The Light Changed.

chris-lawton-154388 (1)The early chill cut to my core and I had yet to lay hold of my morning sustenance.  The wee hours were just waning and I suspected that the morning was eager to burst forth within the hour.  I gingerly stepped onto the cold wooden floor, thankful for my fair-isle slippers with the leather sole.  At first step, my sleepy eyes met with an unexpected golden glow streaming through the vintage lace curtains of the old farmhouse.  The lace cast intricate patterns across the aged floor and on to the fine China seated in the hutch.  The aura seemed most ethereal and near heavenly.

The light had changed.  The hour had moved.  And I had forgotten.

I thought, “I must hasten the morning coffee that I may capture this moment while the quiet persists.”  Cup in hand, I sat in the weathered rocker, blanket-wrapped, watching the light filter through the front-yard tree, setting the living room to light.

I anticipate the time change almost as much as a morning coffee.  It feels like “coming home.”  Everyone retreats to the house early.  The sky darkens.  We dine by the dimness of the evening.  We rush into our jammies, dim the lights, and cozy up for a game of cards or a favorite read-aloud story.  There are steaming cups of peppermint tea and fleece blankets a-plenty.

We savor cold nights, neatly tucked into the old farmhouse and I reflect on change thus far and change for the future.  I always thought I would be sad to grow older. But as time creeps and age blooms, I find myself unwrapping each moment as a gift. Always unexpected. And usually good.

My Peanut (if I can still call her that) is thirteen.  We talk about things.  All the things.  Over coffee.  It is more beautiful than I imagined it could be.  To see a young woman take shape just where my little girl once stood.  To see her struggle.  To work things through.  To celebrate wins.  To find herself.

And the light in her eyes?  It has changed, too.  And changing still.

Ladybug is right behind her…   And then two more.

Gratitude rises within as I have grown to appreciate each season. Each moment. Each breath.

 

I am thankful for…

Fingerprints on the picture-window glass. (And the little girls that left them.)

The dog that curls up to warm my feet. (And warms my heart twice as much.)

Mason jar glasses brimming with chilled milk. (And sometimes a cookie.)

Untidy rooms. (Lived-in and loud.)

Cracked Pepper & Olive Oil Triscuit crackers. (With a bit of aged cheese.)

Worn-out jeans. (The coziest kind.)

Dog-eared books (Well-loved and smelling of “old”).

Ragged dolls. (Played with time and again.)

Logic puzzle magazines. (And a freshly sharpened pencil.)

Briars stuck in long, girlish hair. (And the adventure that caused them to be so.)

Gold glitter nail polish. (Almost as bright as little-girl eyes.)

Scripture Lullabies. (And calm nights.)

Romantic nights in. (With expensive chocolate.)

Blank paper in my sketchbook. (And a good set of pencils.)

Friends that love me anyway. (Grace!)

Family members that choose to stay. (Grace all the more!)

Coffee. (Yes.)

Coffee. (Of course.)

Coffee. (I’ll stop now.)

And a little cream.  (Mmmmm…)

 

May we celebrate all of the things for all of the years we have. 

 

Love & Coffee… and maybe some pumpkin pie.

 

Happy Thanksgiving, Friends! 

 

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When It All Comes Together

nathan-dumlao-298337.jpgI am not certain that it ever fully does, but in a sense, it feels like it’s all coming together.  I cannot even say exactly what.  It is that moment when you turn around and look behind you and it takes your breath away.  That moment when you recount all the mistakes and regrets you have about your journey thus far and sigh with relief that things have not turned out half bad.  It could have been worse.  And the good far outweighs anything less.

Sure, there are things I wish I had done differently.  And time marches on to a metronomic beat that every fiber of my being wishes would slow to a largo.  My four darlings are turning out beautifully.  Too beautifully.  And time refuses to stand still.  The Man never seems to age, yet somehow creases are settling into my own visage without relent.

I suppose you could say that life is comfortable.  Not in a financial sense.  Or a perfect house sort of way.  For the first time in my life I feel like I may be comfortable in my own skin.  In who I am.  In who God created me to be.  Content to be confident in my Creator.  And it’s a beautiful feeling.

My sweet girls have continued to grow up, despite my protests.  It seems unfitting that my 13-year-old beauty continue to be called “Peanut.”  Or that my not-so-little “Ladybug” shares my shoe size.  It is also seems utterly impossible that “Lovey” has outgrown her taste for deodorant and Sharpies (although she continues to challenge me in entirely new ways daily).  And “Cupcake?”  Four.  And a half.  And sassy as can be.

Upon reflection, this blog began over 6 years ago.  SIX!?  Oh, how life has evolved.

All things considered, it has been a good run.  But I feel like it’s just getting started.  First?  Adolescence.  I am NOT handling it well or otherwise.  Second?  The Man thinks we should give chickens another chance. (Third time is a charm?)  Third? I have this half-brained, but also necessary, idea that we are going to renovate our 1900 farmhouse if it kills all of us.

I feel like there is going to be a LOT more coffee in my future.

I hope you will join me, because this ride just got a whole lot more exciting.

Love & Coffee, Friends! 

 

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Just wiggle harder.

OH, how I have missed writing things.  For eighteen long months, this sweet, wistful life on the homestead became bombarded by circumstances and ambitions that mostly seemed contrary to my entire life philosophy.  As I plowed deeper into the rigor of further education, my sweet girls went to public school for a year, The Man switched careers entirely, we ate entirely too much frozen pizza, and my brain was nearly left in a crumpled heap of exhaustion.

I can barely remember the ride…

And somehow while all of that was happening, Peanut is now almost to turn thirteen (and consequently no longer thinks kindly of being called “Peanut”).  Ladybug is double digits and always dreaming of Paris, fashion, and lip gloss.  Lovey is entirely too lovely and no longer looking so smallish.  And Cupcake.  Sweet cupcake is no longer a baby and nearly four.

Perhaps one of the most beautifully hysterical things to happen in recent months is that Peanut and Ladybug have discovered that their mother writes a blog!  (Two, actually, but who is counting? And seeing that this blog has now been going for nearly six years, they are caught somewhere between utter hysterics and death-worthy embarrassment upon reading its contents.  (HELLLOOO GIRLS!)  You see, Peanut and Ladybug have bookmarked this blog to police me.  (Nice try, Ladies!)

But  I must tell you about Lovey and Cupcake.

I believe one of the greatest victories this side of heaven surely must be the day you are done with diapers.

FOREVER.

Twelve.  Years.  Of.  Diapers.

Done.

But in a house brimming with girls, it seems that there may never be enough bathrooms.  And even if there are, they will always choose to use MINE. And so it was, just last week.  The facilities were full, Lovey taking her time as girls often do.  (You know, because bathroom time is the best time to write songs.  And poems.  And talk to your imaginary friends.)

And Cupcake is a wiggler.  Yes.  She does not do that normal thing that most children do when it is time to go, but rather this awkward, yet cute-as-a-button, wiggle.  And as I happen upon this interesting display, our conversation usually goes something like this:

“Cupcake, do you have to go Number 1?”

“No.  Just wiggling.”

“Cupcake, do you have to go Number 2?”

“No.  Just wiggling.”

“Cupcake, surely something is wrong?”

“Wiggling.”

“The bathroom is free.”

(Makes mad dash for the bathroom.)

Perhaps it is a tendency to be modest.  Or perhaps we are raising a pathological liar.  I am never entirely sure.  However, on this recent occasion, as Lovey composed and recited and conversed to Cupcake’s chagrin, I apologized while she wiggled, “Cupcake, darling, I am sorry for the wait.”

“Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll just wiggle harder.”  My sweet, oh-so-positive, Cupcake!

I nearly spit my coffee all over kingdom come in amusement, yet her words rang true.

Because that, Friends, is what we do.  When things are weird.  And the wait is long.  And  nothing turns out like you had perfectly imagined…

We “wiggle harder.” 

You know that feeling when you come home after a long, tedious journey?  Not the one to Disney, but the one you didn’t really want to take in the first place?  The one where you were not really sure what you were doing there, but were hopeful it would make sense later?

Well, here I am.  Home again.  (As a college graduate, no less!)  And planning my spring garden.  (It is going to be amazing!)  And whatever unexpected things may come…

Just.  Wiggle.  Harder.

Because spring is coming.  There is much to be done and the homestead is coming to life again.

Love & Coffee, Friends.

(Seriously… BIG love.  And HOT coffee.  I’ve missed you.)

 

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Blood, Death, and Puke.

20160209_165527000_iOS (2)That is the criteria.  When the bathroom door is closed.  When the bedroom door is closed.  When the office door is closed.  Do NOT dare knock on that door unless there is

Blood.  Death.  Or Puke.

It is simple really.  As much as I adore my dear girls, there are days and then there are DAYS.

So there I was, locked in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub for probably the fifth time that time that day, nearly in a state of catatonia, daydreaming of what it must like to have peace and quiet for five whole minutes.  Or to actually complete an entire thought without a minor crisis.  Or to have…

Knock, knock.

I bellowed the familiar mantra, “Blood.  Death.  Or puke.  If none of that is currently happening to someone in this house, I am confident you can handle yourself for another five minutes.”

And then I heard The Man’s voice, “Are YOU okay?

“Of course.  Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because you have literally been in the bathroom ALL.  Day.  Like so literally.”

And he was right.  Because I was hiding.  From the house.  Responsibility.  Parenting.  I mean, that’s normal, right?

Everyone always says “Ohhhhh, FOUR girls???”  And they are always smirking.  “Just wait until they are teenagers. *insert evil laugh*”  And I have always wanted to just give those haughty women a little speech about how awesome I am at raising sweet little ladies and that crap junk is so not even on my radar.  (Sorry, that I just wrote crap junk, but I gotta be real for a moment.)

And then it happened.  Earlier than I expected.  I mean Peanut and Ladybug are now 12 and 9, respectively.  But they may as well be 13 and 16, because most days I believe I will go certifiably insane from the drama.  I could be wrong, but I positively do not remember this level of drama at 12 and 9.  Seriously, when I was that age, all I really cared about was New Kids on the Block, sky-high bangs, and Crystal Pepsi.  Easy peasy. 

And while Lovey has seemingly grown out of her taste for deodorant, she still enjoys a Chapstick every now and again.  And like a good big sister, she has lovingly trained Cupcake in her sordid ways.  Poison control is still on my speed dial.

But then those sweet four decided it was spa night for Mama and they gave me the makeover of the century.  They are either apologizing or preparing me for something.  Either way, it’s been a long week so I’ll take it. With coffee and a smidge of sugar, of course.

 

Love & Coffee.

 

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Sweet Freedom.

20160318_142814000_iOS (2)Hear me, Friends:  Sweet freedom is upon me!  How refreshing to be out from under the weight of a heavy academic schedule!  There is a very good reason you should undertake (and finish!) such things when you are young and unobligated.

It has taken every ounce of everything just to survive these last few months and the idea of a summer break with which my brain can rest is of epic proportions.

 

I look forward to beautiful things like:

 

Recreational reading.

Early morning walks.

Pre-dawn coffee with a book I ENJOY.

Embarrassing the heck out of Ladybug, Lovey, and Cupcake at every ball game.  (Yes, I am THAT mom.)

Digging into the massive pile of begging-to-be-read subscription magazines on the floor next to my desk.

Art projects with Peanut. (Who really is NOT a peanut anymore.  *tears*)

WRITING ON THIS BLOG.  (Woohoo!)

Heck, I might even reacquaint myself with The Man!

(Also, tackling the incredibly disturbing laundry mountain should probably be on this list.) 

 

On school, the end is sight.  But until August, I surely plan to squeeze every ounce of sunshine, delight, and utter awesomeness out of summer that I can.  And there will be loads of coffee to make it all happen.

 

So friends, consider this fair warning:  We are BACK IN BUSINESS!  And I could not be happier.

Love & Coffee.

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In bleakest midwinter.

20150201_170538882_iOSIt is that time. The bleak season where all seems cold, dark, and barren, but hope for change and warmth crouches imminently around the bend. Chilly mornings spent coddling the incandescence of a familiar coffee mug in my hands give way to thoughts of all sorts of dreams.

The kids are back at school and oh, how my heart pines for their company. Two weeks of Christmas break are simply not enough. I am not sure my heart or my head were ready for this public school thing. (That whole topic will undoubtedly be featured in a forthcoming post.) I am one of those moms that never really gets tired of having the kids around.

Yes, there is drama. (Adolescence is upon us, Friends.) Yes, I did unintentionally give her exactly two more Cheez-Its than you and wait… you counted??? And yes, Lovey ate Ladybug’s lip gloss. Again. But you know what? We are growing and thriving and experiencing life together. And it is not perfect. Ever. But feeling alive together and embracing every teachable moment is precious no matter what.

Cupcake and I are attempting to hold down the homestead alone by baking up a storm of things to store away in the freezer, snuggling sweet Gunner for epic Max & Ruby marathons, and you know, dancing in the kitchen as usual. I have exactly one week until a full schedule of classes rears its ugly head once again and life will be immeasurably consuming. Since August, this horrifying schedule has created a culture of an entirely devastating menu cycle that goes something like this:

Spaghetti

Tacos

Leftovers

Frozen pizza

Subs

Leftovers

Repeat

(Shameful, right?)

Along with the usual resolutions, hopes, and dreams that are customary come January 1, I have quite intentionally instituted one more: COOK! Good things. Dreamy things. Melt-in-your-mouth things. Healthy things.

Cook. ALL. The. Things.

It is January 5 and so far we have graced our table with Grandpa’s Special Recipe Banana Bread, Blueberry Streusel Muffins, Homemade Macaroni, Chicken Marsala, and Chicken Pasta Salad. I invested some Christmas money into a new cookbook (Pioneer Woman, how I love thee!) just to make things interesting. Life might be busier than heck, but gosh darn it, this family is gonna eat GOOD.

(Technically that should say “well,” but who am I kidding? Sometimes good grammar just doesn’t have the same punch to it. Oops. And I snuck a contraction in there, too. But I digress.)

Do you ever just feel like something amazing and different is coming? That is exactly what I feel, although I could not exactly tell you why. Let me sip some more and mull that over a bit longer…

Happy New Year, Friends!

Love & Coffee.

 

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What. Is. Happening?

pumpkins 2

Pumpkins for days…

Everything! Just everything. In an interesting turn of events, we have dealt with five surgeries in our family since January:  One for The Man and four for me.  (In case you are worried… we are all good now.)

In spite of this bevy of medical necessities we managed to get a few things done like:

Planting a gargantuan garden, roughly the size a gymnasium. (What were we thinking?) Tomatoes, cucumbers, peas, green beans, onions, herbs, corn, peppers, lettuce, carrots, pumpkins, and more. And oh, the potatoes. After my surgeries, The Man fabulously took care of me… and not the garden. (Good choice.) So we navigated the jungle formerly known as the garden, harvesting a little something here and there. The garden yielded a small bucket of tomatoes, although it appears that most of them fell prey to an intruder.

The herb garden near the house would have been mostly okay if our loveable dog had not tromped it to pieces as he claimed it for his personal dumping ground.

And then… our saving grace: The pumpkins! Despite our absence, they completely took over everything, climbing the fence and reaching into the farmer’s neighboring corn field. (Oops!) Pumpkins for days

And we landscaped around the house. I voraciously planted varieties of flower bulbs, most of which never came up. *sigh*  The hastas I transplanted from my parent’s home 2 years ago mysteriously made an appearance this year. (Go figure.)  One canna made a grand late entrance just as August ended. I mourned my determined rose bush, that The Man decided “had to go.” (I loved the gangly thing, in spite of its unfortunate position blocking the furnace vent on the side of the house.)

The day lilies, tiger lilies, and yucca did not disappoint. (You know, the only growing things that require absolutely zero attention from me.) The cats have all but gone due to a furry addition the family, our perfect-in-every-way Beagle… Gunner(More on him later.)

And still NO chickens.

Peanut is grown and mostly too cool for me. Ladybug has developed an even keener fashion sense. Lovey has finally outgrown her taste for deodorant and now collects all the things. (Seriously… ALL of the things.)  And Cupcake? Well, I call it a good day when I can get her to wear pants. The Man is altogether amazing and believe it or not… pining for chickens.

What about me, you say? Chasing dreams and barely finding time to write. (The horror!) I am finally doing what I never thought I would do:

Back. To. School.

And by back to school, I should also add this:

Full. Time.

Which basically means I am crazy, the sky is falling, and there is no sleep in the foreseeable future.  But I miss writing here oh-so-much.  So although I am profoundly preoccupied analyzing The Mayflower Compact and conducting research for a project on female adolescence, I have decided that I simply must sacrifice a bit more sleep so I can write about all the things I love most.

Life at the homestead has been besieged by transitions, changes, and new adventures, all of which I fully intend to share in the coming days and weeks. It’s a new a season for all of us, but this I know: My heart is happy, the sun still comes up, and the coffee is flowing.

Love & Coffee.

(P.S.  Check out the new and improved About page where you can find out more about all of us, including our newish pup, Gunner!)

 

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