On Christmas

Despite my inclination to minimize around the holidays, I still experience some of the frenzy, stress, and consumerism I so wish to avoid. I still fail to serve, reach out and bring joy to many of God's children who need something I could give. I still do my share of complaining about how Christmas is so much of what I wish it wasn't. I'll say "Bah Humbug" at least once in the peak of my disdain and that interjection--
will humble me,
because there really is a lot I love about Christmas.

There is something thrilling about the music and lights and something endearing when my boys speak softly of shepherds and mangers. When they ask questions that provoke my own, I am in awe. Strangers and friends alike, share kindness and smiles. They gladden my soul. All of my senses come alive when introduced to holiday treats, warm fires, pine smells. Most of all, I love the quiet moments of contemplation.

When I step away from the frenzied approach to holiday celebration, my attitude changes.

I am grateful for a season each year to reflect on the birth, life, and subsequent death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. I find each Christmas that these events are even more meaningful to me as I have struggled and loved, lost and gained, journeyed and enjoyed through another year. The more I experience in life, the more I feel my utter dependence on my Savior. I love Him.

My favorite way to celebrate Christmas is with thanksgiving and reverence.

Out of The Burg

Our move took us away from Trumansburg, into the realm of Interlaken, NY and nowhere near a village.

If I ever said I grew up in the country, I take it back. "Living in the country" has been redefined for me. Our new location definitely qualifies.

gravel roads
field upon field
patches of thick forest
Amish folk
Unequivocal quiet
unplowed roads
Starry skied nights

We are loving it.

Downstairs People No More

We bought our first home last week. Signed the papers Wednesday evening and spent the near entirety of our long weekend moving in.
This old green farmhouse is what our dreams are made of.

Thankful Turkey

Don't be fooled. This is not a real turkey. It is just a jar our family disguised in construction paper to look like a turkey.








This year, we started a new tradition to celebrate Thanksgiving. A week before the holiday, we got out a canning jar and decorated it during Family Night. The following days, we anonymously contributed that which we were grateful for written on strips of paper. When we all assembled around our turkey again after Thanksgiving we made the announcement of our blessings a game of guessing who wrote what.

You can play, too:

•I'm thankful for turkey because I like turkey.
•I'm thankful for my Grandpa Murray because he picks me up and hugs with me every night and every morning.
•I'm thankful that Nolan & Gerret are best brothers and best friends. It makes me happy to see them play together and be kind to each other.
•I'm thankful for popsicles, because I like them.
•I'm thankful for Mama because she makes so much good meals. And I like every time when she kisses me on the face and hugs me on the head. And I like the stuff I do with her. It's fun with her on vacation.
•I'm thankful for Cinder because she is a nice family cat. She is friendly and generously returns affection. She is patient with kids, dogs, and even Willow. She is beautiful and soft. She lifts my spirits when I feel down. She is good at climbing trees and getting comfortable on the roof.
•I'm thankful for pom-poms because they're for my birthday to start.
•I'm thankful for my Grandma Murray. I love her. She hugs me and she let's me play with her.
•I'm grateful for windy nights. When the breeze scratches evening tree branches together, lit by street lights. A light rain and cool autumn/winter weather.
•I'm thankful for Thanksgiving because I like Thanksgiving.
•I'm grateful for Patrick. He is my favorite part of every day. He makes me smile and feel good about the world and feel good about myself. He is going in a direction that I hope to be going. I always want to be with him. I'm grateful to be married to him.
•I'm grateful for Gerret's round-cheeked smile. It makes my heart happy when I see him truly happy. He is a sweet little spirit.
•I'm thankful for Mama because I like when she reads me stories before I go to nap time.
•I'm thankful for letters. They make me happy because I like them.
•I'm thankful for Jesus Christ. He is my redeemer. He gives me hope that I can be happy always if I will follow Him and repent as I learn more about what I should be.
•I'm grateful for my grandma because she gives me hugs.
•I'm thankful for hats because I like when I put them on my brother.

Concerning Learning

So, what is the answer?  That was my initial reaction to this thought-provoking animation.  It was not my first time asking this question, either.  I have children.  I love them.  I want all of the best things for them.  I feel responsible for their learning and growth --intellectually, physically, spiritually, emotionally, and socially.  When I peer out into the world, I try to make an assessment of what I have to work with, or what I'm up against, as the case may be.
And I am deeply concerned.

As far as formal/academic education goes, it doesn't seem that there are too many options and each option harbors some fairly serious problems.

1. I can send my children to public school where they will be held captive for 6.5 hours (minus a 20 minute recess-- this fact blows me away), where learning is divided into subjects, where emphasis is decided by government mandates, where creativity could possibly be squelched, where routines exist but are quite rigid, where it is not p.c. to teach morality, where they will not necessarily be viewed as individuals, where viruses and bacteria run rampant.

2. I could keep them home and do my best.  This would require a level of organization that I have not yet attained.  This would not allow for a lot of collaboration with other kids.  I fear that home-schooling here (in the boonies) would produce some social awkwardness (especially if I am a primary example).

3. I could dress them in plain clothes and straw hats and sneak them into the Amish schoolhouse around the corner.  I'm not sure what the curriculum would look like, but I'm somewhat certain creative thinking and individuality are not encouraged.  Discipline could possibly involve lashings and the program probably doesn't continue beyond grade 8 anyway.

4. A private school would not likely provide transportation and would likely be travel intensive.  A private school costs money on top of school taxes -and not just a little.  There is no guarantee that there exists a private school that relieves all or any of my public school concerns.  It could very well be a reiteration of the same paradigm only with smaller class sizes.

So, what is the answer?

Foreshadowing, Courtesy of My New 'Do

Change is in the air

and it's wafting my way.

I'm hoping it will have more consequence for my family

than Marge's whig.

(Though I'm sure having a blue-beehived mom 

would have far-reaching and unforeseen ramifications.)

Consider this fair warning

and a good laugh, if so needed.

Cubby

What really made my day, maybe even my week, was finding a colorfully feathered project in my four year old's cubby at school.

Every paper, model, and gluey mess is truly awesome whose first abode is that blue wooden box.  It's as if the cubby itself performs the miracle --beautiful, inspiring artwork. Flower paintings pour out almost daily, which are just the tip of an aesthetic iceberg.  From the cubby comes projects made with foam shapes, paper plates, yarn, popsicle sticks, twigs, recycled goods, dried foods, construction paper, clay, feathers, toothpicks, wooden shapes, tissue paper, leaves... the list is endless.  In the pursuit of artwork, the nursery school employs many crayons, colored pencils, and markers, numerous kinds of paint, and tons of glue --more glue than you can imagine.

Here I will humbly concede that the cubby is only a shelter, not a creator.  The real artist is my son.  You should see his flowers --painted to perfection. (Would you like one?  I can't find my fridge.)

And now for the feathered project--
A turkey with this phrase written neatly underneath
I am thankful for my mom!

It made my day, probably my week, possibly my life, because really, sometimes I wonder.  With some of the correction and chaos involved in my job, I feel like we're always playing super-heroes and I'm their nemesis.   Sometimes what appears to be the necessary action is also the completely thankless action.  Like calling a cease-fire in the middle of their combat.  They don't love the food I prepare or that I expect them to eat it.  They wish they could watch cartoons all day long and I am the sole hinderance.  I see danger when they see fun.  I don't appreciate a lot of their favorite things --yelling, combat, risky adventures, crazy stunts.  At the end of some days I wonder if they would rather go mom-less and I fear the answer a lot of times is an enthusiastic "yes!".

Today's grateful little turkey was a bit of needed assurance.  "You're doing alright, mom lady."

Meeting Donald

in Mexico
at Epcot
in Florida

Jiggity Jig

We arrived home to the cold last night after a week of a warm vacation. 

It was good to be there and it's good to be back.

The Passing of October

One unexpected feature of motherhood is an anticipation for pretty much everything, the intensity and duration of which is almost unfounded.  Adrenaline freely flows, proudly pumps through little bodies and moms alike.

Imagine our days and weeks leading up to Halloween.
The anticipation was all-encompassing.

Talk of the spooky started back in September.  We plastered spider webs on furniture, doors, and lamps.   Nolan fell in love with a Spider man costume displayed in a store window ($3!).  Gerret had so many costume options that he couldn't decide on one until minutes before the trunk-or-treat (he actually went in his everyday attire --a Batman cape).  There was so much joy in creepy library books, school crafts, bobbing for apple after apple (Nolan was soaked), windy parades, chants, poems and songs, wolf howls, carving pumpkins and a lifetime supply of treats (which were consumed in less than a week).  I am already excited for October 2011. 

"Real As All That Stirred Their Hearts and Minds"

"We call them Founding Fathers, in tribute, but tend to see them as distant and a bit unreal, like figures in a costume pageant."  That is David McCullough accurately describing my former attitude toward the Founding Fathers.  I revered them as men who accomplished something great, even miraculous, but could barely identify a handful of them and certainly did not appreciate them as much more than fabled characters.  They were heroes from a long expired past and I was only interested in history mostly as a source of exciting anecdotes--  

--until I sat down recently with McCullough's biography, John Adams.

Within the opening pages, I sensed the unwaveringly virtuous nature of this impressive Father of my nation.  As I read on, the details of incredible (and if it weren't for first-hand accounts, unbelievable) adventures and events captivated my imagination. The convictions and courage of those men were palpable. The reality of the circumstances of the time was unmistakable. The voice of John Adams, himself had me in awe.  

This man was a supreme example of what I hope to be.  His fundamental creed has become my own, "He who loves the Workman and his work, and does what he can to preserve and improve it, shall be accepted of Him."  John Adams was true to what he knew to be right.  His life was given to learning what that was and then doing it.   His highest concern and satisfaction was in his family.  He went forward even in the face of uncertainty and danger.   He worked hard, but did not do it for adulation or wealth.  He sought to serve his fellowmen and to further the cause of truth.  He understood the magnanimity of his actions and the affect they would have on future generations.  

Even more than knowing John Adams on a fairly intimate level, I became acquainted with the principles that he and his contemporaries stood for and hoped for.  They are the principles that led them to declare independence and to fight for it.  They are the principles that they framed the new government around. 

"Government is nothing more than the combined force of society, or the united power of the multitude, for the peace, order, safety, good, and happiness of the people.... There is no king or queen bee distinguished from all others, by size or figure or beauty and variety of colors, in the human hive.  No man has yet produced any revelation from heaven in his favor, any divine communication to govern his fellow men.  Nature throws us all into the world equal and alike....

The preservation of liberty depends upon the intellectual and moral character of the people.  As long as knowledge and virtue are diffused generally among the body of a nation, it is impossible they should be enslaved..." --John Adams

Monday Muse With Monster Stickers

Can I just say that I adore my boys?  They have energy.  They imagine.  They take me on adventures.  They make me laugh.  They dance.  They make music.  The create.  They cuddle.  They are bursting with love.  They make me feel like a million bucks.  They want to do good.  They think of other people and seek to give service.  They are cute and handsome and all things wonderful.  I love their big brown eyes and their beautiful smiles.  I love their little voices.  I love being their mom.

America's History from Before Its Inception and My History of Indulgent Reading

David McCullough's 1776 is a fascinating account of the beginning of America's battle for independence.  I had been almostwanting (that's a word) to read it for a number of years, but other things (boys) rightfully occupied most of my time, energy, and interests.  David McCullough's command of history I knew to be legendary and his writing to be effective.  Such knowledge encouraged simultaneous desire and avoidance of his 1776.

Avoidance.  Good books can hold such a sway over my mind that I have a difficult time concentrating on other tasks.  When in the midst of an intellectual journey of this sort, it is nearly impossible for me to exit the path --even temporarily.  I will forgo sleep, nutrition, family, socialization, responsibility and most any other need or interest in the name of a good book.  This, I admit no less shamefully than I do candidly.

The library's semi-annual book sale in April produced a $3 copy, which PTB purchased with his funky wife in mind.  Predictably, I skipped meals, sleep, showers, and quality time with my children to fly through the year 1776.  It was an inspiring journey; one that pricked my emotions, elevated my appreciation for those who came before, and allowed me to marvel at irrefutable evidence of divine intervention.

The intention for today was to tell about my current literary indulgence, but I wrote more prelude than I had planned (which was supposed to be, "McCullough's 1776 was engaging").  So I'll just call this adequate for today, because a good book is calling my name and nap time will soon expire.

From My Sunday Morning Ride

in Seneca County

I saw ten times this in horses

but never stopped for them

I counted the cows more picturesque

and bursting at the udders

I love their colors

TCNS

Nolan has completed his first month of preschool at TCNS.  He loves it and would readily attend 7 days a week if allowed.  This is a photo from their hike to Taughannock Falls this week.  It was quite the hike for little legs, but they were rewarded at the falls with snack time. Then they practically ran back to the head of the trail for the greatest child motivator... a playground.

context

I can explain all of the pictures from my bike. 

After spending a weekend in the shop, it came back doing more bikey things and less sluggish things just in time for my favorite riding season.

My newest discovery is that if I just wait until PTB arrives home, I can unhook the mobile, ride faster, not have to have a desirable-to-a-preschooler destination (in fact, not have any destination in mind at all),  enjoy sweet peace instead of refereeing quarrels and antics (like the time Nolan took off his helmet and shoes and threw them all out of the mobile), and not wonder if I will die pulling 100 pounds up every hill.

I've been riding alone more lately and soaking in the countryside.  After a few trips without my camera, I decided it would be worth the nuisance of lugging.   It's beautiful in the hills of Upstate NY and though photos do a shoddy job of capturing all of its magnificence, they do at least hint at it.

Fawn

munching warily
transfixed otherwise
watching me
snap a shot (the kind kind)
from my bike
in Upstate, NY

Jone's Cemetery

quiet, solitary

nearly forgotten

holding loved ones

and memories

from my bike

in Upstate, NY

Fields

here and there
on hills and in valleys
with barns and silos
from my bike
near dusk
in Upstate, NY

This Feather

was large
from a turkey? pheasant? hawk? (enter your guess here)
sticking straight out of the grass
on the side of a road
from my bike
in Upstate, NY

Round 2: Smiles and High Fives All Around

This was the routine when we potty trained my firstborn son:

I pondered, planned and purchased (treats),
I worried, wondered and waited (for a miracle),
I researched, rallied, and rinsed (soiled clothing) .

It was an ordeal.  It was a production.  It was a success, but it was hard work.

By default, we are pioneering a new approach with my second boy.  It's the Do-Nothing approach.  I say by default, because with the way things have been going this year, potty training was simply the last thing on my mind ... until one day, not long ago, when my little Pook asked to use the potty because he was suddenly very interested in underwear.  And that was all it took --a smashing success (give or take a few accidents).

Skies Above

a field of corn
from my bike
on a dirt road
in Upstate, NY

Gerret's Top 25

 popsicles, candy, ice cream, just plain sugar (by the handfuls if left within his reach), sucking on his index and middle fingers, sticking those same fingers in tight spaces or wrapping them in string, fire engines, monster trucks, trains, super heroes, basketball shorts, his race car shirt, Cinder, Nolan's Favorite Girls, noodles for every meal (if only that were permissible), vitamins, the phrase(?) Poom Poom Ping, Sister Howard and Sister Bradford, campfires, pajamas, his pillow case, his dad, Nolan, carrots from the garden (but never the store), and... new this week.... underwear

  

There Are Hard Things About Being a Mom

The hardest is that children grow up.

I met such a confusing mix of emotions today when I dropped my firstborn off for his first day at  preschool.

Two weeks ago, I was worried that he wouldn't be able to attend because he was exhibiting some serious symptoms of attachment/anxiety.  We had a long, stressful summer and it took its toll on everybody -especially Nolan.  I wasn't just worried about his attendance at preschool (that's not such a big deal) but the implication for complications in his future really had me regretting our summer and worrying about how things would add up.

Miraculously, something changed in the past week or so.  Nolan was suddenly more sure of himself, more excited about life, and looking forward to the future -- especially  preschool.

So this morning... 

I met Nervous.  Nervous said it wouldn't go smoothly, that the old anxious Nolan would cling to my legs, screaming when the time came to leave him.  Nervous was certain that he would get hurt or wet his pants or have some other crisis during his time there and never want to return.

We made it to the sidewalk in front of the preschool.  He was chatting excitedly, asked me to read him the "Welcome" sign, went right in the door, and led the way down the stairs.  Relief sent Nervous packing.  

The boy who was adamantly opposed to preschool two weeks ago (and for the month previous to that) was missing when I turned around from exchanging papers and money in the entrance.  I found him inside, comfortably seated next to one of the teachers, preparing to create something with glue, appearing like he was made for the moment.  Relief shook hands with Astounded.

Nolan barely acknowledged me when I kissed him goodbye.  At this point Stinging stepped in, because let's face it, sometimes it's hard as a mom to be constantly needed, but the realization that you aren't anymore is much harder.  (Is stinging an emotion? I definitely felt some stinging.)

After it was over --the time spent just me and my youngest-- we returned to the school and found Nolan in the play yard.  His two teachers both confirmed that he was a professional preschooler.  He played, crafted, made new friends, and got (very) dirty.  Then I reacquainted myself with Proud.  Yeah, he's amazing, I said in my mind. 

Lovely Lady

Cinderoo.  My boys also refer to her as their "sweet, sweet little kitty", "princess","Cinderoo-ie", anything that rhymes with "Cinder-boo-boo", and they make up names for her on the spot all the time.  We really think the world of this cat (I do even at 5 in the morning when she's licking my face).  

 

 

(Nolan is making up for her lack of excitement)

Stewart

It's the name of one of my favorite parks.

The sprinklers aren't fancy like the ones in Geneva (or the ones in your city), the playgrounds are well worn, the large bird-duck-goose population mar the grass with droppings, cops peruse the grounds regularly, people take advantage of it in unfortunately sad ways, the beach sometimes smells like something unidentifiable and nasty, benches and pavilions are OLD, even the signs to announce the impending removal of all garbage cans (in the mid-90s) are outdated (the garbage cans have been reinstated).

I can't produce an analogous enumeration of Stewart's qualities, but I still love it.  I have loved it as a girl feeding ducks atop the bulging willow roots lining the stinky shore of Cayuga.  I have loved it as a hopeful adolescent watching (from squeaky swinging benches) the mythical sparkle of sail boats out on the lake.  I love it now because my children thrill to run through the chilly sprinkles or sit on the holes to trap the water and are eager to climb on the same metal caterpillar that I once climbed.

It just feels like home.

Leaf Eater

Fourth captured caterpillar this week called Leaf Eater by the Namer of All Things Nameable

Gerret has taken to calling Nolan "Nonoy".

Nonoy... beloved name of the past... the name we enjoyed laughing about and reciting....the name he was so proud to bare.  Now... not so much.

Nolan repeatedly scolds Gerret, "No!  My name is not Nonoy, it's Nolan!"

"Don't you know that you used to call yourself Nonoy?" I ask.

"Yeah Mom, but that was when I was a baby.  Now I am a big boy and my name is Nolan."

Sheesh.

He's growing up and he is well aware.  Preschool starts in 5 days and counting.  

Humidity Illustrated

If I had realized that a before photo would be necessary, I would have taken one.  This however is the after:

 We came home from the fair with a double-fisted handful of fluffy cotton candy leftover.  It was still in the bag as we entered the house.  We were all ready for a late nap.  Gerret was eyeing that bag --started fiddling with it --turned it upside down --and the cotton candy dropped to the floor in the threshold of the door.  I was fixated on that nap, so I barely noticed any of this.  It was my subconscious who, in one swift motion, picked up the fluff, placed it and its bag on the counter next to the door to discard later.  I continued on to potty time, reading time, drink-of-water time, singing time, and finally nap time.  Routine complete, a half hour past, I re-entered the kitchen sans children and collapsed at the kitchen table like I do most days --you know, to regroup.  After collecting myself, I turned to my kitchen to tidy up and noticed this brightly colored mass sticking to the counter by the door (see photo above).  The double fisted fluff was reduced to a small sticky lump in just under an hour.  New York's humidity got the best of yet another victim.

I dare say I look and feel like that at the end of some muggy days too.

Tallulah on My Mind

If I wasn't already thinking about it, I probably wouldn't have noticed when I watched this with my mom that the woman calls her daughter by name.  Tallulah.  Is that awesome or what?

THE Magnificent

Okay, so I don't think it's so magnificent.  I'm not sure that it could be deemed what I was looking for.  I don't know that he will remember it when he's 26 or 86.  It really isn't meaningful to me at all.  And since I'm being totally honest.... it was the product of a last-ditch, 11pm-Walmart-trip effort.

But... For his birthday, PTB and I gave Nolan this Iron Man stuff.

And... His eyes did light up and it has captivated his attention for more than a few days.  And he has been sharing with his brother and the cat.

So, mission accomplished.  I guess.

How the Larva of a Moth Helped Name Their Sister

On his way inside this morning, Nolan found a caterpillar on the patio.  He made a home for it in a plastic container filled with leaves and kindly offered it a small ball to play with.

The Aunts took interest.  They were anxious to know what this fuzzy creeping thing could become (assuming it survives Nolan).  Olivia brought in her Family Field Guide of Butterflies and a very serious search ensued at my kitchen table.  With no results.

I googled "White caterpillar with black spikes", which furnished a link to a design blog with the answer:   Nolan's friend will someday be a Harvester Tussock Moth.  Now we know.

He named it Tree Head.

That same design blog linked to a 1940s song and dance.  The song was lame (in my humble opinion), but thankfully I skipped ahead to take a look at the dance.  It was a tap dancing lady (apparently pretty famous) and she was amazing.

See?  Amazing.

What does a fuzzy white caterpillar and a spirited tap dance have to do with design?  I didn't stay long enough to find out.  The name Tallulah distracted me.

"If someday you have a sister," I said to my boys, "her name will be Tallulah."

We all got a kick out of that one.  After the laughing ebbed, after we lost interest in repeating the name "Tallulah" in interesting ways, a sobered Nolan said in his most pensive tone, "I want to name my sister Dinosaur."

"How about Dinosaur Tallulah Mitchell?"  I offered.  And we were satisfied.  So there you go.

Dinosaur Tallulah Mitchell.

I'm sure PTB will be psyched.