Pieces of April

reading: A Three Dog Life, a memoir by Abigail Thomas (sooo sooo good)

listening to: Half Moon by Portland band 'Blind Pilot'. We saw them in concert here in Missoula last year. I love every single song of theirs. Pure musicalpoeticgenius.

watching: this 3-minute video - I want all of my girlfriends and my daughters to watch it.

eating: an entire half of our first watermelon of the year (store-bought)

dreaming of: visiting my newest nephew Noah, born a mere three days ago. I wish Texas wasn't so far away or that airplanes went super fast but never left the ground

welcoming: the goldfinch to the growing clientele at our bird feeder. On a side note, last year we had a yellow warbler couple decide to nest in the tree outside Emma's window. We had such fun watching them build their home, watch over their eggs and finally feed their three frail children. Emma even lucked into seeing the very moment one fledged (as a 12-day-old! oh how soon they leave!) I posted some photos and wrote a poem about it here.

thinking about: taking a sewing class, making a terrarium, taking Glucosamine to see if my hips and fingers feel better

fretting: that I may be developing rheumatoid arthritis at 43

asking: "what can I do to help?" after watching this


What's up in your neck of the woods? 

Part 3, Evening at the Ocean

Evening is definitely my favorite time of day for a stroll down the beach. The rhythm of the surf, the slant of the sun, the screams of the seagulls. Barefeet. The ones I love. Perfection.

Emma gazes out over a the horizon, closes her eyes with her face in the wind.

Kate is the beachcomber. Scanning for shells and sand dollars. Finding tiny crab claws, smooth black stones, creatures in the surf.

And Izzy? She just chases seagulls and runs so hard her little back legs (chicken legs, really) kick out behind her at funny angles. Like a two-year-old, she would swim straight out into the waves without fear if we let her.

We walked, and walked, and walked. Then we walked some more.

Beach bound, part 2 ~ foggy morning

hark, now hear the sailors cry,
smell the sea, and feel the sky
let your soul & spirit fly, into the mystic

     — Van Morrison

A foggy morning.

Low tide at Haystack Rock. 

Tide pool exploring. 





 

Beach bound, part 1

Friday morning we left for the Oregon coast in what will be known as "The Speedy but Delicious Ocean Visit of 2013." The town of Cannon Beach, Oregon is one of my favorite places to glimpse the ocean and through the years we've somehow never taken our girls there so I decided it was high time we made the trek. The drive is about 10 hours from our house to the surf. It was a long day, made a little longer because Kate was born with a bladder the size of a walnut, or maybe a pistachio, we're not sure, but one thing we do know is that it can't hold much. I once joked with her that she should write a memoir someday titled "The Bathrooms of my Youth." She's frequented more public restrooms in her 12 years than any one person should in their entire life.

The photos I've posted today are from the lush green forested area just North of Cannon Beach. There should be a hundred different words for describing all the various shades and depths of green you can find in the Pacific Northwest. The greens are one of the things I miss most about living in the Seattle area. Of course with all that green comes a fair bit of moisture, and I must say that I don't miss the rain (and I don't miss how large my hair gets when I'm doused in humidity).

Next up I will post my beach photos but tonight I am tired and lazy, so I'm off to snuggle up with a book and a hot beverage.

Emma's Room

Emma, 14.

Her bedroom, as she left it when the bus pulled up across the street. My dear, sweet girl. She loves her bed and likes all the blankets and pillows to be crazily swirled into a messy, cozy pile. She snuggles down in the middle. She calls it her "nest."

There are lots of moments when I miss the tiny Emma. So much. Sometimes my heart breaks with the missing of her. But then I watch her from a distance or pause a moment to watch her face while she's sleeping and I catch glimpses of that same little person . . . it's still her. She's still the same Emma.

She's becoming her own person. Making her own choices, finding her own style, figuring out what it is she loves, what she dreams of, what she stands for.

The note to herself on her mirror makes me smile every time I walk by her room.

    Every night:

•  50 jumping jacks
•  15 push ups
•  100 crunches
•  1 minute plank

I remember when I started writing myself notes too. Making lists. Taking charge.

Oh, what a precious, joyous time. 


p.s. I refrained from showing you the clothes strewn all over the floor. Something strange happens every morning while she's trying to figure out what to wear, and the entire closet ends up on the floor.

Party til you drop

{or How I survived yet another kid birthday party}

I have a confession (and you know I love a confession session).

okay, here it goes . . .
Large groups of children scare me.

Don't get me wrong or think me evil. I love children, positively adore them — individually, or in groups of two. I'm just one of those people who should not be a teacher or acitivity leader of groups of children. If I had been Fraulein Maria, the Von Trapp children would've completely run me over like a freight train and served me up in pieces on a plate.

When my girls were little, in Preschool and early grade school, I volunteered in their classrooms quite often. I did it because I thought it was a good thing to do. I thought it might make a difference — like they'd be better people in the end because of my dedication. Or maybe my presence would lighten the teacher's load so she could do her job more perfectly. I also thought the teachers would like me and think me a nice person, and I enjoy having people like me. Ultimately I have no idea what effect it really had on any of that stuff. But I do know that the teachers probably thought I was about the worst "helper" of anyone they'd ever met. I was a nervous wreck. And I was really bad at it. I bet they actually dreaded the days I came to help. "Oh crap, Jenny's helping today. Maybe I can put her to work tacking something to a bulletin board or filing papers today."

Ask me to lead three-year-olds in a craft project involving paint and glitter? They'd end the day with paint all over their high-end clothing and glitter in their ears. Plus most of the projects won't turn out at all like the teacher was hoping they would. (true story)

Ask me to take a group of 3rd-graders into the hall and help them with a math worksheet? They will end up running amok in the hallway (while I'm softly calling "Oh dear. Okay kids, let's come back and work on this paper, okay?"), talking too loudly, not cooperating or working on their papers AT ALL. I think their math skills will actually revert a little bit. (also a true story)

Give me a birthday party of 5-year-olds and I will seize up. All those little faces staring at me, waiting for the next activity, the next snack . . . I'll barely pull it off, then crawl up to bed for a long nap once it's all over.

Give me older kids, say a gaggle of wild 12-year-olds and things are a bit better. I don't have to plan activities, but there is the stress of "enough food" "fun music" "cool activities." The last thing I want is a bunch of tween girls (who are by now mostly my size!) thinking the party is "lame."

Whew. . .

In the end Kate's party went swimmingly. Thirteen girls ate a ton of pizza, cupcakes, chips, and soda. They threw a huge dance party in the basement. They opened gifts. They wrestled and screamed and giggled. They planned sleeping arrangements, watched a movie and finally, around 2 a.m., they slept. They woke up before the sun (why? no idea) and ate scrambled eggs and 3 dozen cinnamon rolls.

And then, it was over. I was glad. Not just because it was over, but because Kate had a really great time. And that fact made it all worthwhile.

Later in the day I took a two hour nap (also a true story).

Kate turns 12

My dear baby Kate turns twelve-years-old tomorrow. Twelve fun, crazy, snuggly, dreamy years. Her life is a gift to all who know her. She is funny, smart, beautiful, honest, compassionate, curious, strong . . . oh, how I love this little girl. 

 ~

Remembering the birth of my second (and last) baby:

January 25, 2001

1. It was a Wednesday night, ten days before my due date

2. Gary and I had lunch at our favorite chinese restaurant where I had a bowl of Hot & Sour soup (I could not get enough of that stuff when I was pregnant with her)

3. I'd been feeling uncomfortable all day. Around 11 p.m. I was darn uncomfortable so we took the party over to the hospital

4. I didn't want any pain meds, much to the distress of my labor nurse who seemed very upset at seeing me in pain and kept trying to talk me into drugs (What the heck?! she was a LABOR NURSE for pete's sake. I should've had someone stab her with some sort of valium shot.)

5. I had been "feeling" like maybe I was having a boy but the whole night I kept getting images of two little girls playing on the beach on the Oregon coast

6. and . . . it was a girl! (oh joy — a sister for Emma!)

7. She was born at 6:15 a.m., 6 lbs. 11 oz.

8. We couldn't decide: Katherine or Lucy. She was Lucy for her first hour of life, then she became Katherine . . . baby Kate

9. Settled in our room an hour later Gary pulled back the curtains from the window. It had been snowing like crazy all night. Everything was blanketed in piles of white. It was still coming down hard — millions of huge, swirling, silent flakes, falling from the sky

10. I felt like the world was magical and life was perfect, and I knew Kate and I would always be friends

artwork by sarah jane studio on etsy 

A hat for baby

This is the story of two crocheted baby hats:

My brother and his wife were expecting a baby.

I used my keen psychic abilities and secretly predicted a girl.

I crocheted a tiny ruffled-edged girly baby hat.

They had a beautiful baby boy.

I gifted the hat to Harriet May (who used to belong to my Aunt and now sits on a shelf in my room).

It was a little big on her so we turned up the edge.

I took a trip to the yarn store.

I got busy on a blue hat for my new nephew Parker.

I shipped it last week.

I heard the weather in Texas finally got chilly and I was secretly glad.

Then I got this photo from my brother.

I have never seen a cuter hat-wearing baby in my life.

Also, he looks a little concerned.

I love being an aunt.

Weekend in Philipsburg

We spent Saturday night in Philipsburg. It felt good to get away. No internet. No television channels.

It was cold, and the fire in the stove burned all day and night to keep the house warm. It was just the four of us. Our small family, together.

My favorite parts:

~ Walking the dogs at the town park. I love our goofy, misfit pack of dogs.


~  Seeing Emma reading "The Outsiders." I read it at her exact age and to say that I loved it would be an understatement. I still own my ragged, dog-eared copy.

~ Watching "Home Alone" together as a family. We watch it every year, along with a few others — "Elf," "Christmas Vacation," "Rudolph."

~ Hearing my daughters chatting, giggling and making midnight snacks in the kitchen as I laid in bed.


Being together felt like such a gift this weekend. Life is so precious, so tenuous, such a fragile gift. 

These past few days I've thought a lot about that gift and what it means to embrace life and how being in a state of fear can diminish joy. I am scared but I know I need to try to operate from a different place, for myself and for my family.

In this world there is much to fear, that is true. But there is much to celebrate, much to embrace, and so much beauty and love. My heart aches for all of it — the crushing sadnesses and the racing joys.

Wishing you peace.

O Holy Night

Saturday night I sat snuggled in bed, swimming in flannel and cotton, reading, and waiting for the phone on my nightstand to bring me some news. My brother and sister-in-law were clear across the country, in a birthing room, nearly 8 hours into labor. 

The deep darkness of night settled all around the house and snow fell quietly outside my window. I waited. I waited. I made last-minute pleas for the health of my sister-in-law and for that new little person, trying to be born. I wondered, boy? or girl? big? or small? sooner? later?

Finally, around 10:30 a text popped up from my other brother, "Baby here. Dan will call you with the details. Yay!" I held my phone and waited. A few minutes later it rang and my brother let me know that I had a perfect new nephew, Parker. Yay, indeed.

~

Later, as I thought of the birth and its juxtaposition to the Christmas season I remembered a quote I once heard.

"Each night a child is born is a holy night."

These lovely words are part of a song written by Sophia Lyon Fahs. (You can read about her here.)

~

Just hearing that a baby is born can send me right back into the delivery room, to the births of my own two children. The wonder and deep awe comes right back to the surface and I can feel that same golden dreamy feeling again. I wonder if parenthood is such that once you've witnessed the miracle of birth you can always easily revisit that sacred place. I hope I always can. There's no place like it.

Congratulations to my brother Daniel, his wife Jennifer and big brother Cooper. Parker is a lucky little guy to have the three of you!

 

Busy as Elves

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas! Things are busy, busy, busy . . . and the snow arrived Friday night to add an extra dash of holiday spirit. I rallied everyone out of the house with a trip to Dairy Queen for ice cream and a drive around the neighborhood to look at all the Christmas lights. We opened the front door and found a full-on blizzard outside. The short drive to Dairy Queen was quite an adventure — large drifts, cars cautiously navigating unplowed streets. At one point it was blizzarding sideways. Just a solid whiteout heading from West to East. I loved it.

All of the houses in our neighborhood are gussied up with lights and wreaths and some have those crazyhuge blow-up things — 10-foot tall Santa balloons and whathaveyou. It's fun to see all the different styles and tastes in lighting and decor.

After that little adventure we hunkered down for most of the weekend, only venturing out when necessary, although the girls did gather their friends for a lot of sledding and snow play. Being one who isn't too fond of the cold, I was waiting indoors (where it was cozy), prepared with hot chocolate when they came piling back inside.

The polymer clay snowmen I made are now standing in my Christmas village. I am pretty proud of how they turned out. They stand about 1-1/2 inches tall and have real twig arms from the spirea bush out front.

Kate got bit by the creativity bug today and got busy melting chocolate and crushing candy canes (results in marshmallow photo above). She hummed Christmas songs while she worked — sweet girl.

And Izzy? Well she just follows me all around the house asking "Now what are we doing?" "Where are we going now?" "Can I eat some of that too?" "Should we take a nap together?" Oh, that FACE.