the fog has lifted

pool house :: girls side


What a week. We are all operating at about 85% healthy this morning. Which feels pretty darn good after the week we've had. Between the heat, being sick myself, and waking up each day to another child falling to the stomach flu/high fever, it's been a tough one.

It's funny, in the middle of a round of sickness, how you forget what normal is. You begin to wonder if you'll ever put a real meal on the table or hang out a load of laundry or DO a load of laundry again. The daily visits to the swimming pool seem like they would require amazing feats of energy that you no longer have.

But a new day dawns.

checking on the beans

This morning, I was actually up and outside before anyone else had managed to crawl into bed with me. Enough time to feed the kittens and notice that I'll be picking my first tomato tomorrow, I believe.

The heat is gone, which changes my perspective on everything. I'm thankful for the break, for my healthy children, for the return to normal.

Mary came downstairs this morning in jeans, two tee shirts, a long sleeved shirt and her pink cowboy boots, begging for breakfast.

No, she's not having fever chills.

That's normal.

Happy weekend, everyone.

Find A Bushel and A Peck, Week 2, here.

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things I've learned, please be sure to read no. 3

a milestone I don't look forward to

1. There are certain milestones you look forward to your children reaching--first smile, first tooth, first time they reach for you to pick them up, first shaky steps across the floor...however, the one milestone I'm less than thrilled about Elizabeth reaching this week is how to pull herself up on to the sofa. Where she finds it quite comical to stand up holding on to the back, then let go and allow herself to do a free fall plop down on to her rumpus, and/or back, depending upon how she sticks the landing. And of course a baby masters how to climb up on the sofa without a firm set of safety precautions established in her repertoire, or a means for getting down from said sofa that doesn't require tears and bruised cheeks, or help from her mother. I've been spending a lot of time on my sofa the past few days.

still warm, fresh from the vine

2. You will always be able to find someone else in a situation that is worse or harder than what you are going through. But that doesn't diminish or negate what you are experiencing or feeling. When a person needs a shoulder to cry on, an ear to complain in, be that shoulder or that ear. And in that moment, don't remind them that other people have it worse or harder.  It's like the person who has one child and is experiencing a struggle can't complain to the person who has three or four children because how could her simple life, with only one child ever be as complicated as the person with three? That's just not fair. And life can't be broken down so simply. You have a right to feel what you are feeling, to struggle where you are struggling. And you have the right to be comforted and to give comfort.

is there anything better?

3. You all do number two perfectly. I'm not sure I can say that I've ever read my blog comments through teary eyes, but this weekend and this morning, I did. I just needed that little bit of 'chin up' understanding and encouragement that came through in your words. When I talk to people who don't know blogging, the first thing I remark on is the community. But not the kind of community where the neighbors growl and groan behind closed doors about this person's noisy kids or that person's weedy front garden. But the kind of community where people wander from front porches, and linger together on the sidewalk. And share a cup of coffee, or pass along an extra quart of strawberries, or pick up their neighbor's tipped over garbage cans that have blown into the street. It's a community where people go out of their way to be nice, to encourage, to support, to help. Thank you. Over and over.

4. Is there much in this world that tastes better than strawberries that are still warm from being plucked from the vine? I don't think so.
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off the cutting room floor

The back of my National Geographic magazine has a page that shows one picture that didn't make the cut. One picture that was tossed aside and didn't make it into the preceding pages of stunning photography. Yet there was still something special about the photo. Special enough to rescue it from the cutting room floor and share it at the close of the magazine.
When I go through my week there are many posts that get written in my head that never make it to the blog. And there are many pictures that get taken but never shown. So today, I decided to rescue a few of those shots from my past week or so and share them here together--off my "cutting room" floor, if you will...

There is the picture that is one of my favorites I've taken in a really long time--shot holding my camera out the car window, feeling warm and blessed for the beautiful place where I live and wide open spaces.

dusk in the valley

The sunset shot, on the same evening that really captured the colors my eyes were seeing.

sunset

A day of lingering in the parking lot of the farm, watching the girls roller skate. The lingering that put me in the right place at the right time, to hear someone's cries for help, who was seriously hurt.

lacing up

The post that made me notice and appreciate an early morning with all my girls in the kitchen with me.

all the girls in the kitchen early monday morning

baking

The climax of the Star Magnolia tree outside my grandmother's porch.

magnolia at dusk

The pillow--made for my dear college girlfriend--who sent me "the" envelope--and asked me to put together a package that would reveal the surprise to her and her husband. The pillow says, "oh boy!".....

just up from naps

The rainy day of math disguised as games...that started out so fun, but soon turned to attitude problems and then ended with me, sitting on the floor by myself wondering what happened.

playing games, doing math

Sometimes it makes me sad, when an idea or a moment, doesn't get shared. Because more often than not, I forget those moments. I've been keeping a five year journal now for the past six months. When I flip through old entries, I'm amazed while reading those four or five lines I jot down each night, how much I've forgotten. It's just the nature of life, I suppose. So maybe I'll start doing this a little more often--rescuing a few photos, a few stories off the cutting room floor at the end of the week. Then just maybe they won't be completely forgotten and that simple sentence or picture will remind me of a moment, a lesson learned, or a beautiful view that I don't want to lose.

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home improvements:: the short version

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Living Room: Pretty much done except for sanding/painting floors.
Formerly stinky blue carpeting, peeling, dirty walls that wouldn't take paint.

I sat down at the computer about an hour ago and started writing what I intended to be a quick catch up post, filling you all in on "the new house" that we'll be moving in to shortly. I wanted it to be nuts and bolts with a bunch of pictures. But as writing late at night will do to a person, it turned into a very long version. An unloading session of sorts. An "I should have been telling you guys about this all along and now there's way too much to say" kind of post. So instead of deleting it and losing all those thoughts and feelings and impressions, I gave it its own page and gave you a choice. Want the nuts and bolts? This post is all you need. Want the long, sitting in my living room catching up with a good friend version, it's on its own page found here. Or listed on my right-hand sidebar.

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The first thing Dan did? Rip up pink carpeting from the stairs.

In the meantime, for you nuts and bolts readers:

We've been living in a two bedroom apartment on my grandparents' farm for the last two years. It's been a wonderful blessing to be here, be close to my grandmother, my father, my family and live in such a beautiful place. But at the same time there have been hard things, like the fact that my bedroom is technically in the living room, the living room is technically in the kitchen and my desk is technically at the front door. Oh, and I have three small children, and my wonderful husband up here in the garage apartment, too.
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The kitchen--will have to wait. Can't afford to do everything. I'm cursed with another white floor.

So we're moving just around the corner, almost within sight distance, to a small farmhouse on a few acres. A generous opportunity given to us by family. A fixer-upper on the inside, and a lot of mowing and gardening on the outside.
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The dining room: Rotten floor, as in fall through to the basement. Still very much in progress. The new floor is shown in the living room shot. It's acclimating and waiting for "work week".

Dan has done all the work on the house by himself. It has been long. It has been hard. He's been away from us to work on it a lot. But what would I do without him?
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The "six and under suite". Pegs were a little surprise to me, from Dan. I want them everywhere. Really.

This weekend he's going to Wisconsin, getting a big old moving truck and bringing all our stuff out here. We'll move in shortly after. His brother, also a carpenter, is coming with him and staying for a week to work on the place, too.
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The upstairs bathroom. Scares me.

I can't wait to be reunited with all my things that have been in Wisconsin storage. I might shed tears.

I'm excited. I'm anxious. I'm ready. Though it's all a little bittersweet, closing this season of living on the farm.  But a new season is just around the corner.

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sunday afternoon :: monday morning

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::Sunday afternoon::
Dan is over at "the new house" working to get walls mudded and paint on trim. I'm working my way around the house, trying to regain control of the weekend neglect before the new week starts. The front door of our porch slams open and Emma is there yelling for my help, right away! quickly! I go to the door and she's standing there in her plum-colored fleece and bright green knit cap (mine)--with the spool of kite string in her hand. Except the spool is empty. I peek out the door and see a faint line of string--from her hand, over the roof of the house, above the oak tree, above the barn--to a brightly colored dot of kite flailing in the sky. "I wanted to see how far out it could go. Then it pulled me all the way over here and into the trees. I can't get it down." Barefoot baby on my hip who's enjoying the show, we carefully tug the stubborn kite out of the sky, holding our breath as it tangles in the bare limbs of the oak tree three times before falling to the pavement.

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::Monday morning::
Elizabeth is standing at the rails of her crib, squealing. I can hear Emma and Mary in the same room squealing and laughing too. A long wooden board--the adjustable shelf from an old bookcase is propped against the overstuffed chair in Elizabeth's room--a makeshift slide the girls have invented. They are sitting on dishtowels and sliding down the two and a half feet of board and laughing hysterically. Simple joys.

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Spring is slowly sneaking in making subjects for my macro challenge plentiful. Everything seems ready to burst, though the landscape still looks a lot like winter when the sun isn't shining. Robins are boldly singing from the treetops and tugging tangled worms from the soft soil. Spring peepers are now just part of the sounds of night. But they still catch my attention when I walk outside. I'm eagerly watching the Magnolia in front of the "Big House". Each branch is in a different stage of openness. More here and here.

Happy Monday, everyone.

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