Time Isn’t Slowing Down

This past June, I took my kiddos home for my dad’s 60th birthday. It was just me and the two littles- aged 5 and 1 1/2 at the time- and we had the absolute best trip ever. We’ve taken a lot of trips back to Kansas. For various reasons- funerals, holidays, to show off the new baby. I don’t know what it was about this trip, but it was by far the best yet. Everything was smooth and fun and wonderful.

Freckles, swimming pools, and Spaghetti O’s.

I curled up next to my little girl for her nap today.

She fought to keep her eyes open while I finished a story about baby brothers.  And finally, as I closed the last page she rolled to her side, wrapped her arm around my neck, and fell fast asleep.

I couldn’t help but lay there for a few minutes.  Her warm, soft arm draped heavily around my neck.  Just inches from the brand new freckles on her nose.  All of her smelling of outside, swimming pool, and Spaghetti-O’s.

And as an unusually cool summer breeze blew through the window, all the world was right.

And I had another moment.  A moment of peace.  And joy.  Unspeakable joy.

I wanted to bottle up that smell and hold it tight.  I wanted to memorize every freckle.  And count every breath.

Because these perfect moments of cuddling and reading and resting will give way soon to other moments.  Older moments.  More grown-up moments.

And I will cherish those, too.

But for now, I have these.  And I cling to these.  To get me through the threenage days.  To get me past the testing and the sassing.  To help me endure the exhaustion that motherhood can be sometimes.

Things will change tomorrow.

She’ll add a new word or a new expression.  Her legs will get even longer (if that’s possible) and her face will thin out even more.  Leaving behind every trace of the baby I once held on my forearm.

But today.  In that moment.  She wrapped me in her arm.  And I wrapped her in my heart.

Freckles.  Swimming pools.  And Spaghetti-O’s.

 

 

Diamonds in my Kitchen

It’s funny, the things that we hold onto from yesterday.

For some, it is an antique wash basin or an old dining room table- maybe thrifted or bought at a collectibles store and worth a “fortune”.  For others it is old farm implements, propped up by the mailbox.  And then there are those items that, to the naked eye, might mean nothing… but to you they mean the world.

To you they embody a bygone day.  A childhood of memories.  A love that spans generations.

For me, it is an old flat carpenters pencil sitting on a shelf in my bedroom.  Because I don’t ever remember seeing my Grandpa without one behind his ear.

And for my guest blogger Debbie, it was a simple, 9×13 baking dish.

The Good Ol’ Days – Share the {Blog} Love

As our world is flocking to the cities and the suburbs, it’s no surprise that some of our fondest memories of yesterday were spent in wide open spaces.  (Well… as a Kansas girl that is ALL of my yesterday)  But today, my sweet friend, Lauren (http://adventuresofjackandme.com), is sharing some of her most beloved memories and lessons of a beautiful childhood on her Grandparents’ farm.

Beauty from Ashes

Have I ever told you that I’m a dumpster diver?  Yup.  Gross.  I know.  But considering the fact that my brother and his friends used to spend entire days at the dump digging through old electronics and discovering buried trash treasures, an occasional re-purposed item from our apartment dumpster shouldn’t surprise you.  Runs in the family, I guess.

Anyways… not long ago I was throwing my trash away on a rainy morning when I spotted

My Favorite Sewing Projects

As many of you know, once the Pickle arrived on the scene I suddenly had a built-in reason for being crafty again.  When she was in my womb, I found myself sewing coordinating ribbon onto a mosquito net to hang over her crib.  I threaded old jewelry pieces and hung them from a bangle over her changing table.  And I even watched as my husband’s cousin sewed a custom crib skirt to match her curtains.

So it was no surprise that after she was here and I had lots of time on my hands (in between feedings, going to the park, napping, and keeping up with the house) I wandered back into sewing.  I had never really been into it, but had tried my hand at a few projects over the years.  That Christmas after the kiddo was born, my parents bought me my first sewing machine.  And I was hooked.

Since then I have learned a LOT. 

Christmas Traditions

Some things never change.  Or at least I try hard not to let them.

When I was growing up, we had lots of Christmas traditions that we clung to.  We always picked out our own live Christmas tree.  We decorated the house to the tune of the Beach Boys, Dolly Parton, Kenny Rogers, and the Carpenters.  I was the one who meticulously set out the big nativity.  On the last day of school before Christmas break my mom and I would make cinnamon rolls to take to our bus driver.  And every year we would make and decorate sugar cookies.

Now that we have a sweet Pickle and a flurry of traditions of our own, some of these have been lost.  The live tree, for example (it’s not allowed in our apartment).  I don’t have the Beach Boys Christmas Album (although you could purchase it for me here).  I probably won’t set out the big nativity until the kiddo is in high school because I’m pretty sure the first thing she’ll do is break it.

But sugar cookies?

That we can (and did) do.

Generation Gap II: The Old Lady at the Pharmacy

I crossed paths with an elderly woman the other day.

I mean, she had white, tightly permed hair.  Glasses.  A cane.  I think she was wearing a blazer.  And she was in a pharmacy.  This was a genuine old lady.  I kinda knew that from looking at her, but I really knew it when she spoke.

You see, we had been on our way to an exercise class that would have, no doubt, made ME feel like an old woman.  On the way I had scheduled a quick doctor’s appointment for my kiddo.  She had been coughing for about a week so I wanted to take her in and rule out anything serious.  We went through the routine.  Throat looked good.  Lungs sounded fine.  Ears were ok.  None of us (nurses and doctors included) really thought it was anything, but the doc decided to check for mycoplasma anyways.  (Fancy word for the little boogers that cause walking pneumonia)

We were all just a little bit shocked and stunned when he came back in the room and said that she had tested “markedly positive” for mycoplasma.

I Still Believe…

… in Thanksgiving.

Maybe it’s because I grew up with a mother who adored Fall.

Each September our little world would erupt in a dizzying cloud of red and orange, brown and yellow.  Corn stalks would be bundled and placed strategically throughout our property.  Paired with home-grown gourds.  Giant pumpkins.  And the occasional homemade scarecrow.  Some people decorate at Christmas with tinsel and boughs.  In the Fall, our house was strewn with fake leaves.  Bunches of wheat.  Ears of Indian Corn tied with a ribbon.  Bunnies dressed in Thanksgiving.  Cornucopias.  Pilgrims.  Scarecrows.  Pumpkins.  Orange and brown pillows.  Fluffy throw blankets.  The fireplace would be cleaned out and warmed up for those first chilly fall days, only after you moved three pots of mums off the top of it.

I grew up surrounded by Fall.  And Thanksgiving.

PASSIONATE PEOPLE: Why you should shop small local craft fairs.

I’m a little partial, but I think everyone should go to craft fairs… even if you’re not a “craft fair kind of person.”

I know sometimes they’re crazy.  Sometimes they smell like potpourri.  Sometimes you have to dodge really, really slow people who like to stop and stare before they make their next kill.  But beyond those complications, there are even more really amazing reasons why you should hunt for the flyers, punch those addresses in your GPS, and hit up two or three a Saturday.

Because craft fairs are PEOPLE.