LOST A SOCK

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.

Recently...

Scenes from a Thanksgiving

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.

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.

Cabin in the Sky

So just after we spent that afternoon with the Dalai Lama?  It was time to hit the road-- we were off for our summertime travel!

Normally when we take our trips we attempt to see as many states as possible, moving ever closer to our goal of visiting all fifty.  And usually we drive a lot. The journey, for us, makes up at least half the fun of the adventure.

This time, however, there were no new states and only a straight ten hour shot in the car to our one and only residence for the week.

(No, we didn't stay at McDonald's.)

(Look at the sign, friends. The sign.)

We headed South.  

There is a lot of tea in the South.  More tea than Midwesterners can imagine. And it's sweet, tasty tea.  The real deal.

Also, there are mountains in this particular place.

We went to the perfect place where mountains meet the clouds.  They rest together, here, in the summer sun.  Beautiful, right?

We went to the Great Smoky Mountains National Paaaaaark!  In Tennessee!  

(And I would appreciate if you would use your best Oprah In Your Head voice and say it like she might announce Australiaaaaaaaaaa!  Except, I am sorry, you did not win a trip.  You are just looking at our family vacation pictures. Onward.)

So my goal with this trip was to experience a great big cabin on the side of a mountain.  We planned this trip back in February when Chicago weather was grey and cold and dreary and awful, and all I could think about was getting close to the summer sun, and all things green.  The images of decks with the rocking chairs at this place?  Sold me.

Very rarely do we ever choose a single destination for our vacation, on which we hang all of our hopes and dreams for sleep, comfort and relaxation.  But we did it this time, and crossed our fingers that the actual house would even compare to what the Interwebs told me.

It did.  

This is where the kids and I slept every night, in the mountains beneath the stars and swaying trees, and even in a thunderstorm one night.  I knew that as kids they could not fully appreciate the entire experience of being here, so I tried to appreciate it four times as much.  I even napped occasionally.

We couldn't go this one alone, though.  It was meant to be shared.

For this trip we met Sant & Leslie, my mom and dad and my youngest brother and his girlfriend down in Tennessee, and we shared this great big cabin and super fun week.  

(Why is my father kicking back on the floor, mere inches from fifteen couches?  I don't know.  But rest assured he has not fallen and been left without assistance, while the others smile for the camera.)  

(Or, he has.  Choose your own adventure.)

It was a great week of just relaxing together.

And also, fun!

Here, we rented giant yellow inner tubes and floated six miles down a river one afternoon, through some minor rapids and flowing water.  For future reference: Even on ninety-four degree days, water that flows down from mountains?  Cold.

We explored and played in streams without so much as a single change of clothes (here, at Cade's Cove,)

and spent some time with the locals,

and swam while day turned to night,

and then a little more, back at the cabin.

The part I did not really consider, though it was less of a big deal than I might have imagined, was the fact that we would be spending a week with our laptops powered off and resting silently in the bags we brought them in, for total lack of internet, and also the great big gaps in cell phone service up in the mountains.  

Also, pictured above, even Glynnis, our GPS, was all WTF? in her best robot gangsta dialect, at times.  It was then that she set our (neither blue nor compact) vehicle in a grassy field to die.

It was a fair trade, I thought.

No Line on the Horizon

This one's a no-brainer.  

Evenings on the beach are my favorite thing about summer.

Okay, evenings on the beach, and maybe going out for ice cream at the end of a hot day.  (Both of which we accomplished on this particular evening, seven of us sandily sloshing into Coldstone Creamery just before the late closing.)

Truth be told I am not much the swimmer.  As a general rule I get cold very easily, and am quite sensitive to the cold water.  I am usually up for swimming by late Octember.  If the summer was a real scorcher.

Mostly I prefer to occupy our beach quilt and eat grapes by the pound.  I don't know what it is with grapes and the beach, but somehow they go perfectly together in my mind, even when little sandy fingers turn the bagful gritty.  I don't mind the grit.  Connects me back to my pioneer ancestors.  

They picked grapes on the beach for a living.

Thankfully Kevin is happy to swim in Lake Michigan at any temperature.  He swims with the children and I wait on the sand, fielding them when the shivering reaches uncontrollable and lips are a deep shade of purple.  Generally speaking, Kevin and KJ head immediately into the water when we arrive at the beach and will remain there until it is time to go home.  

Save the break in the middle where Kevin comes to shore for grapes.  Then I tell him that some jerk ate them all, and offer him the gritty, half-eaten box of Teddy Grahams instead.  

Marin isn't completely convinced of this cold water thing either.  

There are times when she gets in the mood, and that is when I stand near the water watching like some sort of Crazy Helicopter Mother.  I don't trust her swimming skills yet (non-existent) and I like to see all of my children swimming with heads above water.

This is how close I get to the water.  Wet sand.

Myself and the other Sand People.  We are like life guards, who are too afraid of the cold water to actually swim in it.  We point and yell a lot.  And eat up the ancestral grapes.

This particular sunset was the pinkest, purplest one I had ever seen.  A little cloudy along the horizon, and slightly hazy from the hot, humid day.

I cupped the sun in my hand, for fun.

And watched everything before me turn burning shades of pink and purple,

until the sun dipped well below the hazy purple clouds, and all was calm for the night.  

(All except for that Coldstone, later on...)

Of Elephants and Sunday Mornings

   .:. The Blind Men and The Elephant

Once upon a time there lived six blind men in a village.  One day the villagers told them, "There is an elephant in the village today."  They had no idea what an elephant was, so they decided, "Even though we cannot see it, let us go feel the elephant."  And each of them went and touched the elephant.

The first man, who touched the elephant's leg, declared, "The elephant is a pillar."

The second man touched the tail and said, "The elephant is like a rope."

"Oh no," the third man said, touching its trunk, "It is like the thick branch of a tree."

The fourth man touched the elephant's ear and said, "It is like a large hand fan," while the fifth man felt the belly of the elephant and added, "It is like a huge wall."

Finally the sixth man touched the tusk of the elephant and said, "It is like a solid pipe."

The six men began to argue about the elephant and every one of them insisted that he was right.  They were becoming quite agitated.  Just then a wise man was passing by, and witnessing the dispute he asked, "What is the matter?"  

"We cannot agree to what the elephant is like," they replied, and in turn each man told what he had experienced of the elephant.  "Which of us is correct?" they asked.

"All of you are right," the wise man explained, "for it has all of the features that you have described.  And if you put your partial views together, you will have the idea for what a whole elephant looks like."

"Oh!" exclaimed the six blind men, and each of them were happy within their experience. 

The moral of the story is that each of us sees things through the eyes of our own experiences and points of view.  We can gain perspective by understanding and respecting the experiences and beliefs of others, so rather than arguing like blind men we could simply say, "Maybe you have your reasons."

--Indian Teaching Story 

So we tried out a new church today.  It was something I had been considering for a little while now, after having left Catholicism a few years ago and spending some time in Free-Spirit Land.  I have loved, in the last several years, experiencing the freedom that is not being tied down to a specific religious doctrine (that one may or may not agree with parts or all of) and the absolute pleasure that is exploring God and the Universe at any time of day or week, without any guidelines or guilt.  I have come to appreciate nature and meditation and concepts such as reincarnation, and plain old fashioned quiet, more than I ever realized possible.  And I've had the freedom to experience the exchanges of love and kindness and generosity without any of the pressures that go with should's and shouldn'ts.    

Though not without concern, mostly in the early days regarding how our extended families would handle our decision, we followed our intuition straight out of our religion, through a very gradual, thoughtful process, and it opened a door to one of the sweetest spaces I ever could have found: The Place To Define One's Own Beliefs.

None of this is any big shocker, of course.  We homeschool.  We seek out vast arrays of art, music and cultures, and we are hopelessly dedicated to travel and reading and education.  So, duh, we needed to think God through.  Or at least, everyone else's teachings on the subject.  Who was right and who was wrong and where did I, as an individual, feel most comfortable?

Now lest you get the wrong idea, I am not saying anyone's religion is wrong, per se.  Anything that keeps your life moving in the right direction-- kindness towards fellow humans, personal development, love-- could very well be the right place for anyone, and if it is, stay there.  All are parts of one big elephant, if you ask me.  But over time I felt the need for some growing space, and with Kevin being ready to go long before I was, we went.  

And there were things to love, such as the Harmony of the Universe in Taoism, meditation and the ideas of suffering and desire in Buddhism, reaching out your empathetic hands in many forms of Christianity, and though I latched on to most of the principles of a couple different religions over time, I never felt that I could fully commit to one.  (A true spiritual cherry picker, and maybe always will be.)  But also there were things to miss, such as a sense of community or place to lay down family roots.  We were without religious tradition, mostly, and while it was like a dream come true to give my kids the wide range of spiritual possibilities, I never felt that I answered the question very well, "What religion are we?"  I can tell you now that it is infinitely more cut and dry to raise a child within a religion, which generally has some sort of framework already constructed for growing, wondering young people.  And without a Sunday service or classes to point to, it was always at the forefront of my brain to give my kids the experience of God, and teach them to be seekers of God and truth, just as I teach them to be seekers of knowledge and passion within their education.  That responsibility was then my own (and their father's,) rather than shared by a community.

So lately as I have been re-writing parts of my life list, it has been on my mind to give a few new churches a try (#61).  I feel at this point in my journey like I could put more of this being into doing, and I am not at all opposed to using a more structured faith community as a vehicle from which to serve.  I know the minister of a nearby Interfaith church (sort of Catholic-lite) and have tossed the idea of that place around, and then one evening while poking around the internet (re: Google Search: CHURCH) I came across a Unitarian Universalist Church in the area. They boasted being a faith tradition that supports individuals in developing their own personal faith, drawing from many religions and philosophical sources with the belief that not one single religion has the exclusive lock on the truth.

Well sign me up.

So the church was small, and comfortable this morning.  It felt light and inspiring, but also quiet.  Maybe it was the particular day or the service time, but it became quickly obvious to me that we were only one of two families there with children-- my three children comprising three quarters of the under-ten crowd.  And in a smaller congregation, we stood out just a bit.  (Much like a bright yellow t-shirt that reads: We are here!  And we brought fruit snacks! And a leaky blue pen! And eighty-seven ways to whisper the question to increasingly annoyed parents, Is it done yet?) 

What I loved most was hearing the story of the Blind Men and The Elephant, and discussing it at dinner with the kids.  And hearing someone stress that structure is important, until it isn't.  And a whole new line-up of hymns, a blue aluminum change cup for the local charity of the week, and gay and straight couples all valued, and nine a.m. community meditation, if you'd like.  

What I strongly disliked, and can already see myself re-patterning, was my off-the-cuff response to all of the climbing and poking and child chatter during the service.  We talked to death the idea of "church behavior" before we went in, but still an hour is an awful long time for a child to sit quiet and still, and without the aid of any sort of babysitting room or Sunday school classes (read: anywhere to hide restless children) the three amigos are all ours in this little place.  So in reaching the car I took away the movie privilege, and remained frustrated with myself for much of the afternoon for not quite knowing what to make of the situation.  I now know to have a better plan in place for the future. (Now who borrowed that Parenting Manual?)

We plan to try again, of course, here and maybe a handful of other places. Because maybe it is time, or maybe we will find that it isn't quite yet.  But lately I like the idea of the option, you know?

Celebrate Something--- Everything.

These sunny, warm days... they have been so good to me.

To us.

Kevin blew out thirty-five candles a few weeks back using no fewer than seven aging breaths, and we celebrated with a night of Rock and Roll Bowling.  It was a random suggestion from KJ for something fun to do with Dad on his day,

and now it comes highly recommended from our troop.  We'd not taken the kids bowling since I was pregnant with Marin, and this was such a great night for our five-- laughing, dancing, slurping slushies and occasionally watching Marin's ball make it from her little hands to the pins in less than three hours.

On another evening we stayed outside well into darkness so that I could teach the kids to catch fireflies (Life List Number 63) with the promise, of course, that they would take good care and release them from jarred captivity before bed. It was incredible fun.

Last weekend we celebrated our country's freedom as we chased down and stuffed pockets full of candy at our town's parade, and we watched fireworks in the park, and grilled and partied, swam and partied some more.

And we have all been celebrating our best buddies this summer.  We count ourselves so blessed.

A couple weeks ago the girls and I got together to attend Chicago's Gay Pride Parade, which boasts a colorful, joyful, celebratory-- electrifying atmosphere that I have rarely experienced elsewhere.  Beautiful, and fun.

There were seas of people to wade through, an event that I was just happy to be part of.  Experiencing the rapture of being alive, as the great Joseph Campbell would say.

A celebration of being who you are and loving who you love.

A moment on a sunshine-filled, colorful day to freely breathe in and out, and celebrate happiness and hope in the face of discrimination-too-often and felt hardship. Celebration, because you are good, whoever you are, and you are created by God and you are part of me, and I you.  So in celebrating you I celebrate me, and I pray that your highest potential as a citizen and a human being will be realized.

Celebration and Hope.

I have spent the better part of five months now, digging into the deepest parts of myself and my past, and shaping my best self for now and the future.  Last winter was one of the more difficult ones I have navigated, as I cycled through a pretty fair depression and began learning how to lean into my vulnerabilities and heartaches, drawing from the abundance of compassion and validation that abides within.  It was something so intense for me that never could have played out here on my blog, and so many times as I posted one quiet set of pictures after the next I wondered what I could do with this writing space anymore.  And it became an occasionally-visited holding place, for this segment of its lifespan.

Over the months I read one book after the next-- usually two and three at the same time, and meditated, painted and photographed, balanced my chakras and worked with acupressure and sound therapies and made all sorts of adjustments to my diet.  And I have sat in many deep, joyful, tear-filled conversations with a trusted few this year.  Letting go of the perfect and opening myself up to the amazing, abundant and true.

Kevin and I explored domestic and Ugandan adoption again, and closed the door (permanently) to the idea of a fourth infant-- even though the thought was a sweet one when it did not include concepts such as weekly trips to the grocery store with four in tow, or homeschool or field trips or sleep, glorious sleep.  We tossed around thoughts of relocation to the East Coast and poked through Master's Programs as I ran with hypothetical When's and Why's and How's. 

Where do we belong, and who do we need to serve?  A shifting of heart, so to speak, and lots of fresh perspective, elation and gratitude.  The whole world in a brand new way.

I remain committed to homeschool and being home for now, and staying for want rather than for the unquestioned and unexplored.  Committed to something new.  And then the valid answer to a few remaining questions, I don't know yet.

We are celebrating-- oh, are we ever.  Here, Kevin with our little nephew who is sweet as sugar.

(A moment for me to scrape my melted heart from the patio, if you would.)

And last night a once-in-a-lifetime experience with the ever-inspiring Bono, and his little known band, U2.  

A double-coffee kind of summer, if there ever was one.

And celebration, at this moment, much like calling out the color blue and looking around the room to suddenly notice the abundance of that particular hue.  Here, so much to be grateful for and excited about.

Long Weekend Happy

1. The smell of a bookstore

2. Long weekends with Kevin home, and enough free time to take it in

3. Asparagus, broccoli or cauliflower tossed with olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper and a little parmesan cheese, charred on the grill

4. Writing with smooth ink gel pens

5. Longevity (and hilarity) (and safety) (and perfection) of sisters

6. Snuggling up with my kids, reading together

7. Hiking with my amazing people

8. Laying in my bed in the middle of the afternoon, on fresh, cool sheets

9. The way warm summer sunshine feels on my skin

10.  Songs with good messages

11.  Knowing when to clean up toys and when the mess is only play put on hold

12.  The colors and light throughout the movie “Something’s Gotta Give”

13.  Rocking my baby (toddler!) as many times a day as she wants

14.  Sunrises and sunsets

15.  The way my skin feels tight after an afternoon swim

16.  Twenty-two pounds and counting

17.  Realizing shared interests, and talking them to death

18.  A really good, can’t-put-it-down book

19.  Bright red, sweet baby tomatoes right out of the back yard

20.  Noticing tiny pictures on my vision boards come to life

21.  Spending quiet evenings with my girlfriends, no matter what we do together

22.  A clean swept kitchen floor

23.  Elephants

24.  The way I don’t want to slow down to meditate, but then when I do, I never want to leave that place

25.  Taking walks in late fall afternoons when the sun gives that orange glow, just newly returning to sweaters, brown shoes and socks and hearing the wind blowing the leaves in the trees and crunching as we walk through

26.  Crushed up crackers in broccoli cheddar soup

27.  The quiet peace and sheer excitement that coexist perfectly late at night on Christmas Eve

28.  Starbucks coffee.  Black with a little ice.

29.  Wild flowers

30.  Finding the strength to do what I once believed myself incapable of

31.  Driving with all of the car windows open, great music playing on the radio

32.  Encounters with strangers where you realize a deep, momentary connection, and wondering what that was all about

33.  The softness of my children’s skin and the smell of their wet hair at night, after a bath

34.  That moment of gratitude after realizing I reacted to something in precisely the way I would have wanted, had I time to plan

35.  The feeling of such freedom that is driving across the country

36.  Sleeping at night with a fan blowing cool air into our bedroom window, while laying snug beneath several layers of blankets

37.  The moments just before the moment you’ve been waiting for

38.  Sliced bananas and cool whip

39.  The quick sound of my camera’s shutter

40.  Waking up to realize I’ve been dreaming about loved ones who have passed away

41.  Stopping my day to tell one of my kids that I love them.  That I really, really love them.

42.  Black-eyed Susans

43.  Perfect lines of trees

44.  Taking the kids apple picking

45.  Noticing elderly couples together, and hoping for the gift that is growing old with the person you love

46.  Soft green grass, blue skies.

47.  Hearing my kids crack each other up

48.  Jackson’s gifts of backyard flowers

49.  Opening ourselves up to the possibility...

50. A nice big glass of afternoon chocolate milk

Thirteen to Love

1. Climbing trees

2. Long Sunday Drives

3. Being the guy who the butterfly lands on

4. A day shopping home decor with the girls

5. Breaking the big news to the five little buddies...we're going on vacation together!

6. Vanilla Milk

7. Watching the tall, bare, beautiful trees reach for the blue Spring skies

8. Wearing my favorite necklace: From little seeds grow mighty trees

9. Signs Applicable

10.  Thirteen point five years later, he not only runs to the grocery store but he stops to buy me flowers on the way home

11. When I was a little girl I used to pretend these long lines of concrete at our zoo were my little sidewalks.  I used to imagine that I could live at this (my favorite place) and I was just walking through my beautiful neighborhood.  All grown up now, I bring my kids here regularly and watch them run on the concrete.  Full circle is wonderful, especially when it involves favorites.

12. Living close enough to visit.

13. A surprise eighty degree Sunday in April, and having Daddy home to give swing pushes.

sNOw more

My sister and Leslie stopped in the grocery store parking lot on Saturday to take this picture.  It is one of our snow piles.

I think it is safe to say that we are pretty tired of snow.  That picture was taken before it snowed on Saturday.  And then snowed again on Sunday.  Then again, big white flakes yesterday.  And now is snowing again today. Unfortunately, I can call Kevin at work in downtown Chicago and say, "Do you see the snow coming down?!  It's practically a white out!"  And he will respond, "Huh.  No snow here."  Northwest Indiana gets the Lake Effect snow dumped on it, where just to the west of us does not see as much.

I will take an early Spring.  Any day now.  Any day.

Life list of another kind

Last summer just before we drove out to the center of Nowheresville, Illinois for some canyon hiking, we learned that Bald Eagles fly there as well, each January to nest.  This was enough to send KJ, our bird fanatic, over the edge. We marked it on our calendar immediately to-- gasp, hike in January, in order to witness the marvelous sight.  By then KJ already had his National Geographic bird book memorized, colorful illustrations and a posters on his bedroom wall, and he converses incessantly with anyone who's willing to listen, about his beloved birds of prey.  This trip would be a no-brainer.

Now if you happen to live in a place where Bald Eagles sit in trees as commonly as dogs stop to pee on them, humor me here.  We live in a place that sees pigeons and a good deal of smog, and wildlife such as deer...and, er...squirrels, when we look for them.  But not Bald Eagles.

As things go, we watched the weather all week to see temperatures dipping lower and lower, and snow!  We questioned our decision to hike with Marin with daytime highs topping out at twelve degrees, but went ahead with it in the end, because this wasn't just something on KJ's childhood life list, it was like the poor kid's life goal by this point.

This was our car by the time we arrived.  Covered in salt and snow.  Twelve degrees.  Did I mention we had to see the birds flying over open water?  Where the wind could whip through?  And that I am *less than crazy* about driving across a neighboring state in the blowing snow?

So now at least you understand the importance of our journey.

I also had this enormous tiny fear that after hearing my child speak of this trip every day for a solid six months, the seven of us would dress in heavy, head to toe snow gear and drive for two hours only to see one bird.  Or worse, none.

Then I would be found in the back seat holding my baby's head all the way home while helping him through the very tough lesson to Not Believe All The Internet Hype.  

Alas, there were Bald Eagles.  See?

Okay, it would be pretty funny to see who would be brave enough, if I wrote an entire post about The Amazing Bald Eagles We Drove Two Hours To See In The Snow, to break it to me that we spent a day adoring Canadian Geese.

These geese happen to be my favorite of the feathered creatures.  They are graceful and beautiful and can be found as arrows in the autumn skies making familiar honking calls to one another.

And I can't help but give them little voices as they attempt landings:  "Ohhhh Shit!"  

These are not the most graceful of moments for these creatures.

"I can't look!"

Come on.  You see it too.

And then, softly, they are down and beautiful again.  Like nothing ever happened.

It is exactly every time you have tripped and glanced around to see if anyone noticed.  That is what landing is for these guys.

Also, there were Eagles up in the grey skies.

It was as exciting as I could have ever imagined, since we'd never seen one in person, let alone many.

Many!

They were actually hunting for fish right in front of us, cutting through the air at great speed and diving right into the icy water, reaching with talons to pick up fish.  

Amazing.

Amazing and frigid.  

My sister was there, mostly, to wear my baby.  This is what she most enjoys in her life, and unfortunately by the time a child reaches age two and some months, wearing her in an Ergo seems only proper while hiking, anymore. 

Look at them!  Amazing, right?

Arriving with my 300mm lens, I assumed we would hike close enough to photograph the twinkle in these guys' eyes.  I have always had good success with this lens, even in Big Sur in California.  Unfortunately, I sort of forgot we were not visiting the zoo, and Bald Eagles would not be doing flipper tricks for treats.  Alas, wildlife keeps a distance from humans.  (You're welcome.)  Some experienced visitors got the memo, however, as I observed them with camera equipment that practically had to be crane lifted to position, and fantastic telescopes that they were happy to share.

KJ switched back and forth from his binoculars to the telescopes, while Jack added humor to the experience, sighing and telling his new bird watching cronies, the telescope owners (men, might I add, easily old enough to be his grandfather) that, sighhhh, he could use a Cup of Joe.  

He's here for the party, that boy.

Here for the party, and for solid patches of ice.

Yeeeeeah no, I wouldn't either.

Only forty-nine times did he run, dive, crash land and slide.  

Thank goodness for winter padding, and five year old joints.

Possibly this Eagle was attempting to mimic him.  Later they would meet for hot Cups of Joe.

A good, cold day for all.  

I can almost feel all ten of my toes again.

2010 in review. This time with words!

In the eleventh hour I am borrowing this Q & A format from Amanda, for reflecting on the year past.  I have read so many of these question and answer posts this week, and have always wanted to try one out.

1. What did you do that you have never done before?  Assembled a dossier to adopt a child from the other side of the planet.  Sold a house.  Owned my writing and my photography, by slapping my name across the top of my blog.  It only took me five years.  Also, I embraced the unknown.

2. Did you keep your 2010 New Year's Resolutions?  Is weight loss always going to show up on them?  Other than that, mostly.  Yes.  Will you make more?  Does the pope wear a funny hat?

3. Did anyone near you give birth?  Kevin's brother's wife had their first baby just a couple days ago.

4. Did anyone close to you die?  Papa Tipping, Granny Ray and my old friend Tina, who I was once very close to.  

5. What countries did you visit?  No countries, but we've made it up to thirty-seven states now!

6. What would you like to have in 2011 that you didn't have in 2010?  Feet that move quicker than my mouth.  Better endurance.

7. What dates in 2010 will remain in your memory?  September 24th, as Sant & Leslie's beautiful wedding.

8. What was your biggest achievement in 2010?  I cannot figure out any other way to convey this, without sounding like a total lame-ass, but my biggest achievement in 2010 was without a doubt the peace I've found through so much meditation.

9. What was your biggest failure?  My inability to better structure our days at home, for the sake of the kids and I and school.  I am far too lax in sticking to any sort of regimented schedule, even though I know we would all be better for it.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?  Ha!  I broke my foot just as we started painting the old house!  I still can't believe that.

11. What was the best thing you bought?  My laptop.  Welcome to the millenium, right?

12. Who's behavior merited celebration?  Elizabeth Edwards, who lived and died a beacon of strength and repose.

13. Who's behavior made you appalled?  Those who rejected us after we shared the news of our adoption.  Not for the sake of us, but for the sake of orphaned children in need of love and family, all over the world.

14. Where did most of your money go?  Dare I say that we dumped more money into that house than we did into our notoriously expensive international adoption?  Yes, the house.  Then the new baby.  

15. What did you get really, really excited about?  Our baby.  Girls' weekend in Michigan.  Seeing our East Coast trip become a reality.  Seeing the East Coast.  Closing on the old house.  Making a new friend.  The Christmas donation that was made in our name to the school and orphanage in Ethiopia, run by our adoption agency.

16. What song will always remind you of 2010?  Awake My Soul by Mumford and Sons

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

Happier or Sadder?  Happier.

Thinner or Larger?  Larger, baby.

Richer or Poorer?  Richer, on so many levels.

18. What do you wish you had done more of?  Exercise.  Sleep.  Play board games with my kids.

19. What do you wish you had done less of?  Speaking to fill space.

20. How did you spend Christmas?  Surrounded by family, at our house.  Fantastic.

21. Did you fall in love in 2010?  Wow.  Yes I did.

22. What was your favorite TV program?  Listing Oprah as my favorite tv show is like listing "swimming" as a hobby for fish.  So let's go one beyond and say Modern Family.  Love it!

23.  Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate last year?  I do not hate a single soul.  I am so blessed for that.

24. What was the best book you read?  There is No Me Without You by Melissa Fay Greene

25. What was your best musical discovery?  Mumford and Sons.  I have a bit of an obsession.  Also, Ryan Adams.

26. What did you want and get?  Our completed dossier to Ethiopia.  When I re-read my goals for 2010, written at this time last year, I was at that time on pins and needles about our adoption.  We didn't have an agency, a homestudy, a support group, enough money...  I wasn't sure how fast we would take it or if we could even dive in one hundred percent.  And here we are awaiting our referral, one hundred fifty percent.  Smiling.

27. What did you want and not get?  A profit upon selling the old house. Though not to say I am not most grateful for the sale, because that is what I wanted more than anything.  I had to answer the question, though.  

28. What was your favorite film of this year?  I thought for sure it would be Eat Pray Love since I adored the book, and the experience of going to see it with some of my best girlfriends was certainly wonderful, but the film itself left much to be desired.  My favorite movie this year, I think, was the HBO Miniseries John Adams.  (What?  It's on DVD.)

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?  I was thirty-two, and Kevin and I and the kids spent the day at the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago.

30. What one thing would have made the year immeasurably more satisfying?  A babysitter.  I mean that.  The kids and I never, ever get a break from each other and I think we all suffer because of it, in our own ways.  I think I could be a better mom if I could find a babysitter for just an hour or two or three.  

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2010?  How would you describe solid color t-shirts, jeans and Converse gym shoes?  Sorry, toss in a few of my hand-made bracelets and a spritz on the neck of Ralph Lauren Romance.  Trade up the jeans for black yoga capris, if I am home. That's my style, whatever it is.

32. What kept you sane?  Meditation.  An empathetic husband.  Going on dates with my girlfriends.

33. Which public figure/celebrity did you fancy the most?  Oprah Winfrey wins this one, hands down.  I also love George Clooney for his work in Darfur, Sudan.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?  Gay Marriage.  I felt it to my core this year.

35. Who do you miss?  My closest friends when I cannot be with them. Especially those who live farthest away.  I have found an entirely new adoration this year for the amazing women in my life.  

36. Who was the best new person you met?  Does seeing someone in an entirely new light count?

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2010.  Follow your heart, as fearlessly as you can muster, in love.  If following your heart pisses people off, the world will not end.  

38.  Quote a song lyric that sums up 2010.

So tie me to a post and block my ears

I can see widows and orphans through my tears

I know my call despite my faults

And despite my growing fears.

But I will hold on hope

And I won't let you choke

On the noose around your neck.

And I'll find strength in pain

And I will change my ways

I'll know my name as it's called again...

(Mumford and Sons, The Cave)

39. Quote a line from a book that sums up 2010.  Be responsible for the energy you bring to people.  --Jill Bolte Taylor, A Stroke of Insight

40. Favorite shot of the year?

I was so humbled to be here. 

***

Happy New Year, friends.

2010 in review, photo style