LOST A SOCK

Something Like January

I hope that I remember this January of 2012, and its predecessor, December 2011, as That Time We Had An Unseasonably Warm and Tolerable Winter.  Kind of like the Chicago summer a couple years ago, when temps hovered in the low seventies instead of the upper eighties, with bright blue skies nearly the entire season, and my children wept from their souls about not being able to swim.  It was like living in Tahiti.  If Tahiti had more smog.  And Italian Beef sandwiches, dipped in juice.

What I am saying is, it hasn't snowed very much, and I believe today is the first day I've noticed the thermometer dip below ten degrees.  I feel so very alive, still, this Winter.

(Okay, so today we had a homeschool class at the Shedd Aquarium, and parked our car way back at Soldier Field and walked all the way from one to the other, and back, in the nine degree wind.  I am officially sporting my Winter in the Midwest Tan, which involves bright red frostbitten cheeks and chin.  Thank you, icy wind, for avoiding my still-pale, chalkboard sized forehead.  Nothing like keeping things interesting.  Ahem.) 

But last week we spent a day at the zoo, and it was perfect.

Perfect enough to get a really good look at the Winter color palette.

This is the Winter I figured out what was going on with our girl.  Sensory Processing Disorder-- Tactile Defensiveness, specifically.  An over-responsiveness of the protective responses of the nervous system. I have now read through no fewer than four thousand web pages recommended to me by Dr. Google, and the descriptions of other children struggling with these same issues are just uncanny.  I had no idea that other families were going through the same things, and I am both relieved and completely overwhelmed with all of this new information. Furthermore, with all of this reading comes new understandings about myself in relation-- my absolute inability to tolerate crumbs, chalk dust, newsprint, the fine dust left on skin by sand, anything sticky on any surface and most especially my hands-- all the damn hand washing, and my absurd aversions to toothpaste, hand lotion, sunscreen...

Apologizes sincerely to girl child, for handing down disorder undetected.

I thought these were...oddities?  Quirks?  Regardless, I have figured out how to navigate my days in spite of whatever all of that relates to, and Marin will, too.  I am anxious to meet with her occupational therapist again, to ask eleventy million more questions.  We're going to get this thing figured out.  

This Winter also gets to go down, so far, as The One We Did School Really Well.  Above, winter insect homes, as per the monthly outdoor Science class we attend.  Who knew?  I feel like I have learned so much, right along with my kids, and there have been a variety of topics that I was a bit unsure of as we got started (I am looking at you, Light and Heat) but we jumped in with both feet anyway, and have come away with great experiences.  

The two quiet hours we spend each morning now, while Marin is at her preschool, have truly revolutionized our homeschool process.  We've got better schedule structure, less distraction, and perfect reason to tackle the big stuff first, and save the story reading and art projects for the afternoon when we are all back home together. Jack's reading gets better each day, KJ has conquered ridiculously long division, and the history of North America is behind us.  The boys are currently attending a weekly Gym & Swim program for homeschoolers through the YMCA, Jack is taking a theater class and KJ a fun Science class (he dissected cow eyeballs tonight) and basketball begins in a few weeks. We pick up our chick eggs and incubator next month, already. 

This also gets to be the Fall and Winter that I loved these guys best of all.  These Canadian Geese with their smooth black heads and their rounded brown bodies, following the leader in v-formation in search of warmth and food.  I have been watching them for months, and stopping to listen to their honks as they sit along our lake on chilly nights.  

I love them every time I see them.  They're really incredible, aren't they?

These get to be the days I play my favorite music on repeat.  The time I rediscovered Jewel.  The weekend I purchased enough fabric to make a queen-sized quilt-- my first ever so large.  And the time I discovered Pinterest, for the first time.

Let us skip the polling for who hasn't slept in a week, with all of that pinning, m'kay?

The grey clouds up above have been toying with the notion of snow, now.  For Real snow, rather than the silly little dustings and meltings that have graced us occasionally.  We might just put our new snow blower to use, yet.  

I am brave.  I can take it.

(Future Self punches Overconfident Present Self in the kidneys, imaginably.)

2011 in the rearview

Initially I thought to comment, Well that went fast, when I realized it was time to recap the year that just started five minutes ago.  But then as the past year came into better focus, I knew that the quickness of its passage was less about its days and moments, and more about the fact that the years--they are really moving.  I love growing, I love getting older, I love my grey hairs and tiny little wrinkles left from smiling, I love change.  Bring it, 2012.

But first, for the short and sweet in the record book, allow me to recap 2011.

We began the year as we always do, on a ladder with paint brush in hand.  (Myself, that is. Not my kids.)  My kids were elbow deep in homeschool, and in a bin of dry rice and beans at the time, and we were eight months into our wait for our baby to be referred to us, from Africa.

This was a path that I somehow knew I would walk, at least in the years after I became a mom, though I never could have predicted our story thus far to present as it does in this moment.  While waiting for our referral, we began learning of so much corruption surrounding the situation in that particular country, and eventually we made what felt like the only ethical choice to make, given the circumstances, and we brought our paperwork back home.  I know with certainty that even now, had we stayed the course in spite of our concerns, we still would not have had our baby home today, and if we felt waist-deep in a terrible situation at the beginning of the year, without going into detail, we would have been up to our eyeballs by now.  Even our own agency, who we once had so much faith in, has not emerged with clean hands, and it leaves me feeling just sick for the babies and children who are involuntarily growing up in the center of this cold and dirty hurricane.  In this way the world appears uglier than ever to me, having joined the scene ready to help a child or children as we could, and then having witnessed such an unfolding.  It left me feeling hopeless for the kids at the center, and so very sorry for the well-intentioned adoptive and birth families caught in the swirling periphery. 

I am sorry to say that I came away from this once-exciting time to experience a grief I hadn't known before- a miscarriage of sorts, only for which there are no pre-determined parameters for how one should expect to feel after spending the better part of two years preparing for and dreaming about this very real baby that would join our family, only to walk away with empty arms.  Adoption is not just a thing that people decide to get into, but something we get into with our whole hearts and with our kids and families and friends and finances.  We create space in our homes and excitedly count down until this little person who already feels like one of us, comes along to finally be one of us.  The process, then, of giving away the toys I had saved, the blankets and clothing I had collected and telling each and every person of our turn of events left me mournful and exhausted.  The winter went long, and it felt dark and sometimes lonely.

I journaled a lot through that time, and searched to find the silver lining day after day, because it was the best of my options.  And I opened myself up to the possibility that I could somehow come out of this experience with greater breadth, and build something from all the little pieces.

By the grace of God, I met a friend of a friend very soon after that, who somehow got me instantly, right where I was, and sat with me in the space where I chose to work through our adoption into its roots.  My sadness for everything that had ever failed was palpable, then.  I saw all of that emotion and heartache, some of which I had carried with me since I was my own little kid, and I picked it apart and allowed it to become something new when it was ready.  I had grown into a better mother for all I had learned, and a better self for what I now understood.  The process, the preparation, the loss and the disaster we witnessed was what we simply had to endure for all that could come out of it and still is yet to come.  

And just like that, Spring arrived.

We were okay. We were all okay.  We were built for these sorts of deep life lessons-- a whole Master's Degree, really, on what fear and disappointment and love are all about.  How thankful I am to have come through all of this with a heart open to possibility, though it was no picnic at the time.

It was Mother's Day before I knew it and I was the mom of three amazing little kids, and we spent the morning on a hike, and laying in green grass, absorbing the sunshine.  I will never forget that Sunday morning, because I think it was one of the most perfect, ever, in my book.  I hired our wonderful babysitter for a few hours a week, beginning last Spring, to give me the occasional break that I didn't know I could (should!) grant myself and my kids. I became more familiar with poetry and bounced along on positive, super-fun music.  We had kitchen dance parties in the afternoon and at night, just the kids and I, or the kids and I and Kevin and Sant and Leslie-- all through the house with the music blasting.   

I threw caution to the wind and painted on all sorts of canvases, and put hardwood floors in our house and painted a few walls more.

We saw art.  We made art.

We plastered art all over our walls, and we didn't apologize for the mess.

We hiked,

and we drove,

and we celebrated.  

I felt that I should meet my inner perfectionist, somewhere in all that, and shake her up a little bit.  The world was not perfect, and I was not perfect.  The world was ugly and messy and dissapointing, and I needed to stare into all of that to understand that it was somehow part of something beautiful.  And so with each opportunity, to this very moment, I am asking myself what I can do with the beautiful messiness, and who will still love and accept me should they walk right into it with me.

And the answer, of course, is this little, solid group of friends and family whom I have intentionally placed around myself, like a group of fluffy pillows to pad my falls.  I am blessed.  Not lucky, as I tossed out there in my last post.  I believe, actually, in neither luck, nor coincidence, nor accidents.  I am here and happy and more whole than ever because I chose to experience awe and gratitude, again and again, for all of the blessings that come my way.  I am following my intuition as best I can, always chasing truth and what is real, and facing the hard work as it shows up, so that I can continue growing into the best version of myself-- all of those failings, and all of that messiness included.  There is more work to be done.

I added to my inky collection last summer, the word that hums through the undertones of my life, and five little birds in flight, for the five of us- Kevin and the kids and I, making this journey together.

We traveled a good deal this year, down to Indianapolis to spend some days with these little buddies of ours while their Mama delivered their new baby, 

and with these buddies of ours (also speaking of new, third babies) to Wisconsin Dells for a fun vacation.

We did the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee this year with family, 

in a mountainside cabin with a view and a settling energy I will never forget,

and we found ourselves floating down a river in bright yellow innertubes.

Kevin and I took a trip to Vegas for our eleventh wedding anniversary, 

and we experienced Utah and Arizona, where we hiked through quiet and still, rocky caverns.

I collected twenty-three pages of favorite quotes this year,

and finally figured out a layout and an atmosphere that is comfortable to me, here.

We saw the Dalai Lama speak in person over the summer, and I attended a fantastic monthly Buddhist meditation class.  Each Kevin and I did something we said we would never do again, and spent the last six months settling into churches we both love, each of us supporting the other with where we need to be.  We've gotten involved with a monthly soup kitchen, and we've met more new friends who have turned out to be icing on the cake.

We've created bonds with our homeschool buddies and taken lots of day-trips.  I bought an iPhone, I conquered every version of Angry Birds, I took the kids to see lots of plays and musicals this year.   

Kevin and I saw U2, which was hands-down, the best concert ever (even if I failed to bring my real camera).

I read this year.  I read and read and read and read, 

and it was one journey inward (and backwards and forwards) after the next.

We said good-bye to friends, both very real friends and quasi-real,

and we watched quietly the sun set,

the silkworm dangle,

and the Autumn breeze blow.

We hosted the holidays again,

and counted ourselves so blessed for full tables and full bellies.

We enjoyed the glow, 

remain present,

and bring nothing but hope, bravery, possibility and love to the year ahead.

Christmas 2011

Lucky girl.

Christmasing

While waiting for Santa...

And also waiting for snow...

Some of us fondly remembering those post-Christmas days we've spent on sunny, sandy Florida beaches...

We build legos,

check out local lights,

drink coffee,

get goofy.

Create snowball art!

Which logically involves Storm Troopers in the snow.

Deer watching.

Deer adoring.  They are so gentle and serene.

Playing excitedly in the half inch of snow that stuck around for three hours one morning.  

We are kids sure that this magical time will last forever, and grown-ups remembering what it was like to experience this time of year as wide-eyed kids.  A time that passed so quickly.

Our church Nativity play, at which Mary showed off her striped knee-highs, and took off with a shepherd just after the birth of her tiny soft-plastic baby.  Thankfully, Joseph was willing to hold down the fort manger, and happily accepted gifts on behalf of the newborn king.

More holiday art,

and belly buttons!

Having fun with gift wrapping,

and happily strolling to our mailbox each afternoon to open cards from friends we love.

New year vision-boarding,

favorite bracelet creating,

and adoring the early afternoon sunshine, while it lasts.

I hope you are breathing in the one-of-a-kind Christmas glow, as well.

Semi-annual Somewhat-messed up Completely-accurate and terrible Christmas poem, from our family to yours

I really want to blog again but don’t know where to start.

We’ve hung the garland, trimmed the tree and made some Santa art.

I’m lying really, it was glitter trees and windows with bright lights,

But if I don’t say something here, it could be six more nights.

That’s Christmas-- no. Oh nevermind.  That day is drawing near.

Our car’s broke down, the gifts half wrapped, kick Santa in his… ear.

Why so violent?  Why so mean?  What did that round man do?

Took credit for all good presents now, and ate our cookies, too.

Fold laundry, Donder, change bed sheets Rudolph, is what that man should say,

For we have three young children here who busy me each day.

I like them so, I buy them gifts and take them lots of places.

We pick up donuts, sing Christmas carols and smile our happy faces.

Then we get home, it’s late and then the bath time is a must,

But if you know about little boys, they’re sure that they might rust.

Resist the bath, resist the bed, leave legos on the floor.

Why doesn’t Santa ever step on them, and expletive out the door!?

It’s late and it’s dark and I did not see that sharp remaining block,

I stepped on it, collapsed and cursed, I’m bleeding through my sock.

Oh shit, I say, I’ve got things to do that involve a lot of walking,

My foot is throbbing, I’m overtired and sick of all this talking. 

On Dasher, On Dancer, now Prancer in line behind our sweet little Comet,

Let’s stay away from the public this week so we don’t get the flu and vomit.

It’s going around, I’ve heard moms say, and doesn’t sound like fun,

Kids soil each surface and miss the pot and make me want to run.

Run, I said, not Runs, that’s different, though it accompanies too.

I have three kids so no surprise my poem just turned to poo.

Oh that was gross, I’m sorry friends, do say that you’ll forgive.

Let’s talk about happy things again, like Christmas dinner and gin.

Gin doesn’t rhyme and neither does vodka but it might be what I’m drinking,

If I don’t score more time this week, it’s the only way, I’m thinking.

Nativity play and Christmas break from homeschool are just fine,

Pajama day and craft away and memories that shine.

I hope they know when it’s all done I created this for them,

So when they grow up they’ll do the same and gift me a big gem.

A ruby maybe, or sapphire or diamond or giant loaf of bread.

What? I ask. All one in the same! Do not a sad tear shed!

I’m tired now, for real now, and I have to end this, friends.

Merry Christmas to you, I’ll be back real soon to show you how it ends.

I love you, good night, no I can’t stop, my gosh I’m just like the kids,

I need more water, I have to pee, my bed is full of squids.

Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight, goodnight, I’ll see you all tomorrow.

Or Thursday or Friday or Saturday, in happiness and sorrow.

Merry Christmas to all, I heard him say, the bulky man in fur,

Bring happiness and peace, dear Santa, of these I dream for sure.

Recently...

People who take their own Christmas card photographs are crazy.

Completely.

Totally.

I have done this on and off since these boys were babies.  Not last year, yes the year before, yes some others before that.  Almost always I am fully exhausted by the end of our session and weeping a thousand bitter tears for babies vomiting mid-shot (true story) and why they cannot just sit still and smile, just for five minutes.  

I have been told that everything gets easier as we depart from the baby stage, and I have called every person who has imparted that wisdom upon me a stinking fool liar because it does not become easier, only different.  

Christmas photos, thankfully, are somewhat easier.  

So that's something.

Mostly something.

Sometimes we get nutty.

Super nutty.

And also theatrical.

Super theatrical.

Um.  Forget everything I said up there.  This is no easy task.  

Shout the words stinky fart.  That'll get them laughing.  

...if not wrinkling their noses and excitedly waving hands near their faces.

Then I can pull something off.

Way back when we were childless and sleeping Saturdays until 10am, I never really thought about what my kids would look like.  There was really no way of knowing who, or how many, or what their personalities would be like. At least, I guess I assumed that they would be very similar to Kevin and I, and each other.

This assumption was completely incorrect.

Each of my kids are competely different from each other, and deep and intelligent and observant.

And hilarious.

Yes, that.

Lose the glasses, add the scarf.  A miracle of God, truly, that this child is clothed at all.  She does not live like this.  Hence, the brand new short haircut.  More to come on all of this, later.

Also to come, the possibility of a post filled with Christmas pictures from the beginning of this blog.  Set to Kenny Roger's Through the Years.  Because I know Miranda Priestly up there (The Devil Wears Prada, and you're welcome) totally threw up in one of my kitchen floor shoots, and pitched a mad fit another year.  

At least this year was smooth.  Mostly.

I totally promised them ice cream.  I won't lie.

Merry Christmas!

Thanksgiving Week, Haphazard Edition

I keep thinking I want to post a spattering of pictures from our last few months of school.  I will get to them, I think, and then the day goes long, long, long, and better luck tomorrow.  

No luck.  

Here's my quick blurb.

We have been spending time at the Indiana Dunes with some of our homeschool buddies, and our kids have taken well to to the art of the camp fire, and roasting hot dogs and marshmallows.  Above, Marin collecting long, thin sticks that can poke through our treats for the fire.  Below, cold, bare grey and brown tree branches.  Lots and lots of branches.  We are again down to the blue sky for color, when we can see it.

We are hosting Thanksgiving at our house this week, with plans for a perfectly set table for twenty.  My sister-in-law's family has flown in from across the country, for the week, and I sometimes marvel about how families are made.  There was mine, and his, and hers, and ours, and some others here and there, and eventually we were planning Thanksgiving together as one big happy, and I love it.  I would love for everyone to bring a friend, and another, and another, until we are all very comfortable and filled with stuffing and pie, and feeling well loved.  I am so thankful for all of these people who walk our journey with us.

We are finishing up our unit on the Human Body in Science.  Nerves, followed by muscles.  Next we will delve into heat and its properties and producers and the way it travels.  Conduction, convection, radiation.  I need to order all those books from the library.  

My kindergartner has become the king decoder of words that end in "silent e."  One moment he was slowly decoding every letter of every word, and the next moment, it seems, he had turned the lock with a key, and got it.  Magic.   

He has also discovered the fine art of end punctuation.  It lives everywhere.

The kids needed haircuts, so I plopped each one up on the bathroom counter tonight, and trimmed away before baths.  Then I cleaned their ears and trimmed their nails and smelled their fresh little heads.  I love it when everyone is all squeaky clean at once.

My oldest guy and I (much too old to have his nails trimmed and his hair washed by mom) sit on the couch for a small, quiet fraction of most afternoons and read US History together.  We read from our Smithsonian History Encyclopedia, digging up the details on Anne Hutchinson and the Puritans and William Penn and his Pennsylvania colony, and all the others who braved their way over here for something so important as freedom to worship in whatever way they preferred.  Sometimes when I think we have read enough for the day, I suggest we bookmark here, and then he asks for just a little more.  This, too, feels magical to me.  

The last time I steam cleaned our carpets, late at night, I woke up in the morning to find dog vomit right in the center of the hall floor.  I cleaned them again last night, and would appreciate if they could remain clean for at least a few days.  It's a shame that more of the various liquid-spilling individuals in this house cannot read.  I might post an effective note. 

I have cleared our calendar from this morning until Wednesday night, so that I can focus on school, and Thanksgiving, and a website project for a friend.  This is equal parts exciting and red, bumpy hive inducing.

The kids are all sleeping, and Kevin just arrived home.  He offered me his peanut butter and apricot jelly sandwich special, and now we commence watching The Fabric of the Cosmos.  After that I will take out half of my new pile of reading material.  Or at least, drift off to sleep trying.

Happy Monday, friends.

Story of the Three Bears

Just before she moved away last month, my girlfriend showered my children with birthday and Christmas presents, all at once.  As part of that showering, each of the three of them received a Build-A-Bear gift card, which is super because it is an experience-- something I find way more valuable than stuff, and also it is fun because they never get to go there.  

Ask them.  They will communicate this to you with a sing-song whine that emphasizes the word Neverrr.  This melodic whine, emphasize Never, a rite of passage for American middle-childhood, yes?  We'll go with it.

Anyway, I think that everyone has now been there once.  In the past I have gone in with one child or another and allowed bear choice, sound choice and an outfit choice, using their gift card to cover as much as it could, and then I would pay for the rest.  I had never been in with all three children at once, however, and just cannot shake the feeling these days, the more aware my children become, that it is my job to at least somewhat counteract the intensely consumerist plateful of awful that we are continually fed by the American Media, foi gras-style.

So back to the Teddy Bear Store.  

In addition to your teddy bear, you can buy sequined skirts and graphic tees, high heel shoes, bling boots, roller skates, satin underwear, sun glasses, and uniforms for every major football, baseball, basketball and hockey team imaginable.  And the bear creation ends at the back of the store, marching wide-eyed children through floor to ceiling displays of stuff for newly created BFF's.  

I kind of like this place.  Should I say that?  I have this very same Love-Hate thing with Disney. I think it magical to pick out and stuff your own teddy bear, kissing his sweet little heart before you place it inside him and have him sewn up.  It is fun in theory to personalize him.  But it's really tough to get out of there, with the average kid, without dropping fifty bucks on a bear.  That times three in our case, and the only word that comes to mind in the equation of three teddy bears and a hundred and fifty dollars?  Ridiculous.

As we walked in today I handed everyone their gift cards, and explained that they needed to spend the thirty dollars that was on each card, and no more.  When we picked out the bears, I attempted to direct people towards the fifteen dollar area, and away from the twenty-fives.  When they chose voices for their bears, I helped each child calculate how much they had spent thus far, and what they had left to spend on clothing and accessories. When it was time to choose clothing and accessories on the remaining one, eight and ten dollars?  It was hard.  

For a few minutes I felt like a heartless jerk, obvious money in my wallet that would easily cover the extra two dollars needed for a football, six fifty required for pants.  Kevin's mom was with us today, having just appliance shopped for her kitchen before this magical stop, and in my heart I hoped she would go along with my Applied Lesson In Real Life Budgeting.  Minimally, I hoped my heartless jerk colors were not shining through too brightly.

After a while the kids figured it out.  They had to choose the accessory that they really wanted, instead of a handful of things that seemed pretty neat.  This place, for whatever reason, made the word No intensely more felt than in the toy aisle at Target or when presented with shrieks over (no) Halloween candy for breakfast, at the kitchen counter.  I stayed with it.  Kevin's mom offered that she could make little pants and shirts for teddy bears as Christmas gifts, and later at lunch applied her own situation to teach the kids- that she'd just spent her money on a new stove and refrigerator, and would forgo dinner out or new shoes because buying is about making choices.

Little by little, I really hope to teach them the great benefit of living within their means. 

Currently, the free red bow that came home around Jack's black bear's neck has been transformed into a karate belt.  And Marin's heart bear has been further accessorized with Finding Nemo training pants, the plastic crown from her Halloween costume, and her own black dress shoes.  All new friends have been introduced to their twin bed cohorts, and are adapting nicely.  We are doing just fine.

Navigating the Path Unknown

I wondered what it would be like to quickly jump in here, when inspiration hit me late some random Saturday evening, and write.  Without concerns for sentence structure or complete thoughts, without giving pause for who’s reading and what I am sharing, and just go.  When I paint, I apply enormous, free range strokes or tiny, delicate ones- whatever moves me.  When I take pictures I shoot what I experience and what I love, and don't give a second thought to who will critique...I just go from where I feel.  But I have been stuck with blogging for a while, holding a nonsensical standard for how I come across and what my content should look like.  And I have realized it is killing my creative process.  

So this place becomes something new again.  For just a while I am going to let myself off the hook, and write two lines on a Tuesday, and publish.  And then post something that really inspired me on Wednesday.  And a handful of shots from our adventure on Friday.  Then I would be back to regular blogging.  

This is that.  Clicking refresh.  Slightly redesigned, permission to just GO.

The archives of this website contain the story of transformation, documented moment by moment or week by week, depending, of course, on how busy these days get.  Documentation of the world, on being a mom, on looking at one’s own life and choosing to see it for all of its beauty, and run with inspiration. Sometimes the stories complete themselves—there was a positive pregnancy test, and a beautiful baby girl nine months later. Sometimes they go on and on and on.  There was a house.  We just wanted to move. It failed to sell.  We rented it.  We saved it.  We saved us.  We sold it.  Years, this one unfolded.  And I know there are other story lines that are left dangling in the breeze, because I don’t know what to say publicly at the moment, or for a long time. Adoption, and deeply felt, unexplainable love for a far away place and its beautiful people.  A treacherous, magnificent path to experience- to learn things one could never learn in any other way.  

I was thinking about this path.  I was thinking about all of these things documented here over nearly six years here, and I talked to a friend about the holes and the untold stories.  I have been thinking for months now about my direction here and whether there even should be one, or if I continue on documenting here or elsewhere, or where I put my energy.

Do you overthink sometimes, too?

I don’t have a specific goal for this space right now, in spite of being such the goal-oriented person.  I have dedicated years, now, to unearthing authenticity, and probably more in the last year than ever.  I’ve been unsure as to whether this exists as the appropriate forum for sharing all of that or not, but at least for now, I am deciding that this space is going to contain anything I can give it.  

I still want to write a book.  I still want to homeschool three or four days each week, with those remaining one or two being the difficult ones, with three kids at home all day, every day, their educations and their upbringings (not to mention their meals and their playdates) completely my responsibility.  I want to write openly again about food and struggle and creativity and home décor.  I want to unapologetically contemplate the hell out of every good book, and all the trees and leaves on every hike, and share that here, even if clumsily and hurriedly some days, because that is just where I am.  I am just going to show up more often, with whatever comes.  And then one day again, I will bind it all into a book and keep it for myself and my growing family, knowing I once took an opportunity to throw perfection's silly constraints to the wind, and this is what it looked like.

Thanks for coming along.

Of Autumns Past and Present

I was talking with someone the other day about Fall.  Who doesn't love Fall? She was telling me that Fall seems to be her creative time, and I took that in.  My mind went to early January, which is naturally my creative time, and then I had to think about what Fall is, for me.

And I got it, easily.

Exploration.

Amazing Colorado

Wyoming Calm

White Mountains, New Hampshire

Arlington National Cemetery, Virginia

Connecticut

Mount Rushmore, South Dakota

White House, Washington D.C.

Oh my God, Kennebunkport, Maine

Awe-inspiring Mr. Lincoln

Jack Kerouac's grave, Lowell, Massachusetts

Beautiful Lady Liberty, NYC

Rustic Southern Michigan

Air Force Academy, Colorado

Historic Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Up-all-night Times Square, New York City

Indiana Dunes State Park

History

Mystery

Spirit

Simplicity

Love

Nine?! ... Nine!

Happy Birthday to my energetic and funny, super-intelligent, bird-lovin', football playin' boy.  He specifically asked me to make him a new video for his birthday, to which I replied that I just made him one...recently?  And then I realized it was for his fifth birthday, which was now four years ago.  Time flies, and I am forever grateful to be raising this amazing, unfolding person.  Happy birthday, buddy.  We love you and are so proud of you.

...and now in exchange for this lovely photographic compilation of your life, I would like you to stop reminding me that you are half way to college.  Thanks.

I throw my hands up in the air sometimes...

I guess you could take that title one of two ways, but I was quoting a fun and energizing song.  My oldest child has been singing it without taking a breath, I think, for several days now.

I wanna celebrate and live my life, 

singing Ayo! Baby let's go!

So it is mid-September already, and we are about to witness the color scheme of these pictures shift from their Lake Michigan blues, sands and silvers to green.  All green!  

(And soon, bright red, fire orange and explosive yellow, yes, friends?  Fall is upon us.)

See that special kind of Autumn late-afternoon sunshine?  There it is!

My favorite.

And monarch butterflies all around, and Canadian Geese up above in their V-formations for the long journey South-- the kids and I wishing them well on their way.

Early Fall, September, draws me to the outdoors even more so than during the summer months, I think.  It is a different time when sweatshirt weather taps you on the shoulder by surprise, and then the two of you play chase for a few weeks, until finally you're ready to snuggle up by the fire together for a few long months.

I remember once during my senior year of college, being asked randomly by a professor what my hobbies were.  And truthfully I did not know myself well at the time.  I worked, a lot, and went to class-- lots and lots of class, and I went on dates with Kevin to the movies and to the local bar with my girlfriends for Malibu rum & pineapple juice over ice, in little plastic cups, for a buck or two.  

"Hiking," I blurted out in response.  And then I sort of stepped outside of my self and cocked my head to the side and gave a puzzled look to the girl who just said that, because I did not hike, then.  At all.

But it was like we were meant to be, the woods and I, and my rapidly growing-up family.  I just could not have understood this, back then.

What would I have done back then, with my one wild and precious life?  (I love that Mary Oliver quote.)  Back then, I would become a shiny new teacher, and a partner.  And now?  An experienced teacher-- in my best classroom yet, and a partner redefined many times over, in this year fifteen.

What will I do now, with my one wild and precious life?  Now that I am here? Photograph and explore, paint and sew, cook, travel, dabble in poetry, meditate and exercise bravery.  And learn and grow alongside my children every day.  Breathe it in deeply and be who I am, a girl on land, in the process of becoming whatever comes next.  It feels like the perfect thing to do, because there is no external force, no person's opinion, no thing I can ever think of that would be worth waking up to say, I am not the person I want to be.      

So early September calls my crew to hiking shoes and the changing woods, and of course to the zoo, and to the apple orchard every year.  

Mmm, yes, the apple orchard.  We understand by now, the differences between the Galas, Granny Smiths and Red Delicious, and that to get an apple off of a tree you must first twist, then pull.  And after that, of course, shine it up on your pant leg and take a big bite.

Everyone right down to Marin can weave the tale of Johnny Appleseed, and bake cobbler, and create apple art.  

I honestly cannot put rhyme or reason to it.  Nothing more than it being the perfect way to celebrate September.

I did these things with KJ and Jack in the very first few weeks we ever homeschooled, a few years ago, and every year since.  By now my big guy has mostly outgrown apple prints, but I am lucky enough to have a new preschooler coming up through the ranks, and she is very excited about investigating cores and seeds and textures with her Kindergarten brother.

This, our third year of homeschooling, is the year of the project.  Exploration! One true, unapologetic mess after the next all for the sake of enjoying, and also learning at the same time.

Dare I say I think we are getting a rhythm down?  

(Year three, friends.  Sense emerges.)  

When I compile our list of topics to investigate, we generally start in the same place each year and build.  We are lovers of the outdoors, and so we do trees and plants in the Fall.  And Native Americans.  And Space, because it's fun.

Jack is especially interested in all things Space, here with his diorama-in-the-works that includes the Hercules constellation, wielding his giant club somewhere in the neighborhood south of the Little Dipper.  We were also so excited to read of the fifty newly discovered exoplanets this week.  What great timing, Scientists.

So honestly I was a bit unsure of my footing, stepping out of summer this year and into the cooler season.  I knew I was doing well with sunsets on the beach and pb & j's and rock collecting, so I was not thrilled with letting go just yet. But little by little, through the process of diving head first into our school year and embracing the goodness that comes with the dawn of a new phase, 

we've arrived here.

Happily!

And it's birthday season!

Marin, myself, my sister and KJ all together in just a few short, super-celebrated weeks.

My sister and sister-in-law?  Pure genius.  This is how you weave together a couple very different party themes, apparently.

My baby is now three, and my oldest on the brink of nine.  I remember nine, vividly, and I attempt to remind myself over and over that he will too.

Here's to making it count: every day, every step, every exchange. And every swiftly changing leaf, and child.

What should a four year old know?

                               

As a homeschool mom I have spent the last month combing through standards and ideas in preparation for our school year.  And this year with a three-year-old on board again, big play and bigger vigilance are important.  I need to spread myself quite thin in order to cover Amerigo Vespucci at the third grade level, counting money and telling time with kindergarten and stop writing in your brother's workbook puzzles and bead patterns at the early preschool level-- all in the same afternoon.  So I created a more project-based,

fun-based, interest-based school this year than ever before for our crew, and when I read this today I knew I should plant it here.  What all children should know, indeed, regardless of age.  This falls perfectly in line with what I hope to give my kids in the undercurrent of their educations.

                       

What a four year old should know:

1. She should know that she is loved wholly and unconditionally, all of the time. 
2. He should know that he is safe and he should know how to keep himself safe in public, with others, and in varied situations. He should know that he can trust his instincts about people and that he never has to do something that doesn’t feel right, no matter who is asking. He should know his personal rights and that his family will back them up.
3. She should know how to laugh, act silly, be goofy and use her imagination. She should know that it is always okay to paint the sky orange and give cats 6 legs.
4. He should know his own interests and be encouraged to follow them. If he could care less about learning his numbers, his parents should realize he’ll learn them accidentally soon enough and let him immerse himself instead in rocket ships, drawing, dinosaurs or playing in the mud.
5. She should know that the world is magical and that so is she. She should know that she’s wonderful, brilliant, creative, compassionate and marvelous. She should know that it’s just as worthy to spend the day outside making daisy chains, mud pies and fairy houses as it is to practice phonics. Scratch that– way more worthy. 

But more important, here’s what parents need to know.

1. That every child learns to walk, talk, read and do algebra at his own pace and that it will have no bearing on how well he walks, talks, reads or does algebra. 
2. That the single biggest predictor of high academic achievement and high ACT scores is reading to children. Not flash cards, not workbooks, not fancy preschools, not blinking toys or computers, but mom or dad taking the time every day or night (or both!) to sit and read them wonderful books.
3. That being the smartest or most accomplished kid in class has never had any bearing on being the happiest. We are so caught up in trying to give our children “advantages” that we’re giving them lives as multi-tasked and stressful as ours. One of the biggest advantages we can give our children is a simple, carefree childhood.
4. That our children deserve to be surrounded by books, nature, art supplies and the freedom to explore them. Most of us could get rid of 90% of our children’s toys and they wouldn’t be missed, but some things are important– building toys like legos and blocks, creative toys like all types of art materials, musical instruments, dress up clothes and books, books, books. 
5. That our children need more of us. We have become so good at saying that we need to take care of ourselves that some of us have used it as an excuse to have the rest of the world take care of our kids. Yes, we all need undisturbed baths, time with friends, sanity breaks and an occasional life outside of parenthood. But we live in a time when parenting magazines recommend trying to commit to 10 minutes a day with each child and scheduling one Saturday a month as family day. That’s not okay! Our children don’t need Nintendos, computers, after school activities, ballet lessons, play groups and soccer practice nearly as much as they need US. They deserve to know that they’re a priority for us and that we truly love to be with them.

Thanks to Alicia of A Magical Childhood for writing this.  Just perfect.