At the End of Each Day

We celebrated Father's Day with pony rides at Bunker Hill. And a giant brunch. And meandering, bug-catching travels through a new park.

But it wasn't just for the sake of Father's Day. With Pip's arrival seemingly imminent (but possibly still 2 weeks away!), we have been trying to close out each day with a sense of fulfillment, as if to say, "And thus ends this chapter."

For example, yesterday Joe took the kids to a big outdoor pool, giving me some much-needed time to write, read, and nap. We took in a movie together, and we closed the day with waffles for dinner (topped with our seemingly endless supply of homegrown strawberries).

Seriously, looking back on the last week full of activity and family-bonding - even a couple of real date nights- it's clear that we've been writing the last paragraphs in this chapter before we embark on a whole new beginning with a whole new family member.

This frenzied writing of memories is not something we've embarked on purposefully. We're moved in part because we know how much life will slow down in the weeks to come... how limited our (particularly my) mobility will be as we settle into a newborn's unscheduled demands. And we've undertaken all of this even as I eagerly (almost obsessively) anticipate meeting this baby and look forward to time spent on the small, fleeting, beautiful tasks of caring for him.

So at the end of each day, Joe and I sit together and think, this has been wonderful - but we can't wait for this one last arrival!

A Kindergarten Concert

I didn't anticipate choking up at the end of kindergarten. The first days were obviously full of adjustments and reflections, but by the end, shouldn't we be jaded old pros at this elementary school thing?

After the delightfully silly concert, Mrs. Johnson ushered us all back to her classroom where she had prepared a DVD compilation of  this year's activities set to the tunes of It's a Wonderful World, Somewhere Over the Rainbow,  and Sesame Street's We all Sing with the Same Voice, at which point our kids chimed in.

We all sing with the same voice,
The same song, the same voice.
We all sing with the same voice,
And we sing in harmony. 

That's about where I lost it.  There is something about this moment, with Maya about to move on to the more grown up world of First Grade and Pip just waiting for the right moment to join the party. Even Elliot spends her days in between things, one moment clutching my belly and telling Pip all of the things she'll teach him and the next using a squeaky baby voice and demanding to be carried. 

It's a tender moment. Maybe they all are when little kids, full of rapid change, baffling phases, and sudden transformations, are the focus of our daily lives. 

In Search of Spring

While still not balmy, this morning's sunny and 48 degrees brought our smiles back. Both girls demanded to be free by 8 AM, so the backyard has been a busy place.

And looking back, we have hit all of the spring milestones, even if the in between times have been marked by drizzly imprisonment. We dropped off our annual May baskets around the block before heading to South Dakota.

The Minnesota Zoo Babies exhibit once again followed an early morning, outside egg hunt.

 It hasn't been the spring we would choose, but I guess we've made the most of it!

This is That Moment

When people look back, they always say "remember that time..."

Our summer has been full of moments that will eventually be "that time." Not that I want to be constantly looking backwards or wrestling to hold on to this present moment. We've just had a lot of milestones piling up together.

This sense started when Joe stepped back from his play house creation and said, "Wow, so this is that time I built my kids a playhouse." He was right, it's not something that is likely to happen twice!

Then there was that time Maya discovered she could really truly swim under water. That morning she discovered her tooth was loose - it's not out yet, but it will be soon!

Today was that time I put my baby on the bus.The first time.

Of course, Elle will have her first time too, but it will be different. I'll be less thrown by the bureaucratic hiccup that voided Maya's bus ride home for the first few days. I'll be less overwhelmed by the logistics of a ginormous school. I'll likely be just as emotional, tearing up uncharacteristically at that little face peering out the window of the bus. But by then I will have watched Maya get off the bus safe and happy hundreds of times, so I'll be more certain that kindergarten is a beginning, something new.

Not simply an end to unscheduled days of park wandering and play dough.

So this is "that time" we'll talk about until the warm memory is worn into a highly polished moment.

It's hard to put things up on the blog sometimes, crystallizing them in a way that certainly changes them. Still, I have to share how I stashed Maya's doll in her backpack, the one she's been dragging everywhere all of a sudden. "To keep you company," I assured her. She just grinned at me, "I don't need it, mom. I'm not scared."

And she wasn't. She worried all week about going to school, crossing days off our calender with a shaky hand. But today she was up and dressed by 7:00. She wore pink polka dot tights, a denim skirt with pink flowers, and a pink, ruffled shirt. The purple socks and red headband with a bow added to her whimsical charm.

Joe raced the bus in order to meet her at school. He helped her find her seat and get comfortable. And get us comfortable.

Meanwhile, Elle and I both teared up as the bus pulled away. Me because I could see her heading off to college just as clearly, and Elle because she couldn't see her coming back at all. The whole situation really puzzled her.

She marched inside, sat down next to Anakin, and started talking. "You can be my buddy now," she told him. Then, with a hug, "you are my best friend." Of course, just a few hours later Maya was home, and all was right in our house again.

Elle and I spent the morning making homemade play dough, having a dance party, and playing farm. This kid  has never had so much undivided attention. We are all moving on to something new!

Photo Friday: A Walk in the Park

On this, the last day of summer camp, we picnicked in the park. The girls climbed the tiny tree they've grown to love. They played their favorite silly game, where each tree turns them into either a princess or a dragon or a circus clown or any number of other things. They walked through the park in character, giggling and roaring and prancing.

All the while, my thoughts ran through the school shopping list. This is limbo: the last days of summer before kindergarten. I really have to step up my meditation practice to keep from missing all the fun with thoughts of what size fall jacket might, just might still fit in the spring.
Present moment... only moment. Present moment... only moment.... ohm.

Finally, Time to Exhale

Phew. We've finally stumbled into a patch of lazy summer days. Not just a free morning here or there. Not simply an afternoon of ignored obligations. No, from now to the end of summer (which is fast approaching, I realize), we are legitimately unscheduled.


Well, sure there are still a few things on the calendar, but they are all either ditch-worthy or still categorized as lazy, summery things to do.


So here we go, wandering through the local park, stumbling upon the new, secret path to the practically-private public beach.


Ducks were fed. Bikes were broken in. Sand castles were constructed with care and concern for the princess (a wayward feather) and the prince (a piece of drift wood).


With no schedule, few rules, and no distractions, peace is a beautiful summer morning at Silverwood.

Why My Two-Year-Old Scaled a Cattle Gate

During our vacation a few weeks ago, Joe showed the girls around his childhood farm.

It has been vacant, or nearly so, for over a decade.


Time has left its signature across the crumbling barns, in the imposing trees that were merely underbrush on his last visit, and in the thistles reclaiming the lawn. The girls were excited, and a little frightened, by this deserted place. That we climbed a cattle gate and weaved our way around a million cow paddies only added to the discomfiting fascination.


But they wanted to know every story. Where did you milk the cows, dada? Where were your chickens? Did you swim in that lake? Did you play with Aunt Jess a lot when you were little? What did you do?

He lingered in the telling as much as in the showing. At one point, he helped both girls jump into the doorway of a tiny barn, the granary. They peered doubtfully into the shadows, where a family of birds were sounding their annoyance. He quickly assured them that they shouldn't go inside, just stand at the edge and smile. With that, he captured these photos.



These pictures are twins to another, older version of two siblings standing in the same doorway. This epic picture, priceless in a way that my excessively snapped digital photos never will be, was taken on a busy day on a working farm. Two happy kids enjoyed a snack after a chore well done.


With our twin picture taken, we left. Not in a hurry. Not because we showed up at the farm to take that particular picture. But we were done somehow and went off to make new memories.

A Nostalgic Two-Year-Old?

Can a preschooler be nostalgic? Yes, yes they can.

At least, Elliot seems to have picked up my zest for holding on to the moments as they slip past.


Even as I led her pony, Flash, around on Father's Day, she spoke in the softest little girl voice she has, "I don't want to get big, I want to stay tiny."

This was after we explained to Maya, who was walking around with Joe and Sneak-a-Peak, that pony's are special horses that stay small. The colts we saw racing through the nearby pasture would grow up to be great big horses. The sort you can't ride until you are a little older.


Elliot keeps asking for her pretty brown shoes and her "tap shoes" (her flashy black Christmas shoes). She grew out of both a few months ago, but if I remind her of that she folds her arms defiantly over her chest. "No! I'm still tiny," she pouts in a low voice. "I don't want to get bigger and bigger. I'm just wittle."

Best Father's Day Ever!

This protest is seriously adorable. Perhaps my completely enthralled reaction is encouraging her reminiscence and protests. Soon she'll follow in Maya's footsteps and make declarations like, "If only I was 8, I could ride a REAL horse."

But for now, each time she pouts about wanting to stay tiny, I give her a tickle and assure her I'll keep her small as long as I can.

Staccato Pace

After all of my preaching about pace and simplicity, it turns out that even I can't follow it. We have had one monumental project, event, or trip every week for over a month. Between planning, preparation, and execution, our weeks have been overflowing. Each of us is a bit sleepy and discombobulated as a result.


But this staccato pace is more akin to the rhythm of a good dance party tune than the steady marching beat of daily life that I'm always fighting to slow down. In other words, we've been enjoying the craziness.


Somehow we have managed to find our rest between each event. Even with so many things packed on top of each other, we have reveled in long walks as a family, backyard fires, and afternoons trying to master the physics of kite flying.


Still, May and June have had us moving too quickly. Too constantly. We need to pause a bit to catch our breath and find a more comfortable rhythm.


Pictures of the fish Joe and I caught in our new canoe this weekend will be forthcoming. The Boundary Waters will never be the same after our first fish fry.

Summer!

The pole beans are quickly unfurling. The girls wander between our splash pool and sandbox, making mud cupcakes and staying cool.



Summer has arrived and now our days somehow stretch out lazily across the backyard and pass too quickly at the very same time.

Where do these poses keep coming from?

From Turbulence Comes Peace

The most helpful thing I ever learned in ECFE was.... shoot, I forgot the name of it. And I can't find the link.... But still, I'll share what I remember because it comes to mind often.

The Parent Educator once handed out a chart showing the basic stages of development for most healthy children along with the emotional and psychological state associated with each phase.

We kicked off the birth of this year's garden the best way we know how... mmmm, donuts!

Throughout childhood, so said the chart whose name I cannot remember or find, we move through waves of turbulence and discomfort, we expend a great deal of energy trying to resolve this turbulence, and we emerge on the other side in the calm waters of a new milestone... until, of course, its newness wears off and we feel turbulent again. This turbulence is famous in two-year-olds and teenagers. It is a little more subtle but common throughout the in between years.

The chart only went up through adolescence, but it had a note at the bottom that we continue to cycle through these phases throughout our life.

With her help, a new garden was born, full of pole beans, three kinds of bush beans, tons of tomatoes and peppers, cabbages, chard, spinach, and all sorts of other yummy things. I tossed in some coco hulls for mulch and it now smells like a candy bar.

Maya is just emerging from a somewhat turbulent phase. I'll spare you the details, but even at 5 little girls can be difficult to play with, and the poor kid is quite a bit younger than most of her playmates. She was frustrated for a while, and that frustration burst out in all sorts of little ways.

The bug hunt never really ends in our backyard.

Now, suddenly she seems at peace again, and she has clearly reached a new level of maturity or a new perspective on the world. She is enjoying her friends and exploring her world with a little more bravery and confidence than she had just a short while ago. Her demeanor is all little girl. My baby only really peaks through when she skins a knee or stays up too late.

Elle really enjoyed Joe's project best.

It's lovely to see. Especially since Elliot has suddenly become the (slightly) turbulent one, staging tantrums that silence entire buildings. Living in a family is challenging, partly, because even us adults go through our turbulent stages from time to time. Between the lot of us, someone is always struggling to reach that next plateau. But somehow, it is always a thrill to see what emerges on the other side.