What's not to love

A husband who gives up 30 minutes of his Sunday afternoon to fulfill a promised guitar lesson to a neighbor.

A young neighbor who remembers the promised guitar lesson and shows up with guitar in hand, eager to learn (and quite quick at learning, I might add).

A 3-year-old girl who watches and listens quietly with her guitar in hand only to insist upon having her own private lesson once the neighbor leaves, complete with music worksheets she can't read.

A husband who, persuaded by tearful pleading, gives up 30 minutes for another guitar lesson.

A dog who insists on sitting in the middle of a mess of chair legs, dangling feet, and music stands, just to be where the action is.

Body slams, rhythm, and parenting

Matt has an wonderful ability to parent out of who he is and his interests. I took note of this yesterday as he and Karis moved from one activity to the next. First they "wrestled" for a good 30 minutes, while he showed her wrestling moves to defend herself. Side note: He loves to watch UFC wrestling on tv, and the first few times he watched it around her I was nervous that it was too violent or inappropriate for her. I walked by a little later to find her snuggled up to him as he explained the ins and outs of professional fighting. She was very intrigued by the sport.

Later last night I walked in the office to find her sitting in his lap as he pounded on the djembe (African drum). She shares his love for music and drumming, and together they were drumming along to Cee Lo Green. Then, without skipping a beat, they stood up and finished with a spirited dance party. Hands in the air, feet moving to the beat, they danced around in circles in a small corner of our cluttered office. I can take a few cues from this guy's parenting style.

In the last 5 weeks...

 

I turned 32. Matt arranged weekend babysitting, and we took a day trip to Savannah. It was fun roaming the old streets, popping in and out of adorable home design shops, and stuffing our faces at the mouth-watering Zunzi's. We'd like to go again soon and stay longer.

Karis and E experienced their first sleepover. E stayed the night with us, and everything went so smoothly. Her father and I both had visions of late night phone calls over a homesick 3-year-old. Well, nothing of the sort. There was dinner, play time, a car ride to get ice cream in their pajamas, a little giggling before bed, then uninterrupted sleep all night. Success by any standard.

I have taken over the doing the finances for Matt, and there has been much weeping and gnashing of teeth from this creative and disorganized right brain girl. Sure, there have been some insufficient funds transfers and one late electric bill, but I'm proud to say it's finally starting to make sense. By golly, with Quicken and coffee, I'm getting it.

Karis is growing up before our very eyes. She's asking deep, honest questions about the world around her. Yesterday we talked about heaven and honeybees. Today was cows and the milk they make. "Why" is never a single question. It's guaranteed to be followed up with further investigation. To my delight, she is becoming a much more willing photography subject. I pulled out my camera today, and she zoomed right up to me, stood straight, and smiled. I would have given anything for that willingness a year and half ago.

Their first jam session

We gave Karis her first guitar this past weekend. To say she was excited is an understatement. In no time at all, she scooted a chair up next to Matt. They each tuned their instruments and began singing and strumming to Karis' song of choice, Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. They followed up with Row, Row, Row Your Boat and finished with It's a Small World After All.

When Karis woke up the next morning, the first thing she told Matt was: "I had a dream about my guitar. We were playing and singing together. Then we saw baby Jesus and Joseph at the end." I don't exactly know how to interpret the dream, but I'm pretty sure she loves the guitar.

My grandfather would have found this interesting

Buddy, my dad's dad, was an archaeologist and avid collector of antiques. His home was a musty, ranch style home with a rock garden in the front and the beautiful, wide Caloosahatchee River flowing in the back. It was filled with treasures from his years in the military and many foreign travels. I remember hearing him tell stories throughout my childhood about where he found and purchased his treasures over the years. Ornamental pots from Asia. Rugs from Persia. Stuffed alligators from his beloved home-state of Florida. Two hundred year old books in his library. Paintings of native Caloosa Indians in his bathroom. I miss him, his stories, and his home. I hope to write more about him one day soon.

I bring up Buddy because the older I get I realize how much alike him I am in my love for studying people.  One silly way I see this is in my observance of Karis and the random piles of toys I find throughout the house. I wonder what goes through her mind as she plays, and sometimes I find I can learn things about her by looking at the evidence of her play. I first blogged about this here in a humorous way, but I realized today how many photos I've taken of her things over the last few weeks. My memory card on my camera is filled with photos of random collections of her toys that I have observed and thought were funny. Though at night I'm less than thrilled to have to pick up so many toys, I love this girl and the crazy things she leaves laying around.

P.S. Sorry for the spacing issues. Anybody else having formatting issues with blogger?


I found this shrine of sorts parked in front of the kitchen stove the other day. It consists of a step stool with some bowls, a plate, a stuffed elephant, a few napkins, a cup, and, strangely, a Gideon's Bible.


A horse eating a giant piece of cake and a pink water bowl.


A horse on window sill. Sure--where else would you store your horse after playing with it?















This is a scene I often find in her room. All of her farm animals lined up in circles having a "carnival" as she calls it.






A couple of weeks ago she was sick with an ear infection and a throat infection. I found her lining up all of her animals in a row. She told me they were all sick. I'm not sure if they were lined up to go to the doctor or what exactly was going on, but I have to admit I was excited to find my imaginative, creative (read: often flighty) child actually organizing something. :-)

Pokey the puppy attatched by string to a princess. The string is wrapped around the princess neck, and it makes me wonder who was walking whom.

A messy kitchen

There is more dirt in my kitchen these days. Up until now I have taken for granted the bath food receives before being placed on the shelf at the supermarket. So when I first signed up for a weekly produce and egg delivery from a local CSA, I never considered how messy this endeavor could be. I now receive sandy strawberries and gritty cauliflower. And those beautiful eggs? Covered in bird waste. It's not glamorous but true.

My hands and counters have gotten quite dirty in this process. But it's a fair trade-off in my mind. The farmers don't wash the produce before delivering it to me, but the food is harvested by the farmers' hands and, within days, delivered straight into mine. I'm learning I can live the mess.

Self

Karis drew her first self-portrait the other day during art time at the library. The teacher placed mirrors in front of each child and instructed them to "draw what you see".

I was very skeptical at first, figuring this was kind of a lame, last minute exercise that 3-year-olds really couldn't grasp. Was I ever short-sighted in my thinking! I watched in amazement as Karis drew her first stick figure and recognizable object. A large (nearly perfect) circle for a head, two legs, eyes, ears, hair, and a few extra features I wouldn't have expected such as her forehead (in red) and a "little" stomach (the blue patch under the mouth).

To be honest, I felt guilty for doubting her abilities. Sometimes I think as a parent I am both the most and least qualified person to say what my child is capable of. Spending literally every waking hour with her makes me an expert in what she's capable of doing right now, but I think it also creates natural blind spots in my faith in her ability to handle the next step. I think it's an honestly-fought struggle and something I hear lots of parents battle within themselves.

One thing I know for sure is that I have insisted Karis show off the picture to everyone who's entered our home since then. And if I keep bragging at this rate, that large circle "head" is only going to get bigger.

Spring-like

The Japanese Magnolias in our neighbor's yard are in full bloom. For two weeks out of the year, the tree explodes with pink-ish lavender blooms all over. Matt and I aren't fans of this tree ordinarily, but we've just about agreed that these two weeks make up for the other boring fifty.

The water oaks are shedding their leaves, leaving piles of yellow leaves pooling in the street. Good neighbor Bob was out front yesterday sweeping up the leaves in piles and bagging them. I remarked to him on the backwardness of a tree losing it's leaves in the spring, and he informed me "the sap is rising and pushing out the old leaves to make room for the new."

This morning I noticed Miss Libby's potted geraniums and rabbit's foot fern have been put back out on the front steps in the wake of recent warmer weather. No sooner did I see that than I heard her lawn mower crank on and my eighty-six year old neighbor slowly pushing the shiny green machine down her driveway to the front yard. I waved to her as I put Karis in her car seat, and she waved back. When Karis asked who I waved to, I responded, "Miss Libby, my hero".

I like getting to know the seasonal calender of my neighborhood a little bit more every year.

Snapshot

This is how I want to remember these days...

I am busy, busy caring for Karis and her friend E (whom I watch full time). My house is littered with play clothes, blankets, toys, dolls, play dough, art supplies, snacks, a pack 'n play, puzzles, so on and so forth. I'm tired but I wouldn't have it any other way right now.

After a few years off, Matt is reentering the world of leading worship for church. His music stuff is scattered throughout the house, and Karis inevitably finds alternative uses for each item. His guitar case makes a fabulous "horse", for example.

Karis is growing in her affection and care for Keller. She can now fill Keller's dinner bowl, instruct her to sit, and then gives the "ok" command for Keller to begin eating. Karis is so, so proud of herself.

Keller, always patient and kind with her young master, sometimes can't hide her annoyance on her face.

Lately

I spent some time photographing this cool little guy with his very cool parents. He is the kind of baby that makes a mom want another baby, despite years of saying otherwise.

I've been reading the Little House on the Prairie series the last few weeks, and I'm really enjoying it. I've taken to referencing Ma and Pa a lot lately as if they are personal acquaintances. Matt's initial amusement has given way to annoyance.

My fridge has been invaded by mounds of kale, cabbage and other fresh produce from a local CSA, Fresh Harvest Farm. I'm thrilled with our experience and the affordable prices, but I'm finding that there is a learning curve involved in this sort of commitment. I found myself literally sweating in my kitchen today as I tried to figure out how I was going to use and not waste any of it. I know we'll get into a rhythm eventually.

In a new wave of independence, this little lady bug/ballerina/princess is helping herself to a lot more in our kitchen these days. She is just tall enough to see what's resting on the counters and just long enough to reach those goodies. I found her parked in front of a ramekin of kosher salt the other day, licking her salt encrusted fingers. I guess that's better than the candy jar?

Thursday mayhem

 

 

 

 

 

 

R--

Regression:

We giggled as I strapped her into my Ergo baby carrier yesterday before nap time. I found this relic of Karis' infancy while sorting through her baby clothes the other day. I pulled it out to surprise her and show her how I carried her around when she was a baby. She loved the experience of sitting so close to me and has since asked to go back in it a few times. I should have known that this little girl--who is still very much a baby in many ways--would love to be held like one. And I should have known that this mommy--who knows her baby-ness is quickly fading--would enjoy carrying her like one.

Reading:
I love food. I love to talk about it, eat it, watch people eat it, write about watching people eat it...you get the idea. Lately, I've been narrowing down what exactly it is that I like so much about food and the act of eating. One conclusion I have come to is that I love food stories. I love the intersection where food and people's lives collide. Recently, I've been enjoying a few food related books. Belinda Hulin's Roux Memories: A Cajun-Creole love Story With Recipes has taken me down the path of her childhood in New Orleans. It's filled with family photographs, and each recipe begins with a short story that explains the roots of the recipe in her family history. I've also enjoyed Harvest to Heat: Cooking with America's Best Chefs, Farmers, and Artisans. While the recipes don't seem very accessible to home cooks like myself, I love the stories about the farmers and chefs and their collaborations with each other. While I know I should expand my reading repertoire, books like these keep me heading back to my library's food section time after time.

Rufus:
Lately I've been enjoying the beautifully melancholy music of Rufus Wainwright. Karis, on the other hand, called it "scary boy music"and made a low, grunting noise to mimic his sound. I'm not swayed by her disapproval, and I even posted an article about my affection for his work over at Synconation yesterday.

The alley

When we first moved into our home nearly two years ago, I found the "alley" papers in the drawer to the left of the kitchen sink. I had heard about the infamous alley from the previous owner and several surrounding neighbors. Located directly behind my house, concealed from view by a privacy fence, lies an unpaved alley, overgrown and under-managed by the city. Neighbors claim it's a safety hazard and the direct result of neglect by the city. I'm not sure what the city would say (or has said) in response. Either way, I've always associated the alley with legal papers and disputes and much ill-will. 

What has caused division between parties and physical properties alike has recently acquired a new purpose for me. There is a stretch of 10 feet or so behind our shed where there is no privacy fence, only a chain link fence that I can see through to the wild alley beyond. The other day I was out in my yard and happened to walk by the shed. I glanced behind the shed and spotted a beautiful, overgrown alley with plants reaching up toward the sky and bathed in afternoon light. My neighbors are not going to like what came next.

Running inside to grab a large vase filled with water, some scissors and my camera, I made my way out back behind the shed and stood there for ten minutes collecting a vase full of shrimp plants, photographing their beautiful rust-colored blooms resembling the crustacean after which they are named. I felt a little naughty foraging through the orphaned alley, afraid Mema next door would see me and denounce me as a complete traitor.

Truth be told, I love that my urban neighborhood contains a little stretch of land that's been left (by whatever means) to run free. With rows of homes and gardens and lawns intentionally manicured to suit each individual homeowners' taste, I'm fond of the idea that this land is wild and rebellious and free. Of course, I get the irony that I couldn't help but touch and cut and tame some of that wild in order to bring it indoors to be admired on my windowsill and dining room table.

And what did Mema have to say when I showed them to her the next day? Sounding altogether unimpressed, with her voice low and flat, she said, "Shrimp plants." I wonder if she saw me.


.

She

:: dances around the house day and night in a ballerina outfit much too tiny and revealing for her growing height. When I insist she wear pants (for warmth and decency), she insists "I like the cold." Her current nasty cough tells me otherwise.

:: carries a flashlight around the house with her all day long. Having recently discovered the joy of battery-operated beams of light, I often find her tucked away in a dark corner quietly experimenting with light and shadows.

:: dreams of her school days to come. She babbles on giddily about all the fun it will be and what she'll learn and how she'll be just like her cousin Evie. I'm a little sad and a lot excited for her to enter this new phase of life.

:: learned a lot from our recent trip to visit friends and their new twin boys. She named her own babies "Pixie" and "Magazine" and prefers to hold them both at the same time.

Twenty Eleven

I'm always amazed at how wonderful and distracting the Christmas season is. And I'm usually even more surprised how refreshing it is to climb out of that holiday hole as soon as the new year strikes. This year was no different. I found myself invigorated by a return to the routine and obligatory coupled with a renewed sense of purpose and hope for the new year.

I could eat my words from last year's resolution post. I knew within a few days of writing it that I had reached too high in some of my goals, particularly my goal of 52 Fridays, a plan to have people over for dinner every Friday for the whole year. Zero--that's exactly the number of Fridays that I hosted people in my home last year. It turns out that 2010 had other plans in store for me and my family. Lots of maturing and searching and working and repenting and forgiving and rejoicing. Lots and lots. But, as a result, I stand here with my feet planted on the edge of 2011 feeling more hopeful than I was last year. Not wishful or dreaming. But hopeful. Honest-to-goodness hopeful.

I have not thought much about resolutions this new year. I suppose I'm feeling a little gun shy this time around lest I miss the mark again so terribly. As Matt and I ate Chinese food last night to celebrate 9 years of marriage (Yes, NINE!!), I told him how much I'm realizing that life has a way of carving out a path that I never planned for. It's a process that's so frightening in it's unpredictability and yet unmistakably beautiful because the plan has been there all along.

My bags are packed, 2011. I'm barely ready for this.

Day 22: Windblown

We attended a birthday party for a friend today. After days and days of freezing cold weather, it was a beautiful, sunny, wintry-Florida day at the park with temps in the upper 60's and a good breeze blowing. In fact, it was just enough breeze to prevent the birthday candle from staying lit. I was impressed with the 3-year-old birthday girl's patience.

Day 21: Gingerbread party

I hosted a cookie decorating party today for my friends (who also happen to be my neighbors, lucky me!). Lest any of you be tempted to think I've gone Martha on you, allow me to explain just how easy this was. Karis and Elise helped make the gingerbread men, then I filled some muffin tins with candy, threw a red-checkered tablecloth on the dining room table, draped a Santa hat over each chair for wearing, and we all had a festive party.

I originally saw the idea for a gingerbread house-decorating party in a magazine, but since all of the kids in attendance were four and under, I opted for a 'pre-baked gingerbread men decorating party'. It was a hit and oh-so-much-fun to watch the kids decorate the cookies. Each had a hard time getting past the deliciousness of the frosting, stopping often to lick their spoons and cookies. But once the adults demonstrated that the frosting made an excellent adhesive for the candy, they were off to the races, loading their cookies with as much candy as possible. The party was casual, fun, and something we'll definitely make a habit of.