Post Category → just life

time out.

I am trying, once again, to get outside with the kids each afternoon. Some days it doesn’t work. Some days I just don’t want to. But the boys love when I go out with them, even it’s just me pulling on my boots and yelling, “Okay, who wants to tromp through the field with me?” And Beatrice would live outside if she could. “Snow Mountain,” the huge pile created by the snowplow each year, is her favorite place in the world right now.

I’m not really an outdoorsy type: I don’t own hiking boots or even sneakers, I don’t ski or canoe. But is there a category of outdoorsy that just needs to breathe fresh air and see vast sky every day, and thinks a great afternoon is one spent walking for miles? Because that’s me. And so this time outside, even if it means giving up a shower or another load of laundry done or whatever, it’s good for them and it’s good for me.

Today we missed it; sick boy and sleeping baby and such. So I’m looking at vast sky via pictures. Reliving the joy of snow angels. Remembering the thrill of following bunny tracks and deer tracks and bird tracks and others we don’t know. We have so much fun.

snow

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Poetry is an utter mystery to me, but I like this one. I’m also reading a bit before bed, hoping enough of it will eventually help me to grasp some meaning. Do you like poetry?

epiphanies

“It’s not about you.”

(Name that book.)

How simple is that? And how profound? And how daily, momently, do I hit my head right up against that truth?

I’m leaving behind the “Mom of Littles” years. The growing pains of bursting through that old skin have certainly been there in the last year, as Jameson stretches, William close behind, me last to the party, still trying to cram them into a pre-school sized compartment. I was kind of comfortable with babies and toddlers and managing little people. Sure, it was hard work, but it was familiar. Couldn’t we just hang out there for awhile? Maybe forever?

No.

Part of the shifting has been seeing these boys grow and realizing this is their real life. Like, what they’re doing right now. It’s their life. (I know. Genius revelations happening over here.) But really. This isn’t just My Life: The Little Kid Years. They are real people thinking real thoughts having real struggles and you don’t just shut the bedroom door at night and sigh deep and crash on the couch and that’s that. No, they’re on their beds thinking their own thoughts. Thoughts about life and God and how the day went and what they’re feeling and why did Mom talk to me that way and is evil real and how come I always mess up and I hope I get that Lego set.

There was some summer day, as I watched lanky boy walking along in front of me, laughing at jokes with growing-taller brother, that I realized deep in my soul, “They are not a chapter of my life. I am a part of theirs.”

Of course, I knew all this. I mean, if this was just about my life, I would probably ask to rewrite the chapter — add a bit more sleep, a bit less puke, maybe scratch out the part about stretch marks. I knew as I stared at my brand new baby the first moment I was suddenly a mother that I held a person in my arms — but watching him stretch into tall boy, hearing him process his life… He is a person.

So, it’s not about me on this theoretical level.

But it’s also not about me on a practical level: I would rather be managing toddlers. Drink more juice, go to bed, pick up the blocks, time for a puzzle, Mama said no… I like order, and while having toddlers may seem like an insane definition of “order”, I really do call the shots for those first several years.

Then there’s this new creature who suddenly appears, and he’s baring his heart to me in the middle of vacuuming, and next thing I know we’re sitting on the kitchen floor for 45 minutes talking. Suddenly, listening can’t be done with 15% of my attention, because he’s a person and that’s not how people should be treated by their own mothers. And those arguing brothers are suddenly begging for me to sit down with them and let them spill tears and voice hurts and let me teach them to repent and forgive and to treat hearts with deepest care.

Growing. Stretching.

And knowing that all of these eurekas don’t require that I run out and buy a new slew of books on “loving the middle years”, subscribe to a whole new set of blogs, or throw out all previous methods to learn new big kids tricks.

Nope. All I really need to do is realize It’s not about me. I must decrease. He must increase. My ear needs to hear the whisper of the Holy Spirit more than ever. My eyes need to see the way He sees. My heart needs to overflow with prayer and compassion and truth and love, ready to pour out in nurturing word and deed. My time needs to be purged of all selfish claims, available to invest energy and service into other people.

This isn’t about me living out my story. Oh, no! What a small, sad story that would be. But how amazing that if this small seed of me is allowed to fall into the ground and die, life could spring forth! How amazing that here, in this very house, real people are being raised up, and God takes the seed of my life and allows it to bear fruit in theirs.

10
Lilias Trotter

exploring and enjoying fall

An amazing forecast, living in the amazing Northeast, and having young children is the perfect reason to make the most of hikes and field trips and explorations. Books can happen in February.

Saturday was shared with my friend of 15 years. Of course, 15 years ago, we would wake up, see sun, grab coffee and jump into a car. Now we have to plan a bit more, pack a bit more, and somehow “we two” have become TEN. So, two cars, driving into the mountains, enjoying the VIC.

Sunday, the kids and I went to The Bagelry after church, followed by our first excursion to the short but magical trail on Coakley and Falls Island in Canton.

Monday was a late afternoon walk along the Raquette River in Potsdam.

Thursday, we visited a favorite trail along the St. Lawrence. We brought some lunch and school books and soaked up sunshine and fall.

Walking, perfect temperatures, four kids skipping and running and climbing and loading as many acorns/chestnuts/sticks/rocks as possible into my stroller? The only thing better would be doing it with Ryan, but I’m super thankful we’ve been able to enjoy this beautiful North Country and God’s amazing handiwork.

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.

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.