[carousel-horizontal-posts-content-slider]
babyhood / home / MOTHERHOOD
Despite my best efforts, Birdy grew a little bigger over the summer.
This afternoon we gave her a few of her favorite things —
the outdoors.
a blanket.
her sisters.
her belly.
her toys.
and the animal kingdom.
It's her favorite place to be and she's so content…so content in fact that I could wander around a bit with my film camera, while she sat happily on the blanket watching chickens, grabbing fist-fulls of hair from a passing cat, getting a quick snuggle from one of her sisters.
Though this time, while I was wandering, she managed to inch off the blanket and "weed" the clover. And taste it, and drool over it, and tuck it away in neck rolls, and trails of drool down chins, down onesies and clenched in tight little chubby fists.
I know I say it with each passing stage, but this is so my favorite age.
And you'll probably hear me say it again in a few weeks….
Despite my best efforts, Birdy grew a little bigger over the summer.
This afternoon we gave her a few of her favorite things —
the outdoors.
a blanket.
her sisters.
her belly.
her toys.
and the animal kingdom.
It's her favorite place to be and she's so content…so content in fact that I could wander around a bit with my film camera, while she sat happily on the blanket watching chickens, grabbing fist-fulls of hair from a passing cat, getting a quick snuggle from one of her sisters.
Though this time, while I was wandering, she managed to inch off the blanket and "weed" the clover. And taste it, and drool over it, and tuck it away in neck rolls, and trails of drool down chins, down onesies and clenched in tight little chubby fists.
I know I say it with each passing stage, but this is so my favorite age.
And you'll probably hear me say it again in a few weeks….
home / life (in general) / life on thomas run
I took this picture out the car window sunday night, as we were pulling out of the driveway to head to dinner at my grandparents' farm. I was trying to adjust the manual settings on my camera just a bit, remembering that my last photographs had been indoors and that any pictures I took on this evening would be outside.
It turned out that I had a baby on hip most of the time, except for the chance I got to eat hands-free thanks to some helpful family members passing Birdy around among them. And no pictures were taken, but one. On the way out the door to come home.
But the next morning when I paused to look at this "nothing-special" photograph, I realized how much our place is beginning to look like fall. The warming of the evening light. The garden, bare except for my flowers that hang on until that very first frost and the sweet potato vines tangled at my flower's feet. Clothes on the line again–I confess it was just too hot and humid many days this summer to even think about clothes out on the line. The hostas getting a bit droopy, sad, and pocked with holes. The ground under the rope swing bare to the dirt. A few leaves yellowing and dropping.
I love the changing of seasons. I feel like I come back to life in the fall. Summer often does me in and sucks all the life and creativity and umph out of me. I'm excited to get back in the kitchen. Back outside. I begin to tackle major cleaning projects (ceiling fans, anyone? tub tile? mudroom windows?).
I hope the changing of seasons is treating you well. I'd love to hear what fall brings to your life.
I took this picture out the car window sunday night, as we were pulling out of the driveway to head to dinner at my grandparents' farm. I was trying to adjust the manual settings on my camera just a bit, remembering that my last photographs had been indoors and that any pictures I took on this evening would be outside.
It turned out that I had a baby on hip most of the time, except for the chance I got to eat hands-free thanks to some helpful family members passing Birdy around among them. And no pictures were taken, but one. On the way out the door to come home.
But the next morning when I paused to look at this "nothing-special" photograph, I realized how much our place is beginning to look like fall. The warming of the evening light. The garden, bare except for my flowers that hang on until that very first frost and the sweet potato vines tangled at my flower's feet. Clothes on the line again–I confess it was just too hot and humid many days this summer to even think about clothes out on the line. The hostas getting a bit droopy, sad, and pocked with holes. The ground under the rope swing bare to the dirt. A few leaves yellowing and dropping.
I love the changing of seasons. I feel like I come back to life in the fall. Summer often does me in and sucks all the life and creativity and umph out of me. I'm excited to get back in the kitchen. Back outside. I begin to tackle major cleaning projects (ceiling fans, anyone? tub tile? mudroom windows?).
I hope the changing of seasons is treating you well. I'd love to hear what fall brings to your life.
family / LIVING WELL / MOTHERHOOD
I thought that I'd share an entry from the private journal I kept this summer. It's one of those little lessons that I need to revisit often…
{ july 12. 2010.}
this morning i was out in the garden trying desperately to pick all the beans before the little prickly yellow caterpillars decimated what was left of our plants. i had to pull and separate the plants and leaves, searching around for the plump beans that were ready to be picked.
once i finished pulling all the beans off one plant, i moved to the next.
but it never failed that once i stepped away from the plants and looked at them from the distance, from a different perspective, i noticed several more beans i had missed.
as i stood out there hunched over the plants, sweat dripping off the tip of my nose, feeling a bit frustrated that my girls weren’t out there helping me get this job done, it occurred to me that there is a lesson about motherhood in bean picking.
i realized that oftentimes i am watching my children so closely. we are together all the time. running errands. eating meals. living. playing. cleaning. working. that often it obscures my view and perspective. i can’t see the “fruit” because i’m right on top of them.
but when i stand back, get a different perspective, ease off, there’s always more fruit to be seen that i hadn’t noticed before.
I thought that I'd share an entry from the private journal I kept this summer. It's one of those little lessons that I need to revisit often…
{ july 12. 2010.}
this morning i was out in the garden trying desperately to pick all the beans before the little prickly yellow caterpillars decimated what was left of our plants. i had to pull and separate the plants and leaves, searching around for the plump beans that were ready to be picked.
once i finished pulling all the beans off one plant, i moved to the next.
but it never failed that once i stepped away from the plants and looked at them from the distance, from a different perspective, i noticed several more beans i had missed.
as i stood out there hunched over the plants, sweat dripping off the tip of my nose, feeling a bit frustrated that my girls weren’t out there helping me get this job done, it occurred to me that there is a lesson about motherhood in bean picking.
i realized that oftentimes i am watching my children so closely. we are together all the time. running errands. eating meals. living. playing. cleaning. working. that often it obscures my view and perspective. i can’t see the “fruit” because i’m right on top of them.
but when i stand back, get a different perspective, ease off, there’s always more fruit to be seen that i hadn’t noticed before.
