MommyCoddle

psssst!

Every time I sat down to write last week, surprise surprise, I was interrupted! But I've slipped away to my local Starbucks to get a solid bit of writing in (if my children will stop calling me on my cell phone to find out when I'll be home) and had to quickly give you guys a heads-up about a giveaway on the MOMformation blogs….

If you are like me and carry around any amount of gear–DSLR, laptop, baby/kid stuff, my stuff—you're going to want to check out this giveaway for a beautiful bag from Kelly Moore. Yes, it's a camera bag, but it's got amazing flexibility and tons of room ….

Comments close late tonight, so don't miss your chance! Find the giveaway here on the MOMformation blogs!

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joy in the sorrow

Last May, I shared about the passing of my friend and neighbor, Sarah.

But one thing I didn't tell you in that story was my last "conversation" with Sarah before she died.

Just days before, she sent me several messages through twitter (of all places) curious to know if we had any interest in her pony, Ariel.

If you've been reading this blog long enough, you'll know that my daughter Emma is a horse girl. From her depths, the girl loves horses. Childhood "passions" come and go, but Emma's love of horses has only grown deeper roots in her little heart.

She has been riding and taking lessons since we moved back to Maryland. I watch this video of her, four years ago and I am reminded that she has been waiting for "a pony of her own" for quite a long time.

But a pony is no small commitment. If I had a dollar for every time I answered the question, "When do you think I'll be ready for a pony of my own?", I'd have enough dollars for seven ponies by now. Aside from being old enough for a pony, or having enough know-how, the big, glaring issue was right outside my kitchen window.

A farm with no fencing.

You can ask any of my close friends to know that I've been trying to figure out ways to get this little farm of ours started, to find the money in our squeezed-tight budget for fencing. (It is SO expensive!) Should I do something on kickstarter? Should I get a job? Should I make stuff and sell it on etsy?

Meanwhile, I'm telling my anxious daughter that some day the time will be right. Pray, I say. God knows your heart. And He already knows the perfect pony for you. And He knows when the time will be right.

I often needed to remind myself of the same things.

When Sarah sent me those series of messages, asking if we were interested, something jumped in my heart.

Little did she know, that many of our errands brought us driving right past her house. That Emma would often get quiet in the back seat, hiding her tears–not just for a pony, but for Ariel. "She's the perfect pony for me. I don't think they have anyone riding her right now. Do you think they'd ever sell her?" And I'd give her my same words of wisdom, which by now she could probably recite to me by heart. Pray. Wait. When the time is right….

That morning, when Sarah asked me, I immediately got on the phone with Dan. Teary, nervous. I had no idea that Sarah was just days from the end of her fight, but I knew this was one of those things she needed to settle.

Dan simply said, "Tell her yes. We'll just have to figure the rest out."

We didn't tell Emma anything. The heartbreak if anything fell through would have been horrible.

The man who owns the barn where Emma has been riding for the last several years said to bring Ariel there. She could stay until we were ready. For free. A gift.

But for a handful, Emma spent every morning this summer at the barn–taking care of Ariel, learning from the wonderful people who work and board their horses there, from my stepmother, who has taught her everything she knows.

Eventually, with all this planning and fussing, she began to put the pieces together.

"Is Ariel going to be mine?"

Finally, last week, in the middle of the aftermath of Hurricane Irene, Ariel arrived home.

By perfect timing (and God'd faithfulness to Emma's prayers, I believe) we found the funds for fencing. While we were in Virginia, a team of Amishmen descended on our farm and installed it.

Everything has come together. The timing is finally right.

And there, in the midst of the sorrow of losing Sarah, is the big, bright glow of joy. She's sitting bareback on a pony grazing in my back yard.

Last May, I shared about the passing of my friend and neighbor, Sarah.

But one thing I didn't tell you in that story was my last "conversation" with Sarah before she died.

Just days before, she sent me several messages through twitter (of all places) curious to know if we had any interest in her pony, Ariel.

A farm with no fencing.

I often needed to remind myself of the same things.

When Sarah sent me those series of messages, asking if we were interested, something jumped in my heart.

Dan simply said, "Tell her yes. We'll just have to figure the rest out."

We didn't tell Emma anything. The heartbreak if anything fell through would have been horrible.

The man who owns the barn where Emma has been riding for the last several years said to bring Ariel there. She could stay until we were ready. For free. A gift.

Eventually, with all this planning and fussing, she began to put the pieces together.

"Is Ariel going to be mine?"

Finally, last week, in the middle of the aftermath of Hurricane Irene, Ariel arrived home.

By perfect timing (and God'd faithfulness to Emma's prayers, I believe) we found the funds for fencing. While we were in Virginia, a team of Amishmen descended on our farm and installed it.

Everything has come together. The timing is finally right.

And there, in the midst of the sorrow of losing Sarah, is the big, bright glow of joy. She's sitting bareback on a pony grazing in my back yard.

57 Comments

babyhood / children and nature / family / home / life on thomas run

Goodnight, Irene.

Oh my. Hello from the long-awaited land of lights that turn on, toilets that flush, washing machines that hum, water that runs from the tap.

Hurricane Irene hit us at 2am last weekend and by 3am, we had lost our power. By 7am, trees were still falling down, even after holding out so long through the storm.

It was an adventure at first. So fun! So exciting! We're like pioneers!

I had written this fun little post in my head highlighting all the great fun we were having on our adventure:

Haha! The outfits Elizabeth has been putting together when she can't find clothes in her dark bedroom!

Haha! Look at Birdy playing in the puddles!

Haha! She's so dirty! She's having such a good time!

Haha? I don't have a way to wash those clothes!

Haha? I just ruined those cute leggings!

Haha? I don't have a way to give her a bath!

By Tuesday, it was no longer fun.

Tuesday night (I think it was Tuesday. At this point, it all becomes a blur.), we hit a low point. Little Mary was suffering from a migraine. A doozy which was accompanied by throwing up (haha! towels I can't wash!). It was pitch black in the house. Birdy was toddling around, tripping, banging herself about, screaming. Dan went to turn on the generator that had been powering our freezer, in order to at least turn on a light….Nothing. Broken. No generator. All children exhausted, crying. (I know you mamas know what it's like when ALL your children are crying simultaneously.) Mary, still sick. Grumpiness. Yes, there was much grumpiness. And all in pitch blackness.

But you know, I believe, now that I'm on this side of it, I can probably pull a little light from this darkness.

goodnight, Irene

We talked to and helped our neighbor more in the last week, than we have in the last month.

Driving through developments, I saw more children outside playing, than I think I ever have. It was like spotting some rare, endangered species on the side of the road.

I met neighbors up the road, that I've never even seen before. Standing outside, one lady holding her glass of wine, talking to the neighbor in his flourescent yellow tshirt–the mark of a county roads man, talking to the old man, unshaven and a little greasy (aren't we all?) whose suspenders hold up his ratty old khaki pants. And me. All of us laughing about how tough it's been. Talking about what we've done to survive.

And I thought, "We can do this. When we're put to little tests like this, we can all be pretty tough and pretty resourceful." That's not to say I didn't have my moments. That one morning, I decided to just crawl back in bed and hide for a few minutes (or maybe it was an hour).

But we survived. We can be tough. My husband, toughest of all. We can haul water from the stream to the toilets. And take our showers in the freezing cold spring-fed pool at my granparents' farm. And eat a lot of cereal. And figure out a way to make chocolate chip pancakes even though there's no electricity.

We can do it, if we must.

But still…. hello. And still….it's good to be back.

So, so good.