How internal dialogue colors our perception*

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For days (weeks maybe), Sarah Annie has been wandering around the house, touching things, and saying "Crazy mess! Crazy mess!" It was beginning to make me feel a wee bit guilty. Is there not enough calm and order in her life? Yesterday, Mike heard her say it and without hesitation, he repeated it back to her: "Christmas! That's right, it's Christmas!"

She's been saying "Christmas" to almost everything she sees. And my head was such a crazy mess I almost missed it.

How are your crazy messes? Comments open:-)

*astute insight: Colleen Mitchell

What I See Washing Up

Leila is hosting a Kitchen Sink Party. She writes:

Well, I'll tell you. Over the years I've noticed that many women do get the idea that they would like to stay home and take care of their family. They feel torn away when they leave home, as if a part of them gets left behind -- and that feeling is far stronger for them than the feeling they have when they leave the outside world and feel a little torn about that. I think most people understand that you can't have everything, and they make a choice.

But many of these same women do go just a teensy bit insane (and I say this because I was sort of this way myself, although I had no outside life I cared anything about at all) when they stay home.

And part of that insanity is that it is truly difficult to live somewhere that's probably far from anyone you know or are related to, have no friends who are willing to do what you are doing, and spend all your time with small children when you don't feel very well to start with. I understand all that, believe me!

Part of it, though, has to do with not understanding or not being willing to commit yourself to the little tasks that make up this life.

 

I think she's spot-on. Mothering at home, making a home is all about commiting to the little things. When I say "I love my kitchen," I mean I love all the things my kitchen means for me and for my family. I love the time we spend there cooking together. I love the quiet moments in the early morning when it is all mine and I bring it to life for the day. I love the sense of satisfaction I get when everything is buttoned up at night and I put it to sleep. It is physically in the center of my house (something I really don't love), but it's also the emotional center of our home. During the day, the kitchen is the hub.

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My kitchen sink overlooks the sunroom where we do most of our "schooling." Beyond the sunroom is a big backyard.  I use the ledge above the sink to store art supplies--crayons, paints, pencils. It is an ever-chaning landscape because those jars are constantly in motion. Someone is using something every waking hour. There are four tiny bud vases. From April until November, Karoline keeps them filled with roses from our garden. Now, we've filled them with holly and evergreen. 

I notice how badly we need to re-caulk...hmmm...

One more shot:

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And now, I'm off to wake my kitchen.

Happy Saturday! Visit Leila for a Kitchen Sink Party.

NItty Gritty Rhythm

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This post is ridiculously long, but it answers lots of the nitty-gritty questions I get regarding how we juggle a really busy sports schedule, a traveling dad, and many kids over a big age span. If you hang in there and read, the answers are here. I wrote it several weeks ago and decided to hold it because there was too much detail about our daily whereabouts. Soccer season is coming to a close now, though, so it will all change.

Last summer, in the days before the feast of St. Anne, I offered a heartfelt (desperate?) novena. I so needed her intercession in the matter of my daily and weekly rhythm. Some of you might recall that when I wrote about the struggle I was having with burnout and exhaustion as a result of demands on my time, I offered no possible solutions. I didn’t even try. I crashed at the end of soccer season last spring and had no energy to figure anything out. Instead, I took comfort in the fact that summer would offer respite.

For as long as I’ve had children to ferry to and fro, my father-in-love has been willing and eager to help me whenever I had conflicts. Sadly, he is no longer well enough to play that role in our lives. He cannot pop over a pick up and deliver a child, cannot stay home with little ones if all the big ones have to be in different places. He cannot come fix this or that in my house when Mike is away or busy. He can’t do the late night or early morning run to the airport. He just can’t do it. When the day came last spring that that decision was made, I felt the rug yanked out from under me. All these years he’s been my go-to guy, the secret ingredient that made this crazy life more sane. I had no idea how much I depended on knowing there was a safety net until there wasn’t one. I struggled both with the fact that it rocked my world and with the intense sadness I felt for him and for us as we watch him decline.

When the time came to offer a novena in preparation for St. Anne’s feast, I recognized that the summer was half over and that very soon, I was going to have to revisit the dreaded SCHEDULE. No one on earth was going to rescue me. And I knew well that I could not figure this one out on my own.

I didn’t know how I was going to make the drive to where the boys play soccer in McLean (a good 45 minutes in traffic, a bad hour or more in heavy traffic) and get Mary Beth to ballet. I knew Christian would get himself where he needed to be, but that also meant he couldn’t help with anyone else. And when US Soccer plucked Patrick from the mix, that meant that it was a lot less likely that one teenager would remain home to care for little ones. It was going to be all of us driving, all the time. I worried that my little ones were lacking in play time and in time to make friends (particularly homeschooling friends). I worried I’d never have time to write. I just worried and worried.

And St. Anne heard it all. The plan presented itself to me in ways I could not imagine.

I get so many notes asking how to fit it all in, when to cook dinner, how to make sure family meals happen. This post is full of details and chances are your eyes will glaze over, but I offer it for the handful of people who are looking for just such details. More importantly, I offer it as a testimony to the power of prayer.

Let’s start on Monday morning. Dinner is prepped and put in the Dutch oven first thing. The day is going to lurch forward full speed ahead. If dinner isn’t ready to go before 10AM, we’re not going to eat. The rest of Monday morning is just the basics, school-wise (Reading, Bible and math), and then thorough cleaning of the house, with particular attention to the wood floors on the main level. Then we shove all the furniture out of the way to transform our home into a ballet studio.

When I could not figure a way to give ballet lessons (or any lessons) to my little girls because the times conflicted with everyone else and with retrieving Gracie from school and it was way too expensive, Mary Beth and her friend Mary Kate stepped in. Ballet is now in my dining room, sunroom, kitchen and family room, every Monday afternoon. It doesn’t cost me anything and there are 15 (18?—I’ve lost count)  other homeschooled girls to share the experience with Katie and Karoline. Now, my only problem is how to keep Katie from talking the whole time. So many friends, so little chat time.

While the girls dance, the boys play flag football with a whole bunch of other homeschooled boys. My friend and neighbor Mary Chris is the genius behind the very lowkey opportunity for good, old fashioned fun. Marisa comes out for football and ballet and she brings her little guy, my godson, Johnny. If you had told me in July that Marisa and I would have a chance to chat in person once a week, I would have been astonished. Also present for this golden hour is my friend Bonnie, with whom I used to walk for an hour every day. We go way back and I’m so blessed to be able to have time again on a regular basis to just bask in the warm glow of friendship.

After ballet and football, Becca, one of the moms whose son is on Nicholas’ soccer team, hustles the boys to practice. Christian takes Mary Beth to her dance class and goes on to his practice. I gather the girls, mine and Becca’s, and meet her at soccer practice a little while later. They all play in the park near the practice field. And I absolutely, positively luxuriate in lots and lots of conversation with a bright, faithful mother of many who also homeschools and is a fellow graduate of my alma mater. This is a rare blessing for which I am so very grateful. Now, I eagerly look forward to those Monday afternoons. (And we do it again on Thursdays, too.) My kids don’t whine about being dragged along to practice—instead they look forward to meeting their friends in the park. When it’s all over, we go home to dinner in the Dutch oven and I fall into bed in time for Monday Night Football. I’ve yet to make it past half time.

Tuesday is a bit more relaxed. Same long drive to practice, but this time I do it only with Stephen. Mary Beth and/or Christian are home with wee ones. I sit at the field with my laptop and write while he trains. There’s no wi-fi in the parking lot, but that’s a good thing. It’s writing time only; there’s no temptation to surf. Mary Beth and I prep dinner before I leave and she finishes off the cooking while I'm at training with Stephen. We eat when Stephen and I get home, which is just about when Mike gets home, too.

Wednesdays are crazy but again an unexpected blessing finds us. I make dinner really early on Wednesdays and pack two meals in bento boxes. I take both Stephen and Nick with me for the long drive (all these long drives are “read aloud” time and we are cranking through our reading list on audio).  I drop Nicky at his training and take Stephen with me to Starbucks. He eats his dinner, we chat, and then he reads and I write. Then, I take Stephen to practice, pick up Nick and repeat the process with a different child. At the end of the day, they’ve both had time alone with me. We’ve talked about books, maybe surfed a little together and just hung out a bit.

And on a recent Wednesday, when Nick’s training was canceled, but Stephen’s wasn’t, I discovered that I could drop Stephen a wee bit early and make it to a nearby (and beautiful) church for Adoration and confession.

Thursdays, both boys train again. Becca’s family arrives a little early for the practice time they share with Nick and they hang out with us during some of Stephen’s training, too. Have I mentioned how happy I am to have such good company? Thursday nights we eat dinner at the park. When Stephen is finished, I have just enough time to hustle to pick up Mary Beth. We get home really late and roll right into bed.

Fridays, we got nothin’. We stay home all day and love it.

Saturday mornings find me dropping Mary Beth at ballet and taking just the little girls grocery shopping. This is new for them. Ever since Michael learned to drive, I’ve avoided grocery shopping with little ones. When Michael was at home, he did with a very detailed list. Then, Christian did it for a while. Then, I’d drop Patrick off, let him do it and go back and pick him up after dropping girls at ballet.

Now, I actually look forward to the Saturday routine. I take my little girls to Whole Foods. We shop there and have breakfast.  We poke our way through the craft store. Then, we go to Costco and finish out our shopping. By that time, it’s time to pick up Mary Beth. It’s an unexpectedly happy thing. Who knew I’d ever like running errands? Not me

Just before Patrick left, we were shopping together. I bought a bag for my laptop and the boys dubbed it my “McLean office.” It’s true, that my work is only being done in fits and spurts in the car and at Starbucks while waiting out soccer practice in McLean. I have a schedule for meeting deadlines, but the reality is that there are fewer deadlines and much less writing because there is much less time to do it. But there is time to do it. God blesses the time there is.

Of course, as I write (in the car on a Tuesday), the light is waning quickly. I know that fading light this early in the evening means that all the times will shift soon and the schedule will change. I am not nearly as afraid of that as I once was.

It’s only time. In the end, God is in control of time. And when I hand it to Him, in all humility, He provides abundantly to meet my needs and to bless my diligence.

Inhale

 

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Autumn is my favorite season.  The last few autumns have been stressful, strained, or just completely out of sync. I’ve wanted to embrace the fullness of the season, but I’ve been distracted. Not this year. This year, it is autumn and I am inhaling it for all its worth.

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After a bit of a detour, we have settled into a comfortable learning cadence. I’m happy with our reading and writing choices. I’m even happy with math (well, as happy as I am able to be).  Our days have a predictable, if busy, rhythm. Mornings are well-protected from the din and demands of the outside world. Late afternoons are a social whirl. But the days are growing shorter and the darkness comes earlier and my home glows in the sweet anticipation of long stretches of time devoted to hearth and home.  Even the dizzying whirl will slow to a gentle waltz.

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I’m finding joy in simple things and inhaling the rich aromas of the season. There is no smell more intoxicating to me than the smell of autumn in the air. “Sweet Shendandoah”—the scent of leaves and wood fires and perhaps a bit of mold on a serpentine wall. I love that smell.  With the leaves and the fires, layer the spicy sweetness of pumpkin bread and the honeyed headiness of beeswax and, soon, all the world is aglow in the loveliness of autumn.

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We spent some late October afternoons recently bringing the season into our home. Inspired by Ginny’s lovely leaves, we gathered some of our own.

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All of my children and I found quiet satisfaction in slowly lowering bright leaves into liquid beeswax and waiting for it to stop dripping before carefully placing it on wax paper.

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We threaded it on a garland and hung it from the dining room light. 

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I smell the sweetness and delight in the color as I sit at the dining room table, tutoring one child at a time. The others are in the sunroom, where all our “school stuff” resides. They can work independently in there. Then, one by one, they have their turn with me—to read or write or edit.

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Sarah Annie and Karoline play nearby at the nature table, happy gnomes and felted fairies gladly giving inspiration to their imagination.

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We didn’t stop with the garland. It was as if we could not get enough of the goodness of those leaves. We dipped another basket’s worth and they grace the nature table. From my “teacher spot,” my eye falls upon them frequently and I marvel at the unique, perfect beauty of each one.

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God is so good! His gorgeous grandeur spills over into every corner of this house.

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At the other end of the room is the couch where I began my day. Karoline likes to curl up there with me before everyone else is awake. She always wants me to read a preview of the day’s Bible story. I think she likes being a step ahead of the rest of the pack. All the Bible storybooks and several versions of Bibles reside in the tables on either side of the couch. They are read frequently here in this room, either silently or aloud together. 

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Right near the couch, the desk stands open, bearing full testimony to the great cloud of witnesses who intercede for us all year, but are remembered particularly in this season.  Icons and dear little folk dolls glow in the candlelight.

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Between visits from each child, I glance up from my "teacher spot." Inhale. Fill both lungs with the richness of this life of faith.  We are praying the novena to all saints as a family, and I am revisiting my particular friends in private prayer time. The desk full of images reminds me of their care and nurturing, just as the pictures of my family nearby evoke memories and whispered prayers.

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I love this room.

 

I love this home.

 

I love this life.

Happy Morning Crafting

Gracie is an early bird, often ready for the day to begin an hour or more before the other girls awaken. Nicholas is often up, too, but he wants his quiet and his sports headlines and he isn't a very good early morning companion. Just so happens that Gracie doesn't really need to talk to anyone in the morning; she's happiest with a bottle of glue, some markers and popsicle sticks. Crazy, ridiculous happy.

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So, this summer, I called to mind my own happy mornings at a preschool in Charlottesville, where we'd take a few moments the night before to prepare a table for arriving children the following morning. Usually, we'd leave out the makings of a very simple craft or drawing activity. The assumption is that teachers might be busy greeting children or talking with parents, so these should be activities that required little or no instruction or supervision. Honestly, though, I loved it when I could pull up an undersized chair and work right alongside them.

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This summer, the "school" table in the sunroom has been a perpetual craft table. I tidy it at night and try to leave something inspiring there for Gracie and whoever shakes off sleep and joins her there.

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My very favorite activity at that long-ago preschool was making "stained glass pictures." (I've even shared it with you previously.) We'd cut tissue paper into squares and leave them in a basket for the children. Then, we'd water down some liquid starch and provide soft paintbrushes and plain white copy paper (this doesn't work as well with construction paper). The children would place the dry squares on the white paper and then paint over them with starch, overlapping at will. Can't quite capture it, but there's something infinitely relaxing and rewarding about this process. Really, you must try it.

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This summer, we took the basic idea and tried it with glass jars, after I saw something similar on a blog I've now forgotten. [Please email me if this was you--I'm happy to link:-)]

Instead of starch, I used diluted white glue. I gathered jars of all sorts. My favorite shape is a Dijon mustard jar.

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The children "painted" on the squares, being careful not to leave any edges dry.

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It was a rewarding process and they were surprised to see how different each person's jar was, though they'd all begun with the same materials.
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The finished product is both beautiful and useful.
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While they make lovely flower vases, do be careful. They don't take kindly to water drips and filling and emptying is most definitely a mom job.

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They make lovely votive candle holders, though.
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And my absolute favorite pencil holder ever.
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Beautiful, useful crafts that even the littlest hands can successfully complete.

Happy summer morning!