When Birdy went missing.
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Last week, while I was on the phone with Emily, all the kids were outside playing. Birdy, who jumps at any opportunity to be outside, was standing at my hip crying because she was inside and everyone else was out. When her screaming to go out became too much to talk over, I hung up with Emily long enough to put Birdy in her boots and sent her outside--calling to her sisters to keep any eye on her.
Emily and I continued to talk and I watched as some of the girls wandered back into the house. Finally, much later, Emma came in. Alone.
Where's Birdy? I asked.
She's inside with the girls.
No, she's not. You were watching her outside.
No one told me I was watching her.
And then, there's that parenting moment where you get the immediate pit in your stomach. Deep, deep down you're pretty sure everything is just fine. But in a flash, you've systematically worked through every possible horrible scenario that could happen to your unattended toddler. And what steps you'll take to deal with the emergency. As well as the fact that you haven't showered and if you're going to need to now make a trip to the emergency room, you're looking pretty scruffy and maybe you'll be able to at least wash your hair in the kitchen sink before you go.
Please. Tell me I'm not the only one who manages all these thoughts in course of 12 seconds?
But of course, we found her.
And of course where else would she be but playing in the muddiest corner or our property, where the driveway meets the grass. Where the water gathers after every rain. And mixes with mud and stone and mulch and soil.
And of course, she was wearing one of my favorite sweaters. And her best pair of jeans.
But who was watching her? Her very best pal.
Of course.
hello again
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This is my desk this morning.
It's actually a new little space I created for myself in the kitchen. While I try to do a few things this morning, Birdy is bringing me her stash of animals. I can hear her coming now. And she's dragging a xylophone behind her. Eventually, I'll start giving them back to her. "Back" she'll say and toddle with them back to her room. She's so meticulous. Picking up bits of trash and carrying them all the way to the kitchen trash can. Picking up her sleepers and putting them in her laundry basket. Pushing a chair under the kitchen table when she sees it out of place. I wonder how to nurture this behavior because I love it. I go a little overboard for now when she puts things where they belong. I'm hoping this will encourage her.
Today is Monday and it marks the first day of a new "adventure" for me. It's a new writing opportunity that kinda shakes out to more than just the here and there kind of freelance writing I've been doing in the past. The work will be with Babycenter but I'll have to wait a bit to get the all-clear to give more details. Sorry. I hate it when people do that. But I'm writing about it here to let you know that there are going to be some growing pains at first. It's definitely more of a commitment. More of a job now, than a hobby. But a job I'm excited about with a company and group of people I'm so happy to be part of. And, to be completely honest, a blessing for my family--somewhat flexible, work-from-home, still homeschool my children, work with great people, add to our family's income. It really is a good thing.
For now it feels a bit like bringing home a newborn. How it takes a bit to determine your new normal. Figuring out how you'll manage to still do laundry, make dinner and vaccuum the rugs, even though you have this little baby to care for. I know a routine will develop and I'll find ways to carve out time to get everything done. And I know, I'll be asking for help when I need it.
So hello and thanks for listening and that's the news from Thomas Run.
More soon, hopefully sooner...
7 Tips for taking a perfect family Christmas card photo
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1. Take your photograph when your children are well-fed and rested. (Not right after church when the baby is looong overdue for a nap and everyone's low-blood sugar is resulting in impatience and grumpiness.)
2. Make sure your husband is well-fed. (Because you'll need his help to wrangle babies, arrange children, shoo chickens, and hold ponies. And if he's hungry {see above}, he'll give up on your perfect holiday photo shoot way too quickly.
3. Find a clean, white pony to add something unique and meaningful to your family's photo. (Preferrably not one that was rolling in her muddy field just as you are all walking outside to take pictures.)
4. Make sure your children are well-groomed and bathed. (or else they'll be wearing handknits in all the pictures to cover up)
5. Drain all tubs of standing water. (Because you know the baby will find them. And while you're directing the brushing of the pony and making sure noone gets stomped on by the same nervous pony, the baby will find the water and be up to her elbows in it before you turn back around.)
6. Lock in the chickens. (They distract the photographer.)
7. Remember that one of the things you love most about your family is that it's big, crazy and chaotic. But every once in awhile, you get a glimpse of almost-perfection. And there among the five hundred wacky outtakes, there'll be one that captures just that.
A warmer heart
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I've got a new sidekick when it comes to morning chores.
I can't even utter the word "outside" unless I have her completely bundled. Otherwise, I'll be attempting to dress, shoe and bundle a baby squirming and wailing at the mudroom door, eager to break free from her indoor jail.
Some days, we can't even be bothered with shoes. I'm lucky if I can get a sweater over her head and a hat secured under her chin before she's pushing through the door.
She often brings her morning banana. I try not to think about where and how many times it is dropped. And what bits of dirt and whoknowswhat that cling to it. Or which animals she's offered a lick before taking another tiger-sized bite off the end.
Instead of lugging her on my hip, we've discovered the garden cart makes a pretty convenient way to trek back and forth to the chicken coop.
I put her on the concrete pad in front of the coop while I work.
She sits in the pile of chicken feed like it was a sandbox created just for her. The hens eye her cautiously, pecking around her, as she tries to feed them from her chubby palms. This must be why the hens follow her around so closely. They know she offers food.
I collect eggs, check on the babies, freshen up water, and throw clumps of soft, fresh green grass into their pen.
When we cross back over the little wooden bridge on the way home, she is thrilled by the water running under our feet. I'm amazed at her ability to perch on the very edge of the bridge, crouched down, babbling at the water. I miss that kind of flexibility and balance. She's telling me a lot of things about that little stream. I talk back to her like I understand every word.
Eventually, I convince her there's more to see on the other side of the bridge. But before she hits that slippery, muddy patch, I swoop her up and plop her back in our farmer's stroller.
Her favorite friend blocks our path with a croquet ball in her mouth. A leaf dangles from her lips. She's relentless.
If I'd let her, she'd stay out here all day. The only way I can coax her back inside is to bring the dog and a small furry kitten with me. She finally follows, waving goodbye to the crowd of animals gathered around her, like the queen of the animal kingdom.
I peel off layers, wipe her runny nose and notice her muddy sleeper-feet. And she's gone again. Disappearing into the belly of the house. Following the dog. Calling for her sisters. And I'm left to hang up sweaters, shove hats back in the basket and pry the barn boots from my feet.
The house feels warmer now than it did when we first set out this morning.
So does my heart.
