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Oh, Deer!

Here's a fellow we met this morning, him and three companions. That stretch of asphalt is our driveway.

Fish and St. Nick hurried to the window, but poor Mud Pie was getting dressed. She did catch a final glimpse, so excited she rushed down in the buff, and then had to hurry upstairs to put some clothes on!

A Week Gone By

Was it just day three the last time I posted? I guess so, but I've drafted a thousand posts in my head between then and now. Some of them might have had titles like, "When dryers don't dry" or "what to do with kids while dryer-fixers are swarming through the house" or "dishwashers that work; dryers that don't" or maybe "BUGS! They live in the forest, too."

It's been an incredibly busy and wonderful two-ish weeks. I got a dishwasher installed today (took two hours of the man's time), the next dryer guy is coming tomorrow, and we've gone stomping through the woods several times. The kids think the long driveway is their private bike path. And in a way it is. My mother has gotten lost going home from our place (at night, I'll credit her) not once, not twice, but three times. And Dr. D and I went out last week Saturday for a movie (can't recall the name) and dinner at a posh country club that made me wonder why people spend money that way because I make a better salad and the artichoke dip at Gaia House is about ten million times better. But whatever. We had a gift certificate.

I'm already hooked on this place. Even with the dryer and the creepy-crawly wildlife that winds up inside far more often than I'd like. The UPS guy lingered in the driveway, chatting away and looking at the trees, experiencing the solace. I feel tremendously privileged to have this house, this land. Some go to cottages to experience nature and peace - I have it all around me, every day. I know nothing I've done merits this sort of gift, but that is the nature of Grace, isn't it?

And a little surprise - dishwasher installer found all sorts of mouse "presents" in the basement ceiling. Old? New? Have no idea. I haven't heard mice or seen them. But maybe mice mean I can convince Dr. D to get a cat! Fish and Pie (and St. Nick, when he's not too cool to be excited about things) would be elated. Off to check the homeless pet database!

Day Two - Can it be?

Can it be that we're almost moved? I'm sitting here on the couch, which is the only piece of furniture left in this room. Well, except for two disassembled beds. Lamps are on the floor, the dining room is entirely empty. Wow.

My arms - they look like I've been through a boxing match - all scrapes and bruises, but I guess I just really get into my moving. My muscles sure agree with that statement, and they're sooo glad there are movers coming tomorrow for the really nasty items.

One big surprise: although the new house is a totally different style than our current one, our furniture actually looks good in it. The colors of the wood, the lines. It works.

Fading fast, so I guess this'll be it for intelligent commentary. Oh, except, why do some people feel the need to say whatever moronic thing comes into their heads? We've had a few folk see the new place (friends who have helped us in, mostly), and one person just couldn't keep from mentioning things like, "You'll need to put bells on the kids so you know where they are!" and "Well, that's a lot more lawn to mow." And "Did you know your bathroom door sticks?"

I'm probably just being oversensitive - I am exhausted - but honestly, would I not have noticed the increase in yard or the sticking door? I won't divulge who this person is, but let's just say, I really shouldn't expect anything else. Yet I always do. Dumb me.

Day 1 Survived

We're splitting moving into three + days. Day one was loading the rental truck, mostly with boxed items like books (see previous post). Day two involves friends of Dr. D loading small-ish furniture items and any remaining boxes (only a couple from the basement - mostly canning jars). And day three is Monday, and will be wonderful professional movers taking the real backbreaking items like the treadmill and sleeper sofa.

Day 1 was a huge success! Not only did we have the truck half loaded by the time any helpers arrived, we fit all the major boxes and some furniture items on there! And we had an extra helper to unload at the new place. It could not have gone more smoothly. This house, though. It's so empty and echo-y. The dining room has just our small kitchen table in it, and a highchair. The living room is missing the rug and several items. I am glad to be moving, but it's a little bittersweet. I'll miss the crown molding and the stained glass windows, the huge mantle and the custom painting in the dining room that took me about two dozen hours to complete. I've taken lots of photos, and I'll take more before we leave, but I know memory will fade, even with pictures to help keep it fresh.

Combine the sorrow of leaving a place where two of our three children were born (literally) with giddy expectation for the new house and what do you get? A sleepless night! We spent some time in the new place, and as with every single visit, simply walking in the door feels like coming home. So many things are different in a wonderful way. A driveway! A garage! A family room off the kitchen/dining area! Acres of land to explore! A deck! Even a hot tub! I sent the kids outside last night and when I wandered to the end of the drive to tell them it was time to go, what did I find? All three with stained fingers, shirts, mouths - they'd found the wild blackberry bushes. Oh, yes. This is well worth my aching arms and legs, well worth three days of flux.

Now for Moving Day 2.

On children...

R. Scott Rodin writes (from the forthcoming Stewardship Resource Bible):

Children are a gift from God (even in their twos and those teenage years). They are never "ours" in the sense that we have an absolute right of ownership over them. Our children can never be considered in abstracto from their relationship to us as God's gift to be stewarded and cherished. How tragic is our human history of abusing, manipulating, devaluing, and ultimately destroying the lives of the children entrusted to us by God. What impact would it have on our world if parents saw their children as precious gifts from God that require our loving and committed stewardship?

What a convicting lesson. It is far too easy for me to forget this, especially when I'm surrounded by culture that outsources every task of parenting to others, from saying good morning to the goodnight kiss. They need this assistance, they say, to "get a break" from these little beasts who have put a damper on the fun of life. And having children does change life.

I'll admit, Fish and Mud Pie's constant bickering drives me to distraction, especially when I'm so ill. And St. Nick's endless energy (except now that he's sick too) can exhaust me. This past week (or two, or more) has been challenging, not just in the "getting better" department. It's been hard not to resent the runny noses and constant demands. The little beings who don't stop or even slow down when I'm barely able to attend to them. If anything, my illness or fear or distraction makes them all the more desperate for affection, which heightens the tension. Only, it doesn't have to.

It's my prayer that Dr. D and I will always remember that these lives are entrusted to us, and our responsibility in raising them is a sacred act of devotion. Both to them and to God.

Grace Notes

Homeschooling has been a bit of a drag the past few weeks. Our warm, beautiful spring turned back to snow; St. Nick has been hard to motivate because he's developed a single-minded fixation on Legos; Little Fish and Mud Pie have been ill. I also tend to beat myself up over little things - I don't run around very much so we don't go on educational outings more than once a month or so; my friend got caterpillars (yes, HeartMom, I mean you!) and the mere thought of caterpillars in the house sends shivers of horror up my spine. How can I be a good homeschooling mom if I don't leave the house? If I don't buy caterpillars?

I'd pretty much convinced myself that I wasn't a good homeschooling mom at all.

And then yesterday, before the snowstorm hit, I sent the boys out to play in the mud yard. Suddenly St. Nick hollered, "I found a baby porcupine! A baby porcupine is on the stairs!"

It wasn't a porcupine, although I can certainly see why he'd think it was. It was one of these not-so-little guys (those aren't blades of grass - they're tulip greens!):

Ewww.

And what is doubly amazing, is that I actually helped St. Nick make a habitat and put the critter in it (or rather, watched while he put the critter in it). It's now on our dining room window ledge, happily munching away on ivy and tulip leaves. A caterpillar! A real, live caterpillar that we will grow and watch turn into a moth!

I don't tend to read deeply spiritual meanings into everyday events, but I couldn't help but pray a quiet 'Thank You' for the one thing that would most encourage me in this homeschooling journey. A little Note of Grace, proof that God is there, and He does care, sent quite literally to my very doorstep.

Some caterpillar links:
NPWRC information on caterpillars.
Wikipedia on the Giant Leopard Moth (which we think this guy will become).
Bug Guide: A source for more great pictures of this and other creepy-crawlies. (Another picture.)

What I Learned on my Summer Vacation

 

1. Toddlers have an inborn fear of water. They also develop unnatural attachments to their life jackets, and so refuse to take them off, even at mealtimes. (Or at least my toddler did. Little Fish spent a day standing on shore, watching the big kids swim. And he loved every minute of it.)

2. Big kids have more sense than I give them credit for (that is—a very little, which is still more than none at all). St. Nick never pushed his brother in the water, never fell in the water, never jumped in the water, never ventured into the deeps. He inherited my hesitation. He’ll get over it, but hopefully not for a few more years.

3. All cottages should come equipped not just with maids and chefs, but also with nannies.

4. But since they don’t, it’s okay not to know where all six (combined) kids are at any given moment.

5. It’s also okay to see an assortment of fearsome insects indoors. It’s a cottage—this is expected. The frog climbing up the window behind my husband’s head was a bit more of a surprise.

6. Frogs are every bit as amazing to grownups as they are to kids.

7. Macs may indeed be superior to PCs.

8. Even my husband agrees my swimsuit looks horrid (floral and skirted), but agrees it does not make me look fat. A workable trade-off, I think.

Does this fender make my butt look big?

9. The fragrant breeze on the sun porch at 1am has the power to transport me to summer camp when I was eight. Early morning swimming lessons (which I failed), angst-ridden walks to the bathhouse in the dark, lonely hours in the cabin while the other girls swim with their friends. How good to be an adult, but how easily I remember those anxieties of childhood.

10. Babies will sleep anywhere.

11. Pete’s Strawberry Blonde tastes even better with friends.

12. Cloves still give me a stomachache.

13. Two men and four kids in a rowboat is a sight to behold.

14. Even first thing in the morning, after little sleep and with no makeup, my friend is still beautiful.

15. And even though she’s beautiful, my husband still looks only at me.

16. We have been blessed with incredible, fun, creative, cool, talented friends.

It was a magical weekend, both for us and for the children. I don’t think I have ever seen the kids so happy, or so tired. But there is one final thing I learned this weekend.

17. My world is too small; there are too many things I do not know and now long to know.

I long to row to the middle of the lake at midnight, and listen.
I long to wait there and watch dawn rise into the rippling bowl.
I long to slide down the hill in a toboggan in winter—with or without the kids.
I long to capture the magic. To hold on to it so it will never fade. I long to hold the glow on the children’s faces, to keep fresh the longing in my own heart. But no matter how many words I use, or how many photographs I take, the brilliance of the moment will fade, as it must.

This is the nature of magic.