Post Category → just life

watching daffodils

Late last summer, on a sunny but cool day, my sisters helped me shuck, blanch, and freeze a huge bag of corn. And then I spent the rest of the afternoon digging holes and pressing bulbs deep into the earth.

Daffodils.

One hundred of them, all varieties.

Some crocus, too.

Even after having spent all summer digging out old bushes and transplanting flowers and being amazed that vegetables actually were growing in my backyard, I think those few hours of planting bulbs was the most exciting gardening moment.

And now little green shoots are poking up through still-cold earth, more every day. I’m nervous and excited, all at the same time. Maybe, just maybe, those bulbs will do their magical thing. And maybe, just maybe, my brown and muddy yard will one day burst into the colors of spring.

my vacation log

saturday:

We packed the car. Dropped two super-duper excited boys off at Nana and Papa’s house. Drove through snow and rain and yuck to the airport. Traveled for 8 hours without a hitch — well, except for the very end, when I finally threw up (thank you very much, baby in my belly.) Decided that we miss a lot about the Bay Area, but not the traffic. Stopped at Whole Paycheck, er, I mean, Foods for some quick dinner. Hit the hay and slept like logs.

sunday:

Woke up fully rested at 6am (jetlag’ll do that to you.) Went on a breakfast date before church. Saw dear friends, worshiped the Lord, listened to one of our favorite pastors. Enjoyed footloose and fancy-free for a bit, then a nap. Dinner, Red Mango, and lots of laughing with our “oldest” California friends.

monday:

Went to Peet’s for coffee. Ryan drove away to the office, and I sat all by myself for over an hour with just my Bible and journal. Finally wrapped it up and started my morning wanderings. Safeway, the library, the duck pond, the post office, Cheeky Monkey, and Trader Joe’s, with lots of soaking it all in along the way. “It” being the sunshine, spring air, and moist, intoxicating aroma of eucalyptus trees. “It” also being the memories we made day in, day out — just me and a little boy, and then eventually another little baby — in this wonderful neighborhood. I lugged my strawberries, dried mango, hummus, and pita crackers back to the hotel room, put up my feet, flung open the window, and ate a leisurely lunch. (Okay, so there was some chocolate, too.)

Now it’s time to crack open my library acquisition (Dorothy Sayers, of course), and perhaps even doze off.

P.S. Magnolias are blooming and jasmine is ready to burst open (which means my old Secret Garden backyard is as pretty as it gets right now), but I’m still just as happy to go home to snow and wait awhile longer for the daffodils I planted last September to push through the frozen tundra of Northern New York. There’s beauty everywhere, you know.

snapshots

It’s funny how daily life seems, and then suddenly, it’s a year or two later, and I can’t even remember those details that I thought would make up my life for the rest of forever. You know? Like, Jameson used to toddle around after me? I tripped over him for a year, maybe more, and now I can’t even remember what it was like. He’s a long-legged, independent, running all over the house with hardly a dull moment 4 year old, you know.

So, for my own memory’s sake, a snapshot:

This is how our nights go, every single night after night. We tuck two boys into their matching twin beds, read a story, and sing “Angels We Have Heard on High” and “Jesus Loves Me”. We pray, remind them not to get off their beds, cry, or continually call for Mama. We leave — and they either get off their beds, cry, call for Mama, or all of the above simultaneously. My little night owls are usually sound asleep by 9pm, when I slip back in and cover them with the quilts they’ve already managed to kick off. Their little arms are always wrapped around a favorite stuffed animal — Jameson loves Baxter the bunny, and William loves Puppy. Their faces are always sweeter than I remembered from the night before, and my heart always catches. They are perfect.

Hours later, Ryan and I are asleep. Somewhere between 2 and 4am, little footsteps wake Ryan and then me. William somehow manages to safely make his way to my side of the bed, in spite of the fact that I never remember to NOT throw pillows all over the floor when I get into bed. I pull him up between us, and he’s already fast asleep. We sleep.

Until.

Until William works his way to his favorite sleeping position: horizontal. The three of us make a lovely H, and we manage, until. Until he starts head-butting Ryan’s ribs and kicking mine. Ryan’s out of there. Why would he sleep with a head-butting toddler when there’s an empty twin bed down the hall?

We sleep again.

Until.

Jameson climbs into Ryan’s side of the bed around 5 or 6am. Sometimes he falls asleep. Sometimes he proceeds to squirm for an hour or more while I resolutely determine to ignore him and get more sleep. After all, I didn’t go to bed at 8pm, as he did. I was up far too late watching who knows what with Ryan. I do not have 5am wake up times in mind.

But when I can no longer put him off, or he’s driving me completely insane (and making me laugh, too), I slip with Jameson out of my room and we start our day.

And a year from now I’ll read this, and it will seem a foggy memory, at best.

Just like the way William runs with his little shoulders all hunched, and sits at the kitchen table with his little feet dangling and swinging. And the way they giggle and laugh together and follow each other around the house playing soldiers.

I love it.

a tuesday afternoon: just thoughts

This winter has been the prettiest winter ever. I think. There’s fresh snow almost every day — or, rather every other day. In between, the sun comes out and makes yesterday’s fresh snow sparkle. There’s so little yucky sand/slush/slop. It’s all just white, clean snow.

It sparkles like diamonds. Of course, that can prove disappointing if you’re 4. Jameson and I were out on a particularly sparkly day, and he, in a dejected voice, announced that “it looks like diamonds but if you get close, you can’t find them anywhere!”

Of course, this house makes winter (and spring and summer and fall) just more enjoyable. I feel like I’m living in the most magical snow globe ever. Snow dancing and whirling, snow on pine tree’s branches, snow on split rail fences, snow in drifts like dunes… Snow in all the most beautiful ways.

*****

It almost makes up for the fact that this has also been the dirtiest winter. Sheetrock dust EVERYWHERE. Always. No matter what. In my teeth, in my rug, in my bed, on my just-washed dishes. Spring cleaning never sounded so good. I’m trying to just patiently wait for the day they say, “Okay! You can now clean and be done!” Because I’ve lost all my oomph for cleaning in the midst of more dust settling. My mantel is as snowy white as the great outdoors, I know, but I just can’t care right now. I’ll quietly and happily wash my kitchen table and counters, vacuum a million times, and block out the rest. Oh, look, isn’t it pretty outside? Yes, let’s just look at the snow, shall we?

But.

But there is a test swatch of color on the walls, and that must mean something, right? (A pale, pale, pale warm peachy-pink. I think it’s going to be just right: clean but warm and most of all, pretty. I just want light, elegant, pretty.) And Monday (!!!), our talented friend comes to lay floors. He and Ryan will hem and haw over which board is the prettiest, which grain to highlight, how to scatter the varying widths — and then, ta-da, we’ll have a floor! Maybe it will make us giddy and itchy with excitement, and we’ll turn around and just start tearing the up the kitchen carpet—

Or maybe not. Maybe we’ll just stand and sigh and love it and take a break.

And go to California.

*****

For a week. Just Ryan and me. To what was home sweet home just one year ago (almost a year to the day, actually, I’ll be back where I started.) How strange and fun that will be! Strange to walk by “our” house and think that it’s not ours. Strange to meet my neighbor and realize she’s been strolling those streets for a whole year without me. To see friends from church and their kids-who-aren’t-babies-anymore and try to fill in a whole year. To walk out the door in ballet flats and a cardigan and laughingly remember that I willingly and joyfully left those winters for these.

*****

Speaking of clothes, I’ve hit that awkward stage. The old pants still work, sort of, if I don’t eat too much, but I had to buy a few extra-long t’s to cover my already-generous belly. 13 weeks? Really? That’s what people say when they see this generous belly, but that’s nothing new. I seem to always get off to a rip-roaring start when it comes to baby bellies. And I tend to finish a bit on the generous side, too, I guess. Blame it on genetics, right, Mom?

*****

Mostly, this is a winter to go deeper. For my roots to wriggle through another layer of rock and dry soil to find the water that’s always flowing, always life-giving, always sustaining. It’s a little happier, perhaps, when life isn’t serving up rocks and sand, but this is when it counts. So I wriggle away, reaching for the water I know is there, knowing that someday these root-strengthening days are going to prove to be oh-so-important. Never mind the extras: today I just set my feet a bit more firmly on these things:

Who does God say He is?
What has God promised to do?
How much does God love me?

Does anything else matter? Really?

No, not much.

A house won’t quickly be blown over when it’s built on the true answers to those questions.

Build my foundation, Lord. Make my house strong. I want to be standing at the end.

sad attempts at blogging

It’s a blizzard out there.

That’s why the boys are playing wii while I slowly stir a pot of rice pudding. I love when you wake up and the weather gives you permission to hibernate. (I missed those slow days in sunny California, crazy as that may sound.)

I wonder why I don’t blog.

So I sit down here with my coffee and thousand things on my mind, and open my browser.

Then Jameson can’t figure out how to change his mii.

Sit back down.

William wants to play. Jameson can’t figure out how to make two players.

Sit back down.

Remember the porridge. Stir.

Sit.

Jameson picked a game way over William’s head. Change the game. (Ever tried using a wii remote that’s attached to a jumping four-year-old’s wrist? Deep breath.)

Sit.

Ryan comes in, so I say hello.

Sit.

“Honey? Can you please figure out what size shades I need for my windows today?” Make mental note.

Refocus.

“I need you to pick out molding today. Here’s the catalog.”

Attempt to refocus. Remember the porridge. Stir.

Sit.

Realize I can’t focus on my blog with porridge, boys playing wii, shades, and molding on my mind — along with the other thousand other things.

Maybe this is why I’ve been so quiet.

I’ll try again later.

house projects!

Last week, we dove into a house project we’ve had planned since moving in: the long-awaited opening up of the living room and dining room!

When we bought this house, it was turn-key. Pristine. Solid. Ready to go.

Except that the dining room was designed to accommodate about 8 people, and I guess if you’re the oldest of 9 kids, that just doesn’t seem quite practical. And so, the very first time I walked down the narrow hall separating the dining room from the living room, I was already dreaming of openness.

Of course, although I had a general idea in mind, I hadn’t really gotten down to details, but Ryan’s never deterred by that. I guess he figures that if there’s a construction zone in the middle of my house, and sheetrock dust on everything, I’ll hurry up about deciding those details. “Hey, it works.” (Those are his exact words. :-))

Saturday, an official lull in the construction activities will take place, as we have guests arriving from California. But not too much longer, and we’ll have a dining room ready to seat as many as will come — provided, of course, that we can find a table. (And chairs. Oh, and a couch, too, and…)