freedom

We’ve been slowly, bit by bit, sprucing up the kids play area this spring.  Replacing the baby swing with big kid swings (because those little legs can pump now), bringing in a couple new loads of sand, shoring up the “fort”, hanging the hammock and adding a ladder swing.  Boy, what a difference a little remodel can make. 

Those kids had been over there for hours.  Hours.  From our places in the yard and garden we hear lots of giggling, plenty of screaming (apparently screaming is part of the fun and so we learn to ignore it unless someone comes running), some squabbling and even some silence (while they read and snuggle in the hammock).  They had a exquisite mud bakery going for at least two days in the fort, several days of playing house with their chicks (who are happy to peck and scratch around the sandbox) and hours of just swinging.  Seriously, just swinging. 

I’ve been eager for them to adventure out.  I envision forts in the woods, bellies full of berries, and shops selling mud pies by the creek.  Playing half the day in sun until the back or your neck tingles and then laying in the dappled shade with ankles full of bramble scratches and the smell of drying mud in your nose feeling like you can do just about anything.  And not a grown-up in sight.
Remember?

They haven’t ventured that far yet.  But this summer they are already showing how eager they are for that kind of freedom.   Sometimes they want us to come and swing with them, but mostly they forget, so immersed in their outside world that we are lost to them for awhile.  I see this transition happening before my eyes.  I am full of excitement for them and the realization that these girls are growing up and moving out into the world.  Sometimes without us. 

And so our protective cocoon stretches open and we expand to embrace the risks that we want them to take.  How high can I climb in this tree?  Will I fall in the creek if I run across the log that straddles it?  Will this hammer and saw make what I need and can I carry them that far?  Decisions that help them know their abilities.  Risks that help them weigh the factors next time.  Questions that they answer themselves so that the knowing is theirs. 

This is a new adventure for us all.  New freedom for everybody.  A new season is here and it feels good!

watching them grow

Despite the sickness that has been hanging on around here, Iris shone yesterday for her first solo violin recital performance.  She played some ensemble pieces too, then she gathered round with her comrades and received her own special piece of the violin cake.  After a year of hard work this girl has graduated from the “Twinkles” (these are the first several songs Suzuki violin kids learn to play while perfecting their form).  We couldn’t be more proud of her.  But what’s really awesome is how good she feels about herself.  This not-always-so-confident-kid has found a space to stand that feels strong and sounds really good.  She likes it there and it shows. 

Meanwhile, Elsa continues to charm the chickens with her constant devotion and well, persistence.  She checks the chicks day and night, helps to feed, water and clean their pens.  They have recently been moved from our basement to a larger pen with heat lamps in our shed.  She begs to be placed in the pen with them (she can’t quite climb in by herself) and will happily sit under the heat lamp with her chicks as long as we let her.  This girl who totes around some animal or another (be it stuffed or live) seems to have found her place of comfort as well. She’s shiny and smiling and sure of herself there.

How lucky we are to watch these girls grow. 

watching them go

Everyone tells you:  “Enjoy them while they are little, they grow so fast”.  You’ve heard that before too, right?  Oh, I know it’s true.  I even sometimes feel that deep heaviness that probably equates to the hard part about your kids moving out one day.  Leaving you. And you are just there hoping, praying, that you’ve served them well.  And knowing your work is really done.  Gulp.  

But some days, some days, you can’t imagine what life will be like without someone needing you.  All. the. time.  When it’s like this:  One of them finally gets settled into something while you help her sister start a project. As soon as you get her going on that project, the other can’t find what she is looking for.  You help find it, and then the other needs you to go to the bathroom with her, and after you do that, the other one has decided she really wants to take you up on your earlier offer to read a book and is done with her project.  You read the book, and then the other can’t get her snow pants on (she abandoned her project before the trip to the bathroom), but right then the other really needs a snack…you get the idea.  And I didn’t even talk about whining or meltdown, because our kids don’t do that.  Yeah, right.

Sometimes you’re not sure where your children leave off and you begin. 

Sometimes you miss knowing yourself.

But then, you watch them go.  And you remember that feeling of doing it on your own.  Of feeling big, and capable and really, well, BIG.  Because big is what they are always reaching for.

And you remind yourself that this time is short.  And that you are the big one, and that they are looking to you to help them understand where you leave off and they begin.  It’s a huge job.  B-I-G.

You’re not always up for it.  (And that’s o.k. you’re told)  But you always go back to it.  Because it’s your job right now and you love them so.

And you know that before long they won’t need to hold your hand anymore.

this day

Oh, hello September.  I forgot how gloriously full you are, and a bit intense too, I must say.  This three-day weekend found us up to our necks in harvest.  Our kitchen was a constant tangle of hot steaming canners, tomatoes, peppers, apples, raspberries, and kids.  Sometimes it was beautiful and even rather organized, often it was borderline nutty.  

We came out on the other side, with another gallon bag of pesto cubes in the freezer, several more gallons of raspberries-frozen, 40 quarts of tomatoes, 6 pints of pickled peppers (say that 9 times fast), and about 6 bushels of apples ready for our neighbor’s cider press. 

Two of those three days were relatively peaceful, maybe even graceful at times.  The other day (that would be today) was not.  Just not.  Today it was fighting and picking from the moment they hit the breakfast table, it was whining and not being able to do a single thing for oneself.  There was rudeness and anger, there were tears, and by the end of the night exhausted, delirious giggles from two parents who simply couldn’t take another demand or complaint- even though they kept coming.  And it wasn’t just the kids who acted without kindness and respect.  I’m taking full ownership of my role in this long day.  This long day that I’d like to rewind and embrace with a deep breath.  An armload of patience and compassion.  Less talk, more listening.  Greater love, less judging.  

But, it was just a day.  And tonight I can take that deep breath, and wrap myself in a bit of compassion and let go of the judgement.  Tonight I can be thankful–so thankful–for a weekend spent together in a hot steamy kitchen putting by food that will grace our plates when the snow falls.  I can be thankful that we modeled for our kids the hard work it takes to get that done, that we welcomed their hands when they wanted to help (even if we’d have rather just done it ourselves) and that they saw (and hopefully felt) our joy and gratitude for this life full of bounty.   

It’s off to bed, to dream of bursting gardens and a new day.  Another new day.

bumps

I may have mentioned before that, like many parents, we read to our kids before bed and then lay with them while they fall asleep.  They love this.  Admittedly, I am sometimes antsy as I wait for them to drift off, my mind full of things I’ll do when I get up.  But lately I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Iris isn’t a “wear it on her sleeve” kind of girl.  Her emotions don’t spill out on the table for all to see and hear. She’s less like her mama, and more like her papa that way.  So I’ve been savoring the fact that, lately, after Elsa Mae conks out and Iris is still getting sleepy, she and I chat.  She has all kinds of interesting questions as she lays there thinking.  A recent favorite:  “How do you meet the person you are going to marry?  Do a whole bunch of people crowd around and you just rush in and grab the one you want?”  Um, not exactly.  Or  “Why doesn’t Mr. Rogers put his shoes on again before he leaves the house?”  Never noticed, good point.

A few night ago we got talking about “bumps”.  I’m not sure how, or even who, named them.  But “bumps” came to mean the sticky points in your life.  She was very interested in this subject.  She wanted lots of examples of “bumps”.  She understood easily the physical bumps that you have to take time to heal from.  But she liked even more the idea of other bumps that take time to grow through.  Things like throwing fits and screaming if you don’t get what you want. She could relate to that with a 4 year old sister around, and giggled when I reminded her that she had a very similar bump sometime during her 5th year, just before she had a growing spurt and learned to ride her bike. Suddenly she had (mostly) grown through that throwing-fits-stage.

We talked about not-wanting-to-share bumps, and being-shy bumps and waking-up-with-bad-dreams bumps.  As we talked it became clear to me that this was really reassuring to her– to suddenly understand that these things were temporary.  That bumps would come and go, but in general you can grow and heal through them.   In the days to come she referenced bumps several times.  She told me she thought the weather was having a “bump”, and with all the cold, rainy days we’ve been having, I’m sure she is right.

So this weekend, when my parenting skills were at an all time low (I’ll spare you the details, but let me say it was not pretty), I was (once I calmed myself) able to heal some of the hurt feelings by explaining that I was sure I was having a parenting bump.  At supper she told everyone that mama was crabby because she was having a bump.  So true.  No patience, short temper, unchecked stream of words better left unsaid.  A big fat bump.  And today, with a bit of sunshine and exercise under my belt, I do feel better.  Trying to remember that even mama’s can grow and heal through these bumps.  So much to learn from these sleepy chat sessions.  So thankful for the opportunity.

Hope your week is not too bumpy. 

family work

Last weekend was a true work weekend around here.  We plowed through stuff–literally, well at least until the tractor broke down in the field, (you can see its sorry self below).  The weekend started off with horse hoof trimming, quickly followed by sheep shearing (yes sir, two bags full).  After we recovered from the news that our sheep (o.k. and pony) are um, chubby and need a serious slim-down regime (where’s that farmer, I need to talk to him!), we moved on to other work.  We had just received our sometimes annual order of nursery trees, so we plugged away at planting the bundles of tamarack (in the wet bottoms) and elderberry, serviceberry, wild plum, dogwood and hazelnut into any corner we could tuck them. 

Then we worked on the gardens, weeding, planting, and weeding more (boy that quack grass gets an early start).  

Meanwhile, where were the girls you might ask?  Hmmm, good question.  Perhaps busily hauling chickens around from place to place.  Or maybe, changing clothes for the 18th time (as witnessed by the pile on the floor of their bedroom), or perhaps being overcome with a urgent need to brush each others teeth while washing something very muddy out in the bathroom sink (as witnessed by the toothpaste cap laying in dirty sink water), or very likely nibbling leftover pancakes from breakfast (as witnessed by a small pile of half-eaten pancakes on the kitchen counter, sans plate). 

What messy children you have, one might say.  But yes…and what independent and self-sustaining children they are….suddenly.  More than one time this weekend I made a trip to the house noting that the door was wide open and there were at least 12 pairs of shoes lying on the rug (one must need a different pair each time you got out), but I resisted, yes I did (!), the urge to nag or lecture or even discuss the multitude of messes.  You see, this here, I believe, is the first spring season of freedom.  Freedom for them to explore and create and build and haul and dream on their own. (Don’t you remember:  Us on the way through the house:  “Mom, can I have the stapler, a wooden spoon and eight marshmallows?”  Our moms busy at their work:   “Yes, in the top drawer”)  And yes, for us, freedom to work uninterrupted for lengthy periods of time, time to pull quack grass and chat farm dreams with your love who you feel like you haven’t really talked to much in the last, well, 6 years! 

O.k., so it was only one weekend.  But man, we kicked it, and yes there were messes that at the end of a long hot day had to be cleaned up.  But you know, you turn on a little Ana Popvic (thanks, Dad!) and everyone gets to work cleaning (and dancing) and it gets done in no time. 

And then at the end of it all, you throw bedtime to the wind, just a little.  And you hike up the hill to climb a tree and hunt for mushrooms and you look down at that little homestead of yours and you know that growing kids is a bit like growing a farmstead; it seems to take a lot of time and patience, and quite a few messes (and broken tractors).  But every once in awhile you remember to stop and look and you realize how much love has gone into to all that growing and you figure it will all turn out right.

imperfection

For these girls I can’t help but hope for a world without Facebook.  I watch them now, full of great ideas, ready to try anything, eager to experiment, be different, get goofy, dive in, focus on what they love.  And I wish for them that they never need to worry about testing their ideas on a world full of “friends”.  That they never abandon these marvelous ideas if they don’t get enough “likes”.  That rejection is something they learn about because they wrote an essay for a contest that wasn’t accepted, or that they try out for a play and don’t get the part they want, or that they boss their friends (ahem) during a game of dress up and get the cold shoulder.  I wish for them to have confidence to try new things based on a life full of mistakes that lead to discovery and growth.  I hope they don’t buy apps that take instant polls of their friends to see if they should purchase something or eat something or wear something or like somebody.  Instead I wish for them a core of self-confidence grown from hours spent alone, or with books or nature, or horses or friends…playing and talking and learning their own boundaries. 

For these girls I hope that boredom is never “fixed” by technology.  I hope that boredom is an invitation to learn a new craft, cook a new recipe, climb a big hill, play a new instrument, meet a new friend, lay on their backs in the sunshine and do nothing.

For these girls I hope for a world where our memories are not “improved” by Silicon Valley so that we never miss a thing.  Instead I wish for them the piecing together of stories their grandparents told, photo albums their parents made, snippets of conversations that stick with them and smells that are familiar and things that might be memory or imagination but it really doesn’t matter.

For these girls I wish for idealism fraught with inconsistency.  May they learn that changing their mind is o.k. based on mistakes made, lessons learned.  May they find need to challenge themselves because the risk feels good.  May they be stubborn and righteous and nervous and outspoken and wrong. 

I wish for these girls a world in which they can be human and totally imperfectly perfect.  

Check out this article for further reasons to embrace humanity with all its flaws and blemishes.

right now

It’s hard to come back to this space after so much sadness and just do the normal.  After last Friday, it’s hard to be normal. Or totally whole.  At night I find myself tossing and turning, getting up to get a drink and peeking in on them one more time (or just crawling between them), letting the unfettered worries keep me up again.  By day I find myself holding them closer, kissing them again, recognizing their beauty.

 

Our children don’t know what happened on Friday.  It’s too huge, too unreal, to close to home to burden them with.  Instead I want to fill them with the love of making gifts for neighbors and friends.  For delighting in the dance of the sugarplum fairy, and the taste of sugar sprinkles.

I want them to know that this world is full of days for racing down snowy hillsides, making soup on the woodstove and reading Christmas books by the fire. 

One day they will ask and we will talk about it. In every way we can, we’ll try to make sense of it. 

For now, in my own long and sleepless moments, I will hold open my heart for those whose loss is greater than I can even begin to imagine.  And in our everyday moments I will light a candle for the good in the world and let it shine brightly on these children who still go forth with so much trust and forgiveness.  

Wishing you peace.

milestones

I write these posts as small landmarks in our path together.  Notes about the tiny moments that matter, but easily get blended into the greater whole of life and parenting.  This moment now is one of those.  Its edges are fuzzy, there is no defining day or night that marks its end or beginning. But I sense that a milestone is here, and I want to love each moment it left behind.  I want to move forward into their years as little girls, still remembering and loving their soft baby selves. 

Six years of family co-sleep (in one bed or another, with one child or both), six years of nursing one girl or the other.  So much sweetness and connection.  And now we find ourselves, without much intention or anticipation, at the end of that.  Not a black and white end (we still find ourselves in a big family pile many mornings) but a colorful-take-it-as-it-comes-but-mostly-there-end. 

Its not for everyone, but for us, nursing and co-sleeping were just another extension of the way we try to parent. To respect the needs of our children, to be there with closeness when times are good and when times are tough. To know that meeting our child’s needs of dependence now is the key to helping her achieve independence later. That building a strong, thoughtful and secure person, takes trust, respect and time (so much time!) now. Believe me, we screw things up regularly. But nursing and co-sleeping were one of the ways we were able to re-establish the closeness time and time again.

 

I think a parent never knows, truly, if the choices they make for (and with) their children are, in the end, the right ones.  We do what we do with a heart full of love and good intention, and in the end….

they will be their own selves.  May those selves be strong, creative, and full of compassion.  You sweet girls, I can’t wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

september learning

This year September brings with it something a little new.  A kindergartener in the family.  Big stuff, I tell you.  As homeschoolers, we haven’t found one philosophy or learning style that feels like a perfect fit.  I think it’s likely we never will.  We have some curriculum we like, there are projects happening all the time, we gather with other homeschoolers, we cook and build and look up stuff on Youtube.  Pretty much it seems like we are learning all the time.  It’s kindergarten after all.

Last weekend found us in Pepin, Wisconsin for Laura Days.   Pepin of course, is the place where Pa built his “Little house in the big woods”.  The good folks of Pepin have built a replica on the very land the Ingalls farmed.  And each year they have a fun little festival to celebrate the life and times of Laura Ingalls and her family.  The girls tried their hand at just about everything.

 

On Monday we joined with our Kindergarten homeschooling pack and started the paper-mache turnip that will be the centerpiece of the play the children will put on in a few weeks.  More on that to follow.

So far, school is off to a really fun start!   Hope your September is bright with opportunity as well!