New life

2012. The year of new life in our family. A fresh baby in our arms, chubby and pink. Additionally, thousands of bee babies. Despite my protests that one screaming human baby would be as much newness we could handle, Matt took to raising thousands of baby bees into adult bees that would then give birth to something deliciously thick and sweet. Our first honey harvest was a celebratory occasion last November. And, as if these tiny lives weren't enough to handle, Matt and his Dad labored in the yard, through rain and shine, to install a sprinkler system and eventually tender, baby shoots of grass. A carpet for our feet and a good bit of dignity infused in our home's curb appeal.

Hard work was a solid part of each new life grown and tended last year. Matt and his father sweated, knee-deep in dirt and mud. The bees grew and left their hive to forage pollen. And this mama, with many pushes and a cry or two, eventually cradled, fed, and fell in love for the third time.

 

All is grace

Sixteen months is a long time to be quiet in this space. During that time, a little baby grew in a belly and arrived 2 weeks early. A bright-eyed four year old embarked on preschool, and through many tears and 4 weeks of heart-felt resistance, conquered separation from mom and the comforts of home. That little girl eventually turned 5, celebrating with a pinata, a few close friends, and a yellow cake with butter-cream icing. Kindergarten soon followed. Likewise, the little baby grew into a boy, and is now 1 month shy of celebrating his first year of life.

These children are a constant reminder to me of how blessed I am. They also prove to remind me that my life is not my own and I'm here to provide for them. Each child has taught me something different. The oldest laughter, the youngest tenderness. What has flowed easily with one, I practice with the other. Lessons learned and lessons applied. A mother wants to remember the details, and so I catalogue a few things for safe-keeping.

Karis is so incredibly tenderhearted. She's strong willed without an ounce of sneakiness in her. She sins openly, much to her own detriment, I'm afraid. Her voice is strong and often-times demanding, requiring gentle shepherding in the ways of kindness and obedience. She is a typical oldest child, faithful to the family and all things communal. She'll share her last cookie with you without being asked and without any detectable hint of sacrifice on her face. She identifies herself proudly as a same gender likeness of me. While blow drying her hair before school yesterday, she picked up on of my hairs that had fallen to the ground. The hair bore some of my dark brown color with some flecks of gray (ahem). Twirling the hair in her her hand and assuming this hair was some sort of magical mixture of both of our hairs, both dark and light together, she sang a song about how we are mother daughter. Blow dryer in hand, I smiled. And when asking about matters involving her college years, she has made me promise she can "text" me whenever she needs furniture for her apartment, and I'll come and take her shopping. These are not hard promises to make to a little girl bouncing in the back seat.

What I've come to know about Micah in his near 330 days spent with us is that he is pleased by almost anything or anybody, save the cruel withholding of food at meal times. A smile for everyone seems to be his life's goal, and for that reason, he's a favorite of cashiers, customer service workers, and generally any human being, particularly females in the 40-60 age range who are far enough away from raising their children and desperately missing the feeling of cuddling a little one on their chest. It's understood that I'm his favorite right now, making things safe and right in the world, but it's clear he LOVES his Dad. Eyes scanning the room, his mouth opens with excitement when I ask him where his Dad is. Usually, we follow the singing and can find him. Not being quite old enough to demonstrate where he needs shepherding (though in very short time it will become clear), we cherish the fleeting moments that he still travels on knees and palms, claps at the endless theatrics of his dad and sister, and grows simultaneously bashful and smiley with anybody who speaks to him in public.

I write these things for own my memory, however I share them with reserve, hoping they won't paint an unrealistic picture of rosiness and family perfection. Rest assured, not a day goes by that Matt and I aren't reminded, through parenting these children, that we are broken parents in need of daily grace charged to raise these broken children in need of daily grace.

Ask Karis: Baby brother

Karis discusses the finer points of having a baby brother and being a big sister, all the while making ample use of the word "fun".

Four

This is how I want to remember these early days of her fourth year of life: napping in her super-girl costume, old enough to put up a good fight for every nap, yet still young enough to fall asleep cuddling "Dolly" and "Baby Keller", staple companions of her sleepy-time routine pretty much since birth.

I'm not sure just how often Matt and I look at each other these days and sigh in either frustration and/or amusement, saying "She's so four". Her eagerness to learn is mighty, asking followup questions about everything she hears and sees (scaaaary!). She's eager to produce, content to sit at the dining room table and "art" for a while. The dress up bag is dragged out daily, yet mostly just the ballerina outfits are donned in regular rotation based upon which one Mom has not snuck away for a much needed cleaning.

Tantrums are frequent, although I've found that in quiet, gentle moments they can be soothed with patient reasoning. She wants to comply and often distances herself from what she calls "fussy Karis", mimicking what her voice sounds like when the tired alter ego appears.

Questions about deeper things in life seem to come up once she's gloriously tucked in bed, the lights are turned off, and I'm headed straight for relaxation-ville. "Mom, do some people not have food to eat?" I heard her belt out in dark silence from her bed the other night. I sensed a tone of genuine contemplation that told me this was important. I went into her room, and she followed up with, "So when are we going to take them food?" Good, good question, dear. She proceeded to look around the room naming all the things we could give to people who are in need, stopping only at her cd player to deem it off limits because, as she said, "I like music." And that she does.

She's eager to make a new companion at the playground. Her habit of calling new playmates "friend" despite their repeated telling her their name is something we're working on (but secretly love and makes us giggle when we hear it). We're prepping her for school which starts in a few weeks: practicing raising our hands, listening to others, starting conversations with new people, respecting authority, asking for help, etc. She's the kind of kid that thrives on organized activity, so I know she's just going to love it.

Truth be told, she's just so four, and we couldn't be more in love. Happy fourth, little one.

Farmers market

 

 

Thankful Friday

The little bits of sun peeking through the dense smoke clouds have been a welcome change today compared to the last few days. It's felt a little bit like the end of the world around here lately because of the nearby wildfires burning hard and fast. Still I remind myself being home-bound because of smoke certainly pales in comparison to being homeless due to a fire.

My pepper plants are cranking out jalapenos and datils every few days. I'm loving growing these hardy plants as they boost my confidence in growing food, something I've had little luck with in the past. My own tolerance for heat in food is growing respectively as well. A whole, fresh-sliced jalapeno thrown on a fajita, seeds not removed? Yes, please.

I'm thankful for the wishful eyes with which my daughter pleaded with me yesterday after her bath to pretend she was a "wedding bride" and to throw pretend flowers on her as she walked through her bedroom doorway, wrapped in a towel and hair still dripping. I have not encouraged this sort of girl-y dreaming and wistful fantasizing about getting married. Somehow it's just in her DNA, and I love that about her.

Summer snapshots

I unloaded my camera today, and I noticed things are looking quite summery around here. What do you think?

 

The cold, sweet leftovers from making homemade coffee ice cream. Her favorite part of this process is most definitely the clean up.

A table full of stickers, crayons, colored pencils, and art projects. Karis says she is "art-ing". I think it's a useful verb.

 Bug-bitten legs in plaid shorts. Summer essentials for any almost four-year-old.

Hatching butterflies and curious onlookers. The painted ladies weren't as fun to watch transform as last year's black swallowtail butterflies, but it was fun nonetheless.