MommyCoddle

little bits

Good Morning. Just popping in to say hello this morning and catch up on a few things. It has been a busy, but quiet week. Lots of rainy days, fires in the wood burner, afternoon naps, knitting and new projects.

A few bits here and there :

* I had my "official" ultrasound last week and they are pondering moving my due date up by two weeks. Either that my doctor says, "or it's a big baby." I tend to think the later, it runs in the family. And for those that are curious, we don't peek. He/She will be a surprise. (One of life's best surprises, I believe.)

* Showing up for my ultrasound at the hospital, I was disappointed to find out that children are no longer allowed in the hospital, not even the waiting room for an appointment as a precaution against the H1N1 flu. My girls sure loved seeing the "movies" of the baby in my belly. (Their consolation prize was a trip to the midwife to hear the baby's heartbeat.)

* My children are devouring this series of readers. They are a bit like Dick and Jane readers set in Amish times. Mary is battling through the first of the series, just to be like her older sister. And Emma is plowing through one after the other. I've been (a bit nervously) waiting for reading to "spark" with her, and I think it finally is.

* I have a new oh-so-addicting time-suck. I've discovered the beauty and fun of tumblr. Instead of posting my list of "good things" here on the blog, I'll be posting them over on my tumblr page. There is a link to it in my newly designed sidebar and you can even subscribe to the tumblr page, just as you would a blog. It is so easy to post things to tumblr, it saves me the time of always formatting that typelist, and you all can even share things with me as well! (I'll get to that soon!)

* Speaking of which, I've changed my sidebar a bit this week. I added links to some of my favorite (most popular?) categories from my blog, to make it easier to access those posts. And on the "homeschooling" link, I also included an essay on why my family has decided to home school our children. And I think I've been saying this since September, but I do have a homeschooling post swirling in my head to get to soon.

Happy Thursday, friends.

I should go away more often

There are two things in my kitchen that are lacking : (practical) working counter space and electrical outlets. So when we first moved in, the toaster had only one home--tucked underneath the counter right beside the stove. I'll get back to the toaster details in a moment.

The people who lived in this house before us, "fixed it up." There were two shades of carpeting throughout the house--baby blue and rose pink. And no two switch plate covers were the same--cows, sunflowers, hummingbirds, morning glories, pigs, pineapples. There was lots of gold and oddly ornate (gag) mantle pieces. And we won't discuss the "hillbilly wiring" that ran all around our farm--bare wires tucked into PVC pipes and run underground out to barns, sheds and workshops. 

So their kitchen "remodel" involved lots gold knobs and white-plastic-y covered cabinets.

We discovered the plastic covers on our cabinets thanks to the location of the toaster. After several weeks of use, the toaster heated the cabinet doors, which in turn melted the plastic laminate covering on the cupboards and caused it to pull away from the wooden cabinet frame underneath.

Soon, I began to discover places all around my kitchen where this white cover was peeling away from the cabinets. It was like a nasty hangnail--so tempting to pull off, but painful (to look at) if you did.

Dan would often casually mention that he could probably heat the covers off the cabinets and paint them any color I wanted. Some day. I knew this wasn't high on the "to-do" list--seeing as the basement is so wet it causes our living room books to mildew, I still turn on my shower with a wrench and pair of pliers, the door on the chicken coop is about to fall off, and we still don't have enough firewood for winter. 

But it never fails that if the girls and I disappear for a day or two, Dan always gets into some project, like the headboard he made me one weekend when the girls and I slipped over to my mom's house for a visit.

It is always exciting to come home and see how he's rearranged furniture, what pictures have been added to the family wall, how much of the laundry he's gotten done, or what toys have "mysteriously" disappeared.

But this weekend, while I was rediscovering my family's history and he was taking care of three girls, the house, the animals and the cleaning...he also managed to melt off the ugly white plastic laminate and repaint ALL my kitchen cupboards.

I don't know how he does it.

And even though my kitchen still has no great counter space, vinyl floor that always looks dirty even when it's clean and popcorn-textured ceilings, I'm in love. With my husband, of course, and my new happy kitchen.

rookie mistakes

Several years ago, when we lived in Wisconsin, the local craft store around the corner from my house went out of business. In the back of that little craft store was an overwhelming selection of yarns. I suppose when you live in a place with a long, hard winter you must knit your way through it.

I watched the signs on the doors and waited, as each week the prices lowered. "EVERYTHING MUST GO. 50% OFF STOREWIDE."

I decided that the 50% off weekend would be my day to step into the shop and see what I could find.

The place looked like it had been ransacked. Every box from the back warehouse brought out into the store, left open and unpacked. Decorations and trinkets from every holiday of the year. The store was jammed with people. Sashaying sideways to get past customers digging in boxes was always necessary.

I made my way to the back, to the huge selection of yarn and realized I wasn't the only person who had this idea. The place was packed. Women were grabbing yarn by the armloads and stuffing it into their carts.

Like diving into a freezing cold lake, I took a deep breath and dove into the madness.

Now personally, I tend to shut down in these kinds of situations. I'm not the aggressive, elbowing, shoving, anything goes for a good deal kind of shopper. And I felt myself glazing over. Overwhelmed with the scene before me.

When I walked out of the store with two large bags full of yarn and every imaginable knitting accoutrement known to exist, I was feeling quite good about myself.

But it wasn't until weeks later, when I had become inspired by a project I needed to begin right that very minute, that I realized my rookie (or glazed over by the crazy crowds) mistake. I had only purchased one or two skeins of each thing I threw in my cart.

In my dazed state I must have walked through the rows of yarn tossing one or two skeins into my bag without any thought to the fact that maybe, just maybe, I'd want to make something slightly bigger than a cowl or pair of infant mittens?!

I can just picture myself: This is pretty. Toss. Oh! This is pretty, too! Toss. Toss. 

I wonder if the ladies were snickering behind my back....

So now, in my basement (actually my dad's basement b/c I have no storage) sit two large plastic storage tubs of single skeins of yarn.

Lovely. And oh so unpractical. 

So when I became reacquainted with the One Skein book last week, and saw the felted bowls and took a little visit down to my tubs of neglected single skeins down in the basement, I decided that I would felt and "single skein" my way through these balls of yarn.

I grabbed the bright, electric, pumpkin orange (don't ask, because I have no idea) ball of yarn first because it was the same type of yarn called for in the pattern. Except I didn't have the pattern in front of me because the book wasn't mine and I was just too anxious to give this a try. I simply cast some stitches on the needles and started decreasing haphazardly in a "bowlish-hatish" shape. 

And then I felted. Which is amazingly exciting and relaxing and also works wonders if you have poor hand circulation and they are always purplish-cold.

But apparently not every color felts the same. And apparently bright pumpkin orange is one of those colors that doesn't like to felt completely.

But now my "bowl" makes a great doll hat. A quite sophisticated doll hat, in fact.

And I have plenty more skeins where that one came from.

I foresee dishpan hands in my future....

there and back again

This weekend, I did something that fell into two categories...something I haven't done in a really long time, and something I've always wanted to do.

On Friday morning, I packed my bags (equal parts knitting/camera supplies and clothing), waved goodbye to my three little girls and headed out on the road with my dear cousin Maggie. We were on a little pilgrimage of sorts--the something I've always wanted to do. We took a long weekend away to visit our other dear cousin Catherine and experience first-hand some of our family history.

We saw the homes that my father, grandmother, grandfather, and other "great-greats" grew up in or called home. We stood on the shores of the bay where my grandmother once played and sailed. We visited gravestones, yacht clubs, cottages and main streets.

We hoisted each other over tall privacy fences to snap pictures and get closer looks.

We sat around, knitting in our laps, watching old movies and slide shows mourning, yet adoring the loved ones we've lost.

We laughed until our sides ached.

We cried some more.

I tried to figure out a way to really describe my weekend away, but I am truly left without words. It feels like something that can only be understood by a handful of people who know what I know, have known what I have known and long for the same things I long for.

But I can tell you, that getting to experience my family's history in such a tangible way has left a deep impression on my heart.

I haven't done something like this in a very long time, leaving all my babes behind and going somewhere by myself. But I am returning with a sense of refreshment, contentment and a joyful sorrow that has been escaping me for quite some time.

normal is good

I read this quote last week on Ali's blog and it has left a serious impression on me. I don't know what it is about these words, but they really were the thing that I needed to hear.

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.

I think that sometimes, I get too thrown off by a slight bump in the road, an unexpected mess, a bit of disobedience, a forgotten errand or ingredient, an argument between little girls. I forget that these things are just part of life. These things are part of a normal day.

And while I strongly believe that each day holds bits that are glorious, and sweet, and tender and darn near perfect--a normal day, I'm reminded--is an excellent thing. It is something to be celebrated, and recognized for what it is.

Maybe I shouldn't open this can of worms, but I think the search for "some rare and perfect tomorrow" can be one of the downsides of blogging and blog reading. Because it is true, we pick and choose what we share, what we photograph, the stories we tell. We often capture moments that look like bliss. We zoom in on the children playing happily and don't zoom out on the piles of laundry on the sofa and the ping-pong-sized dust balls scampering around under the furniture.

And that's okay. If blogging were only about those piles of laundry and dust bunnies, it would lose a lot of its inspiration. And the celebration of those blissful days and moments and creativity is important.

But if we think that everyone is having a "rare and perfect tomorrow" but us, then we are beginning to lose perspective. If we think our day was less than wonderful just because it was "normal," than we need to step back and take a look at what is good and healthy and what is part of our every day lives.

And though I've somehow managed to change my pronouns from "I" to "we", I'm still mostly talking to myself. 

And on some days, when we may be lamenting "normal", there is someone else, somewhere, who is longing for just a little taste of normal once again.

So I hope you know, that this post is written for me. And that when I sat down to write this post, my intention was to only share the quote. I guess I had more to say. And I don't mean this to be a trashing of blogging because those thoughts showed up as I was writing. But lately, I've found myself really trying to keep my blogging habits in perspective.

Mostly I want this post and this quote to be an encouragement. Because while it left me thinking, it really encouraged me as well.

And this last week, I've really been enjoying my normal. Both the wonderful little nearly-perfect moments, the chaotic moments, and the mundane ones, too. Because they all make up my normal.

And normal is good.

pregnancy brain?

I promise. I closed the comments. I picked the random winner. I had all the links open in my browser.

But oops! I forget one small eensy-weensy detail. I forgot to post the results. So sorry. Can we chalk it up to pregnancy brain? An excuse I've found myself using for the third time in the last week.

The winner of the Lettergirl Giveaway is:

Nili who said :

wonderful! the days of letters and personal mail are getting shorter and shorter...her work is beautiful!

Nili, please contact Gina directly: gina (at) sekelsky (dot) com  and she'll work out the details. Congratulations Nili and thank you Gina!

a day like this

Saturday afternoon, Dan headed over to my Grandpa Sayre's farm to chop and split some wood. He took Mary and Emma with him. When Elizabeth woke up from her nap, she was heartbroken, that everyone had gone to Grandpa's without her. So we jumped in the car together and headed over.

We got there, just as the first hints of nightfall were arriving. The sun was leaving it's warming golden glow on every hillside and slipping between the trees.

I'm so glad I thought to throw the camera in the front seat of the car with me because I couldn't even make it up Grandpa's long driveway without having to pull over and take a few photographs.

When we finally pulled into the house, I could hear the chain saw, but couldn't see Dan anywhere. Down over the steep back hill, I found him slowly taking apart a downed Ash tree.

Elizabeth and I started the hike over the hill, knowing (and thankful) that we could get a ride back to the top in the truck. The girls met us from behind a few strides down the hill--they'd been down in the barn, jumping in the corn and checking out the cows.

When Dan finished, and we finally got back up to Grandpa's house, he came out to say goodbye. We stood there for a long time, the girls playing in the back of the truck, Grandpa and Dan talking about property lines, woodburners, farming and politics.

And I stood back, making sure no one toppled out of the truck bed and soaking in the scenery as the light changed from golden yellow to deep blues, to pink, to dark purple. 

At one point I stood with the sun setting at one shoulder, the moon reaching into the sky at the other.

It was remarkable.

Grandpa told the girls how, on nights like this, he comes out to those chairs and watches the clouds and waits for the deer to come out of the woods. And how just a few nights ago, he counted 37.

Some light rain finally chased us home--dirty children, a tired, sore and hungry husband.

As I pulled out of the driveway, waving to my girls sitting three across in the truck, all I could think was how blessed I am, we are. To have places like this to come to. To have views like this to cherish. To have people like Grandpa to share stories with and love. To have strong bodies to do work. Warm homes to protect us in bitter cold. And a place like this, and people like you to mark the moment, and share those feelings of fullness and contentment that come at the end of a day like this.