being sarah marie

a new blog

2016-04-30T14:06:00.003-04:00

It's been a long time in coming: I have a new blog. Please come join me over at A Continual Feast, and update your links and blog readers!

Thank you to all who have shared in my journey here at Being Sarah Marie, some of you for a very long time. I'm looking forward to getting back to writing more consistently, and back to reading many of your writings and blogs, too!

Holy Week, more or less

2016-04-05T21:53:00.000-04:00

Holy Week came and went, and we are still walking {hobbling, in my broken-footed state} around in a catatonic state, humbled and grateful and all the things good church makes you but also {mostly?} exhausted. Nathan works at a church and we have young children and I was doing Holy Week things at home and at church on top of regular work and life and a broken foot, so, I think the exhaustion was to be expected.

The Internet In All Its Glory has moved on from Holy Week, because this is 2016 and everything moves fast. Ten years ago one could write a blog post a week after an event and consider it timely, but not today, no; it is mostly short-form social media and even where it is long-form writing it is the day-of or at worst the day-after.

And then there's me and this sweet little bloggity.

I still haven't blogged about things that happened almost three years ago that I truly meant to record in this little family space of ours. So you won't be surprised if I'm sitting down to share a few glimpses of our Lent and Holy Week now, will you?

{our Resurrection Garden}

{a Maundy Thursday foot washing}

{the making of the hot cross buns, with little helping hands adding the raisins}

{the coffee beans, earned through small daily sacrifices noticed by Mama, and transformed into jelly beans on Easter}

{the Easter baskets}

{at church on Sunday morning}

{feasting and general festivity with friends}

Easter Sunday was a full day, and we ended up postponing our usual plastic egg hunt for the girls to another day, so a couple of days later, when it was particularly sunny and nice out, we had an egg hunt in the yard. They wanted to wear their Easter dresses again!

We hope you are having a joyful Eastertide!

our Ree girlie these days

2016-03-24T21:19:00.002-04:00

We are in the process of attempting to determine whether Ree might be an undiscovered genius or not. On the one hand, she is nearly two and seems perfectly capable of making the "N" sound - for example, if she wants to nurse - but chooses not to apply this sound to say the name of her dear big sister Nell. On the other hand, when asked to say "Nell," more often than not her smiling response is, "Dumb!" As to whether or not this is intentional and a mark of her giftedness, only time will tell.

I'm sharing some photos I took of her this past fall, because I was too busy to even look them over at the time when I took them, much less share them and jot down any notes or memories about Ree at the time. So here we have photos from November combined with memories from... now.

She walked around the time she was one, and hasn't stopped moving since. A common exchange between Nathan and myself is, "Oh, look at Ree doing ____. Can Nell do that?" Nell loves to have fun, but tends to err on the side of caution, whereas Ree will attempt to climb anything, reach anything, run anywhere, and do anything she can think of.

She started singing recognizable melodies when she was fourteen months old; we noticed it while visiting Grandma and Grandpa in California, and while I was wondering if I was imagining it (typical overly-proud mother, of course), my Dad commented on it first. "Marie is singing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star!" And so she was.

Nowadays she uses singing to communicate at least as much as she uses words: singing "Six little ducks" when she sees a picture of a duck, "Rain, rain, go away" accompanied by wild jumping when she wants to go out and jump in puddles, "Five little monkeys jumping on the bed" when she wants to hold my hands and jump up and down, and even "Abide with me" to point out the similar cross shape on her plastic cereal bowl that reminded her of the image on the virtual CD cover that comes up when we listen to that recording on my phone.

A few of her favorite things to do include playing amongst and hiding behind the long curtains in the master bedroom, waiting quietly for me to proclaim, "Where could Marie be?!", and then yelling, still enshrouded in drapes of white, "BOOOO!"

She loves to play outside, particularly when it involves collecting gravel and small pebbles from our street, digging in the dirt, or helping with sundry outdoor chores like leaf-gathering. (I wish I could say the leaf-gathering was all concluded in the fall when it ought to have been; sadly, the process is still ongoing here in March, since we never quite finished before winter set in! But she is as eager to help bag up the leaves now as she was in the autumn!)

She loves grapes, clementines, kiwi, strawberries, eggs, potatoes, and rice, and despises cheese. She hates sitting in her high chair and makes knowns via pointing and gesturing and pitifully crying "Mama!" or "Dada!" that she would really prefer to spend mealtimes in one of our laps.

Trains, books, the play kitchen, and the car table are lots of fun, but nothing compares to the joy of putting shoes, boots, clothing, underwear, socks, and hats on and off all day long -- whether her own or someone else's. I have to keep a watchful eye on the dirty laundry hamper, or Ree will often emerge suddenly decked in Nell's previously-worn pair of underwear, my bra, Nathan's dirty socks pulled up to her thighs, my black concert heels, and a winter hat from the hat basket to top it all off, of course.

Her words include:
Uhbuh (other)
Muh (more)
Mah! (mine! a quintessential toddler word!)
Mama
Dada
Baby
Up
Down
Nuh (nurse)
Ashes (indicating she wants to do ring around the rosy... or perhaps she's just very liturgically inclined ever since the beginning of Lent?)
Hi
bye bye
dah! (yeah!)
No
eh-bow (elbow)
boo
ah duh (all done)
uh oh
shhhh
boom!
Aga (Uncle {Andrew})

Not a bad list in all, but the amount of frustrated screaming around here indicates that she wishes she had a considerably larger vocabulary at her disposal!

Lately she is all hugs and kisses and squeezes, and wraps her arms right around my neck, huddling her little body against mine for snuggles. An adventurer by day and a snuggler by nap time, tired moments, and night -- oh, how we love this girlie.

a broken foot for Holy Week

2016-03-21T22:54:00.000-04:00

In our household, I've spent the last nine years growing accustomed to hearing the phrase: “You weren’t being careful enough!” on a regular basis. I know that this is more a symptom of Nathan's love for me than a criticism; the slightest accident on my part causes his fearful side to rear its head with utterances of cautionary advice.

Anytime anything happens – a twisted ankle, a slip on ice, a dropped bowl in the kitchen, a stubbed toe, a broken glass – this happens when one isn’t being careful. Nathan has made it his mission in life to teach me this underlying life principle, to write it on our doorposts and engrave it on our hearts and all that.

It’s true that I’ve been known to mindlessly wash dishes without focusing every ounce of my attention on the task at hand – now the faucet goes on to just the right level of water flow, now the dish in my right hand; now transfer weight for a moment to my left hand while I get a squirt of soap; back to the right hand, and so forth.

It’s also true that sometimes when I’m walking I’m thinking about other things than which foot is on the ground, which foot is in midair for a moment, and the precise angle at which I expect my metatarsals to graze the floor next.

So perhaps the man has a point.

Over the years he’s learned to decrease the cautionary words of advice, however well-intentioned they may be, and increase the empathy levels. So, when I texted him on Friday to tell him I had tripped outside, dropped the baby (she's okay, thank goodness!), and injured the top of my foot, which was rapidly turning blue and swelling to the size of a golf ball, I received in response: “Oh baby! Are you ok?” followed almost immediately by a phone call. And not once in said phone call did he admonish me to be more careful where, when, and in what fashion I stepped with my right foot when walking out-of-doors.

On Saturday afternoon, when I still couldn't put any weight on my foot without pain, that empathetic husband of mine drove me to an urgent care clinic where, after an hour of waiting, taking my temperature, asking me a series of inane questions unrelated to the obvious problem at hand, they finally did an x-ray and diagnosed me with a broken fifth metatarsal.

Going into Holy Week seems like such a dreadful time to break one's foot.

I can stump around the house slowly and painfully, to be sure, but the going is slow, the stairs are nearly impossible, and worst of all: no driving for the foreseeable future.

I have things to do! Holy Week menus to make and groceries to buy! Easter plans to put into place! Spring cleaning to be done! Small children to care for! Laundry to do, places to go, commitments to keep!

Compounding the matter at hand, poor Ree was running a temperature today and wanted nothing but Mama snuggles and catnaps all day long.

And I found myself thinking that perhaps Holy Week is exactly the right time to break one's foot, after all.

It's slowed me down to a childlike pace where I truly have no choice but to stop and let the little children come.

My every step is uncomfortable, to be sure, but can that even compare with the steps we remember this week: the slow and steady uphill steps of a man who carried his own cross?

A small broken bone in my foot? The whole world is broken, and that is why he came. Why he entered the world, lived among and loved the broken people, and finally, said, "This is my body, broken for you."

My broken foot will mend in time, but immeasurably greater is the truth that all the brokenness has already been overcome, and it is that celebration of resurrection wholeness that I limp towards at the close of this Holy Week.

A Rag Rug For Nell

2016-03-04T22:43:00.000-05:00

I recently completed a project that I began about a year ago: a rag rug for Nell's bedroom.

In my own defense, I was not working day and night on this project during that time; in fact, it lay neglected for the better part of the year in question. Still, it's a strange thing to complete a project you started for your two-year-old's first "big girl room," and then have your daughter who is fast approaching age four curl up on it.

I won't pretend to contain my pleasure at how the rug turned out. Is it perfect? No. But I love it. I love how the colors came together, and I love most of all the fact that it actually lies flat (a feat the difficulty of which ought not to be diminished)!

It's made up of old sheets from my favorite nearby thrift store, along with fabric pieces I had also found there in the thrift shop on the same day. And one floral sheet that had come with the secondhand mattress we were given for Nell's bed was a wonderful way to work in a wide variety of colors - yellows and oranges and greens to go with the overall pink and turquoise scheme, if you look closely enough.

We love it, Nell and I. Just tonight, at bedtime, she sat down on it and said, "I just love my wag wug so much. I want to snuggle on it forever."

{The cuteness of that sentence reminds me of the time when I was still working on the rug, and Ree got into the braided strands of the project, tangling them up. Nell exclaimed, "Mawee, you're wuining my wag wug! You're wecking it and wuining it!")

It is "complete" now, but at times I find myself thinking that I could use up the last of those sheet strips to give it a few additional inches in diameter. Maybe one of these days. For now, I'm glad to have it finally taking up its proper place in Nell's room.

And speaking of Nell's room, it seems like a fitting moment to show you how far that space has come since we bought this house.

That was the bedroom when we first viewed the house as prospective buyers. The stickers haphazardly stuck all over the walls covered spots of crumbling plaster and other problem areas. You really can't tell from the photos, but this room (as with the rest of the house) was in desperate need of some careful attention.

And it got it, although not for a couple of years! Here is Nell's space now.

Nell's antique wrought iron bed, which I've written about before, was a yard sale find I paid just $15 for. Of course, it was a considerably larger investment to have it sandblasted and painted, but I love it so much I consider it well worth every penny.

With a vintage bed frame and a vintage quilt (also a yard sale find), I set about finding other vintage-themed things for her room. I printed vintage paper dolls from online and made a little clothesline-type display over framed dolls I laid over lace scraps.

The little silver vanity tray on Nell's dresser was $5 at the thrift store. The dried hydrangeas are from our front yard. Her nightlight is a small hand-painted lamp that was given to us as a wedding present nine years ago.

The curtains are from IKEA because you just can't beat the prices. I looked into so many other options and they were all cost-prohibitive at the time -- even just sewing curtains from lace fabric would have been far more expensive than buying the curtain panels and rods and hardware all together from IKEA!

The shadowbox over Nell's bed has her ultrasound pictures, her little newborn hospital hat, her ankle bracelet from the hospital, and a picture of me holding her the morning after she was born. Sweet memories, and she so enjoys looking at everything and hearing stories about herself as a newborn baby. The photographs to the left were taken by the lovely and talented Esther Mathieu when Nell was a newborn.

Her closet door displays a vintage pink baby dress, and the wall beside it currently holds one of her baby onesies that had been embroidered with her {nick}name.

My maternal grandmother passed away during the time that I was putting together this bedroom for Nell. When I came across these little vintage magazine clippings Grandmommy had given me long ago, it seemed quite fitting to incorporate them into Nell's vintage decor. Just simple pictures of little girls at play -- food for the imagination!

Her tiny wooden bookcase was a roadside find just a few houses down the street from us one Sunday after church. It's a curious design; the books are held diagonally and the shelves have no bottoms. It wouldn't have been my first choice for a child's room, because she still has a bit of trouble shelves the books herself, but free is free!

The wooden cart at the foot of Nell's bed was a hand-me-down gift from a violin student who had outgrown its use. It holds stuffed animals and other such childhood delights, including the quilt I sewed for her.

Tucked into the corner beside the radiator is a vintage little metal baby doll crib, which I'm guessing is from the 50's. It was a secondhand find I paid $10 for, as I recall, and I later found a coverlet and tiny matching lace pillowcase at my thrift store, so Nell's babies are well cared for at all times.

{The doll on the right, who admittedly looks a little worse for the wear, is of more or less the same vintage as the crib; her name is Betsy and she was my mother's doll, then mine, and is now tenderly cared for by her third little mama, Nell.}

Beside Nell's bed sits a small white table I found at a yard sale, which is home to the old broken iPhone that plays her lullabies each night, and equally importantly, the silver cup her godparents gave her on her baptism day. Nathan was quite effective in convincing Nell some time ago that holding this "shiny cup" was a great privilege, and she could hold it in bed as she fell asleep if she wasn't fussing at bedtime.

She is quite enamored with it.

So that is Nell's bedroom -- more than anyone ever wanted to know about it, I'm sure.

When I look at it, I still see how badly the floor needs to be repainted, and how the paint is peeling off the radiator, and the windows need a good washing, and the ceiling tiles are ugly and the light fixture should be replaced. And, as any of our babysitters could tell you, it is usually much messier than in these pictures! But every once in a while, it's nice to tidy up, step back, and see how much progress we have made on this little space.

Nellisms, vol. 6: The Bedtime Edition

2016-03-03T23:15:00.001-05:00

Some impromptu pictures taken in an undershirt with the most charming bedhead imaginable seem like they'd go nicely with a little Bedtime Edition of Nellisms. I call these Portraits Over a Bowl of Oatmeal.

Upon waking up with a wrinkle from the sheets imprinted in her arm:

Nell: "Oh look, there's a crack in my arm!"

***

When we got a massive toddler- sized zip-up sleep sack at our favorite thrift store and let Nell sleep in it one night at her request:

"I just think I could use that pwetty nice swaddle for alway and evah!"

***

At bedtime:

Sarah: "Are you happy or sad?"

Nell: "I'm a little bit sad but a little bit happy."

Sarah: "What are you sad about?"

Nell: "I'm sad that Daddy leaved to go downstairs."

Sarah: "What are you happy about?"

Nell: "I'm happy that I have you upstairs to stay and snuggle a minute!"

At bedtime again:

Sarah: "I can stay for one more minute but then I need to go downstairs."

Nell: "No, stay all of the minutes!"

***

At bedtime yet again, putting her arms tightly around my neck and interlocking her fingers:

"You're clicked in! You can't go anywhere! You have to stay with me!"

When reading from The Jesus Storybook Bible about God creating light when there was just darkness:

Nell: "When it's dark, God should have gone inside where it's light! And put his padamas on and bwush his teeth and get weady for bed!"

***

Lying in bed at night, talking to herself (pretending to talk on the phone):

"Umm okay, can you just maybe pick me up somekin [something] on your way home? Yeah? Ok thank you! But DON'T GO INTO MR. MCGREGOR'S GARDEN!"

***

Lying in bed at night:

"I want a bagel right now in my bed."

***

At night tucking her into bed and snuggling with her for a minute:
Sarah: What was your favorite thing we did today?
Nell: Go to church!
Sarah: We didn't go to church today, silly! Today wasn't Sunday!
Nell: I goed to my pretend church.
Sarah: Did you sing some good songs there?
Nell: No, we didn't sing songs. We ate tockolate. At my pretend church we eat tockolate!

Snuggling in her bed one evening, her face inches from mine:

Nell: "I like your teeth; they're shiny!" *pause* "But... yeah... your face is a little bit squishy."

Sarah: "What does that even mean?"

Nell: "It just means God made your face a little squishy!"

***

Sarah: "I need to go downstairs now to nurse Marie before she goes to bed."

Nell: "Well, maybe Daddy can just nurse her with his nostrils."

Sarah: "One more minute and then I need to go downstairs, okay?"
Nell: "No little Mama, stay forever!!" *sobs* "Why? Why? Whyyy?!"

***

Snuggling for a minute before tucking into bed:
Nell: "Mama someday when I'm big can I drive a car all by myself and wear big shoes and drive? How will you feel about that?"

***

...How will I feel about that? I think I need a few more years of bedtime snuggles and morning bedheads before I can even think about drivers licenses.

oh, hello again!

2016-03-02T21:21:00.000-05:00

For the past month or two, I've been meaning to create an altogether new blog with a new title; a space to start afresh. Then I sort of got hung up on what said title ought to be, and the project stalled out. As a freelance musician, my evenings at home are limited, and when I do have an evening home, it seems that a dozen different things are calling my name and vying for my attention!

I want to get back to my little corner of the web, though. I came across a lovely blog post by Rachael back in January and the idea of it has stuck with me. It's really a nice bit of information if you - like me, I admit - are not quite certain you've got the whole 21st century thing figured out with regards to your technology and your photo-keeping. But what I loved the most was this part:

"Part of the trouble is that our digital lives are still often dismissed as self-indulging and ephemeral. Instagram accounts are mentioned with an eye roll. Collecting photos annually and having them printed and bound into books takes hours, truly hours to put together, and feels hard to justify when we’ve already posted it and relished the photo elsewhere. While we’d love our children to someday say “she kept a tidy lovely home” about us, it feels less important to imagine them saying “she did such a great job of documenting our family’s life together over the years.”

Sometimes I think about blogs as this century’s cross-stitch sampler. I’ve encountered criticism of them as aggrandizing digital wastes of time. A trend. People still say things like “I don’t read blogs,” as if they were a category of acquired taste. But they are the next in a long historic line of homemaking habits, small lovely tributes to our abilities and hopes. Even if the writers gloss things over, even if they make life appear too clean and breezy. Though in theory written and created for others, they will always bring the most pleasure to their creator."

You should still go read the whole post, though. But she really voiced something I've long thought; a sort of frustration with how "mom blogs" are viewed dismissively when in fact, they can be a beautiful place to gather memories and highlights of daily life.

I'm also inspired by her to create some photo books for our family, perhaps one for each year of our recent life. Judging from how much Nell loves the family photo calendar my sister-in-law made for us for Christmas -- she asks to look through those monthly pictures almost every day! -- I know she would love having a photo book to sit and look through, to look back on her life as a baby as well as the more recent memories we've created.

So it was that bit of writing from Rachael, in part, that reminded me to return to this neglected space, which I do hope to soon move to another corner of the internet whenever I can settle on where that corner ought to be.

In the mean time, this week is a week spent at home for me, quite welcome after several rehearsals and concerts last week. It has been filled with everyday moments that we've enjoyed quite thoroughly so far.

Sixty-degree weather on Monday merited a trip to the park.

This particular park, just two minutes from our house, is more than just a playground - there's farm land and a barn with animals as well.

Ree yelled happily or angrily {one couldn't quite be certain which} at all the animals, over and over again: "Hiiiii! Hiiiii!" (Which comes out more like "Iiiiii!") I think she thought it was quite rude that they didn't acknowledge her enthusiastic greetings.

Nell was charmed to make the acquaintance of this sweet little goat.

Seeing the girls hanging on fences reminded me of similar timeless moments in my own childhood; somehow perhaps some of the most important things I ever did might have been doing nothing at all, if any sense can be made of that. I've been pondering the nature of childhood lately, more and more as we move decidedly out of pure toddlerdom and into little girlhood and all that lies ahead. {Very much on my mind: schooling in the future years and what we'd like to do for that!}

Nell has been faithfully helping me water our amaryllis plants in the living room, and they've all burst into bloom in the past week with a vibrancy that takes me by surprise each time I walk into that room. I suppose it would be odd to admit that these plants were rescued from a trash bin, but there you go, I've said it. I have to say it, because to me, it somehow makes their blooms that much more beautiful.

And finally, in hopes of more warm days soon to come, I dug up and created a branch border for a "Bit of Earth" for the girls. They may not have a sandbox {yet}, but who doesn't love to just dig in the dirt? And now that Ree is old enough to dig without eating said dirt, I believe it will occupy many imaginative hours of play this spring and summer. It's a little area beside the shed and off the edge of the proper lawn. A few pails and trowels and sticks and some pairs of play clothes are all that's needed for a very good time!

I know it's only the beginning of March, but I'm dreaming of many more warm days soon to come.

Today, on the other hand, was a bit rainy, so we found ourselves at the library and arrived home armed with some wonderful books. Perhaps I'll write again soon and share some of our recent favorites!

the giving of thanks

2015-11-26T22:01:00.000-05:00

When the news of the world - both afar and close to home - has seemed sadder lately, it's all the more poignant to stop and give thanks for all the good things.

It was our first Thanksgiving as just the four of us -- no traveling, no hosting, and not even a turkey!

As it turned out, I totally loved it.

I didn't do any prep yesterday, I didn't stay up late last night making pies, and I didn't set an alarm for this morning. I got up when the kids woke up, enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and coffee and conversation with the girls while Nathan got to sleep in.

Sarah: I'm thankful for coffee
Nell: I'm thankful for milk

Sarah: I'm thankful for my daughters, Nell and Marie
Nell: I'm thankful for my baby dolls

Sarah: I'm thankful for our home.
Nell: I'm thankful for my room and my bed!

Sarah {looking over at Ree}: I'm thankful for babies in jammies
Nell: I'm thankful for dammies too

{and really, what's not to be thankful for here? alpine pajamas with elbow patches! pigtails! and perhaps she's planning on auditioning for a new installment of Home Alone?}

After breakfast, we got down to the serious business of making the feast. Nell helped with the rolls, the pie crusts, and the whipped cream.

Everything came out deliciously, and Nathan set the table oh-so-nicely while I cooked everything. The china is our wedding china, and the silver belonged to Nathan's great-grandmother, Nell's great-great-grandmother, Nellie.

Candles were lit, prayers were said, tears of gratitude were shed. {ok, that was just me. but I challenge you to sit across from the sweetest three-year-old in the world folding her hands in prayer and not get teary-eyed over all the goodness there is to be had in life.}

Nathan gave Nell a tiny crystal glass of very watered-down wine this year, and she was so thrilled about the whole thing it was a delight to behold. She promptly declared, "I'm thankful for wine!"

Two pies seemed just about right for the four of us. I added a dash of freshly ground pepper to my pumpkin pie this year, and it was a good call. And the chocolate pie is and always will be my Grandma's recipe. I miss Grandma and Grandpa every time I make it, and my heart is full.

As it turned out, Ree was a big fan of whipped cream.

In the late morning today, when the pie crust dough was chilling and the dinner roll dough was rising, I went out for a short run by myself. Usually, if I'm able to sneak in a run at all, it's with the double stroller and both kids in tow, but this morning, Nathan was home and so the girls stayed in. I donned my running tights and shoes and enjoyed the cold fresh air and a bit of time all to myself.

My first mile was a bit under a 10-minute pace. Although I wasn't really pushing myself or thinking about it, when my iPhone informed my of my pace, I found myself musing a bit about my pace in running, and my pace in life.

Five years ago, I would have pushed myself and tried for a sub-seven minute mile. I could go for a run every single morning, and I usually did. In retrospect, I hardly know what I did with all the free time I didn't even know I had back then.

But my heart was smaller then, and I didn't even know it.

A Day in the Life of Ree {embracing the everyday when you feel helpless}

2015-11-16T21:36:00.003-05:00

I haven't written here in a long time. Two months or so, I think.

Life has felt busier than ever, and I'm unable to put my finger on whether it's the two kids, or that I'm working more than perhaps I have previously, or why exactly I feel as though I have hardly a minute to reclaim for anything other than the basic necessities of each day.

I feel helpless lately, as I suppose most of us do. In the face of a refugee crisis, of terrorism in Beirut and Paris and so many other places, I feel helpless. And perhaps it seems like a curious time to claim a rare evening at home to write here in my small corner of the internet. I was looking over a few very everyday photos with Nathan, the two of us laughing quietly together, as I captioned the antics to him: "A Day in the Life of Ree." And there was something about those photos that made me want to record them here, to remember.

The photos we looked at together were anything but spectacular. There was nothing good about these, objectively, as pictures. And yet, there was everything good about them.

Our bed-headed 18-month old girl, sitting on the living room floor in a diaper, a scarf of Mama's draped around her middle. A meat tenderizer in her hand, naturally. A favorite book on the floor behind her.

That tummy was full of breakfast, that diaper was clean and fresh, and that girl had been wandering happily through the house, sorting through my kitchen drawers while my back was turned and settling - out of all the many things we have - on the meat tenderizer as her desired object of play.

* * *

She has learned to put her own pants on with some degree of success now, except that she can't pull them up over her fluffy cloth diapered bum - and yet, she balks at the idea of help, and prefers that they remain like that. She crows victoriously at each day's partial-donning of her pants.

She has clothes to wear. And look at those toys cluttering our home in the background. We have toys for our children to play with and a home for them to live in.

* * *

When evening falls, I help her into her jammies, the Christmassy hand-me-downs that Nell wore before her and someone else wore before that, and, after leaving the room for a moment, I return to find her cradling her stuffed bunny and singing the Brahms lullaby to the best of her baby vocal ability. {The moment was so sweet I had to get her started on it again to recreate it on video.}

Red goes to bed in our guest bedroom, one of five bedrooms in our house. FIVE BEDROOMS.

* * *

These children, the displaced children of Syria and other parts of the world, they don't get to have everyday days like Ree. And that sad reality makes me cling more tightly to the mundane, blurry photos hastily captured on my iPhone.

Like most mothers, I suppose, I've been known to occasionally complain of the everyday difficulties inherent in parenting two small children. But lately, I stop and thank God that I haven't had to cross oceans with them seeking safety, haven't walked miles carrying them in my tired arms, haven't wondered where our next meal would come from, or even if we would see another sunrise in safety together.

Oh, how I wish we could offer our spare bedrooms to those little ones and their families seeking shelter and safety. How I wish that we were not separated by vast ocean and by borders that prevent the type of everyday, tangible help that we could so readily offer - the rooms we could so easily spare and the groceries we could so afford to share.

* * *

I know that terrorism and the refugee crisis bring with it some polarized political opinions. And I get it - the real economic problems inherent in the issue, the growing need to defeat the terrorists for good, the fear of unwittingly opening our borders to terrorism. There are real concerns, and we must not act unwisely. And I don't know the right answers.

All I know is that terrorism, even here in my own country, is not what I fear the most.

I am more afraid to someday hear the words,

'I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me ... Truly, I say to you, as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.'

Nellisms, vol. 5

2015-09-07T19:55:00.000-04:00

Nathan said last night, "If Nell's personality were to freeze at age three, it wouldn't be the worst thing," and I can't help agreeing -- for the most part. Some of the whininess of Age Three I could do without, to be sure, but there is so much about this age that is tremendously fun that the whining pales in comparison.

She thinks that "How do you know that?" is a general-purpose exclamation of surprise, since I suppose she hears me say it in response to her in that fashion. So if you tell Nell anything that makes her surprised and happy, you're likely to hear in response, "OH! How do YOU know that?!"

For a long time she would put the emphasis on the word "Lullaby" at the end, because when you sing the Brahms Lullaby (which she loves), the emphasis sort of comes out that way in the music, so every night she would ask to listen to the LullaBY. This one is slipping away now, sort of like how she's suddenly pronouncing "violin" correctly instead of "vileein."

But thank goodness she still says "ephelant" and asks if we can exercise and do "dumping dacks" together.

Sarah: "Do you need to go potty?"
Nell: "Not right now I think I'm just all set for right now thank you."

***

Nell: "Do we have any peanut butter?"
Sarah: "Yes!"
Nell: "Do we have any almond butter?"
Sarah: "Yes!"
Nell: "Do we have any Ree-Ree butter?"
Sarah: ".... ??"

***

Sarah: "Do you want to listen to music?"

Nell: "Sure! Maybe Brahms and then Bach."

She hates bugs in all forms, whether real or even just in picture books, and the worst is when we come to the page in her Little Golden Book about God that has -- "OH NO! Two bugs! Two!! OH NO!"

***

Shortly before turning three, she began to notice and enjoy rhymes, but without knowing what they were called at first, she would proclaim, "Oh Mama! Please matches cheese!" or, "Play matches today!"

***

Her imaginative play is often with her play kitchen and/or her baby dolls. And recently she sighed, sat down in her small armchair, and announced, "I'm just gonna open my bweast and nurse my baby now, okay?"

When she was singing in a particularly, shall we say, piercing voice one day:
Sarah: "Nell, do you think you could find your most beautiful singing voice to use?"
Nell: "Well I can't use that voice because I'm already usin' this voice. And this is really hard music. Okay?"

***

Singing improvisatorily one afternoon:

"Mama has big knives! Mama has big knives! But I caaaan't tooooouuuuch theeeemmm!"

***

Whenever she's trying to remember a song, she'll usually say, "Mama, where's The Happy Farmer?" or "Where's Jesus Loves Me?" or whatever other current favorite she's fishing around in her memory for. Or occasionally, "Mama, help my mouth to sing it!" I love that.

Upon hearing her Aunt Hannah telling me about how she stepped on a sliver of glass:
Nell: *dramatic sigh* "I know, I know, everything is horrible."

***

Strapping her tiny violin case onto her back:
Nell: "I'm just really tired but I have to go play a concert."

***

Playing peekaboo with Ree:

Nell: *sigh* "You do it now Mama; I need a break."

***

Sneezing:

Nell: "That was me! Whoa! I blessed!"

Sarah: "How old will you be next year?"
Nell: "Four. And I'll be big to the sky and fly with my happy wings!"

***

"Maybe when I'm four I can drink wine."

Sarah: "I love you, Nell."

Nell: "I love Daddy."

Sarah: "Well then. Thanks."

***

Seeing a picture of Nathan:

Nell: "Oh, that's Daddy! My cute Daddy!"

Talking to herself in her car seat:

"I'm sooooo fun to play with. And I have a good heart."

***

"Mama, did you know what? Dogs don't wear underwear."

***

Sitting in the kiddie pool:

"I'm swimming in the water on my bum!"

***

Nell: "Mama, could I please have an orange that is... an orange... an orange that is that one kind..." *hums "O My Darlin' Clementine"*

Sarah: "Oh! A clementine!"

Nell: "Yes yes could I please have a darlin' Clementine!"
{I thought that was very resourceful of her to communicate the word she had forgotten through humming.}

***

Nell: "I'm hungry."

Sarah: "Would you like me to cut up an apple for you?"

Nell: "Well, what about some tocklate instead." (chocolate)

***

Sarah: "Nell, could you please pick up your socks and put them in the dirty laundry?"

Nell: "Weeeellll... maybe you could just do it."

"Nell, make a silly sad face!"

"Nell, make a silly grumpy face!"

the hyperemesis gravidarum saga, part 1

2015-08-12T22:14:00.000-04:00

You've probably heard that Kate Middleton, during both of her pregnancies, suffered from hyperemesis gravidarum. Poor lady. About a year ago, I had come up with a plan I was pretty certain would go viral: people could dump buckets of vomit on their head to raise awareness from this condition I had for both of my pregnancies. {Remember the ice bucket challenge that was going viral at the time?} But now it looks like the public awareness has been somewhat raised thanks to the Duchess, and no vomit buckets needed after all. Thank you, Kate! {Now if only the commoners like myself had people to wait on us hand and foot during our illnesses!}

I've mentioned on my blog before that I had HG, and I've long meant to write about it. The thing is, it's kind of hard to write about, because it's all a bit of a blur, and not a very pleasant one.

It bears writing, though, because it is a part of my story. A part of my kids' stories. A part of our family's story. And more importantly, it is a part of the stories of an estimated 1%-3% of women, and those women need understanding, empathy, and help when we have opportunity to give it.

* * *

In my first pregnancy, with Nell, I remember the early signs of nausea before the vomiting began. I tried ginger, peppermints, saltines, sour candies, protein, exercise, lemon drops, sea bands on my wrists -- everything I could think to try, I tried. Nothing touched that awful pit in my stomach that grew worse with each passing day. That unrelenting queasiness. We hadn't told friends about the pregnancy yet, so I would grit my teeth through grad school classes in musty lecture halls and quartet rehearsals in smelly basement practice rooms all while feeling like I might vomit at any moment.

That was the early nausea part, when I wasn't yet vomiting much. Then when the vomiting hit, it hit hard. I remember a Sunday morning when Nathan was at church and I was vomiting in the bathroom. The next thing I knew, I woke up on the floor, my glasses bent, my face pressed against the tile. I had passed out. It was the first of many times to come, but I learned to anticipate it, to feel that sudden change of blood pressure coming on alongside the need to vomit, and to make sure I was someplace soft. Safer to stay in bed and keep a bowl beside me than to try to run for the bathroom.

I remember keeping a pad of paper beside the bed one day and jotting down a tick mark each time I threw up that day. By evening, there were seventeen tick marks.

* * *

I was in grad school at the time, and freelancing and teaching violin lessons, and somehow I managed to continue with all of these things. I got an appointment at a birth center, told the midwife how sick I was, and got a prescription for Zofran. I was anxious about taking the medication -- although it is approved for use during pregnancy, you can always find some terrifying things online -- and if I had a day where I could stay home, I wouldn't take it. I'd just stay in bed and be sick all day. When I had school or work, I'd take the Zofran and push through the nausea. The Zofran mostly stopped the vomiting, although it barely touched the nausea.

Looking back on my day planner from that fall, it looks like there were eight days when I was flat out unable to go to school or work and had to cancel everything. Only eight! The rest of those days, days filled with lessons I taught and classes I attended and rehearsals and concerts and presentations... somehow I did most of those things. Thank God for Zofran.

a photo Nathan took at the end of October when I was 12 weeks along.
I had just come back from playing a concert!

I could manage to eat cheddar goldfish crackers and drink cranberry juice mixed with seltzer during that first pregnancy. Onion rings and coke icees from Burger King took the edge off, too. I'm sure there were other things as well, but those are the main things I remember being able to eat. For someone usually committed to healthy eating, it was pretty ridiculous!

I remember my brother-in-law brought me some spaghetti one day, carried it into the bedroom where I lay in bed, and it actually sounded quite good to me and I was able to eat some. Shortly thereafter, it came back up again -- some of it somehow, horrifyingly, coming out my nose. Did you know that, Nell? I barfed noodles out my nose for you, kid!

I remember driving to Boston for school with waves of nausea, then stopping at a cafe near school for a poppyseed bagel. Thanks to Zofran, I could eat and almost enjoy that poppyseed bagel.

I remember telling an orchestra conductor about my pregnancy and my condition because I was so terrified I was going to vomit during rehearsal.

I remember being grateful my academic courses weren't too intense that semester.

I remember one administrator at school being a real asshat to me about the pregnancy because I had missed two orchestra rehearsals, even though I had medical excused absence notes from my midwives.

I remember walking through a grocery store, feeling like I could be sick at any moment, searching the shelves desperately for anything that I felt like I could eat and keep down.

I remember pulling over to the side of the road while driving home from that grocery shopping trip to vomit out my car door.

I remember Nathan driving from his school in Boston over to mine to take me to lunch once on a day when I was feeling well enough to eat but was so exhausted and miserable that I was nearing tears. I just needed to see him, and I was so relieved and glad to see his car swing by to pick me up. We got eggs Benedict at a diner and it was a wonderful hour together. A calm amidst the busy flurry of our lives that autumn.

* * *

I watched a lot of Grey's Anatomy during that time, and it's the strangest thing: the brain surgeries and heart surgeries and blood and guts didn't make me the least bit queasy, but if a character was eating a sandwich, well, I'd be reaching for my bowl, puking, and maybe passing out briefly. Coming to, and passing another hour or so watching Grey's until the next time I was sick.

I don't remember a lot about the hours and the days, except that when I hadn't taken Zofran I couldn't even roll over in bed without the motion making me sick. I couldn't see or smell food or think about food. I could barely talk, quite literally, and so Nathan and I had a little code system that went like so: a small, miserable moan meant, "hold my hand;" a medium, miserable moan meant, "bring me some juice;" and a big, miserable moan meant, "take me out to the back pasture and shoot me dead."

Of course, not seriously, but that's what I told him it meant, and he knew it meant that I felt the absolute worst and needed some serious sympathy. Somehow my sense of humor remained intact through it all, and we'd laugh together about that joke, that I should be taken to the back pasture.

I also remember those months as being a very lonely time, the hours and days sick in bed, Nathan busy with his own graduate school and work, friends unaware of what I was going through. I'd check my computer, hoping someone had made a move in a Words With Friends game so I could make my next move. One can only watch so much Grey's Anatomy. Pinterest would have been an option for passing the time, but I didn't dare log on to see the inevitable pictures of food. Despite how busy many of my days were, I have vivid memories of longing for more human connection, for someone to know and understand what I was experiencing, maybe for someone to come take care of me.

a selfie ("bumpie?") from late November.
lying in bed in my pajamas; a very common scenario

Perhaps the strangest thing of all is that, through it all, I managed to feel mostly overwhelmingly happy. This is not a fact I take for granted, because I'm well aware that many women with HG are so miserable they consider terminating their {very much wanted} pregnancies, the sickness is that bad. I'm grateful that mine wasn't as bad as some, and that somehow, I would puke and puke and then manage to smile at Nathan, still happy about our secret growing family. We were so excited. I have such happy memories of that excitement.

* * *

It was really hard, for almost three months. Things got bad in early September, when I was five weeks along, and then it started to get better in early November. I was weaning off of Zofran by around 14 weeks pregnant, and then definitely feeling almost 100% better by Thanksgiving. I remember just feeling so very grateful to be able to eat all that good food! We visited my in-laws that Thanksgiving, and I have sweet memories of the much-needed rest at their house after such a difficult couple of months for me.

Over the course of the ten or so weeks that I was sick, I lost ten or twelve pounds. Now, a lot of women would like to lose ten or twelve pounds, and truth be told, I could probably have been counted among that number. But not like that. No one wants to lose weight like that. It will always boggle my mind a bit that some people, upon learning of my pregnancy and the near-debilitating sickness I had, would say, "Well, you look terrific!" or something similar. I half wanted to say, "My health care providers are concerned about my falling weight, but I'll be sure to let them know you think it's an improvement, thanks."

Or, on the flip side, other pregnant women would bemoan their own rising weight and wish aloud to have had first trimester weight loss like I had. No, you don't wish for that. I promise, you don't.

Possibly the strangest thing about that time period was that, aside from telling our immediate families, we actually kept that pregnancy a secret up until the first trimester had passed. I have no idea how we did this, and truthfully, I imagine that most of my close friends had guessed that I was pregnant but just chose to respectfully wait until I was ready to tell them. I have pretty great friends.

a photo from early December.
so happy to be feeling 100% better!

In retrospect, keeping up with my graduate school studies and my work during that first pregnancy was quite possibly easier than keeping up with my toddler and my work during my subsequent pregnancy, but I suppose that's a story for another time.

{the hyperemesis gravidarum saga, part 2 coming next}

a girl and her funny face

2015-07-28T14:17:00.002-04:00

What to do when you haven't blogged in two months? Why, blog about something insignificant, of course. Don't overwhelm yourself thinking you need to "catch up" or "fill in the gaps" in the family chronicles of the world wide web. Just start with something small; just go ahead and get your toes wet again. So, here goes.

Back in April or thereabouts, little miss Marie started making the funniest face on a semi-regular basis. We got a kick out of seeing her scrunch her face up and tip her head back in these silly grins, and would exclaim, "FUNNY FACE!" and clap when she did it. So naturally, it became a regular occurrence. Soon, we could get her to make the face by saying, "Hey Ree, can you do your funny face?" She would happily oblige.

I've managed to get a few on camera, so that I can now present you with several months worth of Funny Face. Enjoy!

We love this crazy kiddo. But you knew that.

evening ramblings

2015-05-27T21:47:00.000-04:00

I seem to keep resolving to write more, and with a real wish to do so, but by golly, how does anyone do it all?

We are the sorts that try to put our kids to bed by 7:00 pm each night, because -- if we're being responsible -- by 9:00 we're getting ready for bed ourselves, and we desperately want those two golden hours of In Between Time.

Even trying valiantly for this, we often fail, and it's more like 7:30 or even 8:00. But tonight I actually did have them both in bed by 7:00ish, only to have the toddler wail on and off about a variety of ailments for the following hour and a half {she needed a drink of water, she needed her nose blown [x3], she needed the music turned back on again [x2], something scared her, she needed a hug}, and by the time she was altogether quiet, I remembered that the fridge was utterly devoid of sandwich meat to make a lunch for Nathan to take to work tomorrow, so off I went to the grocery store before they closed.

On the way there, I pulled out in front of an oncoming car with a little less time than a sane person ought to leave themselves. I mean, it was still quite safe, but I realized that usually I would have waited until that car had passed, except for the strange sensation I felt that I must rush and maximize my remaining evening hours of kid-free time, and frankly, buying meat and making sandwiches isn't that high on my list.

Home a little after 9:00, I made the sandwiches and loaded dishes into the dishwasher and took my vitamins and brushed my teeth and then it was 9:30 and I ought to be going to bed right now.

I didn't get to go for a run or finish organizing the kid clothes into their bins in the basement or practice that music taunting me from my stand that I need to prepare for an upcoming concert. I didn't upload the photos from our all-American evening last night that involved pasta salad, friends, and kids playing in a plastic pool in the yard. I didn't go through the photos from the girls' recent birthday party or blog about that like I wanted to. The living room is untidy and the music room even more so. I didn't do the necessary teaching work I needed to do to finish organizing my upcoming studio recital.

Time is odd when you have children. Some of the hours in the day go so slowly and some of them go so fast. I don't think I've ever felt that a quiet evening was just dragging on interminably, though.

Dear, sweet children of ours, if you read this someday: We love you desperately, overwhelmingly, wholeheartedly. When you fall asleep in the evenings, we weep because we miss your company so much. We long to have you with us during these evening hours. But being apart from you for a few hours a day is building character in us, and so, we soldier on, knowing that we will see you again very soon; in the morning, if not before.

Ah, yes, it'll be before. For I hear the sounds of a restless toddler at this very moment!

Ree at Eleven Months

2015-05-02T21:59:00.003-04:00

This baby girl is turning one in a week! So I'd better post a few 11 month pictures; I suppose it's now or never. And can the internet live without these images? I think not.

I mean, really.

This time last year, I was walking circles around the neighborhood and doing yard work, trying desperately to put myself into labor so I wouldn't need to be induced.

Now I have a busy little girl, crawling everywhere, cruising from one piece of furniture to another, standing unsupported for at least fifteen seconds at a time when she wants to, and walking if an obliging person will give her some hands to hold on to.

Her expertise includes emptying all the kitchen cupboards she can reach in a minute or less, seizing the most delicate hairs at the nape of my neck and pulling hard, and splashing enough to create small tidal waves in the bath. She stands up in her high chair and the bathtub 7,000 times a day despite repeated admonitions, but understands the word "danger" and avoids steps, bedside edges, and lunging off of couches.

She adores her Aunt Hannah and Uncle Andrew, but lately seems to prefer Uncle Andrew above others -- including above Mama, at times! She makes a beeline for people she loves, crawling fast or lunging out of my arms if I'm holding her. She also tries to fling herself out of my arms to get down on the ground when she wants to be on the move, particularly when we go outside, an activity which makes her all smiles.

Three top teeth and one bottom tooth, she demolishes eggs and yogurt and strawberries and peas and green beans and applesauce and all manner of other delectable items.

I call her "Goofy Girl," because those top teeth came in first, and, well, two prominent top teeth... need I say more?

Uncle Andrew calls her "Fluff," because she's so downright fluffy and squishable.

She's using the potty pretty reliably, happy to hold and shred a small square of toilet paper while she sits for a moment, and my diaper pail is happy to be filled mostly with just slightly wet diapers. We often put the same diaper on and off of her throughout the better part of a day, if she's staying dry. And no poopy diapers?! Elimination Communication for the win!

People tell me she looks like me! I think it's the double chin.

She has a word that's really two words: "All Done!" She says it reliably and repeatably: "Ahh duhh!" Used in the context of eating or of using the potty. Sweetest little voice. And then she lunges off the potty into my arms, or tries to climb out of her chair, because she is a daredevil. She also says "Mama" on rare occasion, and "Dada" quite frequently, but we aren't sure she uses either of those specifically or not. Since she says the latter so much more than the former, it's probably meaningless drivel, obviously.

Oh Ree, my baby! You're going to be a genuine certifiable toddler any day now, I think. And warmer weather has finally arrived. We're going to have a delightful summer, I think, you and your sister and your Dad and I. But before summer, let's have a birthday party, shall we, sweet girl? We love you!

P.S.:

Rest

2015-04-26T22:03:00.000-04:00

Last night I had an orchestra concert that included Brahms' 4th Symphony. I had a little moment, as the concert was beginning, where I was waiting for the conductor's downbeat and was suddenly filled with... I'm not sure what, really. I love the sight of a conductor I enjoy playing for, illuminated in the bright stage lights, clear lines of motion against the blackness of the audience. I felt my violin and bow in my hands, thought of the skilled artistry and craftsmanship and financial value they represent, and felt lucky to do what I do. Privileged.

Of course, it's work, and there are many hours of it feeling like hard work for every I'm-so-lucky moment. This past week's gigs were in NH, so I was driving an hour each way each night. Coming home most nights, I could barely keep my eyes open. I'd stop for an iced coffee, even run a quick lap around my car to keep myself alert. Get home around 11 or a little after, just in time for the baby to start her frequent night wakings for the rest of the night.

I drove home last night with concert warm-and-fuzzies, still enjoying the afterglow that Brahms can provide, but this morning I was dead tired when the baby woke around 6 am. After being awake at 12:00, and 1:30, and 3:30, and 5:00.

I got the kids breakfasted and bathed and dressed, and we headed into Boston to attend church where Nathan works as music director. I was So Crazy Stupid Tired I could barely keep my eyes open driving... and this was 10 am, not 10 pm.

Some people get crabby or punchy when they're tired; I tend to get weepy. A kind stranger on the streets of Boston said, "You've got your hands full!", and then added, looking me in the eye briefly, "You're doing a good job," and I admit, my eyes got a little watery at the affirmation.

My kids went {somewhat}happily into their respective nursery care rooms, and God must have known I needed that, because I got to sit through most of the church service and hear the sermon, which coincidentally, was on the topic of Sabbath rest.

Rest. I wanted some, so badly. And the pastor spoke of it in such eloquent terms, my eyes welled up on more than one occasion. Somehow he never got to the part about how mothers of very young children are supposed to find this rest, though.

The choir sang a favorite anthem of mine, a text by Peter Abelard, a bit of which goes:

O what their joy and their glory must be,

those endless Sabbaths the blessèd ones see;

crown for the valiant, to weary ones rest:

God shall be All, and in all ever blest.

Truly, "Jerusalem" name we that shore,

vision of peace that brings joy evermore;

wish and fulfillment can severed be ne'er,

nor the things prayed for come short of the prayer.

Now, in the meantime, with hearts raised on high,

we for that country must yearn and must sigh,

seeking Jerusalem, dear native land,

through our long exile on Babylon's strand.

An endless Sabbath rest awaits us. God's work is finished. Christ's work is finished. But my work won't be finished for a very long time, and even though I managed to sneak in a 45-minute nap this afternoon while my children's naps overlapped, the day didn't feel very restful.

But I left the children's things lying strewn around the living room more than I usually would have, pondering the idea that it isn't the work we give ourselves to do, or that others give us to do, that matters. It's the work God has given us to do. He is our boss, and He has given us a day off. This day of rest is manifested differently in different lives; in ours, it usually and quite unavoidably involves work. It is Nathan's job to work at church on Sundays for nearly twelve hours. My work often involves Sunday concerts or rehearsals. And of course, it is work to keep children cared for. But today I was reminded to take the moments of rest where I can.

It'll be there for me tomorrow, stray socks and shoes, small Sunday-best smocked dresses, and laundry waiting to be folded and put away. Perhaps, by all reasonable counts, I "ought" to have done some of this work tonight, since tomorrow will have work of its own. Music to practice for two upcoming concerts this week. Lessons to teach, a studio recital to plan for. But this evening, after my girls were tucked in their beds, I ate takeout Thai food with Nathan and then changed into my pajamas, cozy in bed before 10 pm for the first time in too long.

contentment

2015-04-24T14:53:00.000-04:00

After a couple of really busy work weeks in late March and early April, I got to enjoy a couple of pretty relaxed weeks recently. I found myself viewing my kids with fresh eyes, amazed at how much more I could enjoy the everyday moments when I wasn't feel as frantic about nightly rehearsals, symphonies to practice, late nights and early mornings, and other such work-related concerns.

Those little pairs of eyes looked more beautiful. The little voices were more sweet, the little actions more endearing.

I said something to Nathan about how difficult the busy weeks had been, how exhausted and crazy and stressed I had felt, how thrilled and exhilarated I was to have some time at home with the girls where my mornings with them weren't spent preparing for for the busy afternoons and evenings but rather just being in the moment.

He replied wryly, "Next week you'll be saying how you never get any gigs and your career is pathetic and the kids have you at your wits' end."

There's some truth to that, I admit! I can laugh at myself about it.

In the meantime, my iPhone reflects these past few slower-paced weeks with more images of the everyday than usual. Morning snuggles and smiles. Napping faces and lunch-nibbling mouths. Sunshine on hair and time spent outdoors. {Although, given the winter we had, sunshine is anything but everyday around here, and we are relishing every moment of it!}

Just getting to enjoy the moments. They aren't always fun moments {I could do without the screaming and meltdowns}, but they are fleeting, and even the everyday things like playing outdoors, a babe in overalls and a toddler in pigtails, and eating meals together seem more precious when you're not feeling too rushed to enjoy them.

This week I've been back into a busy stretch of work, and the next two weeks will be even busier. Three consecutive weeks where more nights than not, I'll be out at rehearsals or concerts, and these days will come with an enjoyment of their own but they won't be without their difficulties. I'm glad I have some pictures to remind me of the contentment we found in the little things recently.

{we went to the mall one day, a rare occurrence in our family, because Nathan was craving a big soft pretzel. he captured this picture of both girls smiling!}

{because squeezing your eyes shut tightly is a silent code for "I love you" -- at least, in our family it is.}

{"She's huggin' me! She loves me so much!"}

{I made a wreath for our front door. It took me only the first fifteen minutes of a rare and glorious nap time in which both girls were asleep simultaneously and I wasn't working.}

{A morning at the park. So everyday, and yet, so much fun for little kiddos after a long winter spent mostly indoors.}

Nellisms, vol. 4

2015-04-10T22:09:00.003-04:00

I've had a growing collection of quotable quotes from this girlie for a while now, and it would be a travesty not to inflict them on you.

Nell these days. She likes playing her "villeein," jumping around like crazy, and her favorite number is "six ellellen." The fact that she calls cornflakes "snowflakes" is indicative that the deprived child has had cold cereal all of a half dozen times in her life. And when we had ice cream recently, she nearly lost her mind with excitement, jumping up and down and exclaiming about how we had also had ice cream ON HER BIRTHDAY!!! Which was last May. Further proof of deprivation, but also of how frighteningly remarkable her memory is.

One snowy morning back in February:
Sarah: "I'm going to make some hot chocolate! And Aunt Hannah is going to drink some with us; it'll be a hot chocolate party!"
Nell: "And Uncle Andrew, too?"
Aunt Hannah: "Actually, Uncle Andrew doesn't like chocolate."
Nell: "Oh okay, so he will just have hot."

* * *

After spilling some water at the dinner table:
Nell: "I swallowed mine water onto my lap."

* * *

After coughing:
Nell: "Poor Nell. She's so sick."

After Marie coughed:
Nell {condescendingly}: "Mawee we always cough in our elbows all wiiiight?"

* * *

Sarah: "I need you to sing more quietly, because Marie is sleeping."

Nell: "I'm singin' loudly!"

Sarah: "I know you are. Could you please singly softly?"

Nell: "But loud is part of the song!!"

Upon examination of the small hole into which Mr. Potato Head's shoes can be inserted:
Nell: "Look Mama! It's Mr. Potato Head's bottom. See? Oops! Oh no, Mr. Potato Head, you're peein' on me!"
Sarah: {not sure whether to laugh openly or to quietly encourage imaginative play; ended up laughing.}

She is so polite sometimes it's almost weird.

One morning at breakfast:
Nathan: "Did you help Mama make these pancakes?"
Nell: "Yes I deed! ("did")"
Nathan: "Thank you, they're so yummy."
Nell: "Oh thank you Daddy. You make me so happy."

At lunch:
Sarah: "Would you like some olives with your lunch?"
Nell: "Yes pease that would be lovely."

At dinner:
Nell: "What's this Mama?"
Sarah: "Those are brussels sprouts. They're sort of like teeny tiny balls of lettuce."
Nell {eats one}: "Oh, I love it! Thank you so so much!"

But there was also this:

On St. Patrick's Day:
Nell: "What is this stuff called?"
Sarah: "That's sauerkraut."
Nell: "Well I don't like this sauercrap."

One night when Nathan walked in the door:
"Oh Daddy yay you are home! I love you so much in my heart and in my life!"

One night when I had tucked her in bed and lay down beside her for a minute:
"I love you Mama. I love your heart."

And earlier tonight at dinner:
"I love your hair, Mama. I love your cheeks. I love your ears. I love your eyes. I love your nose. I love your eyebrows."

* * *

About ten times a day:
Sarah: "Why are you fussing right now?"
Nell: "Because I love you."
Sarah: Maybe you could find another way to show it?

While I was getting dressed:
Nell: "Oh wow Mommy you are so big. Wow wow wow."
Sarah: ...

* * *

After she ended up sleeping in bed with us for the third night in a row due to sleeping miserably because of a cold:
Sarah {tired, very tired, slightly exasperated}: "Tomorrow night you need to sleep in your own bed again, do you understand? This is the last night we're doing this, okay, Nell?"
Nell {snuggled close, her face inches from mine, smiling sweetly}: "Are you so so happy Mama?"
Sarah: "......You're pretty good at understanding emotions, but you're not at one hundred percent yet."

A dozen times a day, while approaching Marie with a stethoscope or other doctor's device:
Nell {ominously}: "Okay Mawie, this is not fun for you."
Marie: {blank stare}

When Nell says "monitor," it comes out sounding like "matador," so "Where is the baby monitor?" is "Where is the baby matador?" And I usually reply, "Where IS the baby matador?" Because that is something I would like to see.

* * *

To Marie, after a failed nap attempt:
Nell: "My goodness baby Wee you won't sleep you silly baby! Yeah Mawie yeah!! Stay awake forever!!"

* * *

After a sweet sisterly encounter with Ree:
Nell: "She loves me! She loves me so much! She was sa-milin' at me! She's my girlie!"

Out of the blue:
Nell: "I'm strong in my life and in Jesus."

* * *

Sarah: "Nell, you are a sweet girl."
Nell: "No, I'm so so so tewwible!"

Easter

2015-04-06T23:09:00.002-04:00

Happy Easter!

Since Nathan is director of music at a church, Easter Sunday morning found me getting up at 5:00 am, hurrying bleary-eyed children out to the car, and playing my violin in the church orchestra for three consecutive church services. {Nathan's arrangements were glorious, as always.} In between playing, I dashed back and forth between the different nurseries the girls were in to check in on them and nurse the baby as needed, and even found a few spare minutes to drink coffee and chat with people.

These sweet kiddos endured the very long morning as well as anyone could expect, and we made it home by around 2:00 for naps {for the kids, although I wished I could take one, too!} and dinner preparations.

As we often are on holidays, we were joined by good friends for food and conversation. Ten adults, three toddlers, and three babies made for some good old-fashioned chaos. The toddlers gathered plastic eggs filled with candy, stickers, and other such goodies.

We sat down to ham, potatoes, green beans, roasted carrots and parsnips, rolls, and a salad. The dishes were a bit mis-matched out of necessity, and I realized as I looked at the set table that it's a lucky predicament to have more friends than one has matching dishes.

For dessert there was carrot cake, flourless chocolate cake, key lime pie, and more.

I made and tasted my first coconut cream pie. Let's just say it surely won't be my last.

That was our Easter in a nutshell. Sunday morning the house was the cleanest and tidiest it's been in a while, and now it's quite messy. We are exhausted and I, for one, am a bit headachy from too much sugar {see above}.

Today, Monday, consisted of the usual post-holiday vicious cycle. Decide to have a small piece of leftover carrot cake for breakfast with coffee because, after all, it's Easter. Feel blah after eating said cake. Resolve not to eat any more sugar. Drink some water. A few hours later, reach for a few of those dark chocolate coconut almonds. Eat a few more than planned. Feel gross and lethargic. Resolve not to eat any more sugar. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Until all the sugary things in the house have been consumed, I'm sure.

I went for a run to assuage my guilt at eating so many sugary things. It worked so well, I'll be ready to eat more sugary things tomorrow!

an ode to my favorite thrift store

2015-04-02T09:45:00.000-04:00

Okay, I'm not actually going to write an ode.

Misleading post titles aside, I have a borderline disturbing obsession with my favorite local thrift store, as anyone in this household could tell you. What's not to love about a place where everything for kids is generally less than a dollar? Slightly worn Stride Rite shoes for $1? Yes, please! Vintage smocked dresses for $0.50 apiece? Thank you! Winter jackets for a buck? I'll take them all!

So, this post is dedicated to a few recent finds from our thrifting trip last week. Nell was quite pleased to have a {mini Boden, not that the brand matters to Nell} tulle skirt to twirl about it. It won't fit her properly for another year or two, but that doesn't stop her from putting it on over her jeans and spinning around the living room for now.

Another item of clothing for a year or two in the future. A sweet pintucked and embroidered shirt from Gap.

The ladies at the thrift store ringing me up were so apologetic that this jacket/snow pants combo in perfect condition, which will probably fit Nell next winter, would be $3 altogether instead of $1 per item. Weeeelllll I GUESS THAT'S OKAY.

I know vintage isn't for everybody, but I always feel like I hit the jackpot when I find some lovely little old-fashioned outfit in amongst the Target and Old Navy clothes lining the racks. Look at these sweet little rompers, that smocked dress, and that blousy little top! $0.50 apiece.

This little Maggie & Zoe cardigan is a little big on Nell right now, but perhaps it'll be perfect for Easter next year!

And finally, just skip right over this if you're a little skeeved out by the idea of used swimwear, but how cute is this little ruffled suit?

This past trip I was only on the hunt through the kids' clothing section, but in the past, I've also found:

* a Restoration Hardware seafoam green silk queen sized duvet cover in perfect condition for $2.00. Yes, that's TWO DOLLARS.

* six Restoration Hardware curtain panels for $1 or $2 apiece {I can't remember}.

* a bunch of little decorative ruffled pillows from Pier One Imports for $1 or $2 apiece, which are now enjoying their happy new home in Nell's bedroom.

* women's clothes for between $2-6 apiece, including a few items that have become favorites in my wardrobe. I got a gray Boden wool peacoat for a couple of dollars this past fall!

* some great furniture finds, too!!

Some thrift stores seem to have unreasonably high prices, and I hate those kinds of thrift stores. No, I'm not going to pay $10 for a worn out old pair of shoes or $30 for a used coat I'll have to pay to get dry-cleaned. That stained onesie is not worth $3, and those women's jeans may be Gap, but they're from the 90's and no one wants to pay $12 for them.

In conclusion, dear Local Thrift Store, I love you. Your inventory is interesting and always changing, and your prices are dreamy. My idea of a perfect day is one in which my husband offers to watch the kids, I get an iced coffee, and I go browse your delightful aisles without having to worry about my children touching everything in sight. Just a nice peaceful hour or three to look at all the wonderful things you have to offer.

Hint, hint, Nathan. I bet I can find us a hundred things we never knew we needed, and all for under $30!

Ree at Ten Months

2015-03-28T02:03:00.000-04:00

Finding myself wide awake and up playing with a certain baby at 1:30 in the morning seems like as good a time as any to record some 10 month memories, I suppose. We're on Night #2 of baby party extravaganzas from 11:30 or thereabouts until after 2:00 am. No amount of patting, shushing, nursing, rocking, or walking will get her back to sleep until she gets up, grins, babbles, crawls around, and plays for a while, it seems. My personal theory? She wants some play time sans her older sister getting in her way. Sorry, Ree, but this time of night isn't really good for me. Can you go back to sleeping normally (which means waking every few hours but then actually going back to sleep!) starting tomorrow night? Please?

But for now, I'll write.

I'm not sure it makes sense to have a "favorite age" for babies in general, but for this baby in particular, ten months has been a really, really good age. Having met her lofty goals of pulling up, crawling, and cruising around furniture, she decided she could pay attention to the people in her life again, with novelties like sustained eye contact and babbling and giggles. I've been loving it.

Her soothing object of choice when falling asleep is first and foremost a fistful of my hair, and should that be unavailable, she reaches her little hand up and clings to a fistful of her own as she sleeps. It's the kind of sleeping gesture that parents and grandparents find adorable, and the rest of the world probably finds... uninteresting, I suppose. Being in the former group, I find it hard to understand those in the latter, though.

"Who is this person stopping by our photo shoot?"

"Oh, it's Daddy! I like that guy!"

"I love you, Dad... as long as you don't try to pick me up and take me somewhere away from Mom."

On the day she turned ten months old, a top tooth emerged. Followed closely two days later by the other top tooth! By the time she was over her most recent bout of illness {it's been a near constant thing this winter} and I took these photos, these two beauties were featuring prominently.

We canceled the order we had placed for baby dentures. Phew.

She's still taking two naps a day, which often keeps us fairly homebound with a schedule consisting of: Breakfast, Ree's Nap, Lunch, Nell's Nap, Ree's nap and Mama's teaching, Dinner, Bed. We are living it up around here, I tell you.

Would you look at that face? It's a pretty good life.

The night partying babe is showing signs of giving up her wakeful reign of terror. I'm going to seize the moment! Wish me luck.

Dear Marie,

You are squishy and sweet and I can hardly wait for the weather to warm up so I can dress you in rompers and onesies with all that exposed skin to kiss all the time. That's what's on my mind lately! We're going to have such fun this spring and summer. I promise.

Sleep deprivedly yours,
Mama

on caring for sick children

2015-03-20T09:50:00.003-04:00

For the past six weeks or thereabouts, on any given day, it seems that someone in this house has been sick. Sometimes even two or three people. It's not fun, it's not glamorous, and at times, it messes with your head and you start to believe there couldn't possibly be anything worse than caring for sick kids and being sick.

{Then you read a news headline and get a much-needed reality check and wipe those runny noses gratefully, of course.}

The thing about caring for sick kids, I've realized, is that it reduces your daily tasks down to the utmost of basics: keeping the children alive and caring for them tenderly and holding them and loving them and meeting their most basic needs. On the sickest of sickly days, there is little to no cooking to be done except the simplest of nourishing things. There are no big projects, and no extra cleaning or tidying gets done. The sewing projects or home improvement tasks are put aside. Work might have to be canceled to be made up later. Fevered brows are felt and kissed, temperatures taken, natural healing remedies attempted. The entire household forgets what it's like to sleep at night, and longs for the days when the healthy baby only awakened every three hours all night long -- a luxury compared to both children's seemingly ceaseless wails throughout the long, sick nights.

In February, when the first bout of illness struck, the suitcases from our recent travels were left unpacked by the door for three days as I walked circles around the house to get the baby to sleep against my chest in the Ergo, wiped a toddler's runny nose 1,000 times and gently applied lotion to her chapped nose and lips despite her protests. There was no getting anything of substance done; all but the most necessary of work-related tasks were put on hold. No errands, no getting out of the house. No paychecks to show for my overtime mothering hours. My existence was reduced to the barest of minimums and by only the second day of the first bout of illness I was asking myself, "what is the MEANING of life?"

These minimal things don't feel easy to do. Sometimes, they feel really hard. It is hard to change sheets and launder them again and again. It is hard to hold children constantly for endless days. It is hard to wipe dribbling orifices and go without sleep night after night. It is hard to eventually succumb to illness yourself. But part of the hard-ness of it is the frustration of all the other things that aren't getting done.

If what you have to offer isn't a symphony orchestra performance or a violin lesson, if it isn't a Pinterest-worthy home-cooked dinner, if it isn't a passably clean home or at least the children dressed in clean clothes each day, then what are you offering? What is left, really? There have been days this winter when I felt devoid of anything to offer. With nothing tangible to show for my long days and nights, what was I accomplishing?

And then my toddler would wrap her arms around my neck when I lifted her warm little body to carry her from the couch upstairs. "I love you so, so much, Mama," she'd croak, too sick even to whine very much at that point. Or the baby would snuggle close against me, finally relaxing into slumber as I held her upright so she could breathe clearly.

And I would remember that what felt to me like long days of nothingness was everything to these little ones.

{I call this art piece Disheveled Mother With Her Sickly Young}

I don't remember how clean my own mother kept the house when I was sick as a child. I don't know if she cooked elegant meals for the rest of the family downstairs when she was bringing me a piece of buttered toast in bed. What I do remember is how soothing her hands felt on my forehead, how good it felt to sink into a freshly made bed after the sheets had been changed for me, and the calming sound of her voice as she reassured me that all would be well again soon.

I don't have very much to show for this flu and cold season in our lives, but I have two children whose noses shall go on being wiped and whose hair shall go on being smoothed and who shall know that they are deeply loved. And perhaps that isn't such a small thing, after all.

always and everywhere to give thanks

2015-03-08T22:21:00.001-04:00

"Can you find your happy heart?"

"Can you ask me that again using your strong voice?"

"How can I help you be more cheerful?"

These are the oft-repeated phrases in our household as I try to minimize the toddler whining and complaining. Truth be told, she's a pretty happy kid, but like all toddlers, she has her moments where she needs some help finding a cheerful attitude.

At the end of a long day of modeling cheerfulness {and sometimes failing at it myself}, I've realized that it is easy to lose my own "happy heart" and "strong voice" as soon as I get my kids to bed. It's all too easy to let my husband be the one who then hears all the stresses of the day as I change as quickly as possible from my skirt and top into sweat pants and begin to vent the frustrations of my day.

The baby's naps were too short and she was cranky.

The toddler threw tantrums.

I didn't get a moment to myself.

My back hurts from carrying these children.

The house is a wreck and I don't know how that's even possible since I feel like I was cleaning all day.

My work teaching or gigging today didn't feel gratifying.

I didn't get any time to practice the music I needed to practice or do the work I needed to do.

It's a reality -- some days really are tough. This morning, for example, the kids woke up bright and early following a night where the baby had woken seven times over the course of the night, including a lengthy period of crying between 1:00 and 5:00 am and a poopy diaper needing to be changed. Just a couple of hours after all that, I was stumbling out of bed, wiping hands and noses and bottoms with bleary eyes as the day got underway. I made Nell just the breakfast she requested (blueberries and oatmeal), only to have her wail about it not being what she wanted. Marie refused to take a morning nap, and was subsequently inconsolable and needed to be held constantly as I went about our morning tasks. Leaning over the bathroom sink to rinse a child's hands, that spot on the lower left of my back that had been threatening me with telltale twinges for the past couple of days suddenly snapped, sending me into a spasm of pain. And finally, unbelievably enough, when I went to blow dry my bangs, my hair dryer caught fire. Visible flames erupting inside the plastic housing, the horrible stench of burning plastic filling the house, panic in my heart as I ran and threw the burning device out the front door into the cold snowy outdoors.

And that was all before 8:30 am.

During long hours at home with young children, it can seem as though my husband's job in the city must be nothing but glamorous. I mean, he commutes on a train, during which time no one touches him or yells at him and he can read without being disturbed! Sometimes he even has lunch meetings with colleagues and gets to eat out! He dresses nicely for work, and rarely finds boogers smeared on his shoulder or spit-up down his back. The whole scenario can seem tantalizing. I'll trade you, babe. You stay home and try to keep the small humans alive and well-rested and well-behaved. I'll go to work! No problem!

But his work is hard, too, and his days are long, and he deals with stresses as real -- or probably more so -- as the ones I face at home and in my own work.

At the end of the day, we're both guilty of greeting each other with, "I'm SO tired," "What a LONG day," "I didn't get anything done," "I feel like I've been hit by a truck," or "What's the point of it all?"

Where are our happy hearts?

So recently, I've been trying to focus on tempering the complaints and the tales of difficulty and woe, and instead, texting a cute and happy picture of the kids or a positive greeting. Meeting the news that he'll be home late an extra night this week with a cheery, "No problem! We're doing great!" Answering, "How was your day?" with specific stories of good times before I tell of any of the frustrating ones.

Because we do have many good times and happy moments.

The difficult moments are real, and sometimes you need to tell someone who will listen supportively and offer encouragement or advice. But I'm trying to be cognizant of what kind of overall picture I'm painting to those closest to me if they are the ones I go to first to vent or complain.

In church this morning, I was reminded by the familiar words of the liturgy we hear every week that "It is right, and a good and joyful thing, always and everywhere to give thanks...", and today it gave me pause as I somehow heard it with fresh ears.

I have much to be thankful for, and ought to be giving thanks with a happy heart, always and everywhere. Even on days when my hair dryer catches fire.

Today my entire house smelled of burnt plastic, but it was also a day when my toddler sat at the piano and sang, "Jesus Loves Me," accompanying herself with carefully chosen notes played with small dimpled fingers, the late afternoon sunlight filtering across the piano and lighting her small face. And today, I can choose to dwell on the beautiful moments of life, both in my thoughts and in my conversations with others.

Ree at Nine Months

2015-03-05T11:04:00.001-05:00

After trying quite earnestly for a month or more, just a week or so before turning nine months old, Marie crawled!

Her biggest fan and devoted cheerleader, Nell, could hardly contain her excitement.

Her enthusiasm was short-lived, however, as it soon became apparently that Ree's newfound mobility made it that much more possible for her to access all the things that Nell considers hers and hers alone.

Since Nell was only marginally mobile - in the form of scooting - when she was nine months old, having a crawling nine month old is uncharted territory for us. The places she goes! The trouble she can get into in the blink of an eye! The sweetness when she makes a beeline for me, pushes herself up on my feet, pulls herself to a stand while holding to my knees for dear life, and makes it clear that, were she able, she would scale the heights of my entire body to climb into my arms. It's enough to make one's heart explode.

In addition to crawling, Marie's mobility extends to flipping over faster than you can blink an eye {particularly when you're trying to put a diaper on her}, going from her tummy to a sitting position, pulling herself up on everything and everyone, and practicing her push-up position on all fours.

{don't worry; I had my camera in one hand and the other hand extended to catch her while she practiced these wild acrobatics on the chair}

Ree seems to understand a lot of what's going on, and when I ask her, "Do you want me to pick you up?", she responds by reaching her arms up towards me. Once she's in my arms, she has the sweetest way of trying to scramble up my torso, burrowing into my shoulder and putting her arms around my neck and nuzzling in as close as possible.

This girl likes to eat food, which is further uncharted territory for us, since Nell has essentially no interest in food whatsoever until she was 11 months old. Marie, although not a single tooth has yet emerged, eyes our food eagerly and devours almost anything she is offered with great enthusiasm.

Despite her passion for solid food and her frequent nursing sessions, if my memory is correct, she weighed in at about 17.5 pounds at her 9 month appointment, putting her a good five pounds under what her big sister weighed at this age! {Previously: Nell at nine months.} Nell was always in the 90-somethings for percentiles as a baby, and Ree was in the 36th percentile for weight at her appointment.

I briefly contemplated trading her for a chubbier one, but then I squished her thighs and found them more than adequate, so, we're keeping her.

Nicknames: Ree, Ree-Ree, Riesling, Maroo, Marizzle (this one is compliments of Aunt Hannah), Baby Wee, and... Martin. Because Aunt Hannah says with her very straight hair, she resembles Martin Luther. Point taken, Aunt Hannah. I shall make more frequent use of those baby hair clips.

Expertise: peeing in the potty, slobbery open mouthed expressions of love all over Mama's face, making messes, finding every electrical cord in the house, grabbing the glasses off your face before you can do anything in self-defense, pulling people's hair and trying to stuff it into her mouth with gleeful abandon.

Favorite things: peek-a-boo, trying to eat paper, her big sister's amusing antics, snuggling with Mama and other family members and friends.

Favorite foods: pears, plain yogurt, scrambled eggs, sweet potatoes, peas.

Vocabulary: gagaga, bababa, dadada. A month ago, to her mother's delight, she said quite clearly and on several occasions, "Ma-ma-ma," but she is impertinent, and these days when I ask her to say "Mama," she replies, "Dada!"

Aspires to: set a world record for greatest number of night wakings; continue to be Master of The Forty Minute Nap; eat an entire sheet of paper in solitude before being discovered.

Dear Marie,

You are not what one might call a good sleeper. Your little friend Lydia, for example, can be placed in her carseat or bed and will just fall asleep quietly and contentedly. Can you imagine that?! I can't. You nap on our guest bed, where I can lie beside you while you fall asleep and then use my best ninja moves to escape without waking you. You usually start the night on the guest bed, too -with pillows all around the edges as barriers - but after a couple of wakings, I bring you into our bed and you finish the night snuggled with me. Sometimes I wish I could just spread out like a starfish and have the whole bed to myself for a while, but then when you wake up smiling at me each morning, I find myself quite glad you're there with us. I'm sure you'll sleep on your own when you're ready!

This morning, Daddy brought Nell into bed to snuggle with us, and I sat there feeling like the luckiest woman in the world. Nell squealed with delight to see you, you absolutely lit up in return, and the two of you proceeded to play together with squeals of glee - well, and the occasional squeal of a baby being squished by an overly-enthusiastic big sister. Is it overly optimistic of me to hope that, loving each other as much as you now do, you'll be friends for life? Maybe so, but I can't help hoping.

The truth is, I probably hear the words, "NOOOOO MAWIE! That's MIIIIINEEEE!" at least a dozen times a day. But it doesn't even compare to the number of times I hear, "You're so SWEET you little SWEETIE!" and "You're so cute!" and "I love you!" And you, Marie, you're pretty patient with all of the above - the toy-snatching and the affection-smothering alike.

Lovelovelove,
Mama

on trying to do all the things

2015-03-03T21:29:00.001-05:00

I shouldn't flatter myself by assuming that my gentle readers have noticed how little I've blogged lately. So, in case you haven't noticed, I haven't been writing much lately.

I don't know if I'm just tired, or a little burned out with life, or truly don't have enough free hours in the day, but it seems hard to find the time to write. I love to write, I want to write, I daydream in prose while I cook meals and wash dishes -- but at the end of the day, I rarely get time to put fingers to keyboard and record any of the thoughts or experiences I had meant to write.

I'm totally blown away by those women out there that seem to manage it all. Four or five kids, a beautiful home seemingly always in immaculate condition, craft projects and DIY beautifying going on every day, repainting furniture in the perfect hues, children dressed in designer clothing, homeschooling, cooking from scratch, selling beautiful handmade things on Etsy, managing their start-up businesses, and blogging about all of it with professional-quality photographs.

How in the world...?

There are toys under my couch that haven't seen the light of day in probably a month. One or more of us has been sick pretty much every day for the past month in an endless cycle of colds and fevers and even a bad bout of the flu {lucky me}. My baby crawls around picking up bits of yesterday's food from the floor beneath her high chair and trying to eat it while my toddler hasn't had a bath in days. I cook from scratch, but my kitchen is the worse for the wear because of it. If the living room is tidy, you can bet the master bedroom isn't. If the master bedroom is clean, the kids' rooms upstairs will be piled high with laundry waiting to be put away. If the laundry is all done and put away, I'm dreadfully behind on work-related tasks. And so on and so forth.

On days when I'm lucky enough to have both children napping simultaneously, or evenings when I get them to bed in a timely fashion and no one wakes up crying for an hour or more, my brain sounds something like this:

"FREEDOM!!! What should I do?! I know! Work on the rag rug I'm making for Nell's room! Or wait, I could write on my blog! I could read other peoples' blogs! No, I should mend Nathan's shirt that's been sitting on top of the mending pile for weeks! No, perhaps I'll practice my violin! Or get caught up on work! Send those emails that have needed to be done for weeks! No, wait, I could bake some cookies for Nathan! I could sew something pretty! Organize the linen closet! Take down that last Christmas decoration that's still up even though it's March! Tidy up the kids' toys and rotate out some of the ones they haven't played with lately! I could go on Pinterest and look for some ideas to make the house look ready for Spring! Or I could sit down and relax! Put my feet up, drink a cup of tea, yes, that's what I should do! Watch an episode of Parenthood! I'll just turn on the teakettle and----"

Of course, as if on cue, the baby probably wakes up. Or, if not, I usually end up doing something practical like dishes or laundry, those two most never-ending of all the never-ending tasks of housekeeping. I use nap time to tidy up for the babysitter, to set out snacks for the afternoon when I'll be working, to sweep the kitchen floor quickly. Or perhaps in the evening laziness wins out and I watch an episode of Parenthood {I'm late to the party on that one, but I love it!}, telling myself I'll do all the other things! after one episode, but then it's 9:30 pm and I brush my teeth and fall into bed just in time for the baby to wake up.

Maybe someone else out there can relate? I want to do so many things, to create beauty and do something lasting in between spending meaningful moments with my kids. Then I get so excited about all the things I could do in the free moments I have, I somehow manage to do nothing. I'm paralyzed by the possibilities and the time is all too brief.

It probably seems silly to try to fit in time for blogging when there are so many more essential things I could be doing.

I want to write things down in this insignificant little space of mine on the world wide web, not only because I enjoy the process of writing and find that it helps me clear my mind, but also because it somehow seems more tangible than the other things I accomplish. Sure, I cleaned the dishes only to messy them again only to clean them again. Yes, I vacuumed today, and will need to do so again by tomorrow no doubt. The diapers were laundered, and the pail will be overflowing again by the end of the week. The predictably cyclical nature of housework is enjoyable in its rhythm and pattern, but can also leave one at a bit of a loss. Am I accomplishing anything? Have I done anything of value? There's something about the posts on this blog of mine that lend me a bit of satisfaction: I had a thought, and I wrote it down. I photographed our lovely children, and I recorded a few memories. I put it somewhere permanent. The house will continue to ebb and flow in and out of chaos, but what I wrote and recorded - a tiny snapshot in the timeline of our family life - will remain.

So here's to the idea of making time to write a little more often. Will it happen? We shall see. The dinner dishes are waiting to be done and the baby just woke up crying. The tyranny of the urgent is real, and it is comfortingly predictable.

{I'm smiling to myself right now. It's nice to be needed.}

this and that from here and there

2015-02-18T20:49:00.001-05:00

Assorted:

I'm probably late to this party, but spoonflower fabrics? I can't stop staring at their stuff with allllll the heart-eye emojis. It's a site where you can design your own fabric to be printed, or purchase any of the gorgeous fabrics already designed by talented users of the site -- and purchase any print in any type of fabric you want. I'm dreaming of all the knits for making one hundred totally unnecessary baby clothes. Can't do it, because they're a teensy bit pricy, but I can dream! I'm particularly fond of this one at the moment.

How Spelling Keeps Kids From Learning. An interesting read, particularly for parents or educationally-minded folks.

The new Lily Jade navy blue diaper bag. I've been eyeing bags from this company for a couple of years now. They're diaper bags that don't look like diaper bags, so, win-win, am I right?! And this newest release might have bumped my previous contenders for favorite out of the running. Of course, fortunately for me and my ever-changing mind, I don't seem to be at any risk of affording an almost-two-hundred-dollar bag anytime soon, so I can just keep window shopping and dreaming. Browser shopping? Multiple-tab shopping? What is the internet equivalent of window shopping, anyway?

I thought this post from a wonderfully witty blog, Preventing Grace, was quite good. Marriage: Try to be a Nicer Person. Maybe I just resonated with it in particular; I tend to have a "Where I come from, Bucko, you just stiff upper lip and carry on!" approach to illness that I don't think is Nathan's favorite quality of mine. Aaaaand I just so happen to be laid up super sick in bed right now with the flu, and what do you know, but if that husband of mine isn't cheerfully taking care of our kids and being so nice? He deserves an award.

And finally, for those of you not living it, this provides some good pictures of the kind of weather we've been dealing with here in the Boston area. So so so fun. Nell wanted to go build a snowman the other day, so we bundled her up, amidst my warnings to Nathan that it would take longer to get the kids dressed than the amount of time they would actually want to spend outside. Mama knows! Within thirty seconds Nell was wailing and Ree was gasping for air in the windy chill. So, actually, not fun. Maybe if we could have some nice temps in the 30's, and snow you could actually walk through? That would be nice.