Post Category → just life

saying goodbye to august

We said goodbye to August this week.

Ryan came home as we were eating dinner and said, surprise! We’re going to spend a couple nights at a lake house nearby! The kids could not contain their excitement. William spent the next hour and a half cleaning up and packing and talking about how “two hours ago we thought we were just going to bed, and now we’re going to the Lake!”

It was just 48 hours, but it was really a blessing. There’s nothing quite like “waking up, and just boom, put your swimsuit on and jump in!”, as Beatrice said. Not to mention Daddy being with us for those two days. Jameson played and laughed with him out on the paddle board. William played his first solo game of chess against him. Beatrice and Fiona swam out to the dock and jumped to him. It was wonderful.

Jameson built a fire almost by himself. Fiona devoured a s’more. Cecily hated the boat ride! I got to spend a few minutes alone with each boy as others slept, watching them in the quiet take in the peaceful surroundings.

Goodbye, August.

August 24

Time for change. That’s what fall is, isn’t it?

I step outside early in the morning, hoping to greet the sun as it rises. There is no hot, humid, heaviness as I open the door, only cool stillness. No matter that the forecast predicts nearly 90* this afternoon; for now, it is chilly. My hydrangeas are slowly turning shades of rusty peach, preparing for their autumn display of deep dusty pink. Geese suddenly appear from the horizon, honking their way south. Waves of nostalgia rush over me — sadness at leaving this summer behind, the sadness of countless others summers gone before. But the simultaneous anticipation of a new year beginning: new plans, new routines, new pencils, new charts. New tights and corduroys, new backpacks and lunch bags. Even better, old sweaters and favorite wool socks. This awaits us, and more.

Still, this summer with all of its firsts and adventures and laughter and spontaneous family moments — it is about to be packed away beside all the other treasures of my heart, memories that grow dim and fuzzy with age, but somehow form the fabric of family.

Anyone else slip into deep melancholy as the morning temperatures cool?

*****

Last spring was a school semester spent welcoming a new baby, and it was everything wonderful. There is a time for everything, and the Lord really helped me to embrace a time for slow, a time for together, a time to sit and read. We did lots of our school work gathered together in the music room, just listening to Tom Sawyer, or The Odyssey, or The Bronze Bow. I watched from the window as the four children ran outside to play, having helped each other don winter gear. Math and handwriting and all those basics somehow got well covered, and we happily made our way till the end of the year.

But there were little sparks of ideas for what I would love to do this year, when perhaps our school time wouldn’t be so centered around Mama cuddling a new baby. This summer those ideas have been brewing and percolating, and being prayed over lots. What is the big picture for this year? I try to ask the Lord for His heart each year. Things as pragmatic as “reading out loud every day,” “learning to recite clearly while making eye contact”, etc. But things that go deeper, too (and often those pragmatic goals are just outworking of deeper things, like connecting one-on-one, cultivating confidence, equipping to interact with the world, hiding scripture deep in their hearts.)

This year, my over-arching desire is to tie heart strings.

I have had a picture in my mind’s eye since last winter of a gathering time each afternoon where I am doing something with all three (and maybe four, as Fiona simply won’t be denied!) children. That is their love language: Mama sitting, creating, involved, right alongside them.

My eldest son is growing. There are not so many moments left of me gathering my little chicks all in a row — sooner than I know, it will be time to let them experience independence in new ways. And so I am burdened to tie these heart strings good and strong. To look in their eyes and help their hands and spend time not just downloading information or training in chores, but with them.

So we will have fun. It will not always be easy fun — it just doesn’t work that way in real life. There will be babies crying and flour on the floor, thread tangled and fingers stabbed, messy hands and dinner burning. There will be days when our hearts are out of synch and grumpiness threatens every plan I made. But I am praying for the vision to press through all of that and teach them, in so doing, that opposition doesn’t have be the end of effort, and that they are worth it.

*****

But for now, the last days of summer beckon. We’ll tie heart strings making chalk art, eating lunch outside, and taking spontaneous walks to the river.

August 22

I want to say that this has been a perfect Monday.

But what I would really mean is that this happened to be the kind of Monday I enjoy. I have had slews of other kinds of Mondays, and you know? My times are in His hands, He has written my days in His book, and there is perfect in those other Mondays because He is there.

I’m slow to learn that. I don’t always respond that way.

I’m trying.

It certainly helps to look up from my “perfect” Monday and ponder how many people are living vastly different lives at this moment. Bombs, guns, terror. Fear, pain, abuse. Loss, tragedy, grief. Confusion, depression, hurt.

He is there.

Emmanuel, my favorite of His names. He’s right here. And He is all — all — that we need.

*****

Up and at ’em — alone. My favorite way to start a day. Get everything humming. My spirit, my mind, my oven, my washer. It doesn’t happen often and it’s a gift.

The baby fell asleep as usual, and it was cool and breezy, and I spent two hours alone (“Are you bleeding? Is the bone broken? Go outside.“) starting to really map out the start of this year. Another gift that I had asked for but not banked on.

Sweet Cecily, asleep in her little nest on the floor, since laying down and nursing is her new (not negotiable) preference. Laying down twice a day doesn’t hurt me, either. God must know stuff.

Back to the kitchen for some more cooking-ahead. Cutting into tomatoes so dense and pink, I almost cried. Silly?, but I feel like I’m viewing something miraculous when I cut into these beautiful gems.

Sitting outside to write something, anything, on this little blog, and looking up to see this bit of sweetness. Yellow flowers, blue and white sky, navy polka dots, Goldilocks hair. I have so much beauty in my season.

August 20: seasons

Two days ago, my children and I had the most wonderful morning. We put on mud boots and sneakers and headed to a dear friend’s home, where she let us bounce on trampolines, explore her secret paths, swing as high as we could on swings, and best of all, take in the beauty and abundance of her vegetable and flower gardens.

Beautiful green trees artfully planted to create shade, interest, beauty: planted 22 years ago, when they first built their house. They were looking ahead, and now their grandchildren run giggling through branches and under boughs. Friends, like me, come and hear the rustling of leaves and take in the peace of their tall green presence.

Neatly laid walkways of sandstone, cleverly built tables of sandstone. Swings built here and there. Birdhouses, paths mowed to their pond. All speaking of careful workmanship, sweat and labor, and love for beauty.

I was inspired by it all, fed by it all.

Most of all, I just took in the abundance this friend has to offer in her season of life: the abundance of gentleness, motherly care, perceptive eye, listening ear. I soak in the peacefulness of a woman whose roots have gone deep into the Lord, whose surroundings speak of contentment and thankfulness, and who freely gives out of a deep acknowledgement that God has made her to nurture.

I find such beauty in the seasons God brings us to.

Every day, I look to see the beauty of this, my season — and it is everywhere. It is messy, perhaps, and there are tears and sorrows and sin that mar the image, but even there, beauty grows in the form of the gospel.

I see my mother’s season, I see my friend’s season (and other friends whom I am privileged to know), and there is so much beauty there, too. There is the visible beauty: perhaps a tidier home, more time to create order (and less to disrupt!), new freedom to explore gifting and talents and see them flourish in new ways. To say that I am blessed by every opportunity to sit in such environments would be an understatement. But more, the beauty that emanates beyond artful homes and beautiful gardens is the graciousness with which they continue to give, recognizing that their season enables them to reach back to women who are now where they were, and give a drink of water (as it were.)

They inspire me to sow well where I am. Plow with the future in mind — knowing that the path of the righteous shines brighter and brighter. They inspire me to be the kind of woman I aspire to be: generous, gracious, grounded, God-centered.

“Older women . . . may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be sensible, pure, workers at home, kind, being subject to their own husbands, so that the word of God will not be dishonored.

August 15

That weekend sort of killed my daily writing thing.

But today is feeling all sorts of fresh week and new day-ish. Maybe because the first thing I saw was the chubby baby in bed next to me wide awake and beaming at me with so much love and joy — that’s a hard start to beat.

The weekend was:

— a few new bouquets from my (meager this year) August flowers — and such things used to be as “daily” as brushing my teeth, but this summer, remembering to cut flowers is suddenly an event to be celebrated!

— food, of course, including my new obsession: banana with salted cashews and unsweetened coconut. It’s almost as good as Kettle Cover salted caramel ice cream. (I’m such a liar, I know. But I’m pretending, okay?)

— an oldest son deciding to build the hand-me-down playmobil castle, which meant gluing pieces, finding directions online, and getting creative when pieces were missing. He literally spent all day working on it, and it was the best rainy summer day thing to do. It was all set up, at last, at nearly 10pm, and he was proud.

— being absolutely smitten by a delicious baby who is suddenly so old (for instance, sitting and playing in the family room all morning without any need for me!)

— being thrilled to see the rain clouds moving in, watering the thirsty earth. But catching some lovely sunshine here and there, too.

— deciding to just do it: empty the incredibly awful corner of chaos formerly known as the school cupboard, and start sorting. Three (3!!!!) huge trash bags later, we’re starting to make some progress toward an orderly beginning to a school year. (How do you just, you know, have three bags-worth of garbage just hanging out in your house??)

Okay. Photos are dumped; back to my regularly scheduled writing tomorrow.

august 9

The last week of July, Ryan and I bit the bullet and started Whole30. Probably you know someone who can’t speak highly enough of this 30 day food cleanse/healing program, and so far, neither can I. After years of adding this, cutting that, modifying that, measuring pH levels, yadda yadda, and still suffering from digestive troubles, we decided to try a strict regimen with the road map predetermined. No cheats, all in. No almost grain-free except those two nights I ran out of time and made pasta. After eating bagels for breakfast because I forgot to buy eggs. (Oops.) None of that.

True, I spend a solid hour each morning chopping vegetables and making them into breakfast and lunch, and I have to actually have a dinner plan concocted prior to 5:45 (some of us have made an Olympic sport of totally winging it when it comes to summer dinners!), but I’ve loved it.

Step One: Pull every ingredient out of the fridge and just start chopping. When the pile on the left is all on the right, you’re done.

Step Two: Put two salads-in-jars in the fridge. His and Hers. Awwww, so cute. (Those are just missing greens. Gotta pack that lettuce in firmly with so much other goodness going on!)

Step Three: Start eating…

and eating…

and eating…

and just when you think, holy cow, I’ve consumed SO MUCH PROTEIN and SO MANY VEGETABLES, you have to eat dinner.

*****

Yes, we feel good, I have more energy mid-afternoon (thanks to lunches that are actual meals and not just Mom picking through cupboards as she moves laundry), I haven’t had a single sugar craving or ANYTHING, and we’ve not really been hungry or “munchie” feeling.

But more than that, I’m just feeling thankful.

People around the world will live and die having never eaten a well-balanced meal. Not once! And here we are, able to procure wholesome food for three meals every single day. It’s like complaining that we can’t drink plain water — we need strawberries and lemon and a sprig of mint, or ugh, who wants to drink water? — when children walk miles and wait hours for a few gallons of amoeba-ridden rainwater.

I love ice cream and potato chips and flavored seltzer, so no judgment there. Just perspective. We are rich to even have the option of pursuing healthy choices.

*****

Self-care: at first, I was a bit disappointed to give up a big chunk of my morning — the very best of my day, really — to food prep. I want to be outside! I want to walk! I want to journal! At the very least, I want to get some laundry done.

But having a really good lunch made for myself each day, it turns out, feels very nourishing. Not just to my body, although there is certainly a huge change in my energy levels come 2pm, but also to my soul. I love good food, I love pretty food, and that giant bowl of salad just for me gives me pause each day. Yum. Thank You, God, for giving this to me. For this reminder to stop and fuel the body You’ve given me. Feel the nutrients wake up the weary parts of me.

*****

So this month of continual food prep: it’s been worth it.

Also, I’m already dreaming of Jameson’s birthday cake in September. Just being honest.