cute things.

Boys with dimples, being so excited about new lights for a new season of dark evenings…

…and who begged to rearrange their beds so they’re almost touching. Despite the utter awkwardness of the arrangement, who could say no to brothers who are best friends?

Spun-gold hair. It just gets lovelier.

Siblings chats. Very serious.

And last. I mean, come on.

Lots and lots of cute things. Not always the first thing I see when I take note of life around me, but goodness. It’s a treasure trove of adorable people here in my world.

all in a week.

What a week!

One week ago, these fine young gents were trying out the window seating at the Canton Bagelry, which was then open only to adorable children related by blood to Mr. Dunphey or Ockrin.

At 2:30am Monday morning, the Mister and I turned off the lights and locked the door behind us, completing a grueling summer of preparation by Ryan and Gabe and so many others. Done, ready. Launch.

(Another tractor pic? Oh yes. You have no idea.)

Cue the next four days: sick babies and mama.

Yes, I cut flowers for the sake of sanity.

Sometimes she would sleep for 15 minutes. Pretty girl.

Sometimes she didn’t sleep. But then I could just eat this.

One of my kids has a sense of humor, apparently.

Then we started to feel better. We even did our Friday errands, which included peaches!

And I’m not big into the ombre trend, but when I cut into this tomato, I repented of my ways and declared it the most beautiful thing in the world.

Just in case I thought this week was going to end with quiet and calm, Beatrice had an accident that had me driving her to the ER for stitches this morning.

Whew. I’m not a whirlwind kind of girl. But apparently this isn’t my universe, so things don’t always cater to my temperament. I am going to go out on a limb, though, and say that I’m hoping to slowly start school on Monday. A fresh set of colored pencils, brand new composition books, and Mama creating a little semblance of order-on-a-page (hoping to make up for the tangled-mess-in-my-brain) is all that these great kids need to get excited about a new school year.

After the last few weeks, I’ll hold my hopes for Monday loosely. Better to hold tight to the right things: Jesus.

where did it go?

And by “it”, I mean summer.

It is, you know, almost a week into September, and I’m still just sort of standing here clueless, saying, “Wha–?”

A strange summer. Even my photos reflect the helter-skelter life lived these last few months: uploaded in bizarre and random fashion, almost impossible to sort.

Tonight I just browse through. Smile. Laugh. Cry a little because you know? It was a blur. But it was full of joy.

My dad rescued me when I was having tractor troubles — over and over. And over.

Matching dresses. And a little too much love.

“Take our picture, Mom, can you?”

Two sleepy-head girls after several nights of being out late while I helped Ryan.

Just a smidgen of the abundant joy I have.

(Not pictured: the redeeming work of Jesus in my heart every day, and the presence of the Holy Spirit indwelling this frail, undeserving soul every moment. Joy unspeakable.)

Beatrice is 3

Last Sunday, the 17th, was the beginning of birthday season at our house. All but me will celebrate birthdays by October 21st. Suffice to say, my heart is both bursting and weeping by November (New grades? New ages? This melancholy Mama can’t take it!)

Beatrice starts off the birthday parade.

In my head, I still think we’re somewhere around here:

Oh my. What a sweet baby.

And now she is three. My mother in law says, “That child is perfect.” If perfect allows for moments of sassiness, a recent rise in talking back (testing boundaries, anyone?), and the occasional meltdown, then yes, she’s perfect. She loves people. She loves laughing. She loves telling stories. She loves singing. She loves singing conversations instead of just plain talking — we sing back and forth all the time. She loves her new baby doll and her spinny-est dresses. She loves to boss her brothers around (ahem), and loves nothing more than to go somewhere with her daddy. She loves to pray for every person who comes to her mind. She loves to pick the wild blackcaps in our yard and makes friends with every snail she sees.

You are a joy, little girl. Every day I am thankful for you.

Even though you keep getting bigger, and you do it faster than my heart can handle.

july, part 3

Then there are the miscellaneous photo memories: We came home from Maine and took an evening walk in pajamas, because that’s what you do in the summer. Grandma and Beatrice enjoyed Grandpa’s concert in the park together. A new skirt was sewn for my dancing girl. Mornings were started on my side stoop, soaking in birds and leaf-whispers and the scent of a new day. Evenings, too, were savored. My gardens, though dry and weed-covered after one week in Maine, continued to provide blooms for the kitchen table. The CSA is again a wonderful blessing, adding color and freshness and surprise and health each week. I love it. Sour cherries were the prettiest they’ve ever seen, and hours of pitting and freezing was rewarded by the prettiest jar of pink ever. Little girls, in their last month before turning 3 and 1, were adored and snuggled and loved on. Little boys, growing bigger and sweeter each day, played hard and worked hard, loved me well and were elated every time Daddy said, “Wanna come to work with me today?” This last week, I read a book and remembered why I don’t do that very often: I can’t put it down till it’s finished. Self discipline, out the window.

*****

Monday morning dawned, and there was fresh grace. After not having a “real” (read: paper) calendar for two months, I sat down with my coffee and sketched out August.

August.

A few more weeks of footloose and fancy-free. Some more family time, beach days, visits with friends.

Two girls will have birthdays. I’ll create a chore routine, and we’ll get it in motion. Pencils will get sharpened, books will come in the mail. And then we’ll turn that calendar page and be ready to start a whole new season.

My, how it flies.

july, part 2

It really was a busy month. And right in the middle of it, on a Friday evening, Jameson reminded me of Founders’ Day, a local reenactment event. I’d told the kids we would try hard to get there, since we’d been reading about the French and Indian War over the summer, and this would help bring it to life. Ryan said, “You should go.” And so, in spite of all of the grown up things that needed my attention at home, the kids and I packed water bottles and granola bars and drove all the way to the St. Lawrence River. “That’s it?”, they said when we arrived. After driving to Maine the previous week, they were thankful!

And I was thankful we went. It was a truly lovely, peaceful, quiet, interesting, I-love-to-be-with-my-kids kinda day.