Topknot

While driving Claire home from dance class today, the combo of this girl plus topknot was killing me. 

 We were listening to Meghan Trainor’s “Better When I’m Dancin’”, a song we both like these days. There’s a lyric in the song that says “I don’t know about you, but I feel better when I’m dancin.” Frequently when Claire hears that line she’ll look at me and say, 

“I actually do, Mom.”

Mmm hmm. Me too.

True words, those.

Sheesh. 

I am loving watching her grow up.

Alleluia

Dear Miss Claire,

I've been on a major Patty Griffin kick lately, and her version of "All Creatures of Our God and King" on her "Downtown Church" album has been a frequent stopping place.

Love it.

There have been times where it has been played, again and again, while I'm cleaning up the kitchen or cooking.

Recently, while I was loading the dishwasher and it was on repeat,

morning sunshine streaming into the kitchen, I went to stick some dishes in and you came over by me.  It was so fortuitous because I caught you singing, "La-Lay-Loo," your own version of the "Alleluia" you were hearing.

Later, in the car, I heard you add the last syllable.

"La-Lay-Loo-La."

Yep, babe.

I'd listen to you sing praises all day.

I hope you always help me remember the majesty of God.

And I hope you'll always remember that 

I sing in praise every day, to God, for you.

xoxo

Peace In That Room

Every day is crazy.

There's noise and chaos, laughter, impatience, lots of cleaning up -- lots of sweeping the floor, putting stuff away, preparing food.

There are conversations that matter and conversations that don't.

Soft voices and loud voices.

Moments you could repeat again and again, and moments you'd prefer to forget.

I can see ways I am blessing my children, and ways I am sure I am ruining them.

It's a big, beautiful mess that just keeps moving.

But sometimes that crazy focuses, even for just a minute.

Last night I had some friends over for book club.

We didn't discuss one word of the book, but we talked a lot about other things.

And when they left, my boys ran upstairs, still not asleep -- tho they should have been.

It was after 10:00.  

They pilfered from the snacks on the table and ate a red candy heart.

I turned off all the lights, except for the candles that were burning in the front room.

I wanted to listen to a piece again that I was introduced to at Christmas time -- one that has stopped me with its beauty.  When I sit and listen to it, it lulls me into stillness.

I got to share that with my boys last night.

They ended up grabbing their pillows and blankets.

One of them sacked on the floor, the other on the couch.

I turned it on and we sat there, in the dark, with flickering light, and listened to this gorgeous piece with Latin text.

They were silent, and so was I.

I went down to get my pajamas on and the baby woke up.  She came back upstairs to nurse on my lap and I replayed the piece again.  I told them we would listen one more time and then go to bed.  

By the time it was over, I looked at my sons.

They were both fast asleep.

I watched them sleeping,

sat there soaking it in.

And, above all the other beauty that filled my day, 

that was the moment.

That time with my sons.

Enjoying beauty together.

Peace.

Peace was so thick in that room.

Beautiful music, quiet, wonderings and musings, reflecting on my people I came from, and then looking at my people after me, wondering what they will remember about their lives at home.

Feeling gratitude for the journey, with all its seasons.

Yuletide Dancing

On Friday morning, I was on the computer for a few minutes and I decided to play a little experiment.

Claire was just outside the room, in the shoe basket by the back door.

There is an instrumental version of "Ding, Dong, Merrily on High" that I love, and the children love it too.  

It is peppy, joyful, happy, and addictive.

I tend to want to play it over and over.
(It's the first track on this album.)

Every time this piece comes on, Claire starts dancing.

So.  

I thought I'd turn it on and see if she would still do it---her being out of the room and all.

Sure enough, after a few moments, it must have registered, for she came dancing into the room of her own accord.

And by dancing, it might be more accurate to say that she runs and trots, obviously super full of joy at the music.

It makes me so happy watching her.

Every time.

Singing in the Night

I've been dusting off an old favorite: a Brahms intermezzo, trying to get it back into my fingers again.

I feel like I've forgotten a past love affair that never died. 

Such beautiful music.

But, but, but.

Last week I pulled the guitar out and started singing this in the 10:00 p.m. darkness.

I resolved to sing it to Mia the next night at bedtime, which I didn't do.

But, last night.

I stayed up way too late reading this delicious something with Scott fast asleep next to me.

At one point I looked over at his back and listened to him breathe.  

I reached over and rubbed his shoulder and his head for a few moments.

I've been feeling lots of gratitude for how hard he works and what he makes possible for us, all without complaining.  AND while still being a patient Dad and good to me.

I finally turned out the light at 12 something and got ready to sleep.

Toward the end of my prayer I heard crying downstairs and went down to find Mimi scared in her bed.

I took her to go potty and then took her back to bed and tucked her in.

I rubbed her head and brushed her hair away from her face and started singing her that song.

When I came out, I peeped in at the boys like I always do before sleep.

I thanked God in my heart for simple moments like this:

snuggling my baby girl, singing in the stillness, comforting against the night.

Festive, with Gusto

Do you know what has tickled me since Monday?

It makes me want to laugh, or I find that just the thought of it makes a shameless grin take residence on my lips.

Listening to our little people singing this.

The kids (especially the boys) are enamored with it.

I'll paint you a picture with words:

Monday night.

Dinner is done.

Scott is cleaning up and washing dishes like he always does (insert: thank you, i love this).

I told them I bet I could find Good King Wenceslas in the Readers Digest Christmas Songbook, at home on our piano bench.

I began to play and they flurried to get their "songbooks" and chairs and sang out, richly, "Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the feast of Stephen."

Then we proceeded through the next three lines of the first verse and all the other four verses, phrase by phrase.  I would stop, say the phrase loudly so they would know what to sing for the next line, and then play it with gusto.

And their little voices and lungs kept time and tune.

We sung it again.

And I think we've sung it every day since, including this morning.

Loud, with umph.

(I can't help but remember this.)

It is good medicine for my heart.

Last Saturday and Sunday

On Saturday morning I woke up and saw fog sitting low on the mountains.

I had a list to do and knew I needed to get out and run before it got nasty.

Turns out, in the time it took me to start getting dressed, the rain began.

I kind of ughed inside, but went anyway.

So glad I did.

Ran up the hoofer hill right by house and kept going for 40 minutes.

I was soaking wet.

But every time I work out after or in a beautiful snowstorm, or with rain falling all around (and on!) me, there is a great quiet inside.

Something about being in the element creates something still inside me.

I forget how much I love this until I do it again.

I pushed hard and came home.

It felt so good, and I was so glad I hadn't let the cold keep me inside.

Took this dorky picture of myself to try and show you guys how soaked I was. (I was trying to get my wet legs, not my face and upper body---clearly this didn't work.  And my hand below almost looks like a black spider...what's up with that?)

This one is a bit better.

Notice how much lighter my spandex is towards my feet??

We bought a couch over the weekend.

We've wanted leather, something with classic lines, chocolate brown, simple.

Found it.

Love it.

We ate some yummy food.

Had a date night (I love being with him!).

Took the kids to their first official concert of baroque chamber music and then out to ice cream.

They did so awesome, and we're already trying to figure out what our next cultural outing will be with them.

Sunday was spent at church and in time together.

After dinner we read for an hour out of Where the Red Fern Grows.

We were gonna make cookie dough and bake some warm gooieness, but didn't get there yet.

That sounds like something yummy for my to-do list sometime this week.

Yes, please!

I love this time.

Last Night

Last night after dinner, we began a new tradition. 

Each night a different Christmas story.

I checked out a slew of them from library.

We read Rocking Horse Christmas and I loved it.  I thought it captured beautifully the magic of childhood, the fleeting nature of time, tucked into chronological Christmas bookends.

Then I tucked them all into bed and sat on the stair outside their bedrooms and sang them a new carol on my guitar.

And then was up into the wee hours addressing Christmas cards so I could send a bunch off today.

Hurray...they're gone!

If you want a lovely little folksy Christmas tune, go HERE and on the right side of the page you'll see the "Come Let Us Adore Him" album.  Click on the "Stars of Glory" track.  LOVE.  And "In The Bleak Midwinter."  And any others you might fancy...

Hope you are ready for December 1st.  I can't believe it's here.

Blessed with Beauty

 Some snapshots of the weekend's festivities:

On Friday evening Scott and I went to a solo piano recital of a good friend of ours. 

Not only was it jaw-dropping, phenomenal, and every other superlative adjective, but it left me quietly alive inside.

Awe-inspiring.

Soul feeding.

Stretching.

Deep.

I got to hold another friend's three-week-old baby during the last 45 minutes of it.

It was like going from one sense of beauty and wonder, and then glancing down and seeing this perfect bundle of beauty and composition.

The summa cum laude of human endeavor.

I was stirred by the music and talent, someone's creation that continues a domino effect of inspiration in anyone learning the piece in their own fingers, and to anyone who sits to listen.

Moved by this new, gentle, sleeping baby, the greatest perfection of human possibility and creation.

Sitting there, I was reminded of this favorite line:

"In contemplation of created things, by steps we may ascend to God."

--John Milton

I am glad that God has gifted us with such beauty, such sublimity in the world.

Happy Halloween!!

My Escape

I suppose my life is like everyone else's.

I have really fabulous days.

And days not so hot.

Kinda like today.

I've had three-year-olds who don't seem to have even one ear for listening. Or they do and completely disregard any words coming out of my mouth and turn and do it anyway. Over and over. That kind of day.

And then there was the pretty-much-fight on my cell with my husband, in the car.

All leaving me feeling somewhat lousy.

But.

I found some solace today.

I love love love to cook.

I love to cook dinner for my family.

I love to cook for friends.

I love giving love through food --- there is a very real kind of love in food that is made with absolute enjoyment.

The kids and I got home around 5:30, and the boys asked for chicken and pasta.

I thought of chicken cacciatore. (= divine)

I was standing at the stove with Isaiah. We were sampling bites of the chicken and waiting for the noodles to be done, bubbling away in a neighboring pot.

Joshua Bell's Romance on the Violin was playing in the background.
And for just a moment, it was like I could escape in all that love.

My son asking for another bite of chicken because it was good.

I could imagine myself barefoot in a small kitchen on a skinny, quaint, windy, bustling-with-life-street in Italy. A cute apron wrapped and tied around my waist. Bread rising on a sideboard.

An incredible salad tossed to perfection on my counter.

My hair pulled back.

Something delicious on the stove.

Music and voices floating in through my open door.

Clothes lines and overflowing flower boxes and buildings of all different colors out my window.

A table set for a dinner party.

While eating dinner, we were listening to The Romantic Mass, choral works by Rheinberger and Brahms. I stopped the cd player from shuffle to just play this cd because it was so beautiful. Between the food and the music, I saw myself cooking in Italy. Walking down the streets of Europe in all the lovely music from fantastic composers from lives ago.

It reminded me how much I love classical music, how soothing it is, how beautiful. Definitely needs to be on my daily dose.

What a blessed catalyst it was today.

And having three children who loved their dinner.

And helped clean up.

And watching Benji round the corner of the kitchen in response to my calling him over and over.

He was on his knees and hands. With his wolf face on, growling, "What?"

I actually couldn't help but laugh that time.

And I really should laugh more of those times instead of be annoyed.

He is in the joy of being three and imagining his own getaways.

Wolf land.

On the prowl through bedroom and front room and stairs and all.

It's nice to have something that takes you away sometimes.

(And here's to my 200th post!)

King of Pop

I love watching documentaries.

Last night we watched this one, and I loved it.

Besides the fact that it was very entertaining, I thought it was so interesting. I came away with lots of food for thought -- and gratitude.

Gratitude for the depth of talent, capability, gifts and incredible intellectual genius that made up what was going into that show -- and for what it represents from people all over the world. I'm amazed with technology -- with the brains that have come up with all the cool stuff that is possible (the lighting stunts, machinery, 3D screen technology, sound engineering, color and electricity, etc.). For me, that was totally amazing. And I felt so disappointed that he wasn't able to open his first show. It would have been one sweet concert if they could have pulled off everything they were planning.

Anyway, if you like documentaries and you haven't seen this, it's pretty great.

It's definitely MJ.

Hope you have a great weekend.

xoxo

Just Thoughts

I am baking bread today. It may well be one of the last days cool enough to enjoy some hot soup with homemade bread and butter.

Yesterday was 75 degrees+, blue sky, popsicles, sprinklers, dirt -- a beautiful day.

Today we've had rain, some wind, not-too-much cooler temps and cloudy skies. These kinds of days often put me in the mood for soups and Christmas music.

It really is so cute. We have a DVD of Clare College at Cambridge singing Christmas carols, and they are lovely. I can put Benji on the couch, with his bear ("baby") and blanket and he will curl right into the crook of the arm of the couch, snuggle his baby and put his little thumb in his mouth. And he will just lie there. He loves watching and hearing the music.

It kind of amazes me, actually. Both because it is so sweet, and also because it surprises me that an almost-twenty-month-old will sit and soak it in like that. It is one of the many things that I love about him.

I get told, frequently, how cute these boys are. I completely agree, but I am a 100% biased party. But even I step back sometimes, when they glance up at me, laughing, or tease me somehow and I watch this little personality emerge and feel like I am with other people, not just my children. I am amazed at what they are, what they think is funny, how they come up with things out of nowhere and it seems complete confirmation to me of being born with a spirit all their own.

Maybe it's kind of like looking in the mirror every day, and not noticing the changes in yourself, necessarily. Once you start looking at old photos, you realize how you've changed.

Sometimes it is a bit like that for me with these boys; I see them every day, but sometimes, I look -- and it takes my breath away. They are beautiful. They are so funny. They are so clever, sweet, refreshingly pure. My flesh and blood.

I saw in the paper yesterday that someone who was very significant in my childhood is retiring at the end of this year. I dropped her a line last night, and was thinking about how important figures of your childhood -- people who made you feel loved and like one-in-a-million to them --seem to stay that way. It is a beautiful thing to watch folks get older and feel the gratitude swell inside yourself for knowing, for being blessed by others, for being able to have been loved by these people -- and we all have them.

It is actually a very inspiring thought for me, because it makes me think about/realize the type of individual that I hope to be to those around me. As frail and flawed as I am, I hope that I can leave a legacy of love and devotion. I think that may be my ultimate goal.

I read, once, in an office a saying that said something to this effect:

People will not remember what you did (or wore or something -- can't quite remember this phrase); they will not remember what you said; but they will always remember how you made them feel.

I think that's really true, and also a bit daunting.

And because this is a kind of random thoughts post, I thought I would post this quote from this book I am currently reading. I thought it so interesting and insightful:


"...the challenge I face with children is the redemption of adulthood. We must make it evident that maturity is the fulfillment of childhood and adolescence, not a diminishing; that it is an affirmation of life, not a denial; that it is entering fully into our essential selves.
I don't go along with the people who say they'd never want to live their childhoods again; I treasure every bit of mine, all the pains as well as the joy of discovery. But I also love being a grownup. To be half a century plus is wonderfully exciting, because I haven't lost any of my past, and am free to stand on the rock of all that the past has taught me as I look towards the future.
The youngsters' rejection of adults often shocks us so much that we in turn reject the rejection and are angered at the violent means by which they repudiate parents and teachers. They drop out of school and college because it just doesn't seem worthwhile. Or they want a college degree without having to work for it. Or they have trial marriages, or just share a pad, rather than entering into relationships which are intended to last for life...with the concomitant philosophy that if you try marriage and it doesn't work, you quit. They are rebelling not again our morality and our discipline but against our lack of morality and our lack of discipline. They are unwilling to commit themselves with promises of fidelity in relationships because they have known too many grownups make these promises and then break them as though they didn't matter. Somehow or other, promises, as well as adulthood, must be redeemed. My seminar students asked me, 'But isn't it better not to make the promises at all? Isn't it more honest?'
I shook my head. 'No. I don't think so. And I think I do have a right to talk to you about this, because I've been married to the same man for almost twenty-five years, and we love each other more now than we did twenty-five years ago. When we were married we made promises, and we took them seriously. No relationship between two people which is worth anything is static. If a man and wife tell me they've never had a quarrel, I suspect that something is festering under the skin. There've been a number of times in my marriage when--if I hadn't made promises--I'd have quit. I'm sure this is equally true of Hugh; I'm not an easy person to live with.'
I'm quite sure that Hugh and I would never have reached the relationship we have today if we hadn't made promises. Perhaps we made them youthfully, and blindly, not knowing all that was implied; but the very promises have been a saving grace."
(From Madeleine L'Engle's A Circle of Quiet -- I highlighted my favorite sentences)


Now, I am not making the argument that all marriages should stay together; I think it would be naive to say that all marriages are better if they don't dissolve. Some are unhealthy, abusive, or very damaging in one way or another. But I will never be the judge of that, thankfully. But I know I will be judged on how I treat/love others, and that's what is important. I think we each do the things we have to do, and that is sufficient.

But, I am a proponent of the importance and sanctity of marriage. And I loved this quote because after marrying -- amidst the truth that my husband is my best friend -- I also suddenly gained a whole lot of respect for folks who had been married for years and years and who are very happy together. I realized how much work a relationship like that takes. And there have been times when I have honestly questioned if I am "marriage material," if I can be the kind of spouse that I hope to be, if I have the kind of love to make a relationship like that. And, even in four short years of marriage, my promises have been questioned. It has been more than I bargained for at times. It has been full of brilliant moments of joy, as well as difficulty and pain, growth, understanding. And this quote really resonated with me because I loved that she said that the promises, in large part, have been a saving grace. I think I can say that has been true for me as well.

And one more note before I sign off. Today is my mother's birthday.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

I want to publicly tell her how much I love her and to thank her for all that she has taught me, for her sensitivity and goodness, for instilling in me a love affair with words and language, for giving me life. She is a remarkable person. I wish you all could know her.

Bathtime

This is one of the things I like to do while the boys are in the bath.

Boys in bath equals time for me to sit by the bathtub, play the guitar and sing.

This morning's playlist included:

Morning Song for Sally by Jerry Jeff Walker

Talk To Me While I'm Listening by Nanci Griffith

Across the Great Divide (Nanci Griffith does a cover of this song...I don't know who the song writer is)

You've Got A Friend by James Taylor

He's my Prince Charming

The other night I was lying in bed and thinking that I really should post again. While trying to think about what I could post, I remembered something I was told that absolutely cracked me up. My Japanese visiting teaching companion, Elisa, told me a few months back that I look like Sandra Bullock, and that she and her sister had both agreed that Scott was like Prince Charming. I started to laugh. How hilarious! (I still think it's hilarious, although I don't get the Sandra Bullock thing.) But, last night (and today), as I've been thinking about their assessment of my husband, I was thinking about the way that HE is that title to me. Let me count a few of the ways:

*he gives me backrubs whenever I ask
*he always washes the dinner dishes, unless seriously cramped with homework
*he never lets a day go by without telling me he loves me, he thinks I'm gorgeous, etc. etc. etc. (Every woman should hear that from her husband every day, right?)
*he likes to cook when he can
*he makes me feel like I'm the only woman he could ever possibly love like he loves me
*the quirky way that he is always 100% prepared with EVERYTHING, and I'm just about the opposite
*he lets me spread my wings and fly
*we can go snowboarding together
*we enjoy walks, hiking, talking, mountain biking, reading, and basically everything else together

I'm starting to think that this may be boring for anyone else to read, so please excuse the personal sentiments. But, to quote something that Kathleen Kelly says in "You've Got Mail," she says something to the effect of, "But what is it if it isn't personal? Hello!"

On a different note, Scott (and our parents) pitched in to get me a guitar for Christmas (which I have loved). I so enjoy folk songs -- especially the lyrics and all the creative music. I've enjoyed playing and I love being around a friend of mine who plays, and with my sisters. There's something so wonderful about singing together, or just sitting and watching them play and hearing their voices. So soothing and relaxing and creative. I've always wanted to write a song, and last week, after an aggravating argument with Scott, we did our own activities for a few hours (which was the right thing to do), and I wrote a song! (It may not be a good song, but I was excited because that's never happened for me before and I've wanted to have it happen so many times.) And no, it wasn't an angry song. It's kind of more or less about accepting each other as human beings with flaws and, hypothetically, instead of getting angry and saying stuff you always regret later, being grateful for the gift and power of love and for people who love you despite your flaws.

It's true, though, what Rachel was saying in response to my last post. Sometimes you have to have the other end of the spectrum to truly appreciate and love the things that are so special and lovely (ie. the things I love listed above). Having a little opposition seems to stir things up. But, when the sand settles, I really think sometimes that Prince Charming and I are riding into the sunset after all, and I find myself thanking God for the ride.