20 Times

When Claire and I got home from dropping off the kids at school this morning, we were still in our pajamas. We wrapped ourselves in blankets on the couch to read for a while. Claire picked up the first book she wanted to read and said that she love-love-love-love-love-love-loves it. (She said “love” so many times.) 

And then, I guess to summarize, she said:

“I love it 20 times.”

Which brings me to this: October is back again. 

There are leaves on the streets and the smell of autumn is here: crisp and changing, brown and earthy.

The tops of the tomatoes are dead with frost and it’s time to pull everything out. 

The mornings and evenings are crisp, sometimes downright cold. 

I’m looking forward to making a batch of apple butter on the stove, filling my house with the scent of cinnamon and cloves. 

I bought spring bulbs to put in the ground so we can enjoy a bunch of beautiful happiness in six months when tulips carpet my small flower bed in front.

We’ve started burning fires, and there’s a sparkly spider and little witch hat on the mantle to show some October spirit. 

That’s all fine and good, and I love it all. 

But when I’m outside these days, I can’t stop staring. You’d think I have never seen golden trees before. But they are my absolute favorite. 

And every time and every day, I am—figuratively, and often literally—stopped in my tracks. Over and over...and over.

It was cool on Saturday when I woke up, and a bit breezy outside. I put my shoes on and went running. I saw sunlight filtering through a tree close to my house that never can decide, every year, if her leaves should be yellow or red. So she is both, and beautiful. And when the morning sun catches her, she is something to behold. 

Seeing her lit my heart right up. 

Life! Joy! Light!

And I know that this autumn will be over in just a minute.

But here’s the thing:

I love it 20 times.

TBT

I looked back in Picasa tonight at photos from a year ago today.

These.

I remember exactly what was going on.

It was after dinner.

Music was on.

I was chasing her round and round the front room.

She was running and laughing.

You know, as a parent, you could talk about a lot of things.

It's exhausting, and there's always more to do than can be done.

It can be so totally emotionally draining.

You lose sleep.

Sometimes you don't know what to do. 

No one prepared you for the ways it would stretch you,

the way it would bring out the best and the worst you have to offer.

But, you know what?  

I look at these photos of my smallest daughter tonight, and my heart kind of weeps.

Weeps, because the time is going.

But weeps because there has been SO MUCH JOY.

They are joy.

They are my best teachers.

I can't think of a single thing I wish I would have done instead, or a single place I would rather be.

I can't think of one other thing I'd rather do.

What an incredible ride.

Big Brother

As a mom, you watch different relationships among your children.

I've watched these two ever since she was born.

Everyone around here loves Claire.

Come to think of it, they're all pretty tight.

We all like to be together.

But.

This little gal depends on this big brother.

She adores him.

There's something special between them.

She goes to him for comfort, she calls to him if she needs help.

Just the other day, when I was irritated about something, Isaiah is the one that heard her, discontent, and came to solve the issue.  Asked her to show him what the matter was.

I see this as being something they'll treasure.

And if they ever forget, I'll tell them.

I truly believe that we are sent here, in families, with people who were meant, 

specifically, to be with us.

Sure resonates as I watch these two.

Better Than Gold

While we were out walking the neighborhood recently, this girl said something to me, off the cuff.

"I don't need money, Mom.  My family's my gold."

And then:

"Mom, isn't your family your gold?"

Oh yes, darlin'.

I'm so rich.
(A thousand times rich!)

You make me so rich.

I Guess I'm An Amazon

"Mom, it'd be funny if you were an amazon." 

(This is what Isaiah said to me last night.) 

 And then he added, 

"Well, you're powerful and strong, but you're not tall."

(I'd like to know why he thinks I'm powerful and strong, but it amuses me, nonetheless.)

That whole comment must have come from this:

we're currently reading Swallows and Amazons, and we're all pretty hooked.

Here's a snapshot of this morning:

Honey table.

Sunshine.

All gathered round.

Food.

And reading.

And the question lingering in our minds 
after reading this morning is this:

Are the Swallows gonna be able to capture 
the Amazons' boat in the night?

We can't wait to find out.

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.

By the Spoonful

In other news, this Little Miss has taken to eating homemade raspberry jam, plain, by the spoonful.

I love it.

But really, what's not to love?

Raspberries are beautiful.

Bright red.  Tangy and tart.  Sweet.  Soft.

Juicy.  Delicious.

Reminds me a whole heap of my father, who loved raspberries.

And, incidentally, loved jam.

Bread was really just an excuse for jam.  
The ratio was pretty much a spoonful of jam for every bite of bread. 
(Actually, a few years back, I discovered that his father, my sweet Grandpa, also eats it the same way.  It cracked me up.) 

Once, as a small person, my grandmother found my dad going to town on the counter, eating jam from the jar.
His response?
"What, mom?  It's my medicine."

So yeah.
Generational thing, I guess.

Her Poppi would be so proud.

Sisters

When I count my blessings, my sisters are right up there.

I really scored in that department.

I mean...I really did.

I belong to a lovely bunch of women that are kind, wise, generous, smart, beautiful, talented, funny, articulate, loyal and ambitious.  They are interesting and delightful.

(And I'm quite fond of the spouses in the bunch, and all the children that have been added to us, too.  I couldn't have better.)  

I pretty much love us.

They are a happy, bright spot in my life.

The other day, as I was snapping pictures of these two together, 

it took me to another place and time.

This.

My little sister and I, growing up together.

We were inseparable.

The same distance apart in years as my two girls.

And, as I watch these two together, 

it makes me hope they will have that, too.  

 I know I'm their mom---but I can hardly stand 

how lovely these two are.

Sisters are a pretty wonderful thing.

She Has Other Ideas

I have to admit that having quiet at the end of each day is something I crave.

After reading and teeth brushing and prayers and tucking in, I kind of sigh with relief and relish in time alone.

But.

Sometimes my Little Miss has other ideas.

 The other night she was having a hard time getting to sleep.

I had finally gotten the other kids down and was cleaning up the kitchen.

I was hoping she'd go to sleep.  When I was finished and she was still awake and crying, I went back down to get her.

Coming back upstairs, we sat down in the front room, lit by the tree.

She nursed a bit, and then I suggested that it was time to go to bed.

She promptly went across the room to one of the chairs, climbed up to sit down, and smiled back at me.  

When I asked her if she wanted to go to bed, she shook her head back and forth, like so.

(Apparently that was not a good plan.)

She climbed back down and picked up her favorite book that's stationed on the couch these days.  

Permanently.

Which is how we ended up reading there, in the quiet together.

We pointed out the eggs that the hens laid in the first nursery rhyme.

We rocked back and forth and tipped over while singing "Ring Around the Rosies."

We sang "Baa Baa Black Sheep" together, her very favorite one.

And we shook our fingers and rapped on the book as we recited "Wee Willie Winkie," a close second in the favorites category.

Some moments are golden and worth not getting time to yourself.

This.

This was one of them.

Crackly China

Yesterday I went to go and pick up this old beauty.  

It has been in storage for several months because I didn't have a place to put it.  

It's an iconic piece from my childhood home.

I love everything about it.  

The rich dark color.

The small little windows on the front.

The drawers that always had candles and salt and pepper shakers and coasters from Switzerland tucked inside.  The warm, distinct smell it has.

The way it was filled with crystal and china that we pulled out for fancy dinners.

Last night, about midnight, this is what my kitchen looked like.

I was awake, unwrapping piece after piece of my grandmother's china (and some other iconic crystal pieces from my childhood).  

My favorite pieces are the ones that are like this, where the china appears crackly.

I lit candles on my mantle and had Christmas carols on as I worked.

It felt almost like a Christmas morning.

The hutch and the china take me to happy places in my memory: that china on top of a blood red tablecloth, and laden with all kinds of yummy.  

Holiday dinners and Christmas Eve morning breakfasts as we listened to A Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols, live from Cambridge, England.

Dad used his mother's set every time he prepared a fancy feast, and I can look at it and remember how he always talked with great affection when he spoke about his mom.

I look at it and I can hear beautiful music in the background, and smell any number of delicious things cooking: turkey, Dad's pork tenderloin with mushroom sauce, pies, bread, mashed potatoes, bread puddings.  You name it.

It reminds me of the holidays -- candles burning, Christmas trees lit up, a warm fire bringing cheer and warmth on a snowy night.

I see the little cut glass crystal bowls (pictured above) and immediately think of tapioca pudding.

I remember pulling out the dining room table and adding extra leaves to make room for guests, how we had to stand at opposite ends of the table and pull.

I think of us around that table -- plates laden with mouth-watering food, and all the hours of talk.

My family loves to get together and talk.

I hear us laughing or getting a scientific explanation from Martin or playing cards.

It makes me sad, but in a happy sort of way I guess.

I came upstairs and opened the curtains this morning and looked at the china through the glass, tucked away.

I looked around at my newly arranged front room (since the table was moved out).

I see fall on my mantle, but I've been planning all week for Monday---when Christmas will replace it.

I've got a wreath to make and decorations to haul down from the attic.

We'll go and buy our Christmas tree.

I'll have carols on again, long into the quiet hours at night, warm lights twinkling in the background.

I'll pull out more of my family's history with decorations that are as much a part of my childhood as that hutch.

But.

Last night?

Those cream pieces took me to people I love, to a warmth that will never leave this heart,

to love and happiness and joy that will sustain me all my days.

(Next week I'll be blogging about a fall activity to do with your kids and holiday recipes. 

And, of course, about Christmas decorating -- which should actually be expressed like this: !!!! 

my heart.)

Just Us Girls

This is completely unrelated to this post, but as I sat down to write this morning, Claire donned a walrus nose.

(I think she's kind of adorable.)

But, for what I was really planning to write about, let's talk about last night.

Mia has been asking for us to have a girls night for a long time.

Last night we made it happen.

On these evenings, we get to do the things she wants.

Last night she voted to make homemade pizzas and have a candlelight dinner.

After that, we had decided to do facials and pedicures.

Have you ever done a facial at home?

It's just five easy steps.

Clean your face.

Exfoliate.  

We made a homemade scrub with sea salt mixed with olive oil and some drops of lavender essential oil.

Steam.  

You can put a towel over your head and hover over a pot of steaming water for a few minutes, or you can soak a cloth in really hot water, squeeze it out, and then drape it over your face.  Repeat a few times.

Put on some mask.

After that has dried, 

rinse it off and moisturize.  

(For more details on each step, as well as recipes, go here.)

While we were busy doing these steps and pedicuring at the same time (and, having so much fun, I might add), I found myself thinking about a talk by Elaine Dalton from a few years back that I love.

I thought about this:

"When our daughter, Emi, was a little girl, she liked to watch my every move as I got ready for church.  After observing my routine, she would comb her hair and put on her dress, and then she would always ask me to put on some 'shiney.' The 'shiney' she referred to was thick, gooey cream that I used to prevent wrinkles.  As requested, I would put it on Emi's cheeks, and lips, and she would then smile and say, 'Now we are ready to go!'  What Emi didn't realize is that she already had her 'shiney'' on.  Her face glowed because she was so pure and innocent and good.  She had the Spirit with her, and it showed.

I wish every...woman...would know and understand that your beauty---your 'shine'---does not lie in makeup, gooey cream, or the latest clothing or hairstyles.  It lies in your personal purity.  When you live the standards and qualify for the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost, you can have a powerful impact in the world.  Your example, even the light in your eyes, will influence others who see your 'shine,' and they will want to be like you.  Where do you get this light?  The Lord is the light, 'and the Spirit enlighteneth every man through the world, that hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit.'  A divine light comes into your eyes and countenances when you draw close to your Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.  That's how we get the 'shiney.'"

(Go here for the full talk.)

After we had finished, we headed downstairs to watch a movie together.

But before we started it, we were lying on my bed on one of my big pillows.  

I opened that talk on my phone and read her that segment.

True beauty comes from goodness.

That goodness and truth bring the Spirit.

It shines in your eyes.

It warms those around you.

I want her to know this, because she will be bombarded about other messages of beauty her whole life---especially as she gets older and encounters all the negative messages given to women about their bodies and

 what beauty is and how to measure worth.  

I want her to recognize where true beauty comes from, 

and I hope she stays close to the source.

Then she can be a light for others, and for other women.

It's a light we so desperately need today.

******************

And, this is a shameless shout out.  

I am trying to find work.

I'm trying to find something I can do from home to support my family, so I don't have to leave my kids.

If you have any leads or ideas for me, will you drop me a line (my email is in my profile)?  Or, if you have my cell, shoot me a text?  Will you keep your ears open?

Thanks, friends.