tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30262928441209785512024-03-05T07:28:35.583-08:00A Continual Feastsarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.comBlogger1528125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-90246580352109700342023-08-25T07:42:00.003-07:002023-08-27T17:54:50.218-07:00Reflecting on Third and Fifth Grade<p> As usual, I'm late to mentally recapping our school year, and also pleasantly surprised as I sit here looking back on the past academic year -- as I first observed several years ago, "We didn't do everything, but we didn't do nothing!" My first inclination tends toward a sense of failure at the "check marks" we didn't attain to, and it's a constant battle within myself to step away from judging myself too harshly in this regard. </p><p>Our book club with other homeschoolers continued to be a highlight of the year-- this year, featuring <i>Swallows and Amazons</i> by Arthur Ransome, <i>Hans Brinker </i>by Mary Mapes Dodge,<i> </i>and <i>Dr. Dolittle</i> by Hugh Lofting. We paddled small boats around a pond, made paper windmills, went to a zoo, and as always, ate plenty of thematic yummy foods. </p><p>Another highlight of the year was continuing our weekly hikes with friends. We live in a beautiful place, and it's always good to walk out the door and go exploring. </p><p>Nell finished fifth grade. We read lots of good books, many together and some she read on her own. She looked at great art, particularly enjoying Van Gogh and John Singer Sargent. She made a deep connection with the historical figures of both Helen Keller and Annie Sullivan. We read part of Richard Halliburton's <i>Book of Marvels</i> and absolutely loved it. She started keeping a Book of Centuries. She participated in a wonderful Shakespeare club, reading <i>A Midsummer Night's Dream</i> and performing a scene from it, and then reading <i>Henry V</i>, and memorizing the <i>Crispin's Day</i> monologue. She loves calligraphy and hand-lettering. We read some wonderful science books, including a collection of general science and nature stories and a more specific book on anatomy. A friend from church led a group of girls in weekly quilting sessions, and Nell made both a small wall hanging size quilt and a quilted pillowcase. She continued her violin practice, and although I'm never as consistent with her as I want to be, she's currently working on the Bach "double," the <i>Concerto for two violins</i>, and I know it'll be such a deep pleasure to be playing it with her before long. She's also been practicing the piano, with the occasional impromptu lesson from me, and has continued singing in our church choir, as well (she sang the solo for <i>Once in Royal David's City</i> for the second time this year at our church's Lessons and Carols, and also sang a small solo in <i>Wash Me Throughly</i> by Samuel Wesley). She still loves ballet, and was in her ballet school's performance of <i>The Nutcracker</i> this past December as a cherub and a lamb.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUA7G1w6vz-OWmEInXrCRcp6jyoCba1sgIynTnMjemQmiPW0zaqUpZHOnyTMBXNy5X2WGj5CVPhpdWRc-TF01U-6dbjmWGf6NgFaP336KoQElzu-4oiGFIcad56sXOqkSPydQaOCgNWZrlJmAng7P4fbYidUcc2dWahXAxyvXhn0C9KoPhTntcBJmfj5c" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUA7G1w6vz-OWmEInXrCRcp6jyoCba1sgIynTnMjemQmiPW0zaqUpZHOnyTMBXNy5X2WGj5CVPhpdWRc-TF01U-6dbjmWGf6NgFaP336KoQElzu-4oiGFIcad56sXOqkSPydQaOCgNWZrlJmAng7P4fbYidUcc2dWahXAxyvXhn0C9KoPhTntcBJmfj5c=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Here's Nell, age 11, with books representing our school year as well as just a few favorites she read for fun. (Thursday's Child!)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Somehow I can't not include a picture of this sweet little acorn fellow Nell made for me for Christmas. His violin is made of pinecone scales. He's been perched on a low shelf near my kitchen sink since Christmas, and he brings a smile to my face every time I see him!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzHVgd_ShvrpKvVF7ZOY_tB2Ee8VnjoJW0RHBHXk6dTlaoBaqioRFtcZWxDKh9Osf5WZBk_WIjCUU-vvIor9zJ9wOH0rCMYNiWp2mdfoocLNEXIcHr5z-ykD_jX-VP5y7A6bAqz-Arfq_5rqBmc1rLwMFfDPC9okdRuiotNmB7jGKneYOI8fd5ai4avkY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzHVgd_ShvrpKvVF7ZOY_tB2Ee8VnjoJW0RHBHXk6dTlaoBaqioRFtcZWxDKh9Osf5WZBk_WIjCUU-vvIor9zJ9wOH0rCMYNiWp2mdfoocLNEXIcHr5z-ykD_jX-VP5y7A6bAqz-Arfq_5rqBmc1rLwMFfDPC9okdRuiotNmB7jGKneYOI8fd5ai4avkY=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Marie finished third grade. She loves being read to and listening to audio books, and just this summer she has finally been discovering the joy of reading to herself, too. (<i>Harry Potter</i> seems to have worked his magic in turning Ree into a certifiable bookworm at last!) She loved a biography of Marie Curie we read together, joined Nell in her obsession with Helen Keller for a while, and developed a passion for the Victorian era and all of the finer things. She's kept up her violin playing as well, making her way through Suzuki Volume 2 at the moment. She has a remarkable ability to sing harmonies she makes up herself, and it so often brightens my day to hear my girls singing folk songs or other bits of music in harmony with one another as I go about my day. Marie also takes ballet, and was a mouse in last winter's <i>Nutcracker</i>. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiS_GUovOfd32qVy7hNIPVzYn1-lRnl7xOuLyay9esdqNvgEBZrogScSPpTbgOVflF2fS9DWnwxu4ZWfuNxnG5Ud-POHf7WFcBfwwY3GzaOrU7quHnq43XulbInErl9FZTWYq55dIDb16Q_SZtNnmr0V74SthRr8XyDGTWeqjIA48pnffajZLatWlXWYYA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiS_GUovOfd32qVy7hNIPVzYn1-lRnl7xOuLyay9esdqNvgEBZrogScSPpTbgOVflF2fS9DWnwxu4ZWfuNxnG5Ud-POHf7WFcBfwwY3GzaOrU7quHnq43XulbInErl9FZTWYq55dIDb16Q_SZtNnmr0V74SthRr8XyDGTWeqjIA48pnffajZLatWlXWYYA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Marie, age 9, with books representing our school year, and some favorite fun ones, too. </i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Molly turned six in March. <span style="text-align: center;">She'll start school officially this fall, but she listened in a lot over the past year, as we read books about birds, stories from the Bible, Dr. Dolittle, some Dallas Lore Sharp nature stories, and more. And surprise of all surprises to this mama, this girl can READ! (Having a child practically teach herself to read at age five is very new to me, since my two older girls definitely learned later and were slower to reach a point of really enjoying it.) She's a full-fledged reader these days, powering through Ramona books, All-of-a-Kind Family books, and even biographies (she joined the Helen Keller obsession around here) and Life of Fred math books for fun.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgUuyUDTFC0IQgUnlMUN0xQBDnPNWNmVM07eFzes74VffxeVFhgMe_XYlt0h0TCzMwXLi2U6zuGUY3YfIJ4IZA9-xOcgE1uBVPl91YtMDUJ_CmisLW6KXMJGtPr07VxTZZnk8QXCUjlN6UmbfUEph_7lD1a0iO164S_Kx_b3oN6p2sGj6e3Rype-iIQKA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgUuyUDTFC0IQgUnlMUN0xQBDnPNWNmVM07eFzes74VffxeVFhgMe_XYlt0h0TCzMwXLi2U6zuGUY3YfIJ4IZA9-xOcgE1uBVPl91YtMDUJ_CmisLW6KXMJGtPr07VxTZZnk8QXCUjlN6UmbfUEph_7lD1a0iO164S_Kx_b3oN6p2sGj6e3Rype-iIQKA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>And Molly! Age six, and "clever as clever," as the A.A. Milne poem goes.</i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">* * *</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All in all, it was a good school year. The best part of the year was also the part that threw school (as such) into a bit of turmoil and contributed to our ending the year a bit "behind" some of my aspirations -- sweet Cecily joined our family! So, along with reading good books and encountering interesting things of all sorts, four big sisters have had lots of opportunities to practice their baby-care skills.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghpIrnUQ6t5gJT7eIMu7xFZnNAV2HYgOd6z7dkgFnX3Sf_qBYFfGDpDrls9NMYcPUYDvO2WrZ1sJt7Czxem26-uuck2ZihMDkhjjPX9De7tEVjXeQlcPq0IYAWLzoON53OkR04GmVlnMQPxbKtmMPYDRR2ex_U3XA2fwvK2gja1lxaxiFYhRj4sr2GNuw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghpIrnUQ6t5gJT7eIMu7xFZnNAV2HYgOd6z7dkgFnX3Sf_qBYFfGDpDrls9NMYcPUYDvO2WrZ1sJt7Czxem26-uuck2ZihMDkhjjPX9De7tEVjXeQlcPq0IYAWLzoON53OkR04GmVlnMQPxbKtmMPYDRR2ex_U3XA2fwvK2gja1lxaxiFYhRj4sr2GNuw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsewLfeUdTOJaoXE7Ss8Te2sbulEJIMWDdtr9O24Oi1MMZ4o89HkfjcdJU0j2IeMxN1dpcBxMenFXzCr8Ul_QHBXJu6szEET0zMPLJ7qXRpMZdQGkM2wZ8lAMuJSMgSvbOGhN8SCMMASa3F89DNNq6oVjNnCcIx2Lmum2TgNhWpV0I4j0MMdON_Sq9c6Y" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsewLfeUdTOJaoXE7Ss8Te2sbulEJIMWDdtr9O24Oi1MMZ4o89HkfjcdJU0j2IeMxN1dpcBxMenFXzCr8Ul_QHBXJu6szEET0zMPLJ7qXRpMZdQGkM2wZ8lAMuJSMgSvbOGhN8SCMMASa3F89DNNq6oVjNnCcIx2Lmum2TgNhWpV0I4j0MMdON_Sq9c6Y=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdkzCpph9G2gTm5VB5JLYSTxNQja7k1hwy54gIlOR86g-5xY6XocmN7nc9OowoTvgdVN_WbLvtRcakRbMuGa8NmXXH0Bt0b4I2OU8k95D6KqI2CGBzRBIwRBP3tSQb7zAIE4MNvQMGTSdzi-vQFY_Cm2Ztpiv-fpnLxk1QsTdyyGqZKvD83RaOPOr3PJU"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdkzCpph9G2gTm5VB5JLYSTxNQja7k1hwy54gIlOR86g-5xY6XocmN7nc9OowoTvgdVN_WbLvtRcakRbMuGa8NmXXH0Bt0b4I2OU8k95D6KqI2CGBzRBIwRBP3tSQb7zAIE4MNvQMGTSdzi-vQFY_Cm2Ztpiv-fpnLxk1QsTdyyGqZKvD83RaOPOr3PJU=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqLDQ8KgE6YWPvOJ2tjNdH7MwnuO3PFbjdR0OvAZVJPNJE-IeNmf34NElHeuG-iA_CLfDAlUTdwWKn3l8nK5WPkZYwpYZSB5a-QagdjSazv_Z72pCre8fxVoKtg3_9iwPlBWGJ7EAserTeiwRrW7BBam07vjMqpnxYtVbrgMxZN4peXtS5LYHJJ1Ue7-Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqLDQ8KgE6YWPvOJ2tjNdH7MwnuO3PFbjdR0OvAZVJPNJE-IeNmf34NElHeuG-iA_CLfDAlUTdwWKn3l8nK5WPkZYwpYZSB5a-QagdjSazv_Z72pCre8fxVoKtg3_9iwPlBWGJ7EAserTeiwRrW7BBam07vjMqpnxYtVbrgMxZN4peXtS5LYHJJ1Ue7-Q=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br style="text-align: left;" /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikzVpbEqf3Me3WFSCdEw9JjLtulelI69TkLMZ5C9guvozyoOWtH_KnBiJarpZa_lE_bDL4trDBcyZq2Fhd4uyq2kfFynP83mKip6JAGpcz930Fgm_cb0pTacLwVsTITbNJGehSm5y9PPIMoBWXfHqqZN_IHFmaxtqBsikaHMFkpRgXebZFGfemqx2sNzA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikzVpbEqf3Me3WFSCdEw9JjLtulelI69TkLMZ5C9guvozyoOWtH_KnBiJarpZa_lE_bDL4trDBcyZq2Fhd4uyq2kfFynP83mKip6JAGpcz930Fgm_cb0pTacLwVsTITbNJGehSm5y9PPIMoBWXfHqqZN_IHFmaxtqBsikaHMFkpRgXebZFGfemqx2sNzA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="text-align: left;">Aside from adding a fifth daughter to our family, if there was a theme to the year from my perspective, I'd say it was trying to level up in our organization, specifically with regards to the girls' chores. I began the past academic year with newly updated chore charts for everyone individually, as well as a family chart with bigger daily chores that rotated every couple of weeks. Remembering, reminding, and supervising these daily efforts of theirs required a lot of effort of mine, not surprisingly, and I adopted for myself as motivation Proverbs 14:4: "Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean, but abundant crops come by the strength of the ox." And while our 'manger' was rarely truly clean, there were some pretty substantial glimpses over the past year of the abundant crops my little oxen are bringing to fruition.</span></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibahBmYOliXhoRVN1wAOt70xhrp8igb5zyh23TP29Ap68Tl6SGOi16CVDMvsSIbeLLkXUkML0OWH7yImlLyMv3SespWz0JLAb6xGiePBq6hjBHJF1cdrUqrHifb00BbXZXxK-uXuI1ALSWPP-emwRVJiFwWDHZpDv06slmG1dgF98sijHGy1E55DkSkPw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibahBmYOliXhoRVN1wAOt70xhrp8igb5zyh23TP29Ap68Tl6SGOi16CVDMvsSIbeLLkXUkML0OWH7yImlLyMv3SespWz0JLAb6xGiePBq6hjBHJF1cdrUqrHifb00BbXZXxK-uXuI1ALSWPP-emwRVJiFwWDHZpDv06slmG1dgF98sijHGy1E55DkSkPw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik130JTF6FT5r05lTecS-4V2HYuN80mZxaddgdOxJmOWnurhh1NQPAj0K0H7TEp-UOkrNO3U_Gb596_PsqqCgtATCVhordds1q210VBz1t-EwXG3JZLf4K2AtxFIomptZv4gWhnI7O_duB1IA1PWbnSJo8jvB2XFqjK7Lsxgn2xNRHyXx-7S7mquhw-Mk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik130JTF6FT5r05lTecS-4V2HYuN80mZxaddgdOxJmOWnurhh1NQPAj0K0H7TEp-UOkrNO3U_Gb596_PsqqCgtATCVhordds1q210VBz1t-EwXG3JZLf4K2AtxFIomptZv4gWhnI7O_duB1IA1PWbnSJo8jvB2XFqjK7Lsxgn2xNRHyXx-7S7mquhw-Mk=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you're still reading, here are a few more glimpses of our year, demonstrating school as "a life" around here, in ways both overtly academic and not so much! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhENRi5eavWhYZoOIjmfR6nD2UhcxY-I0dVWvOOWXflgsoFuDnGU_iQ4LxpjsseoC8PCF99t6iftOE_XSkcrg1D5s6XwmxfB17iurHWOeBMRRplEXm-q28O9rB09g0me7PKv9NxMSYC05e56IKV5E0l6iUiDcwa4twk2iymtAQnNIK5P8Kt-ZArB3Yu6-M" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZcy124Pp5OyRvE0BcVhYyPbLPvR3i2eHorcWgeCGw9A5tbbpGQM89v410UhyNbGjb8bJJdQO_EMwGei46AhTvmy-PP-dMGqeInHVsvf9ZVoFOH7c7_4-MU0XCu2GyJ-ZnTZGyhLCfHQNS-U7NQpZ59DWpo4JiLCCCBCKdpo_Dy-0TpDlJE1rYRSaMZis" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZcy124Pp5OyRvE0BcVhYyPbLPvR3i2eHorcWgeCGw9A5tbbpGQM89v410UhyNbGjb8bJJdQO_EMwGei46AhTvmy-PP-dMGqeInHVsvf9ZVoFOH7c7_4-MU0XCu2GyJ-ZnTZGyhLCfHQNS-U7NQpZ59DWpo4JiLCCCBCKdpo_Dy-0TpDlJE1rYRSaMZis=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrGBhXskheiI64TLWeZolfoGSpubhfAnUGhmSiGwe32scfzfkln6sjkKexCqcjNW1m1CqnmR4xfiPav3Lo33LTtTPzkwEyesc7q5XHotTBIsGGVA76nLw9OZO4N8Gn54i4rAkvlUZ3iMstqQiBZcCHzC2Go3Xwxh5e8zvZjVguzBG0FDgVK9IWaCMDNrY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjrGBhXskheiI64TLWeZolfoGSpubhfAnUGhmSiGwe32scfzfkln6sjkKexCqcjNW1m1CqnmR4xfiPav3Lo33LTtTPzkwEyesc7q5XHotTBIsGGVA76nLw9OZO4N8Gn54i4rAkvlUZ3iMstqQiBZcCHzC2Go3Xwxh5e8zvZjVguzBG0FDgVK9IWaCMDNrY=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div></div><p>This post barely touches on the full year we've had, but it's nice to look back and see that we really did accomplish something, I think. And now, back to my efforts of planning our next school year, which begins in just over a week...! Building on our highlights of the year I mentioned above, we're leaning into all the good that friendship and community have to offer, and together with a number of like-minded mothers implementing a Charlotte Mason philosophy of education in their homeschools, we are starting a two-day-a-week school. It's a lot to wrap our heads around, and we're going to have to get a little better at getting up early in the morning, but we are really excited about the possibilities it will offer. Here's hoping it's a beautiful and rich experience for the ten families and their 35 children, collectively. </p>sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-64269906565632222352023-06-19T11:08:00.004-07:002023-06-20T08:52:24.622-07:00Thoughts on Turning 40<div style="text-align: left;">I turned 40 on June 10. Leading up to my birthday, I found myself suddenly recalling a poem I read years ago, <i>Fiddler Jones </i>by Edgar Lee Masters, an American poet from the late nineteenth/early twentieth century. </div><blockquote><div class="field field--body" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; line-height: 1.5; padding-top: 1.25rem;"><pre style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>The earth keeps some vibration going
There in your heart, and that is you.
And if the people find you can fiddle,
Why, fiddle you must, for all your life.
What do you see, a harvest of clover?
Or a meadow to walk through to the river?
The wind's in the corn; you rub your hands
For beeves hereafter ready for market;
Or else you hear the rustle of skirts
Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove.
To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust
Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth;
They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy
Stepping it off, to "Toor-a-Loor."
How could I till my forty acres
Not to speak of getting more,
With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos
Stirred in my brain by crows and robins
And the creak of a wind-mill--only these?
And I never started to plow in my life
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle--
And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.</i></pre></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"></div></blockquote><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"><p></p>A poem about a fiddler who never got ahead in life, whose forty acres never multiplied into more worldly goods or wealth, who dropped what he was doing over and over again to go play his fiddle for dances. The birds and the sounds of everyday life made him think of his music; his plowing was often interrupted by the opportunity for another jig. </div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"><br /></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;">I re-read it a few weeks ago and it settled into my heart just as it had years before when I first encountered it. "...fiddle you must, for all your life." "I ended up with forty acres; I ended up with a broken fiddle-- And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories, and not a single regret."</div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"><br /></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;">A year or two ago Nathan was sorting through old CDs and cassette tapes (!!) and listening to snippets of things as he came across them. I heard some violin music floating out of his study -- <i>The Lark Ascending </i>by Vaughan-Williams. "Who's playing that?" "It's you." "What? No. This sounds fine, but I never played it well at all." "Well, it's you." A bit later, piano music -- Chopin's <i>Fantasie-Impromptu</i>. "Who's this now?" "You again. In high school." "No! I remember recording it because my teacher wanted me to submit it to a competition, but I tried and tried to get a good take and it was always wrong..." </div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"><br /></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;">I've thought about this experience a lot in the past few years. Am I only able to appreciate something when it's far behind in the rear-view mirror? Is perfectionism hindering me from enjoying life in the moment, whether it's my experiences in music, or anything else? How many times have I thought something was not worth documenting or enjoying or celebrating because it wasn't "perfect"? What if all along, those things were wonderful and my eyes were clouded from seeing it? What if all those summers where I wished I weighed 5-10 lbs less, I could have just enjoyed the sun on my skin, my toddlers in my arms, my kids leaping in the sand, and seen more beauty in it? What if all the recitals and concerts I played were worth enjoying exactly as they were, the imperfections less perceptible than they seemed to me at the time? What if my yard and gardens were perfectly nice places to be in spite of the weeds? What if my professional life has been a greater accomplishment than it's ever seemed to me? What if life was worth enjoying even when the house was messy? What if my kids are doing pretty well, and being slower to learn to read, or struggling with math for a while, or taking time to progress through violin repertoire is OK after all? </div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"><br /></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;">What if things being imperfect doesn't make them any less worth enjoying, remembering, celebrating? </div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"><br /></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56; text-align: center;">* * *</div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"><br /></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;">So, I threw myself a party for my fortieth birthday. I had said for years that I would do it when I turned forty - that I would let my kids see me face it head-on, no black balloons or gag gifts involved. It was cocktail attire, under the lights on the back patio, with my kids passing appetizers. (They were so excited about this.) And when Nathan's work life got turned a bit upside-down in the weeks leading up to my fortieth and he didn't have time to help plan or prepare, well, I'm incredibly thankful for friends who offered -- no, insisted -- help: baking me exquisite cakes, helping with food, and even coming up with a signature cocktail (which has become a new favorite of mine). </div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"><br /></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTQxZYdN5Kb9Tn_qrisXHX2cPX25uZgfEiZHUguLZi0N7_fUCRATxF5D_5_7QDLA0U_spVQC5NIokohlTeq2xuyhAk6vXqBCC1hCoBGhiZ6sty6_YLDYon_cAHm14h9HshRy0s5r3X3EZt6ZFG10ZWXF3Z6MHQkyw-heR3VN2Sswn8Ajk1Mgb6H8t_7oo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTQxZYdN5Kb9Tn_qrisXHX2cPX25uZgfEiZHUguLZi0N7_fUCRATxF5D_5_7QDLA0U_spVQC5NIokohlTeq2xuyhAk6vXqBCC1hCoBGhiZ6sty6_YLDYon_cAHm14h9HshRy0s5r3X3EZt6ZFG10ZWXF3Z6MHQkyw-heR3VN2Sswn8Ajk1Mgb6H8t_7oo=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGRt1ZlGKqNfHZmKIU2RNw7wlKXG0NwIOtb7UzNyLv9JClVGIbIs3eD489F1uPObkVC9gWFY2qDTgDMJLmygd6XZWlB4EXjfWfBJvv3QPAcV5hJcE-G3wAsUh_ZrYFj2EBesbeSXtVBOyAOgWbO4_uyQVr3Wv3RTsqAHQgReuWSsbuvk39gZThtSd0WSc" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGRt1ZlGKqNfHZmKIU2RNw7wlKXG0NwIOtb7UzNyLv9JClVGIbIs3eD489F1uPObkVC9gWFY2qDTgDMJLmygd6XZWlB4EXjfWfBJvv3QPAcV5hJcE-G3wAsUh_ZrYFj2EBesbeSXtVBOyAOgWbO4_uyQVr3Wv3RTsqAHQgReuWSsbuvk39gZThtSd0WSc=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5gveYhCeQGphTEaek0X16A84sZz84DtjpIqW7yMszyNA3dlJjFilLtkTylAJkxlbLBR9GHjB12i4_1LsxCZOxYPLvBKkUdF9vBUer0-jhuTs9dxS_DYYTaxA0KBuT2DuxUkJpCn2dWpa3ikfiV4bPQS3c88SAKa9uQ4j84p1DONF5OM3iS3hmpv2iP-A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5gveYhCeQGphTEaek0X16A84sZz84DtjpIqW7yMszyNA3dlJjFilLtkTylAJkxlbLBR9GHjB12i4_1LsxCZOxYPLvBKkUdF9vBUer0-jhuTs9dxS_DYYTaxA0KBuT2DuxUkJpCn2dWpa3ikfiV4bPQS3c88SAKa9uQ4j84p1DONF5OM3iS3hmpv2iP-A=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgn_tP19bY0TGjI-Bv6IkbaQCLpeW98wumNtRGw0xa3daY0RC8T69eFH9LgiEG8rLTVd6jeimCn8hBf_SjA6LJi59GSLtlk5xEJmTBdBpJDMeV3t1W1VEjMaDlmthcXCr95LJ6b_BbyG7Eqz4i4Nctt_9gUJvEMS6mwUL0M6tE0G7l96dhpW_8RKkdQcQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgn_tP19bY0TGjI-Bv6IkbaQCLpeW98wumNtRGw0xa3daY0RC8T69eFH9LgiEG8rLTVd6jeimCn8hBf_SjA6LJi59GSLtlk5xEJmTBdBpJDMeV3t1W1VEjMaDlmthcXCr95LJ6b_BbyG7Eqz4i4Nctt_9gUJvEMS6mwUL0M6tE0G7l96dhpW_8RKkdQcQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nell has really enjoyed learning hand-lettering over the past year, and made lovely little signs for me.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMz__AWhJHhXEvsNlMkBhqcjupXeUSBgaKg00NbF3MG3-U1SEdRk9YcMuKiRtHye2jA7UE-oEAmghP5zC9O_Bf-0DqE-mUHRf0vwd5YtQstkt_UOg48sLO0ve1gM_Oz6Z5ur-Y4DLhLa0FGCDh6ZylmQkfLb6Maq5lqbUBMTjbnh9qToas7OB75SW7ERE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMz__AWhJHhXEvsNlMkBhqcjupXeUSBgaKg00NbF3MG3-U1SEdRk9YcMuKiRtHye2jA7UE-oEAmghP5zC9O_Bf-0DqE-mUHRf0vwd5YtQstkt_UOg48sLO0ve1gM_Oz6Z5ur-Y4DLhLa0FGCDh6ZylmQkfLb6Maq5lqbUBMTjbnh9qToas7OB75SW7ERE=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiecdt2WoojKdOZu7rsBG4X0cLuJq1lt9AGHlsAKoSoXlJ4LHq7tetg-hWtJNKT83LVK1P1IRJ0oxOOfa1kKshlr7K0NWssZ9TZkK4wIUto4LR2iYGoPdrer_McZBteVw7YmSfJpXD-my38MdaAUrIyWIond-kKDdPocNW9mNss96Y4A96-LqwWutYCz0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiecdt2WoojKdOZu7rsBG4X0cLuJq1lt9AGHlsAKoSoXlJ4LHq7tetg-hWtJNKT83LVK1P1IRJ0oxOOfa1kKshlr7K0NWssZ9TZkK4wIUto4LR2iYGoPdrer_McZBteVw7YmSfJpXD-my38MdaAUrIyWIond-kKDdPocNW9mNss96Y4A96-LqwWutYCz0=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mini galettes were fun to help make and even more fun to pass around the mingling adults.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqh01PwY5Et5p6h7sQUyNycdt-ZK8Ah8Uvq2HeV3-_q5GQMdQPjJHjboGVArDIZNqovsOBnCSGDEFsHbPcuu4PhdlgOYINWg4SfBF1FCCRoLfX4vCwJuXhG3erjn2v7g4FWeQY4Csiwi7ORRszNMzJjlutFTXOqM57twJOk-CkOpx-9KwiekfCtqVTVM0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="2052" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqh01PwY5Et5p6h7sQUyNycdt-ZK8Ah8Uvq2HeV3-_q5GQMdQPjJHjboGVArDIZNqovsOBnCSGDEFsHbPcuu4PhdlgOYINWg4SfBF1FCCRoLfX4vCwJuXhG3erjn2v7g4FWeQY4Csiwi7ORRszNMzJjlutFTXOqM57twJOk-CkOpx-9KwiekfCtqVTVM0=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXaV289rF_pWm3w3htwWzNi-JjPdOlpmNELKpVrrPnEGwU7gHqgM1Tm5QlgKYFnR3HgvKv9wXpflqjGtr42qxidT861l6l6T4fZZ11jKdRxKspZk_a0JL7wo37Y8wOzCRdu30krTC9RP1MtYCt8aRSosWRuaKtRk533aAqhAM_NJLds8arInmEc7ccKTw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXaV289rF_pWm3w3htwWzNi-JjPdOlpmNELKpVrrPnEGwU7gHqgM1Tm5QlgKYFnR3HgvKv9wXpflqjGtr42qxidT861l6l6T4fZZ11jKdRxKspZk_a0JL7wo37Y8wOzCRdu30krTC9RP1MtYCt8aRSosWRuaKtRk533aAqhAM_NJLds8arInmEc7ccKTw=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">one of the cutest three waitresses of the evening!</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJwdP6SW9Lpdzl4-4A-UiyoNuY7ND-IlYpJuGRBYIUYMS0uOOVGOH0ZG9cJl_gPHP2QCrhBJ-Oc8cdDK76vlDKw0TllyeMMAtqkeWY6_zgwgo53XPXwCv830fubvaDigXljcxlCkqlh5NBPllkkxHoQHhMjWnP5K8ZXQp6qz9onnhNqO6zcBtNGkNfVqQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJwdP6SW9Lpdzl4-4A-UiyoNuY7ND-IlYpJuGRBYIUYMS0uOOVGOH0ZG9cJl_gPHP2QCrhBJ-Oc8cdDK76vlDKw0TllyeMMAtqkeWY6_zgwgo53XPXwCv830fubvaDigXljcxlCkqlh5NBPllkkxHoQHhMjWnP5K8ZXQp6qz9onnhNqO6zcBtNGkNfVqQ=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">every bit as delicious as they look - I had to try a small slice of each, of course!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOAzWqnJCW_-O7V5kqFGKMuxblcf7Cl6gXDeFH7-subDduUBFNfOhjxNPGhM9K8_CbESaoiFsNq3oDXx15D82k5LOJRRnRgHBhrfjd_phlmadlnHyesZn94I6A2WdfSYMtfoYHyg3_AbLo9lxFaqPSeHabuiYkZRGMZTL2uEbhU8P2aMfkZC0oQTJY8Lc" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3483" data-original-width="2612" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOAzWqnJCW_-O7V5kqFGKMuxblcf7Cl6gXDeFH7-subDduUBFNfOhjxNPGhM9K8_CbESaoiFsNq3oDXx15D82k5LOJRRnRgHBhrfjd_phlmadlnHyesZn94I6A2WdfSYMtfoYHyg3_AbLo9lxFaqPSeHabuiYkZRGMZTL2uEbhU8P2aMfkZC0oQTJY8Lc=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">blurry imperfect photo captured by one of my kids</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;">Molly, who is six now, went up to a friend at my party and said with a happy sigh, "I'm SO glad my mother is forty!" The friend told me of this later, saying, "She sees it as a great honor bestowed upon you!" And I love that. </div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"><br /></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56; text-align: center;"><i>"Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the days to come."</i></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"><br /></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;">It drizzled a tiny bit at one point, that evening of my 40th when we celebrated on the patio. I am still carrying some extra weight from having Cecily five months ago. Nathan's work life continues to throw a fair bit of stress in our direction rather continually. But that evening, after everyone had gone home, I stood on the patio for one more minute listening to the music that was still playing, enjoying the glow of the lights and the sudden stillness. And I said to Nathan, "It was exactly the party I wanted." I looked around that evening and felt that if this is forty, I'm here for it.</div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;"><br /></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.56;">I intend to try to spend the next forty years worrying less about all the imperfections and failures, and finding the wild wonderful successes that have been here all along. To make and store up those "thousand memories." I hope someday I can say that we've fiddled for all our lives, stepped away from the work to go and dance at every opportunity... <i>"not a single regret."</i></div>sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-88548468957566566642023-02-11T17:34:00.006-08:002023-02-11T17:36:57.211-08:00Sylvieisms<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">This girl! This past fall, Sylvie's language skills exploded and she was suddenly speaking in complete sentences, giving us a wonderful glimpse into all that was going on in her head. She's had so many things to say to us that it seemed like a good time to record her most quotable expressions of late! We've loved watching her go from her earliest words and phrases to the sweet halting sentences with pauses as she figured out what she was trying to say to the talkative almost-three-year-old she is today.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">She spent last summer and the fall referred to a pool as a "cool." And when one day she wriggled herself out of her puddle-jumper poolside at our neighbor's, and walked right back into the pool and promptly submerged herself... she spoke of it with wide eyes for a long time after, saying "Shylfee fall in the cool!" (It was utterly terrifying to see her underwater even though it only took me a few seconds to get to her... that mental image of my submerged child will stay with me as a reminder to constant water-side vigilance, oof.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A typical two-year-old, she quickly learned and frequently utilized the phrase "S<span>elf do it!"</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: times;">A lullaby was a "yubabye," and a little bit was "a yibabit." </span><span style="font-family: times;">"I'm guck!" means "I'm stuck!"</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Her earliest approximation of "thank you" was "gee-oo," and this one has stuck with her. She's very polite and utilizes it frequently! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">She's in that fun stage where her tenses are a bit mixed up, and she says "Mama, I was findin' you!" when she means, "I found you," and "I was going..." when she means "I went..." We rather love this stage and I notice that Nathan employs her two-year-old "tense sense" on the regular lately.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I asked her one day, "Sylvie, do you want to go play in a park?" And she responded, "Yeah, play! Play in parking lot!" Well... not quite, kiddo.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Upon biting her finger while eating: "Oh no, Mama! Sylvie eat my own finger off!"</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Early in her speech development, she seemed to think that all words should have two syllables, perhaps like words like Mama and Daddy do. So Nell was "Nell-Nell," Marie was "Ree-Ree," Molly was "Mo-Mo," and even words like "my" became "my-my," and "your," "your-your." So her sweet compliments would run like this: "Aw! Nell! Yove your-your earrings!" "Mama! Yove your-your dress!"</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">One day I asked her, "Hey Sylvie, who's the sweetest two-year-old?" and she tapped herself on the chest with a finger and replied modestly, "Right here." Subsequently we all enjoyed asking her "Who's the smartest? Who's the most fun?" etc., and she would repeat the trick with aplomb.</span></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmVIxcRHzpUEeCAwT7OePZGjunqwD7IMlDvrXs5G_KCt00h08pu_z0-2a4kcIZ1CmkZ80vxDjVq5cd_1kKa8WcnHlygmh0KzTViFeBK32AqhYqhbHEGAvyXPLdpQOY9pOxrptsDZ49EDJHjL5LTVeuLR3_ZPoja4f6qc87Oelc97kXTeyvGnjK6vOS" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4928" data-original-width="3264" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmVIxcRHzpUEeCAwT7OePZGjunqwD7IMlDvrXs5G_KCt00h08pu_z0-2a4kcIZ1CmkZ80vxDjVq5cd_1kKa8WcnHlygmh0KzTViFeBK32AqhYqhbHEGAvyXPLdpQOY9pOxrptsDZ49EDJHjL5LTVeuLR3_ZPoja4f6qc87Oelc97kXTeyvGnjK6vOS=w424-h640" width="424" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">She shares her opinions on music freely, including whether something is "bad scary music" or "good nice music." (And the word "music" was previously "hanguck," an approximation none of us quite understood but all of us found amusing.) Examples of bad scary music include Mahler 1, the last movement specifically, and examples of good nice music include Haydn's Surprise Symphony, among many others. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">One evening some of the girls' bedtime music was not to Sylvie's liking, and she expressed from her toddler bed in the room she shares with Nell that this was "bad scary music." Nell responded, "It's ok Sylvie, it's not bad, it's just in a minor key!" Sylvie replied matter-of-factly, "Don't want it minor key!" Subsequently she decided any and all music that she didn't care for must be in a minor key. When our church choir did the Rutter Requiem in November, she came and whispered in my ear during some of the movements, "Don't want it minor key!" And when listening to O Come, O Come Emmanuel during Advent she declared, "Don't want it Emmanuel! Don't want it minor key!"</span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9Fimm0MzVCOpJnpSgX75Wr5CO_j5u2_iasOrsb0kTaz10NLcXObVmFvRIuD40ZcnUR5VFhTfbeUct9gjSvNRsP8AXk9OEzoDfxDHIRPdFkx64eR7Onm3lAD1qf5O2JJey_7Gig7VCmhtKzOBkGcJwllpfLo47zFptrjWhVPcAyqDucHUEF61RCzC1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4928" data-original-width="3264" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9Fimm0MzVCOpJnpSgX75Wr5CO_j5u2_iasOrsb0kTaz10NLcXObVmFvRIuD40ZcnUR5VFhTfbeUct9gjSvNRsP8AXk9OEzoDfxDHIRPdFkx64eR7Onm3lAD1qf5O2JJey_7Gig7VCmhtKzOBkGcJwllpfLo47zFptrjWhVPcAyqDucHUEF61RCzC1=w424-h640" width="424" /></span></a></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">She called to me frantically from the stairs one day: "Oh no! Daddy feet! Daddy feet!" I ran in to see what the problem was and discovered a Daddy Long-Legs spider in the corner of a step was the cause of the commotion. Well, she had conveyed a solid part of the idea! </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Chatting with Nell one evening just after bedtime, she declared her food-loving intentions for the coming day: <span>“Nell? Cracker. With cheese on it. And ‘yami (salami). Shylfee eat it tomorrow!"</span></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">And speaking of food, she goes to bed thinking about food and wakes up thinking about food. "What's for dinner?" she'll ask me first thing in the morning. "It's not dinner time, Sylvie. Do you want some breakfast?" Throughout the day she asks for meals irrespective of time of day. Right after breakfast, "What's for dinner?" Upon being reminded again that it's not dinner time, she'll try any other word for a meal to see if she can eke some more food out of us. "What's for lunch? What's for snack? Breakfast? ... Dessert?" A few favorites at the moment include oatmeal or polenta for breakfast, smoothies any time of day, homemade bread all the time, a variety of soups, clementines, peppers, and pears.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Her demands after Mexican food one night for dinner: "I need forty chips! I need forty-five or forty-six chips! Why go bed now? If Sylvie go bed I can’t have forty chips!"</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">One morning I was making waffles when Sylvie asked what was for breakfast. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Mama: "Are you ready for a waffle?" </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Sylvie: "Um, no, I don't like awful." </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">One evening at dinner I asked her, "Sylvie, do you want some more mac and cheese?" She responded matter-of-factly, "No gee-oo. I want a glass of wine."</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVC6QkHHerr8lcZ-DFAz25LdPWuIc7xhH-zMZLUZIyzPk3zmULNFTBoNMrmEoNV67H6SfzaJeyyIqvBSLDJDFNeicbhD6hWN78LG9ty4o9VpwHmVBOsfK6bXiENUeoJk-sf8YN-e99ECax-VGFQi2X2AKRWqaVLbSp5LUgm89sSvEwFqDm-Dm9D-Bc" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4928" data-original-width="3264" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVC6QkHHerr8lcZ-DFAz25LdPWuIc7xhH-zMZLUZIyzPk3zmULNFTBoNMrmEoNV67H6SfzaJeyyIqvBSLDJDFNeicbhD6hWN78LG9ty4o9VpwHmVBOsfK6bXiENUeoJk-sf8YN-e99ECax-VGFQi2X2AKRWqaVLbSp5LUgm89sSvEwFqDm-Dm9D-Bc=w424-h640" width="424" /></span></a></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: times;">When Sylvie was snuggled up in bed with me early in the morning as Nathan left for work, she sat bolt upright in horror when she heard the front door close behind him and said: "</span><span style="font-family: times;">Uh-oh mama! Daddy didn’t kiss you!"</span></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">And while she's fully potty-trained now, much to my joy, there was a time last fall when I was failing to commit to the process but also growing weary of diapers. Each day, I'd ask her, "Sylvie, when do you think you'll be potty trained?" And she'd respond either, "Um, last night," or "Um, last year," or "Um, tomorrow."</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">When she was wearing fairy wings for Halloween, I asked her, "Sylvie, can you fly?" She responded matter-of-factly, "No I can't fly. Because it's too cold to fly."</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">With similar logic, another day she informed me, "I can't dance, Mama. I'm too tall to dance."</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Pointing to the drain in the bathtub she informed me with a clear sense of trepidation, "I am not gonna fall in the... in the... in the that thing."</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Apparently perturbed after watching me get my blood drawn at an appointment with my midwife, Sylvie asked me several days later, "Mama, why that lady take out your blood? Why? Why Mama?"</span></p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjH_klQh3uMdUQX5Y6-7rAmetc10Jz1H18_fUx-6WKq9yt_J-zuaaKNhlecllaYb3DbDw43HWuljZ2IPWRNj-vo9pHvGfkhQciuKcBfLA60zvRrvaNu-iYs__ye-D5wB1T5_gOLvfdFmqDTeE06c2z2lMXUtwfo3zQgvslafDGpBJHLZE1phD1uYOrh" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="4928" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjH_klQh3uMdUQX5Y6-7rAmetc10Jz1H18_fUx-6WKq9yt_J-zuaaKNhlecllaYb3DbDw43HWuljZ2IPWRNj-vo9pHvGfkhQciuKcBfLA60zvRrvaNu-iYs__ye-D5wB1T5_gOLvfdFmqDTeE06c2z2lMXUtwfo3zQgvslafDGpBJHLZE1phD1uYOrh=w640-h424" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiy0tBxGWcmAIgFqBFXLyarVKq0XfrVw1FXZ0LIrfzfgony0NQWe2pF5YuH_Ha3TX9c-LKPbtCQP53-tKI8BkxFECj-oP6tiB_usQixRHOPWbshyDkBaQInQ_fQl6bgwDgAOgsjjcfLnLOHB3mAi7E2a-YExRBqGI7lPC5Lrl6SlQPtPaIlsA-vTNIh" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="4928" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiy0tBxGWcmAIgFqBFXLyarVKq0XfrVw1FXZ0LIrfzfgony0NQWe2pF5YuH_Ha3TX9c-LKPbtCQP53-tKI8BkxFECj-oP6tiB_usQixRHOPWbshyDkBaQInQ_fQl6bgwDgAOgsjjcfLnLOHB3mAi7E2a-YExRBqGI7lPC5Lrl6SlQPtPaIlsA-vTNIh=w640-h424" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">"I'm hiding'!"</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Lest you think that being a mother of all girls saves me from gross jokes and humor (oh, you would be wrong!) -- </span><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Upon passing gas and coughing at the same time: "Haha, I just toot on my cough!"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The whole family went to work with Nathan for a day, helping him with a variety of tasks. Sylvie carried around her pocket-sized little dolly all day. I suppose it was understandable, then, that she became quite distressed when she heard Nathan talk about putting away a "dolly" (hand cart) in a closet within the facilities. Sylvie immediately began to wail: "No Daddy, don't put my dolly in the closet!"</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">In December, when Nell and Marie were in a production of the Nutcracker, Nell hopped in the car after a dress rehearsal, with her adorable lamb face paint still on her face. Sylvie was perplexed by the look, to say the least.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: times;">Sylvie: "</span><span style="font-family: times;">Nell, why your face looks... bad? Why, Nell?"</span></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: times;">At bedtime: </span><span style="font-family: times;">"No I don’t want to go to bed today. And I said that before."</span></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Oh! Well, in that case.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: times;">Out of the blue: "</span><span style="font-family: times;">Mama is nice. Daddy is weird."</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Among my favorites because it's oh-so-sweet -- S<span>nuggling up with me in the rocking chair at bedtime one evening she whispered, "I am so safe. I am so so safe."</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifw_pf70CzwGe3cSe1HvFWW37H-DFhkjTWsUHAT3c75YTmkf8onqsuz33zCG5gCEuWbUrVCCYUYplmyH1IpAp2VKWkzzU53nYTz9D4UVEUyxWvvjJUrR8nlkc8eH1ngh1Pofmv6vuLjs237l-AyKDkJsI_Uooohs6m24Iv1JxMbddaXVqQFYOdBlV9" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4928" data-original-width="3264" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifw_pf70CzwGe3cSe1HvFWW37H-DFhkjTWsUHAT3c75YTmkf8onqsuz33zCG5gCEuWbUrVCCYUYplmyH1IpAp2VKWkzzU53nYTz9D4UVEUyxWvvjJUrR8nlkc8eH1ngh1Pofmv6vuLjs237l-AyKDkJsI_Uooohs6m24Iv1JxMbddaXVqQFYOdBlV9=w424-h640" width="424" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">And the ultimate toddler burn, so good it stopped me in my tracks:</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Sylvie: "I don’t like Daddy."</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Mama: "Hey, it makes Daddy and me both sad when you say that. It’s not nice. We love Daddy!"</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Sylvie: "Ok. I like Daddy." (<i>Long pause</i>) "I said I like Daddy, but I don’t like Daddy."</span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwNqsokYgEfAw4CfFhn-QqZGg4i8iV1Kwwy9ddmIMaNWH5q7Su8VxOqWM_fVkd86hM38Jy87API_qb0Rgr4qvWBGDi5t70EXwn8ptoBKw6lEEeTXQETEmP9xr0tWI92IwIjK6SvsNo0l4Vh9yhBtikBh-0dJfy_qz70jU181g1akYajNYRpQc2sA78" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="4928" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwNqsokYgEfAw4CfFhn-QqZGg4i8iV1Kwwy9ddmIMaNWH5q7Su8VxOqWM_fVkd86hM38Jy87API_qb0Rgr4qvWBGDi5t70EXwn8ptoBKw6lEEeTXQETEmP9xr0tWI92IwIjK6SvsNo0l4Vh9yhBtikBh-0dJfy_qz70jU181g1akYajNYRpQc2sA78=w640-h424" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Girl, you are a handful and you have so many opinions and thoughts. We love you, Sylvie!</span></div></div>sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-78935511938982289582022-10-24T17:02:00.006-07:002023-02-02T12:11:17.120-08:00Musings on This Stage of Life <p style="text-align: center;"><i>* I found this post today, February 2, which I had written in October last fall. Clearly I need to write and publish all at once or I'll simply never quite get back to it! *</i></p><p>A new school year is well underway, and with it many enjoyable things that I want to remember.</p><p>It's a bit hard to believe that I have a fifth grader, a third grader, and a kindergartener this year in our homeschool, but here we are -- and with a two-year-old along for the ride too, of course. I find myself amazed at both how much constant effort this life seems to require, and also at how many good things there are right now, in this stage of life.</p><p>In terms of constant effort required, we've got daily homeschool subjects to check off, of course. Each child also has her "Responsibility Chart," which includes everything from getting dressed and combing one's hair and giving Mama a hug (some children more than others need these "low-hanging fruit" tasks just to have a few easy check marks in their life... if you know, you know!) to bigger rotating chores. The girls rotate through emptying the dishwasher, clearing and wiping the table after meals, vacuuming the downstairs, cleaning the two bathrooms, and other tasks. We don't get 100% of it done on 100% of the days, but I'm nonetheless pleased with having a more organized system for employing their helpfulness this year, and it's been working pretty well. I'm also continually surprised by how much effort it takes on my part to remind to stay on top of their responsibilities each day, and to make sure everyone has done her necessary tasks throughout the day.</p><p>That said, while it does seem to require constant vigilance, it's a delight to have all these things done on the days when we do, indeed, get them all done. It really does make my own life so much better, even if it means bedtime gets pushed fifteen minutes later, if the girls have cleared and wiped the table, put dishes into the dishwasher, and wiped our kitchen counters down. And having kids at ages who can do all these things is pretty great. It's admittedly way easier to devolve into chaos in the household (how does it always happen so fast?!), but if we stay on top of things we can claw our way out on a daily (or at least near-daily) basis without letting the chaos completely overwhelm. </p><p>In addition to homeschooling and staying on top of housework and meals, I continue to teach violin lessons from my home studio. This year during those lessons, Nell (10) is delighted to be earning $4.00 / hr to babysit her younger sisters. In general helpfulness with siblings is just expected as being part of a family, but we decided that during times when Dad and Mom are earning money, it's a good opportunity to begin to teach our own kids about earning, saving, tithing, etc. I found an app I'm happy with that allows each child to have a "virtual account," not linked to any real bank account or money, but essentially a running list of "deposits" and "withdrawals" in one place. It's all virtual until someone wants to cash out and withdraw something to make a purchase. This makes it easy for me to stay on top of paying Nell (or whoever is earning money) without needing to have cash on hand constantly, and really has made the whole process simple. Often during my teaching hours, the girls have a checklist of responsibilities they need to complete, and Nell helps keep her sisters on track. She plans little story hours, often complete with coloring pages she'll select with me online and print ahead of time. She also plans games or imaginative play to do with them like "hair salon" or "playing library," etc. So far it's been a very good solution -- so much more affordable on my end than hiring a sitter to come to the house, and so much better for all of us than utilizing the TV as a "babysitter." </p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p>So, that's the part of life that continues to amaze me just with how much constant effort it all takes. Generally I reach the end of a day and think to myself, <i>"OK, phew, we did it. We checked off most of the homeschooling things I hoped to do. We talked through and solved sibling squabbles. Two or three kids practiced their violins and at least one practiced the piano. Most of the chores got done. Laundry got folded and put away. Everybody had three square meals. Success! Now... all I have to do is do all that again, every day, for about eighteen more years."</i> An overwhelming thought, no?</p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p>But I'm also amazed at how many good things there are, at how much fun there is in these ages and stages. </p><p>Nell and Marie are loving their Saturday morning ballet class, and are delighted that this December they get to participate in a production of <i>The Nutcracker</i> their ballet school is doing. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSx2bmFDC0VkoSv_rKQ-Z9lfB8bpvfBFxJbEBkooNOfHq5IXcha7RqC_Saq2mu56fvwKu9f84XN3j38-XQUsd-AquHVmCUWkhtGj_2KOeV3kfei_gEadYHF1zrtQNeuok3DHGHUpOff0YfCTrGeJJDGASrI2Y1T5IPb6fSwlM86VdSIJPmmCWwLfIH" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSx2bmFDC0VkoSv_rKQ-Z9lfB8bpvfBFxJbEBkooNOfHq5IXcha7RqC_Saq2mu56fvwKu9f84XN3j38-XQUsd-AquHVmCUWkhtGj_2KOeV3kfei_gEadYHF1zrtQNeuok3DHGHUpOff0YfCTrGeJJDGASrI2Y1T5IPb6fSwlM86VdSIJPmmCWwLfIH=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Nell is in a group of children ages 10+ who are reading Shakespeare together this year, starting with <i>A Midsummer Night's Dream</i>. Later this fall they'll present a couple of acts in a dramatic reading complete with simple costumes. She has been enjoying this even more than I expected, often laughing at humorous turns of phrases in the play. In the upcoming performance, she'll be a fairy, one of Titania's attendants. She sings Titania to sleep at one point, and Nathan helped her write a melody for the song, which has come together so nicely and was a fun way for Dad to get involved in homeschooling.<p></p><p>Ree enjoys math, and is finally beginning to take off with reading, too. Nell didn't read comfortably until age eight, so I've tried not to worry too much when Ree also just wasn't that interested in reading over the past couple of years. We worked at it steadily but the progress felt slow, I must admit. I think there was something at play for both girls where their comprehension level had them enjoying being read to or listening to audiobooks like <i>Little Women</i>, <i>Swallows and Amazons</i>, Marguerite Henry books, etc. etc.... and sitting plugging through elementary readers just didn't interest them. But I'm hopeful we're finally getting there!</p><p>Speaking of reading, Molly suddenly started asking me what sound every letter made, and how they blended together into words, and I've been trying to capitalize on her clear interest and readiness and sit down with her daily to do some reading. It wasn't necessarily on my plan or to-do list to teach my kindergartener to read, but she delights in the one-on-one time with me and the process, and is having a wonderful time.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKNdZ-_qDVsUuMtVB2t_6xQVNsb7MQsSmPJSAl8lQAm8dNiULAphXdLImh6zCEk7IK0QBt9EV7yBgpckBPZgps5VLBSyOi5RBNIlsLIvPRGlbaMUF3dsuHrkSj0DaIrGmhMloKxWUUApQr9AhOy8chf1W1smzh6YzPzAkQ1rCZP2bMoTUpcv6lQ-dF" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKNdZ-_qDVsUuMtVB2t_6xQVNsb7MQsSmPJSAl8lQAm8dNiULAphXdLImh6zCEk7IK0QBt9EV7yBgpckBPZgps5VLBSyOi5RBNIlsLIvPRGlbaMUF3dsuHrkSj0DaIrGmhMloKxWUUApQr9AhOy8chf1W1smzh6YzPzAkQ1rCZP2bMoTUpcv6lQ-dF=w240-h320" width="240" /><br /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Nell continues to practice her violin with increasing amounts of independence, which is wonderful to see. This year we've started sight-reading in a book of simple duets together. Playing them together with her inexplicably makes me feel that the past ten years of my life, and specifically the years teaching her to play the violin, have indeed been worthwhile! Perhaps it's a silly thing to mean so much, but it brings me a lot of joy to be able to enjoy music with her. It is such a long journey and takes so much time and effort to reach a point in the study of a musical instrument where music begins to become easily accessible and just simply enjoyable-- it's fun to feel that we're on the verge of more and more of that enjoyment being open to her.<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaDysLmKOglUM1VUPFpyNEJy1ygMssUepSneidKEfWJ4oR_sR-5Xzng6iEx99IWr-iuEzADGD9NrNU15NLcagXb-WToN9WsTuGtXSEWQeaHiexlUniLamOmE4FbnzreiYFONfFH6QAFGMTXpw6S_4P1pTYhAmsl6bB0hZ0gLxrEn70rwebY2xuADeI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaDysLmKOglUM1VUPFpyNEJy1ygMssUepSneidKEfWJ4oR_sR-5Xzng6iEx99IWr-iuEzADGD9NrNU15NLcagXb-WToN9WsTuGtXSEWQeaHiexlUniLamOmE4FbnzreiYFONfFH6QAFGMTXpw6S_4P1pTYhAmsl6bB0hZ0gLxrEn70rwebY2xuADeI=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>At two, Sylvie is suddenly old enough to really play with Molly, and the two of them are often able to play while I'm doing school with the older two. Sure, we still have dozens of interruptions and sometimes the play ends in arguments, but in the best of moments they play dress up together, or legos or magnatiles, or Molly will "read" books to Sylvie just looking through and describing the pictures to her. It's lovely to have those moments of people just... getting along.<br /><p>Nell and Marie enjoy sketching and watercoloring and other forms of art, and have impressed me with some of their most recent work.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgV_C_bNAjRoxrbZ5KEcQJMkG98Wy5YnKbJB5RPnB6ZFXNF3mKOc-2wOw1J3_RU2iZyskP8hewnypysGVPKnR-ZD6zHyixazjtY45Bu-SRjjhaabcIIF27kkBC8k-YAOaRpA3az6doLN2SR7aFWzbzMK42weIPG24yYeuf18C0rhSJ6M39Sb-Ja4CkA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgV_C_bNAjRoxrbZ5KEcQJMkG98Wy5YnKbJB5RPnB6ZFXNF3mKOc-2wOw1J3_RU2iZyskP8hewnypysGVPKnR-ZD6zHyixazjtY45Bu-SRjjhaabcIIF27kkBC8k-YAOaRpA3az6doLN2SR7aFWzbzMK42weIPG24yYeuf18C0rhSJ6M39Sb-Ja4CkA" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">one of Nell's works-in-progress</td></tr></tbody></table><br />They've also been participating in a new quilting group of similarly-aged children beginning to learn quilting, which they are enjoying a lot.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Nell has begun doing more of her own "written narrations" to reflect on readings we do in history or other subjects. Her most recent page of writing on Nathan Hale was well done, and made this Mama proud that she's developing a real writing style.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJwrMAPhlZ0uWYS0gGZ_He3U4gEfAWJUSIUZMBY9uXXSM7g99pqayBVV1WIQM4NeWCZR_nghOvYZB17xRZoVT4_l2Fd8AxoYcaUKyS5hL1Noemuqx0hcXLvnWIHEmPBMg8oeBi_pig1-fVyLrGPt4FYiZpW3d3ho0nMiZhQjJ8Kk6-wVByhs0Bw53u" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJwrMAPhlZ0uWYS0gGZ_He3U4gEfAWJUSIUZMBY9uXXSM7g99pqayBVV1WIQM4NeWCZR_nghOvYZB17xRZoVT4_l2Fd8AxoYcaUKyS5hL1Noemuqx0hcXLvnWIHEmPBMg8oeBi_pig1-fVyLrGPt4FYiZpW3d3ho0nMiZhQjJ8Kk6-wVByhs0Bw53u=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>Sylvie's language is exploding, and it brings all of us, parents and siblings alike, sheer joy to hear her able to articulate what she thinks about. Her turns of phrase have us all smiling throughout the day every day. She's mostly moved from the crib (except for naps, which she no longer takes every day) to a toddler bed we've put in Nell's room. Sometimes at bedtime she'll say to me, "It's gark! (dark) Will you keep me safe?" Of course I reply that I will, but once I leave the room she turns to her biggest sister, who she has wrapped around her little finger. "Nell? Sylvie snuggle with you in your bed? If I'm with you, no monsters or bad guys can get me." Always said with the precious little occasional pauses of a two-year-old figuring out each word as she goes. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgv_mtl9kjetyFN9K3-6OX3raaoXHT0BgXSaYL25G7bzSW8tMRiK7NwovMRHY4xh9oSr8ZZt8XTkr1WzRAYuyD-FqxyI9lwd_l363LyXBeTeLEVzIv6IfRc3QakVUeX9Jr8Bb07b1F-EQPFTNjycMnzcFu0CfHTVf5N6y8_4LLEVVv6dBglNYjxjR5" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgv_mtl9kjetyFN9K3-6OX3raaoXHT0BgXSaYL25G7bzSW8tMRiK7NwovMRHY4xh9oSr8ZZt8XTkr1WzRAYuyD-FqxyI9lwd_l363LyXBeTeLEVzIv6IfRc3QakVUeX9Jr8Bb07b1F-EQPFTNjycMnzcFu0CfHTVf5N6y8_4LLEVVv6dBglNYjxjR5=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div></div><p></p><p>The nearly-abandoned crib will be used again sometime in February, with baby girl #5 due at the very beginning of the month. Hard to believe sometimes (Five girls! What are the chances?), and also so nice to think we haven't yet seen our last baby snuggles or cherished our last two-year-old phraseology. </p><p>Life is oh-so-busy, but good. I recently read an interesting little thing on Twitter. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBV2kX7UAxEe7fj-aONjYNnsqsMYEARhhDDuk1RPqkQsl2GaqKWf5TfNwi5oP_af9VEAEKJEK0pCcnrlBtNTcXTwAq70Bw2ijIZFAwLHI9CSNbnqLvx9KXYC34_ZnJbneA0madZT4oK3Yz6tr5mIVxU99EesowhzcPQG1K6Un6I-0Dp_b2uUyQW-tO" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="1124" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBV2kX7UAxEe7fj-aONjYNnsqsMYEARhhDDuk1RPqkQsl2GaqKWf5TfNwi5oP_af9VEAEKJEK0pCcnrlBtNTcXTwAq70Bw2ijIZFAwLHI9CSNbnqLvx9KXYC34_ZnJbneA0madZT4oK3Yz6tr5mIVxU99EesowhzcPQG1K6Un6I-0Dp_b2uUyQW-tO" width="248" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I don't know who this person is, nor do I know how I came across it, but it struck me as quite interesting and likely true. Though I don't have experience with addiction as such (for which I am grateful), I often think how important it is to have a variety of things that bring joy and pleasure (and this can and should include <i>work, </i>not just leisure activities!). When I think about my goals, hopes, and intentions in raising the girls, I want them all to have deeply meaningful lives, which I think almost necessitates exposure to a variety of things that can interest, intrigue, and bring enjoyment. Here's hoping our little daily efforts add up to getting us towards those goals. <p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124; font-size: 16px;"><i></i></span></span></div></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36); color: #202124; font-size: 16px;"><i>"We spread an abundant and delicate feast in the programmes and each small guest assimilates what he can."</i></span></span></div></blockquote><p style="text-align: center;"><i></i></p><blockquote style="text-align: center;"><i>-- Charlotte Mason </i><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: center;"></div></blockquote></div></div>sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-54888237708821723142022-03-16T19:07:00.000-07:002022-03-16T19:07:10.995-07:00the endless bubble-overs, a foot injury, and perspective<p> Perspective, I suppose, is a gift mainly granted us by the passing of time -- and with it, experience.</p><p>Today being March 16 marks one full month of near-constant illness in our household. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4Uds8zPhB5KhmJ1l1_r7Uj_ZV472Js0Dcfc3be3gg9R00IpwNL2XjNVCUCUc_mmNYVQX6fbvBzhsestE-stExlBFqX1Xdeh4bcApiDElTtxdgrb7_vtrhPwIVVssTNcI8nO7PGlUVVazryb0T9ANHVuFjh9j8L_i9b9OhVzOIg0czJuZJFNB1As0u" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2915" data-original-width="3887" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4Uds8zPhB5KhmJ1l1_r7Uj_ZV472Js0Dcfc3be3gg9R00IpwNL2XjNVCUCUc_mmNYVQX6fbvBzhsestE-stExlBFqX1Xdeh4bcApiDElTtxdgrb7_vtrhPwIVVssTNcI8nO7PGlUVVazryb0T9ANHVuFjh9j8L_i9b9OhVzOIg0czJuZJFNB1As0u=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeeJm4z1w4ovn_Ha6SDEdsnSgyc2DSz-MAIjaKAl5ZFMHFpEowN4LbhqVEp9LyKBaFyD_kg73hCXhE4Gxx4JeQijc5tpT904hHIGtWGXqkw7IJ03wnguouqXBxrht9F22YYgqX8KhYQ0mhsQvhYntbjwm2yobsWY9B-Mcb9QjzN-EpT25yADuiOBHi" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeeJm4z1w4ovn_Ha6SDEdsnSgyc2DSz-MAIjaKAl5ZFMHFpEowN4LbhqVEp9LyKBaFyD_kg73hCXhE4Gxx4JeQijc5tpT904hHIGtWGXqkw7IJ03wnguouqXBxrht9F22YYgqX8KhYQ0mhsQvhYntbjwm2yobsWY9B-Mcb9QjzN-EpT25yADuiOBHi=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Oh, it hasn't been without its brief moments and days of respite and health, but really on the whole it's been a brutal month. Nell started us off with a stomach bug on February 16, and a full week later when I thought the rest were in the clear, Ree was "bubbling over," as we say, for a brutal 48 hour period that left her dehydrated, eyes sunken, even confused at times. She turned the corner and a week after that Nell was sick again. Wait, what? I thought we'd checked her off with this one, but apparently not. All were healthy for a few glorious days, but it was not to last! </p><p></p><p>On Ash Wednesday I turned my ankle, an incident that seemed quite nondescript at the time. The girls and I went ahead to church services for the afternoon and evening, but by the time we got home that night I was in so much pain that Nathan took me to the ER. (I have since informed him this is never to happen again!) Six hours later and one utterly sleepless and miserable night later I was discharged with a tylenol I'm sure I could have found myself much more quickly at home, a pair of crutches, and instructions to call an orthopedist in the morning. Nathan took the following day off work and took quite good care of me, but by Friday morning he was back to work -- not before, however, Sylvie had unexpectedly vomited all over me first thing that morning. Never a dull moment! </p><p>I hobbled around on crutches for several days, pondering that God must have really felt the need to remind me of my mortality for Lent. Nothing to make one feel one's age and a true sense of "dust to dust" like injuring a tendon just by, well, walking. A subsequent visit with an orthopedist confirmed the injury was a strained tendon, painful enough in its own right and doubtless made more so by the odd existence of a small extra bone in my foot which likely pinched things all the wrong ways when the injured tendon swelled. At least the "boot" they gave me was easier to hobble in than using crutches. Additionally, the crutches had already put a painful shoulder, recently adjusted and fixed by my chiropractor, right back in its previous painful spot, necessitating a few days of additional pain and another chiropractic visit! A week and then some past the original injury, things were beginning to feel noticeably better and I was hopeful. Spring is around the corner, everyone seemed healthy at last, and hopefully I'd be walking without the boot in the near future.</p><p>But it wasn't to be! Next to fall victim to the stomach virus was Molly, the day after her birthday (March 10 -- she's five now!) and right after a dinner celebration complete with the "castle cake" she requested. Three days of true misery followed by another with the odd bubble over here or there. At least, at five, she can manage to get it into a receptacle nearly 100% of the time! And finally, Sylvie joined her this Monday, making it clear that her brief vomiting the previous week was not the full treatment this virus planned for her. She's still intermittently throwing up as of this morning, when she was lying so sweetly on her back beside me in bed, and a veritable fountain erupted all over the both of us with no advance warning whatsoever. </p><p>I can't help thinking that all of these things that past month have brought our way would have had me in a substantially worse frame of mine a mere five years ago. It's been hard, absolutely. But experience has taught me that we'll have our times to thrive and our times to just survive as a family. Right now we are pretty clearly in one of the latter. I can accept that a tidy house, being caught up on laundry, and having regular homeschool days are simply not in the cards for us. It's the "busy mundane," as I've always experienced times like these -- long days with nothing to show for them except parched lips that were dabbed with balm, thirst that was quenched with tiny sips of water at a time. </p><p>We've been through times of survival like these before: four hyperemesis gravidarum pregnancies, that time I broke my foot six years ago (also during Lent -- what is God trying to teach me?), plenty of other times when week seemed to follow weary week of sick kids, and so many other little trials that never seem small until they are quite a ways behind us. </p><p>With this bit of perspective, I find myself sitting here tonight, holding Sylvie through what I truly hope will be the last of the sickness this household sees for some time. The house is messy, and my arms are weary from holding a child so needy for so many days. Violin lessons I had to cancel will have to be made up sooner or later. Homeschool plans will be altered or made up over the summer. But I'm far less discouraged than I thought I might be. </p><p>We have been in a long month of survival mode, to be sure. But that means that it's at least <i>possible</i> that a time of thriving could be around the corner at any moment!</p><p>This evening I scrolled back through the past month of photos I've taken with my phone. I sort of expected to see only photos reflecting how I've experienced the long weeks, photos that look like this:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqILcAZwRsZsxbAyWKD2aS3dSUTW4Xg1ksj83Haf1K1Wf8bST83gS3sDRymDnB5OHwH8b2fqFgf5iZhQEko_DnMYVLHkIeDXVxH7SOmui-3anDni2gg465JvsobFrM1uzvRAIRc7wjjNHar2fOA5mG_WbcMAa2wJqK3S98GyGdEtkKTQYPr87kcKTJ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqILcAZwRsZsxbAyWKD2aS3dSUTW4Xg1ksj83Haf1K1Wf8bST83gS3sDRymDnB5OHwH8b2fqFgf5iZhQEko_DnMYVLHkIeDXVxH7SOmui-3anDni2gg465JvsobFrM1uzvRAIRc7wjjNHar2fOA5mG_WbcMAa2wJqK3S98GyGdEtkKTQYPr87kcKTJ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg36_kmtd6UmPDoAr21MSljqYeU2thmqcEuRFZNkM8hx746L-ZL1XFiZhbG2m_pJ_2sww3FPc9ChoFo0OpIJzQqtSoBvXpS0JiPI2NChnyBIcai0Kw9HUof5Q4tWKTKpHtkkytpyjFu2EQsZA6VVHdzr8Bf585VmhmF6DlBqpy4Wn4LL3I3u0c44ooG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg36_kmtd6UmPDoAr21MSljqYeU2thmqcEuRFZNkM8hx746L-ZL1XFiZhbG2m_pJ_2sww3FPc9ChoFo0OpIJzQqtSoBvXpS0JiPI2NChnyBIcai0Kw9HUof5Q4tWKTKpHtkkytpyjFu2EQsZA6VVHdzr8Bf585VmhmF6DlBqpy4Wn4LL3I3u0c44ooG=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKtnLkPVMUc4J7Co0BvqxQI92kW3-EIXnomAHL8ExIefjJjCOsGnzwqjcy7TobgGfziPM7f1s0y8GA78Iot-T6GlSAbJN9DnBEP7wnA-MdUugwnJH15Hok1SEzq-9KUHAcPpl5Qy7mVes9UPK7dlpNj11j7zhsOAAp1BRwurm7T5YjiQnsNuB22eMV" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKtnLkPVMUc4J7Co0BvqxQI92kW3-EIXnomAHL8ExIefjJjCOsGnzwqjcy7TobgGfziPM7f1s0y8GA78Iot-T6GlSAbJN9DnBEP7wnA-MdUugwnJH15Hok1SEzq-9KUHAcPpl5Qy7mVes9UPK7dlpNj11j7zhsOAAp1BRwurm7T5YjiQnsNuB22eMV=w640-h482" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy8RkWAdLjxombHLPHcU7H7uw0wVKZmokD_878hiwU_ehfqoZs-U6Q5gXIyXc9qJu8VJgbfsPlgKwFZAmG-4IGqXss2uCdKDYPeuu55dYax9T08ldmIXIAPmFdS94mY0nV9BWGvQmXluqdI-ieduluCunhSLERBdQNbjz8ZBmJ8QP2C0wFSbcrJnkJ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy8RkWAdLjxombHLPHcU7H7uw0wVKZmokD_878hiwU_ehfqoZs-U6Q5gXIyXc9qJu8VJgbfsPlgKwFZAmG-4IGqXss2uCdKDYPeuu55dYax9T08ldmIXIAPmFdS94mY0nV9BWGvQmXluqdI-ieduluCunhSLERBdQNbjz8ZBmJ8QP2C0wFSbcrJnkJ=w640-h482" width="640" /></a></div><p>But what I also found were photos that showed a lot of pretty enjoyable life being lived in between cleaning up after sick kiddos. Pictures of healthy kids playing even as sick siblings slept in my arms.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWE1gWp__OHPogJ4LJXQwtDaqw6X8U0pBx2Z_c8g6Kz40irFMoTNVzjy8KnPC4iL-fZBVj8IlPSxYtj2b8SkYYJWcorgaLZzcxixQq8a__E55UUc3185pqMpGr6k_GDahE1Hy4iRLsnIsdafHiBoV4oRWVPUTKeJPLhyQVuaGnAbgHwlWRZ-2Nvl0v" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWE1gWp__OHPogJ4LJXQwtDaqw6X8U0pBx2Z_c8g6Kz40irFMoTNVzjy8KnPC4iL-fZBVj8IlPSxYtj2b8SkYYJWcorgaLZzcxixQq8a__E55UUc3185pqMpGr6k_GDahE1Hy4iRLsnIsdafHiBoV4oRWVPUTKeJPLhyQVuaGnAbgHwlWRZ-2Nvl0v=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>an incredible and unexpected gift of magna tiles has facilitated hours of creative play</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZzZmZ-eKSisV5qh2YuEgyMHwaXT_9VYXiGpT3EgZCK88VgYZTLRGWE_q3WtU0uEeIonksQsnxRnemCK-myg9h6h2ehYDSJlUXjorzS7f2cWC3tv_7KmvCKOI3DYme8Qx2-wyohQmm-xGfM9YbyYZxI4H9-ywWyuyqIZ8nbbsWkUCSKGd6LmpZqVFA" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZzZmZ-eKSisV5qh2YuEgyMHwaXT_9VYXiGpT3EgZCK88VgYZTLRGWE_q3WtU0uEeIonksQsnxRnemCK-myg9h6h2ehYDSJlUXjorzS7f2cWC3tv_7KmvCKOI3DYme8Qx2-wyohQmm-xGfM9YbyYZxI4H9-ywWyuyqIZ8nbbsWkUCSKGd6LmpZqVFA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>sweet big sisters made Sylvie an origami hat!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhiotWzdBZxKgjsGi-KCgiIoZ7T4cBWnLNsOyYGK3UO7eGB7lavhJJjVTK2mWD4U58FoSCGY6ifoavEv263q_ssvNDvYhPaQbOxxSoJjyZRTeNHGShYta5yescQI4l_fzQqj2M5q4CqqE4v2DsWuhwghl7B0Pp6XVcO4OgzfTQxzgjE9X9TMqu__Niy" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhiotWzdBZxKgjsGi-KCgiIoZ7T4cBWnLNsOyYGK3UO7eGB7lavhJJjVTK2mWD4U58FoSCGY6ifoavEv263q_ssvNDvYhPaQbOxxSoJjyZRTeNHGShYta5yescQI4l_fzQqj2M5q4CqqE4v2DsWuhwghl7B0Pp6XVcO4OgzfTQxzgjE9X9TMqu__Niy=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>when Nell and Marie were sick, Molly found that she could draw Sylvie into her imaginative play</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTnSipDzoLNN01gVO-kcxemidf6JEGVZt1GikNYzU-wCGeirIaT5fjl74AD3Er2ybxJdYlOhWoFWAqEd16Gyz6Is3aXom66Lvsvodlq8CX0FPiFYaBqGHlEwp-yuX8pWSgox36TlJnD-0DTdGSTdkFu2IPP7nQ-A5NZiQRw6MPPjOR2psIlkZzseSE" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTnSipDzoLNN01gVO-kcxemidf6JEGVZt1GikNYzU-wCGeirIaT5fjl74AD3Er2ybxJdYlOhWoFWAqEd16Gyz6Is3aXom66Lvsvodlq8CX0FPiFYaBqGHlEwp-yuX8pWSgox36TlJnD-0DTdGSTdkFu2IPP7nQ-A5NZiQRw6MPPjOR2psIlkZzseSE=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>something fun happened here</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitoijty8vW5HfKpc833tAPxzFlPUa8igpmVUIfdQSTEDjebeb08sqeWuHGni62jkdcsvP_OF3539pe9WNsrIrl3vqbHBCRx6N6vHCvDv2-zmhLJkkvsq8HPBuCPMQhb3jHNS9Q34WOXYt1ffKCfW2TewLiepoLvPNMysxN_d2kDQxKWJLo49_yly-N" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitoijty8vW5HfKpc833tAPxzFlPUa8igpmVUIfdQSTEDjebeb08sqeWuHGni62jkdcsvP_OF3539pe9WNsrIrl3vqbHBCRx6N6vHCvDv2-zmhLJkkvsq8HPBuCPMQhb3jHNS9Q34WOXYt1ffKCfW2TewLiepoLvPNMysxN_d2kDQxKWJLo49_yly-N=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>after watching the charming Royal Ballet production of Beatrix Potter while sick ones rested, Molly declared herself to be Beatrix Potter, and looked out the window sketching what she saw of nature for nearly an hour</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKgtOPUfFFhGEuDpwIf-MOh1VSL3p5CAyqFKjadN9NDx5u7eFWp4LU_X7QViUHnODqCe-hB7IbLbBYUnzSIUnS0-ZCqcHTDH-ZIvW5lZA83UHRsUUkuptlCq-cl2MzO7Syhg25aWZPHC67Rxlxpa2VCeUoQSR2sxLFtUv4cv0MgHYzYkK2rW2SYb4g" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKgtOPUfFFhGEuDpwIf-MOh1VSL3p5CAyqFKjadN9NDx5u7eFWp4LU_X7QViUHnODqCe-hB7IbLbBYUnzSIUnS0-ZCqcHTDH-ZIvW5lZA83UHRsUUkuptlCq-cl2MzO7Syhg25aWZPHC67Rxlxpa2VCeUoQSR2sxLFtUv4cv0MgHYzYkK2rW2SYb4g=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>just because she's cute!</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGRYrgFcgLuw1eyUA3zbYM_OxvgEUU1bghCkC75FPUQKJ3fklvnUglcEZgIL7z_HgsQZ2Vx6Nr8zp4X0Gtaf7lt6TYtwRiorJHvB6FLZ21YXVTxih8reiB766MMfJzzNFSjtUfFoJtw6tasg--cYvibZiGBHcrhsQgtNWyBg_ER5QcqDzMP-LS8zY7" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGRYrgFcgLuw1eyUA3zbYM_OxvgEUU1bghCkC75FPUQKJ3fklvnUglcEZgIL7z_HgsQZ2Vx6Nr8zp4X0Gtaf7lt6TYtwRiorJHvB6FLZ21YXVTxih8reiB766MMfJzzNFSjtUfFoJtw6tasg--cYvibZiGBHcrhsQgtNWyBg_ER5QcqDzMP-LS8zY7=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I found a creative little paper fairy sitting beside my bread box one morning -- Ree's handiwork</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgl0sn2ZZ4NUAkbLJTVJAdTe7tMmPlbEgBvw6ouE9qyC-FIbSWkrrRPqu5H76zZw1WQUy86RRK_crPpioKgbCrkrEomKLgfjcWlW2mlfDLhhrT_8S0_5uW4pGYgZGGDhnfcjggm_K71e0G06ZHb8r9GjCi03egAmScvVtILvcoGxghnwEsyxY-4WpQu" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgl0sn2ZZ4NUAkbLJTVJAdTe7tMmPlbEgBvw6ouE9qyC-FIbSWkrrRPqu5H76zZw1WQUy86RRK_crPpioKgbCrkrEomKLgfjcWlW2mlfDLhhrT_8S0_5uW4pGYgZGGDhnfcjggm_K71e0G06ZHb8r9GjCi03egAmScvVtILvcoGxghnwEsyxY-4WpQu=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sylvie wanted to join in on Nell's practice session</i></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgE4VxgBYc5O9zjcRSCuge56_A7VEFTCtx6k8gQxKzudyVNOtjCH2ZDSwmfk9cv39Ykr_Z4QWfj8jiOM9WrlRN7v5dWozKx2_ySXG4h2Fnec5uRpWLL-6ULnRuDptbXHPpIKEMu1H63Yr2RSD3_nJTmT2DQviRxk53iFmzG93FHemE-Nx3dMnlcdfKf" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgE4VxgBYc5O9zjcRSCuge56_A7VEFTCtx6k8gQxKzudyVNOtjCH2ZDSwmfk9cv39Ykr_Z4QWfj8jiOM9WrlRN7v5dWozKx2_ySXG4h2Fnec5uRpWLL-6ULnRuDptbXHPpIKEMu1H63Yr2RSD3_nJTmT2DQviRxk53iFmzG93FHemE-Nx3dMnlcdfKf=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>a very sweet little girl turned five...</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-fptIP3FSySzJhgCbQgNq-rZG9w4t1YK9w7qjak02xh99EzLda4NGtILuLqk1U2zqPTwdfSfJFX4s48NN9fo3u9saaZaq55lf4mKKTtLm2muTTZVkZ58i-EFB7R6_ECYJ6Dc6BpHf0DNlNu7z3jCmF4tW0x0URCaqF9KWuRTI7pD_DuPVZ2YOAuOb" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-fptIP3FSySzJhgCbQgNq-rZG9w4t1YK9w7qjak02xh99EzLda4NGtILuLqk1U2zqPTwdfSfJFX4s48NN9fo3u9saaZaq55lf4mKKTtLm2muTTZVkZ58i-EFB7R6_ECYJ6Dc6BpHf0DNlNu7z3jCmF4tW0x0URCaqF9KWuRTI7pD_DuPVZ2YOAuOb=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>...and found that she could blow up balloons herself, now that she's five.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgFuItrJF-INyqq4w_x11B-Aclyw172bOYh4H68FttvEBD2hGF9XIsJdq9LGm-lB-djZy5QU74BgSrW38Z7dpAl3r1B5l4W1bSdvjF75iepKdZKKdt2yDZJAYVonqxiEnhzCtBav_yBL6ifVnoBfV1gienxBp6Qu9tA5z9gfarbPGz6cp2YYdfsBCbl" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2491" data-original-width="3321" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgFuItrJF-INyqq4w_x11B-Aclyw172bOYh4H68FttvEBD2hGF9XIsJdq9LGm-lB-djZy5QU74BgSrW38Z7dpAl3r1B5l4W1bSdvjF75iepKdZKKdt2yDZJAYVonqxiEnhzCtBav_yBL6ifVnoBfV1gienxBp6Qu9tA5z9gfarbPGz6cp2YYdfsBCbl=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>her mother made her a castle cake, with more than a little help from a friend who piped the details </i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyJPpnqq74qJM4_v0HuEg3g_88hNYDCJ6ctQXYEb9rtjsTXOOUxQKZBzdFXuObZM4R6gleZRH-9g3cS8hkUyrS0IHaaJK4Kx0X17Uv6yO7QKwp91JjFjL7zdM40zVrLh6M-N3C6ytqkdSzMLJIAdmla7yIjyzIOFbsmZ0I7S1xZqAPNiuvFc3NjAeV" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyJPpnqq74qJM4_v0HuEg3g_88hNYDCJ6ctQXYEb9rtjsTXOOUxQKZBzdFXuObZM4R6gleZRH-9g3cS8hkUyrS0IHaaJK4Kx0X17Uv6yO7QKwp91JjFjL7zdM40zVrLh6M-N3C6ytqkdSzMLJIAdmla7yIjyzIOFbsmZ0I7S1xZqAPNiuvFc3NjAeV=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>{this photo taken about one hour before the newly-minted five-year-old began her own bout with the stomach bug! She didn't even eat any of that cake, after all!}</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Not pictured is the little song her two older sisters wrote her for her birthday, complete with ukulele chord chart added by Nell, who strummed along as they sang. And the pairs of cozy socks given to me to provide a little comfort when I injured my foot. And the friend who stayed up most of the night holding down the fort with our kids during my ER trip, and has brought us groceries so I didn't have to navigate the grocery store with four kids and crutches.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And really, if nibbling olives off chubby baby fingertips can bring Sylvie this much joy, then I too can find joyful, ordinary, <i>holy</i> moments in the past month. </div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiopYjivPhcSqUWBkvlfRtzeSQFbRT1OVnaxEmaR2wQRk7Rb9-pJtn5FnyM9MX9lFNDMn_7ZIMfXcfnNH3DuX30HGbN3_4b-3khlXkbc3x3_KmNy79EXwfQC1BBlIlz03E4x-a_re035Rh3zH_mJzBckO0m2kU3dWoL_O-KPBKOx3_GeGvp_WY4-NBW" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiopYjivPhcSqUWBkvlfRtzeSQFbRT1OVnaxEmaR2wQRk7Rb9-pJtn5FnyM9MX9lFNDMn_7ZIMfXcfnNH3DuX30HGbN3_4b-3khlXkbc3x3_KmNy79EXwfQC1BBlIlz03E4x-a_re035Rh3zH_mJzBckO0m2kU3dWoL_O-KPBKOx3_GeGvp_WY4-NBW=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">{But I really, really hope that cutie wakes up healthy at last tomorrow...!}</div></div>sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-70840531662786765732022-01-05T19:31:00.014-08:002022-01-05T19:45:23.713-08:00Mollyisms, Vol. 2<p><span style="font-family: times;">This kid... I've got quotes saved from her going back to when she was three. It's hard to believe this girl will be five in a couple of months, and it seems past time to do another installment of her personal quotable.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">These pictures are some I snapped with my phone on a random morning way back in October, shortly before Molly gave herself a haircut and subsequently found herself with a necessary bob and bangs. She was playing dress up that morning, and dancing on the coffee table in between clowning around with her silliest faces. Just the best of times, being four...</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx5aM-5pmMoVhPwtxBdDLz686GCrJkwwOt0uJ2MP0nK0TJy9aI02NUKo1I5Ww4cftmbJG86egGqTTmOQXyA82qu5Nwus9i5tNk7i9FP8tsM4rcK9_IsrWm2sZ15gyV5iT5sIJcVA7_y1E/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx5aM-5pmMoVhPwtxBdDLz686GCrJkwwOt0uJ2MP0nK0TJy9aI02NUKo1I5Ww4cftmbJG86egGqTTmOQXyA82qu5Nwus9i5tNk7i9FP8tsM4rcK9_IsrWm2sZ15gyV5iT5sIJcVA7_y1E/w480-h640/IMG_1283.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-0yo9WT5gDSVwV6LnDRaH6l6-R9X-Y9gWBUF04oiJMDvJ7GAk7Di34WZguqCfiVPbOWElvS717P1VuoDtzlDPKTyZ-vv-Yl8lshXqKb6BFUt4MV3Y_mHT3bvFwNyoH_YPoofhThIm_w/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-0yo9WT5gDSVwV6LnDRaH6l6-R9X-Y9gWBUF04oiJMDvJ7GAk7Di34WZguqCfiVPbOWElvS717P1VuoDtzlDPKTyZ-vv-Yl8lshXqKb6BFUt4MV3Y_mHT3bvFwNyoH_YPoofhThIm_w/w480-h640/IMG_1321.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><p><span style="font-family: times;">Until pretty recently, "becksist" was breakfast, "mown" was how she said morning, and she was "soosty," not thirsty. She loved pocksasuhls, aka popsicles, all summer long, and declared it "soggy" anytime it was, in fact, foggy. She got confused a time or two and called a porcupine a "pine needle," a skunk a "stunk," and animals in general are still sometimes "amimals."</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">"I was reading a book and then the corner scratched me."<br />"Oh, did you get a paper cut?"<br />"No, I got a <i>book</i> cut."</span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">Sadly: "I like chocolate cookies all the time. But I don't get to <i>have</i> chocolate cookies all the time." </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p><div><span style="font-family: times;">Showing off her building block skills: "My tower is so good and so beautiful and so bigness!"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Waking and fussing at night: "Can you buckle me in Mama? Buckle me in with my blankets?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTaJPmRbQlPU0OfGCdy92UTgaCD6haE5bQLXT5HUvSGbXlqeAv-Nw8XxPq5UYpatAstl26NnzBhr8xf3ZVZexjrxtr3Wxwypl515O8rvwHESUn-fUFDPpK-4I9yyp_3NUqs_2ZuLXB5U/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTaJPmRbQlPU0OfGCdy92UTgaCD6haE5bQLXT5HUvSGbXlqeAv-Nw8XxPq5UYpatAstl26NnzBhr8xf3ZVZexjrxtr3Wxwypl515O8rvwHESUn-fUFDPpK-4I9yyp_3NUqs_2ZuLXB5U/w480-h640/IMG_1260.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Me: "It's time to take your clothes off and get ready for bed!"</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">Molly: "Take my <i>toes</i> off?!?!"</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><p><span style="font-family: times;">At bedtime: "I don't want to be in my bed or anything because I don't like that. I just like eating and being awake. I like two things! I like eating and playing. And I like Daddy and Mama kissin' me and huggin' me and squeezin' me. And I like eating food. That's all I like. I <i>don't</i> like going to sleep all the time."</span></p><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Early one morning, slipping into bed beside me in just her undies: "Good morning Mama, I'm just having myself some naked belly time."</span></div><div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Hearing spring peepers last spring, Molly asked me what the sound was. I replied that it was frogs, but Molly was not convinced. "No, that's not a frog Mama because a frog says RIBBIT like that. So no, that is not frogs."</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GpO3Q2UuTy1AeapJ1-ap7GUa0k6Gk8wjKlg9Ist1Vv1xBya5I6jaS_rLsudW8JprISy-CuJ7RVZsfzQuy4IQw3YWBHB6bSPqp_9fdk_s6B-3YbbuCDwApIr-X0-ayu3t3DN9W7ssaEQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GpO3Q2UuTy1AeapJ1-ap7GUa0k6Gk8wjKlg9Ist1Vv1xBya5I6jaS_rLsudW8JprISy-CuJ7RVZsfzQuy4IQw3YWBHB6bSPqp_9fdk_s6B-3YbbuCDwApIr-X0-ayu3t3DN9W7ssaEQ/w480-h640/IMG_1301.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"I'm hungry! I'm hungry!" Then, unimpressed with the lunch offering: "What else can I have? You're not making anything very great for me to have so I guess I'm not gonna be healthy!" </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"I have a headache on my back."</span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">After watching a video of Nell playing her violin when she was younger, Molly asked, "Now can we watch a video of me playing the violin when I was older?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Hmm... we all tried to explain the way in which time is linear and no such future video of an activity she has not learned existed. Molly was quite disappointed.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">During Holy Week: "We need to pray for Jesus! We need to pray for Jesus because he's dead!"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"Maaaamaaa! Marie made me have a headache!" </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"Oh, how did she do that?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"She hit me in the head and that's how she made me have a headache!"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><p><span style="font-family: times;">"I wanna grow big so I can cut things with knives."</span></p><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><p><span style="font-family: times;">Watching a staged performance of <i>Die Walkure </i>on YouTube one day:<i> </i>"This is a little bit creepy! I would not be in any of those places. Because a monster might come and stab my leg."</span></p><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">One day while, ahem, wiping her bottom, I sang absentmindedly, "You are my sunshine..." and Molly responded promptly, "Oh no Mama, don't sing beautiful things to me when I just did a yucky poop. It doesn't seem beautiful. It just doesn't seem right to me."</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGToQgo-oB0dtrP-tQEs3XjZwMwAE1U8ip2fCJk-xrSbA4pmyb25hmcGAeyezQtycGB_0q7LC9cIs9dir4NGXfAsvyOMoQMrrzh3aG2gmQTvnvCQ9Slk3IpU7RW2cWiYQHFG8Xanmkyg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGToQgo-oB0dtrP-tQEs3XjZwMwAE1U8ip2fCJk-xrSbA4pmyb25hmcGAeyezQtycGB_0q7LC9cIs9dir4NGXfAsvyOMoQMrrzh3aG2gmQTvnvCQ9Slk3IpU7RW2cWiYQHFG8Xanmkyg/w480-h640/IMG_1276.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoLmyzjqMv573SjKhJqEQzPesTba3uRe6SHmHfTZAck_tHAX0aQ0OGFAt7kmY9T3bPvDAk_6HlN7IIYudCsPi5b4eBpoe6-sDCy8LZ7pHJs_eiIY-2AeusOCGZs5-_lGGuf-PUOuhuIJE/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoLmyzjqMv573SjKhJqEQzPesTba3uRe6SHmHfTZAck_tHAX0aQ0OGFAt7kmY9T3bPvDAk_6HlN7IIYudCsPi5b4eBpoe6-sDCy8LZ7pHJs_eiIY-2AeusOCGZs5-_lGGuf-PUOuhuIJE/w480-h640/IMG_1273.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"How you make goldfish crackers is this: you take fish and you take gold and you stir it around and you put it in the fridge for a long time. That's how you make goldfish crackers."</span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"Mama, when I grow up can I touch hot things carefully like you can? Will I grow up tall? And then can I?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Me: "Yes, you will grow up more and then you can! You'll learn how to do it carefully like I do."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Molly: "And when I grow up will you grow down and then I'll be the mama?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Me: "No, I won't grow down but you'll grow up... people only get older, they don't get younger."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Molly: "Oh, so then will we have two mamas?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">I told her that if she grew up to be a mama some day, that would make me a grandma, and she found this curiously hilarious.</span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p><div><span style="font-family: times;">With a happy, contented sigh: "I'm so fed up!" </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">*pause*</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"That means everything is beautiful."</span></div></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Bedtime conversations:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Molly: God is with me, right? But why can't I see him in the room? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Me: Yes, God is with us everywhere but we can't see him.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Molly: But what shape is his head? I mean what does he look like? Is his head a circle? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Me: We don't know what God looks like.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Molly: But maybe you could show me a picture on your phone or your computer or something.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Reading a little children's book about animals, I pointed to a picture of a turkey, its tail feathers all spread out, and asked, "What animal is that?" Uncertainly Molly responded, "...a helicopter?"</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">On a long car ride Molly asked, "Hey Daddy? Could you reach back here and put your sweet sweet hands on my little feet?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKnE9r3esRNFaquOJEhGYgvi6ec9zenuc_b9d49m7Yz1Zp4RoRYMqVPYtEYHxpEIiOkOC65r6w6RRKcwMJqF14lannpMkl-nHcQwZoBZKWGZ8EHP7zCXUimalFandxN90avBPD7QHBDuw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKnE9r3esRNFaquOJEhGYgvi6ec9zenuc_b9d49m7Yz1Zp4RoRYMqVPYtEYHxpEIiOkOC65r6w6RRKcwMJqF14lannpMkl-nHcQwZoBZKWGZ8EHP7zCXUimalFandxN90avBPD7QHBDuw/w480-h640/IMG_1268.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: times;">Bringing me a glass of water, for which she apparently found my "thank you" inadequate: "You should give me hundreds of diamonds for being nice to you today and bringing you this water. I mean, hundreds of pennies. Or nickels."</span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">"Mama, I want you to help me find a dress to wear today."<br />"OK Molly, shall we find you a beautiful dress?"<br />"No, I want a beautiful beautiful <i>beautiful</i> dress."<br />OK then!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><p><span style="font-family: times;">To a babysitter who evidently read with less inflection than Molly is accustomed to hearing: "You read like you're sleepy." (Burn. Sorry, baby-sitter!)</span></p><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><p><span style="font-family: times;">"How does banana spell? A-T-R? M? S-T-A?"</span></p><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">"Mama, where do poops and pees live?"<br />"In your belly."<br />"But food goes there!"<br />"Yes, poop comes from food your body has digested and used up."<br />"<i>What?!</i> <i>Poop is food</i>?!??"</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p></p></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDuji8YMz6gAk7EWhuZ2cbn_aUXARqoebEppKQvkYBmT1HS3dU1mPkkuhUquyHRrQ5izkPMLvc2Mqomvmy1OztZKaI9d9L_h1IcDZytoI9-wqik11Mke6rtJvveVXfXoUQ4aQWRhIEgc/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDuji8YMz6gAk7EWhuZ2cbn_aUXARqoebEppKQvkYBmT1HS3dU1mPkkuhUquyHRrQ5izkPMLvc2Mqomvmy1OztZKaI9d9L_h1IcDZytoI9-wqik11Mke6rtJvveVXfXoUQ4aQWRhIEgc/w480-h640/IMG_1269.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGU-KHQrcGfiaL5VoVzaNnxlF1Q8s1w5-qiWJyI9O_x6Jo0ffZ6LCbKKKMBz_S2MSGDOhxgHZ-jWCAlrXOtZLXZNZVV7m-0lzFEMF8sNUt2lP-0xWg2umr9p5-6hbjZ7Alsqz1TSzusrI/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGU-KHQrcGfiaL5VoVzaNnxlF1Q8s1w5-qiWJyI9O_x6Jo0ffZ6LCbKKKMBz_S2MSGDOhxgHZ-jWCAlrXOtZLXZNZVV7m-0lzFEMF8sNUt2lP-0xWg2umr9p5-6hbjZ7Alsqz1TSzusrI/w480-h640/IMG_1262.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: times;">One morning I came downstairs to find mouse poop on my kitchen counter. The girls were appropriately horrified (as was I), and Molly mused, "Did the mouse come and poop on the counter while you were asleep?" "Yes, isn't that yucky?" "But you could have called the police you know, polices help people! They could get the mouse and put the mouse in prison!"</span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">On a walk one day, Ree declared, "I'm looking for an acorn today, and maybe a pine cone." Molly responded, "I'm looking for money. Or maybe a diamond ring." (One of these children was successful in her endeavors, and the other one, not so much.)</span></p></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Recently she referred to an ambulance as a "weeoooo" truck ("weeooo" being the sound she would make for a siren), and a whole week later she said with a tone of condescension to her former self, "When I was little I used to call ambulances weeooo trucks."</span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"Daddy likes spicy things. Daddy likes beautiful things. Daddy likes shiny things. Daddy likes meat and chips. Daddy likes everything except vegetables and centipedes and bugs."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"Mama? By the way? I like mansions."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Me too, kid. Me too.</span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Arriving home after a day at the beach last summer, Molly flopped down on the floor and declared, "I have a really hard life."</span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Looking out the window one morning, she called out excitedly, "MAMA! I see a teeny tiny TIGER in the street!!!" And in that moment I realized that maybe she's watched too much Wild Kratts and spent too little time with ordinary domesticated pets.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">At bedtime:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Me: "Do you want me to sing you a song tonight?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">Molly: "No, thanks. But I want you to stay with me forever."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div></div><div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"What are we havin' for dinner?"<br /></span><span style="font-family: times;">"Ravioli."<br /></span><span style="font-family: times;">Suspiciously: "What <i>is</i> gravioli?!"</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtbuRaiL3u3FcolsBYrHhPTp5e2a2rLYhGUiWYbx4ve2HP-0mawbisH2aF-dQSbSqT5A97spLh07VRffHHrDjXQT9Z10XNnBuGp5kTRuebrXTd9eKc5ai6Plg4Cj7iXhTnMrHZwJ5CkE0/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: times;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtbuRaiL3u3FcolsBYrHhPTp5e2a2rLYhGUiWYbx4ve2HP-0mawbisH2aF-dQSbSqT5A97spLh07VRffHHrDjXQT9Z10XNnBuGp5kTRuebrXTd9eKc5ai6Plg4Cj7iXhTnMrHZwJ5CkE0/w480-h640/IMG_1252.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"Can you rewind me in the morning?" she sometimes used to ask, when she meant "remind." She doesn't say this anymore, and I sometimes find myself wishing I could rewind her, indeed, to these kinds of moments...</span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: times;">"Mama, I love you. Don't go any places in the mown (morning) time. Don't go any places at night. Don't go any places any of the days. Stay here at home with me forever."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">* * *</span></p></div><span style="font-family: times;">"I love you super much," she says to me sometimes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><br />We love you super much too, Margaret Elizabeth. </span></div>sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-91979204116088767402021-09-18T10:12:00.005-07:002023-08-25T07:43:06.936-07:00Third Grade and First Grade, Retrospectively<p>Spring of 2021 was filled with so many unexpected things that the end of our school year trickled to a stop without a grand finale of any real sort. I didn't even get around to taking pictures of the girls with their books (a bit of a tradition around here) until it was almost time to start our new school year! So, utterly late to the party, here we are with a wrap-up of third grade for Nell, and first grade for Ree. </p><p>Highlights of the year as a family included reading <i>Pagoo</i> by Holling C. Holling, portions of Nathaniel Hawthorne's <i>Wonder Book</i> of Greek myths, and <i>Children of the New Forest</i> by Marryat. They were particularly struck by a term's study of Richard Wagner, love <i>Little Pilgrim's Progress</i>, and loved singing and dancing around the house to folksongs all year, with a particular affinity for <i>The Golden Vanity</i>. We studied reptiles, rivers and oceans, and wildflowers, and got to observe so many wonderful things up close. Both girls enjoy math, history, science/nature study, art, music, and so much more. It's truly a delight to watch them making all sorts of connections across fields of study and terms or years of their education. They recall so much and connect it to new things they learn with great enthusiasm, and their enjoyment of school keeps me going. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBIE63-8VlahhcPKuO8du79aDVycPXWbxl0GhvLbm66jMl2hRe50XQvXjtA8M9r-KUicplXzTnuLR-EltdQ5al88Cxq-R3X1JTgzK6WnZsTGmHRo9_duPLKsaWiJYU6Lp8bOen2HlweQY/s2048/T7Vsg6M8TWeH4ycElwlAxA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBIE63-8VlahhcPKuO8du79aDVycPXWbxl0GhvLbm66jMl2hRe50XQvXjtA8M9r-KUicplXzTnuLR-EltdQ5al88Cxq-R3X1JTgzK6WnZsTGmHRo9_duPLKsaWiJYU6Lp8bOen2HlweQY/w640-h480/T7Vsg6M8TWeH4ycElwlAxA.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ree is learning to read, and loves her little old-fashioned primer that teaches reading in both print and cursive. She loves math and sometimes surprises me with her ability and quickness in that subject. (It doesn't go over well when she answers her older sister's math questions ... oh dear!) </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOdCYpfgTtJ8TDo-IKeGouG-v_ZL-rArqqatBz98W6FtK1_MCrIcfHv1eHoLmS1hcCo9PH7uv1wfJYr5eGMVOPYTE5hiW85Pmh_-pk5wn_jKWDFCdEJIgVQ6YxYaL0CQ2EzMoXqqUy94/s2048/M7McDelnRf2wUCh3cEGcbA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOdCYpfgTtJ8TDo-IKeGouG-v_ZL-rArqqatBz98W6FtK1_MCrIcfHv1eHoLmS1hcCo9PH7uv1wfJYr5eGMVOPYTE5hiW85Pmh_-pk5wn_jKWDFCdEJIgVQ6YxYaL0CQ2EzMoXqqUy94/w640-h480/M7McDelnRf2wUCh3cEGcbA.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It really does help me get going with a new school year (now two weeks underway!) to look back on the previous year. We didn't accomplish everything on the lists I had made, to be sure, but we <i>did</i> accomplish quite a lot of things, and best of all, we are all eager and happy for the new school year, which I consider to be a very good sign indeed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here's to another good year of learning together!</div><p></p>sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-80227766085269628032021-06-10T20:25:00.003-07:002021-06-11T07:30:38.153-07:00the trouble with birthdays and wishes<p> She wants a lot of things, this daughter of mine who is seemingly never satisfied - or not for long, anyway. The new pair of shoes has her enamored for a few days, but soon she wants something else. Yesterday's dessert is quickly forgotten and I hear, "We never get to have treats!" Today's trip to the Crane Estate was filled with beauties and delights, but driving home she began to whine because she wanted to go to a playground.</p><p>My first instinct was to unleash my own frustration in the form of a lecture about gratitude, to tell her how frustrating it is to hear her grumpily declaring that her mother never takes her to playgrounds literally moments after walking through beautiful gardens and running joyfully through the salt spray of one of our favorites beaches. Yes, I almost laid it all out for her -- and it wouldn't have been the first time she'd heard me express the importance of gratitude for the things we have, the things we get to do.</p><p>But then, in a moment of clarity, I realized I had been feeling a little off all day, too. Like that daughter of mine, I want things, too. And while I spend most of my days fairly content with the little life I lead, on a day like today when it was asked of me, "What do you want for your birthday?" -- well, then I start to think about what I want. And I realize that the answer doesn't lie conveniently in the $10-$20 range of a little birthday gift. What do I want? That could fit into one day of the year and one little budget?</p><p>You see, what I want is for the lattice project off the back addition of our house to finally be finished so the back of the house doesn't look so dilapidated. I want us to have the time or the money to finish it. I want to be able to afford to bring in a crew to repair and paint the exterior trim on our house which so badly needs to be done. I want gardens like the ones I walked through at the Crane Estate today. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvE8KVf4VINV_GCc1DZHsIeAMbJ1vM5B-G4ujww7e4Viuuqa8Gov4Sjzmp9gEEX39W8CPrGPDL7l1k8vKOnyDgBxfSiRp265oZWbpFux9c3S2C1gLSzcfLnnd33qvGrPw1ErJPDZaSAo4/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvE8KVf4VINV_GCc1DZHsIeAMbJ1vM5B-G4ujww7e4Viuuqa8Gov4Sjzmp9gEEX39W8CPrGPDL7l1k8vKOnyDgBxfSiRp265oZWbpFux9c3S2C1gLSzcfLnnd33qvGrPw1ErJPDZaSAo4/w640-h480/IMG_6078.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Cascades of roses, armloads of peonies, and impressive alliums, a well-graded lawn that is actually more grass than dirt and weeds - I want that. In fact, I want a whole estate like the Crane Estate. I'd like very much to live a Downton Abbey sort of life in a grand house. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglA2-U4F-AwZhD5oKrrE5YPketrHOucSqs-MUdhNgqcTyqbHfGyk91AquSCNx6gonxgPVPUtd5dwQVBnbX5mgSwJeKunhzSY_ITJdcSu3b42yKX65J1Fh_mLjL2KlKwrGSikaZ6tfeQeE/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglA2-U4F-AwZhD5oKrrE5YPketrHOucSqs-MUdhNgqcTyqbHfGyk91AquSCNx6gonxgPVPUtd5dwQVBnbX5mgSwJeKunhzSY_ITJdcSu3b42yKX65J1Fh_mLjL2KlKwrGSikaZ6tfeQeE/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAaxvFPUJYlz_W01aLKBlrGlY0OXVBMhFGo5hjLQCobPvhVsPWepRa9fOF9UWFgeuai8neRwxYVGF55cWXfMKLpyk4Csi3Zz0jA626rWTanT8svzOSTbLsPkLswrJLezHOuPKfD2QA39g/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAaxvFPUJYlz_W01aLKBlrGlY0OXVBMhFGo5hjLQCobPvhVsPWepRa9fOF9UWFgeuai8neRwxYVGF55cWXfMKLpyk4Csi3Zz0jA626rWTanT8svzOSTbLsPkLswrJLezHOuPKfD2QA39g/w640-h480/IMG_9587.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><p>Come to think of it, Burleigh House would be more than acceptable. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2IZ2GP0nU9OWLTCI-ccLVwCBlt96R7_103QuZflUoH1gEw9JKzp46R66JmX1A8DaD3itXfNV_H-UEao-HvN__Ks_cLbd9TWl9paZ9j3fZNydhh63uUzh-f8lA_H9TPESsS-Y06_mwn9E/" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1534" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2IZ2GP0nU9OWLTCI-ccLVwCBlt96R7_103QuZflUoH1gEw9JKzp46R66JmX1A8DaD3itXfNV_H-UEao-HvN__Ks_cLbd9TWl9paZ9j3fZNydhh63uUzh-f8lA_H9TPESsS-Y06_mwn9E/w640-h480/4FD0397A-E861-44C9-B623-29CE928DD5DB.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>I wouldn't say no to a small household staff, or at least the occasional help with a load of laundry since I'm up to my ears in unwashed items lately. What I want is for the house to be tidy, for the chaos of the children to be mitigated somehow. I want the kitchen renovation we've dreamed of doing to be something we could actually afford so I can stop my seemingly futile efforts of trying to clean the cracking old formica countertops and the black stains along the caulking behind the sink. I dream of soapstone counters, but I'd settle for anything spacious enough for a kid or two to sit on and make pancakes with me on Saturday mornings. </p><p><img alt="" class="hCL kVc L4E MIw" height="640" importance="auto" loading="auto" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/44/15/c0/4415c0145b3d2cf01beb9a0cf541a615.jpg" width="446" /></p><p>I want a huge porch with rocking chairs and a big swing, to spend summer evenings drinking wine in the evening open air. I want to eat ice cream every couple of days and still somehow lose ten pounds. I want to travel to places like Italy, and New Orleans, and Turkey. I want all these things, and more. And so, when my loving husband asks me what I want for my birthday, I hardly know how to answer because the answer is so impossibly enormous. And unlike my tiny demanding daughter, I have the social acumen to know that brooding about all of these things with a discontented heart isn't exactly admirable. </p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p>I spent the day feeling ever-so-slightly off center because of all this. I want all the things, but I also feel badly for wanting all the things. Unlike my young daughter, whose emotions and big asks in life run wild and unrestrained, I know I have everything to be grateful for. I know that I ought not to have spent my birthday in the margins of a funk, and all because of what? Because my house is messy and in need of renovations? Because my yard is not filled with the gardens of a grand estate? Because my life is ordinary and filled with everyday responsibilities, stresses, worries, and unending tasks that may never be finished? </p><p>I prayed for my heart of discontent to be replaced with a heart of gratitude today, on this day when my daughter's free and entirely unselfconscious requests reminded me that my own heart was discontented as well. And we came home from our day's adventures to that messy house, just as we had left it. The lawn was still filled with anthills I can't seem to eradicate. The baby's room was still piled with clean laundry waiting to be folded. This dear old fixer-upper of a house welcomed us home with her dingy trim paint and broken old garage door. </p><p>And yet, she is a dear old house indeed, and filled with joy and memories and good things. I prayed for gratitude, and almost immediately my vision grew more clear. I saw one daughter finally get the hang of jumping rope in the afternoon sunlight. My four-year-old brought me a birthday card she drew me, a picture of a rainbow with the word MAMA spelled out above it. The baby wrapped her sweet chubby arms around my neck this evening. Another daughter demanded I let her help me with dinner as much as possible since it was my birthday. </p><p>Ordinary little nothings, perhaps, these moments of gratitude. But this afternoon I realized that instead of wanting to chastise my daughter for the wild and expansive things she wants so desperately in life, I can understand her. I, too, know how it is to want the world handed to me exactly as I wish it could be. But I also know the antidote to discontent can sometimes be as simple as a prayer that brings me into the presence of God: "In your presence there is fullness of joy."</p><p>I know that God would have us be grateful for all that he's given us, but I also have a secret suspicion that my heavenly Father is neither shocked nor angry that a corner of my heart longs for the grandest of spaces and gardens. Yes, "Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth," he tells me, and I surely need the reminder. But he also promises a mansion with many rooms, and grand feasts. Perhaps he sees and understands the silly longings of my daughter's heart, and of mine, too.</p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p><i>Dearest little seven-year-old of mine,</i></p><p><i>If your Mama sometimes butts heads with you, perhaps it is because we are somewhat alike. There's a burning fire inside of you, to do things, to have things, to go places, to be somebody. I feel those things too sometimes. I know you dream of having the "fanciest" life imaginable, girlie. It's OK to want wonderful and big things in life. I'll try to remember that I'm not so different from you, after all, and to temper my occasional little lectures with a little more understanding.</i></p><p><i>Love,</i></p><p><i>your mama</i></p><p><span class="indent-1" face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="font-size: 16px;"></span></p>sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-53267245493321057392020-11-24T13:09:00.004-08:002020-11-24T13:09:50.574-08:00Sylvie Anne<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><h4><i style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4In75HGplfyx9mxfrpv_tPxKTgeAfW-xQXhAlISxsR-gqOvGueqM_VeWC28QkOvxKzXY7MZSWwpIWoFA6K0HRoJRIyTnY8a2SWDrLRFy8sAdNUwS0ME2CaBcNGIM9lF8ksirSWU7zJlM/s2048/fullsizeoutput_dd6d.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1357" data-original-width="2048" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4In75HGplfyx9mxfrpv_tPxKTgeAfW-xQXhAlISxsR-gqOvGueqM_VeWC28QkOvxKzXY7MZSWwpIWoFA6K0HRoJRIyTnY8a2SWDrLRFy8sAdNUwS0ME2CaBcNGIM9lF8ksirSWU7zJlM/w640-h424/fullsizeoutput_dd6d.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div></span></i></h4><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Seeing as this little lady has been a bonafide member of our family for over six months, it seems about time to chronicle a few memories of her arrival and earliest moments. Those first moments are such precious ones, aren't they? Difficult and precious all at once; the sort of moments you'd want to live over and over again if it weren't for the fact that while being so wonderful they're sometimes also so hard.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNe_98kIBvtwhdPp3Jpr459W1MRNXVOCjB6zYkhyphenhyphenv5H0SWpr21oQvsAmWjRC03Ym1tdZZzDhHXvNbeRNdGn3vA1iz12yWgV7iobG1AFI9rtpCapnjJ_nEVP7PfhG2CVFAeeubf_b9zbuw/s2048/fullsizeoutput_d1aa.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNe_98kIBvtwhdPp3Jpr459W1MRNXVOCjB6zYkhyphenhyphenv5H0SWpr21oQvsAmWjRC03Ym1tdZZzDhHXvNbeRNdGn3vA1iz12yWgV7iobG1AFI9rtpCapnjJ_nEVP7PfhG2CVFAeeubf_b9zbuw/w640-h480/fullsizeoutput_d1aa.jpeg" width="640" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgILPcpCQihMb4x03mYVbuLtCc9-88TRQd0j2P1QrMud8fQuVs0RIOwNsftoo0-A-uMhbvsy-ePxPoH3bcaRhj_yYdAJey1Do0LjMxsMnK7gEBTOnI3touYV0LUxPyswbuTwoNH3QkogHk/s2048/o%252BAT2VN2RmySjEn7TP%25255mA.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgILPcpCQihMb4x03mYVbuLtCc9-88TRQd0j2P1QrMud8fQuVs0RIOwNsftoo0-A-uMhbvsy-ePxPoH3bcaRhj_yYdAJey1Do0LjMxsMnK7gEBTOnI3touYV0LUxPyswbuTwoNH3QkogHk/w480-h640/o%252BAT2VN2RmySjEn7TP%25255mA.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTLyOQbcmWnEyvWysgv7265kTTbyEXt_fD6h7mk5GD1WBR7uJV7BBBYvzDalb6HQzUqcNCrpsrUQNSewNxtvs_SBEbUhiQWrt0_-g5TOfyJyn4Qda1Q4yk7ZUfC8foUfqqB64ly45HEcE/s2048/fullsizeoutput_dd8b.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1494" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTLyOQbcmWnEyvWysgv7265kTTbyEXt_fD6h7mk5GD1WBR7uJV7BBBYvzDalb6HQzUqcNCrpsrUQNSewNxtvs_SBEbUhiQWrt0_-g5TOfyJyn4Qda1Q4yk7ZUfC8foUfqqB64ly45HEcE/w466-h640/fullsizeoutput_dd8b.jpeg" width="466" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgso9SM55O-UPR8zVNZSELTBdfikGcb2yeDNE7UF1Bcv9zX9TgK3ErGOZoT2LYNhD0K1wgyaNRwLgQROibYc3H7QrqhtmskTRie7VZpiW1mQebfbU55te_ePUIPVs1xp6f5fcLI5pkToMY/s2048/fullsizeoutput_eecc.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgso9SM55O-UPR8zVNZSELTBdfikGcb2yeDNE7UF1Bcv9zX9TgK3ErGOZoT2LYNhD0K1wgyaNRwLgQROibYc3H7QrqhtmskTRie7VZpiW1mQebfbU55te_ePUIPVs1xp6f5fcLI5pkToMY/w480-h640/fullsizeoutput_eecc.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnz8UacMnDFg_yRIULE16yGCf8idXqgybMmg488IEvh3jfhsP9YfAFUtEIUdx2_kUjZbvc_76WvyZAXpJL25PTa_dg-Q2mc3Kl15Sb49J4h52lZ3lohLCVIIzBiiCqV6_mRHhQcHroq4/s2048/fullsizeoutput_eecd.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnz8UacMnDFg_yRIULE16yGCf8idXqgybMmg488IEvh3jfhsP9YfAFUtEIUdx2_kUjZbvc_76WvyZAXpJL25PTa_dg-Q2mc3Kl15Sb49J4h52lZ3lohLCVIIzBiiCqV6_mRHhQcHroq4/w480-h640/fullsizeoutput_eecd.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>More and more often lately, I find myself missing the days of long-form social media. Remember the early 2000's, before bloggers were replaced by instagrammers and before everyone was trying to be an influencer? I realize I am now hopelessly out-of-date in this regard, but I still cherish the family memories I have recorded on this old-fashioned blog, and I sometimes wish I had time to record things here more often. In any case, since we now have four daughters (four!), it seems that an update of some sort is quite overdue.<br /><br />Sylvie Anne joined our family on Monday, April 27, at 8:52 am. She was born at home in our family room in an inflatable tub at the height of a pandemic, and I like to think she'll be all the more resilient for it. She was also born partly en caul (with the bag of waters still intact over her head and body), which is considered a sign of good luck. She weighed 8 lbs, 14 oz (my biggest baby!), and measured 21 inches long. <br /><br />Her three eager big sisters ran in to meet her when she was moments old, and were immediately smitten with that squishy, slightly bruised little face, her head of soft hair, her delicate and intoxicating newborn scent. <div><br /></div><div>The story of her birth is the first time I have managed a birth without an epidural. Back when Nell, our oldest, was born, I had hoped to have a home birth, but a very long (~72 hrs) labor eventually landed us in the hospital for pain relief and rest. Marie's labor was likewise quite long and also ended in a transfer (from birth center to hospital) for pain relief after about 36 hrs. With Molly, in the hopes of avoiding the postpartum sense of failure that had accompanied my first two, we decided to make the hospital and the epidural "Plan A," and in this way, everything went according to plan, ha! </div><div><br /></div><div>Early in my pregnancy with Sylvie I sort of figured we would do the same thing again, but by sometime in January I began to find myself toying with the idea of trying once more to have a home birth. It was, frankly, really weird and inexplicable. Even Nathan said, "Honey, your labors are long and grueling and full of unbearable back pain that never relents. Why on earth would you be considering trying this again? Your epidurals have had zero complications and everything has gone really well." And he was right! I couldn't explain the niggling thoughts that I just couldn't shake, that maybe this time we should try home one more time. </div><div><br /></div><div>By February we had met with a delightful midwife based out of New Hampshire, and we soon booked her services. As you may be able to guess, it wasn't long before we became very, very grateful that we had gone this route. Yes, by mid-March when the United States totally shut down and we were all hunkered at home looking at graphs and charts and watching numbers that rose daily, well... I was quite grateful to think that, if everything went well at home, we could avoid a trip to the hospital and all that might entail amidst a pandemic. If a hospital transfer became necessary, would Nathan even be able to be with me? How long might it be before the older girls would meet their new sister? If I developed a fever or any other symptoms, would baby and I be separated in the hospital? These were all worrisome thoughts, and scenarios we hoped to avoid by just staying home. </div><div><br /></div><div>After literally weeks (!) of prodromal labor that started and stopped, started again and stopped again, that Sunday night I thought maybe things were actually really going to happen. Of course, I had already thought this a dozen times before, so I was losing some serious trusts in my instincts in this regard. Still, by this point I was a week "overdue," so it seemed like it really did need to happen eventually. When he got home from work that evening, Nathan drove to Beverly and picked up some Indian food for me at my request, and we relaxed and watched a little TV together. A couple of hours after going to bed I was awakened again and couldn't get back to sleep, so I came downstairs and tried to rest on the couch, dozing on and off between contractions. Between midnight and 4:00 am or so, I was able to rest, watch some TV half awake, and generally cope pretty well. But at about 4:00 I remember yelling up the stairs, "NATHAN!" and feeling pretty urgently that I needed his help at that point. He came downstairs groggily, but soon sprang into action and started filling the inflatable birth tub with water for me. </div><div><br /></div><div>We called our midwife to let her know things seemed to be happening for real at last, and I texted my sister-in-law, who was planning to come be with the older girls during the birth. After that a lot of what happened is a bit blurry for me. Once the tub was filled with warm water I got right in--looking truly stellar I'm sure in a bikini at 9+ months pregnant. As I had an increasingly hard time coping with the unrelenting back pain that is how labor goes for me, Nathan would hold the hose of running warm water right over my lower back for me, which provided some relief.</div><div><br /></div><div>Around 6 or 7 am our midwife arrived together with her assistant and a young midwifery student who was doing her clinical hours or... something. Like I said, a lot of this is blurry for me. In any case, they bustled around on the sidelines getting things ready and I hummed and moaned and occasionally screamed from the back pain in contractions. I tried turning on my hypnosis recordings and soon yelled, "HYPNOSIS IS A BUNCH OF CRAP!" Well, it was nice until things were really serious anyway, which by now they were. I kept waiting for my midwife to say something nice and definitive, like "Oh, honey, this is transition and it'll be over soon," but failing to hear these exact words while feeling that surely I couldn't take any more of this, I said things like "I want to go to the hospital! I need all the drugs! Nathan, these mean women won't listen to me! You need to take me to the hospital right now! I want my Mom!" And my midwife, calm and serene, replied, "This is all a very good sign!" </div><div><br /></div><div>At some point when it all felt pretty unbearable -- oh and also, I had almost drowned myself a couple of times by dozing off in the tub in the brief moments between contractions, utterly exhausted, and slipping my face down into the water only to wake with a nose full of said water -- I told Nathan I urgently needed to use the bathroom and tried to stand up to get out of the tub. Our lovely midwife calmly said, "Or maybe you're going to have a baby!" When I insisted, she was ready and willing to help me out of the tub; but of course she was right and I sat right back down in the tub and promptly delivered that baby. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5D_baNoHXQ4j-NYuCWZJ_ONGvJFnCt8ISKiMeSbCPVaAHBRXX51V-Iw_ZSwdP_jltGCCfPAGFKA5pKy8p1pTs2k5Z-_emsG7y1HDJWt09OjXa_BAzNndIp6oeAsUbxrLDyzejXNLdfLs/s2048/fullsizeoutput_eeb0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5D_baNoHXQ4j-NYuCWZJ_ONGvJFnCt8ISKiMeSbCPVaAHBRXX51V-Iw_ZSwdP_jltGCCfPAGFKA5pKy8p1pTs2k5Z-_emsG7y1HDJWt09OjXa_BAzNndIp6oeAsUbxrLDyzejXNLdfLs/w640-h480/fullsizeoutput_eeb0.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div></div><div>Later my brother-in-law, who had quietly arrived with my sister-in-law and their sweet little toddler in the midst of all of this, would be able to laugh with me about that endless horrifying "five-minutes-without-stopping-for-breath" scream that had accompanied the birth. "I thought you had mastered the art of circular breathing!" Ha! It's a good thing this was my fourth baby and family is family; somehow I didn't die of shame having them one thin wall away from all this drama unfolding. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV70do331XgW8KoqKvewKmDecfjh3HhClmmzdd30_tCorD14GLP7rVL_3b7qpr01n_c4CICk41pOpV8DOz6ZFoqUlmELBDdKyJ6cHBKM0JgNWnZPCKywXQaz4e0ZmOmPiNln7a2AXbYRM/s2048/3DEE2165-3D04-41CA-A6C6-7CACE8710560.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV70do331XgW8KoqKvewKmDecfjh3HhClmmzdd30_tCorD14GLP7rVL_3b7qpr01n_c4CICk41pOpV8DOz6ZFoqUlmELBDdKyJ6cHBKM0JgNWnZPCKywXQaz4e0ZmOmPiNln7a2AXbYRM/w640-h640/3DEE2165-3D04-41CA-A6C6-7CACE8710560.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU3WZXxJfkQdqWfwGxU9OsWlZVMyQxfjh0jTbO1vn5faA3GpeE5yIfsTBoX_AA9Ieu2iZn6x0BtSJ0wsNL2W3y17hsztO3xSANEJHLunKvv02wy8DQOUxT5ZK_CNyHWDu5FYvkJ_ybbVo/s2048/u2TyQs6nSWuvs9Rwsj28QA.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU3WZXxJfkQdqWfwGxU9OsWlZVMyQxfjh0jTbO1vn5faA3GpeE5yIfsTBoX_AA9Ieu2iZn6x0BtSJ0wsNL2W3y17hsztO3xSANEJHLunKvv02wy8DQOUxT5ZK_CNyHWDu5FYvkJ_ybbVo/w480-h640/u2TyQs6nSWuvs9Rwsj28QA.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nlOWtlaBvrL62z0onHJIf8aFd87z_7WQflNHX7eIGg6cLaQH6-X5zVD69_93lXS8xI0c6b3QUHmCFpiOXr-Hsl1WAdHVKFfJOi0kB0x21R1HhTECAcNmCPWnV-BS960NncaX-H9yuXY/w480-h640/7UMOyWQ8RE2sO2bnHFLB%2525w.jpg" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #0000ee; text-decoration: underline;" width="480" /></div></div><div><br /></div><div>As soon as Sylvie was in my arms I just collapsed with relief and happiness. I ugly cried (I have pictures to prove it), and then the girls came running right in as soon as Nathan fetched them and they were utterly awestruck by the magic of it all, meeting this newly born human being who would be their sister forever and always. A massive rainstorm had been going on throughout the labor but my midwife tells me that at precisely the moment of Sylvie's birth the rain stopped and the sun came out and the world was clear again. It was almost 9 am but somehow it felt like the wee hours of the morning, and all was calm and still and messy and perfect. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8LG4y2n_a36dx_MaxpCaxB7jGE10Gu7BtwTuX3H4kcdhSrllScZDzbkYlWKPzp1mn_FHgCHLMLg8aMf_I82jeY2yJ_t0k9o69Aybbh90sLG_m2fMjR5CsJjQqBd7oUkX00po_abR_W1U/s2048/7N5%2525isGuTTOhPd%2525u3vJwcQ.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8LG4y2n_a36dx_MaxpCaxB7jGE10Gu7BtwTuX3H4kcdhSrllScZDzbkYlWKPzp1mn_FHgCHLMLg8aMf_I82jeY2yJ_t0k9o69Aybbh90sLG_m2fMjR5CsJjQqBd7oUkX00po_abR_W1U/w480-h640/7N5%2525isGuTTOhPd%2525u3vJwcQ.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6AbMilt8CfpydfVBMPor2OZO9IO5b5re7hb6c_ZZMVsGqNGUVV_HHpwDbcjPeL_3Z9S6jFYEfFM-vTvvyesIpWVEfQrDvR-DXcA43SdgZSNR1POA_TagQjyq17mqo04d2RrsIf9LyCF8/s2048/mt9kKBRNRRqR2MnPPA8MVg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6AbMilt8CfpydfVBMPor2OZO9IO5b5re7hb6c_ZZMVsGqNGUVV_HHpwDbcjPeL_3Z9S6jFYEfFM-vTvvyesIpWVEfQrDvR-DXcA43SdgZSNR1POA_TagQjyq17mqo04d2RrsIf9LyCF8/w480-h640/mt9kKBRNRRqR2MnPPA8MVg.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div></div><div>For the labor itself, at any given moment I would have probably preferred to be laying in a hospital bed with an epidural and a popsicle. But the minute it was over, I would have done it all over again. I was so grateful to be home, with family. It was so wonderful to rinse off in my own shower, rest in my own bed, and eat food from my own home. The pampering I received from my family (and, in subsequent days, friends) was far beyond hospital food and care! And the moments the girls got to spend with their newborn sister were priceless.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwRX1Hweadtz_qqtRDlAfRVGUTg3N2XtifgSj9mjVWxgj69joHg2CBhXrxjSzgVCdve1v0jYg7f4fo9bBnDc13_CHf3C-N48TJapyY6I-tyjR15GmCM1YhqU9HbZ2rZY7CN38_qKQW2g/s2048/IMG_1687.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwRX1Hweadtz_qqtRDlAfRVGUTg3N2XtifgSj9mjVWxgj69joHg2CBhXrxjSzgVCdve1v0jYg7f4fo9bBnDc13_CHf3C-N48TJapyY6I-tyjR15GmCM1YhqU9HbZ2rZY7CN38_qKQW2g/w640-h480/IMG_1687.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZKsO3PFJj08bmLWApavphZGRDp4RzrdZyBzJkfd8aj4Z1K-7wWQofc43TOggaUfG9VC1KXsi7Gi1mRffR5rZlDzTjvJZyVXt6O9aoP6mRra4Ni3g6YJVP_nr8AdRyNVna0LrGGzO2ys/s2048/6m1rKEN2QVqi3G4gCzjy8Q.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZKsO3PFJj08bmLWApavphZGRDp4RzrdZyBzJkfd8aj4Z1K-7wWQofc43TOggaUfG9VC1KXsi7Gi1mRffR5rZlDzTjvJZyVXt6O9aoP6mRra4Ni3g6YJVP_nr8AdRyNVna0LrGGzO2ys/w480-h640/6m1rKEN2QVqi3G4gCzjy8Q.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaIlVBL9CigzN-_rIOuGduMkaGB7kNYUpPM2F2j472zvq7Fw8I2wW7wG8l9N7mELl1NACEyN6ALQOMhtJ8c_W8g_6aucy6ouxI9uHben_sEsOR11QCGfP-oez3ZSy8GXz3KKNxEa54cFQ/s4032/fullsizeoutput_d13a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaIlVBL9CigzN-_rIOuGduMkaGB7kNYUpPM2F2j472zvq7Fw8I2wW7wG8l9N7mELl1NACEyN6ALQOMhtJ8c_W8g_6aucy6ouxI9uHben_sEsOR11QCGfP-oez3ZSy8GXz3KKNxEa54cFQ/w480-h640/fullsizeoutput_d13a.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlSkQnpfJGcOJJnGyaEI2apEHvgQK5x7tZNeaOiGbn3i0JxyGruhZaPv_fNg29nj6yoOXTuTVYpYB2HJ9HzHbhQ_BmuDAwUPlkiGMhOGm2ahr96ndiBBdc_JSkmV5fpTBriMGwP0tzawM/s2048/ffIOy%2525q%252BRkW0izngGF6DOg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlSkQnpfJGcOJJnGyaEI2apEHvgQK5x7tZNeaOiGbn3i0JxyGruhZaPv_fNg29nj6yoOXTuTVYpYB2HJ9HzHbhQ_BmuDAwUPlkiGMhOGm2ahr96ndiBBdc_JSkmV5fpTBriMGwP0tzawM/w640-h480/ffIOy%2525q%252BRkW0izngGF6DOg.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4Fk8kimAmXQENW2leJVMj51cau9VSuxqHbqjx_DFEeou60cS7pM7-RnbAaWyoZz0J2N_XrvuCNMOAKB_864C_rdrBHKGcjU1dCOkOCJ40Ykx3OLMUq1Clq_oDTVIcdWK5kuph4WGq3Q/s2048/jYj7isXyQ9as2joiAy7VUw.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4Fk8kimAmXQENW2leJVMj51cau9VSuxqHbqjx_DFEeou60cS7pM7-RnbAaWyoZz0J2N_XrvuCNMOAKB_864C_rdrBHKGcjU1dCOkOCJ40Ykx3OLMUq1Clq_oDTVIcdWK5kuph4WGq3Q/w480-h640/jYj7isXyQ9as2joiAy7VUw.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIuYZtCFU9NRB2kfUxxsenrg2y0ugDq4jKAFEIKkYpvHU-GzxoX-hoOFNFn8WRPZxBWtmTyZE1WcHoW-yZs2wfgUWcwW4claSyJii2oJ43Ax_U9FckNP5W5Oa7TF5mL5xzZE0a9fGUkw/s2048/z0ruuEmMT4GTCMQ6jQLfTw.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIuYZtCFU9NRB2kfUxxsenrg2y0ugDq4jKAFEIKkYpvHU-GzxoX-hoOFNFn8WRPZxBWtmTyZE1WcHoW-yZs2wfgUWcwW4claSyJii2oJ43Ax_U9FckNP5W5Oa7TF5mL5xzZE0a9fGUkw/w480-h640/z0ruuEmMT4GTCMQ6jQLfTw.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div></div><div>Like her big sisters, we chose for Sylvie a middle name that connects her to the music of the church, which is her Daddy's occupation and great love. St. Anne is the tune name for the hymn "<i>Our God, Our Help in Ages Past</i>." </div><div><div><br /></div><div><div>Back in January when I began to contemplate the idea of a home birth, I couldn’t quite identify why I wanted to change my model of care mid-pregnancy, but in light of Covid we consider it a divinely-inspired nudge. Born amidst a pandemic, it seemed a fitting time to recall with Christians across the ages: </div><div><br /></div><div>“Our God, our help in ages past, <br />Our hope for years to come,<br />Be Thou our guard while life shall last, <br />And our eternal home.” </div><div><br />Today this sweet six-month old is sitting beside me as I type, all gummy smiles and sweetness. Of course, we already can't imagine life without her.</div><div><br /></div><div>The older girls requested that we listen to music by the Peasall Sisters earlier this week, and when Nathan heard "<i>I'm That Sparrow</i>" come on, he commented, "I would think you'd be scarred by this song!" I listened to it while I was in labor with Sylvie. Oddly, I don't feel 'scarred' at all, but it does make me feel a little teary, remembering that dark and stormy night -- and the sunburst of a sweet babe in our arms. </div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgECFQj4pcgc728cwVDH_PuXpVhVFsHUGPS_QRq92PdB18NQ2sCVRn8hXFB1EFR_YFuOzwIrLQIpJotJH_gRppseuMYdzmpM0MzyIC-lAqJovE0yfZqpqkxhgQYleYLNA70-KkMoo56o/s2048/fullsizeoutput_d13d.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgECFQj4pcgc728cwVDH_PuXpVhVFsHUGPS_QRq92PdB18NQ2sCVRn8hXFB1EFR_YFuOzwIrLQIpJotJH_gRppseuMYdzmpM0MzyIC-lAqJovE0yfZqpqkxhgQYleYLNA70-KkMoo56o/w640-h480/fullsizeoutput_d13d.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP4cB4OVFkv9MRTus8q3ayq0EKB3dcSGEGjykmMdeutXWWPE1L5d1eM3d-mXWOTZsAcs9QvPFNzcJEC2I7PdYwF5MuJeqO1RWLk5CCG-lz1ZfwkIHx9evXyCKgX1Ep9OtoV-0U-HO1sNA/s2048/IMG_1759.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP4cB4OVFkv9MRTus8q3ayq0EKB3dcSGEGjykmMdeutXWWPE1L5d1eM3d-mXWOTZsAcs9QvPFNzcJEC2I7PdYwF5MuJeqO1RWLk5CCG-lz1ZfwkIHx9evXyCKgX1Ep9OtoV-0U-HO1sNA/w640-h480/IMG_1759.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Never has a baby been more adored than this sweet child, and even a pandemic and social distancing can't change that. It's true that many people in our wider community haven't yet even met her, but I think her adoring immediate family and the close friends we've seen almost makes up for that (but not quite, of course -- we wish so much she could meet her grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and friends). Her sisters clamor for her attention, and when she was a newborn I practically had to get in line to hold her, so eager were her big sisters to snuggle her. And last night, as happens almost every night right now, she lay asleep beside me when Nathan came to bed. He lay down beside her and just gazed at her sweet sleeping face for a while, alternately smiling at her and at me like the giant sap of a Dad I'm so proud that he is. We both looked at each other in the dim light and we didn't have to say it because we both knew-- we're the luckiest people in the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of this one thing we can be sure after a long day of parenting: however short the naps were, however long the tantrums may have been, however extensive the mess, and however many times I may have lost my temper, when the day draws to a close and the baby is finally asleep, we can put all the other stuff aside and be what we should be: profoundly grateful.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38ouOI01MuZcNHVxwfLdNlBB3rkWkD3ONbD49pOnp4ZRsuax7twGXXzkmPL8yYph9Os8coApFj89PYJwFJohW2FF22hUCE2m0uu4naa_NrpP1J8y6NuwCqLzII4_jO07oRDs8fItWXvw/s2048/fullsizeoutput_dd7a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38ouOI01MuZcNHVxwfLdNlBB3rkWkD3ONbD49pOnp4ZRsuax7twGXXzkmPL8yYph9Os8coApFj89PYJwFJohW2FF22hUCE2m0uu4naa_NrpP1J8y6NuwCqLzII4_jO07oRDs8fItWXvw/w480-h640/fullsizeoutput_dd7a.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div></div>sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-3895226282068212082020-09-19T18:33:00.000-07:002020-09-19T18:33:44.480-07:00Mollyisms, Vol. 1Our resident three-year-old has been well-deserving of her own Quotables on this blog for quite some time, I think. You'll probably note quite a progression in her speech from some of the earlier recorded quotes toward the beginning to some of the most recent ones. <div><br /></div><div>I'm interspersing these Mollyisms from ages two and three with some photos I snapped in June early one morning when she crept upstairs and crawled into bed with us wearing this tutu she had put on, a self-proclaimed princess. What a fun kid she is -- something I need to step back and remember more often amidst the inevitable frustrations a three-year-old can bring.</div><div><br /></div><div>She really is my sweet little side-kick these days: wanting to help me in the kitchen throughout the day, and eager to help tidy the house, too -- and getting pretty good at it! Every time I catch her eye and smile at her she exclaims, "I love you, Mama!" And anytime she's not certain she'll come ask me, "Mama, do you love me?" It sort of reminds me of the phase of time when she regularly asked, "<a href="https://www.acontinualfeast.com/2019/11/mama-are-you-nice.html">Mama, are you nice?</a>" I think in this, too, she's really feeling out if I'm in a good mood and apt to swoop her up for a hug and a kiss. <br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_nwWT1P5NKDcu_sW8iDqqP-4rwl1x_hgqzrp30ZLH1RP2-3XrCmZRLOneONrQTnATiVPWsqtRjF2C4psV73wxkpXGDyIOSg926UTtzw8kE26vmRDmMaW-rp-rEtxZPiRHlK00pXJ75Y/s2048/fullsizeoutput_e506.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_nwWT1P5NKDcu_sW8iDqqP-4rwl1x_hgqzrp30ZLH1RP2-3XrCmZRLOneONrQTnATiVPWsqtRjF2C4psV73wxkpXGDyIOSg926UTtzw8kE26vmRDmMaW-rp-rEtxZPiRHlK00pXJ75Y/s640/fullsizeoutput_e506.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /><div><div>Her very first attempts at her own name, back around age two, sounded like "Momee" and then "Mah-dees." Version three became "Monny," and today she expresses outrage when Nathan affectionately calls her "Monny." </div><div>"I'm not Monny, I'm MOLLY," she yells at us.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Her version of "hair elastic" for some time was just "hair stick." Scrambled eggs used to be "tumble eggs" - a curiously appropriate name the more I think about it. An octopus is an "aquapus," and vitamins are "bitamins," other ones I find rather fitting. She calls my slippers my "flippers" and delights in shuffling around the house in them saying, "I'm Mama!" And "Why are you funny?" is her way of asking why someone is laughing.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><br /></div><div>She called a washcloth a "hoshcough," a telephone a "hellophone" (which actually makes a great deal of sense), a sandwich a "famwich," and her jammies her "dammies." She says "either" when she means "too," as in "Mama can I have some either?" And "upside down" is "up-spied-down." Spaghetti is "pasghetti," and in general while she sometimes complains about meals (and took a little longer than I remember my other girls taking to come around to greens and salads) these days she compliments most of the meals around here, saying on more than one occasion, "Oh Mama it's very so yummy!"</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>A frequent complaint while she is waiting for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or anything else at all for that matter: "This is taking a long time ago!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Her requests often go, "Mama, can you {fill in the blank} because I very want you to."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Her version of the ubiquitous kid phrase, "Look at me!" is "Mama! I'll show you me! I'll SHOW you me!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm yeddy!" is her happy exclamation when she's ready, for anything really -- breakfast, or to go on a walk, or when she's just gotten dressed in the morning.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Singing to herself hopefully one day: "Hush little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a donut..."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Stark naked after her bath one evening, as I combed her hair: "I'm a beautiful beautiful girl princess!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Making a pile of dirt and sand on the edge of our street and enjoying the process very much, she mused to herself: "This is looking really good, yes, this is looking really good." When this went on for a while I interjected, "How's it coming, Mol? Looking good?" She replied with exasperation: "Yes, I already said that! Please don't ask me again!"</div><div>{Hmm, I guess she's occasionally heard that phrase before... }</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQWz6b7ZtFzh3QzRczJow_N5-ymRZSYvZJYz3xLF1-dkYpYHt2lvd9VMgpcHcJHZ9KLutCxTDMTAXbDSxTsbJXyzGTjy9LyPRy82PwXCREPIOQqcZbM4ZiUhuTnGhaqow57zP8uUaJ84/s2048/fullsizeoutput_e513.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQWz6b7ZtFzh3QzRczJow_N5-ymRZSYvZJYz3xLF1-dkYpYHt2lvd9VMgpcHcJHZ9KLutCxTDMTAXbDSxTsbJXyzGTjy9LyPRy82PwXCREPIOQqcZbM4ZiUhuTnGhaqow57zP8uUaJ84/s640/fullsizeoutput_e513.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div>More technologically adept than any three-year-old perhaps should be, she requests, "Ayexa, pay Jesus." She means "Alexa, play Jesus Loves Me," and the strangest thing is that Alexa seems to understand this and obliges more than half the time.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><div><br /></div><div>She climbs into her high chair at every meal and, needing to be scooted in toward the table, she yells, "Can somebody push me over?!" {Believe me, sometimes we are sorely tempted to do just that!}</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Hearing me say "PBS" one day, she immediately replied, "H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm yeady!" {I'm ready!}</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Giving herself a pep talk one day: "I can do it!!!!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>When she wants me to close my eyes for a minute: </div><div>"Mama, turn your eyes off!" </div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>On one of the first sunny, really warm days of spring: "Mama, the sky is keeping me so warm!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Wearing short sleeves for the first time in spring, and clearly not remembering this phenomenon from previous years: "Oh wow, my sleeves are already rolled up! So that I can wash my hands!"</div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_gSyTaYRx_QgKlz7vGaGGB__NweMUpoQREWX54lrhBtfl3iUzmRf3paexQgeV6JELU-YdriGOPWYJgNc8x1JgUT_BiikoPYrR-4CQc0UOYdcMIX5O4zHQC_PNFOs88-34yJ_bDeVijE/s2048/fullsizeoutput_e507.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_gSyTaYRx_QgKlz7vGaGGB__NweMUpoQREWX54lrhBtfl3iUzmRf3paexQgeV6JELU-YdriGOPWYJgNc8x1JgUT_BiikoPYrR-4CQc0UOYdcMIX5O4zHQC_PNFOs88-34yJ_bDeVijE/s640/fullsizeoutput_e507.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>One of my favorite things about toddlers is their total lack of comprehension of time and numbers, and yet the way they'll confidently utilize figures nonetheless. They are keenly trying to figure out these things like time and numbers all the time.</div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div><div>"Mama, I have seven dollars. Can you buy me a quarter?"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>"When I was Nell's age, I was Nell's age!"</div><div>{How very ... astute?}</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>When I was pregnant with Sylvie: </div><div>"Mama, when am I going to be in your tummy?"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>"Mama? I need sifty dollars because I need it. To put in my packpack."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>After her Uncle Andrew promised Nell five dollars for floating her on her back unassisted, Molly jumped in the pool and yelled, "Now can I have fifty dollars?!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>"I was locked in the bathroom for seventy dollars before Nell opened the door for me! Seventy dollars... seventy... I mean, seventy years."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOzbuyfdxpvyU_tOOqwYFMuHfL8Tm1DYwsJvrw00g0HA61J3uir1ueb16I_7QtnCH7vUZnkGBDtVs5ZARCTvH0BlUdcqNu1X8OTGKORtLgpikK03nq-klVACcL2w8vtyQ1QnZDn5R3sI/s2048/fullsizeoutput_e50b.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOzbuyfdxpvyU_tOOqwYFMuHfL8Tm1DYwsJvrw00g0HA61J3uir1ueb16I_7QtnCH7vUZnkGBDtVs5ZARCTvH0BlUdcqNu1X8OTGKORtLgpikK03nq-klVACcL2w8vtyQ1QnZDn5R3sI/s640/fullsizeoutput_e50b.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzybwjxVLrgYXkcdL9CteSJ6ZrxNq6qH3cZNg-m9FPh-W1ahx3Eidu1r01EpmrrNJvzsRsg-7KFpsWjCMiP914ld7NyKtQIIxCBmJv_s3rmZL0BEq9iIisEQ6tzL9jJRXsZ-UXxvgvjMI/s2048/fullsizeoutput_e508.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzybwjxVLrgYXkcdL9CteSJ6ZrxNq6qH3cZNg-m9FPh-W1ahx3Eidu1r01EpmrrNJvzsRsg-7KFpsWjCMiP914ld7NyKtQIIxCBmJv_s3rmZL0BEq9iIisEQ6tzL9jJRXsZ-UXxvgvjMI/s640/fullsizeoutput_e508.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div>This girl has opinions and makes them known. </div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Encountering a dinner she didn't want:</div><div>"No, no, I won't eat it, SORRY."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Listening to Schubert one day: </div><div>"I don't like this, but I do like <a href="https://youtu.be/hjMr_9D14BU">the poop song</a>."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>When Mexican food was for dinner:</div><div>"I love cheese, I love sour cream, I love cheese, I love cheese... BUT. I. DON'T. LIKE. BEANS."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>She holds a strong distaste for the infamous Canon in D by Pachelbel. When the older two girls, who like the piece, requested we add it to their bedtime playlist of relaxing music Molly was adamantly opposed each and every time she heard it. I would be sitting downstairs and know when that song had come up on the playlist because of Molly's utterly horrified screams: "Oh no! This is not a lullaby! Oh no! No no no! This goes "Da, Da, Da, Da! {Yell-singing the bass line} This is not a lullaby!" </div><div><br /></div><div>And yes, Nathan and I found this unendingly hysterical every night when it occurred.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>And when I asked her to put her shoes on one day before leaving the house, she declared, "Hashtag, I don't like you." Ahh, a child of the modern era.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Outraged whenever she was corrected or chastised, she would (and often still does!) reply, "Don't 'peak to me that way!" Sometimes she'll come find me, wailing, "Mama! Mama! I do something and then Daddy 'peak to me that way about it!" {Translation: I did something naughty and Daddy spoke to me firmly about it -- and in true toddler-justice-warrior fashion, she finds this outrageous!}</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>We can't help finding it hilarious all the times she'll come running to me wailing, "Mama GUESS WHAT?! Daddy said no at me!" Or very early one morning when she crawled into our bed as a somewhat unwelcome guest and I was awakened to her outraged, "Mama guess what?! Daddy tell me to lie still and <i>I didn't like that</i>!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Every time she gets in trouble from Nathan her bottom line is: "I don't yike Daddy. Daddy is BAD."</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvg2K9orwY_F_hkDHwTvEFy5k8IQgZNHwm8pTBb4Bh9yL9Aeic9HEnykYpvoBdi-nDOA3DHJqlyTLs0nqAUw0fbq2ufWFG41s8k7GyDxq4niPSYcoTVd3PI_BEJ509xDAbm2OF6LdFMgw/s2048/5BC70AD7-CEA0-4FDB-B3BC-B6D9C0BE6153.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1639" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvg2K9orwY_F_hkDHwTvEFy5k8IQgZNHwm8pTBb4Bh9yL9Aeic9HEnykYpvoBdi-nDOA3DHJqlyTLs0nqAUw0fbq2ufWFG41s8k7GyDxq4niPSYcoTVd3PI_BEJ509xDAbm2OF6LdFMgw/s640/5BC70AD7-CEA0-4FDB-B3BC-B6D9C0BE6153.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><div>But for all her grumpy moments and bold opinions, she's way more than half sweetness, of course.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Snuggling early one morning in bed, she told me unprompted: "Mama you are nice, you are cozy, I love you."<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Back in February when I set the table nicely for a little Valentine's tea she exclaimed with delight: "Oh Mama I'm so happy at you, I'm so proud of you!" <br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>When I got home from a concert on afternoon she ran towards me, declaring, "You're my favorite Mama in the whole world!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>And she's a very grateful girl -- she continually remembers her birthday back in March, and will still often say out of the blue, "Mama thank you for {fill in the blank} you got me for a present!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>"I love you Mama, you're the best Mama forever I see!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><br /></div><div>She snuggled up against me while I was getting some work done on my laptop. Putting an arm around her, I said, "I love you, Molly." Molly replied, "I love your 'puter." </div></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><br /></div><div>She was my right-hand man for all things gardening all summer, and would get up nearly every morning and ask, "Mama, can I do some flowering with you today?"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Late in my pregnancy with Sylvie I really couldn't carry Molly around much due to back pain and such, which I guess made both of us a little sad. A while after Sylvie was born and I lifted Molly up one day, she snuggled against me and said, "Mama, I'm glad your back is better now so we can do our carryin' again."</div></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhynlebUcZGMPH-m1zArxejtEbb2EbVimSQL-1bqdTge8pxuAGRnLt0zi_sDvVvyluPlEnaB4VK8fK5DviKaF9Qxsz5zhYnT-jxnTuu7BhQZJZcHDxv66uaMd1T8bb3BW7QtEUeCqM7EvQ/s2048/fullsizeoutput_e518.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhynlebUcZGMPH-m1zArxejtEbb2EbVimSQL-1bqdTge8pxuAGRnLt0zi_sDvVvyluPlEnaB4VK8fK5DviKaF9Qxsz5zhYnT-jxnTuu7BhQZJZcHDxv66uaMd1T8bb3BW7QtEUeCqM7EvQ/s640/fullsizeoutput_e518.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br />Molly: "I feel sick."<br />Me: "I'm sorry Molly, what doesn't feel good?"<br />Molly: "ME!!!!"<br />
<br /><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><br /></div>Molly often assures her big sisters, "Yes! Mama said I could!" Ah, a girl who understands the power of permission but doesn't seem to understand that it does, in fact, need to be granted from a figure in authority. <br /><br /><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><br />"I'm too scary!" and "I will be scary!" are used interchangeably for being scared, her arms usually wrapped tightly around my neck in an act of bedtime desperation sweetness. And once after something happened that scared her, she declared, "Wow! That was nervous!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Watching a <i>slightly</i> scary movie (Herbie! Vintage movie classic!) on a family movie night recently, Molly did not like the way the movie was unfolding and declared: "I don't want this show to be rude to me!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>When a sister laughs at her: "Don't be silly to me! Mama! Nell's being silly at me!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Putting her fingers in her ears and making a new discovery: "I'm putting my fingers in my ears and it turns it all down!" She took them out. "Turns it back up !" Put them in again. "Turns it down again!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Processing the pandemic: "Why can't we go somewhere? I'm not a 'birus'! I'm not!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Back in early May, when it snowed on Ree's birthday, Molly was very dismayed: "But Mama it's snowing on Mawie's happy boow-day cake!"</div><div>"Well, it's not snowing on her cake, but it is snowing on her birthday!"</div><div>"Well, can you take it off? Can you take the snow off?"</div><div>{I'm sorry, I find it difficult to remove weather from a day somehow... we all have our so-called Mom fails, I guess.}</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>"I don't love bugs, but I do love grapes."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Holding up a finger: "Mama, this little piggy is hurtin' me."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>"Bunnies have a different bum than my bum, <i>actually</i>."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Brown-nosing from an early age, upon hearing a sibling making a scene over something: </div><div>"Hi Mama, I'm the one who's not being fussy."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsYVEDNR0fc0xLKUXG-fdtVNL1IOBxAJNe6BgtnuJm0yF0kblL8043VHRsMMOWXI2xscIssQhhVKnXRU-1BU50vUogJoj6n6OSJph92hSBI-nUoT6DBqcmi8KVSp5x4JFnNhlqEeNYs40/s2048/fullsizeoutput_e515.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsYVEDNR0fc0xLKUXG-fdtVNL1IOBxAJNe6BgtnuJm0yF0kblL8043VHRsMMOWXI2xscIssQhhVKnXRU-1BU50vUogJoj6n6OSJph92hSBI-nUoT6DBqcmi8KVSp5x4JFnNhlqEeNYs40/s640/fullsizeoutput_e515.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Screaming in the middle of the night one night: "I want to go to church!!!" </div><div>{She is her father's daughter I suppose!}</div><div><br /><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><br /></div>Nathan was asking me about something and I replied, "Sure, go ahead babe." Molly interjected vehemently, "He's not <i>babe</i> he's <i>Daddy</i>."<br /><br /><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><br /></div>Molly: "I did a poop! I did lots of poops! A daddy one and a mommy one and a Nell one and a Marie one and a Molly one and an Uncle Andrew one and an Aunt Hannah one and..."</div><div><br /></div><div>Me: "Okay Molly, maybe we don't need to name each of your poops..." (Although I'm sure her relatives will be honored.)<br />
<br /><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><br /></div>
Pointing to a crackly spot on our ceiling "What's happening to our sky?"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>"I'm not tiny! Well I'm a little bit tiny but I'm not the tiniest!"</div>
<br /><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><br /></div><div>"When I was a baby poopin' in my diaper I would say, "How 'barassin'!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Playing in her toy kitchen with lego people: "I'm pretending my guys are disobeyin' me."</div><div>Me: "Oh? And what happens when they disobey? Do you talk to them about that?"</div><div>Molly: "No, they just get cooked in the oven."</div><div>Me: ....</div><div>{Well then. That escalated quickly, as they say.}</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>After Sylvie was born Molly would periodically ask, "Mama, are you gonna push the baby out?" Perplexed, I would answer, "I mean, Molly, I did... she's right here in my arms." And she seemed equally perplexed. I guess at the end of the day, a new family member can be a confusing thing no matter how much you prepare for it. </div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>
One of my absolutely favorite conversations, which comes up over and over again lately, involves the recent arrival of Sylvie in our family. It has become apparent that Molly believes that our midwife brought Sylvie to us as a gift. Yes, despite the fact that we talked extensively about the baby's arrival, and she was born right here at home, and Molly met her when she was minutes old, and we had even watched YouTube videos of home births in preparation for the big day. (Yes, really.) All of this is irrelevant; every few days Molly will be gazing lovingly at Sylvie and then will say something like, "I love our baby. It was so nice of that lady who comed to our house to give her to us. That was a nice lady to give us a baby."</div><div><br /></div><div>I remind her about how Sylvie grew in my tummy and was born at home and that the midwife came here to help, but none of this makes much of an impression on Molly. The midwife is a nice lady who "gived" us a baby. She remembers the day clearly and has it all figured out. "I woke up and went up to the attic to your bedroom but you weren't there. You and Daddy were in the family room with the lady. And Aunt Hannah and Uncle Andrew came. I remember! The lady comed to our house. She was so nice to give us a baby. I just love this baby sister."</div><div><br /></div><div>And she sure does love her. She very nearly smothers her with love and affection, constantly kissing her and climbing on top of her with exuberant hugs. Occasionally these measures of affection are upsetting to Sylvie, and while usually Molly is unfazed and unconvinced {"No I'm not upsetting her! She loves me!"}, she occasionally sighs, "I wish we could get a new baby who doesn't cry." </div><div><br /></div><div>In general though, her strategy is to blame the crying on something other than her own actions, so she runs to me and exclaims, "Mama, I was snuggling Sylvie, and... now... I didn't make her sad... I think she wants to go somewhere!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Because it's 2020. If someone is sad, it must be because they wish they could go somewhere, right?! Makes sense to me.</div><div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>She was helping me in the kitchen the other day and she smiled up at me and said, "Mama I love you, it's good to have you."</div><div><br /></div><div>It's good to have you, too, Mollywog.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJYg4LG4LP5Wp1ku6ajvrJwrLbm-Sl-OrVuIyQBJjSZpAXzx6Ez4WBAwoVclmikEss_O0TZYzGWnJ-5HznAu35_qyOQ3pGkKt-OOgXqg203pDai1uOK65rYXlKZiKyd8T3MR9ZhGQIKYk/s2048/fullsizeoutput_ddba.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJYg4LG4LP5Wp1ku6ajvrJwrLbm-Sl-OrVuIyQBJjSZpAXzx6Ez4WBAwoVclmikEss_O0TZYzGWnJ-5HznAu35_qyOQ3pGkKt-OOgXqg203pDai1uOK65rYXlKZiKyd8T3MR9ZhGQIKYk/s640/fullsizeoutput_ddba.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>
<br />
<br /></div></div></div>sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-29261238384556189682020-06-24T18:46:00.001-07:002020-06-24T18:46:18.806-07:00Reeisms, Vol. 7<br />
This poor blog, once long ago so vibrant with posts -- even if they were just mundanities and everyday happenings -- lies mostly neglected these days. But even a post every few months provides such fun memories of our family life to look back on later! {Or as Nathan once said, "I'm glad you blog about our life; it makes me feel like we'll be able to remember some of it," or something to that effect.} I'm particularly overdue with kid quotes, and have months and even years of them saved in notes on my phone. Despite a recent data loss tragedy (oh, the sadness!), I still have quite a few worth sharing and remembering. So here we go with some very overdue Reeisms! {Some of these date back by over a year.}<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZiIN2KzLWoB1LSSdNBlwSvSbIK-edFZGDwAANc2syya3athGEZ1cceWigDD5_hxVgzManrP-RugowmNbPflZ3O6ez-cx87DHatSKs7k_Pjn273kVTrQyBihOCVFMFFMT9ZyCC6L65KA/s4928/D7K_4395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4928" data-original-width="3264" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZiIN2KzLWoB1LSSdNBlwSvSbIK-edFZGDwAANc2syya3athGEZ1cceWigDD5_hxVgzManrP-RugowmNbPflZ3O6ez-cx87DHatSKs7k_Pjn273kVTrQyBihOCVFMFFMT9ZyCC6L65KA/w414-h625/D7K_4395.jpg" width="414" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2p1yeWoC77WB36qXPK3cbyM1khc_TFx19JyjzVckroV_MXN1jXdy-PyxaKotHXZX7q3Pa60IOYzXaTPBsUhSjNVWjrvCtcqBZjyNjKI26yydFoJPz83IqzwEf2kzG9oU-7H1OeUKikz0/s4928/D7K_4435.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="4928" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2p1yeWoC77WB36qXPK3cbyM1khc_TFx19JyjzVckroV_MXN1jXdy-PyxaKotHXZX7q3Pa60IOYzXaTPBsUhSjNVWjrvCtcqBZjyNjKI26yydFoJPz83IqzwEf2kzG9oU-7H1OeUKikz0/w625-h414/D7K_4435.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div>She calls a shirt a "topping," continues to be a great lover of all things fancy (and conversely, disdains things that are not fancy enough for her taste), and can drive her big sister to a state of near distraction. She's a champion snuggler, makes the funniest faces around, and provides the household with frequent drama over every stubbed toe ("ow Ow OW OWOWOWWWWWWWWWW!").</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkwX0zn41pxZdlzQZcp21zGnGtrUxVHyuH8kCwLQOYZmKasLsGl000xXaaF7wK_2ZJDK7KL2WYCFxgDtwLvE2kMhEQbJtUH2QCbWRMSH1qMZucRZjDBYqEerM68vuQcpMbEG0SV7kKLQ/s4928/D7K_4399.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4928" data-original-width="3264" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkwX0zn41pxZdlzQZcp21zGnGtrUxVHyuH8kCwLQOYZmKasLsGl000xXaaF7wK_2ZJDK7KL2WYCFxgDtwLvE2kMhEQbJtUH2QCbWRMSH1qMZucRZjDBYqEerM68vuQcpMbEG0SV7kKLQ/w414-h625/D7K_4399.jpg" width="414" /></a></div><div><br /><div>
<br />After a discussion of a babysitter with whom she was not pleased:<br />
"Heavenly Father, thank you for my mama and my daddy and my sisters and my own family and NOBODY ELSE."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Profound musings over breakfast:</div><div>"Waffles are basically pancakes except they're bigger, look different, and they're called something else."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Thinking I might make myself an afternoon cup of coffee one day:<br />Me: "Mmm... you know what I want right now?"<br />Ree: "What? What?? What <i>I</i> <i>want</i> is a whole cup of candy canes!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><div>Walking down the stairs one morning: </div><div>"Something smells disgusting. Oh, maybe it was just your homemade bread smelling like a stinky rotten pig."</div><div>{Well, well, well. Good morning to you too, Miss Merry Sunshine!}</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>One morning last summer, going to a little summer camp at some friends' house:<br />"Mama, why do <i>you</i> get to wear a nice dress and I have to wear <i>dirty kids' clothes</i>?!"<br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIbPT3nrphoadmTkPJd3hE9TbtCI1ClTWfNWsHgE0x72a1BlGGe1hhTlYZj1VAn_RyoHFMQlqDqoRDD4D43zeiXhxTX3kyNGcIKotUKa9l1uM62goZe1D_PuQxKt6ceLBdK-coJSHVqwc/s4928/D7K_4412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="4928" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIbPT3nrphoadmTkPJd3hE9TbtCI1ClTWfNWsHgE0x72a1BlGGe1hhTlYZj1VAn_RyoHFMQlqDqoRDD4D43zeiXhxTX3kyNGcIKotUKa9l1uM62goZe1D_PuQxKt6ceLBdK-coJSHVqwc/w625-h414/D7K_4412.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>After listening to music by Mussorgsky one morning:<br />"Mama, can you put on some more music from a different land?"<br />"What land?"<br />"Oh I don't know, just a land that has princesses who are fancy with crowns on their heads. And bonnets. That kind of land."</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><div><br /></div><div>Tidying up one day: </div><div>"I'm working on making my room as clean and as fancy as a castle."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><div>"I need a bigger house to live in that has more echoes."</div><div>{Valid concern, I say. Good acoustics make everything better.}</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Practicing her cartwheels on the lawn:</div><div>"Grown-ups are worse at doing things than kids. Cuz they weigh more."</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzViCC9GWPcnaZ2XiZpyA4ePSYQ3ldnuZY95WSpb_yc_JD54neLI6Evw4E6XDdEtdjakfgAgSiXILXAHHkrORU7LGFBK1qPZkGpWyrC_vj5q-B_q1uwxkEceH9PWXQnDTGfZo_UyGj4EA/s4928/D7K_4548.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="4928" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzViCC9GWPcnaZ2XiZpyA4ePSYQ3ldnuZY95WSpb_yc_JD54neLI6Evw4E6XDdEtdjakfgAgSiXILXAHHkrORU7LGFBK1qPZkGpWyrC_vj5q-B_q1uwxkEceH9PWXQnDTGfZo_UyGj4EA/w625-h414/D7K_4548.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div><div><br /></div><div><div>"It's such a good thing we are all in the same family. Because our names all match and they all go together really well."<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />"Why can't sharks close their mouths?"</div><div>{Valid question, right?}<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><div><br /></div>Coughing badly in the night:<br />This cough is hurting me! And it's making my voice like lower! And ... it's ... it's ... ugly!! (sobbing)<br /><br />Coughing again:<br />"It feels like, and it sounds like... it's a dead trumpet!" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpxZnJ3KZNwNIbJyUaNXSR6-4886kllqUG1_nE4xMFa4Dx4gncfSs8SJBb6ALH_-QEzKpxiSQFKbRx_sYU5fZUS53-KxV3FFd7cDQiQprrOsQzMVQUMGJyAYh-3lSgT5qbR61Fwdp0jA/s4928/D7K_4424.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4928" data-original-width="3264" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpxZnJ3KZNwNIbJyUaNXSR6-4886kllqUG1_nE4xMFa4Dx4gncfSs8SJBb6ALH_-QEzKpxiSQFKbRx_sYU5fZUS53-KxV3FFd7cDQiQprrOsQzMVQUMGJyAYh-3lSgT5qbR61Fwdp0jA/w414-h625/D7K_4424.jpg" width="414" /></a></div></div><div><div><br /></div><div>One evening when I was a full 40 weeks pregnant with Sylvie I told the girls I was going to take a soak in the bathtub. Marie helpfully replied, "Ok but let me tell you something Mama. You're probably too huge to fit in the bathtub."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div></div><div><br /></div>"Mama, your legs are so thick you can barely fit on your chair!"</div><div>{It'll be a miracle if I survive motherhood with a shred of self-esteem intact.}</div><div><br /></div></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>In a kindly and condescending tone: "Nell, there's just a feeling I have that I feel like I'm better at ballet than you are. Sorry."</div>
</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIAgTES9IwhjoiJAGo0olMLT-UeRnFyai3ej8L5n10dJQC7dldniZbyx-jllJILT9RPc6NE3qDpNi-_NeP8Y4e3a5K4RkpmrWHHFiNkd231IHQGdoW4L340Y1vn7QQpToQbbI9b37vhB4/s4928/D7K_4563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4928" data-original-width="3264" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIAgTES9IwhjoiJAGo0olMLT-UeRnFyai3ej8L5n10dJQC7dldniZbyx-jllJILT9RPc6NE3qDpNi-_NeP8Y4e3a5K4RkpmrWHHFiNkd231IHQGdoW4L340Y1vn7QQpToQbbI9b37vhB4/w414-h625/D7K_4563.jpg" width="414" /></a></div><div><br />
"My whole body is tickling! This is a real emergency!"<br /><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div><div><br /></div>Last school year, after reading them Buzz Aldrin's picture book<br />
Ree was extremely enamored with the whole book, the whole experience, the whole person.<br />Ree: "Where does he live? Can we go visit him? Can we go today? Or would that be inappropriate to go to his house if he doesn't know us?"<br />Me: "Well, we can't go visit him, but maybe you could write him a letter and tell him you love his book!"<br />Ree: "I LOVE HIM! I LOVE HIM! Why can't kids go to the moon?! Why?"</div><div>{She was so enthralled, it was the most wonderful thing to watch. Having once been completely space-crazy as a kid I could relate to her wonder and excitement!}<br /><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div></div></div><div><br />
Singing to herself one afternoon:<br />
"I just love to be unbearable! I just want to be unbearable! Unbearable! Unbearable!"<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
<div>On Ash Wednesday, ironically, after multiple sibling altercations it was time for people to have some time and space apart in their own bedrooms. What should I hear drifting down the stairs but the sound of her lovely little voice singing to an improvised melody, "Do more and more bad things that you can think of...!"</div><div>{Ah, the sweet sound of repentance. Or something.}</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzdlJkbqrYG6bAzEmP2DC-t37bDndfLEqqtUW-4bb0POhgzdEK_9zMDVaxbhMMTpp3aCi2uMRmnuOWuNjI_deMLrVOElinPUgoDhUCpgEBPpbd1keO1eSRTPFmtdDL77wRAJ889IRM16c/s4928/D7K_4437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="4928" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzdlJkbqrYG6bAzEmP2DC-t37bDndfLEqqtUW-4bb0POhgzdEK_9zMDVaxbhMMTpp3aCi2uMRmnuOWuNjI_deMLrVOElinPUgoDhUCpgEBPpbd1keO1eSRTPFmtdDL77wRAJ889IRM16c/w625-h414/D7K_4437.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Deeply disappointed in a drawing she did, and wailing: "This doesn't look like it's supposed to be admired! This isn't something to be proud of!" </div><div>{I disagree in fact, it was a lovely drawing of a robin!}</div><div><br /></div><span style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></span></div><div><br /></div><div><div>One afternoon when Sylvie was just a week or so old, and I had tried to take a nap to no avail:</div><div>"I wonder why Sylvie can get more rest than you can, Mama. I guess it's because her ears are smaller so she doesn't hear us making noise as much!"</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Over dinner one evening, beginning to question my parental narrative, she thoughtfully mused, "Actually... we <i>haven't</i> gotten sick from eating treats on the times when we've eaten treats. So it's fine and healthy for our bodies to eat lots of treats after all, I guess!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Ree: "I wish we had all been born at the same time."<br />Me: "Oh really? Why is that?"<br />Ree: "So that you wouldn't die before I do."</div><div>{heart. breaks.}</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7m5qgPAgihQ9MLWKZvlSlhvdhkApVp6loVpvHmzg8EbpjyEm6vvmLhsR3Z7p8cGWkAR2k3agFuBjZvj-L53ujeF2VPxvVd-ZNAop-H0SeA_vles-_go_f965NtMADKPOGW89ZO4cX78U/s4928/D7K_4401.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4928" data-original-width="3264" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7m5qgPAgihQ9MLWKZvlSlhvdhkApVp6loVpvHmzg8EbpjyEm6vvmLhsR3Z7p8cGWkAR2k3agFuBjZvj-L53ujeF2VPxvVd-ZNAop-H0SeA_vles-_go_f965NtMADKPOGW89ZO4cX78U/w414-h625/D7K_4401.jpg" width="414" /></a></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div>"Mama, things are moving around in my head! I mean, my mind! My mind is moving around in my head!"</div><div>{Perhaps she's describing what we call thinking?}</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div></div></div></div><div><div><br /></div><div>"Mama, when you laugh, your head isn't so round anymore."</div><div>Nell: "No one's head is really round."</div><div>Ree: "Yours is, Nell. And Molly's is. But Mama's head is squashed."</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Me: "What was Adam made from?"</div><div>Nell: "Dust."</div><div>Me: "What was Eve made from?"</div><div>Ree: "Plaster."</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FmaDWHUZWlcJ9zSffLap6R9o5ta1FWZE4eE8Mld-wEXXEAosYUBXP48iH05GLQt-TH3-OLN855tQewM-sZRUGjLqfShxv7fU32Xjc9jZeVWCp23pZuterzFe7D_PIBBvg0u8zzqj3Go/s4232/D7K_4419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4232" data-original-width="2803" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FmaDWHUZWlcJ9zSffLap6R9o5ta1FWZE4eE8Mld-wEXXEAosYUBXP48iH05GLQt-TH3-OLN855tQewM-sZRUGjLqfShxv7fU32Xjc9jZeVWCp23pZuterzFe7D_PIBBvg0u8zzqj3Go/w414-h625/D7K_4419.jpg" width="414" /></a></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Dressed up in a vintage pink dress to go to a friend's birthday: </div><div>"<i>YES</i>. <i>YES! </i>This is exactly how I've always wanted to look! I don't look like a plain Marie I look like a <i>fancy Marie</i>!"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div></div><div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><div>We "raised" caterpillars into Painted Lady butterflies, an experience as filled with occasional worrisome setbacks as it was with joy and wonder in the end. One day after Molly had illicitly gotten ahold of the poor caterpillars and given them a solid shaking, Marie wailed, "I wish I could be a tiny baby so I didn't have anything to worry about so I didn't have to worry! See, <i>Sylvie doesn't know the caterpillar might be dead</i>!"</div><div><br /></div><div>I know exactly what you mean, girlie. Just you wait until the worries become even bigger than caterpillar woes. Being a baby again is going to look better and better. On the other hand, being your mom has its distinct joys and advantages, grown-up worries notwithstanding. I'm going to go out on a limb and say it's been worth growing up for.</div></div><div><br /></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Vngf1ntpOEfgaMoSkynMGnnSlkdhRntpKhMxB4oBZO7mJBdpGI8Y8WpNARgBvcW-VlLvG01ZPgzTWXBH0mDBZj7WA4LTZ8hdLlIPCJVgQyOMDiS369eBFpOL4hPUvqNdW3jN_Umr3rE/s3652/D7K_4554.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="wiggling her first loose tooth with her tongue" border="0" data-original-height="3652" data-original-width="2419" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Vngf1ntpOEfgaMoSkynMGnnSlkdhRntpKhMxB4oBZO7mJBdpGI8Y8WpNARgBvcW-VlLvG01ZPgzTWXBH0mDBZj7WA4LTZ8hdLlIPCJVgQyOMDiS369eBFpOL4hPUvqNdW3jN_Umr3rE/w416-h625/D7K_4554.jpg" title="wiggling her first loose tooth with her tongue" width="416" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>{wiggling her first loose tooth with her tongue}</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgex5HgXJKTqgciI7XFspEMK3JaWYSeFzOw1xzDVDQcFHBfbsZDhWlBqY0FyoSqA95UND8RtjYBFOfyhB1V7OXpYfqG9rcLmthpRG-B5E1Z6eMocXtp1H8HMWJQ1jjrvMK66eG4L1-OwFU/s4928/D7K_4536.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="4928" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgex5HgXJKTqgciI7XFspEMK3JaWYSeFzOw1xzDVDQcFHBfbsZDhWlBqY0FyoSqA95UND8RtjYBFOfyhB1V7OXpYfqG9rcLmthpRG-B5E1Z6eMocXtp1H8HMWJQ1jjrvMK66eG4L1-OwFU/w625-h414/D7K_4536.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-15963193496930592982020-04-06T20:44:00.000-07:002020-04-06T20:44:34.915-07:00Holy Week At HomeI will be honest and say that I have truly struggled to find the energy to observe Lent and prepare to celebrate Holy Week this year. I usually delight in observing the church year and celebrating these things with my children, in our home. And yet this year, a year without church when I know I should do these things at home more than ever, I have not been able to summon the strength.<br />
<br />
And somehow it wasn't until Saturday night, the night before Palm Sunday, that it occurred to me that of course, I needed to ask for the strength since I couldn't find it within myself. <br />
<br />
For the first Sunday of this already long quarantine, yesterday we got dressed instead of live-streaming church in our PJs.<br />
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I faced the day with an energy I couldn't have found within myself after yet another night of restless sleep and many long Braxton Hicks contractions.<br />
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My emotions have been up and down with the coronavirus self-isolating going on. Some days I'm able to proceed with life pretty normally, and other days it's just... sad. The idea of Holy Week without church has been the hardest adjustment of it all for me, maybe even harder than the idea of having a baby during a global pandemic. Holy Week is my favorite time of year, hands down. The Triduum is something I look forward to for all of Lent. And it is worthy of being celebrated gloriously, even if we are all doing that in our respective homes. <br />
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Having found renewed energy over the weekend to do what we can to celebrate this week in our home, I was creating a document of resources so I could organize my plans, and then I realized I might share them here as well, in case they are helpful to anyone else.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Throughout Holy Week:</i></span><br />
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The girls will finish coloring in their Lent "maps," something we do each year as we count down the days to the long-awaited Easter Sunday. <br />
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They will continue our Lenten tradition of earning small beans (this year it's coffee beans) to place in a jar when I notice them making a sacrifice or particular kindness on behalf of someone else. When they come downstairs on Easter morning, all those coffee beans will have been replaced with... jelly beans! {I usually get the dye-free jelly beans from Trader Joe's, so again, we are flying by the seat of our pants this year without being able to make the usual shopping trips to pick up little things here and there. I may try to make a trip there, but everything takes more forethought and planning right now, for sure. I actually haven't been to a grocery store since March 9!}<br />
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We've placed our little "Resurrection Garden" in the center of the dining room table, where it will stay until Easter (when I'll move it and hopefully replace it with a bouquet of flowers, if we can manage to get some, virus notwithstanding). Most years we plant little succulents in amidst the twig and wire crosses the girls make, and nestle our small flower pot "tomb" in there. This year we didn't venture out to get succulents, so some moss from the backyard is sufficing.<br />
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A few years ago a wonderful and more experienced mother than myself shared with me the idea of lighting a group of candles during Holy Week, and lighting one fewer each night as we approach Good Friday and Holy Saturday. We've been doing this for several years now and it's become a special tradition. On Holy Saturday when we remember that the light of Christ was lying in the tomb, we don't light any of the tea lights. <br />
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I also keep a Bible and a book of Bible stories for Children nearby at all times, and have chosen to add something specific to the journey of Holy Week to each night's little "tablescape." <br />
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Palm Sunday: Palm fronds (or this year, spruce branches) can be placed amongst the candles.<br />
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Monday: We read about Jesus casting out the money changers from the temple after he arrived in Jerusalem; some coins scattered on the table symbolize this story.<br />
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Tuesday: We read about Jesus's foretelling of Peter's denial; the kids bring a toy rooster to place on the table.<br />
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"Spy" Wednesday: Coins on the table again, this time to symbolize Judas's decision to betray Jesus for 30 pieces of silver.<br />
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Maundy Thursday: Hearts of some kind (paper works just fine) to symbolize the new commandment to love one another.<br />
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Good Friday: I bring a piece of cloth to the table and let the girls grab hold of it together; we tear it from top to bottom to symbolize the curtain of the temple being torn when Jesus breathed his last on the cross.<br />
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Those are some of the things we'll be doing throughout the week.<br />
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Specifically in the later part of the week, <a href="http://ctrnorthshore.org/">our church</a> will be live-streaming small presentations specifically for the children, which we will be eagerly looking forward to.<br />
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At home, we'll also be doing some of the following:<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Maundy Thursday:</i></span><br />
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Just as our church usually does foot washing for all of the children, we will do this at home this year. Afterwards, as we recall the Last Supper, we'll eat something simple and vaguely Mediterranean in nature -- I'm thinking dates or other dried fruit, a flatbread of some sort, olives, maybe a chickpea-based dish. I don't think we'll attempt a full Seder, but I do have some interesting Seder resources I plan to look over and see what we can manage to incorporate. We will certainly re-read the story of the first Passover, and talk about how every year at Passover the very same things were said and done, but at the Last Supper, Jesus "said and did things that no one had ever said or done before." This, again, is language our children are accustomed to hearing at our church.<br />
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Thursday night I'll make my hot cross bun dough, so it can have a cold overnight rise in the fridge and be ready for Friday morning.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Good Friday:</i></span><br />
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We'll start the day by baking our hot cross buns and piping crosses onto them. Hot cross buns are always a bit of a mystery to me, as the Triduum is such a holy and dark time of Lent, and then -- let's have some super sweet buns! But maybe that's why I like <a href="https://thehealthychef.com/blogs/recipes/healthy-hot-cross-buns">this spelt recipe</a>; it eschews the usual fluffy sweetness for something a little more hearty, and replaces the white sugary icing with dark chocolate piped crosses. I came across this recipe years ago and while it's definitely not a traditional hot cross bun, I love it and I just can't go back. I mean, you can't go wrong with the dried apricots and dark chocolate combination.<br />
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And in the afternoon, while we won't be able to go to our church's Good Friday service for children, we will do the stations of the cross (which is the format of our church service) here at home. I found some wonderful <a href="https://www.sjtb.org/releducolor.html#stations">Stations of the Cross coloring pages</a>, and since my older two girls are in a phase of total coloring obsession, I think they'll really enjoy working on these. On a smaller scale, you can print <a href="http://www.catholicplayground.com/little-stations-cross-booklet/mobile/index.html">this booklet</a> or <a href="http://www.fcpeace.com/friends/Lent/14-Walk%20with%20Jesus%20on%20the%20Way%20of%20the%20Cross.pdf">this one</a> for an at-home Stations of the Cross. <br />
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We have a small olive wood cross I've set up on our mantel, and we can say together like they're used to hearing in church on Good Friday, "Behold the wood of the cross, on which was hung the world's salvation." / "O come, let us adore him."<br />
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We will probably also listen to a performance of a movement or more of <i>Stabat Mater</i>, an oft-set text about the sorrowing mother Mary standing at the cross. I'm partial to Pergolesi's, and in particular I find <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzOmPUu-F_M">this historically-informed performance</a> to be a fantastic one. So I'll watch it with my kids, and hope they've inherited my love of a good suspension or two (or even better, four solid minutes of them).<br />
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We'll end our observance of Good Friday by veiling our little cross and our icon of Christ on the mantle.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Holy Saturday:</i></span><br />
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Observing Good Friday and Holy Saturday with very young children is something we try to do gently in our family, and I have always appreciated that our church does this as well. We tell the truth about Jesus's death on the cross. But we focus on the fact that the light of Christ, the light of the whole world, could not be put out. That he rose again from the dead, and that he is with us now.<br />
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A good part of Saturday by necessity is usually spent in some preparations for Easter. While those preparations will be considerably lesser this year, I am still hoping to do a nice Easter dinner for our family, and clean and decorate the house for the occasion. It lightens the darkness of the day a bit for the kids to get involved in all the getting ready for Easter, too. They are looking forward to the celebration.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Easter Vigil: </i></span><br />
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In addition to following along with what our church live streams, I think Nathan and I will do our own little version of Easter Vigil at home with the girls. Easter Vigil is the single best church service of the year and I just can't imagine not having it in whatever way we can. <br />
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If you want to hold your own version of Vigil, you can find the service in the BCP for ideas. And if you don't have a copy, you can access the entire thing, or different services individually, <a href="http://bcp2019.anglicanchurch.net/index.php/downloads/">all online right here</a>.<br />
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It's such a special service, to hold Vigil with Christians around the world as we remember Christ passing over from death into life. <br />
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<i>"This is the night when Christ broke the bonds of death and hell, and rose victorious from the grave."</i><br />
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A few basic elements: begin in darkness (sundown is a good time for this without getting to be too late for children), light a Paschal candle, do whatever portions of the liturgy seem appropriate to incorporate (depending on how young your children are, you may not be able to manage the whole thing, although the Scripture readings for the occasion are wonderful if you can manage them all), then make an Easter proclamation, bring up all the lights and make some noise! I'm thinking Nathan will pound out some jolly chords on the organ we have in our home and the girls and I will ring bells, but you can substitute as necessary for your family situation -- shouting, singing, piano crashing, Alleluia-ing, bells ringing! We'll also unveil our cross and icon.<br />
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At the conclusion of whatever small Vigil you may have, it's customary to break the Lenten fast and have a treat. We'll definitely be doing something involving chocolate!<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Easter Sunday: </span></i><br />
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It's a celebration day, yes, even in the midst of a global pandemic and a quarantine. Assuming we can manage to procure the right groceries between now and then, we'll have a special breakfast while Nathan is at work (the work of a church musician is never over; or at least, it certainly isn't over on Easter Sunday morning), and we'll watch the livestream of his church service at <a href="http://parkstreet.org/live">Park Street Church</a>, or our own church, <a href="http://ctrnorthshore.org/">Christ the Redeemer</a> (or both!), and sing our favorite Easter hymns from home. <br />
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Once Nathan gets home, we'll enjoy Easter dinner together. I'm thinking the usual fare of ham, potatoes, rolls, a few vegetable side dishes... but in the current grocery situation our country seems to be experiencing, you never know! <br />
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It's not going to be the same this year. But that doesn't mean we can let it all go by uncelebrated. <br />
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So we will continue on this week, with the recognition that "death {and also COVID} in vain forbids him rise," and get ready to say on Sunday, "Alleluia!"<br />
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And we will rejoice in knowing that so many others are saying it with us, even if we cannot see them or hear them this year.sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-13061205667645075022020-03-29T16:36:00.000-07:002020-03-29T16:36:19.511-07:00a COVID-19 confession of being ordinary<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>“Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake.” </i></span><span style="font-size: large;"><i>-- Victor Hugo</i></span></span></blockquote>
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I am not doing anything very significant right now. I wake each morning thinking I ought to join some great movement to provide aid or relief to people, or perhaps to find a way despite social distancing to share uplifting music with others, or at the very least to deliver handwritten notes to each of our neighbors, but somehow each day seems to bring with it enough on my proverbial plate. It is enough just to keep my children fed and cared for, to prepare for the rapidly approaching arrival of our fourth child, to keep our home from falling into chaos. <br />
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I am not doing great things, and if I am honest with myself, I am not even heeding Mother Theresa's call to "do small things with great love," for sometimes I cannot seem to summon in myself the great love. There are in fact times in each day when I'm doing small things not with great love but with great impatience, or with great annoyance, or even with great bitterness.<br />
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I am sitting at the table, three meals a day, reminding children to chew with their mouths closed, to not interrupt one another, sometimes just to take another bite without complaint. I am ushering children into coats and boots to take them out of doors for a walk, and wondering why at least one of them seems to be fussing at any given moment. I am folding loads of laundry daily, and loading the dishwasher again the minute it's been run and emptied. I am reading aloud through frequent irritating interruptions. I am wiping hands and bottoms, giving baths, and reminding these small people, over and over, of the the rules and expectations of our family. It does not feel like a great thing, this life of mine, but somehow, nonetheless, it can be enough to exhaust me. <br />
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The world is a weighty place, and we are all feeling it right now. People are sick and some are even dying. We are staying home, and we are waiting as the data unfolds in real time. Knowing that the numbers represent real lives and deaths.<br />
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But there are beautiful things happening too, even if I'm not contributing to them.<br />
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In the past week, I've been touched by a few things personally: a delivery to my doorstep of a bag of flour when Nathan couldn't find any at the store; a package of my favorite almond butter cups from Trader Joe's brought to my porch; conversations held through the doorway; a friend bringing a gift for our new baby; a bunch of forsythia from a friend's yard; another doorstep delivery of labor and postpartum supplies. And in my gratitude for these moments of mine, I've also been humbled in the realization that I have not done very much for others lately.<br />
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Nathan's work must feel, I think, more meaningful than any of mine at a time like this. The music he coordinates for Sunday worship services has become a lifeline to many people right now, with more than a thousand people tuning in to the livestream each Sunday to hear the music as well as the sermon and to participate, such as they can, in worship. <br />
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For my own work, my spring gigs have all been canceled. I'm continuing to teach violin, albeit virtually for the time being. Two weeks ago I could never have imagined that I would someday feel strangely thrilled to see the faces of students on my computer, to feel that saying hello to a middle schooler or chatting briefly with a beginning student playing Twinkle would become a bit of a lifeline, a glimpse of humanity outside my own door.<br />
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Life is changed for all of us right now, in our work lives and in our home lives. And isolation, I am learning, is not always good even for an introvert such as myself. Even for us, a family who already homeschooled and thus was accustomed to life with children home all the time, nothing feels very normal right now. Our rhythms and routines are disrupted. And where things do manage to continue as normal, a blanket of anxiety can threaten to envelop me at any moment of the day.<br />
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If I read too many news articles in one day, I can feel the creeping fears -- While we are hoping to have a home birth, will I somehow end up delivering in a hospital situation where my husband is not permitted to be with me? Will my family and friends be able to remain healthy through this epidemic? How many will have lives inevitably altered by this, either by disease or by financial ramifications? I have to put down my computer, go outside for a bit and breathe the fresh air, try to find a sense of normalcy. <br />
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Amidst these global concerns, I am confronted daily with my own pettiness and selfishness. I think of things I had wanted to do before the baby comes -- updating the framed pictures from eight years ago hanging on the living room walls, changing a few decor things to create a space I'll enjoy being in when I'm nursing a new baby. And yet, a trip to Michaels to update my walls or even a trip to Target for baby essentials is suddenly not possible, or at least not advisable. I find myself feeling a petty sense of self-pity that I won't be able to take the new baby out in the near future, won't be able to go through a Starbucks drive-through on a particularly wearying day, won't be able to see any friends in those early newborn days. I know that none of these things are particularly weighty problems in light of a world battling a global disease, nurses overworked and patients dying, and yet I cannot seem to help feeling them.<br />
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This morning a timely online sermon reminded me that God never promises that we won't be in the valley of the shadow of death. <i>But he promises that he will be with us. </i>The presence of God. I want it to be tangible right now, to myself and to my children, but instead some days I feel as though I'm reaching around in the darkness unable to quite grasp ahold of his presence. I'm grieved that we won't be able to go to church during Holy Week or for Easter. And while I usually love celebrating these special times and observing them in many ways in our home life, instead of feeling empowered or energized right now to do this even more for my family, I feel... tired. Overwhelmed. Isolated. Sad.<br />
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So, I'm not doing great things. Today's small accomplishments included beginning a good and timely chapter book with my kids, and baking two loaves of sourdough bread that, for the first time in a couple of weeks, actually rose beautifully and turned out nicely. With the heat in our house only working sporadically, along with a shortage of flour until recently, I have had depressingly dense loaves lately. So it felt like a victory to have this morning's loaves bake up the way I wanted them to at last. <br />
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We dipped chunks of fresh sourdough into homemade hummus tonight, and we were grateful.<br />
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God reminded me of his presence in a loaf of bread today - our daily bread, our needs provided for. <br />
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So this is me today, right now: not inspirational, not a world-changer. Just getting through each day, tired and rather hugely pregnant, waiting for the time each evening when I can fall into bed. Despite a million clever and creative ideas flooding the internet with things we could all be doing with our children lately, I am just maintaining the normal around here for the most part. Not doing spectacular craft projects with my children, not making medical supplies, certainly not nursing patients back to health or even brightening anyone's day, really.<br />
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Just baking two loaves of bread and feeding my husband and children.<br />
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The pastor I listened to online earlier today said this, repeating advice he was once given when he had reached a low point: "Be faithful. Do the next thing that you're supposed to do, and do it well."<br />
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So I shall continue to do the little things I've been given to do each day, even on the days when all is grey and rainy and my tasks feel unimportant. And when I have accomplished my tasks, I will go to sleep, because sleep is something I seem to require a lot of right now. And I will remember Victor Hugo's words: "God is awake." He is present. <br />
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Friends, if any of you are like me, and not feeling that you are accomplishing great things in these difficult days, you are not alone. Remember that the little things matter, and remember most of all that you can go to sleep after your day's labors, knowing that God is present with us and he does not sleep.sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-38397146638655515722020-03-17T18:21:00.001-07:002020-03-23T18:55:19.829-07:00how to enjoy your kids during the coronavirusWell, the COVID-19 concerns have officially set in, along with extensive social distancing as we as a country attempt to "flatten the curve." Schools are closed, events are canceled, and we are all staying home. As a second-generation homeschooling mother who is naturally an introvert, I've been training my whole life for this moment. A few glances at social media sites, however, have assured me that not all parents are feeling peaceful about these coming weeks of isolation. A lot of parents are feeling overwhelmed and unprepared for increased time spent in close quarters with their children. I get it. If it's not what you're used to, it can probably seem like a lot to have an entire day to fill with these small humans, and then to do it again the next day, and the next. <br />
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I originally had no intention whatsoever of adding to the clamor out there. I mean, my goodness. The "COVID daily schedules," those color-blocked moment-by-moment methods of recreating the intense structure of public school in your homes! The cutesy, picture-perfect unit studies all over Pinterest! And the homeschooling programs that have realized they are one sector of the economy that could possibly thrive in this difficult time, suddenly filling everyone's feeds with endless options for free curriculum samples, discount codes, and more! What could I possibly have to add with all these options?<br />
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Allow me instead to attempt to subtract, rather than add. Take it from someone who has been overwhelmed by the options before. When I was choosing not just how to fill a few weeks of extra time with my children, but selecting entire curricula to begin in each subject when we began the task of officially homeschooling two years ago, I was overwhelmed. Nathan finally walked by me one day, nose buried in my computer, and declared, "No wonder you're overwhelmed! Allow me to close fifty tabs on your computer for you and you will feel better." In this era of the interconnectedness of the world wide web, there are <i>so many options</i>.<br />
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And many of them are good options. But you really don't need to download 50 curriculum samples, 95 free worksheets, and daily and weekly schedules to get through these next few weeks with your children. In fact, I believe that you can not just survive these weeks, but you could find yourself thriving in them. I have even gone so far as to think to myself that certain sector of society -- not everyone, mind you -- may enjoy their life of telecommuting, decreasing daily activities, and increasing time with their families so much that they may want to continue in a simpler, less scheduled and structured way of life even when this is all over.<br />
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So do yourself a favor and close some browser tabs, and trust that it will all be okay. Your children can survive without school, and they will not fall behind academically. You, their parent, can survive this. You'll find a way that works for your unique family, and it may or may not resemble the color-coded schedules you've seen online. It may or may not involve worksheets. You might choose to set aside the worksheets, in fact, and do something that could be, in the end, far more memorable. You can use these weeks for unexpected snuggles, for reading books together that will make you laugh and cry, for spending time in nature together, for baking favorite recipes together, for creating art together. <br />
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In a nutshell: you do not need to buy a curriculum to spend the next few weeks with your children. You do not need to suddenly undertake the task of "homeschooling." Take a deep breath. Your children, while probably challenging at times, can also probably be a lot of fun. You've got this.<br />
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First of all, a disclaimer: My children are almost-eight, almost-six, three, and due-next-month. So I have spent almost eight years parenting, which I realize is not very much time in the broad scheme of things. I don't have experience parenting teens or even pre-teens. But if you, like me, have young-ish children, you may find a word here or there to be helpful.<br />
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Perhaps most importantly, I'll begin with this: my three main strategies to swiftly turn around a day that is going poorly (and we all have days or moments like that):<br />
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1) Go Outside: Send the kids out, or better yet, go out all together, because it's as good for a parent or caregiver as it is for the kids. Run around in the yard. Sit on the patio furniture and listen to the birds. Take a walk. Go on a hike. Children are less grumpy out of doors, they argue less, and they are more pleasant. Just go outside!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Go outside. Even if it's messy.}</td></tr>
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2) Turn on Music: We like a variety of music around here, including lots of classical music, music from ballets which our girls love to dance to, and folk music by singers like Elizabeth Mitchell. Turn on music and watch the kids get happier.<br />
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3) Involve Water: This could mean running a bath and putting young kiddos in it, or it could mean letting someone splash in the kitchen sink and play with measuring cups. It could mean letting them help wash dishes. It might mean pulling out water beads, which are great fun. It might mean swiftly tossing whoever is the grumpiest into a bathtub and adding bubbles and watching at least one other young kid decide to jump in, too. Children forget to be grumpy when they're playing with water and bubbles. (And it probably goes without saying, but supervise young children around water. Of course.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Sometimes #1 and #3 can be combined, like playing in a bucket of water outside, a totally winning combination.}</td></tr>
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Now, let's say there's no particular grumpiness going on, or you've already dealt with it using one of the above strategies or one of your own tried and true methods. Now what should you do with your children all day? <br />
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I would humbly submit that you don't need a curriculum, or even a big pile of worksheets, to enjoy a few weeks with your children and to watch them grow, learn, and thrive. It might take them a few days to adjust to the total change in their lives and schedules, but they will adjust and learn how to play, how to fill their time without bells, buzzers, or teachers telling them to switch tracks every 50 minutes, and suddenly you'll be surprised to realize they've been engrossed in a project of their own creation for two hours, coming up with something cool and fascinating (or maybe bizarre and only fascinating to them, but still!) all of their own accord.<br />
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So, if your school hasn't already assigned work to be done from home during the Coronavirus school closures (and I know some districts have and others haven't), or even if they have but you have other hours in the day to fill, here are a few thoughts:<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Get dressed</span></i><br />
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Have your children get dressed. I promise, the allure of days at home in PJs will wear off quickly, and you will find it is easier to love them if they are wearing something clean and pleasant, and their hair is combed. Dress yourself, too, because you will feel more like a human being instead of a sleep-walking zombie surrounded by wild zoo animals as soon as you put on clothes, and maybe even a necklace or a pair of earrings.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Morning Basket</span></i><br />
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This idea is definitely not unique to me, and if you've spent even a little time in Charlotte Mason homeschooling circles you will have come across this phrase. I can't recommend it highly enough! Into a basket you want to put some books that will help you start your morning with something beautiful and meaningful. Some of our favorites include a book or two of calendar poems or other seasonal poetry, perhaps some A.A. Milne poetry, our family notebook of poems we've memorized or are currently memorizing, a folksong or hymn we are learning together, and maybe a book of artwork by an artist you are studying or just an artist you love. I keep our morning basket easily accessible, and during breakfast when the children's mouths are full and they are sitting reasonably still and wreaking less havoc than usual, I read to them. A Psalm, a few poems, maybe a chapter from a current read-aloud book. They love it and beg me not to stop reading, so in between sips of coffee, I just keep going. Before you know it you've front-loaded your day with literature and poetry and beauty, and if the rest of the day goes a little off the rails, at least you've got that to show for your day. It's no small thing, and it has saved many a day over here from feeling like a failure. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Read Aloud</i></span><br />
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I'm pretty sure all parents know the importance of reading aloud to your kids. Whether they are not yet independent readers, or are struggling readers, or are already solid independent readers, the research is clear: reading to your kids will help set them up for a lifetime of loving to read. Just get started and watch their vocabularies blossom, their comprehension grow and amaze you, their ability to recall it all astound you. (Nell and I are finishing up <i>The Little Duke</i> by Charlotte Yonge at the moment, and if you had read me even a paragraph of this book two years ago and told me that by age seven my daughter would be loving this book, I would have laughed. And yet here we are, and she is engrossed with the story and loving it.)<br />
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Aside from academic advantages, reading aloud as a family will give you a shared family lexicon of beloved characters and stories that will become intermingled with your own family story in a way that is really special. One of my go-to websites for book suggestions is Sarah Mackenzie's <a href="https://readaloudrevival.com/">Read-Aloud Revival</a>. It's a great place to go for book lists of every kind: Seasonal book lists! Books about math! Audiobooks that are on sale for pennies! Books divided by age or grade level! Favorites for all ages! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZBGS5i15QqnlYscFgqMfhNdIE01Ta-oXokSfzS7zP3YjKDK6L2oSDqIf-JAkkwddXSxrn-V1bhKb63AnEq76p9ZeV3GCpzBdTXMm5K0FBlEC6PW2gZRDl4Y0pcDipKXxOFdmcH4GbxA/s1600/IMG_4808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZBGS5i15QqnlYscFgqMfhNdIE01Ta-oXokSfzS7zP3YjKDK6L2oSDqIf-JAkkwddXSxrn-V1bhKb63AnEq76p9ZeV3GCpzBdTXMm5K0FBlEC6PW2gZRDl4Y0pcDipKXxOFdmcH4GbxA/s400/IMG_4808.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Because it's too cute not to share, a picture from our Little House in the Big Woods literature club with friends back in November.}</td></tr>
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Don't forget to utilize Hoopla, Libby, or Librivox apps for audiobooks when your own voice gives out or you just need a break. I borrowed the Complete Ramona Quimby Collection on Hoopla a couple of weeks ago and since then my two older girls have powered through all 15 hours of Ramona books not once but twice, and are midway through a third time through. They are quoting it, living it, laughing about it. They are deep into Ramona's world at the moment, and loving it. <br />
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A few other favorite read-alouds and audiobooks around here have included: The Wizard of Oz (read by Anne Hathaway on Audible), Charlotte's Web (read by E.B. White himself), The Trumpet of the Swan, The Saturdays by Elizabeth Enright, and the other Melendy family books, Half Magic by Edward Eager, Thornton Burgess books, A Little Princess, The Secret Garden, the Narnia books we've read so far, books by E. Nesbit, The Princess and the Goblin, Astrid Lindgren books like Pippi Longstocking and The Children of Noisy Village, the Winnie-the-Pooh books, which you are never too old for really, Heidi, the All-of-a-Kind Family books, the Clementine books, and.... well, goodness, I'll stop myself for now. So many good ones! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMseo9kiX7C4R1x1Ge0btkDnW3TLoSiY3ae1GTrHcbLam9hB-xQ_J2-I7H_yDQyIg9i3yYVNgUBYv6zpsRW20lwf3YXL6hOJ-jNhKxEyOpzV8Xqv1yTqDqGpQwnXExZiGQprGBYBIv5hM/s1600/IMG_0264.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMseo9kiX7C4R1x1Ge0btkDnW3TLoSiY3ae1GTrHcbLam9hB-xQ_J2-I7H_yDQyIg9i3yYVNgUBYv6zpsRW20lwf3YXL6hOJ-jNhKxEyOpzV8Xqv1yTqDqGpQwnXExZiGQprGBYBIv5hM/s400/IMG_0264.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Don't forget to help littler ones find things to occupy themselves while you read bigger read-alouds to older children.}</td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Say Yes</span></i><br />
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My kids wake up every day with about six hundred ideas of things they want to do. Just by saying yes to some of them, we can fill our days pretty easily with meaningful activities. Just today Nell asked if she could sew a tutu for her doll, and while I couldn't manage it today due to teaching quite a few virtual violin lessons over FaceTime today, I told her that YES! We can absolutely do that tomorrow! Marie saw a basket of yarn and wanted to crochet something yesterday --YES! Molly wanted to take a bath with her new birthday bath toys -- YES! Nell wanted me to read to her from her geography book -- YES! The older girls are deep into a phase of coloring book obsession and can't get enough of working through our stash of wonderful Dover coloring books -- YES! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Building a model covered wagon yesterday after finishing a book about the Santa Fe trail. Sometimes it takes courage to say yes to, or even propose, something involving glue and hammers and small nails. Take courage; it'll be worth it.}</td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Scatter Things With Intention</span></i><br />
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In case your kids don't have one hundred overwhelming ideas of things they're dying to do each and every day, or if you're all just going through a bit of a slump and need some inspiration, you can thoughtfully choose a few things to leave out in conspicuous places that you think your kids might see and subsequently want to do. A basket of fabric, a jar of buttons. A pile of favorite picture books you haven't read in a while placed nonchalantly on the coffee table for them to re-discover in the morning. A jar of coins they can play with and practice counting. Or maybe you just want to begin an ordinary task and watch them wander through and ask if they can join you. Sure, kiddo, you can help me reorganize the kitchen cabinets! <br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Kitchen Help</span></i><br />
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If your days are anything like mine, by the time you've made breakfast, spent a rich and meaningful hour pouring over the books in your morning basket, tidied up from breakfast, and read aloud for an hour or two from a pile of good books (oh, and don't forget to read to the littlest ones first sometimes!), it'll be almost lunch time. Let the kids help choose if there are choices to be had, and then, let them wash the veggies or fruit, slice the cucumbers or peppers or apples, spread the peanut butter on the sandwich bread. They'll love being part of the preparation process if they are still young, and they'll thank you for teaching them these life skills someday. They're also more likely to take ownership and actually enjoy eating the meal if they've helped prepare it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YGiDfLlYvMRRnMbCXas54z_BlCW6tyoW58Y463C0z8KFDuezNh_DMOJAvc5NOI5mdK5bYkoimqJFz2w_X12BZ1-ZY-fMI1LoFAkf7ouAFw_zILzBjnml6mxxzoCTyX0EKHYN4SAhozo/s1600/IMG_6262.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8YGiDfLlYvMRRnMbCXas54z_BlCW6tyoW58Y463C0z8KFDuezNh_DMOJAvc5NOI5mdK5bYkoimqJFz2w_X12BZ1-ZY-fMI1LoFAkf7ouAFw_zILzBjnml6mxxzoCTyX0EKHYN4SAhozo/s400/IMG_6262.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{You might even be bold enough to say yes to a stark naked toddler "helping" you with the sourdough bread sometimes.}</td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Quiet Time</span></i><br />
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Friends, this is essential. Do not under any circumstance neglect the importance of quiet time or rest time or whatever you want to call it. We all need it, from the youngest toddler to the oldest and inevitably most exhausted parent. Maybe everyone goes to his or her own space, or maybe a few children play quietly together or listen to an audiobook while coloring side by side. Whatever works for your family, during this time, you as the parent are not in the least bit responsible for entertaining them. My goodness, you've just filled their minds with a few hours of good stories and food for their young imaginations, and maybe you've even done a handicraft or art project with them, too. You've fed them not one but two meals! Congratulations, you are now totally and completely entitled to go "offline" for a bit. Read your own book, work on your own project, or lay down and take a well-deserved nap. They'll have a great time playing together. You, the parent, are not actually obligated to entertain your child or children or to pretend that you want to play trains with them. It is my firm belief that adults don't need to play with children for most of the day unless you are the sort of adult that actually wants to do this. Nope. Say to your children, "Go play," and they will do it. They want to! If they've temporarily forgotten how, they'll soon remember. Don't despair. Children accustomed to a rather long school day of constant structure may need a little time to "de-school" and get reacquainted with their imaginations, but it will happen. Before you know it half the recycling bin will be mysteriously emptied, the scissors and tape will have gone missing, and your kids will have constructed an adobe village at the end of the Santa Fe trail or something, all because you read them a book recently and then gave them time and space to be kids.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Clean Up</span></i><br />
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Do yourself a favor, parents and caregivers. Teach your children to help with the cleanup. This way of life, with kids in your home doing interesting and wonderful things, is a messy one. You will lose your ever-loving mind if you don't teach them, by gently coming alongside them in the cleaning up process, to clean up their messes, preferably one at a time before they create too many new ones. These skills won't come overnight but they will gradually grow and your future sanity will thank you later for building these habits in your children.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">{a couple of real-life "before" pictures. AKA what our life looks like multiple times each day.}</td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Notebooking</span></i><br />
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Need another afternoon activity? You don't need to do anything fancy, but if you want to help your children begin to create their own notebooks they can enjoy adding to and looking back on later, we have two favorites. Each of my older children keeps a "nature journal" and a "book of illustrations." We don't fill a page a day by any means, but we try to get an entry into each one about once a week, which to be honest, sometimes ends up being less frequent. But it's something I want to do better at, because not only does it cement things in their memories, it gives them meaningful work of their own doing to look back on gathered into one nice and neat place.<br />
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The nature journals contain pencil sketches, water colors, and colored pencil drawings of favorite things they've discovered in nature or science- / nature- related things we've read about in books. The books of illustrations contain drawings related to read-alouds we did for fun, as well as illustrations sometimes accompanied by "narrations" (recaps in their own words) of school books like history, stories from Shakespeare, etc. They treasure these notebooks and love looking back at their previous work and remembering the stories and the discoveries we've shared.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Bedtime</span></i><br />
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I know many parents who are used to working full-time while their kids are in school full-time may not be accustomed to embracing a regular and somewhat early bedtime, but if you are spending much of your days home with your kids, I cannot recommend bedtime highly enough. Spending the day with your kids is quite different from spending the day apart from them and needing those precious evening hours to reconnect. We put our three-year-old to bed by 7 pm, and the older girls get ready for bed at the same time, and can look at books or listen to audiobooks or music in bed from about 7:30 or, at the latest, 8:00, until they're ready to sleep. Meanwhile, I go do something separate from them, recharge, and get ready to do it all over again the next day.<br />
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Congratulations, you've made it to the end of my unwanted advice. </div>
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If you're still thinking you need a "curriculum" to occupy these weeks with your children, Ambleside Online has a great page of ideas for a "<a href="https://www.amblesideonline.org/HELP.shtml">crisis curriculum</a>." It's simple, it's uncomplicated, it's a great starting point for reading good books with your kids, connecting with them during this time when they may be worried or unsettled, playing math games, reading good books, and keeping it simple. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Lest you think I'm "anti-worksheet," here's Marie happily doing a book of word worksheets she utterly adored completing.}</td></tr>
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Your kids probably won't remember doing a random worksheet, no matter how thematic or cute or age-appropriate or academically challenging or what-have-you. If they love worksheets then by all means give them a few to do, but what they will remember is this strange, unexpected time at home with their family. Which may yet turn out to be unexpectedly <i>wonderful </i>in one way or another.</div>
sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-10761969981500418192019-11-19T18:04:00.000-08:002019-11-19T18:04:44.424-08:00"Mama, are you nice?"<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
A week or two ago Molly began asking me this question, sometimes several times a day: "Mama, are you nice? Are you nice, Mama?"</div>
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At first I was both amused and perplexed by the question. And should I be, perhaps, offended? Why does my two year old need to ask me if I'm nice? How should I answer? "I mean, I think so, Molly. I try to be nice. What do you think? Am I nice?"<br />
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Gradually I came to realize that a reasonable translation of her questions, as she intends it, might be, "Mama, are you in a good mood?" In other words, "Are you going to be nice right now?"<br />
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And when I realized that, it made me stop and realize what a very reasonable question this is for a toddler to ask. And how very unpredictable the world -- and her family members -- must seem to her at times.<br />
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"Mama, are you nice?" <i>Is this going to be a snuggle on the couch and read books moment, or are you about to start hollering at everyone to put their shoes on because we are late to go somewhere?</i><br />
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"Mama, are you nice?" <i>Will you swing me up onto the counter and let me rub my hands around in the flour and help you make the bread, or are you going to say it's too messy and you don't have time for that today?</i><br />
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"Mama, are you nice?" <i>Will you tickle my tummy and blow raspberries when you change my diaper, or get frustrated that I'm not potty trained yet?</i><br />
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"Nell, are you nice?" <i>Will you invite me into your room to play trains or calico critters with you, or are you about to slam the door and yell to Mom that I'm ruining everything?</i><br />
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"VeeVee {ReeRee}, are you nice?" <i>Will you kiss me and snuggle beside me on the couch, or will you push me away and say I'm getting in your spot?</i><br />
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"Daddy, are you nice?" <i>Will you pull me up into your lap while you work in your study, or send me out because you're stressed about work today?</i><br />
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"Mama, are you nice?" <i>Will you snuggle with me at bedtime and rock me and sing every song I request and not weary of it for at least half an hour, or will you be in a hurry and have to tuck me in and leave right away?</i><br />
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Come to think of it, there are a lot of things about human beings that can be unpredictable and hard to understand. How could a toddler understand my underlying state of emotional well-being and how that is likely to influence my responses on a given day? As much as I'd like to say that I'm consistent with my kids, the reality is that Mama on a relaxed day at home when the house is tidy and the chores are mostly done and the kids are well-behaved is probably a bit different than Mama slightly bothered by a messy house and the underlying stress of undone chores, running late for a gig or behind on work I meant to do. <br />
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<i>Mama, are you nice?</i><br />
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My kids teach me a lot about myself, and this little phrase in particular stops me in my tracks multiple times a day of late. <br />
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When they show me their latest artistic endeavors, will I delight in their creativity, or be frustrated by the resulting mess all over the table and floor? <br />
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When they scatter their belongings around the house in a massive game of who-knows-what involving all three girls and seemingly every possession they own, will I smile and say, "Play is the essential work of childhood! Now let's work together and clean up before dinner!" or will I bemoan the resulting disaster zone spread throughout the house?<br />
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I am consoled to know that there is much grace in this, and that I don't have to be a perfect parent or even a perfectly consistent parent to raise these kids. Children are naturally so very forgiving, and when I occasionally react from a place of stress rather than responding calmly, they are quick to understand if I simply talk to them about it. "I'm so sorry. I am feeling worried about this mess because we are having company soon, and I have a headache so I'm not feeling well enough to tackle it all myself right now." They leap into action, hugging me and promising to be helpful, and scrambling to put their things away or clean up their art projects as needed.<br />
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So Molly? I'm trying to be nice. Some days it's harder than others, but I'm trying.<br />
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sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-60490624024224354082019-09-29T08:44:00.208-07:002021-01-22T12:21:32.727-08:00saying goodbye to summer 2019<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLG9BTsda63Om8KOzhrmMgyCaK0Tbbi1R9FUdHkp2z_LvYNQwy350h7NNVWKwLnc_o0KnpN-CkQJqfD8HZYJwTxaGMFwz4LNoomTDgU9sM-JarDVxp6n_3xZy9bcccV7HeYMiGXjB0UM/s1600/IMG_2340.jpg"></a>January 2021: I found this in the drafts of this poor neglected blog -- written a year and a half ago with all the many photos compiled, but never published. I'm pressing 'publish' now, long after the fact so I can enjoy looking back on what already feels like nearly a lifetime ago. Those tiny faces! Where does the time go?<div><div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh summer 2019, you were perfectly full and perfectly empty in all the right ways.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Autumn equinox has come and gone, and while we're still having some warm days, today I reached for a sweater and pulled out my slippers. I always love autumn, but this year I noticed a delightful willingness to say goodbye to summer, untinged with regret. In this stage of life, quite often I reach the end of a season or other phase and think of all that I meant to do but didn't manage. Pregnancies or young babies, either of these things can leave you at the end of a summer feeling like you failed to make the most of it all.<br />
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This summer we didn't go to the beach as much as we sometimes do, but I don't mind. We didn't gather with friends as much as we sometimes have, but that's okay, too. I missed a few standard summer gigs I usually play due to scheduling conflicts, but I got to play other new ones, instead.<br />
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And it's all that we <i>did </i>do that has me feeling content, peaceful, satisfied.<br />
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Nathan and I went to England, which really deserves a post of its own. It was unforgettable, and exactly the kind of thing I thought we'd never get to do, except that then ... <i>we did</i>. And the girls got to spend quality time with their Aunt and Uncles and Grammy and Grandpa, and had the most marvelous time. <br />
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When we returned home it was already early July, all of June having been occupied by the trip and also, leading up to it, last-minute trip planning (for a trip that was, in fact, quite last-minute). We settled right into the summery goodness of a very relaxed work schedule for myself, unstructured days in the sun, working in the yard for hours on end, and actually finding myself with time to cook! During the academic year it's a thorn in my flesh that my work schedule makes it quite difficult to make dinner. I try to plan ahead with crockpot meals or pre-prepped things but it's always a bit frantic somehow. Summers are my delight -- picking up farm produce from our CSA share each week, planning menus and actually having time at my disposal to make zucchini galettes, fresh tomato sauce, deliciously homemade salad dressings, Swiss chard pancakes, fruit crisps. You might imagine that few of these things are Nathan's favorites -- and you would be correct -- but the girls and I do not care! We eat homemade sourdough pizza topped with heaps of fresh arugula with wild abandon while Nathan eats his sad, everyday slices of pepperoni. </div><div><br /></div><div>There were days at Appleton picking up our farm share each week, and visiting with baby cows and climbing trees while we were at it.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQTKUlRk1vPeb4pju2knvmBgjTqeuRA6CmebleK4LBqQxfNN435gx5Noif6DmQFFjvKnhRRfW3JnkTnJvaJtyp-DhlAUQQAYOT8vJEaNkwOaoTNfSujFpa0_louleYXqpdK3v-uky9QhE/s1600/IMG_2651.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQTKUlRk1vPeb4pju2knvmBgjTqeuRA6CmebleK4LBqQxfNN435gx5Noif6DmQFFjvKnhRRfW3JnkTnJvaJtyp-DhlAUQQAYOT8vJEaNkwOaoTNfSujFpa0_louleYXqpdK3v-uky9QhE/s640/IMG_2651.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQN2sW-YhI3TMuGTT7sMX1pJrINi-RmyAH6X7FMQ4uHi54oT7qRmifx2tc930B2twhJEG3WHoR8l-nVBkWy2VqkOJDAcpcNQ00SLLnfO_NYGpRYRe_DxqWtHtj3zwaLOh1hZ1nxv8Pzs/s1600/IMG_2627.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQN2sW-YhI3TMuGTT7sMX1pJrINi-RmyAH6X7FMQ4uHi54oT7qRmifx2tc930B2twhJEG3WHoR8l-nVBkWy2VqkOJDAcpcNQ00SLLnfO_NYGpRYRe_DxqWtHtj3zwaLOh1hZ1nxv8Pzs/s640/IMG_2627.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo6ca8k0FrEHU-9J2cx1WhYUDKRICLD6g5jwOh8CdFsflc9XgM2NqMa4HnBOHPB5iFi9FlHWdRUfVCT4Dbx97M7cs8X3Z-3Vi6N8WpztEutO2Dtrb_oKyhimGjZVVIGNm3ERi1aQMxdmM/s1600/IMG_2670.jpg"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo6ca8k0FrEHU-9J2cx1WhYUDKRICLD6g5jwOh8CdFsflc9XgM2NqMa4HnBOHPB5iFi9FlHWdRUfVCT4Dbx97M7cs8X3Z-3Vi6N8WpztEutO2Dtrb_oKyhimGjZVVIGNm3ERi1aQMxdmM/s640/IMG_2670.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqvLSv7OSBU_XBJKPh5TVfirSejvY2csG9D9ik52ieSQcEbGnJc0XONAAQN_MmV9AL4d1OWTTLhBfHFcUSfFRzXVCXcZKmvmynLyjG3kGwdjQIDi9lMi5GIOs1mglyNpbIGX4mldXxgc/s1600/IMG_2130.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqvLSv7OSBU_XBJKPh5TVfirSejvY2csG9D9ik52ieSQcEbGnJc0XONAAQN_MmV9AL4d1OWTTLhBfHFcUSfFRzXVCXcZKmvmynLyjG3kGwdjQIDi9lMi5GIOs1mglyNpbIGX4mldXxgc/s640/IMG_2130.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div>
<div><br /></div><div>There were a few delightful beach days here and there; perhaps not as many as I'd have liked, but we enjoyed them.</div><div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpiCeHQT_CdprnWlNT1NITBrWMPDg9fS6tOLZFJyPh4Qyv_T38tDUaEa46Fdk0GJ-6LcJ4Xg42ldEdCRGr8wNGTuwEF9J3xJMJOmtumzj1PLW4YM5fByUZzsP_pyUEtaw5alMgsgM5lA/s1600/IMG_2946.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpiCeHQT_CdprnWlNT1NITBrWMPDg9fS6tOLZFJyPh4Qyv_T38tDUaEa46Fdk0GJ-6LcJ4Xg42ldEdCRGr8wNGTuwEF9J3xJMJOmtumzj1PLW4YM5fByUZzsP_pyUEtaw5alMgsgM5lA/s640/IMG_2946.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDquwTOXNxxj7v1YcsNFyuPor6wkLWEYpCGV7ngA1HQk_jbCZvM7SMrutZ9pMyMVNU-aYtRTip_Est2Za9S3_vITz0uRMkFoyho8CxaBzcIvRCYJKCL2uYvDXirSSO8Y8_bGbcRjgIHcI/s1600/IMG_2987.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDquwTOXNxxj7v1YcsNFyuPor6wkLWEYpCGV7ngA1HQk_jbCZvM7SMrutZ9pMyMVNU-aYtRTip_Est2Za9S3_vITz0uRMkFoyho8CxaBzcIvRCYJKCL2uYvDXirSSO8Y8_bGbcRjgIHcI/s640/IMG_2987.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWC4kAYDZGbWG5t0mg7odVzssJI4C4FhMYWMZL0bT6qH9ZPrl8u6XLv4gU6qXZ-rvj7_Tgy-l8CFUN0XM0YX0xjfevfit0Dq7sLLGGkXnVoyP5PxptGGKyASJ7EdiFtJgmTiQDEdG8oU/s1600/IMG_2996.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWC4kAYDZGbWG5t0mg7odVzssJI4C4FhMYWMZL0bT6qH9ZPrl8u6XLv4gU6qXZ-rvj7_Tgy-l8CFUN0XM0YX0xjfevfit0Dq7sLLGGkXnVoyP5PxptGGKyASJ7EdiFtJgmTiQDEdG8oU/s640/IMG_2996.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBBo-VMHtJOtIighZ7SuQsRzoUBrGfu6QaDU4PH7Vg0Tl3Xxomdzzs6mBCIIsB7J3Gh3pfzYNepMvZOUGlf16IvLDY3bn8QPUNDRgjxfdChzUUIAx1LWc7BgjPZMr3_lBsgw4m6pEyT54/s1600/IMG_3028.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBBo-VMHtJOtIighZ7SuQsRzoUBrGfu6QaDU4PH7Vg0Tl3Xxomdzzs6mBCIIsB7J3Gh3pfzYNepMvZOUGlf16IvLDY3bn8QPUNDRgjxfdChzUUIAx1LWc7BgjPZMr3_lBsgw4m6pEyT54/s640/IMG_3028.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAGZSJsxHxAJ4j8DBpvqLymKM_NRIxMEKQ1LYXFn1L4rB_GO4tR76PbqN2zlRn5WOSCo2kMTqfS2ToQcbmwZrh97EHfaYJCHqHtZBd6WZTUDRTbKjB8YiBf-V-hTXVNhh5_78RH_bBBYg/s1600/IMG_2936.jpg"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAGZSJsxHxAJ4j8DBpvqLymKM_NRIxMEKQ1LYXFn1L4rB_GO4tR76PbqN2zlRn5WOSCo2kMTqfS2ToQcbmwZrh97EHfaYJCHqHtZBd6WZTUDRTbKjB8YiBf-V-hTXVNhh5_78RH_bBBYg/s640/IMG_2936.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9x0P4AdjXnHkUxU5pIkUzzy4tWEpVwt70X0c3Pl_eo4xqcvYyGGbh0HLUPnlMlKO_BKcuXeac8_-vgkbsIkYVlmDf3ErzEFk4hhCwWXAr8ZhD9mstJ62mtrAAU6rXChIMljdxy90oFfQ/s1600/IMG_3100.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9x0P4AdjXnHkUxU5pIkUzzy4tWEpVwt70X0c3Pl_eo4xqcvYyGGbh0HLUPnlMlKO_BKcuXeac8_-vgkbsIkYVlmDf3ErzEFk4hhCwWXAr8ZhD9mstJ62mtrAAU6rXChIMljdxy90oFfQ/s640/IMG_3100.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div></div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A visit to Aunt Hannah and Uncle Andrew's house allowed this Charlotte's Web lover to live out her favorite moments and scenes from the book on their delightful rope swing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="582" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigd7mpnzq2ODQwrYxav7y-pKv-g_jBDC79OBNtbaQ_CVnHw3FLG5wvlXdRzev4cQCXWSpk2RbAKc5ZH4sg-RHpvfmf74Y-2g9AIkKuG6fkp_HmQdK2EM9aEAF-HKV-Dj9o_JLazdO4XNo/s640/E04929A4-6A66-4521-BA3C-E651A9E48BC4.jpg" style="text-align: left;" width="640" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg64rYnI4Kg8fOXsauGrmziAguGBCvReZgXBEBdXq1Xc13FE2AiaU-L7RJslTC0lIBVrKb76xzNXkk_hwgr64Up5bDQRymzb6t0mR9EtkTIW-Ni6CtIHnfIUWx2ptmYZmJOGw847Tt4-is/s640/IMG_2463.jpg" style="text-align: left;" width="480" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There were a few activities here and there, like an orchestra concert followed by ice cream in Rockport.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5BK8nlZ5MCZtdyTHR3vsIGzX0ZXvDYzhjPPsqeKsf2TEjddbdwzR9NGQWJuZJm_HCv9JPl14EBTIg47atR13JO_wUTDL_ih0nZsQEjsCD8keqnlqXyP9LjlEuVXBEphVCdi6kwtsUt8/s640/IMG_1003.jpg" width="640" /><br />
<br />
Nell and Marie both did a six-week, once-a-week ballet session, <i>and </i>a week of a particularly wonderful and one-of-a-kind VBS program, <i>and</i> a week of summer "camp" mornings run by dearly beloved teenage friends, and in spite of all these wonderful activities summer managed to feel perfectly leisurely, restful, and balanced.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNbGcXeDK6PS4eqkJZCwJZWlNc7dKFa6EhWqZclrxhQdLosKnN752HSEqUiarnx-H9bcQM3dVaU4LVj0-ncsT2Ptgxk5KZuvA_KfAvHtHN7sS2U87-NX4h6siLHGwNdgbowF4K8HKl7s/s1600/IMG_1700.jpg"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNbGcXeDK6PS4eqkJZCwJZWlNc7dKFa6EhWqZclrxhQdLosKnN752HSEqUiarnx-H9bcQM3dVaU4LVj0-ncsT2Ptgxk5KZuvA_KfAvHtHN7sS2U87-NX4h6siLHGwNdgbowF4K8HKl7s/w300-h400/IMG_1700.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>A family day trip to Lowell planned by Nathan ended up being a real highlight:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhD7mRBjTVlKrFJWiZzt2eTa3Lo3lxWEcxEf_1EpqkLH7ZYCEoc_sFTswe8xBT3BiMdnauvxyeFwHp3FMQX6p0oQ_pQwBIKl0WyZWwKBKtNVnDKq3zY5nCngbeKSvBLwAkrAzgYNIdTI/s1600/IMG_1741.jpg"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhD7mRBjTVlKrFJWiZzt2eTa3Lo3lxWEcxEf_1EpqkLH7ZYCEoc_sFTswe8xBT3BiMdnauvxyeFwHp3FMQX6p0oQ_pQwBIKl0WyZWwKBKtNVnDKq3zY5nCngbeKSvBLwAkrAzgYNIdTI/w400-h300/IMG_1741.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYHOMCKv5o-D-iL2tDfbDwIYvAwGKi8Eg84ch98OX91AfULblCSnKld_Ym6angy15qj1NiSnTAkW5yifHInx2atLW2NGuVtjfmm7JC6FhMuBUEuahADcAq6k6Txn87SUvflW1fW8rXFME/s1600/IMG_1840.jpg" style="text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYHOMCKv5o-D-iL2tDfbDwIYvAwGKi8Eg84ch98OX91AfULblCSnKld_Ym6angy15qj1NiSnTAkW5yifHInx2atLW2NGuVtjfmm7JC6FhMuBUEuahADcAq6k6Txn87SUvflW1fW8rXFME/w300-h400/IMG_1840.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">{presenting: Molly on a Trolley!}</div><div><br /></div><div>Frequent visits to a local library provided us long moments to watch monarchs transform before our eyes. And the older two girls participated in the summer reading program, logging many hours of reading / listening to good books.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhGcni7Yo_PSFUZjLUgenRqQv05RJjPZcXH58VlHcdbkVD9dqtMrSRzTPgjfQUJ4AxUgaZWF4r4ySCOSNkRQVSuR6yWPCv_35KC3k_egTDlO0sZAitRwse1BTxz_38P34TQMT2mmkjBM/s1600/IMG_2069.jpg"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhGcni7Yo_PSFUZjLUgenRqQv05RJjPZcXH58VlHcdbkVD9dqtMrSRzTPgjfQUJ4AxUgaZWF4r4ySCOSNkRQVSuR6yWPCv_35KC3k_egTDlO0sZAitRwse1BTxz_38P34TQMT2mmkjBM/s640/IMG_2069.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXd-slV_FfCcpIvCCk1_7wC5yozz4a1zc2GGY1i2n5hD5mjv_v0dmHZUbEGwsDttEBmvkiuiTc0uTS1yKCLLj1rEaKiqnDm8RWcl-z05KDaZEG2Nbmfekkok9hXEONruwTnLlvFOfD1CQ/s1600/IMG_2260.jpg"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXd-slV_FfCcpIvCCk1_7wC5yozz4a1zc2GGY1i2n5hD5mjv_v0dmHZUbEGwsDttEBmvkiuiTc0uTS1yKCLLj1rEaKiqnDm8RWcl-z05KDaZEG2Nbmfekkok9hXEONruwTnLlvFOfD1CQ/s640/IMG_2260.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSS8mwXOwzfqBSzvFUVtgkl1IPmBZZsJUFtGA3Cm80tqcukqrEn9xyjEMVl1_oO8TozobgXGJeBi7tphfwxhTuvWjI_QRFydmIpFNWGByiBHaC_k2LWANvWVRaISFTRC33qITyqk44hdM/s640/IMG_2380.jpg" style="text-align: left;" width="480" /></div><div><br /></div><div><div>And mostly, for July and August, there were long days spent at home, soaking up sunshine and relaxed time together. Children playing in endless unstructured hours... life as it should be.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhiNE7XhO3GmOvOt2ed9HpuS0eZwRPfpMSVOznfA2XILhwdLLAf6gkbuPnBl6W4fHLley1Le_Xt3m-K9vg8HUu0s3MD5tRf4lQuH5lmnzc8lIPhflO3l3CtOdoPyP3h_gPIcwjvGvFbBU/s1600/IMG_1188.jpg"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhiNE7XhO3GmOvOt2ed9HpuS0eZwRPfpMSVOznfA2XILhwdLLAf6gkbuPnBl6W4fHLley1Le_Xt3m-K9vg8HUu0s3MD5tRf4lQuH5lmnzc8lIPhflO3l3CtOdoPyP3h_gPIcwjvGvFbBU/s640/IMG_1188.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4PMV8P_TUnuxyr52TJvn5tET-9I95NlQJNuU5WELxS0hRj9bkWwmVZMXQyFOTPtO6BMSQTxxQcThaGD9B5-QoSZAiHxSKIE6-JL7ozpCrR8CRGsxe5DZKOC3RHjKFCvmqdBymHdDITxM/s1600/IMG_8477.jpg" style="text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4PMV8P_TUnuxyr52TJvn5tET-9I95NlQJNuU5WELxS0hRj9bkWwmVZMXQyFOTPtO6BMSQTxxQcThaGD9B5-QoSZAiHxSKIE6-JL7ozpCrR8CRGsxe5DZKOC3RHjKFCvmqdBymHdDITxM/s640/IMG_8477.jpg" width="480" /></a></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>The house had a dumpster parked in our driveway for pretty much the entire summer. We began many projects (including repairing our shed, the source of all the demolition materials requiring said dumpster!) and finished few if any of them. </div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsqDkpzoGGeOFPe9B6vFRSvypAD4EMG75tuKHHh-_Pn8PGU8NRHqqLa2Bh6g1bnd1BE9-u6IQrlIk6S8xYdjWMNjVFU4RyJYd4iemp2zlxadE3rgRyQzP5saOa7FEtqYeNfXbw_AVZTss/s1600/IMG_1471.jpg"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsqDkpzoGGeOFPe9B6vFRSvypAD4EMG75tuKHHh-_Pn8PGU8NRHqqLa2Bh6g1bnd1BE9-u6IQrlIk6S8xYdjWMNjVFU4RyJYd4iemp2zlxadE3rgRyQzP5saOa7FEtqYeNfXbw_AVZTss/w400-h300/IMG_1471.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>And with plenty of days of endless hours just being at home, we may not have gotten as much done as I'd have liked, but we didn't do nothing, either. I did extensive work creating new garden spaces where we used to have overgrown, mostly-dead trees. The girls created a garden space of their very own (and continued to plant and grow in it this past summer, too).</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7hiy39LuhWHtAXq2fSpCQq_RBp86e5jqfbS16js8Xey5_X6ISbzAv10-mVZruOQEYVX4NvJ8w6mPv1Xyt1lE-o20CUSIJq4apKqup1oloTekvsmP9koZRHIRnsopDl3E9rYgMej4xuw/s1600/IMG_7845.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7hiy39LuhWHtAXq2fSpCQq_RBp86e5jqfbS16js8Xey5_X6ISbzAv10-mVZruOQEYVX4NvJ8w6mPv1Xyt1lE-o20CUSIJq4apKqup1oloTekvsmP9koZRHIRnsopDl3E9rYgMej4xuw/s640/IMG_7845.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTYJun6XKQfziIj6PEFI2TaeJAvpZqpp03Js-gxrk_-clsSe4DbT3TeHQNO7OWFwLKTRMBtvy0UsysZ77RDnPsG1ifDjXVyXpIU5jMyDgKW9JmAjKhslvLiKiYY1qkl-5Izcaz7A2SCQ/s1600/IMG_7828.jpg"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTYJun6XKQfziIj6PEFI2TaeJAvpZqpp03Js-gxrk_-clsSe4DbT3TeHQNO7OWFwLKTRMBtvy0UsysZ77RDnPsG1ifDjXVyXpIU5jMyDgKW9JmAjKhslvLiKiYY1qkl-5Izcaz7A2SCQ/s640/IMG_7828.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4WII-t_o2AVZTYT2bYMHgY17AGhPwNkvqjBSZiz8jmwa4zep2hR3iQaAW6HtFzvhji4Ky9XfUKz4RW567Bnr5i7qpyF6OfKFKk3MTm3QnMgjjgrbfZlG7eT4HqfhDYdK40A_44ryV_M/s1600/IMG_8493.jpg"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4WII-t_o2AVZTYT2bYMHgY17AGhPwNkvqjBSZiz8jmwa4zep2hR3iQaAW6HtFzvhji4Ky9XfUKz4RW567Bnr5i7qpyF6OfKFKk3MTm3QnMgjjgrbfZlG7eT4HqfhDYdK40A_44ryV_M/s640/IMG_8493.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLSDXhGnbsWdVWaabFuoSFtrnRKbPNxTtbkb3dxao_HZY3AYMsAZ2un0zZKBdzioZgbqghCtFGeqHbqaMtDdfWY0ZngDHgBhOnhUCQEBAeIfWaSFKhJDfehQ9IfpPmx4CaINVOt0vj4eA/s1600/IMG_2042.jpg"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLSDXhGnbsWdVWaabFuoSFtrnRKbPNxTtbkb3dxao_HZY3AYMsAZ2un0zZKBdzioZgbqghCtFGeqHbqaMtDdfWY0ZngDHgBhOnhUCQEBAeIfWaSFKhJDfehQ9IfpPmx4CaINVOt0vj4eA/s640/IMG_2042.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">{a new space for perennials ... and it actually gets sunlight now with the big overgrown trees gone!}</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Looking back on it all, aside from the once-in-a-lifetime trip to England, it was very much like any other summer and probably very much like anyone else's summer. Perhaps the only difference is that this year, instead of wishing we had done more or feeling as though we missed out, I was able to sit in a place of true contentment and heartfelt gratitude. The fixer-upper we call home still needs work. The children were usually filthy. The house was often untidy. Books I wanted to read remained unfinished, and plenty of friends led more exciting lives than we did over those summer months. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But I look back at these pictures and can't help thinking we had more than our share of a truly wonderful summer. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7PoX4ygcjdfLzDtAyc7a6ZFK_-yAP85T1P7RNPENZH1mlVQfIu5pxV2s7_L3Z9BtUl67MwLzxD8y5QEjqJhJmU7FyjyD5VlMYokjgb9T5ArtMOhYof8jfY_6BoSglfNT-B1vgWpwjoCY/s1600/IMG_2034.jpg"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7PoX4ygcjdfLzDtAyc7a6ZFK_-yAP85T1P7RNPENZH1mlVQfIu5pxV2s7_L3Z9BtUl67MwLzxD8y5QEjqJhJmU7FyjyD5VlMYokjgb9T5ArtMOhYof8jfY_6BoSglfNT-B1vgWpwjoCY/s640/IMG_2034.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div></div>sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-9223175200012712302019-09-16T18:11:00.000-07:002019-09-30T18:11:43.366-07:00Reflections on Preschool for ReeAs I recently reflected on a completed year of first grade with Nell, it seems only fitting to look back at pictures and quotes from Ree at the beginning of last year, her "preschool" year. <br />
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Q: What do you think people learn in preschool?<br />
A: "I don't know. I think they do some drawing of pictures of God. And painting people who was in the world and who died. And learn to be a grown up. And how bout learn to do games that are really tricky to do. Learn to stay in bed at night and be nice while Daddy is at work and don't scribble things."<br />
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Q: What do you most want to learn this year?<br />
A: "Games! And I want to have apple cider. And learn to fly. Peter Pan can teach me!"<br />
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Q: What are some of your favorite things to do?<br />
A: "Dress up and be a ballerina. Have a pizza every night. Play a game. Get ice cream! Just be fun. Play at a park. Have people over for dinner and have a barbecue. Be close to the ocean and go to a beach! I like to go on hikes, and I like to go outside and ride my bike and... nothing else. And read with Mom."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA6j4TDItKiF9aE0MpVXsAy3uHbsT4RkLO7ISss7gYyN48b86PDqCCp-z4DQM4tEV_qWDyX2d99rWsx8NJi7ke0qHhdUBcApeQPsxARudJJ1iAkUdXaYG0vNfNah3MwpXqFWgPUwYb7w8/s1600/D7K_2911.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA6j4TDItKiF9aE0MpVXsAy3uHbsT4RkLO7ISss7gYyN48b86PDqCCp-z4DQM4tEV_qWDyX2d99rWsx8NJi7ke0qHhdUBcApeQPsxARudJJ1iAkUdXaYG0vNfNah3MwpXqFWgPUwYb7w8/s640/D7K_2911.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
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These pictures kind of crack me up, because they demonstrate how the best laid plans don't always go according to plan. Exploring Nature with Children is a wonderful book I planned to work through with the girls, specifically as Marie's preschool curriculum. Guess how far we got with it?! Ha-ha-ha... not very far. With that said, we did explore nature a whole lot on our own terms. We just didn't quite keep up with the book. So... I think I'll give myself a second chance this coming year for Kindergarten! And I'm totally fine with the fact that we didn't get to it very often last year. Instead let's think of all the things we DID do with that fun four-year-old pictured above (who is now FIVE!). <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfF4R7ZuT7qY01gA_gBfMatgytFYz2GUr9s4w8YtlpoxWN_T0bkhpjNfOrX-emtfNCkAl8JE5HcIZTSJYe4CODymY7mFglb17aBp9S6cg5OQjPxhyCpCN9OltJpbd9rybwFlLjhxFphg/s1600/D7K_2908.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfF4R7ZuT7qY01gA_gBfMatgytFYz2GUr9s4w8YtlpoxWN_T0bkhpjNfOrX-emtfNCkAl8JE5HcIZTSJYe4CODymY7mFglb17aBp9S6cg5OQjPxhyCpCN9OltJpbd9rybwFlLjhxFphg/s640/D7K_2908.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgQ_kVtVeNQoLJtSXoQdhoXMvLQhsVjWFkUv8U_GgVACsl-btsyhJv1ySOAPMVxKtJlQygcDhLltHza20g86vv_mbGJx7AXcCtvAvfYS8fEoiGDH_LKxlyiVF3Ov967JOS4ggdg2vb3A/s1600/D7K_2929.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgQ_kVtVeNQoLJtSXoQdhoXMvLQhsVjWFkUv8U_GgVACsl-btsyhJv1ySOAPMVxKtJlQygcDhLltHza20g86vv_mbGJx7AXcCtvAvfYS8fEoiGDH_LKxlyiVF3Ov967JOS4ggdg2vb3A/s640/D7K_2929.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">clearly this poor child has no personality to speak of</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfF4R7ZuT7qY01gA_gBfMatgytFYz2GUr9s4w8YtlpoxWN_T0bkhpjNfOrX-emtfNCkAl8JE5HcIZTSJYe4CODymY7mFglb17aBp9S6cg5OQjPxhyCpCN9OltJpbd9rybwFlLjhxFphg/s1600/D7K_2908.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><br /></div>
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We hiked with friends in rain, shine, and snow. We observed the year both seasonally and liturgically and threw ourselves into all the delightful seasonal celebrations we could think of. Ree likes participating in math conversations she hears Nell and I engaging in, and has begun experimenting with adding numbers. She can write her name, as well as most of the letters of the alphabet, although I wouldn't say her letter formation is 100% correct yet. She came alongside Nell for so much of first grade this past year that she learned a lot about trees, seeds, the night sky, the history of Britain, Native Americans, and many of the other things we studied, too. She easily transitioned from her balance bike to a two-wheeler, she can pump herself on a swing, and she can do a pretty decent cartwheel. She helps me wash dishes, she chops fruit and veggies quite well with a paring knife, she cracks eggs and helps cook and bake. She adores ballet and is uncommonly graceful for a five-year-old and enjoyed a six-week class over the summer. She loves being outside and helping me garden, and holds a particular affinity for weeding as well as watering. She is quite the artist with her drawings and paintings, which range from heart-warming to hilarious. She has a connection with nature and a particular love of bugs at the moment, as well as cows, bunnies, and birds.<br />
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We may not have utilized that lovely curriculum as well as it deserved to be utilized, but I tend to think we still had a pretty good year last year. <br />
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A lot of things have changed over the past year, but one thing remains the same:<br />
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She is still quite frustrated that she can't fly, and even seems to believe that she used to know how to, but has forgotten!</div>
sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-12349352515367623312019-08-20T11:54:00.005-07:002019-08-20T15:06:39.257-07:00Reflections on First GradeA new school year is soon to be underway, and it seems like a good time to reflect on the previous school year. I found myself going back and looking at pictures we took, book lists, education plans submitted to our school district, documents on my computer, etc. There's something fun about doing some of our record-keeping retroactively -- a First Grade plan is a very exciting thing, but to actually look back at what First Grade consisted of is even more satisfying, I think. {I did this in looking back on preschool in <a href="https://www.acontinualfeast.com/2017/10/reflections-on-preschool.html">this post</a> a couple years ago, and I remember how helpful it was to look back on all we had accomplished even without formal schooling going on at that point! The days may not feel productive but we really do learn things and get things done in the end!}<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlb6ibYlHVBWpN2ZJxYIVJ8Ti4ng2LjuoeHx442YR7ViKsR6KiH50ihAFSgiG3HebR7-A1ZQVZlB5GBfaP-SvEEyq8chvSlh93ie5Zbn8tbDy9fXBjXi7rJLiWzCtzOjyPxm8vtbJ3_Y/s1600/D7K_2906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlb6ibYlHVBWpN2ZJxYIVJ8Ti4ng2LjuoeHx442YR7ViKsR6KiH50ihAFSgiG3HebR7-A1ZQVZlB5GBfaP-SvEEyq8chvSlh93ie5Zbn8tbDy9fXBjXi7rJLiWzCtzOjyPxm8vtbJ3_Y/s640/D7K_2906.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Was it really just one year ago those two front teeth were adorably missing? </div>
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All eight front teeth are now grown in adult teeth!</div>
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Our plan for first grade was a somewhat modified version of <a href="https://www.amblesideonline.org/01bks.shtml">Ambleside Online Year 1</a>. I modified this somewhat from my early planning stages, and then we modified additionally a bit as we went on (after two terms we were just not that interested in reading any more Aesop so... we didn't!). We are influenced by the educational philosophy of Charlotte Mason, so we embrace reading really good, "living" books, spending lots of time outdoors, and using "narration" as a means of remembering the things we read and learn, as well as a means of developing compositional skills.</div>
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<img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkG_x1eKTU7MNMkSNZivASQsX5rjRFybyR7_g82VzcS5Nh5JI2QZ6WdFq9xcvqHmta771zNS9OST4YbAivhCV76noe78C0Je5Jp26OrlLHleET-imyzMGspIUaYQAga4cPp9dPcQOZ_no/s640/D7K_2887.jpg" width="640" /><br />
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Look at that proud girl with her stack of books! It should go without saying that not all of those books are things we read cover to cover; they are resources we used to varying degrees. The thick dark blue book in the middle of the stack, Our Island Story by H.E. Marshall, we did history readings from, and will continue to use this year. And many other books we read selections from without reading in their entirety. Others, like Children of Foreign Lands, and Peter Pan, we did read all of, and there are still others we ended up reading that weren't included in these initial First Day of School pictures!</div>
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<img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1CoT_86vQz66WP8xArNfQEjiY1d4KpavjJuuyhttj9rxUP07aLqSG8O55lu9iMLyhEGt73V2OYqmzYxCWOFVogIE_yrYPwaLe5udsi7nhgUelpPkxJ0xfv5_GhaDbmyjDI0QZngKqBYU/s640/D7K_2883.jpg" width="640" /><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">math! hurray!</td></tr>
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Here she was holding up her math book, with much excitement -- math was a subject of great interest to Nell prior to beginning first grade, and I'm happy to say she continues to enjoy it... phew! I feel like that's most of what I'm aiming for at this point, anyway! We played with money, bundled popsicle sticks and used them as manipulatives, counted buttons, skip-counted, and worked with adding and subtracting one- and two-digit numbers. Here it is the following August, and I'm still on the fence about what math we will use this year! Nell liked doing all the word problems in this arithmetic book from Simply Charlotte Mason, and I'm leaning towards going ahead and purchasing the next year's materials from the same series, but I'm considering a few other options as well. I also bought Mortensen Math block manipulatives off of eBay over the summer to give us another concrete thing to look at and play with... things that will stay stuck together in their tens and hundreds and not end up scattered all over my house, ahem... thanks, Molly.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixHCW4_HskdCcOTC7WWQJI-w9gh00ENAo6vDbjnEEwjs0eVDqMTv7_Tly2KiBBKGcvjbPQfprRa7aV7CVY93xWy1GmftS6i10rOSWPdfFs-_firv5Kzntyx45Tus68-hitV6vS_wXlcAo/s1600/IMG_9041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixHCW4_HskdCcOTC7WWQJI-w9gh00ENAo6vDbjnEEwjs0eVDqMTv7_Tly2KiBBKGcvjbPQfprRa7aV7CVY93xWy1GmftS6i10rOSWPdfFs-_firv5Kzntyx45Tus68-hitV6vS_wXlcAo/s640/IMG_9041.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">silly faces are always fun!</td></tr>
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First grade had its up and downs. Schooling with a toddler crawling and later walking around, requiring frequent interruptions, probably goes about the way you might imagine it does. Add in my own work schedule to juggle with the home and the kids, and then a brutal winter that had us sick for literally weeks on end with one illness after another... we lost significant ground at times from what my original plans had been.<br />
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Still, I can't help looking back on the year and calling it an overall success. We had fun together. We spent time together. We made memories. <br />
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We spent hours at beaches on some days. We hiked on sunny days and even on rainy and snowy days. We held beetles and frogs and salamanders. We sang and did folk dances with friends. We read many, many good books. We memorized beautiful poetry and learned good hymns. We studied the night sky and learned to identify constellations, stopping at night on drives home to unload from the van and look up in wonder. We played with good friends. We learned all the musical characters in Peter and the Wolf. We studied violin and picked out melodies on the piano, too. We slowed down, noticed, observed. We nature journaled outdoor finds, illustrated tales of history we read, narrated things we read and learned. We read beautiful summaries of several Shakespeare plays, and Nell fell in love with A Midsummer Night's Dream in particular. We enjoyed observing and celebrating the seasons and the church year. We visited the Museum of Fine Arts and the Museum of Science. We saw an owl in our yard up close and personal. We participated in a book club with friends that ended up being a really special highlight for our family. We tended the plants in our yard through the spring and summer. We took a boat ride through the locks of a canal in Lowell. <br />
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Some favorite books we've read over the past year include:<br />
Paddle to the Sea by H. C. Holling<br />
The Trumpet of the Swan by E. B. White<br />
Half Magic by E. Eager<br />
The Saturdays by E. Enright<br />
The Penderwicks books by J. Birdsall<br />
Strawberry Girl by Lois Lenski<br />
Mary Poppins by P. L. Travers<br />
Heidi by J. Spyri<br />
The Secret Garden by F. H. Burnett<br />
The Princess and the Goblin by G. MacDonald<br />
The Courage of Sarah Noble by A. Dalgliesh<br />
Favorite Fairy Tales Told In... books by V. Haviland<br />
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* * *</div>
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In all honesty, I struggled at times with that aptly-named Thief of Joy, comparison. Why wasn't my own six-year-old reading as well as a friend's six-year-old? Was I failing her? Why couldn't I keep my home tidier so I could make better use of our daytime hours to do school? Why was I falling behind? Was I overlooking my middle child even as I homeschooled my oldest and tended to my littlest? It is all too easy to hear that so-and-so's children are doing such-and-such, or see a post on social media, and suddenly begin feeling that you and what you are doing is not enough. I have a feeling I'm not the only person who struggles with this! So if you're reading this and feeling that you are not enough right now for your kids -- you are probably doing enough. Really! Sit down and write down some of what you did over the past year. I know for me, it really helps me take stock of all that we <i>did</i> accomplish, even if we never finished a few of the books we meant to, never finished that cross-stitch project, haven't mastered the art of french cooking, and don't have perfectly-behaved children.<br />
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Over the past year, one minute we'd be keeping up really well with our history readings, while skipping some of the daily work I meant to do like handwriting and math. I'd re-assess our goals, and before I knew it we'd have a winning streak of several weeks of consistent math, while skipping over weeks of reading about the Vikings. It was really hard to balance it all! So I'm trying to make sure this fast approaching year of second grade is full and adequate, but also achievable for our family. <br />
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I'll end with sharing portions of our Term 2 exams from back in the winter time. I wrote down Nell's answers word-for-word, and when I look back on this I can't help thinking that it encompasses so much strength and success. This girl sure loves stories, and I think she has the heart and soul of a writer.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond";">History:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Recall for me one of the stories we read from 50 Famous Stories OR one of the stories about the Romans and the Britons from Our Island Story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">The Coming of Arthur:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“As soon as Uther Pendragon was dead, the British people began to fight with each other about who should be king next. While they were fighting, along came Merlin with a young boy at his side. The minute he came, they stopped fighting. And he said to them in a firm voice, “Before Uther Pendragon was dead, he had a son.” And the people began to fight with him and said, “He did not have a son! What are you talking about?” And he said again, “Uther Pendragon did have a son!” And yet again they said, “He did not have a son! What are you saying?” And yet the young boy at Merlin’s side was the son of Uther Pendragon. His name was Arthur, and it was said that he would be the best king that had ever ruled in Britain. And it was true. Merlin said, “Follow me,” and the people did, even though they were fighting that Uther Pendragon had not had a son. And with Arthur at his side as before, Merlin led the people of Britain to a cathedral in Britain. And there was a big stone in front of it that had never been there before, and stuck in it was a sword upright, and underneath it, carved into the stone, was a message, and I will tell you what it said. It said, ‘Whoever can remove this will yet be the next king.’ And everyone started pulling with all their might at it, but no one could do it, and yet it was held fast firmly in the stone. But at last Arthur went to do it, and he pulled it out as if anyone could have done it; he pulled it out with great ease. And there was great rejoicing and now they knew Arthur was to be the new king.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond";">Geography:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Tell me how the sky helps us know the different directions, both during the day and during the night. Show me where North and South are in relation to our house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">{She correctly identified North, South, East, and West in relation to our home, and recalled where we had seen the Big Dipper and where we had seen Orion one night stargazing on our street.}<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“Orion rises in the East and sets in the West at night. If I didn’t know where North was I could go outside and look for the North Star. And if I found it I would know that’s North. The North Star is the end of the handle of the Little Dipper so if you find the Little Dipper you can find the North Star. And if you find the Big Dipper that helps you find the Little Dipper. The bowl of the Big Dipper, the diagonal line points to the North Star.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“During the day the sun rises in the East and sets in the West. So in the morning it’s in the East and that tells us where East is!”</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond";">Natural History:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Describe a bird we read about this term, and tell me what you know about it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“A mourning dove has some kind of milk in its throat that its body develops. (Should I say that? Develops? I think it’s a nice word.) It’s very easy for me to spot them and one time I spotted one on the roof of Trader Joe’s. I also have seen one on our neighbor’s roof when we were just walking around the circle. We stood by it and we made its call to it and it called back to us several times. We see them in our yard also. They’re rather big and they’re sort of the color of a sparrow but a little lighter brownish. As I was saying they have sort of a milky thing in their throat and it holds there so when the babies are hungry they have very long beaks so they can put them down their parents’ mouth. I was wondering if it hurts them to have their babies’ beaks go down their mouth but I don’t think it does. The parents find grain seeds and swallow them, and it makes a seed cereal for the babies in their own bodies. When the babies are hungry they spit it back up into their mouths for them. It’s like bubbling over into someone else’s mouth. Mama showed me a picture of them doing it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">{She accurately imitated the mourning dove call.}<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Describe your favorite hike from this winter. Where did we go? What did you notice / find?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“One day we went in search of amphibians: peepers, salamanders, and wood frogs and amphibians of all kinds. We went with a group of people, and some of the older kids found things that Marie and I did not find, like salamanders and a peeper. The peeper was missing one of its front legs! It might have been hurt in some kind of accident. We went near all kinds of vernal pools. The man who was leading us had tall boots and could walk into the water. He broke a branch off and put it in a tub of water. The branch had wood frog eggs on it. We all got to feel them. One girl felt them and said they felt like jelly and I felt them and she was right, it felt exactly like jelly. They felt also kind of like water beads. We also saw salamander eggs from another vernal pool. They were a little bit tinier. They had little tiny black dots inside and they felt like water beads too. We saw four or five vernal pools on that hike.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Identify three different constellations in the H.A. Rey book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">{She identified the Lyre, the Scorpion, the Swan, the Bull and the Pleiades, Sirius the big dog, the Charioteer, the Twins, Orion, the Great Bear, the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, Cassiopeia, and Polaris all in the H.A. Rey book.}<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Describe and define the phases of the moon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“The phases of the moon start with a new moon, which means no moon. As it gets bigger it is called waxing. Then comes a crescent, then comes a half moon, which is also called first quarter, then comes gibbous moon which sounds like “give us moon,” and then comes full moon. And then it starts waning, which is getting smaller. Both waxing and waning are new words to me. From the full moon, it goes to gibbous moon, then half moon which is also called third quarter when it’s waning, and then comes crescent and then comes new moon again.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond";">Math:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Katie has a dime and Abby has a nickel. How much money do they have together? How much more does Katie have than Abby?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“15 cents.” / </span><span style="font-family: "garamond";">“five more cents.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">How much is a dime, two nickels, and one penny all together? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“twenty-one cents.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Aunt Emily needs 15 apples to make an apple pie. She has 9. How many more does she need?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“Six.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">What is 30 take away 10? What is 30 take away 11?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“Twenty.” / “Nineteen.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">What is 14 + 7?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“21”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Skip count by 10’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety, one hundred.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond";">Recitation:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Recite one of our poems from this term for Mama and Daddy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">{She recited <i>Spring, Almost</i>.}<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";"> </span><b><span style="font-family: "garamond";"> </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "garamond";">Art:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Describe your favorite Grandma Moses picture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">Taking in the Laundry:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";">“This Grandma Moses picture is called Taking in the Laundry. It shows clotheslines, three of them. There are beautiful trees waving in the wind, there are three houses, and people taking the laundry down into the houses. There is beautiful grass and there are people riding in a wagon. It looks like summer. The wind and the sun might be drying the clothes for them.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond";"> ~~ Term 2 exams, Nell, winter 2019, age 6 ~~</span></div>
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sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-3192744880333085912019-03-11T19:54:00.000-07:002019-03-11T19:54:42.313-07:00grace in these weary daysMy children and I have been sick, in alternating days and weeks, for nearly four weeks straight. <br />
<br />
The winter began with the usual colds and then lingering coughs, but then about a month ago the kids came down with fevers and deeper coughs, upset tummies, etc. Soon I too was shivering under piled blankets, sinuses hurting, body aching to the depths of my bones. Struggling to keep the basic necessities done to care for the kids while fighting a virus of my own. A {very long} week later we were all on the upswing, only to have the eldest and youngest get fevers again a few days later. A visit to the doctor's office to rule out secondary infections like pneumonia or ear infections yielded a positive flu swab for Nell. {If this was the flu what had we had before?!} Another rough week was underway. We survived it with lots of snuggles and audiobooks and Mr. Rogers, vitamin C and elderberry syrup and my favorite thing when I'm sick and nothing sounds good - sprouted grain sourdough toast spread with manuka honey and cinnamon. And just when we thought all that was winding down, that we were finally turning a corner, Molly turned two and got a nasty case of conjunctivitis for her birthday over the past weekend. And Mama got a bad cold. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My feelings exactly, Molly. My feelings exactly.</td></tr>
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As any parent knows {and I've <a href="http://www.acontinualfeast.com/2015/03/on-caring-for-sick-children.html">written about before</a>}, caring for sick children takes what I call the usual "busy monotony" of caring for little ones to new heights. The days are reduced to blowing noses, washing hands, soothing hot foreheads, doing extra loads of laundry, making meals palatable to sick children to whom nothing sounds very good, refilling water glasses and humidifiers, applying lip balm to cracked lips. Sometimes emptying bowls filled with the contents of someone's stomach.<br />
<br />
It's exhausting, and it's frustrating at times, and it's not very glamorous, but I've been pondering lately that I'm actually--<br />
<br />
<i>grateful</i>. <br />
<br />
What a gift it is to me to be able to do these things for my kids. <br />
<br />
What could be more important? It's not just that I'm smoothing their sheets, tidying their rooms for them and providing a moment of company while they rest in bed. It's not just that I'm making a fruit smoothie or sourdough toast or refilling a glass of water. I get the incredible responsibility to show them a moment of grace. To show them... the way grace can seep through every crevice in life when we least expect it. It's in the extra snuggles and reading chapter and chapter together. A gentle hand on your brow, a mother bathing you and rubbing lotion into your tired, aching body. Mama finding it in her weary throat to read another book aloud. Sharing a soft blanket. Grace in the midst of misery. What more do I want my kids to know in their hearts and feel in their bones but this -- that there is grace in the hard moments, beauty to be found even in and through suffering, hope and love and meaning in <i>all of it</i>. Even when it's hard. Even when it's miserable. Even when it feels endless. <br />
<br />
So these are my moments, my chances. Will I show them glimpses of Jesus and love and grace in these mundane and miserable moments? <br />
<br />
May it be so, God help me.sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-55291795657638552542019-02-26T18:26:00.002-08:002019-02-26T18:53:59.063-08:00Reeisms, Vol. 6<span style="color: #444444;">Ree is only a few months away from turning five! How is that possible?</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">She's uncannily perceptive for a four-year-old, in my {none-too-objective, perhaps} opinion. Her teachers at church and other adults who spend time with her have sometimes commented on her fine motor skills, her understanding, and her ability with language being surprising for her age. I don't have another four-year-old in the house to compare her to at the moment, but I can definitively say that sometimes she blows me out of the water simply in the way that nothing seems to get past this girl. For example, earlier this week she wanted cheerios and milk for breakfast, and was tearfully protesting when I responded that we were having eggs. Frustrated, she declared,</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">"Nobody ever gives me what I want! They give me what <i>they</i> want me to have, and then teach me to be polite about it."</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XhlqTDeoY_EQMQYm3bPPHUYoG5egnSiYSU5WqaYSMilZOp5C4B94CqOYGecVR1xEwBmJsVEla3FT9PvGZIJNgvimSs9Zq6fCy6aIC658iX7ebkUA0ObEC58pZ7mhTlKW4x-SHkKYrfQ/s1600/D7K_3060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1060" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XhlqTDeoY_EQMQYm3bPPHUYoG5egnSiYSU5WqaYSMilZOp5C4B94CqOYGecVR1xEwBmJsVEla3FT9PvGZIJNgvimSs9Zq6fCy6aIC658iX7ebkUA0ObEC58pZ7mhTlKW4x-SHkKYrfQ/s640/D7K_3060.JPG" width="422" /></span></a></div>
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I mean, that's pretty perceptive for a four-year-old, right?! I had a hard time keeping a straight face!</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">She calls the Hershey's Kiss Nell brings home from choir rehearsal every week a "Wooshey Kiss," and mis-pronounces the word "handicapped" as "candycapped," which if we're honest, sounds kind of delicious. She calls armpits "ticklepits," and still calls pistachios "spasmashios." I'm enjoying these last lingering little mispronounced words while they last.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">The queen of silly faces just as she's always been, Ree has been realizing that her facial expressions don't always default to the most appropriate or expected reaction in a given situation. Recently, as Nell was throwing up during a brief virus, Ree covered her own face with her hands and wailed, "I don't know how to make the right faces because I know it's sad that she's sick but I can't stop smiling!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">And that actually paled in comparison to the time that Nell was coughing, and Ree said sweetly, "Ohhhh Nell, I'm soooooo sorry you're sick!" But then turned to me, mere inches away, and said matter-of-factly, laughing a little, "Of course I'm just saying that. I don't even love her." </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">I think I just sat there and blinked at her for a full five seconds at that one.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">Boy, does this kid know how to calculate her words for full impact and reaction! She's really smart! I mean... Usually I think I'm a step ahead of the game, but sometimes I have moments where I think... what if she's the one who's a step ahead? What if she's running this whole show? And if she's like this at four, what will the future bring?! </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">{Oh, and I've googled for signs that your child might be a sociopath a time or two. I'm 99% certain we're in the clear. ;-) }</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree doesn't love going to bed alone, and is always looking for someone willing to snuggle with her. She recently told me, "I feel like I'm going to die. And also I'm worried our house is going to be on fire." My heart! Poor sweet girlie. {See! She does have feelings.} So of course, we try to snuggle with her whenever we possibly can. And hey, the bedtime snuggle times almost always provide some pretty good Reeisms in the course of our conversations!</span><br />
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Pontificating on theology at bedtime:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "I don’t like dying and sometimes I think about it and I don’t like it."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Me: "Oh darling, you aren’t going to die for a very long time. You get to be a kid for a very long time first, and then a grown up, and then maybe someday a mom and then a grandma. And when you do die, you get to be with Jesus."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "I know but then we'll just be in a world with no food and I don't like that. There's no food with Jesus really."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Me: "Why don't you think there's food with Jesus?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "Because they only had bread and wine remember? That's all they had at the dinner. And some kinds of wine I don't really like. Some kinds of wine I do like though I guess. And I like bread. So maybe it will be okay."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Me: {explanation of how we don't know what the feast will be like but it will be far grander than the Last Supper, and exceed our imaginations in every way}</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree {grinning}: "OH so Jesus would have grapes for me?!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Me: "Yes."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "Oh yeah! God can make everything because God made everything. Well, with Jesus. Jesus maked things too with God even before he was a baby."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">{I love hearing her little mind work. And notice how she's got that whole "all things were made through him" thing understood?}</span><br />
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Looking at a map, and studying detached, floating Alaska, set apart from everything else on the U.S. map with particular interest:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"Is that the God area? Is that where God lives?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"Mama's big and strong and SO HEAVY!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">{Thank you. Thank you so much. #blessed.}</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Half asleep one night, driving home in the dark:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"It’s mine. It’s mine! The moon is mine."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Playing in her play kitchen:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"I’m gonna have a french fry sandwich!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"I’m going to make up a song on my violin about the shepherds of the sky."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">A distinctly unexplainable one:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"Sometimes bugs come into my eyes and they don’t try to bite me they just snuggle in my eyes. They think it’s their couch."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">(No, she doesn't really have bugs in her eyes!)</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">"But Mama, why don’t some families have any girls? Because... girls are so good and so fun! So why don't some families have any?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Uttering a long, dramatic sigh while engaged in the apparently exhausting task of eating dinner:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"I’m tired of feeding myself every day and night!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Outside last summer, playing with Nell:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"We like dandelions. We like to pick them and blow them up to God."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"When I grow up I’m going to have a feast of chocolate. Chocolate for breakfast, chocolate for lunch, chocolate for dinner."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "What’s for breakfast?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Mama: "Toasted rice cakes, and a smoothie."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "Wow! Wow! I wanted it to be chocolate and gummy bears but it turned out to be something even yummier!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">{I don't even know how she knows what a gummy bear is! But pretty pleased she knows a smoothie is preferable, ha!}</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">After being sick recently, she woke one morning and croaked:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"I’m all better except my voice is a little smudged up."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Descending the stairs at 9 pm (two hours after she'd gone to bed):</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"Mommy, I need to draw a picture. Of a cloud. Right now."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">After giving away a few bags of donations of things we no longer needed:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"YAY! Now <i>our</i> house is cleaner and <i>their</i> house is gonna be so messy!"</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">Watching the King's College choir singing, and quite enamored with the sheer number of boys:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"Mama, how do their mom and dad fit so many children in their car?!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Running down the stairs from the bathroom, wearing a dress-up scarf and smiling suspiciously:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Me: "Ree, have you done anything naughty?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "I just put spit on my eyelids like makeup. And then I put water on the spit. Like makeup."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Me: "Of course."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"God is in my bones, right Mama?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Nathan: "Ree, did you ever move any of my records? I can’t find the one I'm looking for."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "No. I didn't and I know that I didn’t because I was watching myself every day."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">Handing me a lucky penny she found:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"Here Mama. I was going to keep it for myself but then I thought, I love Mama even more than I love myself, so I want you to have it."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Running her mouth across a piece of dental floss over and over:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"I like licking all the mint off because it’s yummy."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">In church, after the priest said, "All things are yours, oh Lord, and of your own have we given you," Ree asked a whispered question about that. I replied, "Yes, all we have belongs to God. Did you know that?" And she replied, "Even our poop? I don't think our poop belongs to God." Well... maybe God doesn't want our poop. Valid point.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">Looking at the sky one evening:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"One of the colors in the sunset tonight is black. No no <i>no</i> that’s not pretty at all."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Curiously feeling the perimeter of her eyes with her fingertips:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"Hey, is this thing just a round ball in there??"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Me: "Did you know you fell asleep in the car?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "I wasn't asleep."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Me: "You were!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "Oh! Well, I didn't see myself sleeping so I didn't know!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Singing a hymn together at bedtime:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"God set the stars to give light to the world..."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "Can we sing the word 'earth' instead of 'world' because I can't say 'world' very well but I can say 'earth' really well."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">{both she and Nell sort of pronounce 'world' like... 'wouwd'. That rl sound together is tricky!}</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Out of the blue, at 5:34 one evening:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"It’s eleven o’clock! Time for me to clean up!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">In the bathtub:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "I can hold my breath for maybe thirty-nine-twenty-six minutes."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Nell: "Ok, go."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "No, Nell, I can't do it because it would take too long! It would take every single day until we die!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Nell: "Yeah, see, you couldn't do it."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree {sighing exasperatedly}: No, Nell, I can do it but I don't have <i>time</i> to do it."</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWeKNvBJcDFGgcM-_16BZjjNXiz7VmCfwhAEyKFntUbl-l5qzRrXmeCnQF4yqeZ5RiT5Fx6oJLdCDqXWkp1QwGa-Lv18MXF5bcBVEQ80G390C3y9fPiMn0v6bRQ0JbW5hVm2FOkd3aj7U/s1600/fullsizeoutput_a4fe.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1060" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWeKNvBJcDFGgcM-_16BZjjNXiz7VmCfwhAEyKFntUbl-l5qzRrXmeCnQF4yqeZ5RiT5Fx6oJLdCDqXWkp1QwGa-Lv18MXF5bcBVEQ80G390C3y9fPiMn0v6bRQ0JbW5hVm2FOkd3aj7U/s640/fullsizeoutput_a4fe.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></span></span></span></div>
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</span></span></span></span><br />
<div style="font-family: -webkit-standard; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Describing someone to me: "She had a crumbled face."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
<span style="color: #444444;">"Oh Mama, I love your necklace. Can you get me a fancy necklace? Or just take somebody else’s to give me?"</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "Mama, when you were a little kid what did you call Daddy?"</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Me: "Well, I didn’t even know Daddy yet."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ree: "Ohhhhh. And Nell and me weren’t even born. We weren’t even in your tummy. I was still a tincey little drop of rain."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">{where does she come up with this stuff?!}</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
<span style="color: #444444;">Singing an elaborate and very long improvisation recently, she concluded with this bit of made-up lyrics:</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Get that axis out of your head! Get that axis out of your head! And leave that special ice.... cream..... iiiiiiiiinnnnnnn!"</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">* * *</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "When is the person gonna die who is really old like maybe 20 or 69? The lady with a crumbled face. She goes to our church."</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Me: "I don’t know. Only God really knows when someone is going to die."</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ree {matter-of-factly}: "I guess when we don’t see her anymore then she’ll be dead."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">{I don't think young children are very good at tact. Or subtlety. Or social niceties. But I remember Nell going through a big phase of talking about death a lot too around this age, so maybe it's normal?}</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">We were watching a YouTube video of a violin song Nell is working on over lunch one day, and Ree just kept shaking her head. Finally she said, "It’s so weird because a girl is playing the piano and a boy is playing the violin. Isn't that so weird?!" </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">{In our household, the boy plays the piano and all the girls play the violin! How could it be otherwise?!}</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
<span style="color: #444444;">"I want to be the bestest of all the entire world. That's what I want to be when I grow up."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">"I'm gonna be the goodest and nicest violinist in the whole entire world. Well, earth. Because I can't say world. Can you teach me to say world?"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">{because, as mentioned above, world comes out "wouwd" every time, which is actually pretty cute.}</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">On a day when Nathan took Nell in to work with him for a bit, and Ree was quite sad to be home without Nell to play with, we found that we could watch footage of the Prix de Lausanne online thanks to a tip from a friend, and this cheered Ree up immensely. Watching the skilled dancers, she kept proclaiming confidently, "I can do that. I can do that too. I can do all the things that dancer is doing." </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">Watching a male dancer compete:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">"This one is not so fancy. I mean I do like boys but... I like fancy boys."</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">* * *</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">"How can I stop my toots from coming so I can be a real ballerina?"</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfaAvX3lGhZTo2rsC2tSgLkUVJW1XXCTBc7pBGsBZxpUj8NhaXHqV1y-KoE5-ei-ekbfChDcBs37BOggSwNIRerBJIaqfzExi8wM4dgXNJAyVnUBxwe_k2TPhA9qE2mJwu_Evv3gVKKhA/s1600/fullsizeoutput_a43f.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1060" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfaAvX3lGhZTo2rsC2tSgLkUVJW1XXCTBc7pBGsBZxpUj8NhaXHqV1y-KoE5-ei-ekbfChDcBs37BOggSwNIRerBJIaqfzExi8wM4dgXNJAyVnUBxwe_k2TPhA9qE2mJwu_Evv3gVKKhA/s640/fullsizeoutput_a43f.jpeg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">And maybe my favorite one ever:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">Molly went up the stairs, and I called up after her to check on things:</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">Me: "Ree? What’s Molly doing up there?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">Ree: "She’s just coming into my room and happying me." </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">*pause* </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">"It means she makes me feel happy."</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4u9bp4GXTGqiTWj9u3O1V7y0XbA5WbSl1m05qFNh5AHxeF87Hc30pvB5K4sgvlvYwLHKMBTgpdDfs4mGbYKRWARYqMDWloyiMsBl0I6wSxj5iEgg4kkhd2rsuGnhYPoOnFkIgUNUtN4M/s1600/D7K_3111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1060" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4u9bp4GXTGqiTWj9u3O1V7y0XbA5WbSl1m05qFNh5AHxeF87Hc30pvB5K4sgvlvYwLHKMBTgpdDfs4mGbYKRWARYqMDWloyiMsBl0I6wSxj5iEgg4kkhd2rsuGnhYPoOnFkIgUNUtN4M/s640/D7K_3111.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You'll never stop happying us around here, Ree. We love you!</span></div>
sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-17511456371822991742019-01-30T18:53:00.000-08:002019-01-30T18:53:52.831-08:00Kids' Book Club: Heidi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Towards the beginning of this school year {this school year! oh yes! we are homeschooling and I've been meaning to post something here for posterity about it for months now but haven't done so!} my friend Jackie spearheaded putting together a children's literature club which has turned into a tremendous success already and has been such fun for kids and parents alike. Jackie hosted the first two meetings, for which we read first The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald and then The King of the Golden River by John Ruskin. </div>
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We had offered to host this month's meeting, and the book was <i>Heidi</i>, which is a great favorite of Nell's already. She had been eagerly anticipating this day for several weeks now. I think about nine families participated this time in reading <i>Heidi</i> by Johanna Spyri and coming to today's book club meeting. So many people brought a little something to add to the festivities and altogether we had quite a luncheon spread followed by some fun activities. </div>
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First, the girls wanted to dress for the occasion. We are tremendously lucky to already have in our possession two beautiful dirndls that fit them nicely and seemed eminently appropriate for the occasion. These were a thoughtful gift from a woman who knows my love of vintage and classic girls' clothing; they used to be her girls' dresses and my girls are quite lucky to be their new owners. Molly's little dress was a thrift store find from years ago which seemed to fit the occasion. And Ree's hat, made in Switzerland, was another thrift store find from some time ago.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZHuBs3o2NeJs36Xvx-d1MR60KjUXFPB1-4wTpJEBUup6s5u1QnHg1r1a5kkHhyphenhyphenGPKppUh7aGK8emDfGeeYdU7HhH8lifaul0qgFRCK286q7pwWkiJII9Yb9tRzHA2D_Ld32CYdddZZQ/s1600/IMG_3695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZHuBs3o2NeJs36Xvx-d1MR60KjUXFPB1-4wTpJEBUup6s5u1QnHg1r1a5kkHhyphenhyphenGPKppUh7aGK8emDfGeeYdU7HhH8lifaul0qgFRCK286q7pwWkiJII9Yb9tRzHA2D_Ld32CYdddZZQ/s640/IMG_3695.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjReMdvvfSf8Tycy5VlAtoKHGdkIWQnOCEfQgKT7eUaBD4IZ4H94mba6nvijdLHgWvxOFCn5nbmobNsL3cTnWVHvnfXVIfpHNQ2EJ9UtoLP1nmNozpQGBKu_XeJlmYyJ5QM0AmJ8QMHoCs/s1600/IMG_3697.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjReMdvvfSf8Tycy5VlAtoKHGdkIWQnOCEfQgKT7eUaBD4IZ4H94mba6nvijdLHgWvxOFCn5nbmobNsL3cTnWVHvnfXVIfpHNQ2EJ9UtoLP1nmNozpQGBKu_XeJlmYyJ5QM0AmJ8QMHoCs/s640/IMG_3697.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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And they were not the only ones in costume -- quite a few other Heidis soon arrived, as well as several Peters, a Brigida (Peter's mother), a baby goat, and even the dreaded Miss Rottenmeier! </div>
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I put on a youtube playlist of Alpine music with accordions and yodeling -- it is perhaps a little-known fact about me that I have a disturbing obsession with yodeling, so this was sort of a highlight of the experience for me. Any excuse to listen to yodeling! </div>
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/I0zEAQTnUrU" width="560"></iframe>
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If you've read Heidi, you know that the main meals consist of bread, and cheese, and goat's milk, and more cheese, and more goat's milk, and more bread. So naturally, we needed to have these things in abundance.</div>
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I baked some fresh loaves of sourdough bread.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpiQ5OODM4thAmZIdDSXs6Jz6CqhQ479DnhhZEILbCCDI95kR1CONbf8tcPXeNvqBD2zywudK-M1AcYpsvDkXais5HvPTuGbRX357cDAApLtlvgHTeTDyauzY-jT-brmENHGcFQuSdcUo/s1600/IMG_3683.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpiQ5OODM4thAmZIdDSXs6Jz6CqhQ479DnhhZEILbCCDI95kR1CONbf8tcPXeNvqBD2zywudK-M1AcYpsvDkXais5HvPTuGbRX357cDAApLtlvgHTeTDyauzY-jT-brmENHGcFQuSdcUo/s640/IMG_3683.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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{And then Rebekah brought some of hers too, so there was plenty to go around!}</div>
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And thanks to Trader Joe's, we had a variety of cheeses in abundance. I looked for raclette but failing to find it went with a Swiss gruyere, a goat's milk gouda, and a raw goat's milk cheddar. {The gouda even had this cute rind!}</div>
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We sliced up sourdough and topped it with cheese slices and broiled them like an open-faced grilled cheese of sorts. I was inspired by Heidi's grandfather toasting cheese over an open fire on a fork and then spreading it on bread. I figured with 24 small children in the house we'd do well to avoid open flames but a bit of broiled melty cheese on bread could lend a similar experience.</div>
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A couple of families brought delicious salamis to add to the spread, and we had dried apricots and fresh clementines and fresh strawberries, too, which didn't make it into the picture but were quickly devoured. Did I mention there were {if I recall correctly} 24 children here? Did you know that 24 children can pack away a lot of food at an unbelievably fast pace? Another mom brought Swedish sweet rolls with raisins in them as well -- delicious! And yet another brought goat's milk for all the children to try. </div>
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Kerrie brought a butter churn and cream and the kids went to work on that -- I only got a very blurry picture but a good time was had.</div>
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Quite a few of the kids did illustrations of their own to bring and share, and we went around and shared some of our favorite moments from the story.</div>
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Christina brought a little hymn to sing all together, in keeping with Peter's grandmother's beloved hymn book and with the theme of flocks {of goats}!</div>
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Charity brought a bouquet of flowers so the children could "pick" a wildflower {despite it being January} and take it home with them. Some of the little girls tucked them straight into their braids today, and my girls put theirs into a glass of water on my kitchen windowsill. </div>
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And finally, although Heidi doesn't make mention of any chocolate even in the "glittering cage" of her time in Frankfurt, it seemed fitting to hand out bits of Swiss chocolate as the book club gathering drew to a close. </div>
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What a fun gathering it was. I thought of the grandmother's hymn, with a verse that reads:</div>
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<i>God's handiwork</i></div>
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<i>Is seen around,</i></div>
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<i>Things great and small</i></div>
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<i>To His praise abound-</i></div>
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<i>Where are the signs of His love not found?</i></div>
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And indeed, in this little gathering of friends with a shared love for a good book, there was many a sign in the things great and small we enjoyed together.</div>
sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-56519594709901427782019-01-01T06:05:00.000-08:002019-01-01T06:05:49.276-08:00Dreams of a Kitchen Renovation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The other day I found myself with an exceptionally rare late afternoon entirely to myself, as Nathan took the kids on an extensive errand -- his method of compensating for outings ranging from the bizarre to the ridiculous is, naturally, to offer to take the children with him for a nice "outing" with Daddy. And of course, it works. Not only because what child doesn't want to drive over an hour so that Daddy can acquire for himself a new power tool he found on Craigslist for a mere song, but moreso, because what mother doesn't relish the idea of curling up on her couch with a soft blanket by the light of the Christmas tree to the blissful sound of silence?<br />
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I told Nathan I'd either use the time to look at ideas for a kitchen remodel, or to clean our master bedroom. He admonished me to most definitely sit on the couch and look at kitchen ideas on my laptop, and so I did so out of a sense of duty.<br />
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We are tossing around the idea, rather seriously actually, of re-doing our kitchen during the coming year.<br />
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<b>Why?</b><br />
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Because my formica countertops are peeling and cracking, my recently re-caulked old drop-in sink is already black around the edges and gross again, the faux brick on the walls is chipping off {and was ugly to begin with}, the windowsill above the sink needs to be repainted yet again at the very least, the footprint is all wrong for a family that cooks and bakes as much as we do, and also, why not? We like nice things. As it turns out, we like things far nicer than we deserve to like or can afford to like, but so it goes. We can also be quite happy with less-than-nice things if necessary.<br />
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<b>How?</b><br />
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What would you expect of a musician employed by a church married to another musician? Over-the-top-wealth is what you get. Okay, that was a joke, but we do think if we finagle things just right we could manage to renovate our kitchen sooner rather than later, and thus have more years ahead of us to enjoy it with our children rather than waiting until everyone is grown and gone and we are sad and lonely // calm and happy {depending how that all plays out}.<br />
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<b>When?</b><br />
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Soon. But not too soon. Not before we have a plan in place. Because whereas Nathan thrives on mental planning ahead without actually putting things into place too much, I think I would thrive if the kitchen didn't turn into a two-year project that involved myself cooking over a camping stove for that length of time. {Two-year project?! I'm looking at you, downstairs bathroom.}<br />
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<b>So, when?</b><br />
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Oh, yeah, we should finish the downstairs bathroom first. So, soon, but not too soon, but after we finish the bathroom.<br />
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<b>What will it look like?</b><br />
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I mean, it will probably look pretty much like this:<br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3026292844120978551" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3026292844120978551" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><img alt="Image result for officine gullo" class="irc_mi" height="374" src="https://www.sadecor.co.za/wp-content/uploads/wordpress/2017/09/Officine-Gullo.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px; text-align: start;" width="482" /></div>
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Ha. Ha. Okay, that was a joke because we aren't independently wealthy.<br />
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Anyway, here's where it gets tricky. <br />
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Too much large stainless steel in a small-ish space just sort of looks grim to me. And/or industrial rather than home-y. But have you noticed it's hard to find alternatives in a reasonable price range? Black? No thank you. White? Well, maybe. Some white I like. But don't try to narrow it down by going to look at appliances in person, because they only have stainless steel options in showrooms. Very un-helpful, if you ask me.<br />
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Now, if you know us at all you know that Nathan and I love nothing more than to marinate in ideas of perfection and then allow ourselves to sink slowly into a depressive state of misery when we cannot achieve said perfection. I mean, we don't actually love it but it does appear to be our calling card. We like nicer things than we can afford, I guess. We have good taste? But a bank account considerably smaller than our taste. It's not even that we like extravagant things or McMansions {we don't}; it's just that we like classic things and enduring things and beautiful things over say, formica and pre-fabbed things that all look the same and IKEA {but nothing against IKEA; we actually love IKEA in the right time and place}.<br />
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But in all seriousness--<br />
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I am really excited about this whole process. And while it probably looks easy enough to find some images of perfection, and sit around looking at pretty pictures while waiting for Nathan to do the work, this is only partly true.<br />
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Did you know it's weirdly hard to find pictures of beautifully-simple-yet-fancy-and-perfect kitchens that strike the perfect balance of all things good, true, and beautiful in my convoluted mind? If you do a google image search for "the fanciest kitchen in the world," you have to scroll for a shockingly long time before you find a single image that is even remotely acceptable. Modify the search to "the nicest kitchen in the world" and the results are similarly disappointing. If you try "the most perfect kitchen in the world" you will at least get some decent results within the first page. Like, one or two decent ones. I can only conclude that Google has poor taste, or the entire world does, except for myself and Nathan.<br />
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So, in the process of dreaming about redesigning your kitchen, here's a little step-by-step tutorial from a <strike>pro interior designer</strike> possibly insane individual:<br />
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<b>ONE) </b>The very first thing you must do is to read John Ruskin's <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/35898/35898-h/35898-h.htm">The Seven Lamps of Architecture</a>. It's available online for free, so you have no excuse not to read it. It is unparalleled. Well, actually, I haven't finished it yet. It's a slow read. But read this paragraph {regarding the building of churches} and tell me you don't want to go read it all! Marinate in it!<br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;"><i>I have said for every town: I do not want a marble</i></span><span class="pagenum" style="font-size: smaller; left: 1166.546875px; position: absolute; text-align: right;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" id="Page_25" name="Page_25"><i>[Pg 25]</i></a></span><i><span style="text-align: justify;"> church for every village; nay, I do not want marble churches at all for their own sake, but for the sake of the spirit that would build them. The church has no need of any visible splendors; her power is independent of them, her purity is in some degree opposed to them. The simplicity of a pastoral sanctuary is lovelier than the majesty of an urban temple; and it may be more than questioned whether, to the people, such majesty has ever been the source of any increase of effective piety; but to the builders it has been, and must ever be. It is not the church we want, but the sacrifice; not the emotion of admiration, but the act of adoration: not the gift, but the giving.</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span></i></blockquote>
<b>TWO)</b> The very next thing to do, after giving considerably towards the building of a church you love, is to use what is left over to build a kitchen that looks like this. Here I will share two pictures that sum up my long-time dream kitchen of all time, which I have drooled over for literally years. Somewhere between these two pictures lies perfection incarnate, probably.<br />
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<img alt="Planning our DIY kitchen remodel… here is the explanation of how we chose cabinets; I wanted custom, inset cabinets! But we are choosing overlay, semi custom." class="aligncenter wp-image-8467 size-full" src="http://victoriaelizabethbarnes.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/choosing-kitchen-cabinets-24.jpg" height="637" sizes="(max-width: 500px) 100vw, 500px" srcset="http://victoriaelizabethbarnes.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/choosing-kitchen-cabinets-24.jpg 500w, http://victoriaelizabethbarnes.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/choosing-kitchen-cabinets-24-235x300.jpg 235w" width="500" /></div>
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<img alt="Martha Stewart Living editor in chief Pilar Guzman; her husband, Chris Mitchell; and their two boys, Willem and Henry, gather in the kitchen of their Brooklyn brownstone. "We spend about 80 percent of our time here," Pilar says. The couple retrofitted the room, which was originally a formal parlor, as a kitchen; former closets house appliances and dishes, and a marble-top island was built by designer Tyler Hays." class="_u3 _45 _y6 _4h" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/d8/f9/f1/d8f9f1a26c8402b5f2dad7ac6616a064.jpg" style="text-align: start;" /></div>
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<b>THREE)</b> The next thing you must do is to look at other beautiful possibilities until your eyes nearly glaze over. For example, while the above kitchens are the perfect kitchens, also acceptable in lieu of the open shelving in the first picture would be something like this:<br />
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<img src="http://victoriaelizabethbarnes.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/choosing-kitchen-cabinets-25.jpg" height="659" style="-webkit-user-select: none; cursor: zoom-in; display: block; margin: auto;" width="439" /><br />
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Or this:<br />
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<img alt="Luigi Fragola Architects: S. Monaca townhouse, Florence, Italy" class="_u3 _45 _y6 _4h" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/31/35/dc/3135dc6b2d9e29bfebeeb5762008beb9.jpg" /></div>
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Nathan, can you photo-shop the above images together and then build me a kitchen that looks like that? Yes? Thank you.<br />
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It is also very important that it contain some element of this timeless beauty, this utmost perfection:<br />
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<img alt="Inspiration for our old-house, DIY kitchen remodel… I love the idea of using salvaged or repurposed materials in place of a traditional kitchen cabinets." class="wp-image-6725 size-full" src="http://victoriaelizabethbarnes.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/antique-cabinet-in-kitchen.png" height="567" sizes="(max-width: 638px) 100vw, 638px" srcset="http://victoriaelizabethbarnes.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/antique-cabinet-in-kitchen.png 638w, http://victoriaelizabethbarnes.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/antique-cabinet-in-kitchen-300x267.png 300w" width="638" /><br />
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I can find very few objections to this:<br />
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<img alt="light blue kitchen cabinets, black countertop, tile floor, brass flush fixtures + range" class="_u3 _45 _y6 _4h" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3f/de/bf/3fdebf6556fdef89aff778fff473d838.jpg" /></div>
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While we're at it, I would like one of these:<br />
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<img src="http://www.thevintagefridgecompany.com/_images/portfolio/private-residences/uk-other/devon-bar-fridge.jpg" height="478" style="-webkit-user-select: none; display: block; margin: auto;" width="640" /><br />
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And something kind of like this.<br />
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<img alt="Image result for antique butler's pantry" class="irc_mi" height="400" src="https://i.pinimg.com/236x/e2/8a/44/e28a448e7c8703fd31f9312c2bf90e9c.jpg" style="margin-top: 9px;" width="265" /></div>
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Basically, I told Nathan, I've been wanting you to buy me <a href="http://www.newyorksocialdiary.com/the-way-they-live/2014/big-old-houses-inside-castle-hill">The Crane Estate</a> and you haven't done it, but this is your chance for redemption. As long as I can have all the things in this theoretically renovated kitchen, with ample space for sourdough bread baking and kombucha fizzing and doing all the other things Nathan hates {like making food that contains vegetables}, I will be happy, no purchase of the entire Crane Estate necessary. I would, however, like library ladders that slide along the walls and lead to my highest cabinets. Our kitchen ceilings are only about eight feet tall, but never mind that, because maybe we can just borrow the space from the second floor bathroom, and like, raise the floor a little higher. Or drop the kitchen floor lower and lower the basement ceiling. I'm flexible with the options like that.<br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">I'm flexible on the details, like I said. But I definitively must have a butler's pantry. </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">Don't you have a butler pining for a pantry? {We don't yet, but I'm planning to get one when we remodel the kitchen.}</span><br />
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Yes, I realize that my taste for the finer things far exceeds our station in life, and I'm more likely to BE the butler than to have one. Nevertheless, this knowledge does little to curtail my enthusiasm for all things beautiful and kitchen-related. What can I say? Coastal elitism. It's a thing, and it appears to have seeped into my veins after living in New England for over a decade.<br />
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<b>FOUR)</b> Eventually you will have to un-glaze your eyes and begin to consider the practical, nitty-gritty stuff like appliances.<br />
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I will now confess that I have an appliance problem. But {don't hate me} I think most appliances are ugly. And as <a href="http://www.victoriaelizabethbarnes.com/">Victoria Elizabeth Barnes</a> would say, "Bring me fancy or get out!" I know -- most people have appliances. So by saying that I find them unattractive I am likely offending approximately 100% of the people I know. But there you have it. I do not love the look of most of them. And while I understand that their primary function isn't to be looked at, I also find it hard to cook with my eyes closed. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3026292844120978551" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3026292844120978551" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>As standard appliances go, I have so far found one option that could be a possibility in terms of aesthetic. They are highly reviewed for function, too! These are the GE Cafe line of appliances, which offers various styles of slide in ranges, standalone ranges, and even a wall oven that opens with french doors! You get to customize your trim metal, which of course is <i>everything</i>.<br />
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<img class=" _-bv" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/shopping?q=tbn:ANd9GcSpseYXAKjO1x0oPD5HSEN7wRT213qWzmnTqdqBkFs2goUTDMnC&usqp=CAE" style="height: 276px; width: 276px;" /></div>
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<img alt="Cafe 36 Inch Freestanding Gas Range Matte White CGY366P4MW2" data-atf="0" height="200" id="plahover0" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/shopping?q=tbn:ANd9GcTdGVxpRSlxmx5wi80v8gaD7fs6ONVnd68p6ASs87dDOKVc0wp0HJd-cAVq5vUFhh1fqOueqjv8&usqp=CAc" style="border: none; margin: 0px; text-align: start; vertical-align: middle;" width="192" /></div>
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<img alt="GE Cafe 30" Built-In Double Convection Wall Oven with Top French Door in Matte White and Brushed Bronze Handles" class="_u3 _45 _y6 _4h" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/41/cf/b4/41cfb46810cf589257f8931c43b1cc9d.jpg" /></div>
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Now, if you have a small fortune lying around, the thing to do is to go immediately and acquire one of these ranges:<br />
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<img alt="Image result for lacanche range" class="irc_mi" height="374" src="https://www.robeys.co.uk/uploads/images//macon-rhs.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="384" /></div>
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<img alt="Oh my. Copper pots and white Lacanche range ." class="_u3 _45 _y6 _4h" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/88/9d/25/889d2547b81adf705e3eb59038ea5bf8.jpg" style="text-align: start;" /></div>
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Why are you still here reading this blog? Go get a Lacanche range already! These thing are beauties and in my opinion it's just undeniable that I should have one. I would sacrifice buying groceries for a year to justify the cost. I would consider selling a kidney on the black market. I would love it and cherish it and design my whole kitchen around it as a thing of beauty.<br />
<br />
The other main appliance to be considered is, of course, the refrigerator. I asked Nathan if we could just keep ours in the basement, and he laughed at me. I asked him if he could build me a pantry-like cabinet to put it inside, and he laughed at me again. "You mean like a panel-front refrigerator?" he asked. "No, because those look weird and imposing and slightly awkward sometimes. It needs to be better than that." At which point he immediately promised to procure for me a panel-front or integrated refrigerator and then make sure it was not ugly or awkward looking. Yay! Victoria Elizabeth Barnes, of course, <a href="http://victoriaelizabethbarnes.com/hiding-refrigerator-kitchen-remodel/">has some good ideas</a>.<br />
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This could work:<br />
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<img alt=" " class="_u3 _45 _y6 _4h" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/2c/3a/7f/2c3a7f483fa2612e5dbfd0a8405e8858.jpg" /></div>
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As could this:<br />
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<img alt="Custom panels help this built-in refrigerator melt into the surrounding all-white kitchen." class="_u3 _45 _y6 _4h" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/95/62/14/9562144617e66bf0149e71ef45d0ad49.jpg" style="text-align: start;" /></div>
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And this! This! I mean, I'm assuming one of those is a fridge but it's anybody's guess. All of them fridges for a very large family? A fridge beside a pantry? Who knows? Either way, they look like cabinets instead of mortuary coolers so I'm willing to consider it.<br />
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<img alt="Amy Zantziger's #farmhouse kitchen. When the refrigerator and the cookbook cabinet doors are closed, the room appears elegant and uncluttered." class="_u3 _45 _y6 _4h" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/36/f8/29/36f8292d824dced6423a4c4b511bf31f.jpg" style="text-align: start;" /></div>
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<b>FIVE)</b> Track down other tidbits of finery:<br />
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Have you seen the Rev-a-Shelf website? There is <a href="https://www.rev-a-shelf.com/p-146-bread-drawer-kit-for-drawers.aspx">a bread drawer option</a>. Need I say more?<br />
<br />
...And without too much effort you can go way down that rabbit hole. <br />
<br />
For example: We should obviously have a hot water tap to eliminate the need to ever boil water again. And maybe a filtered drinking water faucet water beside the main kitchen tap. <br />
<br />
And furthermore: Not even optional but absolutely required is an ice machine that makes that soft kind of nugget-sized ice because I love it more than anything, so much so that I periodically consider getting myself hospitalized so that I can have cupfuls of it because that's the main place I know of that has it - the hospital. But what if I could have it in my own kitchen? Then I wouldn't need to be hospitalized. Problem solved!<br />
<br />
Also! We could turn an antique piece of furniture into a kitchen island for some historic charm in this old house of ours {but naturally topped with a reclaimed marble slab for all my makings of pie crusts and quiche crusts and other necessities}.<br />
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<img alt="Love all of these unique kitchen island ideas including this antique chest of drawers!" class="_u3 _45 _y6 _4h" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/79/93/e3/7993e33f9dc2998861d4186f324158e4.jpg" style="text-align: start;" /></div>
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<b>SIX)</b> Try to agree on at least one element so you have a valid starting point that lies somewhere within the realm of reality. Nathan thinks that 50% of what I say {at a minimum} lies within the realm of the ridiculous, but we have both agreed for several years now that when and if we redo the kitchen, we would love to do soapstone for the counters! </div>
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<img alt="Honed Virginia Jet Mist Granite. The look of soapstone but not the maintenance or price" class="_u3 _45 _y6 _4h" height="640" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/94/41/62/9441620e07219b450656c89a41b7e905.jpg" style="text-align: start;" width="427" /></div>
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The cabinets are still undecided - white or maybe a light blue or gray? But we have a starting point of agreement.</div>
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Except that as of yesterday Nathan is thinking about scrapping the whole project, selling the house, and buying a fixer upper of incomparable proportions (both in terms of current dismal-ness and future potential). So instead of doing a kitchen renovation we could dream of renovating a{nother} entire house, while living in a ... tent? The details of the hare-brained scheme are fuzzy at this point. </div>
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In conclusion:<br />
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Nell was listening to me blather on about kitchens the other day, and this conversation transpired--<br />
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Nell: Mama, wouldn't you like to have a kitchen with a marble countertop?<br />
Me: Yes, I suppose I would.<br />
Nell: Well then you shall have one for Christmas!<br />
Me: This Christmas, or next Christmas?<br />
Nell: Well, probably next Christmas. Because it's going to take some time.<br />
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Okay, then! If time is all it takes, I've got time!<br />
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Want to live vicariously through me as I live vicariously through others? Check out <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/beingsarahmarie/kitchen-dreaming/">my pinterest board on kitchens</a>! And check out <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/beingsarahmarie/vintage-style-for-a-1917-home-kitchen/">my other kitchen pinterest board</a> here, where I specifically saved some things pertaining to the particular vintage of our 1917 house. This is also a good way to track down all these image sources, since clearly I've been way too lazy to link them for you -- but most of them are on my pinterest somewhere! If not, you can do a reverse image search and then pat yourself on the back for being less lazy than I am.<br />
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sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-20077275237387835122018-11-27T19:24:00.000-08:002018-11-27T19:24:00.787-08:00Pondering God the FatherA not-altogether-uncommon scenario had me recently pondering God the Father in light of my own internal emotional failings as a mother.<br />
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Back in September or October, with the academic year newly underway, we were all a bit tired and being struck down one by one with colds. I was filled with a dual sort of dread: so early in the fall, and already we were being struck down with illness; and also, it <i>would</i> just have to be that particular week, when I had three rehearsals and two concerts and would be getting very little sleep.<br />
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I was trying to catch a nap alongside Molly one day, the girls having been duly instructed to stay in their rooms and play quietly during their usual quiet time. Things began to unravel, as I was awakened a few moments after dozing off to the sounds of the two older girls squabbling loudly about something insignificant. <br />
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My first hazy thought as I was jolted awake?: "I'm about ready to kill them."<br />
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Then: "Is this how God feels? When we're down here running around on earth just being wretched all the time?"<br />
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Oh wait. No. Quite the opposite, I guess.<br />
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<i>I'm about ready to die for them.</i><br />
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But I really read them the riot act before quiet time! I reminded them what was expected...! I told them it was important!<br />
<br />
<i>Oh, you mean like the Ten Commandments? Some basic rules? Not too many but not too few? Just a doable amount of rules?</i><br />
<br />
But I really condensed it to just two things. Stay in your rooms. Play quietly. Lots of freedom within that. So much freedom!<br />
<br />
<i>Ah, two things. Like love God and love your neighbor, for example? How's that going down there?</i><br />
<br />
Oh. Right. Good point. <br />
<br />
Well, shoot then.<br />
<br />
So there I was, and here I am, knee deep in this weird mixture of chaos and frustration and love. Knee deep in my own sanctification. I maintain that if I hadn't had children I might have labored under the illusion that I was an OK person.<br />
<br />
How humbling it is to realize that not only have I not loved my neighbor as myself, but I have not even loved my own children as well as I ought.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdFw50e3-mguF2QmYbfnGuBlqXer5fF297wtEh32zhY8f-8_cHZYvWYbbj4phTmHvMAOOVLwFdcUWbvKYtNu01gZdCWTmTx4MghhZ4XTpUaY4dyQU5p6VKS-mVrwZe5X6a2jxHbMrXa00/s1600/IMG_6837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdFw50e3-mguF2QmYbfnGuBlqXer5fF297wtEh32zhY8f-8_cHZYvWYbbj4phTmHvMAOOVLwFdcUWbvKYtNu01gZdCWTmTx4MghhZ4XTpUaY4dyQU5p6VKS-mVrwZe5X6a2jxHbMrXa00/s640/IMG_6837.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>She doesn't always sleep, but when she does, she's awfully cute.</i></td></tr>
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sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-73934941170067090802018-11-01T10:57:00.002-07:002018-11-01T11:01:01.167-07:00Wendy, Peter Pan, & Tinker Bell<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Well, Halloween 2018 is in the books, leaving me with a poignantly thematic sense that indeed, "All children, except one, grow up."</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDckEjQ0c3e2nkvu0B1KLq2jRLhYR3igx0ROi-HsHOxMQWiWjyYMKaDRbW_sOkItsNXGwaBcTQPFwHF8LuSNpzd913R1d5snoU9z6ZY6tSYZOVl-blvoowvyOxvf52fR4v-we3J2FNVGc/s1600/IMG_0669.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDckEjQ0c3e2nkvu0B1KLq2jRLhYR3igx0ROi-HsHOxMQWiWjyYMKaDRbW_sOkItsNXGwaBcTQPFwHF8LuSNpzd913R1d5snoU9z6ZY6tSYZOVl-blvoowvyOxvf52fR4v-we3J2FNVGc/s1600/IMG_0669.jpg" width="478" /></span></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">The older two girls have been much enamored with Peter Pan ever since seeing a family friend and babysitter starring as Wendy in her school production last year, and I am currently reading the book aloud to them, which they are loving. It seemed a foregone conclusion since months ago when they first began dreaming about this Halloween, that a family of Peter Pan costumes was in order. Daddy could be Captain Hook, of course! And as for Mama, she had a rehearsal on the night in question, so it was a good thing that we had the essential characters of the story covered without me needing to be terribly involved. All that was necessary was for me to acquire and/or make costumes for the little Darlings, so to speak.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Nell's costume consisted of a beautiful vintage dress and shoes that were gifted to us, Molly's was a second-hand costume I acquired, and Ree's was a shirt from Savers I embellished with felt leaves, an old belt of mine, a felt hat complete with requisite feather I made for her (she sat in my lap and helped me sew on the machine). Her fabulous dagger was constructed for her by a friend at her request, and she was quite pleased with the outcome. {Thanks, Patrick!}</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTF-4WiuLux7ov_Gw_DLVRlaZD2AGcupMqpMNHpzIonooIhAg4m25kwZaqNXGrvF9Xovfzxm92xBqKnyas66dp0dNxLqX_6SKkvaWJ7j4VFhlawD6cbef_Zm8p9H_IAb63rCmz8u1LRDg/s1600/IMG_0665.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTF-4WiuLux7ov_Gw_DLVRlaZD2AGcupMqpMNHpzIonooIhAg4m25kwZaqNXGrvF9Xovfzxm92xBqKnyas66dp0dNxLqX_6SKkvaWJ7j4VFhlawD6cbef_Zm8p9H_IAb63rCmz8u1LRDg/s1600/IMG_0665.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">{The Tink topknot was just slaying me with cuteness.}</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">“Forget them, Wendy. Forget them all. Come with me where you'll never, never have to worry about grown up things again</span><span style="background-color: white;">.” </span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNzmvhRo2TUUL2GMpGcKxUDccVyXOCdwrUmyRbObalh3BNCT5TcLGyPmmZPtxjHer-ZN8-S8hNRj8N86Zipf1vBSU380-Iw2AzHiK1w-Be42C20BkG3g9PfEV7Ls-IQ6rxSz467GTF49o/s1600/IMG_0737.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1199" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNzmvhRo2TUUL2GMpGcKxUDccVyXOCdwrUmyRbObalh3BNCT5TcLGyPmmZPtxjHer-ZN8-S8hNRj8N86Zipf1vBSU380-Iw2AzHiK1w-Be42C20BkG3g9PfEV7Ls-IQ6rxSz467GTF49o/s1600/IMG_0737.jpg" width="478" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
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<div class="quoteText" style="line-height: 21px; padding: 0px 5px 10px 0px;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I can't fly."</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I'll teach you."</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Oh, how lovely to fly."</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"I'll teach you how to jump on the wind's back, and then away we go."</span></i></div>
<div class="quoteText" style="line-height: 21px; padding: 0px 5px 10px 0px;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Oo!" she exclaimed rapturously.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Wendy, Wendy, when you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying about with me saying funny things to the stars."</span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdprDj332kD5OaULHft-9mewc4YIIXgnkEksCf29kKedT7C2JfbXzmcp9xPJBAVaKmNTu__f4yqPlR4wB4cq40dk6e5mfjaC0QVHkVmh-GZyxNSsEfH6qOgVWBrRdq3T0bj6vpnBNpIA/s1600/IMG_0687.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdprDj332kD5OaULHft-9mewc4YIIXgnkEksCf29kKedT7C2JfbXzmcp9xPJBAVaKmNTu__f4yqPlR4wB4cq40dk6e5mfjaC0QVHkVmh-GZyxNSsEfH6qOgVWBrRdq3T0bj6vpnBNpIA/s1600/IMG_0687.jpg" width="478" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<div class="quoteText" style="line-height: 21px; padding: 0px 5px 10px 0px;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"How sweet!" cried Wendy.</span></i></div>
<div class="quoteText" style="line-height: 21px; padding: 0px 5px 10px 0px;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Yes, I'm sweet, oh, I am sweet!" said Peter, forgetting his manners again.</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX5rIQBHBPgx67xLfoPZdzE1OY8kJy1FKohgEkHPHKXL4ZlcMp_dqsZFa42o7h3os9jFEIiK-pmJ4IdFlGmhT2a1YDtP8rz26E246G4mLDoyA8rXZocOepRdips1Z0eAHrtbijloZ9D1c/s1600/IMG_0642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1199" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX5rIQBHBPgx67xLfoPZdzE1OY8kJy1FKohgEkHPHKXL4ZlcMp_dqsZFa42o7h3os9jFEIiK-pmJ4IdFlGmhT2a1YDtP8rz26E246G4mLDoyA8rXZocOepRdips1Z0eAHrtbijloZ9D1c/s1600/IMG_0642.jpg" width="478" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FGCbQ32EE6i3JKaX-Jt2VYEn8IrKzIzLtVEc84PPZjPJBXDlH0oNyotYialaywuoNbyUmmk9KAhH9gKuGniHhv2llZmUKIypN9q9K17fF6oU7Y81ULWMT5DL_QGHR4fZsn4ol7fa0Mg/s1600/IMG_0742.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FGCbQ32EE6i3JKaX-Jt2VYEn8IrKzIzLtVEc84PPZjPJBXDlH0oNyotYialaywuoNbyUmmk9KAhH9gKuGniHhv2llZmUKIypN9q9K17fF6oU7Y81ULWMT5DL_QGHR4fZsn4ol7fa0Mg/s1600/IMG_0742.jpg" width="478" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">“When the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies.”</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i><br /></i>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>“Tink was not all bad... on the other hand, sometimes she was all good. Fairies have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time."</i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHGWGxNwYmHl1gPlfriKYCyGj0Hw1mh0yETiCYoAuS8C7XE73Fuug1bDRG74Xq7LpC9n2yqAU0rAu1DPYPzBW6N3EeGymbpTWRVO4hrW45Evk3nZOL0R45xatGOxFrhX34o0S9_JnunKA/s1600/IMG_0826.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHGWGxNwYmHl1gPlfriKYCyGj0Hw1mh0yETiCYoAuS8C7XE73Fuug1bDRG74Xq7LpC9n2yqAU0rAu1DPYPzBW6N3EeGymbpTWRVO4hrW45Evk3nZOL0R45xatGOxFrhX34o0S9_JnunKA/s1600/IMG_0826.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Wendy... Wendy, one girl is more use than twenty boys."</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKE0SikmvKKu2pHsva7XxAdY6g1XzwKjaQF-7idHnKfvch-aLwDfeLgFN7IZSTSPcUDA2BLKYIGverJpgSjlO5O4gHEz6IJSPpMdsqcLYp70gtgALey3cZ8iDmEh9B-ygaY1OrESaHAQ/s1600/IMG_0838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKE0SikmvKKu2pHsva7XxAdY6g1XzwKjaQF-7idHnKfvch-aLwDfeLgFN7IZSTSPcUDA2BLKYIGverJpgSjlO5O4gHEz6IJSPpMdsqcLYp70gtgALey3cZ8iDmEh9B-ygaY1OrESaHAQ/s1600/IMG_0838.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: small;"><i>“Proud and insolent youth,” said Hook, “prepare to meet thy doom.” </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<div style="caret-color: rgb(24, 24, 24); color: #181818;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>“Dark and sinister man,” Peter answered, “have at thee.” </i></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVLfKvt9Po2xpfTwnwTdi4bZ4VtXJJ26tqJ6ZjrMj04xpVUEITSvBAHN81q0jIJmZRiw1hocRKHKZcNcib2nShgVNyYkOZ3ZWxoygp0FnC8BcfVLE4lnChM9GoZjVbZyxnfaWCgzOaFqw/s1600/IMG_0806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVLfKvt9Po2xpfTwnwTdi4bZ4VtXJJ26tqJ6ZjrMj04xpVUEITSvBAHN81q0jIJmZRiw1hocRKHKZcNcib2nShgVNyYkOZ3ZWxoygp0FnC8BcfVLE4lnChM9GoZjVbZyxnfaWCgzOaFqw/s1600/IMG_0806.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
</span></span><br />
<div style="color: #181818;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>“Pan, who and what art thou?" </i></span></div>
<div style="color: #181818;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #181818;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>"I'm youth, I'm joy," Peter answered at a venture, "I'm a little bird that has broken out of the egg."</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeeAfM0h48dj1e0AFtkKqWHE9qwYf0BhBCgaPghmNY1Du71CEI_BePejYAtD5jjWSnRqMDdgAZV2LBeOLxi92YF1TvIE5xf-nmP4KjtX7n1epwd2BDIrgZu4sXncySRz_4igM-XqEPjfc/s1600/IMG_0776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeeAfM0h48dj1e0AFtkKqWHE9qwYf0BhBCgaPghmNY1Du71CEI_BePejYAtD5jjWSnRqMDdgAZV2LBeOLxi92YF1TvIE5xf-nmP4KjtX7n1epwd2BDIrgZu4sXncySRz_4igM-XqEPjfc/s1600/IMG_0776.JPG" width="480" /></a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Now Wendy was every inch a woman, though there were not very many inches..."</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTE1Vji4E-OYQReCD63vKNDzddnzO_sr98NeZEjJJTkirGe2-5OLCDa5R6KjjdA9BOUXsrwjxE77Zlcwu54MLYickSjkJ6ZvzQfXwLtHfFll1NLBJ1yvpyYFvrSWskZlOTbjVpWPqzuJA/s1600/IMG_0846.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTE1Vji4E-OYQReCD63vKNDzddnzO_sr98NeZEjJJTkirGe2-5OLCDa5R6KjjdA9BOUXsrwjxE77Zlcwu54MLYickSjkJ6ZvzQfXwLtHfFll1NLBJ1yvpyYFvrSWskZlOTbjVpWPqzuJA/s1600/IMG_0846.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></div>
<div style="color: #181818;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #181818;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #181818;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>"Second to the right," said Peter, "and then straight on till morning."</i></span></div>
<div style="color: #181818;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVg2SlNwuWKgU2KnpfjWgTMiJgnZ6rMkUVyLNaXDh3uBXFcGnZQRBwu0XKYrgMC70MvGPgsw9nwDz-fw6zI4fT_ST9kE55W9lkxbpejZQhapyA07bgD4VeKgIB5qitqesHZGveCq8K20/s1600/IMG_0800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVg2SlNwuWKgU2KnpfjWgTMiJgnZ6rMkUVyLNaXDh3uBXFcGnZQRBwu0XKYrgMC70MvGPgsw9nwDz-fw6zI4fT_ST9kE55W9lkxbpejZQhapyA07bgD4VeKgIB5qitqesHZGveCq8K20/s1600/IMG_0800.JPG" width="480" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; text-align: justify; text-indent: 16px;"><i>“Come on, Tink,” he cried, with a frightful sneer at the laws of nature; “we don't want any silly mothers!”</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: #faebd0; color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; text-align: justify; text-indent: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht2PN7IA9mZGkcvqAFroPjQJnEV0qaouyBBtMHw2RI-xA8CQd-JRdyaUub6Rez-Bq4e1WyN2N1oNSnia2XkguMJZY2bxqIZZT2KVYA8aJuPX26FUgypLZlN-eWRf8blfBfify3z5jGsDM/s1600/IMG_0722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht2PN7IA9mZGkcvqAFroPjQJnEV0qaouyBBtMHw2RI-xA8CQd-JRdyaUub6Rez-Bq4e1WyN2N1oNSnia2XkguMJZY2bxqIZZT2KVYA8aJuPX26FUgypLZlN-eWRf8blfBfify3z5jGsDM/s1600/IMG_0722.jpg" width="478" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>“Keep back, lady, no one is going to catch me and make me a man.”</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggtlX9z9QzSs63AxdI0smOeMz_UCsmyTj_GXkiVljWVx5tCel44KDW5rTx-vGjjtgflxHpkg80V4Ca9IxWd2cVNFZSKB3heNQYVvWJgztlVzMhnwsHaYHJflx6pEPlI0YobGz7BuPAG9Q/s1600/IMG_0781.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggtlX9z9QzSs63AxdI0smOeMz_UCsmyTj_GXkiVljWVx5tCel44KDW5rTx-vGjjtgflxHpkg80V4Ca9IxWd2cVNFZSKB3heNQYVvWJgztlVzMhnwsHaYHJflx6pEPlI0YobGz7BuPAG9Q/s1600/IMG_0781.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">“Would you like an adventure now, or would like to have your tea first?”</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1cAMY0AVWRSdOWCv-ob3Afb8NqsGJ7Wq6pz-ptL8azg53b42Dvb1Stt1y7T1NC0uEe6ntYdoHF4RCSc64pS1m0prPxHugeeiQAtmxwd7fi9Ts5ofePD1n1K_M9eNcumeoIik9-u4Dqks/s1600/IMG_0823.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1cAMY0AVWRSdOWCv-ob3Afb8NqsGJ7Wq6pz-ptL8azg53b42Dvb1Stt1y7T1NC0uEe6ntYdoHF4RCSc64pS1m0prPxHugeeiQAtmxwd7fi9Ts5ofePD1n1K_M9eNcumeoIik9-u4Dqks/s1600/IMG_0823.JPG" width="480" /></a></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">In the end, the best laid plans were slightly thwarted, but adventure did indeed win out and a sprinkling of fairy dust and magic prevailed despite it all. Nathan, who was slated to be Captain Hook in my inevitable absence and to take the kids trick-or-treating, was delayed in getting home thanks to unusual amounts of traffic on the commuter rail coming out of <span style="caret-color: rgb(24, 24, 24);">the</span> city. I had hoped he'd be home in time for me to at least do a portion of the neighborhood rounds with them all, but he arrived barely in time for me to snap a quick picture of them all together and dash out the door to my gig. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU0WIy2b6uTMAZRflJQBUyxmJYR4hoozCu_1aaeYV0LpcZDEF_ccGQLN9aVC-bKsSz4o-v6lNIGqvoMa1jH2MWjLhaTcCXIG-2B9mgmA0JKcLZebSN_DbDb7vyeWSEJ9HociC64pFRjps/s1600/IMG_0862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU0WIy2b6uTMAZRflJQBUyxmJYR4hoozCu_1aaeYV0LpcZDEF_ccGQLN9aVC-bKsSz4o-v6lNIGqvoMa1jH2MWjLhaTcCXIG-2B9mgmA0JKcLZebSN_DbDb7vyeWSEJ9HociC64pFRjps/s1600/IMG_0862.JPG" width="480" /></a></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(24, 24, 24); font-family: -webkit-standard; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(24, 24, 24); font-family: -webkit-standard; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div style="font-style: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">I do believe that it was all <i>"an awfully big adventure" </i>for them, and a good time was had by all.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">And I'm left with the sense that: "I suppose it's like the ticking crocodile, isn't it? Time is chasing after all of us."</span></div>
</div>
</div>
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sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026292844120978551.post-89131662802979456132018-08-19T06:13:00.001-07:002019-08-20T09:58:01.371-07:00the new computer and other trivialities{I just found this post lingering in my drafts and decided to publish it, for the sake of the family record-keeping. Not that a computer is a family member exactly, but I think it counts in the overall timeline of significant family events.}<br />
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Nearly eight years ago, a few months into graduate school, living in our first house, before any of our children had yet arrived on the scene, I got my first MacBook Pro. She was called Shiny, and she served me through many a class, many a late-night paper-writing session, many a blog post, many a photo upload. <br />
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She was nearing the end of her life, sadly - her battery unable to hold a charge, crashing each time she lost the feeble, tenuous connection with her frayed charging cord; spinning her colorful wheel for long minutes any time I tried to use her to do a task. She also wasn't meeting our photo storage and accessibility needs. <br />
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With our first year of "real" homeschooling right around the corner {is it possible that the child younger than that first MacBook Pro is already going into first grade?}, it was becoming apparent I would need a workable computer solution at the ready. As usually happens in these sorts of situations in our home, Nathan brought up the subject of buying me a new computer, and I declared it an unnecessary financial expense at this time. <br />
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Fortunately for me, he didn't listen to my protests. Off to the Apple store he went, taking all three of our children with him, as I had a concert to play at the time. This was evidently a fortuitous turn of events, as he attributes what followed to the fact that the store employee helping him thought the kids were cute. Somehow he was offered a student discount from a current promotional, so I arrived home from my concert to find not only the most beautiful, sleek, fast-functioning space gray MacBook Pro, but also a rose gold pair of Beats wireless headphones, which had been included free. <br />
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The main question now is, does this lovely computer on which I now find myself typing inherit the name of Shiny? Or is a beloved computer irreplaceable, and does the next generation receive its own new name? Since space gray is literally less shiny than Shiny was, perhaps this computer is... Foggy? <br />
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In any case, I'm looking forward to a renewed ability to document and keep our little lives through increased ease of use with this new computer. I'm looking forward to being able to do homeschool planning, send emails for work, and keep up with other tasks much more easily. I'm staying cautiously {foolishly?} optimistic that it will help me stay on top of the many responsibilities I always feel like I'm not quite keeping up with.<br />
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Although, realistically, I suppose time will tell if the faster-functioning abilities of the new computer as compared with the old dying one will really offset the fact that three children have arrived in our family in the intervening years. And I have a feeling those small fingers reaching and grabbing for my keyboard at this very moment have a lot to do with finding it challenging to keep up with all things computer-related at times.sarah mariehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016489034529811005noreply@blogger.com0