MommyCoddle

When Birdy went missing.

Last week, while I was on the phone with Emily, all the kids were outside playing. Birdy, who jumps at any opportunity to be outside, was standing at my hip crying because she was inside and everyone else was out. When her screaming to go out became too much to talk over, I hung up with Emily long enough to put Birdy in her boots and sent her outside--calling to her sisters to keep any eye on her. 

Emily and I continued to talk and I watched as some of the girls wandered back into the house. Finally, much later, Emma came in. Alone. 

Where's Birdy? I asked.

She's inside with the girls. 

No, she's not. You were watching her outside.

No one told me I was watching her. 

And then, there's that parenting moment where you get the immediate pit in your stomach. Deep, deep down you're pretty sure everything is just fine. But in a flash, you've systematically worked through every possible horrible scenario that could happen to your unattended toddler. And what steps you'll take to deal with the emergency. As well as the fact that you haven't showered and if you're going to need to now make a trip to the emergency room, you're looking pretty scruffy and maybe you'll be able to at least wash your hair in the kitchen sink before you go. 

Please. Tell me I'm not the only one who manages all these thoughts in course of 12 seconds?

But of course,  we found her.

And of course where else would she be but playing in the muddiest corner or our property, where the driveway meets the grass. Where the water gathers after every rain. And mixes with mud and stone and mulch and soil. 

And of course, she was wearing one of my favorite sweaters. And her best pair of jeans.

But who was watching her? Her very best pal.

Of course. 

hello again

This is my desk this morning.

It's actually a new little space I created for myself in the kitchen. While I try to do a few things this morning, Birdy is bringing me her stash of animals. I can hear her coming now. And she's dragging a xylophone behind her. Eventually, I'll start giving them back to her. "Back" she'll say and toddle with them back to her room. She's so meticulous. Picking up bits of trash and carrying them all the way to the kitchen trash can. Picking up her sleepers and putting them in her laundry basket. Pushing a chair under the kitchen table when she sees it out of place. I wonder how to nurture this behavior because I love it. I go a little overboard for now when she puts things where they belong. I'm hoping this will encourage her. 

Today is Monday and it marks the first day of a new "adventure" for me. It's a new writing opportunity that kinda shakes out to more than just the here and there kind of freelance writing I've been doing in the past. The work will be with Babycenter but I'll have to wait a bit to get the all-clear to give more details. Sorry. I hate it when people do that. But I'm writing about it here to let you know that there are going to be some growing pains at first. It's definitely more of a commitment. More of a job now, than a hobby. But a job I'm excited about with a company and group of people I'm so happy to be part of. And, to be completely honest, a blessing for my family--somewhat flexible, work-from-home, still homeschool my children, work with great people, add to our family's income. It really is a good thing. 

For now it feels a bit like bringing home a newborn. How it takes a bit to determine your new normal. Figuring out how you'll manage to still do laundry, make dinner and vaccuum the rugs, even though you have this little baby to care for. I know a routine will develop and I'll find ways to carve out time to get everything done. And I know, I'll be asking for help when I need it. 

So hello and thanks for listening and that's the news from Thomas Run. 

More soon, hopefully sooner...

7 Tips for taking a perfect family Christmas card photo

1. Take your photograph when your children are well-fed and rested. (Not right after church when the baby is looong overdue for a nap and everyone's low-blood sugar is resulting in impatience and grumpiness.)

2. Make sure your husband is well-fed. (Because you'll need his help to wrangle babies, arrange children, shoo chickens, and hold ponies. And if he's hungry {see above}, he'll give up on your perfect holiday photo shoot way too quickly.

3. Find a clean, white pony to add something unique and meaningful to your family's photo. (Preferrably not one that was rolling in her muddy field just as you are all walking outside to take pictures.)

4. Make sure your children are well-groomed and bathed. (or else they'll be wearing handknits in all the pictures to cover up)

5. Drain all tubs of standing water. (Because you know the baby will find them. And while you're directing the brushing of the pony and making sure noone gets stomped on by the same nervous pony, the baby will find the water and be up to her elbows in it before you turn back around.)

6. Lock in the chickens. (They distract the photographer.)

7. Remember that one of the things you love most about your family is that it's big, crazy and chaotic. But every once in awhile, you get a glimpse of almost-perfection. And there among the five hundred wacky outtakes, there'll be one that captures just that. 

 

A warmer heart

I've got a new sidekick when it comes to morning chores. 

I can't even utter the word "outside" unless I have her completely bundled. Otherwise, I'll be attempting to dress, shoe and bundle a baby squirming and wailing at the mudroom door, eager to break free from her indoor jail. 

Some days, we can't even be bothered with shoes. I'm lucky if I can get a sweater over her head and a hat secured under her chin before she's pushing through the door. 

She often brings her morning banana. I try not to think about where and how many times it is dropped. And what bits of dirt and whoknowswhat that cling to it. Or which animals she's offered a lick before taking another tiger-sized bite off the end. 

Instead of lugging her on my hip, we've discovered the garden cart makes a pretty convenient way to trek back and forth to the chicken coop. 

I put her on the concrete pad in front of the coop while I work.

She sits in the pile of chicken feed like it was a sandbox created just for her. The hens eye her cautiously, pecking around her, as she tries to feed them from her chubby palms. This must be why the hens follow her around so closely. They know she offers food.

I collect eggs, check on the babies, freshen up water, and throw clumps of soft, fresh green grass into their pen. 

When we cross back over the little wooden bridge on the way home, she is thrilled by the water running under our feet. I'm amazed at her ability to perch on the very edge of the bridge, crouched down, babbling at the water. I miss that kind of flexibility and balance. She's telling me a lot of things about that little stream. I talk back to her like I understand every word. 

Eventually, I convince her there's more to see on the other side of the bridge. But before she hits that slippery, muddy patch, I swoop her up and plop her back in our farmer's stroller. 

Her favorite friend blocks our path with a croquet ball in her mouth. A leaf dangles from her lips. She's relentless. 

If I'd let her, she'd stay out here all day. The only way I can coax her back inside is to bring the dog and a small furry kitten with me. She finally follows, waving goodbye to the crowd of animals gathered around her, like the queen of the animal kingdom.

I peel off layers, wipe her runny nose and notice her muddy sleeper-feet. And she's gone again. Disappearing into the belly of the house. Following the dog. Calling for her sisters. And I'm left to hang up sweaters, shove hats back in the basket and pry the barn boots from my feet.

The house feels warmer now than it did when we first set out this morning.

So does my heart.

Bird Dog

I wish I had adequate words to describe the relationship between these two. I mean, we knew she was a special dog from the beginning, even before her accident.

It was why we emptied our piggy banks to save her. 

But to watch these two, is to watch something pretty special. 

Wherever Ruby is, you'll find Birdy. If Ruby's sprawled out on the living room floor, you'll find Birdy settled into her chest, nestled in the crook between her paws. Ruby puts up with the riding, and tugging, and hanging on. Lip "inspections" and eye pokes. 

Birdy rolls and flops and plays on her. Ruby sits and, I believe, enjoys it. She mouths her hands gently, licks her right on the kisser. 

I'll gladly put up with the dog hair- plastered footies. I'll pick the hair out of lips and noses. I'll excuse the excessive amount of food that gets shared. I'll even, just this once, dismiss the fact that she nosed her way into the room of a sleeping baby to see if she was awake. 

She wasn't.

Happy Weekend, friends.

I'll be back Monday with something new and fun....

Maybe I should call her Catherine

We have a rooster problem.

It's nothing new around here. I've chronicled our rooster troubles many times. There was Hedgie, the original rooster at Thomas Run, who helped me overcome some childhood fears and bad blood that already existed between me and the rooster-kind. He was my favorite. But we lost him on the night we lost almost everyone. 

Then, there was Roosevelt. It took two posts to write about Roosevelt, who was last seen waddling up the center line of Thomas Run, headed for the hills (or the heavens). 

But now, there's a new problem. This Spring when I purchased half a dozen chicks from the feed mill, that were supposed to all be hens, it turned out that two of those six were not. And so we now have two large Rhode Island Red roosters courting the ladies and fighting for their affections. 

Unfortunately, these roosters are a little too full of themselves. One of them has a strong dislike for one of my favorite hens and has her quarantined to the far side of the farm. If she dares cross the stream with the rest of the hens, he attacks. 

Though that alone is enough for removal from Thomas Run, it is the latest offense that is even more inexcusable. 

The roosters have set their sites on Birdy.

The first time it happened the scene was pretty confusing. There was some commotion. Birdy was on the ground crying. The rooster was near but I didn't put it all together.

The second time, I was standing right there--as he came up behind her, head bowed, feathers splayed, doing his little dance.  He jumped up, pecking her on the back of the head and knocking her onto the ground. I was too far away to do anything but shout. And it didn't deter him.

He must think she's one of his hens.

And yesterday, he did it again. 

The funny thing is, I don't think Birdy has any idea who or what is randomly coming up behind her and knocking her to the ground. She still happily wanders around behind the chickens, hands outstretched, calling them kitty. (We're working on it. Kitty. Chicky. She'll get there eventually.)

It makes time outside a little nerve-wracking. Always on the watch for the courting rooster who has a crush on Birdy.  Maybe I should start referring to her as Catherine around the hens, to keep the confusion to a minimum. 

But, alas, I sent my husband another one of those emails yesterday:

The roosters must go. 

the new calm

Last Tuesday marked the Offical First Day of homeschool for us.

I love the start of a new school year in the same way I love January first. The fresh start. Time to make new plans, new resolutions. Time to get organized and simplify. (An excuse to buy a new calendar, moleskine and favorite pens .)

But last Monday, as the "first day of school" loomed ever closer, I was a crazed madwoman. I felt this pressure to have everything in place before the Big First Day. I needed every detail worked out and decided. I needed to have every paper copied, every hole punched, every note read. 

On top of that, I needed my house to be perfect. Clutter gone. Floors mopped. Floorboards wiped. Closets cleaned out. Every speck of laundry washed, folded and put away. (that never happens.) One would think I was preparing for a real estate open house, or perhaps, to have the queen for tea. A tea in which she also happened to open every closet door and inspect under my bed. 

No, silly, it's just the first day of school. 

I don't know where it was coming from, but there it was--a suffocating feeling that this was my last chance to get everything together. That if it wasn't done by bedtime Monday, it was doomed to never be accomplished. Ever. Apparently my life, as well as my ability to accomplish any mothering task outside of the classroom was somehow going to cease the moment I slipped back into my teacher-mama clothes. 

But then, hallelujah, in a moment, sitting on the edge of the tub watching a chubby baby splash carelessly in the bubbles, it struck me. That this craziness was nonsense. Big time. That I needed to move forward at my own pace. That I needed to find MY rhythm. Our rhythm. 

I've often heard it said (okay, really only once, but I remember it often) that when a person starts their own business they must prepare themselves for the fact that it takes a good five years before they really have their feet under them. 

And I've always found myself applying the same logic to homeschooling. 

Last year, I wholeheartedly jumped in to a curriculum that was going to give me the structure and discpline that I felt our days so desperately needed. I wanted someone to tell me exactly what to do. I wanted a plan and a vision. I wanted to get on a path and systematically walk my way down it.

This year because of budget and because of the way that path seemed to go up a really steep hill at the end, and we got really tired and burned out, I decided to bag it. 

Instead, I consulted a good friend who knew me and my children and my needs pretty well. And who also happened to be educated and gifted in curriculum design. 

And late one night I sat in her little school room, at a tiny little kid-desk, and together we hammered out my year and figured out what seemed to fit just right. 

But what fits even more, is the sentiment behind everything we're doing. It's the new calm. 

That first day, we just jumped in. Instead of feeling the tug of the clock, we tackled bedrooms and laundry before we opened any books. It felt good to work to the hum of the washing machine running upstairs. And the sloshing of the dishwasher from the pantry. Instead of feeling the push to tackle lessons in every subject, I just let it be. We did Math, until Math was done. We read, until we didn't want to read anymore. When we got hungry, we ate. When it seemed like a good time to go check the pony, she did.  When there was an itch to practice piano, we scratched.

It's funny, how much we got accomplished. How nice the day felt. How good it is let go. How comfortable it is to seek out our rhythm versus some contrived and conceived pressure from who knows where. 

If only I would learn this lesson I apparently need to learn multiple times in this parenting journey. That so much of this happens naturally. We don't have to work so hard at it. Yes, it's work. But we're doing it. Naturally. There's goodness and learning and priceless, indespensable moments and experiences happening in every single day. Homeschool mom. Public school mom. Private school mom. It doesn't matter. It's happening for all of us. 

It's the trusting enough to let go. It's the freedom to find your own rhythm. It's the new calm. It blows through every day, if we'll only take a moment to feel it brush against our cheek. 

Goodnight, Irene.

Oh my. Hello from the long-awaited land of lights that turn on, toilets that flush, washing machines that hum, water that runs from the tap. 

Hurricane Irene hit us at 2am last weekend and by 3am, we had lost our power. By 7am, trees were still falling down, even after holding out so long through the storm. 

It was an adventure at first. So fun! So exciting! We're like pioneers! 

I had written this fun little post in my head highlighting all the great fun we were having on our adventure:

Haha! The outfits Elizabeth has been putting together when she can't find clothes in her dark bedroom!

Haha! Look at Birdy playing in the puddles!

Haha! She's so dirty! She's having such a good time!

Haha? I don't have a way to wash those clothes!

Haha? I just ruined those cute leggings!

Haha? I don't have a way to give her a bath!

By Tuesday, it was no longer fun. 

Tuesday night (I think it was Tuesday. At this point, it all becomes a blur.), we hit a low point. Little Mary was suffering from a migraine. A doozy which was accompanied by throwing up (haha! towels I can't wash!). It was pitch black in the house. Birdy was toddling around, tripping, banging herself about, screaming. Dan went to turn on the generator that had been powering our freezer, in order to at least turn on a light....Nothing. Broken. No generator. All children exhausted, crying. (I know you mamas know what it's like when ALL your children are crying simultaneously.) Mary, still sick. Grumpiness. Yes, there was much grumpiness. And all in pitch blackness. 

But you know, I believe, now that I'm on this side of it, I can probably pull a little light from this darkness. 

We talked to and helped our neighbor more in the last week, than we have in the last month. 

Driving through developments, I saw more children outside playing, than I think I ever have. It was like spotting some rare, endangered species on the side of the road.

I met neighbors up the road, that I've never even seen before. Standing outside, one lady holding her glass of wine, talking to the neighbor in his flourescent yellow tshirt--the mark of a county roads man, talking to the old man, unshaven and a little greasy (aren't we all?) whose suspenders hold up his ratty old khaki pants. And me. All of us laughing about how tough it's been. Talking about what we've done to survive.

And I thought, "We can do this. When we're put to little tests like this, we can all be pretty tough and pretty resourceful." That's not to say I didn't have my moments. That one morning, I decided to just crawl back in bed and hide for a few minutes (or maybe it was an hour). 

But we survived. We can be tough. My husband, toughest of all. We can haul water from the stream to the toilets. And take our showers in the freezing cold spring-fed pool at my granparents' farm. And eat a lot of cereal. And figure out a way to make chocolate chip pancakes even though there's no electricity.

We can do it, if we must.

But still.... hello. And still....it's good to be back.

So, so good.

what's a mom to do?

It's getting to be that time of year when we're really due for a little back to school schedule and regularity to our days. The way this is becoming most clear is in the amount of sibling bickering and pestering and picking that is going on in this house. 

My oldest is at an age where she waffles between wanting to be "all grown up", independent, aloof, and in the next moment right in the thick of the play with her younger sisters. And often those transitions can be awkward and bumpy. Everything is "so annoying", so much so that I think I am going to be banning the phrase from her vocabulary very soon. (this afternoon!)

But honestly, it's the bickering that really wears this mama down. There is no manual to motherhood and I find my own self waffling between "approaches" as well. I so desperately want them to learn to work it out themselves, to stand up for themselves, to let the little sibling-picking slide off them like water off a duck's back. I want them to learn to walk away and not be bothered. To maintain their cool. 

I don't want to always be the sounding board, the complaint department where you come to file your grievances. 

But I also have to help them work through some of these things. It's hard to know when to step in and when to step back. 

And so, this is how I know school days must return. These brains need reviving, rejuvinating and stretching. Energy needs to be expended, but in the right direction.

This school marm is sharpening her pencils. 

middle of nowhere, virginia

 

We're home.

family steps

How can you deny her?

*Please note: All kittens pictured in this post are looking for loving homes! :) *

Clever Girls Review: Beaba Bib'Expresso

You may have noticed in my sidebar, that I am part of the Clever Girls Collective. This is a great group of women bloggers that I am happy to be part of. Though I don't do many reviews on here on my blog anymore, every so often, something strikes me, and I take the opportunity to share it with all of you. This review was one of those opportunities given to me through the Clever Girls Collective. 

It probably makes me sound a bit old-fashioned and dowdy, but some of the gadgets available to modern moms are amazing. Even from the birth of my first, to today, raising my fourth the changes in gear, products, philosphies and even healthier, greener choices is astounding.

This little product I've had the chance to review is the Beaba Bib'Expresso. If baby food and baby bottles met Starbucks, I think they might give birth to the Bib'Expresso. 

The Bib'Expresso is a countertop appliance that warms water for baby bottles, perfectly warms jars of baby's food and sterilizes and stores extra bottles. 

If you can operate a coffee maker, you can work the Bib'Expresso. By simply adding water to the well at the top and pushing a button, the water is heated to a proper bottle temperature. Another button is pressed and you can dispense water into your waiting bottle. 

While convenience is a great thing, the Beaba also reduces air bubbles and hot spots in your baby's bottle.

At the back of the Bib'Expresso is a removable compartment that can be filled with water and your baby bottles, placed in the microwave for bottle sterilization. The extra bottles can then be stored in this same compartment at the back of the machine. 

If you're past the bottle stage, or if you're breastfeeding baby and have no need for bottle-prep, the Bib'Expresso also works for warming jars of baby food. Simply fill the well at the top once again, place a jar in the water well and choose your proper setting--depending on whether the food is room temp or straight from the fridge. 

While I haven't given this product a hefty, long-term workout, I have to admit, it's pretty cool. Not to mention, it's kind of cute sitting on top of my counter. With a self-cleaning option to keep the unit sanitary, it seems like a pretty interesting tool to add to a new mother's repertoire. I'm thinking of middle-of-the-night feedings, when, through sleepy eyes, it might be kind of nice to press a button and have my bottles ready. 

And while I tend to err on the side of making-do and frugality when it comes to baby gear, this might be a really fun and out-of-the-ordinary gift for a new mom (or a mother of four who deserves something modern, fresh and new.)

What do you think? Kind of fun? Practical and helpful? Or over-the-top? I'd love to hear!

The Beaba Bib'Expresso can be found at  Beaba USA, and amazon .  It retails for around $129.95

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While Béaba provided me with a Bib'expresso to review, the opinions I've expressed here are solely my own and represent my honest viewpoint. Béaba,Clever Girls Collective and I promote Blog With Integrity.

a recipe for sweet relief

Prepare yourself. Now begins the season where I need to discuss the weather constantly. Good-bye Maryland Spring, hello Maryland heat and humidity. We obviously have no air conditioning in this little gem of a farmhouse. I find myself relentlessly checking the weather, the weather maps, the hourly forecast, hoping for a break in temperatures, a drop in humidity, a good strong storm. (And dream about slipping off to an air-conditioned condo in the city. I've said that before, haven't I ?) 

So we learn to make-do and deal with the heat. 

As little Jane Fonda here can attest, it has been pretty wicked the past several days. I'm in survival mode. I'm not above a sno-cone break in the middle of the afternoon. Cereal for dinner when it's too hot to cook or even eat. 

But one good thing that has come from this recent heat wave is my adaptation and (near) perfection of my grandmother's iced tea recipe. 

You must know that the rule in my grandmother's house was that you had to be 13 to drink the tea. It has twice the caffeine and all the sugar, so you practically need a license to drink it. But a glass of that tea, full to the brim, overflowing with ice, is enough to momentarily keep even the worst hazy humidity at bay. 

Now my grandmother had 15 children. Her version of this tea was brewed on the stove top, and poured into a giant stainless steel pitcher in her industrial-sized refrigerator. With the constant flow of children (over 13), visitors and guests, she always kept two pitchers going at the same time. 

Well, my family, with only 2 of-age drinkers, doesn't quite need the same volume of iced tea. 

I also didn't want to boil water. I'm that lazy in this weather. And I wanted to see if I could make a small concentrated version as my starting point. 

So my recipe is your recipe. You can thank me later. 

ICED TEA FOR THE OVER 13 CROWD

Fill a quart canning jar with cold water. 

Add 3 large tea bags. ( I generally use Lipton and the bags I used are the jumbo-sized ones about the size of your palm. But any bag will do, you'll just have to tweak the amount.)

Screw the lid on the jar, securing the bags and set in a sunny spot outside.

Let your tea get a good sun tan. No really, a long steep is critical to this tea. I put mine out in the afternoon and bring it in the next afternoon. Almost a full 24 hour steep. You want it nice and dark.

Remove the bags and dump your tea concentrate plus 2 more quart jars of cold water into a pitcher.

Add 1/2 cup of sugar

Add a generous 3/4ths of a 12 ounce can of frozen lemonade concentrate**

Stir well.

Get a large glass of ice, a sprig of mint and thirst be-gone!

**I hate to waste that last little bit of lemonade concentrate in the bottom of the can. Dump it into your quart jar, fill it up with cold water. Put the lid on and give it a good shake. And take it out to your husband--who's dripping in sweat while chopping wood for WINTER!

strawberry whine