Post Category → family

november photos

Time is always flying, but this year it’s definitely taking me by surprise. There are Christmas trees being gotten, so I suppose it’s time to wrap up all things harvest/autumn/Thanksgiving related. Another fall: over. Check. Done.

Quick photo dump before I turn the page and dive into Christmas:


It only took 9.5 years, but at long last, Ryan loves apple pie. Maybe even more than brownies? But definitely not more than ice cream. (He’s a Dunphey, after all!)


Not enough of this, but I enjoyed every pause that books afforded.


This. *sigh* Two brothers who were too excited about the Thanksgiving books to not read them together in bed. Asleep mid-story.


This one, growing up so quickly. Introducing a bit of running, and even some dancing, into her routine.



A first snow that was for real. None of this float-in-the-sky-but-never-land stuff. The kids were ecstatic.


Having to leave for the evening, and coming home to Fiona in her happy place, snuggled up against Nana.


A birthday party for the “twin cousins” that was too much fun.


No words.


More often than not, the only family dinners happen around one of these tables. Usually Ryan is working behind a counter and we just are happy to smile at him while we eat on a Sunday afternoon, but this time we were there after hours. Music up, happy kids, custom-made bagel sandwiches, and 6 of us all together.


Fiona, caught red-handed in toilet paper fiascos.


Growing in diligence. Blocking out the distraction of children playing in the next room, and diligently doing his work.


And Thanksgiving. A day of food and family and togetherness. Thankful.

november: snow, apples, thanks, books

from yesterday:

The snow flew today. It didn’t land, but it will, soon. I thought I wasn’t ready for winter, for cold, for the longness of it all, but when I woke this morning to hues of periwinkle and silver and rose — where yesterday it was all kelly and brown — I was smitten all over again.

*****

I happily drove home with butter in my van — butter that started as grass growing in a field 20 miles away, eaten by cows well-cared for, faithfully milked, never chemically assaulted or added to. I mixed in flour and sugar. Jameson and I cut locally-grown apples, he clumsily but determinedly mimicking my actions, proud as his hands learned the movements. We’ll eat pie tonight. It may be all we eat, at this rate, but it’ll be good.

*****

We listen to this play list as we slice. William colors a portrait of George Washington, and we talk about “those days” and all together — this November sky, these apples, that flute — it makes me breathe slow and deep and smile.

*****

Last week I took out the remaining fall decorations: pilgrim figurines and their stories. We recited Psalm 100 this week, remembering those familiar paths of praise and thanksgiving. And we recounted the story of the people — people like us, with natures like ours, whose bodies felt hunger and cold and loneliness and despair just like ours — who persevered through great difficulty and at the end gave thanks. Homes burned, men imprisoned, fleeing to a strange nation, selling all to travel a harrowing ocean-journey, braving shadowy fears and very-real impossibilities, watching half their numbers breathe their last, and then waving bravely as their last chance to just give up sailed back across wide waters. And through it all, thankful. Because God. They were not perfect, but neither am I. In this is the greatest challenge to me. In their raw humanity, they could have grumbled (example: Jamestown), but no. Instead, they gave thanks.

Pause.

I think it’s safe to say, I tell the children, that we can probably be thankful on our bad days. Because God. Isn’t that what makes knowing Jesus miraculous? That we are set free from the slavery of reaction, and grace is poured into our hearts that we might live by faith?

*****

I have some favorite Thanksgiving books that I thought I’d share. I like the content — some simple, some bursting with interesting facts. I like the drawings. It’s a story worth knowing by heart and setting as an example. Principle, faith, gratitude: I want to be like them when I grow up.

apple season

There’s an orchard nearby that sells delicious cider (not too sweet, just the way I like it!), crisper-than-crisp Cortlands, and APPLE CIDER DONUTS. When I say, “apple season!”, my kids hear, “DONUTS!!!”

Last Friday, we went. We held off on breakfast, because DONUTS. Our tummies rumbled, but we didn’t care. They went to bed the night before already imagining the taste of donut dunked in cider. We drove the 35 miles with sunshine, autumn’s bright blue sky, beautiful farm fields edged by just-beginning-to-turn trees, and we were loving it.

We loaded a 1/2 bushel bag with Cortlands, grabbed a gallon of cider, and without hesitation ordered 2 dozen donuts, 1 plain, 1 cinnamon-sugar, thankyouverymuch. They were still hot. Did you know that the number of donuts one can consume increases exponentially when they’re served fresh and warm? (We did not eat 24 donuts, however. Ha!)

There were errands afterward, and since it was a bit past lunchtime, we drove home via the new Bagelry, which I had yet to visit during hours of operation. We got home with enough time for some backyard football and baths for church. What a lovely, lovely day, celebrating fall’s abundance. Mostly, though, celebrating life with these beautiful kids.

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.)

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.