MommyCoddle

Letting go of the plough

I admit, that until recently, I was the kind of person who really disliked this trend of "me time". I sort of rolled my eyes and thought, "Give me a break. You are a mother. This is what you do. There is no break. No vacation. No me time."

Like many other (and much less important) things in my life, my approach to motherhood was this: Put your hand to the plough, keep your head down, get the job done.

Yes, you need breaks. Yes, you have your "moments". Yes, you'll rest sometimes. But for the most part "me" has been permanently replaced by the general "we". 

It feels like a very honorable stance. To be such a sold-out servant of your family, your husband, your children, your home. 

But with each new addition to this growing family of mine, I begin to understand this notion of needing time. The need to rest. There has to be a moment where we peel our cramped fingers from those wooden plough handles, stand up straight and stretch our backs, take our eyes off the ground and look up and feel the warmth of the sun on our face. 

This past Fall I had the privilege of taking part in one of Lisa Byrne's classes called Designed for Wellness. Lisa and I had actually spoken on the phone together before I ever thought of signing up for her class. When I was in the throes of my so-far undiagnosed post-partum depression after Birdy's birth, I sought out Lisa's wisdom and counsel as a possible solution to this strange funk I found myself unable to climb out of.

But several months later when our paths crossed again, and I signed up for her class I had different intentions. I took her class this Fall with the plan to lose some weight, learn about healthier ways to cook for my family and start making some healthy changes for everyone.

But what I walked away with from her class was completely differenet than what I set out to learn. While Lisa's class offered insight and information about all the things I hoped, what I didn't realize was how the class would really encourage and push me to look deeper into my own attitudes and perspectives. While there would be outward changes as a result of her class, most of the work was happening internally on my heart and mind. My eyes would be opened to some areas of my life that needed some real attention. 

One of those areas, brings me back to my thoughts above. While being the mother of four children (or three! or two! or one!) forces one to need a break every now and then (understatement), I learned as part of working through Lisa's course, that the time I was giving myself and marking off in my mind as "me time", as my momentary break from the duties of motherhood, was actually pretty worthless. 

I'd find myself sitting in front of the computer answering emails and sipping on a cup of tea, thinking "Yes. This is my break. This is time I have carved out and earned. This is going to refresh me." But later, when I put my mothering cap back on, I felt no different. There was no refreshment. I felt no more rested or more prepared to face the rest of the day. 

I think I walked away from Lisa's class learning a lot more about taking care of myself. And while I still battle the thought that it is so silly for me to even worry about how I'm caring for myself, I'm learning that it is the time I spend for myself that is what allows me to be a better mother, wife, person. 

I know this notion is really probably nothing new for many of you. But it was a very eye-opening moment for me. I've since begun to discover what things refill my spirit and refresh me. (FYI: It's not sipping tea and working my way through my inbox.) Some of the things are taking care of my outward self--a haircut regularly, or a long, luxurious hot shower after everyone is asleep and taking time afterwards to paint my nails or put on the good lotion. Asking my husband for a night out of the house and not feeling guilty for needing to get away for a few hours. I'm not high-maintenance. It doesn't take much. But it does take something. And definitely more than what I was doing before. 

These ideas are all kind of wrapped up in one of those New Year's Resolutions floating around in my head. To remember to tend to myself now and then. And to continue to discover what things truly refresh. And I hope you'll be encouraged to take a few moments to discover and invest in the things that refresh you as well.

**I promise I'm not working for Lisa... :) But through this course I feel like we've become good friends and she's someone I can count on for sage advice and wisdom. She has a new Designed For Wellness class beginning on January 16th. And once you join a session of her classes, you become a lifetime member of the site and are welcome to join in any other session thereafter. I whole-heartedly encourage you to consider it...**

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. 

 

The week (or two) in (Insta)review

Gathered, on my dresser. And trying to remember to see my everyday things with new eyes.

 

First-ever time stepping into an Anthropologie store. Woah.

 

Somewhere the line between outdoor-only barn cat and lounge-on-the-bed cat got very blurry.

 

Choring elf.

 

Not where I expected to be Friday morning. (Nor did I expect that elf up there to break my glasses. All in the same delightful morning.)

 

Little. Big.

 

Tea. For three.

 

The drive home never ceases to amaze.

 

Another day, another barn cat.

 

Combining is done. Fields are bare.

 

(Sunday). Saying goodbye to my grown-up girl for the rest of the week. She's off to my mom's, starting her Thanksgiving break early. (homeschool perk #432). We'll reunite tomorrow. Yay! (And me in the glasses I don't like. See above.)

 

Tucked in for the night. 

When life gets busy and full and the todo lists long, I often forget to count my blessings. While life continues to throw us curve balls and reasons to worry, really now. Truly, my cup overflows. I am blessed beyond measure and even in the hard times, there are still too many blessings to count, if I'll simply take a moment to record them in my mind and heart. 

Wishing you and your family a warm, blessed and full Thanksgiving. Thank you, my friends, for being one of the things that helps to make my cup overflow. 

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.

the week In(stagram) review

Where the noisy kids go during church.

It seemed like a perfect fit, straight from the hand-me-down bin

Guess I should have believed her when she said she was tired.

My suspicions were correct. Both of them. On the mudroom. Eating dog food.

Sneaking in a nap.

4-H meeting. Making natural ornaments for the Christmas tree we'll donate to charity. An elephant. A bird.

The best surprise times eight.

A perfect fit.

My new favorite .

Dinner with Grandpa.

 

 

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farriers & angels

When Ariel came under our care one of the first things we had to tackle was dealing with some of her drastic weight loss. We'd come to find out that she had Lymes Disease (ironically, so did Emma. Doubly ironic, they're on the same antibiotic), and another illness called Cushings Syndrome that was pretty rare for a pony of her age. 

So every day, along with her grain she gets 40 pills to deal with the Lymes (Aren't you glad you don't take pony-doses of medicine??!) and a liquid medicine by mouth. And I watch in awe as Emma administers it. Slipping an arm over her head, reaching her finger in her mouth to pull out any grass or hay and squeezing in a dose of medicine, that the pony hates. I don't get involved, because if I did, Ariel would know something was up. It's better to keep things calm and relaxed so she doesn't get worked up. 

And now the improvements in Ariel are really starting to show up. She's losing her bony look, there's even the bulge of some muscle in her back end, and we can tell--by the new spunky side she's showing--that she's feeling better, too. 

Last week, Ariel had her first farrier visit here at our house. Brooke, who, along with her husband, is the farrier at the barn where Emma rides, Ariel's temporary home before she moved here--showed up to take care of Ariel's hooves. 

It's a pretty neat process to watch. 

And Brooke's encouragement about Ariel's progress and how she just "looked happy and content" is always good to hear.

It's funny, through the big decision of taking Ariel and the learning curve (mostly mine) of having a pony under our care, I have felt more than ever that so many people are on our side. That people are rooting for us, helping us, supporting us. 

Last week, I got an email about Ariel's vet bill. The bill was a doozy. A horse-sized bill that makes one sputter and gasp just a bit. But I also knew this was part of the package. In that email I found out an "anonymous angel", who read my blog post about bringing Ariel to our home, had covered almost all of the bill. People are amazing.

God is good.

I just keep thinking for all the years of wishing and wanting and hoping that went on before Ariel was even a possibility, that patience and trust really pay off. When I get anxious about things, or want to force them to happen, my husband often reminds me to take the approach of waiting and knowing that the right doors will open. At the right time. We could have forced this pony thing to happen, or the fencing, years ago.

But we didn't.

And when the right door opened, there we were with open arms, ready to answer. 

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. 

joy in the sorrow

Last May, I shared about the passing of my friend and neighbor, Sarah. 

But one thing I didn't tell you in that story was my last "conversation" with Sarah before she died. 

Just days before, she sent me several messages through twitter (of all places) curious to know if we had any interest in her pony, Ariel. 

If you've been reading this blog long enough, you'll know that my daughter Emma is a horse girl. From her depths, the girl loves horses. Childhood "passions" come and go, but Emma's love of horses has only grown deeper roots in her little heart. 

She has been riding and taking lessons since we moved back to Maryland. I watch this video of her, four years ago and I am reminded that she has been waiting for "a pony of her own" for quite a long time. 

But a pony is no small commitment. If I had a dollar for every time I answered the question, "When do you think I'll be ready for a pony of my own?", I'd have enough dollars for seven ponies by now. Aside from being old enough for a pony, or having enough know-how, the big, glaring issue was right outside my kitchen window. 

A farm with no fencing. 

You can ask any of my close friends to know that I've been trying to figure out ways to get this little farm of ours started, to find the money in our squeezed-tight budget for fencing. (It is SO expensive!) Should I do something on kickstarter? Should I get a job? Should I make stuff and sell it on etsy?

Meanwhile, I'm telling my anxious daughter that some day the time will be right. Pray, I say. God knows your heart. And He already knows the perfect pony for you. And He knows when the time will be right. 

I often needed to remind myself of the same things. 

When Sarah sent me those series of messages, asking if we were interested, something jumped in my heart. 

Little did she know, that many of our errands brought us driving right past her house. That Emma would often get quiet in the back seat, hiding her tears--not just for a pony, but for Ariel. "She's the perfect pony for me. I don't think they have anyone riding her right now. Do you think they'd ever sell her?"  And I'd give her my same words of wisdom, which by now she could probably recite to me by heart. Pray. Wait. When the time is right....

That morning, when Sarah asked me, I immediately got on the phone with Dan. Teary, nervous. I had no idea that Sarah was just days from the end of her fight, but I knew this was one of those things she needed to settle. 

Dan simply said, "Tell her yes. We'll just have to figure the rest out."

We didn't tell Emma anything. The heartbreak if anything fell through would have been horrible. 

The man who owns the barn where Emma has been riding for the last several years said to bring Ariel there. She could stay until we were ready. For free. A gift.

But for a handful, Emma spent every morning this summer at the barn--taking care of Ariel, learning from the wonderful people who work and board their horses there, from my stepmother, who has taught her everything she knows. 

Eventually, with all this planning and fussing, she began to put the pieces together. 

"Is Ariel going to be mine?" 

Finally, last week, in the middle of the aftermath of Hurricane Irene, Ariel arrived home. 

By perfect timing (and God'd faithfulness to Emma's prayers, I believe) we found the funds for fencing. While we were in Virginia, a team of Amishmen descended on our farm and installed it.

Everything has come together. The timing is finally right. 

And there, in the midst of the sorrow of losing Sarah, is the big, bright glow of joy. She's sitting bareback on a pony grazing in my back yard. 

 

everyone has a story to tell

....about yesterday's earthquake that rattled the Mid-Atlantic. We East Coasters aren't used to such phenomenon. I was on a conference call with my Babycenter pals when the whole house started to shudder. And of course, earthquake wasn't even in my frame of reference, so I immediately thought, "This is it. This old farmhouse has finally had enough. It's falling down.This must be what it's like."

I was relieved all the girls were outside "babysitting" Birdy while I was on the phone. I ran outside, staring up at the house expecting to witness the walls and roof give way. And I thought, "Shoot. I'm still in my grey pajama pants {in my defense I'd been cleaning all morning}. My hair is a mess. I have no make-up on. And the baby is wearing soaking wet clothes from playing in the water tub."

Of course, I was slightly mistaken. My house wasn't falling down, we were just experiencing the tremors of the quake in Virginia. (Which also happens to be almost EXACTLY where we were on vacation. We even stopped for ice cream cones in Mineral.) 

And now that the earthquakes have subsided, we've moved on to the next natural disaster, waiting to see what this hurricane stirs up over the weekend....

But alas, let's discuss something much cuter....meet, Girl.

She was the special project that was included in our farm-sitting duties at my uncle's farm. Rescued when she was just a day or two old, she's been bottle-fed and cared for by their family ever since.

We saw her on her first days home, when she was refusing to take a bottle. Her legs like little twigs. I never imagined them to be so fragile. But now, having mastered the bottle, she's thriving. 

Girl hangs out in the fields around my uncle's farm and comes in around the same time each day when she's feeling hungry. Some days she'd be eagerly waiting on the front porch, another day I only found her by the tiny brown ears sticking up out of the bean field. 

These are the moments when I want to take my childrens' little faces in my hands, look them square in the eyes and say, "Do you realize how special this is? Do you realize how blessed you are, to be doing this?"

If there's one thing I want to instill in them, it's gratitude for these moments they experience almost every day, for the views out our kitchen window, for the open spaces to explore and run. For the closeness they have to the natural world around them. 

I'll probably regret this...

But, it's Friday. And I have a million things to do. And an impending school year breathing down my neck. And mountains of laundry STILL from vacation. And dishes in the kitchen sink. And a messy house.

So, what's a girl to do? Why, make silly movies on her iPad of course! 

And FYI, there's a fan blowing on us (not good for sound quality).

And we are flopped on our tummies on my bed (not good for keeping both faces in the frame of the movie). 

So, with apologies to Adele and Taylor Swift....from the depths of procrastination....

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.

radio silence

Hello friends. 

I'm going "radio silence" for the week. It is hard to wrap my head around the fact that August is here already and summer is winding down. So I'm taking this week to plunge into summer and maybe even do a little pondering about plans for the Fall. 

Have a wonderful week. Happy Summering.

more soon....

molly

some things you might like

On Monday evening, we packed up the kids and headed out to our town's 4th of July parade. I admit, this is the first town parade we've attended since we moved here. Generally, our 4th weekend is overrun with a lot of family in town, but this weekend was a quieter one. So we had the chance to make our own fun. I swear these parades make you kinda fall in love with your little town. It also gives you the chance to become acquainted with every dance group and baton-twirling troupe your town has to offer. Though personally, I found the cloggers to be where it's at. 

I also spent some time catching up online and on pinterest over the weekend....here are a few lovely things you might enjoy:

Amanda's post this morning : Yes, I LOVE the chair. But I so get that last paragraph, about the need to just make, even when there are so many other "musts" awaiting your time. 

(In)courage : 16 Ways to Find Personal Rest : I really need to be better about number 6. Finding a babysitter. I really don't have a babysitter for my children outside of family....can you believe it? I could use a good, trustworthy babysitter. 

I am absolutely ADDICTED to making these bracelets. They are so fun. If you can finger knit (or even if you can't), you'll love these. I have since passed my addiction on to the girls. 

Homemade mozzarella. Enough said.

Choose a chore. I'm always looking for ways to keep it interesting.

DIY Blue Glass Canning Jars. This is a drop everything and try it craft. 

Love this ring. Thinking it might get caught on everything, but still love it. 

Isn't this the truth??

This is wedding weekend. I'm thinking of wearing my hair in something like this. Thoughts?

And one more good thing that I don't want to forget....yesterday afternoon as Emma was flying out the door to go to the barn she said to me, "Oh, Mom. My room isn't as messy as it looks. I'm just airing out my clothes. Bye!!" 

If that's what "airing out" looks like, than apparently my whole house is "airing out"....off to find some order in the madness. 

Have any goodness to share? Leave it in the comments, if you please!

Happy Wednesday, friends!

 

rejoice evermore

This post originally appeared on my blog in August of 2008.  On this 4th of July, revisiting these sentiments of John Adams, which had such a profound effect on me almost three years ago--feels like a good thing to do.

Last night, Dan and I finished watching the HBO Films series John Adams. I think this last episode was my favorite. It was the only where I cried, but it was also so much about Abigail and John Adams reflecting on their lives as they reached the end of them.

In a final scene, John Adams is walking along a cornfield at dusk with his son, Thomas. His wife has died, all of his peers but Thomas Jefferson have passed away and this is what he has to stay:

"Still, still I am not weary of life. Strangely. I have hope. You take away hope and what remains? What pleasures? I have seen a queen of France with eighteen million levers of diamonds on her persons, but I declare that all the charms of her face and figure, added to all the glitter of her jewels, did not impress me as much as that little shrub. (pointing with his walking stick to a small white flower in the field.)
Now my mother always said that I never delighted enough in the mundane, but now I find that if I look at even the smallest thing...my imagination begins to roam the Milky Way. Rejoice evermore. Rejoice Evermore! ...REJOICE! EVERMORE! I wish that had always been in my heart and on my tongue. I am filled with an irresistible impulse to fall on my knees right here in admiration....If only my knees would bend like they used to. "

Must we reach the end of our days for us to find delight in the mundane? For our hearts to rejoice at all times? For the smallest flower to stir our imagination? I surely hope not.

Tonight, I noticed the cool breeze on my bare skin, a group of dark cattle grazing on the hill below the old stone church, my children running and falling and laughing in the grass with their father, a moment of quiet, just for me.

Those words of John Adams stirred something inside me. They once again reminded me to fill my heart and my days with thankfulness, hope, joy, curiosity. To take pleasure in the smallest flower, the most mundane tasks oftentimes repeated day after day after day. To notice. To not grow weary.

Life is full of so many pleasures.

Rejoice Evermore.