in my head...

I recently have started playing a few of my old piano pieces from lessons I took as a child.  I hurry to sit at the bench for a few minutes while John Mac pulls out his cello and chair to practice, trying to get a whole song in while he adjusts his endpin. I have loved remembering old pieces, seeing how my fingers can still follow the old patterns better than I can read the notes.  The other day I found an old piece that I have played in my head over the years more than any other.  It was a comfortable pattern to go to and for years I have played it in my mind and on the invisible keyboard before me.  It's a piece that I would play on my fingers on a desk as I was thinking for a test, or in those moments of time where I was waiting anxiously before an interview.  I found the piece this week and it was just as I had remembered it.  It has a bright and regular tempo, but unusual notes that create a surprising melody for such a metered beat.  I guess the combination has a special key to some part of my mind.
As I watch my kids learn and grow, I feel like they each have a piece of music that God placed in their lives.  It is interesting to me that I actually see it best in moments of stress, just as my playing often came out at those times.  I watch as one child problem solves with such creativity.  Another builds and draws.  One is always singing and hugging.  Different melodies, different strengths...And here is the tough part...this momma resonates more easily with some pieces than others.  Some are quite catchy for me and stick in my head and others take work for me to follow.  I always knew mothers loved all their children, but I didn't know until I was a mother that the work load involved in loving and learning your kids can really vary.  Some children walk and live in a way you hear and understand immediately; others you have to study.  One of our newborns I was certain was out to be the end of all music in my life.  It is only after years of studying him that I am starting to hear the melody of his mind.  The piano piece that I found this week, that I have in my head for years now, was actually a lot of work for me to learn as well.  It was a piece I was to play for a recital and it took hours and hours for it to become fluid and smooth.  The work involved is actually part of what ingrained it in the crevices of my mind.  God uses all of our work unto Him for good, and He molds and shapes us as we learn new music.

Almost two...

"Liam", as he refers to himself, is almost two years old.  He is excited about his birthday and in a spirited (and very verbal) manner he goes about the house singing:  "Happy Birthday to me, I'm a hundred and three....".  This is because he learns so much from his older siblings and unfortunately this is the most common rendition of Happy Birthday that is sung in our home right now.  Every child is different, and after five kids, you would think I would no longer be amazed at this....but I am stunned by how talkative William is, how extroverted he is, how good he is at remembering things and people at such a young age.  He sings the alphabet and counts up to twenty; (he beat his three and half year old sister at this who could care less about the alphabet song).  He is a joy to watch as he soaks in all that is around him.  I am actually not sure what to get him for his birthday.  I don't know what "birthday theme" he would like the best.  I don't even really know what his favorite food is (although it's pizza for the rest of us).  William though is a great gift to the rest of us.  So glad that God knows best what a family needs.  Here's hoping Mommy has enough smarts and energy to train this one well....I think we'll be ending with a bang.

Dear Davidson College,

I came to visit you recently.  I wanted to see what it felt like to walk the brick sidewalks, to smell the old hallways.  The days I remember best I spent in your musty library gazing out the window...just thinking...and studying.  I had late night conversations with friends while sharing pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream sitting on your benches; it shaped my views and solidified some core of who I am today.  My professors let me ask questions over coffee or in their office, they were never too busy.   When I went to visit last week, I bounded up the stairs of Chambers building to the old auditorium in which I listened to my humanities lectures.  They were my favorite classes.  There I learned the big picture of history and ideas.  All the little pieces started to come together as professors from each department spoke to us.  It was there that I learned what I value most from Davidson College: to love to learn for the sake of learning alone.  My education until that point had been learning to produce, to pass a test, to fill in the writing formula, to get into college.  I had not realized it, but it had always been about the outcome rather than the process.  But at Davidson, my learning went from black and white to color; I learned to love learning.  I read significant writings, worked through pivotal ideas and realized how they had shaped and changed culture, in my chemistry class just as well as in my art history class.  It was the beginning of a new way to live.  Each day a day to learn, from books, from people...And so off I went to medical school.  And then to practice medicine, while still learning, still looking up various diseases, reading articles on new forms of treatment.  And then I became a parent and read even more books; books on child development, books on parenting.
Now I return to visit this warm place in my mind and I am sad to realize there is no real place for me here.  This old house, these relatives have no recollection of me.  Oh, this has nothing to do with age and stage.  There are many my age still welcomed heartily by your college.  It has to do with production.  You see, I took my love of learning and left a professional career to teach five small children.  I wanted them to love the sound of a well-written poem, to observe carefully with their eyes and try hard to draw the lines they see, to learn the truth and order of math as a building block.  I wanted them to love to learn, just as I had learned from you.  To begin their lives knowing that the learning is the thing, not the product.  But without my professional accolades, without a significant income to donate, without a speaking career or published product...I am just a ghost haunting the halls that were once mine.  It seems odd that while learning is cherished in an uncommonly good measure there, just like the rest of academia, production must be valued as well.  I am raising up your children though, another generation to love learning just as you taught me to do. I do wish there was still room for me on the bench.
Sincerely,
Me

Some days...

Some days William wakes up very happy.  He is busy talking to himself in the crib and we argue over who will get to interrupt his monologue and see his smile of joy first thing in the morning.  Other days, we find him quieter, or sometimes even demanding us to come and rescue him by name.  "DADDY!", he screams insistently.  On those mornings, he is fussy and clingy.  He wants what he wants, when he wants, and he demands in no uncertain terms that we are not to put him down, but to carry him around.  He clutches his sippy cup of milk and a shoulder and rides about the house.  On the "grumpy" mornings, we draw straws as to who will carry William and who gets to roam free to shower, dress and such for the day ahead.  As a fifth child, William gets some patience and grace that he doesn't even realize he's receiving.  You see, if he were my first or second child, I would be scared these grumpy mornings were signs of rampant selfishness, a monster that must not be fed or tolerated for one instant.  I would have been concerned to "give in" to his demands to be carried, to be held.  These grumpy mornings would have been red flags of danger in the midst of calm.  "My child?  Selfish and demanding?".  The truth is, after some years of mothering, now I know this young child is rampantly selfish.  Just like I am, just like his four siblings are that were born ahead of him.  These "grumpy mornings" are no surprise but evidence of the real thing, the monster inside us all.  And rather than being frightened by the selfish monster that we have to tame, I have found sometimes the best way forward is to love on it.  Sometimes being carried around with undeserved patience is exactly what will coax William into happiness again.  And aren't we all that way?  I can be full of self-pity, only aware of my own burdens...when the light of gift of kindness or an act of friendship will turn me around.  You brought me a cup of coffee?  You sent a card for no reason?  Thank you for your kindness; it moves me out of myself because I see the kindness of Jesus in your deed.  When we are surprised by kindness and grace we are able to climb out of the selfish tree and back down into the world.   And don't be surprised that some days we just need that more than others.

Hosea 11:4: I led them with cords of kindness, with the bands of love, and I became to them as one who eases the yoke on their jaws, and I bent down to them and fed them.

For me, it is easy to think that math and reading and writing...these are the things we "learn" to do.  I was good at this kind of "learning" in school.  It is hard to remember that there is a lot of life to be "learned" outside of books.  I was sharing with a friend how hard it has been for me to train our kids to do chores, to help clean and keep things orderly. I don't like the delegating, the follow through, the detailed teaching required.... I was wishing I was more like this friend, who naturally trains and delegates in all that she does around her home.  She stopped me and told me about how for her, it was teaching children from books that was difficult.  She spent many hours thinking through how her kids would learn best from books.  Teaching her kids to clean a bathroom, though, for her, was what came easily.   She reminded me that just as she had to work on the books, the academic learning...I need to work on the chores, the daily character training of practical work.  It was this "aha" moment for me...yes, it is all learning...just different types.  Some come easily, some do not...but it's all good work to be done.  Yesterday, Caroline had her first sewing lesson.  She loved it and I honestly did as well.  She is a careful thoughtful worker and it was good to realize she is ready for lots of "learning" outside of the classroom as an eight year old girl.  

A few vocabulary words to begin:
rainbrella (from Hannah):  what you use to shield yourself from getting wet in the rain
cheese grill (from John Mac): one of the best sandwiches ever....
All little kids have interesting words, but these two words have persisted despite years of correction....

A thought:
It is wrong to see pumpkins while there is humidity and you are breaking a sweat.  The smell of dry leaves really should accompany temperatures below eighty degrees.  Just as I was frustrated with the April snows in the great North, I am equally frustrated by the warm pumpkin weather down South!

A picture:
A little brother runs to take his big brother the bottle of gatorade he left in the car.  Big brother is in full baseball uniform and already throwing his practice throws.  Little brother runs so fast, leaves the bottle right at big brother's feet.  He returns to Momma quite pleased with a task accomplished.  He waits patiently through the game; runs around beneath bleachers, plays tag with friends.  Afterwards he is given a baseball hat from the coaches, an extra one they had...just like his big brother's.  He wears the red "NT" inscribed baseball hat the whole next day, sleeps with it at the top of his bed.  Imitation is the truest form of flattery.

Sister as Hero

Hannah has a hero and her name is Caroline.  Caroline is five years older than Hannah and it is so beautiful to watch the special place that her big sister has in Hannah's life.  Yesterday, while Caroline was at ballet, Hannah suddenly broke into tears, "I miss Caroline.  It isn't fun when she is gone."  Caroline paints Hannah's nails; Caroline fixes her hair almost every day (in colors and styles that no mother would think of).  Caroline encourages and distracts Hannah when she is sad and can always get her to stop crying.  Caroline is patient with Hannah and includes her in all that she does.  I watch with joy at their friendship, but I also realize I am missing out as a Momma.  You see, I was the one that thrilled Caroline when I painted her nails or braided her hair in a french braid.  I can remember how excited she was to have tea parties with me, to eat hotdogs with toothpicks on our back porch.  Hannah doesn't even know I can do these "fun things" because she is so busy having fun with her big sister.  There are many articles that talk about what a shaping influence siblings have on your life.  I am so thankful that Caroline is a beautiful shaping influence.  And I will wait and one day I hope I get to show her the fun side of Momma.

School Days

I think school decisions can be some of the hardest decisions parents make for their children.  They feel more powerful than the many small ones we make for our kids everyday.  (Although I think this is not really true...it's those thousand character shaping moments of yelling or patience, prayer or anxiety that probably really matter...).  We look ahead and see two roads diverging...and we must choose one.  This year we chose to homeschool, but I am far from a homeschool poster child. I wanted to place these pictures here to remember what I love about that road for us, at this point in life.  

First, Hannah in her bathing suit (dancing of course!).  Hannah has been wearing her bathing suit daily for about three weeks now.  It really bothers me, but I try to role with it, reminding myself she will not wear her bathing suit to college one day.  At night, we bathe Hannah, put on clean pajamas, tuck her into bed....and in the morning, we find her in her bathing suit.  She keeps it on for school.  Thankfully, we are able to accommodate this clothing request in our basement schoolroom.  She can be three years old, and well, the rest of us can enjoy Hannah being Hannah.

This is a picture of Henry reading to William and Hannah.  Henry loves books.  He started looking at them when he was nine months old, pulling them off shelves and pouring over the pages.  But reading has been slow and hard work for him.  Henry is finally starting to turn the corner, and I love to listen to him read to his younger siblings.  He loves being able to share a story with them now.  It has been good for Henry not to know if he is in the "blue reading group" or the "green reading group", etc.  He has been coming along at his own pace and it's a joy to see it come together finally.

Every year, we draw the same animals from the book Drawing with Children.  I love the book because it teaches you how to use straight lines and curves and dots, basic things, to slowly build a picture.  And because I wish I was an artist who could make beautiful things every day.  Anyway, back to drawing...we do the same pictures every year in the fall and compare them with the previous year.  Every year, our lines are stronger, the proportions are better....Well, John Mac has never been willing to try and draw with us.  He didn't like to color or pick up a pencil for any reason really.  This week he drew with us for the first time...and look!  So fun to see what you can do when you try.  We were all amazed at what we could do this year.  We sat for an hour with classical music in the background, drawing and coloring....and it was all that is good and beautiful about homeschooling.  

I won't show you any pictures of the day before this when William screamed for 30 minutes in the pack and play because I wouldn't give him a gumball.  And Hannah put play dough on the carpet.  And Caroline, my stable strong student simply cried on me over her math for no clear reason.  We all have our days, but it can be tough when we have them all together.  And it can be good, very very good.

Sometimes you just need....

A menu plan.
Nothing was going right today.  I was fuzzy-headed and tired, over-thinking and un-directed.  The second cup of coffee didn't help as I kept trying to move in a more straight path through my day.  But it wasn't working.  A friend found me.  I tried to explain the myriad of thoughts whirling in my brain, none of which added up to anything.  None were solid; all were the fuzzy sneers of Satan.  She listened, she was patient.  I ended by explaining the one clear example of my foggy day: "And when I went to plan meals for the family coming to visit us...I tried for all of nap time, with nothing."  So she pulled out the legal pad and pen and went to work.  And now I feel so much better.  I feel so loved.  And so ready for my friends to visit.  Thank God for the body of Christ, for friends that can practically love you when they know you don't make a lick of sense.