Dreaming of Spring

This has been the view from our front window for a number of months now. Needless to say, we are ready for spring. Really ready. So, the other night we decided to have a spring-themed family night.

David helped me mix up the dirt cake batter. We may or may not have tasted some.
Ryan had the honor of serving the dirt cake...note the lack of flowers. That's because this is a spring party, not a summer party...there is just bare dirt in spring. At least that is how I justify my lack of frilly-ness for this event. There were, however lots of worms. And I learned two things that night about eating gummy worm cake with boys.

First, if they are little boys, they need gummy-grubs. Worms are too easy to slurp up quickly and choke on. Cut those worms into fourths and call them grubs. Just as yummy and not so dangerous.

Second, if they are older boys, avoid letting them see you cut the worms into grubs. Because they may just start talking about how real worms bleed when you tear them in two. Your husband might join in when he sees you turn green, talking about how slimy and gooey they are. They may banter back and forth, father and son, tormenting you with gross boy talk. And then you may not want to finish any of your own dirt cake.

After we finished eating, we played a game of Memory. I printed out two matching pictures of different fruits and vegetables from Henry Field's online seed catalog, then cut and pasted them onto some colored paper. Then, I sandwiched the cards between clear contact paper to make them kid-friendly and a bit more durable.We had a blast with this! Even David got in on the fun. Games with kids this age can be a little tough- they are just learning how to take turns, be patient, not knock over the playing pieces, etc. Something this simple challenged both our boys while still being really enjoyable for mom and dad.

We were planning on more spring stuff that night...I had visions of actually pulling out the suntan lotion and a picnic blanket for dinner, maybe even playing some beach boys...but that morning we were surprised with our first two lambs of the season. So, we ended up having to do quite a bit of work in the machine shed for the little ones, making the time we had for our family night a bit shorter. Although, being boys...I am sure they had nearly as much fun playing in the machine shed: moving wood in their wheelbarrow, jumping on hay bales, and seeing new baby lambs as they would have at mom's fake picnic.

However, if this lingers much longer, I can't be held accountable for any sand I import from faraway lands to make castles in my living room.

The water is boiling and the plates are clanging together and I am in a flurry of last-minute dinner preparation. It's late so I'm focused on the task - realizing that a 6:45pm dinner could easily become a 7:30pm dinner with just a few interruptions here and there.
And Ryan walks in with a mason jar full of paint brushes, asking if he could, maybe, possibly, pretty please paint a picture?
And I offer that right now I am making dinner and maybe, possibly, pretty please could he set the table?
He looks sideways at me and then down at his jar of brushes. "It won't be messy mom. It will be really clean painting."
And inwardly I groan because I want to be that fun mom who says yes to painting at 6pm, and the guilt sets in because I know how little creative time they have gotten this week with all of the running around to doctor's appointments. But outwardly I smile weakly and say "Sweetheart, just not right now."
With a small sigh he places his mason jar on the counter just as his brother comes careening around the corner with a delightful squeal.
His face brightens. "Hey Dave! You wanna wrestlehouse?"
David grins wide and answers YES! and lunges toward him, arms outstretched ready for the tackle.
I gasp and immediately start to rethink the painting idea when Ryan, once again, reads his mama's mind.
"Not in the kitchen, Dave, we gotta go in the other room." And they run off in a whirlwind of laughter.
And I add noodles to that boiling water and stir salad and think how very grateful I am to have these two brothers.

Early Morning Conversations with Ryan

7:30 Saturday morning
Ryan: Good MOOORNING! It's time to wake up. You can't just sleep the whole day away.
Me: But I'm tired.
Ryan: Sorry. You can't sleep anymore. It's morning time.
Me: But I want to sleep just a bit more.
Ryan:Would you get up and make us a little snack? Then you can go lay downstairs or something.
Me, (laying down and feigning exhaustion.)
Ryan: (Leaps up on the bed) Mom! It's halfway through the morning. It's Time. To. Wake.Up.
He then proceeds to tie open our curtains, and I think of all those mornings taunting my sister in the same manner. Or my parents, for that matter.
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Me, trying to fasten Ryan's pants that are getting just a bit too tight: Ryan! These are getting too small! We are going to have to get you some new pants aren't we?
Ryan, beaming: Yep!
Me: Who told you that you could grow so much? I think you are getting too big.
Ryan, in a sing-song taunt: You and dad fed me, and I GREW!
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Ryan: Do you see how old I am mom? Soon I'm going to be five.
Me: I know!
Ryan: Yep! Five then six then seventy!
Me: It will probably feel that fast at times.

Miracles

October 1, 2009
"Mom, look! I got them for you!" He runs over to me, breathless, nose and cheeks flushed with the chill of a crisp fall evening. In his hand he grasps his prize and holds them out, a smile spreading across his face in anticipation of my reaction.
"Miracles. I picked them for you!"
And I smile at the irony- yes, "miracles" little guy- them and you...gifts in season. And of course, though I should correct his mispronunciation, I don't. (I am allowed some liberty as mom here, and if that liberty allows me some beautiful irony in life, then well, I'll take it most any day.) I take the bunch of marigolds from his hand and inhale deeply, that scent transporting me to days of youth and my grandfather and his garden. I treasure it up, this last bit of summer, knowing that soon it will die away, giving the ground rest until the next growing season.
Do I linger here enough, grasping to those last pieces of summer? In this present moment, do I enjoy that warm breeze, that handful of marigolds, that garden-fresh crisp green bean? Or even more, those gifts that will not return again next growing season...like the rosy-cheeked boy who sweetly miss-names marigolds and sees them as a prize. He will grow and stretch out of this 4-year-old body and transform into a young man. There are moments I am positive if I blink I might miss it. Like that last bit of summer, I must always remember to enjoy, delight, cherish each moment...for this too shall pass.


(above: Ryan helping around the farm last fall. )
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There has been a lot of life happening around here these past few months. I plan on sharing some over the next few days...
I wrote the above post this past October before I took my very long hiatus, and tucked it away in the "drafts" section.
It became meaningful to me months later, after I had forgotten the whole thing...Time passed and we found out we are expecting our third baby (a girl!). We have been talking for some time with the boys about their new sister.
Ryan came downstairs one morning in January (three months after I wrote the above post) and told me that he had a dream about what we should name his new baby sister. "Miracle, mom. We need to name her Miracle." And of course I thought it was awfully cute...until I found this post and remembered my reaction to his late-summer gift.
Miracle does seem to fit after-all, doesn't it?
And yet another reminder to me of why I should be writing these bits of life down...

Reasoning

Ryan: Are you ready to go Dave?
David: (sipping happily on his juice, swinging his legs) Nope.
Ryan: But Dave. We're going to the park. If you don't want to come we are just going to leave you. Do you want to go to the park, Dave?
Me: Ryan, we aren't going to leave your brother here.
Ryan: (still determined but relinquishes the threat) Do you want to go to the park David?
David: Yes!
Ryan: (with the distinct air of older-brotherly pride) That's my little guy!

How to Reap a Harvest

I pull down green beans by the handful this morning in quiet dew-dampened garden. That bucket fills and fills and thanks overflows.

Why is it so hard for me to remember the harvest when planting time comes?

Come early spring, I can pile those packets on the table, tear them open and hold dried beans in hand, only to see work, futility, toil, and the everlasting wait...instead of purpose, opportunity, and invitation. Why do I forget that tiny seed, when tucked into earth and cared for, tended to, will soon reap bounty? That summer is but a blink and before long, buckets will overflow and canner- weights will rock and shelves will fill and tables will be set...bodies nourished?

Is it because during harvest, it's easy to forget that it is a result of that first planting? Do I remember that initial leap of faith that pulled me from the artificial comfort of my climate-controlled house into the untamed out-of-doors? Do I remember, as I snap and seal into jars, that the overflowing harvest is a result of patience and diligence...plain hard work?

Harvest never comes without the planting, without the toil

So it is with beans. (So it is with brains. So it is with boys.)

Proper perspective is gained through remembering the whole process..and I realize I must be fully immersed in each step if I am going to be rightly hopeful as I sow those seeds. I must delight in the hope of planting, ache through the pulling of weeds, let the sun drench my back as I guide long vines onto trellises, and feel weary bones give way to rest as I soak in cool baths. I must always keep my eyes on the harvest to come.

It is possible to love each step- to give deep thanks with each bean plucked from the vine.

And it starts with answering that invitation written in postcards disguised as dried beans.

Come, dream, discover, be filled with joy and thanksgiving...Watch what the Lord can do with bit of dead, dried bean...He can bring life.

And he turns two

He replies "YES!" excitedly and closes his tiny, chunky hand around two of my fingers. His grasp is firm, and he is ready for adventure. Of course, we both know that we are doing nothing more than feeding our sheep- the daily work of nourishment.

But when you are two, is not everything an adventure? (Isn't it too bad we lose that?)

We walk along in silence, hand in hand, and I wonder back to when the last time was that it was just he and I- not he, I, and big brother. What a different world this second one has- always in community. I marvel at how different our communication is- he with the excited one-word exclamations, me, with returned delight and awe, and then more silence.

A contrast from 4yo brother, who chatters along contentedly like a regular teenager, recounting the day that has been and the day yet to come (and the reason planes fly in the air and do they come in the day and the night like Hallie says they do? And did I know that the beans were now in the garden, also tomatoes? What should we name that cat?).

But today brother stayed inside- a rare experience for the little guy and I. Perhaps, on this birthday of his, a perfect moment. A moment to reflect on him, and the joy that he brings.

"Ooooh, wow!" he stoops down low, his entire body curled around his knees, and peers at a bee working on a bud of clover. I stay and look too, noticing new things yet again (don't we always when we slow?). For a moment, he is taken with the swing, swaying idly by and calling for us- "Wing! Wing!" He lets go of my hand and runs to it- old friends reuniting. I implore him "But Davey, we need to feed those sheep- they are hungry. Maybe another time." And he and friend part ways and he again clasps my hand.

We reach the barn and I lift down a bale of hay. He stands back, wide-eyed, looking for his chance. I untie it and he grabs a handful of dried grass and strides over to the door. He is still too short to see on the other side, to reach over with that hand, and so he stands on tip-toes and tries his best. I see him and lift him up to toss it over. He watches those "steeps" intently, eyes darting from one to another, checking, noting; farmer in training.

'Tis the work of my life as a mom: encourage, guide, correct, support. Today it looks like a trip out to the sheep barn, but it is a precursor- we are both practicing for those bigger walks, those larger lessons of life to come. Me, learning how to encourage, guide, correct and support, and he learning how to listen, learning what matters, learning how to persevere. A small dance that started back before that first birthday- foundations for something greater.

Chores done, we again match hands and start the long walk back to the house. This time when we pass the swing, he looks at me questioningly and I nod. And quietly, I push him and he flies back and forth with that wide smile that melts hearts and I take time to delight in this boy given to us two years ago today. We feel like bandits, not having to share "turns"- just he and I, I and he (and the swing, of course).

We run to the house and there is a piece of me that wonders if it's fair, this always having another around- always having brother and never just being one alone. It's not something I even consciously think, really, just a question lingering in the back of my heart.

When we hit that door, I hear the clomp clomp clomp of boots over kitchen floor and a squeal "RYYYYAN! STEEPS! WING!" And that smile of delight stretches across his face. His face is flushed and he is out of breath for all of the excitement. Ryan watches his brother closely and David again recounts our journey to his big brother, and I realize that most of the fun was coming back together with that brother of his. He's not really missing out at all- he's getting more- mom, dad, and big brother

.

They say that after you have kids, it is hard to remember what life was like before them. I can remember a bit- I remember quiet, reading for hours, the freedom to come and go without carseats and sippy-cups and extra changes of clothes (or babysitters). I remember long nights of uninterrupted sleep. But then I remember two kids. It's as if they have always been here together. There is life before- and then life with kids. And I love the relationship I have with each of them, decidedly different and each delightful. And no, I can't imagine life without either one of them.

You see, I need that reminder that a trip out to feed sheep is an adventure.

Among many, many other lessons, they have taught me that slowing down brings more joy, more appreciation, more gratitude. And where there is gratitude, you can't help but feel abundantly blessed.

And sometimes, it's best to run full speed ahead, with wild abandon and without care or cause (they are boys, after all)

.

Pictures: David getting boots on for chorin'; David 2 weeks old, and toy that Ryan thought he would like to play with placed carefully so he could "reach it"; David today, two years old and full of spunk.

Let us not forsake the time we have

A few thoughts on the brevity of life, the downfall of distraction, and the sweet delights of the ordinary.

May I not forsake the time I have
A fleeting moment…a catching breath is all we have (in the grand scheme of things)
Let me not squander, waste, sit idly by and leave behind even a moment
Which I can never capture again

There are times
When being a mother of young children seems endless
(of course, that’s what I think I’m getting- endless time- though this has not been promised)
For no man knows his hour-
We know not when we will be called home

And I am reminded by this fact that though I must live like I will see generations to come,
I must also live as if tomorrow will see my last hours here.
During these moments of clarity,
I realize that my calling to motherhood is so much greater than sippy cups and dump trucks (although it is this, too)

So Lord, I pray…remind me to live each moment
Each hour
Each day
With purpose, passion, commitment, love
Renew me each morning
And don’t let that wane or fade as the days pass

Help me to step back, to take note.
To adore chubby hands and jam-smeared faces
To delight in mispronounced words
To wonder at the way a mind develops and grows, bit by bit
Oh, what an Artist you are!

Let each moment here be marked with intention
Keep in the forefront of my mind that which is known
(who You are, who I am, what is my purpose here)
And that which is not known
(when it will be over)
And might You give me the strength to daily, hourly even, live in light of these truths.

Don't forget me!

Yesterday we spent he afternoon with some friends in celebration of Father's day. During the preparations for lunch, their son had to have a bit of discipline....which is no stranger in our home, either =)
Anyhow, we ended up eating lunch and after cleaning up, started playing a card game. Halfway through, C (the dad) suddenly got up and walked upstairs without a word. A minute later he came back downstairs laughing.
"I just wanted to make sure my son knows I love him. I went into where the kids were playing and said 'P, I love you.'" There was a bit of silence, and then Ryan looked up and said matter-of-factly "Ryan's here, too." (Third person reference and all.)
So, our friend chuckled and said "I love you too, Ryan. I love it when you come over to play."
To which Ryan replied "I know. Sometimes we do come over to play, and sometimes we don't."

A clean slate

My favorite part of the school year was always the beginning. Ah, the beginning, what with the empty notebooks, organized divider system, color coordinated doo-dads and a new pack of pens. Not to mention the clear determination that THIS would be the year that I would be ahead on homework for every subject, organizing all of the notes and paperwork diligently in order to ensure low stress levels and high success levels. It was a clean slate- a new beginning. And the blind optimism never failed to show up each September.

While my family was here over these past two weeks, we turned over the garden once again and planted teensie seeds into black earth with hope of new life. This weed-free, straight-rowed piece of ground is the equivalent to my adolescent new school year. I find myself with new determination to keep the garden free of all weeds, nicely watered, safe from bugs and other pests, and pruned and tended appropriately.

A freshly planted garden is a beautiful clean slate, filled with opportunity and hope.

Of course, a large piece of me knows that, like the school year, the work quickly piles and it is near impossible to keep all of those goals listed above. Having planted and harvested three gardens, I now know that there will be weeds...probably at least one kind of bug will attack a prized crop, and the chickens will make dust baths in the middle of my bean rows. My children will tromp through my flower garden and pick the peas from the roots. Despite my best efforts, the grass will creep into the garden edges and those dandilions will make their attempts at being a volunteer salad crop. There will be mud-prints more days than not through my house, up the stairs, and the laundry will triple with soaked, dirt-laden clothing.

In short, it will be delightfully imperfect.

And no matter how frustrated I get with the process, sometimes it helps to put it in perspective. The mess, the imperfection of my gardens, only leave room for improvement the following year. The zucchini planted in my front flowerbed (instead of the garden) is testimony to the delight my kids find in gardening- a passion I would love to cultivate in their own hearts. I won't really want all of those bean plants anyway- and the chickens will remove some of those pesky bugs in the course of their bathing. And throughout, if I can keep the delight rather than the frustration, we all end up enjoying the process, giving thanks for each sun-filled day, for good ground that produces excellent tomatoes, for full canning shelves and for each other.

So, in the past I have shown you the pictures of the clean slate...and this year, since my sister planted nearly my entire garden with me, it is my intention to share with you it's progress each week- the good, the bad, and the ugly. Weeds and all. Because, in my book, a girl who spades a garden by hand and plants her sister's garden without the hope of reaping harvest, at least deserves some pictures of it along the way.

Plus, it will keep me motivated through the trials.

Here's to a new season of gardening!

When Dad Plays

For a kid who loves the outdoors, the winter months of indoor play can seem so long. It takes a stretching of the imagination, these hours upon hours of time without world to explore (with stick in hand).

One morning Ryan was digging around in the game cabinet and found a pack of playing cards with airplanes on the back. He ran into the kitchen and nearly yelled "Mom! Look at this AIRPLANE!" (You would have thought it swooped down in our front yard for all of his excitement). He turned his head to the side and said in a sweet voice "Do you think we could make this?"


"Make this? What do you mean, Ry?"

"Oh, like make the airplane!"

"Oh, I don't know...we could try, I guess. You get started."

And at this point my mom-brain turned back to the stack of dishes and the rising bread dough. Minutes later the silence was once again broken by a now discouraged preschooler.

"I can't do it mom. It doesn't work right."

He pulls me by the hand into the living room, where he has dismantled the couch and the cushions are piled un-dramatically into a heap in the center of the room.

"See? I don't know how to make the wings." He holds up the playing card, still clutched in hand, and shrugs sadly.

"Well...honey, I don't know that we can make an airplane out of couch cushions."

"You see how this has wings, mom? Like this one and this one?" he turns the card slightly so he can see and still show me, and traces the wings of the plane with his fingers. This is important.

But truly, I am at a loss. Airplanes are pointy...couch cushions are very un-pointy.

"Maybe you just need to pretend, sweetheart."

And then Phil walks in. Dads just think differently.

"He is trying to make the airplane with the cushions." I nod at the heap hesitantly.

Ryan is right behind me, pleading his case with Dad. "You see dad? It needs wings like this one and this one."

"Oh, well...let's see what we can do."

Retreating to the kitchen to finish my chores, I only hear muffled voices as the boys work. And then, sure enough, I am interrupted once again. This time, though, by Phil. "You want to go see his airplane?"

And I walk in to the living room to see a boy, grinning ear to ear, thrilled with the results of his real-live airplane. As he sits in the cockpit, ready to take off, I can't help but be delighted at a dad and his creativity.

Dads just think differently...and I'm so glad they do.


Other things we have done to pass the time, sans-TV:

• Go on a bear hunt
• Hunt for letters/colors/etc.
• Play animal charades (using stuffed or plastic animals chosen from a pillow case)
• Play-doh and coloring
• Lots of cooking!
• Cleaning (they do the hand-vacuum, dusting, sorting and towel-folding)
• Play the game of opposites (say this quietly, loudly, be small, be tall)
• Sing songs (hokey pokey, little teapot, if you're happy and you know it)
• Cut out pictures of produce and make a garden calendar for Spring

Our wonderful sister-in-law sent us this book for Christmas, and it has been a lifesaver. They have different versions for different ages, and I highly recommend it. I am thinking about getting one for David's age, because many of the preschooler activities involve items that would be too old for him...but come to think of it, he delights in just running as fast as he can after that big brother of his, anyway. "Toddler Busy Book, idea number 366: Get him a big brother."

Big Dreams

We sit curled together on the couch, Ryan and I, reading book after book on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I pause between books and smile at him "You are getting so big, kid. I don't know what I am going to do..." As I trail off, threatening to get lost in thought, Ryan doesn't miss a beat.
"Yeah," he says, bright-eyed, "and I will drive a lawnmower and have an ax and drive a car and have a tractor and a combine!"
From the speed and clarity with which he blurts all this out, I can assume he has been thinking about this.
"Yep," he concludes, 'when I get older, that's what I'm gonna do!'
And thus he leaves me in the dust- I was only thinking about the time when he would curl up on his own to read a book instead of next to myself, and here he is already tilling fields.

Overwhelm

Another post I wrote way back in 2008 and never posted...found it today and it still rings true. And while they still., 14 months later tear apart the couch with remarkable speed, they have gotten quite good at putting it back together.
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One of my son's favorite things to do is tear apart the couch. Between both boys, total destruction can happen, to my great dismay, in less than one minute. Seeing the large, plush object as a mini indoor jungle-gym, they toss the cushions onto the floor, hop excitedly from side to side, hide under haphazardly placed pillows, and squeal as they topple from back to front to cushions on floor.

Why I ever let them start this is a story left for another day, but this couch, it draws them. Though I have since asked them to start using it for it's intended purpose, often if I am off making dinner or step upstairs to put away laundry, upon my return I will find a livingroom filled with cushions and squealing boys.

But what I realized this morning was how typical that three year old response is. I often find myself telling him things that, sheepishly, I notice, I should be heeding as well.

Like so many other mornings, I had just lain David down for a nap. When I came downstairs, Ryan was laying on the floor in front of the couch, his right foot sneaking under the cushion. I peered at him, and then slowly shook my head. "No, honey, we aren't going to play on the couch this morning."

"What?" He asked, his entire leg now under the cushion.

"No. Just no." And then, fatal mistake, I went to get a cup of coffee.

Left to his own devises, my son nicely replaced the cusion, smoothed out the lump he had made with his foot, and sat down to quietly look at a book.

Ok, that's not what really happened. That's what I wish would have happened. No, as soon as I was out of sight, half the couch cushions quickly piled on the floor, and upon my return I found son, upside down on the back of the couch "Lookit ME mom! I'm falling!"

Ahem.

My point to this story was his response on picking up the cushions.

"Put them back, right now."

"I can't! I don't know how. You help me."

"You took them apart, you put them back."

He looked at the looming pile of cushions, too large to lift and place easily, and was suddenly daunted with the task. What came down so effortlessly was not repaired with the same ease. But, faced with further correction he decided to try.

Grabbing the cusion at the very bottom of the pile, he strained and pulled, cringing with frustration. "I just can't!"

"Just take one off the top, work slowly, bit by bit. You'll get there eventually."

And immediately my own list popped in my head.

Then, more comic irony followed. Instead of following my sage advice (of course, I was shocked that he didn't, at three, internalize something that I, at 26, have a hard time following), he flopped in a heap on top of the pile of cusions.

Inaction.

Overwhelm's favorite friend.

Eventually he tries and is more resilient, placing the cushions back somewhat normally on the couch. I am tired of the constant pull-down, pick-up, so I get picky.

"Well, you're almost there. That bottom one needs to be fixed." I say, pointing to a cushion jutting out perpindicular from the couch.

He looks at me plaintively "Mom, could you give me a handle of this?"

And I have to admit, I'm easily swayed when he pulls out grown-up phrases, and can't help but go and lend a hand. Together, we place, poke, mush the couch back in place..

And flashes of our farm, our home, our kids run through my mind.

Teamwork.

Overwhelm's worst enemy.

Wednesday Morning Thankfulness

Ann Voskamp has captivated me with her gratitude.
This morning, beyond all understanding, I want to dive in the deep end, wallow in longing and sadness. I stand here in the balance once again. Bah, too often.
This morning, though, I choose gratitude, for I know no other antidote. For it is only when I lose perspective- look past those sweet and abundant gifts- that I can be at all discontent. Who, upon opening their eyes to the true beauty around them, can be anything but thankful?

eyes searching, wonder reflected

A blur of energy, 15 months in constant movement

grass, green in November. A small bike waiting for adventure

I asked Ryan to "do what I do" and his tree, my tree side by side result. We dream of apples on green-leaved trees, swings and blue skies to dream under

Wood piled high to warm the house for the day, brought in by husband in the early hours before work

Warmth and glow, the hum and backdrop comforting our days

Gifts and connections- a table runner made lovingly by my mom, tiny perfect pumpkins and squash from a friend, a computer that spans miles, a red shaker to make music

Light of day spilling into our house

A rocking chair, made by great grandpa, enjoyed for (now) two generations

Compassion shown to a hurting friend, three huddle close and share comfort

Hair mussed from a warm, long sleep, eyes defying age- when did he grow so old?

Tiny hands grasping the same wood turned by great grandfather, generations linking

Dad and boys, teaching and learning, patience and love shine through

"... a happy day is not the genesis of thanksgiving,rather,
thanksgiving is the genesis of the happy day."

-Ann Voskamp

The ability to live full of joy is not so much our circumstance, but more about our orientation to it. Sometimes, I just need a moment or two to re-orient myself.

What are you grateful for today? Beauty abounds for us all, for the Giver is quite generous. I would love to hear of the beauty surrounding you today.

Simple Abundance

Wednesday morning dawns, and I rise, ready to create, nourish, renew.

Baking day. In days gone by, this was arduous, all-consuming. But like many of the overwhelming tasks of old, it has since shed its arduous nature, becoming a work of pleasure rather than duty or necessity (as the stores carry many loaves of bread). It has been distilled to only the blessings that come from such a routine task, one that is chosen and stems from only a desire to nourish family through the most basic forms- time, teaching, and full tummies.

I stir simple elements- yeast, sugar, water. Tiny hands reach forward to help, and I hold out the measuring spoon, letting those 1 year old hands turn it upside down into the bowl. He, delighted, bounces for more, and each time over, he rewards me with such sweet enjoyment of the simple.

We push the small bowl aside, and the other ingredients are poured into a large bowl- oil, water, salt, flour. Again the tiny hands long for involvement and again I slow, reminding myself that there is purpose here beyond outcome- that process matters just as much, if not more, than the finished product. His older brother, at three, is a "seasoned" helper, able to measure and pour ingredients without spilling, stir without splashing and sploshing. But those hands, too, started out unsteadily. The spoon jabbed and splashed and dumped. I must again remember patience in process for the small one, giving him the same opportunity to develop and learn.

And still, here is the calm before the storm. All elements remain in bowls, not yet mingling with table or hands. We pour all the pieces together, a mere six ingredients, and stir, the dough stiffening and resisting, taking form and pulling together. At last I turn it onto the floured table, sticky and flat. Immediately my helpers notice we have moved on to the most delightful stage of any bread baking (the most delightful stage of cookie-dough making, of course, is the tasting) But this? This unfettered ability to indulge in mess, to roll and create and pinch and smash in little hands? I might have offered them a trip to CandyLand, for the sparkle in their eyes. They delight in the process. Process, mom, I remind myself, noticeably calming my hurried nature, gearing up for the flour dust-storm on the horizon.

Once a week. And they learn. At first, it's mess- unhindered and all out destruction. Then comes imitation, then form. Fingers and hands and coordination all strengthen through process, and someday, they will know the measurements and steps in their bones. Purpose will collide with ability and then creation will become natural.

Perseverance and patience follow: Perseverance to clean sweet helpers, sweep and mop and shine, and patience to wait for the rising, the punching down, the forming, the second rising, and baking. Patience to await sweet aromas and warm butter spread across fluffy warmth. In all honesty, past this first amazing mess, the patience isn't all that hard to muster.

A glimpse into my heart- I read it and it sounds polished, like maybe the mess is pretty, or not so bad. But know this: though there is purpose, it is still, in all actuality, quite imperfect in practice: Memory-building at its best.

And here, each Wednesday, thirty-four cents is poured, stirred, mashed, kneaded and transformed into abundance.

Growing up, my sister and I were always in cahoots. This teamwork and delightful companionship is one of my greatest desires for my boys. I know that I need to be careful what I ask for, as that teamwork could work against their mother.

This morning, while I was making coffee (i.e. I was absent from view for two minutes, tops) the boys decided to reorganize for me. Brother Cahoots, I tell you, is unfair before morning coffee. I should call foul.

When I saw what they were up to, I informed Ryan that we were not going to empty the entire pantry into the playpen. Nossir. He needed to stop.

Plaintively he looked at me, sweetly and said "OK mom."

Seconds later I looked back and this was happening. Upon first reaction I thought "Argh!" But, admittedly, it was the beginning of the day, and I had far less frustration built up than I do at the end of a day, meaning I am also a bit more easygoing. I asked him plainly "What are you doing? Didn't mom ask you to stop?"

"I'm just helping Davey."

And true to his words, HE was not throwing anything in the playpen. You can see him stop himself a few times in this video, and that is the result of thinking he would get in trouble if HE were to do such a deed. The last container he wants to throw is sugar, and I tell you, the MESS if I were to let that be tossed over. Canned goods are one thing, flour, sugar, baking soda? There are limits, even before my morning coffee.

I also had to share this small snippet, which was filmed a few minutes before the above video. David, upon first coming downstairs, became fascinated with his shadow. Stand still, wave, grab, bob-up-and-down fascinated. It's so neat watching their little minds explore. Often, I get moving so fast I don't notice small moments like this, and it was such a treat to see him try and figure it all out.

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Speaking of comprehension:

While I was typing this, my phone rang. The cordless phone ran out of batteries and it went to the answering machine. It was my mom-in-law. In her message, she gave some detailed questions about Christmas gifts, asking about appropriate ages and a specific toy. Ryan was standing here and when she hung up here is what he said to me, in an excited, wide-eyed tone:

"A Noah's Ark! For me? Is she going to bring that for me? COOL!"

"Who?"

"Gramma Calli? Is she going to bring me clothes and a Noah's Ark?"

I'm telling you, I had no idea I would have to start hushed Christmas conversations so early.

Growing Pains.

So, we've reached another milestone. I knew, instinctively, we had to get here at some point, but I did not know it would come so soon. Most milestones our kids reach are met with a bittersweet feeling- our loyalties drawn to both camps: one for our kids to grow up, one for them to stay at the very spot they are now. So, we practice practice practice for them to roll over. And when they do, we lament that no longer can they be left alone. Anywhere. Same with crawling, walking, climbing, running, jumping. And I am sure there are more I haven't yet reached with my oldest (bike riding, driving aaahh I did not just type that!).

These universal and well-known milestones are ones we work on developing in our children. But there are those we don't even know exist until we stumble upon them unexpectedly. For example, when Ryan was finally old enough to face forward in his car seat, I was thrilled! Yay milestone! But what I hadn't factored in to the equation was that he could now see what I was doing. Was I eating a treat? Now he needed some. Was I drinking something? He would also like a drink. No longer could I quietly enjoy a milkshake without his knowledge. My days of private and solitary car-food decisions were over.

I have noticed lately that his vocabulary and sentence structure have quite improved. I had not expected that it would be around this time he would start asking me in-depth questions about conversations I was having in his presence. After a phone call he will ask me "Are we going to see Amanda tomorrow instead of today because you still need to finish your work?" And instead of answering the only thing I can register is HE IS LISTENING TO EVERYTHING YOU ARE SAYING! AND HE UNDERSTANDS!

The other night we were coming home from The Big City and I had picked up a small milkshake for each of the family members (see above) who would not readily end up with said milkshake drenched about their person before we reached the interstate (so, everyone but David got one). About halfway through his small shake, Ryan handed his to me and said "I'm all done, I want to save it for later."

Mind you, it's 8pm. And we're talking milkshake here. Let's keep this in perspective.

We got home and he headed up to bed without so much as a peep about the milkshake. And at this point, I did what any self-respecting chocolate lover would do. I drank his milkshake.

The next morning, he stumbled down the stairs blurry-eyed and flushed from a warm night of sleep. He walked into the kitchen and mumbled a greeting to me, and then continued into the pantry-room, then to the living room, dining room, and eventually back to the kitchen. With a big sigh he exclaimed "I'm just looking for my milkshake."

My back was to him, and, a bit taken aback, I responded "Oh, honey, its all gone." Neutral, non-incriminating, safe. No one wants to be in the way of a three year old who's just woken up.

"Did you drink my milkshake all gone?!" He asks accusingly. Like he knew already what had happened to his precious goodness.

But How? That kid has eyes in the back of his head, I tell you! (Does that trait skip a generation?) Up until now, if he decided to "save something for later" it was basically put in the fridge and forgotten until I pulled it out, soured and sad, a week later. But this? Oh no. And on the week of Halloween, too.

"Yes, honey. I did. Sorry." What else do you say? I mean, I drank the kid's shake. Guilty as charged.

"Don't drink my stuff Mom! You are not sposs'd to do that!" (I warned you about those groggy three year-olds.)

So, now I can no longer eat contraband in my car unnoticed, have private conversations, and my last holdout- munching on leftover goodies, has been stripped from me.

I'm sitting next to his bag of Halloween candy as I write this. Oh, the restraint* I tell you, it's painful. Have you ever had those moments where you realize your child is suddenly older or wiser than you thought?

*About restraint: I have none. I am still eating his chocolate candy. Some have peanuts in it (that was how my transgressions started, upright and true- keeping my kiddo safe from his allergens! Admittedly, those were a gateway sweet for me, and I have since taken the slippery slide into non-peanut goodies). BUT! Before you send me to the place where bad parents go- know that I'm leaving the good stuff- suckers and skittles and fruit roll-ups and gummy ghosts and pumpkins. Oh, this new stage is going to take some getting used to.

Man on a mission

Though it looked daunting a few weeks back, this has been an amazing start to a fall. What with 75 degree days, pure, crisp breeze in the morning and calm, whispering evenings filled with crickets, there has been much to be grateful for.

Tonight before dinner Phil took a walk down to the water (an old, overgrown bridge with a weensie stream flowing beneath) with Ryan. I caught them on their way back. I had carried David out there, hoping to just take a minute to snap a picture of the wonderful Fall evening (hence the stocking-feet). Alas, I should have known better. Now that the 1year- old can walk, that is all he wants to do. That and climb. But this walking, its a must. My once calm, boy, content to sit in a wagon and watch the world go by as the family gardened, has all at once realized that this world he has been observing? He can be a part of it! He can touch, taste, smell, throw, tug, build, explore and oh, my, does he have a fervor for it. Now, he is constantly trying to crane his neck this way and that, arch his body in just the right way, so "Mom will stop this whole "carrying" nonsense and let me free already!"

And, I realized that though I mentioned he learned to toddle around while mom was here, I have not shared any videos of the little guy. As we pass this new milestone...a vivid and vibrant one, I am once again struck with the amazing blessing these two kids are to me.

Notes on the video: Phil and Ryan caught a tiny snake on their way back to the house, and are discussing it behind me. When David isn't responding to me, he is watching his brother intently. That's pretty much the way it is around here. And...honestly...it feels quite comfortable, because I always made sure to keep my little sibling's full attention. Also, the road is the one directly in front of our house, headed to a grassy and impassable end. The opposite direction is three miles of twice-a-day-traveled road (we get mail). Don't worry, we don't let him run on normal streets. This one barely counts.

David Turns One!

This past weekend we decided it was time to finish Chicken Palace. What with its recycled wood exterior, partially completed (also recycled) roof and weedy, fenced-in run, we knew visitors questioned whether it was coming down or going up. Oh! I can't wait for you to see it now. (Pins and needles, I know!)

Up to the roof went Phil to finish framing in for steel, while Ryan and I worked on weeding and clearing out the run. David, being still an Infant, took the coveted "observer" position.



See, before his birthday yesterday, which officially made him a "toddler" he was exempt from arduous farm duties.

While his brother was made to pull weeds (unimaginably tall, stalky weeds requiring the entire force of his body), David sat back and made faces at him.






Oh, he would probably say they were "grins" or "smiles" but we older siblings clearly recognize a mocking laugh when we see one.

And when he felt he needed a little rest, he just lay back, unconcerned with the duties of those around him.
In fact, he did this little "lay down, get up" move quite a few times, alternating it with a giggle to his brother. Ryan, on the other side excitedly pointed to him "Maahm! Lookit David! He's bein' silly!" But mom, a seasoned older sibling, knew the truth.









And as I worked with my older son, cooing at my younger one on the other side of the fence, I thought to myself "live it up kid. A few more days and blammo! You will be a toddler. And you know what that means...chores!"










Oh, my sweet boy- now that you are a bonafide toddler, you have no idea the world that awaits you.

*Disclaimer: Even though we live on a farm, we wait until the kids are at least walking to assign chores. Although we have thought of making a sort of pack** for him to cart around things without the use of his hands.


**Don't worry grandma's, I'm just kidding. Truly. We have a three year old to do all of our packing.

Little man pictures

This is a picture of Ryan with his Grandma Grossmann.
What posting is complete without a few pictures of Ryan? He is quite the little reader...and sometimes he even looks at the book rightside up! I bet you can't read upside down!