family week, day 1

It's family week at our farm.

The tent has been taken down from the attic and set up under the sweet gum tree, by the hammock.

The brush was burned away and a campfire laid in its place.

Sleeping bags, thrown out of upstairs windows, have been arranged in the tent - four this year.  Lil' Snip is old enough to brave the elements with his sisters, he thinks.  I hold my tongue, and pray.  They bring down pillows, too, warm pajamas, and flashlights.

It was hot dogs over the campfire for supper, and ears of corn, honeydew from the farm stand down the road, and homemade caramel ice cream.

My Farmer cut an "X" in a nice round log to make a Swedish torch - and it worked!

We sat around the fire and sang.

Inside for tooth-brushing, and into the tent to change into pajamas.  We blessed them and tucked them in with reminders to close the back door q u i e t l y  if they need to come during the night to use the bathroom.

And left them to the night.

We'll sit at the campfire ourselves for awhile, my Farmer and me, to keep an ear out for mischief, or tears in the tent, and then we'll go to bed with the windows open.

It's family week at our farm.

separated? never!

[this is a post from over a year and a half ago, but the day Lil' Snip had yesterday was so similar - and the truths I learned about God are just as timely - that I thought a re-post was in order]


It had been one of those days:  Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice at each other's throats like wild dogs, bickering and blaming and outright brawling, and under and around and through it all, Lil' Snip's grating whine - when did he become a whiner?! - insisting that someone hold him, that someone read to him, read to him, read to him, again!, that someone play with him - nooooo, this way!!

I was ready to die.  [sorry, I know it's dramatic, but that's the way it was.]  Actually - by God's grace alone - I had died, over and over, to my self that day.  And as naptime mercifully approached, and I tucked the loudly protesting toddler under my arm and carried him, struggling violently, up to his cage, I mean crib, God shone His light on my heart, and taught me something beautiful about His.

I still loved that Lil' Snip.  He had been purely intolerable that morning, and somehow I had not only tolerated him, but I still loved that inharmonious, recalcitrant bundle of muscled will.  All his discordant belligerence, his complete lack of courtesy and grace had done nothing - nothing - to separate him from my love for him.  I was happy to be separated from him for a few hours, it's true, but at my core, my heart still beat love, love, love, love toward him.

And that's God's heart toward me, toward you:  nothing, nothing, can separate us from His love.  Sin keeps us from intimacy from Him, but even sin does not change His love for us.

When Lil' Snip awoke, cheerful and compliant (actually, his snit lasted a few days, but let's compress that for the sake of brevity), ready again to receive my love, I forgave* him his obstinance and accepted him gladly back into my arms.

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? 

Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine

or nakedness or danger or sword?

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, 

neither angels nor demons,

neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,

neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, 

will be able to separate us from the love of God 

that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. 

Romans 8:35, 38-39

-------------------------------------------------

* a difference here is that my toddler does not confess his sin; when we, however, "confess our sins, [God] is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness" (I John 1:8-10).  Needless to say, another difference is that I, unlike God, am powerless to cleanse Lil' Snip from his unrighteousness, much as I would like to be able to!

what I saw, when I looked ...

Some days look bleak. . . .

. . . until I slow down,

lean in,

peer closer,

and 

really

look.

The more closely I look, the more beauty I see.

God lavishly "wastes" his creative design 

on weeds,

inside trees,

even in the midst

of decay.

All over the ordinary,

he hides

beauty.

All it takes to see it

is 

a seeker.

Come,

have a look!

(I started inside the house)

Sugar's eye.

Is there anything like the human eye to stir wonder?!

The colors it can see...

The emotions it can communicate...

The zipper!!  The colors!! 

(No, God didn't make it, but he tucked it away in a thrift store for me to find,

knowing that its bright design and pockets galore would delight me.)

Glass.  Water.  Mums.

Glossy kernels of Indian corn & popcorn.

Think of the explosion of popcorn!

The transformation of Indian corn into meal, and again into bread.

Edible art.

(I headed outside)

 Raspberries!  Giant ones, too, glowing in the sun.

He could have made us to live on mere grass, you know.

Berries are pure gift.

And speaking of grass - have you ever seen anything

so ALIVE

as the green, green grass of summer?

Emeralds don't even come close.

This purple-mauve gem of a weed is called Pennsylvania smartweed.

Like the indiscriminate rain,

flowers spring from the earth for the just and the unjust alike,

free for the looking.

Humble tansy, holding its world of yellow blossoms,

and the humble ant in his gleaming everyday suit.

The sepals on this flamboyant pokeweed!

Almost plastic perfection.

Did you ever see such fuchsia?!

 Who would ever suspect this powdery unassuming plant of a powerful fragrance

used to calm everything from digestion to anxiety?

Asiatic dayflower.

Just a delicate, frilly little weed.

Even in fall - season of death and decay - beauty is tucked away . . .

 Dogwood fruits amongst dying leaves, beside next year's blossoms-to-be.

Fallen leaf, caught in the sunlit angles of decaying poplar wood.

Lil' Spice's loud cries brought me running, sure he was hurt.

He held out his best, favorite leaf:

"It broke!!"

Between two sheets of wax paper,

we mended it.

Translucent fish scales, like delicate miniature seashells!

(Even fish scales are touched with beauty!)

Every seed pod, unique to its species.

Does He never run out of ideas?!

To tuck hard, dry, withered little kernels of life

inside fibrously whiskered cavities 

where just weeks ago

tissue-thin petals of palest pink had been?

Intricate network of veins on a poplar leaf - a study in fractal art.

Crabapple among clover.

 Leaf lace

Dried echinacea "pincushion"

 Star Magnolia flowerbuds

forming spring's lavish creamy blossoms

undercover

like a caterpillar in chrysallis

unfolding into

butterfly.

Chrysanthemum bud, blushing into blooms

to brighten autumn.

And God's greatest handiwork of all

is us,

of course.

No flower

or common creature

could have a sense of humor

like 

a boy!

May God bless you

with opened eyes

to see

what He lays

expectantly

before you!

child's play

There are times, I will admit, when - caught without a legitimate reason to decline - I get roped into coloring with Lil' Snip, and I end up enjoying it.

Times when the playdough comes out and he's been deprived of my company to a guilt-inducing extent and before I know it, I'm rolling and sculpting, having fun.

And then, there are times like today.

When I'm on the floor, prone, a reluctant driver of Hess trucks (I never get the one I want, no matter how sincerely he seems to be offering it; in Lil' Snip lingo "Which one do you want?" is code for "Which one do you think I want you to have?"), and I succumb.

As soon as he seems to be adequately involved in truckplay, I close my eyes and take a micro-nap until he notices, which I am happy to say can be an entire minute or longer.



Just wanted you to know, from one "supermom" to another.  {*wink*}

my little boy

He is running down the walk toward the barn, sack of colored chalk in hand, racing to meet Nice and make "goo" together, strong brown legs pumping with heart-stopping speed.

It's the knees that undo me.

Most of Lil' Snip's shorts are manly-length, just a hair or so below mid-knee.  With his sleeveless shirts, he looks like a tiny man going about his tiny man-business, digging in sand (or dirt!), pulling his wagon behind him in search of treasures, pushing a dump truck around the driveway or down the sloped cellar doors, filling watering cans with water to do the earnest work of giving thirsty plants a drink.

But today he is wearing shorts that are a little, well, short.  His knees show, and he is transformed from tiny man to boy-child, dressed in short pants.  As he trots about his play - the work of a child - the sight of his knees soften my usual critical-instructor mode to an almost grandparently fondness.

A nostalgia, almost, for what is nearly gone.

focus

I've had a sore throat for over a week.  I'd had enough by day three, when I lost my voice.  Waking myself up at night coughing did nothing to improve my attitude.  Despite leading a talk on home remedies at our moms' group earlier this winter, I could not kick this cold.

It's Monday, after a full Easter.  My throat still hurts, and I'm drowning in hormones and breaking the yoke in my egg brought the tears this morning and boy, do I want to wallow.

But it's sunny outside, a glorious 50 degrees, and the Brandenburg concertos chirp exhortingly from the livingroom.  My son is bringing me Lego cars, and towers he's built for me.

It's time to re-focus.


Count them with me?

1- daffodils

2- bluebells!!

3 - sunshine & WARMTH

4 - in his own words:  "My stuffy nose is getting better, Mommy!"

5 - a flat tire, noticed close to home instead of halfway there

6 - that a cancelled meeting means a nap for me

7 - the first day of our spring break!!

8 - a filmy scarf from Italy (handed-down)

9 - my husband, calling from work

10 - hot tea for my throat

11 - a prayer for me

12 - one for a friend

13 - courage to ask about crowns

14 - a line-up of Lego creations, all made for me!

15 - his precision in naming colors, already

16 - that color exists!

17 - Glennon being brave on the Today show

18 - anticipating a "drop-in"  :)

19 - curly garlic

20 - tiny bare toes

21 - a boy who asks for snuggles

22 - sisters

23 - laughter

24 - Southern Comfort for a cold (?)

25 - colored glass

26 - shoes for all their feet

27 - wool yarn

28 - crayon art

29 - embroidered tea towels

30 - wooden cutting board

31 - brilliant smile of a cancer-fighting friend

32 - indigo, aquamarine, teal, cobalt, french navy - all the blues

33 - buttercup, sunshine, tangerine, Kubota - all the yellowy oranges

34 - Isaiah, running pell-mell toward the trashcan:  

"I've a fuzzy!! Catch 'im, catch 'im!!"

Well, my throat still hurts, but my heart is happier for the hunting.  God always does show up.

"You will seek me and find me 

when you seek me with all your heart."  

Jeremiah 29:13

night vision

[yet another eye-opener from my Lil' Snip:]

Up the morning steps I go, toward the sound of energetic, tuneless singing, punctuated by enthusiastic commentary in the little yellow room.  I round the corner, unlatch his door, and swing it open - always an excitingly unpredictable moment, followed by anything from a happy "Mommy!!!" to a suddenly, inexplicably furious squeal.

This morning, he's standing in the far corner of his crib, pointing hard at his changing table.

"There's a fox!!!" he exclaims.

A what?  I open the blinds and let light in.  Yesterday's jeans and shirt lie crumpled in a pile.  He looks.

It doesn't take long for him to regroup with a revised exclamation:  "When it was dark, it was a fox!!"

Ahhh.....!  Not "oops, it was only my clothes," not "it was dark; I couldn't see," not "I was wrong," but "when it was dark, it was a fox."

He's just a toddler.  He couldn't know that what I heard was myself, insisting on the truth of a lie freshly-exposed by the light, unwilling to release an old familiar hurt to embrace instead an opportunity for life.

Open my eyes, O Father of the heavenly lights, to see what's truly there, instead of pictures painted in shadows.  Open my heart to receive your good gifts.

Every good and perfect gift is from above,

coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights,

who does not change like shifting shadows.

He chose to give us birth through the word of truth

James 1:17, 18

ode to my son

[a brief interlude from the sugar saga for a belated birthday ode to Lil' Snip, who just turned two]

My inimitable son  ...  when you are sweet, as Spice says, we can hardly imagine you could ever be horrid; when you are horrid, we can hardly imagine you had ever been sweet.  What do I love about you?  Let me count the ways ....

 ... your spontaneous and genuinely affectionate use of the Japanese diminutive at lunch today

... when we checked the poplar for fresh mushrooms, your interested little "mm!" over the old stubs, and your remembering little "cut!"

... how you held your dandelion to the sky with an "up!" when you heard a plane overhead

... the way you hold your hands behind your back when I am following you and your command to "cump!" - does it make you more aerodynamic?

... hearing you party in the middle of the night while appearing to be sound asleep

...  and especially hearing your adorable and adoring little voice say "Mommy.  Oh, Mommy" - well worth the 2 a.m. waking

...  your triumphant recognition of the insect on your ceiling, and your intent retelling of the incident to Nice as you crouched down to get in her face:  "stinkbug!  tissue!"

... how you can speak volumes in one word

 ... your insistence that everything is just as important as you think it is!

my son

Oh, Lil' Snip, my heart-walking-outside-of-me . . . .

People ask me what it's like, having a boy now, after three girls.  You defy description.  In answer, I can only offer today, a "now" glimpse of the vast everything that you are:

              

  This morning, you woke up singing "Jesus" in your charming, tuneless way.  When I came to get you up, you greeted me with your mock-serious voice, saying "pee-pee" and patting your jammies in the appropriate spot, then demanding to stand on the windowsill so you could hide behind the window blind before I pulled it up.  

Once dressed and downstairs, you were, as usual, frantic for your breakfast until you had gotten a few bites of granola in your mouth.  You sure wake up hungry!!

At the doctor's office for your well-baby visit, you gave the receptionist a shy smile, cheek to my shoulder, and then proceeded to scream bloody murder when your kindly nurse tried to measure your head, weigh you, and conduct other benign experiments on your person.  But by the time we left, though, you had the whole office staff laughing at your cheeky "see ya!"

You're starting to play more independently - that's a lovely skill, my boy, as long as I can hear what you're getting into.  I should probably move the tractors back down where you can reach them before you become too enamored with your sisters' dollhouse.  And that big stack of puzzles you love to dump, one by one, confident that someone else will put them back together - we're going to give most of them away.

Nobody would have guessed by your behavior that supper tonight was one of your favorite meals.  I was grateful for unbreakable plastic cups, but wishing I'd put earplugs in for your performance.  I think you're starting to catch on to the whole consequence thing, though:  when I told you "no fussing", you answered "bed" and "more", and managed to get yourself under control for a few minutes.

We were all relieved, frankly, when you opted out of dessert in favor of serving tea to the dollies Sugar, Spice, and Nice had set up in the livingroom.  Watching as you poured "hunny" and "moke" into their cups and offered them a "taste!" was well worth letting my own dessert wait.

You did pretty well with my refusal to hold you while I exercised - a few ritual squawks of protest and then you ran off to play with Nice.  I wish my left arm were stronger, but you are getting big!  It was nice to have you snuggle down next to me afterward with a book ... even though you soon climbed down ... and back up ... and back down ....

Thanks for the reminder to "bess" you when I tucked you in, and to sing "Jesus".  That's usually Daddy's job, isn't it?  We got to wave "bye-bye" to him from the window when he headed off to his board meeting.  You'll see him in the morning.  Maybe he'll give you a "dip" of his coffee to taste.

I hope you sleep well, Lil' Snip - and not just because I want to sleep well, too.  Life is so rich for you.  You work so hard; you need your rest.  Tomorrow is coming, and who knows what you might do!

my guys

There go my guys, mowing the grass.....

My Farmer, dark from his hours in the fields, one muscled forearm wrapped securely around his boy, the other steering one-handed around flowerbeds and fruit trees, campfire and clothesline and picnic table. He finishes one day of work and comes home to another - children and homecare.  When he heard, this afternoon, that our son was more intractable than usual, he told me "I'll fix him."  Needless to say, he is my hero, again, always.

Lil' Snip (who's got his finger in his mouth and his shirt pulled up to expose his tummy to the air) wiggles his toes and stretches out one arm, feeling the breeze, maybe, or maybe trying to anticipate the direction of the mower.  He is on the cusp of toddlerhood, leaving behind the days of innocent impetuous babyhood, and embarking full-throttle into all the glories of conscious (and thwarted) desires.  I love him; I pity him.

There go my guys, mowing the grass......

[.....thud....thud.....thud.....  There goes my heart, watching them out the window.....]

rewrite

What are little girls made of, made of?

What are little girls made of?

Sugar, and Spice, and Everything Nice,

That's what little girls are made of!

What are little boys made of, made of?

What are little boys made of?

Snips, and snails, and puppy dog tails,

That's what little boys are made of?

Well, if you read little house on the farm, then you know that this poem inspired the blognames for my children.  It was so tidy with the girls, and lining up both with their birth order and their personalities, so it seemed a natural to dub our first son "Lil' Snip", in case we have two more and need "Snails" and "Puppy Dog Tails", you know.

But .... my Farmer has mentioned to me, as an aside, that while "Lil' Snip" may seem cute to the female readers (i.e. "a little snip of a thing", i.e. "small") ..... it may have different associations for male readers. He recommends a change.

So, anyone who knows the small boy in question, what think you?  Shall it be "Snails" for the little gentleman, or "Puppy"?  Or perhaps "Tails"?  ..... or maybe I need a different poem altogether for boys....

Help me out, gentle-readers, with a suggestion or two, if you would be so kind.  

for your inspiration!  :o)

little house on the farm

Well, I think it's time you met my people.

Lil' Snip chewing on his lion toy

 Let's do Lil' Snip first, since he's the cutest and if we save him for last, everyone else will fade in your memory. Lil' Snip is so full of life that if he's not trotting around, he often has to wiggle to let out extra joy. His toy of the minute is a dolly stroller that he can push and - far more importantly - shake! He also likes to "play" piano and put his head into a box (any box will do, as long as it's big enough) and take toys out of whatever container they're in. (No, I haven't taught him to put them back in yet. Feel free to offer lessons.) He loves trucks and tractors and loud noises and all music (but especially Daddy's piano and banjo music). He laughs at funny faces and rough-housing and tickles.  I am having fun wowing him with my lightswitch magic - on!  off!  on!  off!  Mommy is so amazing!!

Everything Nice, posing with her snowman

Next up, age-wise, is Everything Nice. You've heard the expression "still waters run deep"? That's Nice. She keeps mum about a lot of things (the first one we've had to encourage to "use your words.") but comes up with some doozies sometimes that let you know she's got a lot going on in that pretty little head. When she's not "still", she has an intuitive flair for drama.  Her favorite things are cutting with scissors, writing, and playing with kitties, water and Lil' Snip. She hops, sings, hums, and otherwise be-bops to her own internal, never-stopping rhythm. Food passions include popcorn, pasta, and lentil sprouts. We credit Nice with getting us Lil' Snip – she used to pray at night, “Jesus, you give me a baby boy?”, pause, then tell us, “He says not yet.” A little over a year later God sent us Lil' Snip! Nice has always been a baby-lover, and at last she has one of her own to dote upon (although that “baby” is picking up speed daily....!).

Spice, tickled with an oyster mushroom find

And then there's Spice. Spice is nothing if not spicy. Taking after one of her parents (you may guess which one), Spice doesn't feel things by halves.

“There once was a girl,

who had a little curl

right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good,

she was very, very good,

and when she was bad, she was horrid!”

Except for the curl, that's Spice – saucy, sweet, tender, terrible, bright, furious and full of potential! Spice loves her cats and understands them like no one else. Ever since she succumbed to reading, she has made many friends in books. Spice is a natural teacher, and Nice has benefited many a time from her patient tutelage. When I give Spice a job to do, I can be sure that she will do it with excellence. Her standards are high, and she is not often satisfied with her efforts to meet them. Spice, Spice, life is never dull when you're around! We're glad you're ours!

Sugar, with a bear she made for an orphan

Ah, Sugar. Sugar, our first-born, is an eldest's eldest. She is organized, mature, capable, and neat.  She is also beginning to develop some inherited tendencies towards practical joking.  I believe April Fool's Day ranks right up there with Christmas and her birthday with Sugar!  Her memory puts mine to shame (and I put hers to use remembering things for me!) and she likes to know what is coming. While her siblings do not always appreciate her “leadership abilities”, we see her tempering them more and more often with kindness and humility. When Sugar puts her mind to a task, she does it briskly and efficiently. Sugar is an excellent helper around the house and with her adored Lil' Snip. She is a sponge for learning and her mind seems to be particularly tuned to the natural sciences and the Bible. A wonderful mix!  

my Farmer, playing piano with Lil' Snip

And what can I say about my Farmer? He is constant, he is funny, he is wise. He works hard, laughs easily, forgives quickly, advises gently, accepts always. He is my friend, my companion, my encourager. He amazes me with his memory for obscure facts, his courage for risk, his capacity for vision and hope, and his ability to learn, and learn, and learn some more. I think I know him, his limits, and he re-invents himself again. I could live with him a hundred years and he would never grow old to me. 

 He is or has been: a history buff, a sharpshooter, a jazz trombonist, an English teacher to foreigners, a bow-fisherman, a car salesman, a gourmet home-chef, a landscaper, a loving but authoritative father, a gardener, a manager of mentally and physically challenged workers, a Sunday School teacher, an expert on grafting and a grower of tropical fruit, an improv pianist, a manager of an organic community vegetable farm, a butcher, a capable amateur plumber / electrician / carpenter, a banjo plucker, a greenhouse nurseryman, a hobby mycologist. How can I help loving this remarkable man who inexplicably chooses me?

My family:  I am so glad God put us together!!

me & my Farmer at Chincoteague a few years ago

Spice and Nice stirring the granola

my Farmer, doing what needs to be done

my happy Lil' Snip!

my Farmer teaching Lil' Snip to identify mushrooms

Lil' Snip discovering clover

Sugar with her favorite baby boy

(back to front) Sugar, Spice, & Everything Nice