In the Heart of my Home

Small Steps Together: Cocooning and Flying Free

I have long loved early childhood. From the time I was very little, I have invested much thought and prayer into the mother of young children I feel called to be. Much to the chagrin of pretty much everyone except my husband, I even majored in early childhood in college. (Just an aside: I had enough nursing and anatomy/physiology credits to also be certified to teach health and PE. God had a plan. I grew up to educate children who, when asked to name their school, inform the general public that they attend the Foss Academy for the Athletically Inclined. But I digress.)

 

I have held tightly to the promise that it's never too late to have a happy childhood. And since mine was not childish or carefree, I've set out very deliberately to create for my children what I think I might have missed and to enjoy it alongside them. Deep in my heart, my fondest wish was to be the very good mother of young children. You might say that I've dedicated my adult  life to that task.

Not too long ago, I can't remember where, I read about a woman around my age who said that she was too busy with her grown kids and teenagers to mourn the fact that her babies were growing up and there would soon be no wee ones in her house. I'm not. I'm not too busy. There are still small children in my house and they slow me, still me. I still stay with them at night as they drift off to sleep. I still sit with them at the table as they eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, ever so slowly. I bathe them and brush their hair and braid it up before bed. I sit and rock and hold and read. I still thank God for them with every breath, much like I did the day they were born. I have plenty of time in the course of my day to be still and know that these are precious moments that will not be a part of my days in the not too distant future. 

In a way, I envy those women who blithely move along to the next stage of life and smile brightly and say, "There! That's finished. Wasn't it grand? Now what's next?" I'm not one of them. Perhaps I'm just not good at transitions. I sobbed at my high school graduation. I remember how reluctantly I traded my wedding gown for my "going away" clothes. I cried so hard when Michael left for college that I had to pull over because I couldn't see to drive. I held more tightly to each newborn than the one before. And this last one? I don't think I put her down at all for the first twelve weeks. My intimate relationships are deep and rooted and meaningful. When I live something, I feel it. 

I know it's time.

I know because my environment cries out that it is so. My house is full to overflowing with people. Several of them are more than twice the size they were when we moved in here. Some have left and come back and brought with them more of their own stuff. We are bursting at the seams. It is time to acknowledge that we are in a new season of life and to allow my house to reflect that.

And so. I cocoon. Somehow I know that this is intense, deeply personal business and at the end I will be the same and yet, forever different. I spin a silken thread tightly around my home. My cell phone goes dead. I don't recharge it. I don't touch my laptop. I don't carry the house phone with me. I don't leave for several days. It is time to conquer all those recesses of my home that I neglected while I held babies. It is time to let go.

We need space. We no longer need a co-sleeper. Or the sheets to go with it. We don't need a swing. I begin in the basement.

We don't need three neatly labeled boxes of beautiful thick, pink, cotton clothes -- 0-3 months, 6-9 months, 9-18 months. I carefully save the christening gown, the sweet baptism booties, the first dress Karoline wore to match Katie and Mary Beth. The rest I fold into giveaway bags.  Michael takes the baby "things" to the Salvation Army on Friday.The clothes remain until Saturday morning. The Children's Center truck is due to arrive at 8 AM. After I've finished with the clothes, I cannot  stay here in this basement on Friday. I've done what I know will be the most difficult task. I also know I'm nearly suffocating.  I need to go upstairs and get some air. 

I begin in Mike's office. This isn't really my mess or my stuff or even the stuff of children who haven't been carefully supervised. It is just the overflow of two busy adults who pile and stuff a bit too much. He doesn't use this room. It's a lovely room in the middle of the house with a bright window. I put a new sewing machine on the desk. I rearrange shelves, discarding things he no longer needs. I spend an hour or so carefully dusting his youth trophies and 25 years of sports paraphernalia. I think about this post and I know that we can (and should) share this space. I move some baskets in. My yarn, my knitting and sewing books, a few carefully folded lengths of fabric, holding place for a stash to come.

I stitch a few things in that room. And I am happy there. I am no longer knitting in my womb. But I am still creating. And it makes me happy. My arms are ever more often empty, but my hands are increasingly free for other pursuits. Still, a small voice whispers, knitting and sewing are nothing like the co-creation you've done for the last 22 years. I hush the voice. I have no idea where this is going. He is the Creator. He has written a beautiful pattern for my life. All He asks is that I knit according to His plan. Trust the pattern.

On Saturday morning, that truck comes. I can't even watch as they load my dear boxes. My stomach clenches and my eyes fill with tears. Things. They are only things. The girls who wore those things are safe in my arms. Another mother will be blessed to hold a sweet pink cotton bundle close and nuzzle her cheeks. I descend to the basement.

Here. Here is where I must force myself to cocoon. Here is where ten years of "put this carefully in the craft room" will come back to haunt me. They have tossed at will every single time. It never recovered from the great flooring shuffle. I do pretty well with the rest of the house, but I dislike coming down to the basement and Mike rarely comes down here. So, here is where the disorder has collected. The "craft room" is a jumble of stored clothes, curriculum, craft supplies, and 25 years of family photos. It is a mess.

I am humbled by the mess. Quite literally driven to my knees. But I have spun myself into this small space and here I will stay until I can emerge beautifully.

I have banished all outside interruptions, but I have brought with me the Audible version of this book. Good thing, too, because I will benefit greatly from the message within and, frankly, I will need to hear the narrator say "You are a good mom" as often as she does. 

I see the abandoned half-finished projects, the still shrinkwrapped books, the long lingering fabric and lace. Did I miss it? Did I miss the opportunity to do the meaningful things? To be the good mom I want to be? I am nearly crushed by the weight of the money I've spent on these things and the remanants of my poor stewardship.What was I doing when this mess was being made? To be sure some of the time was sadly wasted. It is easy to berate myself for time slipped through my fingers. Cocoons are really rather nasty things.

Determined, I clear out the clutter. I tell myself that life is not black and white. It's not all bad or all good.  I fold fabric and recognize that what I have here is the beginning of some new projects. I gather acorn caps and felt and label them and tuck them away for the fall. I make a very large stack of books to sell secondhand. I sort and sweep and remember. I see picture after picture of smiling children. I see, in those color images, time well spent. Time well filled.  Their mama always looks tired. I recognize in  those pictures that my children were happy--are happy. And I also recognize that it's been a little while now since I felt that tired. It is true that much of my time in the last twenty years, I have been filling well. I have been holding and rocking and nursing and coloring and listening and reading and giving and giving...I have been cherishing childhood. And it is a true that in a household this size, it is darn near impossible for every corner of the house to remain clean and every lesson to be carried out according to plan ,while caring well for babies and toddlers.  Messes happen.

The season just passed? The very long season? It was good and full and messy and cluttered. It was bursting-at-the-seams joyful in a way nothing ever will be again. It was also very hard work. Very, very hard work.There were utter failures and big mistakes. And there was a whole lot of good. 

This new season? I don't know yet. It's not nearly as cluttered. I have stayed in this cocoon until every corner of my home, every nook and every cranny, has been cleared of the clutter of the last season. Every poor choice, every undisciplined mess has been repurposed. Every single one. I can see my way clear to do the meaningful things. And the blessing is that there are still plenty of children in this house to do them with me.

As I sweep the room for the last time before considering this a job well done, I see a picture that has slid under a bookshelf. It is Mike and me at our wedding rehearsal. I stare long and hard at that girl. But I stare longer at him. He is still every bit as happy as he was that night. Happier, really. Really happier. These days in this cocoon, I have been brutally honest with myself. I've held myself accountable for every transgression. I have humbled myself before God and I have confessed my sins.  I look at his image and then back at mine and I realize something very important. Whatever my failings, I have consistently been a good wife. I wonder at the ease with which this recognition comes to me. I am certain that much of it is born of his frequent words of affirmation. I know it is so because he has told me it is so. But why is it so?

Grace. 

Ours is a gracious God. It is only by His grace that I am the wife I am. And it is by His grace that I have this sense of peace about the most important relationship in my life. These children willl grow in the safe home he and I have created together. And then they will fly. Mike and I? We will be us. Always us.

I carefully put away the very last picture, turn out the light, and climb the stairs.

I've cleared out the clutter, made peace with the past. I've learned a very valuable lesson that I'm long going to be pondering in my heart. It's time to fly free.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Small Steps focuses on humility this month. Would you share your thoughts with us, let us find you and walk with you? I'd be so grateful and so honored to have you as a companion. Please leave a link to your blog post below and then send your readers back here to see what others have said.You're welcome to post the Small Steps Together banner button also.

Dear Friend, Please come visit.

I promise you that I will not spend days and days cleaning my house before you arrive. I will not stuff the evidence of life lived here into far recesses of closet corners you will never see. I will not pretend that the life we live here is always ever perfectly ordered. I will not seek to impress you. Instead, I will endeavor to befriend you.

I will make sure that nothing gross will surprise you in the bathroom. I'll probably plump the cushions on the couch. I'll make you something good to eat and share with you endless of pitchers of green tea lemonade. Instead of coaxing my children to scour and shine, I will share with them the fun of expecting company. 

I tell you all this--I'm doing it this way--because I trust you. And I want to be your friend. I trust that you are coming to spend time with me, not to judge me or take notes or compare me to anyone else. And I promise you that when I come to your house, I'm coming for you--your company and that alone. I trust you with who I really am, imperfect though that may be. I trust that the half-finished paint job will make you smile in ready recognition that you have been there, done that, too. I'm going to throw open my doors--and my heart--and be real with you. 

Because that's what friends do.

And you're my friend, in every sense of the word.

Love,

Elizabeth

The Perfect Spring Break

We took a deep breath of sweet fresh air (much of of it misty and rainy, but all good anyway). Every day, for nearly two weeks, we hung out by the creek, in the woods, on the rocks. We played and played and played. Down there, old friends joined us to keep a spring tradition going: godchildren and godmothers, big kids who were toddlers together, middle kids who once were babies in slings, toddlers walking these banks all on their own, and ~oh-be-still-my-heart~ new babies out for the very first time in spring sunshine. We also had the great, glorious privilege of introduing new friends to our place of joy. All in all, it was pretty much perfect, there in the spring and the flowers and the mud.

This slideshow is probably too long for anyone but Mike to watch to the end, but it does capture our days and Mary Beth and I hope it brings a spring smile to your day.

 

The perfect song is Virginia Bluebell by Miranda Lambert.

Dandelion Reprise

{From the archives. Reviving and revising a post from last year, with a mix of pictures from this year and last, before they all become "wishing flowers."}

The day began with an announcement from Karoline:

"Mama," said she, her fist full of dandelions for me to put into a tiny pitcher, "we have so many beautiful yellow flowers and the neighbors have none. I'm going to pick them all and scatter them in everyone's yard just like Miss Rumphius. Then, there will be beautiful yellow flowers everywhere."

 

We dug up a Dandelion Syrup Recipe and suggested that Karoline and her sisters and her friends gather the flowers for syrup making purposes.

 

They spent a glorious couple of hours making their fingers a lovely shade of yellow.

They stirred some "dandelion soup."

They measured until there was enough.

They brought it in to boil and steeped.

We read Miss Rumphius and Dandelions  and The Dandelion Seed and Stars in the Grass at bedtime.

The next day, we added sugar and cooked and cooked.

Dandelion Syrup.

Brings sweet tea to a whole new place:-).

When I tucked Katie into bed that night she commented, "Some people call dandelions weeds. Don't they see the flowers? Everyone should have a girl to show her the flowers when all they see are the weeds."

Everyone should.

 

The Recipe

250 Dandelion tops (yes, really; count them). Please be sure your dandelions haven't been treated with herbicide or pesticide

the juice of 1 lemon

4 cups of water

2 pounds of sugar

In a large pot on the stove, stir the dandelion tops with the 4 cups water, bring to a boil and then cover and simmer 1 hour. Cool and allow the dandelion tea to continue to steep in the refrigerator overnight. In the morning, strain the tops, reserving all the tea. Mix the tea with two cups of sugar and the lemon juice. Simmer, stirring occasionally, on the stovetop, until the water evaporates and you have syrup. A froth will form on the top of the syrup. Turn off the heat and allow the syrup to cool completely. it will thicken as it cools. Pour into a jar. It's a got an earthy flavor that is nice stirred into tea.

 

Rainy Afternoon? Dye Yarn!

Several weeks ago, Elizabeth sent the girls some undyed yarn and Easter colors. She posted instructions for dyeing yarn and encouraged each girl to express herself with her own hank of yarn. They were eager to get after it. I promised that we would do it one rainy afternoon. 

And then the bluebells bloomed and we were outside, rain or not. But late last week, it rained and I was all bluebelled out, so we set about to dye yarn.

My girls had seen a sneak peek of Larkspur's beautiful yarn, so they'd settle for nothing less than using every color in the packet. Since I didn't happen to have pipettes on hand, I figured we'd give yarn painting a try. (I also brought out a turkey baster. It was clearly obvious it wouldn't give us detail but it kept Sarah entertained the whole time.)

I determined from the get-go that I would help one girl at a time. Good call. They required careful supervision.

The yarn was tied in several places, using a figure-eight style tie. We left it tied. Critical to minimize tangles.

First we soaked the yarn in 1 cup of warm water and and 1/4 cup of white vinegar. The girls eagerly squished the yarn and turned it over, careful to be sure every strand was wet.

We mixed our dye in our watercolor jars. We added one tablet of Easter egg dye and 1 tablespoon vinegar. And let it fizz. Fun. We talked a little about the chemistry of it all.

[Just an aside, but I dislike both math and chemistry. I'm beginning to suspect that Elizabeth is on a mission--via yarn--to convert me to someone who embraces math and chemistry. Between dyeing yarn and doing the math on  a Baby Surprise Jacket, I'm seriously using a part of my brain I've tried to avoid. Embracing math and chemistry would truly be a miracle.]

Then we filled the cups with water--about a half  cup's worth. We spread the table with a big green garbage bag and set our cups in the middle. Then, we circled the dye with the yarn. And we used our watercolor paintbrushes.

We talked about a pattern and everyone understood that we were going to move around the yarn in a rainbow order. Katie and I worked on hers first. I got her started and showed her how to paint the yarn on top and make sure she was painting the layers in the middle and then to carefully flip it and get the underside. She took off on her own and Karoline watched. There was blessed silence as she worked--everyone concentrating and creating. There was no end to Katie's patience.

Karoline required a great deal more help. First, Mary Beth guided her around. She soon decided that she wanted all the colors Larkspur had, but she was only interested in painting the purple herself. Mary Beth and I thoroughly enjoyed painting it for her helping her finish.

When the yarn was all painted, we carefully transferred it back to the large (15X10) glass casserole dishes. I covered them with plastic wrap and then I microwaved them individually. I microwaved for 3 minutes and then let it sit for 5 minutes, repeating this four or five times. lately, I've suspecting that my microwave isn't really working at full power even when it says it is, so I'd adjust your times accordingly.

Then I left to go to the airport.

When I returned, the yarn was completely cool. We ran a cool bath and swished our yarn around gently for about ten minutes. Then, we pulled it out of the tub, gently squeezed and placed it on the bathroom floor between two thick towels. We instructed Karoline to bourre until she was too tired to bourre any more. So, she gladly danced on the balls of her feet for few minutes. We hung the yarn to dry in the bathroom and waited patiently until the next day.

When there was no dampness left whatsoever, each girl recruited a brother to help her wind her very own ball of yarn.

Ta-Dah!

Mary Beth still has a hank of merino-silk to dye. But now, we're off on a bit of a rabbit trail. I'm pretty sure these  books will work for high school chemistry for both of us, no?

Remember, there's a great bargain to be had on Easter egg dyes this week;-). Go!

For undyed yarn, Knit Picks, has a wide selection at a reasonable price.

{Comments are welcome}

Yarn Along: One Pink "Fweater"

Pardon me, please. I'm a little late to the Yarn Along.

I was knitting.

Elizabeth teased me last week that I had my first UFO (Unfinished Object). Indeed, I had casted on for Katie's shrug before finishing Sarah's.

But only because I didn't know how to finish Sarah's.

I definitely don't think I will be the UFO type. I'm all into finishing. Like stay up until midnight and get up a 5 AM to finish finishing. So, this week, Sarah's "fweet fweater" is finished.

 

{Come here, Baby Bedhead, see what Mama has for your morning surprise.}

And Katie's is completed all except a few more easy rows of length and the ruffle.

 

{{{And blocking and buttons (but I don't know how to do those yet and I've lost the buttons somewhere in the van).}}}

The goal is to finish all by Friday, when I expect the mailman will deliver yarn for Karoline's striped shrug. I don't want to start something new until I finish these.

 

We're reading lots of knitting-and-wool-related picture books. I cleared out the glass-fronted cabinet in the family room and installed our yarn (a shelf for me and a shelf for the girls), a basket of needles and such, and these lovelies:

Phoebe's Sweater (for more on Phoebe, don't miss this interview and Phoebe Mouse's blog)

Freddie's Blanket

Knitting Nell 

Charlie Needs a Cloak 

Warm as Wool 

The Mitten 

Sunny's Mittens 

Pelle's New Suit

and these for next week:

Woolbur 

Noodles Knitting 

Red Berry Wool

Argyle

 

Chasing Away February Gray

When the outside is undoubtedly gray, day after day after day,

it's time to make color come alive inside.

I like to wait until midwinter for

an infusion of new color

with which to doodle,

jot,

and journal...

We can get them all broken in just before it's time to capture the glorious colors of spring.

See Ginny for a grand collection of color.

{This winter's art supplies come from Stubby Pencil Studio. I was not compensated in any way for this post. We're just getting to know them, but so far, we're pleased:-)}

 

What I See Washing Up

Leila is hosting a Kitchen Sink Party. She writes:

Well, I'll tell you. Over the years I've noticed that many women do get the idea that they would like to stay home and take care of their family. They feel torn away when they leave home, as if a part of them gets left behind -- and that feeling is far stronger for them than the feeling they have when they leave the outside world and feel a little torn about that. I think most people understand that you can't have everything, and they make a choice.

But many of these same women do go just a teensy bit insane (and I say this because I was sort of this way myself, although I had no outside life I cared anything about at all) when they stay home.

And part of that insanity is that it is truly difficult to live somewhere that's probably far from anyone you know or are related to, have no friends who are willing to do what you are doing, and spend all your time with small children when you don't feel very well to start with. I understand all that, believe me!

Part of it, though, has to do with not understanding or not being willing to commit yourself to the little tasks that make up this life.

 

I think she's spot-on. Mothering at home, making a home is all about commiting to the little things. When I say "I love my kitchen," I mean I love all the things my kitchen means for me and for my family. I love the time we spend there cooking together. I love the quiet moments in the early morning when it is all mine and I bring it to life for the day. I love the sense of satisfaction I get when everything is buttoned up at night and I put it to sleep. It is physically in the center of my house (something I really don't love), but it's also the emotional center of our home. During the day, the kitchen is the hub.

My kitchen sink overlooks the sunroom where we do most of our "schooling." Beyond the sunroom is a big backyard.  I use the ledge above the sink to store art supplies--crayons, paints, pencils. It is an ever-chaning landscape because those jars are constantly in motion. Someone is using something every waking hour. There are four tiny bud vases. From April until November, Karoline keeps them filled with roses from our garden. Now, we've filled them with holly and evergreen. 

I notice how badly we need to re-caulk...hmmm...

One more shot:

And now, I'm off to wake my kitchen.

Happy Saturday! Visit Leila for a Kitchen Sink Party.

NItty Gritty Rhythm

This post is ridiculously long, but it answers lots of the nitty-gritty questions I get regarding how we juggle a really busy sports schedule, a traveling dad, and many kids over a big age span. If you hang in there and read, the answers are here. I wrote it several weeks ago and decided to hold it because there was too much detail about our daily whereabouts. Soccer season is coming to a close now, though, so it will all change.

Last summer, in the days before the feast of St. Anne, I offered a heartfelt (desperate?) novena. I so needed her intercession in the matter of my daily and weekly rhythm. Some of you might recall that when I wrote about the struggle I was having with burnout and exhaustion as a result of demands on my time, I offered no possible solutions. I didn’t even try. I crashed at the end of soccer season last spring and had no energy to figure anything out. Instead, I took comfort in the fact that summer would offer respite.

For as long as I’ve had children to ferry to and fro, my father-in-love has been willing and eager to help me whenever I had conflicts. Sadly, he is no longer well enough to play that role in our lives. He cannot pop over a pick up and deliver a child, cannot stay home with little ones if all the big ones have to be in different places. He cannot come fix this or that in my house when Mike is away or busy. He can’t do the late night or early morning run to the airport. He just can’t do it. When the day came last spring that that decision was made, I felt the rug yanked out from under me. All these years he’s been my go-to guy, the secret ingredient that made this crazy life more sane. I had no idea how much I depended on knowing there was a safety net until there wasn’t one. I struggled both with the fact that it rocked my world and with the intense sadness I felt for him and for us as we watch him decline.

When the time came to offer a novena in preparation for St. Anne’s feast, I recognized that the summer was half over and that very soon, I was going to have to revisit the dreaded SCHEDULE. No one on earth was going to rescue me. And I knew well that I could not figure this one out on my own.

I didn’t know how I was going to make the drive to where the boys play soccer in McLean (a good 45 minutes in traffic, a bad hour or more in heavy traffic) and get Mary Beth to ballet. I knew Christian would get himself where he needed to be, but that also meant he couldn’t help with anyone else. And when US Soccer plucked Patrick from the mix, that meant that it was a lot less likely that one teenager would remain home to care for little ones. It was going to be all of us driving, all the time. I worried that my little ones were lacking in play time and in time to make friends (particularly homeschooling friends). I worried I’d never have time to write. I just worried and worried.

And St. Anne heard it all. The plan presented itself to me in ways I could not imagine.

I get so many notes asking how to fit it all in, when to cook dinner, how to make sure family meals happen. This post is full of details and chances are your eyes will glaze over, but I offer it for the handful of people who are looking for just such details. More importantly, I offer it as a testimony to the power of prayer.

Let’s start on Monday morning. Dinner is prepped and put in the Dutch oven first thing. The day is going to lurch forward full speed ahead. If dinner isn’t ready to go before 10AM, we’re not going to eat. The rest of Monday morning is just the basics, school-wise (Reading, Bible and math), and then thorough cleaning of the house, with particular attention to the wood floors on the main level. Then we shove all the furniture out of the way to transform our home into a ballet studio.

When I could not figure a way to give ballet lessons (or any lessons) to my little girls because the times conflicted with everyone else and with retrieving Gracie from school and it was way too expensive, Mary Beth and her friend Mary Kate stepped in. Ballet is now in my dining room, sunroom, kitchen and family room, every Monday afternoon. It doesn’t cost me anything and there are 15 (18?—I’ve lost count)  other homeschooled girls to share the experience with Katie and Karoline. Now, my only problem is how to keep Katie from talking the whole time. So many friends, so little chat time.

While the girls dance, the boys play flag football with a whole bunch of other homeschooled boys. My friend and neighbor Mary Chris is the genius behind the very lowkey opportunity for good, old fashioned fun. Marisa comes out for football and ballet and she brings her little guy, my godson, Johnny. If you had told me in July that Marisa and I would have a chance to chat in person once a week, I would have been astonished. Also present for this golden hour is my friend Bonnie, with whom I used to walk for an hour every day. We go way back and I’m so blessed to be able to have time again on a regular basis to just bask in the warm glow of friendship.

After ballet and football, Becca, one of the moms whose son is on Nicholas’ soccer team, hustles the boys to practice. Christian takes Mary Beth to her dance class and goes on to his practice. I gather the girls, mine and Becca’s, and meet her at soccer practice a little while later. They all play in the park near the practice field. And I absolutely, positively luxuriate in lots and lots of conversation with a bright, faithful mother of many who also homeschools and is a fellow graduate of my alma mater. This is a rare blessing for which I am so very grateful. Now, I eagerly look forward to those Monday afternoons. (And we do it again on Thursdays, too.) My kids don’t whine about being dragged along to practice—instead they look forward to meeting their friends in the park. When it’s all over, we go home to dinner in the Dutch oven and I fall into bed in time for Monday Night Football. I’ve yet to make it past half time.

Tuesday is a bit more relaxed. Same long drive to practice, but this time I do it only with Stephen. Mary Beth and/or Christian are home with wee ones. I sit at the field with my laptop and write while he trains. There’s no wi-fi in the parking lot, but that’s a good thing. It’s writing time only; there’s no temptation to surf. Mary Beth and I prep dinner before I leave and she finishes off the cooking while I'm at training with Stephen. We eat when Stephen and I get home, which is just about when Mike gets home, too.

Wednesdays are crazy but again an unexpected blessing finds us. I make dinner really early on Wednesdays and pack two meals in bento boxes. I take both Stephen and Nick with me for the long drive (all these long drives are “read aloud” time and we are cranking through our reading list on audio).  I drop Nicky at his training and take Stephen with me to Starbucks. He eats his dinner, we chat, and then he reads and I write. Then, I take Stephen to practice, pick up Nick and repeat the process with a different child. At the end of the day, they’ve both had time alone with me. We’ve talked about books, maybe surfed a little together and just hung out a bit.

And on a recent Wednesday, when Nick’s training was canceled, but Stephen’s wasn’t, I discovered that I could drop Stephen a wee bit early and make it to a nearby (and beautiful) church for Adoration and confession.

Thursdays, both boys train again. Becca’s family arrives a little early for the practice time they share with Nick and they hang out with us during some of Stephen’s training, too. Have I mentioned how happy I am to have such good company? Thursday nights we eat dinner at the park. When Stephen is finished, I have just enough time to hustle to pick up Mary Beth. We get home really late and roll right into bed.

Fridays, we got nothin’. We stay home all day and love it.

Saturday mornings find me dropping Mary Beth at ballet and taking just the little girls grocery shopping. This is new for them. Ever since Michael learned to drive, I’ve avoided grocery shopping with little ones. When Michael was at home, he did with a very detailed list. Then, Christian did it for a while. Then, I’d drop Patrick off, let him do it and go back and pick him up after dropping girls at ballet.

Now, I actually look forward to the Saturday routine. I take my little girls to Whole Foods. We shop there and have breakfast.  We poke our way through the craft store. Then, we go to Costco and finish out our shopping. By that time, it’s time to pick up Mary Beth. It’s an unexpectedly happy thing. Who knew I’d ever like running errands? Not me

Just before Patrick left, we were shopping together. I bought a bag for my laptop and the boys dubbed it my “McLean office.” It’s true, that my work is only being done in fits and spurts in the car and at Starbucks while waiting out soccer practice in McLean. I have a schedule for meeting deadlines, but the reality is that there are fewer deadlines and much less writing because there is much less time to do it. But there is time to do it. God blesses the time there is.

Of course, as I write (in the car on a Tuesday), the light is waning quickly. I know that fading light this early in the evening means that all the times will shift soon and the schedule will change. I am not nearly as afraid of that as I once was.

It’s only time. In the end, God is in control of time. And when I hand it to Him, in all humility, He provides abundantly to meet my needs and to bless my diligence.

Inhale

 

 

Autumn is my favorite season.  The last few autumns have been stressful, strained, or just completely out of sync. I’ve wanted to embrace the fullness of the season, but I’ve been distracted. Not this year. This year, it is autumn and I am inhaling it for all its worth.

 

After a bit of a detour, we have settled into a comfortable learning cadence. I’m happy with our reading and writing choices. I’m even happy with math (well, as happy as I am able to be).  Our days have a predictable, if busy, rhythm. Mornings are well-protected from the din and demands of the outside world. Late afternoons are a social whirl. But the days are growing shorter and the darkness comes earlier and my home glows in the sweet anticipation of long stretches of time devoted to hearth and home.  Even the dizzying whirl will slow to a gentle waltz.

 

I’m finding joy in simple things and inhaling the rich aromas of the season. There is no smell more intoxicating to me than the smell of autumn in the air. “Sweet Shendandoah”—the scent of leaves and wood fires and perhaps a bit of mold on a serpentine wall. I love that smell.  With the leaves and the fires, layer the spicy sweetness of pumpkin bread and the honeyed headiness of beeswax and, soon, all the world is aglow in the loveliness of autumn.

 

 

We spent some late October afternoons recently bringing the season into our home. Inspired by Ginny’s lovely leaves, we gathered some of our own.

All of my children and I found quiet satisfaction in slowly lowering bright leaves into liquid beeswax and waiting for it to stop dripping before carefully placing it on wax paper.

We threaded it on a garland and hung it from the dining room light. 

I smell the sweetness and delight in the color as I sit at the dining room table, tutoring one child at a time. The others are in the sunroom, where all our “school stuff” resides. They can work independently in there. Then, one by one, they have their turn with me—to read or write or edit.

Sarah Annie and Karoline play nearby at the nature table, happy gnomes and felted fairies gladly giving inspiration to their imagination.

 

We didn’t stop with the garland. It was as if we could not get enough of the goodness of those leaves. We dipped another basket’s worth and they grace the nature table. From my “teacher spot,” my eye falls upon them frequently and I marvel at the unique, perfect beauty of each one.

God is so good! His gorgeous grandeur spills over into every corner of this house.

 

At the other end of the room is the couch where I began my day. Karoline likes to curl up there with me before everyone else is awake. She always wants me to read a preview of the day’s Bible story. I think she likes being a step ahead of the rest of the pack. All the Bible storybooks and several versions of Bibles reside in the tables on either side of the couch. They are read frequently here in this room, either silently or aloud together. 

Right near the couch, the desk stands open, bearing full testimony to the great cloud of witnesses who intercede for us all year, but are remembered particularly in this season.  Icons and dear little folk dolls glow in the candlelight.

Between visits from each child, I glance up from my "teacher spot." Inhale. Fill both lungs with the richness of this life of faith.  We are praying the novena to all saints as a family, and I am revisiting my particular friends in private prayer time. The desk full of images reminds me of their care and nurturing, just as the pictures of my family nearby evoke memories and whispered prayers.

I love this room.

 

I love this home.

 

I love this life.

Happy Morning Crafting

Gracie is an early bird, often ready for the day to begin an hour or more before the other girls awaken. Nicholas is often up, too, but he wants his quiet and his sports headlines and he isn't a very good early morning companion. Just so happens that Gracie doesn't really need to talk to anyone in the morning; she's happiest with a bottle of glue, some markers and popsicle sticks. Crazy, ridiculous happy.

 

So, this summer, I called to mind my own happy mornings at a preschool in Charlottesville, where we'd take a few moments the night before to prepare a table for arriving children the following morning. Usually, we'd leave out the makings of a very simple craft or drawing activity. The assumption is that teachers might be busy greeting children or talking with parents, so these should be activities that required little or no instruction or supervision. Honestly, though, I loved it when I could pull up an undersized chair and work right alongside them.

This summer, the "school" table in the sunroom has been a perpetual craft table. I tidy it at night and try to leave something inspiring there for Gracie and whoever shakes off sleep and joins her there.

 

My very favorite activity at that long-ago preschool was making "stained glass pictures." (I've even shared it with you previously.) We'd cut tissue paper into squares and leave them in a basket for the children. Then, we'd water down some liquid starch and provide soft paintbrushes and plain white copy paper (this doesn't work as well with construction paper). The children would place the dry squares on the white paper and then paint over them with starch, overlapping at will. Can't quite capture it, but there's something infinitely relaxing and rewarding about this process. Really, you must try it.

 

This summer, we took the basic idea and tried it with glass jars, after I saw something similar on a blog I've now forgotten. [Please email me if this was you--I'm happy to link:-)]

Instead of starch, I used diluted white glue. I gathered jars of all sorts. My favorite shape is a Dijon mustard jar.

 

The children "painted" on the squares, being careful not to leave any edges dry.

 

It was a rewarding process and they were surprised to see how different each person's jar was, though they'd all begun with the same materials.
 

The finished product is both beautiful and useful.
 

While they make lovely flower vases, do be careful. They don't take kindly to water drips and filling and emptying is most definitely a mom job.

 

They make lovely votive candle holders, though.
 

And my absolute favorite pencil holder ever.
 

Beautiful, useful crafts that even the littlest hands can successfully complete.

Happy summer morning!

How a 3-year-old leaves her work

by Mary Beth

Daybook: At the Sea before my World Rocks Again

Outside My Window

Is the beach. We’re in Bethany Beach, Delaware for a few days. I’m writing, even though I have no internet access, because, well, I need to do a brain dump. I’ll post when I get home (or to a Starbucks;-).

 

I am Listening to

Six of my children singing Do-Re-Mi. They’re working on harmonies.

 

I am so Grateful for

All the things that conspired on July 30^th, to find Mike, Paddy, and me alone in the car, late in the afternoon. Patrick’s cell phone rang.  It was a number he didn’t recognize, something he usually ignores. He called out the first few digits. “Say, hello,” I said, “I think I know.”  We had heard this might be coming.

Then Mike and were privileged to listen in on Paddy’s end of “the call of his life.”

“Yes, this is Patrick.”

“Yes, Patrick Foss.”

“Hello.”

“Yes, I would like that. I’d like that very much!”

There was not a dry eye in the car at that point. Paddy had just been offered the opportunity to travel to Florida to train with the U17 National Team. If he plays well and decides to he wants to stay, they will invite him stay on for the year and train to play in the U17 World Cup next fall.

And so I’m grateful.

I’m grateful I got to share that moment with Mike and Paddy. I’m grateful to all the people who have worked so hard on Paddy’s behalf. I’m grateful to our Lord for the blessing of talent.

Grateful.

I’m trying desperately to focus on grateful.

 

I'm Pondering

Education is an Atmosphere, a Discipline, and a Life. ~Charlotte Mason

 

I am Reading

Charlotte Mason in the original. She’s my no-nonsense mentor telling me to stay the course, though this is not exactly the way I saw it playing out when Charlotte and I were introduced 13 years ago.

 

I am Thinking

About how quickly time passes and how precious moments are. They say that when you are the mother of little ones, the hours are long and the years are short.

They just get shorter. And all those endless hours of driving to practice and sitting on sidelines? Paddy’s not likely to need me to do that any more. Just like that. I went from being overwhelmed by what was required of me by him to being bereft at the thought of not having those things to do. He’s off on the adventure of a lifetime.

I’m home.

Praying.

 

I am Creating

This year, I am committing my lesson plans to the CM Organizer. I spent hours the past two weeks working on plans for everyone. The Cm Organizer and the Real Learning booklist are a match made in heaven. It was such a pleasure to introduce the two and see living plans spring to life. What this means is that, unlike in years past, when my plans were Word documents, I have no real plans to share plans this year. It’s nice to focus only on my own children and their needs and not wonder how something will be received. Serendipity will remain as a resource, but there won’t be any new content in the near future. Of course, there will always be the spilling over of our life onto these virtual pages, just not tidy forethought in PDF plans.

 

On my iPod

Sonya Shafer Laying Down the Rails (and every other audio/video production she offers, now playing in my computer). Sonya Shafer amazes me! She really, really knows her stuff and even now—sixteen years into this homeschooling venture—she inspires and encourages me. Sonya is bright and articulate, warm and compassionate. I've heard zillions of homeschooling speakers over the last 20 years and it takes someone special for me to sit up, take notes, and (frankly) order more. There's really nothing new for me here, but there is calm, friendly assurance that this method is best above all others. Sonya acknowledges that mothers can bring their own book selections and should tailor to suit each child individually (but she also offers a full curriculum if you'd rather have someone else plan it for you--Catholics will have to add a bit). She doesn't make it complicated, doesn't act like you have to be a Charlotte Mason expert to do it well. Instead, she makes it incredibly accessible and utterly

SIMPLE.

 

Towards a Real Education

I’m nearly finished with our plans. I had planned to put the final touches on things this week, while I am away at the beach. But I’ve got no online access, so those last few things will have to wait.

 

Towards Rhythm and Beauty

It’s the rhythm of the ocean, right now. And we are surrounded by utter beauty in my friend Jen’s house. The last few days have brought such crashing waves of emotion for us. We are thrilled for Patrick of course, but we shore ourselves up, knowing that some big decisions and life changes lay ahead. Even the littlest among us is affected by this change in family dynamic. Paddy is a born leader, even (especially) amongst his siblings. It’s hard to imagine that in only a week he could be gone for a year, or more. You think you have forever, autumn after autumn, one new school year after another, to start fresh and promise God and everybody you will get it right this time. And then, all of a sudden, it comes to pass that time just might be up. It’s a big world out there. We need every single minute to get them ready to go.

Who am I kidding? We need every single minute to get us ready for them to go.

 

To Live the Liturgy

Don’t tell anyone, but Fr. T. actually did a little jump for joy upon hearing Paddy’s news. Paddy’s got his number programmed into his cell phone. He knows, really knows, he can call any time.

Grateful, grateful, grateful for God’s  timely providence.

I’m grateful.

 

I am Hoping and Praying

That we know His will and do it with great joy.

In the Garden

No clue what’s happening in my garden but Bethany’s in full bloom.

Around the House

I left my house clean. And I’m keeping Jen’s house clean. It’s easier here somehow. Not as much stuff, I guess?

 

From the Kitchen

Simple, simple meals. And way too much snacking.

 

One of My Favorite Things

Teenagers with toddlers on their hips. This is one of those moments I want to hold forever in my heart. (Of course, shortly after this a wave knocked Mary Beth over and she and Karoline tumbled. Karoline is convinced she drowned and refuses to speak to Mary Beth, even now. The moment was nice, though).

 

Sarah Annie this week

She sings Do-Re-Mi. Cutest thing I ever heard. Ever.

 

A Few Plans for the Rest of the Week

We’re here until late Wednesday, then back home. Paddy has an intense sports physical scheduled and we have some unexpected dorm shopping to do.

 

Picture thoughts:

Lots to think about as he scans the sea.

Morning Walk

It didn't begin as a new habit, really. Instead, it was a bit of serendipity. A wave of hot, sticky days--too hot and sticky to play out of doors. A mother who was ready to add more exercise to her day and was eager, too, to be outside, instead of only pedaling away on a bike that goes nowhere. I needed to bike alone, but I needed, also, to breathe in fresh air and laughter of children. And, so, early one morning, while looking at the forecast, I made a decision: if the temperature was going to soar into the 90s and above for ten days (and beyond?), we'd have to get out early or none of us would ever get out at all.

Right after breakfast, I made the announcement. Everyone was to get walking shoes; everyone was required to come along; everyone was to be cheerful. Karoline and Sarah Annie each had a stroller. Off we went!

We traveled a neighborhood trail, roughly two miles along wooded areas, grassy areas and a lake. We talked the whole way and watched for wildlife.  When we returned home, we settled into the living room, lit a candle and had some morning prayer time. The day was off to a great beginning. The time? 9:00.

It occurred to me, after the third day of this "routine," that I rather liked beginning the day with my children this way. I'm three months into my personal morning habits. The rhythm is well-established: exercise, prayer, shower, dress, tea, Bible. All before 7:30. Even if the day unravels from there, I can still take comfort in the fact that I got to those things. When I considered my personal routine in light of the new habit that was unfolding, it dawned on me that the acquisition of habits could be a layering. Habit upon habit, I could build into each segment of the day the rhythm I desired. This morning walk was the next layer.

The walk suited all of us.

I loved that we were all together. it was just the right amount of physical exertion to wake us, help us focus, and energize the day. The out-of-doors time gave birth to all sorts of conversations and observations. Nature study happened, well, naturally:-). There were questions to ask and answer. There were rocks to throw, flowers to sniff, and ducks who begged us to quack back--all in our own backyard. This was the world waiting to be explored. These were the plants and animals my children should be able to name.

This habit found us and we are eager to embrace it. Our nature study time is set now. A walk to get things started, home for Morning Prayer, and then nature notebooks to record what we saw along the way (cameras tend to come with us on walks:-). This will be the way we begin our days--from now on, well into the school year, and until it's absolutely too cold to venture forth even if bundled. And why not?

Our first thought with regard to Nature-knowledge is that the child should have a living acquaintance with the things he sees.

Let them once get touch with Nature, and a habit is formed which will be a source of delight through life.

She will point to some lovely flower or gracious tree, not only as a beautiful work, but a beautiful thought of God, in which we may believe He finds continual pleasure, and which He is pleased to see his human children rejoice in.

Let us, before all things, be Nature-lovers; intimate acquaintance with every natural object within his reach is the first, and, possibly, the best, part of a child's education.

Beauty is everywhere--in white clouds against the blue, in the gray bole of the beech, the play of a kitten, the lovely flight and beautiful colouring of birds, in the hills and the valleys and the streams, in the wind-flower and the blossom of the broom.

What circumstances strike you in a walk in summer?

By-and-by he passes from acquaintance, the pleasant recognition of friendly faces, to knowledge, the sort of knowledge we call science.

 He begins to notice that there are resemblances between wild-rose and apple blossom, between buttercup and wood-anemone, between the large rhododendron blossom and the tiny heath floret.

He must be accustomed to ask "why?"--Why does the wind blow? Why does the river flow? Why is the leaf bud sticky?

 
 

Every child has a natural interest in the living things about him which it is the business of his parents to encourage.

It is infinitely well worth the mother's while to take some pains every day to secure, in the first place, that her children spend hours daily amongst the rural and natural objects; and, in the second place, to infuse them, or rather to cherish in them, the love of investigation.

The boy who is in the habit of doing sensory daily gymnastics will learn a great deal more about the beetle than he who is not so trained.

We are awaking to the use of nature-knowledge, but how we spoil things by teaching them!

The child who learns his science from a text-book, though he go to Nature for illustrations, and he who gets his information from object lessons, has no chance of forming relations with things as they are, because his kindly obtrusive teacher makes him believe that to know about things is the same as knowing them personally.

All quotes are Charlotte Mason, taken from the excellent book Hours in the Out-of-Doors: A Charlotte Mason Nature Study Handbook, available at Simply Charlotte Mason.

Blessed Feast!

Hail pious mother, holy Anna hail!

Thy name falls sweetly on the Christian's ear;

They called thee gracious, chosen to prevail

By grace throughout they heav'nward journey here.

Root of you branch, whose heav'nly blossoms sent

Wide o'er the earth the perfume of its breath;

Perennial fount, e'er spreading, never spent,

Lily of Jesse, Rose of Nazareth.

Hail mother of that Star which placid rose

Above the flood of death and sin and war;

The Mother of our Queen whom Heaven chose

Spouse of King of Kings for evermore!

Receive our supplications, mother dear,

Who was graced alone, of all mankind,

The honor to conceive, to nurse and rear

God's stainless Mother, for our joy designed.

Oh, never cease, we pray thee, to present

Before that Son and mother our desire,

The King and Queen of yonder firmament,

That happy home to which our souls aspire.

-Pere Faber

How to Calm a Cranky Afternoon

Stir

two cups flour

one cup salt

2 cups water

four Tablespoons vegetable oil

2 tsp cream of tartar

in a heavy saucepan

cook over medium-low heat

until it's so stiff you need a tall, strong boy

to continue stirring for you

turn out onto waxed paper

sprinkle liberally with food coloring

you might want to choose purple because

if you add a few drops

lavender essential oil

magical things will happen...

in the kneading and the rolling

Mama will inhale the lovely scent and find her shoulders

relaxing

and then the cherubs will come

from near and far

to twist and pound and roll

and

and sculpt

and sniff.

Lavender and squishing dough through one's fingers--

creating silliness--

calming craziness--

magically

 quieting

a rowdy rumpus!

No lavender? Vanilla extract works nearly as well:-)

Messy Mudpie Mornings

Many thanks to Ginny for reminding us how much we love mudpies:-)

by Mary Beth

Home

Michael will be home for the summer soon. He's going to be working nearby and living here. And then, he has just eight credits and a final season of soccer on campus and he will be home again, newly graduated and living here before he is launched into the world.

Patrick is at home now. But there are opportunities on his horizon that will take him far from home --- and then home again. And then far from home. And then home again.

And of course, it is a well-established fact that my husband leaves home frequently to bless his family and then, he comes home again.

I stand at the dawn of a new season of family life. The season of leaving and coming home again.

What is this place that my family calls "home?"

Is it a soft place to land after working hard in the world?

Is it a place of encouragement and kindness?

Is it warm and familiar and predictable?

Is home an anchor in their hearts and minds and souls, the place of peace they carry with them?

Is it a domestic monastery?

I think I'll think upon these things in the next few days.

Dandy Day!

The day began with an announcement from Karoline:

"Mama," said she, her fist full of dandelions for me to put into a tiny pitcher, "we have so many beautiful yellow flowers and the neighbors have none. I'm going to pick them all and scatter them in everyone's yard just like Miss Rumphius. Then, there will be beautiful yellow flowers everywhere."

 

As luck would have it, Catherine shared a recipe for Dandelion Syrup on Kind Conversation. So, we suggested that Karoline and her sisters and her friends gather the flowers for syrup making purposes.

 

They spent a glorious couple of hours making their fingers a lovely shade of yellow.

They stirred some "dandelion soup."

They measured until there was enough.

They brought it in to boil and steeped.

We read Miss Rumphius and Dandelions  and The Dandelion Seed and Stars in the Grass at bedtime.

The next day, we added sugar and cooked and cooked.

Dandelion Syrup.

Brings sweet tea to a whole new place:-).

When I tucked Katie into bed that night she commented, "Some people call dandelions weeds. Don't they see the flowers? Everyone should have a girl to show her the flowers when all they see are the weeds."

Everyone should.

 

Beautiful Bluebell Day