finding zen

Oh, hi!  
I'm not really sure where to start this.  Today I'm using one of my "day off" gift certificates I got for Christmas (BEST gift EVER).  So far, I've run to the grocery store for some cough medicine because I'm tired of waking up in the middle of the night and coughing for hours, then greeting the morning exhausted.  I've showered.  I've managed some of our family finances.  I have a pot of coffee by my desk, NPR turned up loud while my family probably just finished Juniper's gymnastics class and is, as we speak, picking up our raw milk share "at the farm with the funny turkeys."

Usually, I make a point to enjoy the now of parenthood, the moment we're in--chubby babies and toddler tantrums alike (okay, I could skip the tantrums).  But I'll admit, I've been looking forward to 2-and-4 since Hazel was born.  Just wait until they're two and four!  You may have heard me say these words.  And I'll also admit, 2 and 4! didn't come with the stroke of autumnal birthdays.  But now?  Now?  Now, we're at TWO and FOUR and it's awesome.

They have this whole sisterhood that has nothing to do with me; their own magical little world.  And granted, they've been playing together like peas in a pod for a good year, but that play has extended outside and Hazel's okay if I'm not there.  

On this day, we were out all morning.  I headed in to make lunch, they stayed out.  I brought lunch out for our first picnic of 2014.

:: These days, Juniper has nary finished her last bite of breakfast before she slips on her boots and coat and heads outside.  Just a month ago, it took a small act of divine intervention to get my kids dressed in all their gear and outside.  In our world, snow is mundane and spring is magic.  Water!  Mud!  Robins!  Oh my!  

^Preparing to set sail on a pirate ship, in case you can't tell.^

Juniper: "Mama, we have a beach so close to our house!  It's just a short walk.  We don't even have to drive!"  

^Hazel's signature scrunchy face and forehead injury.^

:: Life and emotions are such a yo-yo and parenthood exaggerates that fact.  So one day I'm writing about this new independence, the awesomeness of 2 and 4! and the next day I'm beating my head on the kitchen floor (okay, not really).  I take the liberty to get myself dressed and cut my toenails, then I spend the next two hours paying the price.

Creamy crayons, which are not as washable as they claim, on: the floor, the kitchen wall, the table, the kids, the toilet, the sink, the bedroom wall, the wool rug.  We clean up, we go outside.  Hazel cries the entire time because she's two and wants to climb the tree like a four-year-old.  It's our third day home in a row.  A small town on a Sunday.  We need to get out but there's no where to go.  And just like that, awesome turns to awful and my head is on the kitchen floor.
And then, the coin flips again.  Hazel goes down for a nap, I find my zen.  We're back to awesome.  

:: I know I haven't been in this corner for a while.  But I have been whiling away at a few projects.  This one here: an oak toy chest Juniper received on her first birthday from her great-grandparents.  It was made by their 93 year old friend, now gone.  It was a little rough around the edges and has a heavy lid.  I sanded it smooth as a baby's bum, rounded out the corners, put a safety hinge on the lid and a natural oil finish.  My girls now have a dress up chest.

:: Got an early start on leeks, basil and lupine.  Tomatoes and peppers next in line.  

:: Scattered about my house and purse, tucked inside journals and piles of mail, are scraps.  Kid quotes I've jotted down.  Some adult quotes too (I need to write down more of these because really, we say some pretty goofy things to our kids).  I have spent a few evenings consolidating these into a book.  I'm almost done but I keep writing down more.   A few random gems:

Juniper choosing squash seeds: "This one looks like it has a lot of love in it."

Hazel, singing to the tune of Country Roads:  "Mashed potatoes, take me home...."  

Me: "We always eat dead things."

My man: "Mmmmm.  Yummy dead chickens."

Juniper, in her classic third-person:  "Juniper's not a woman.  She's just a girl making pancakes."

:: Once the kids are in bed, lately, I've been spent.  And yet the need to do something for myself is overpowering.  All I could bring myself to do of late, is knit.  I'll watch a movie and whip magic with two sticks and a length of wool.  This here sweater is for me.  (I told you I needed to do something for myself!)  The first sweater-for-me in far too many years.  The wool is handpainted "peaches" from Mountain Meadows wool.  It was grown, shorn, spun, and dyed in Wyoming.  Actually, it has never left Wyoming.  Love that.  

love, simply

I remember Valentine's Day as a kid.  My mom would make a giant, frosted, heart-shaped cookie and present it on a plate.  My step-dad would bring me a single, red rose.  I always felt so special.  The cookie was good, but the rose....  That simple act, from a step-dad to a step-daughter, has stayed with me well beyond his death.

    

I had had a couple of Valentine's ideas floating around my skull the past few weeks.  I knew my husband would be out of town and I was mostly thinking of the kids.  I wanted to use the holiday as an excuse to give them something I've made, because I'm all about handmade shit.  First thought was to sew up those Waldorf doll kits I'd ordered ages ago.  Second thought was to (finally!) make them a similar felt fishing kit I'd sewed for my nephew years ago.  Then, I read this short article.  Plus, I ran out of time.  I decided to eliminate the material goods altogether and stick with good old-fashioned, simple, love.  

I feel like all my kids hear all day long is don't do this and don't do that.  I wanted to tell them all the good things; the things I love about them.  So I set my late-night knitting frenzy on hold, dug out my new watercolor crayons I'd received as a gift, and went to work.    

I know, I know.  If my kids were older you'd probably guess they made these cards.  But no, it was me, and that's not the point.  The card on the left is Hazel's, on the right Juniper's.  They caught and related to the symbolism instantly.  And they were so impressed that I made a Valentine for them.

Together, my husband and I listed little things we love about each of our kids, as it popped into our heads.  There are big things, "I love your imagination."  And little things, "I love what you do with glitter glue."

Juniper snuggled in my lap and we read hers together.  Afterward she said, "Oh, wow!  You love A LOT about me!"  There's something about writing it down that makes it more real and respectable for kids, like a rule or a law.  We thumbtacked her card above her bed.    

Later that morning, after heart-shaped pancakes, my husband left for the weekend and the kids and I went to a long overdue playdate with friends.  Referring to my husband being gone somewhat often, my friend said something like, "I don't know how you do it....  How do you do it?"  And I shrugged and said, "We just do."

But then I came home and opened the fridge and saw how I do it.  The night before, my man had made a mule-deer pot roast that simmered in the slow cooker all night.  And the night before that, he made a huge batch of deer stir-fry.  He knows how needy Hazel can be when she wakes from her afternoon nap, timed impeccably with dinner preparation.  He knows the evening meal is my weak point when I'm out-numbered two-to-one by young, demanding children.  I didn't cook all weekend.  He makes up for his absence in food, and that's how we do it.  Pure.  Simple.  Love.

^J's preschool project.^

But before he left, they all got together and made a Valentine for me:

I really, really like this.  I think this will be our new Valentine tradition.  Just another way to express gratitude and love.  

My favorites: "I love your nursing boobs," by Hazel.  And, "We love all the mom that you are."  

got snow?

^Stopped by the farm today.  Thanking the cows, Petunia and Barbie, for our milk.^

:: Most likely, yes!  You do.  We are breathing easy here in western Wyoming.  We know how to drive in this stuff.  We rarely have a power outage (almost never, in fact).  Our schools never shut down.  For us a thick, downy blanket of snow makes us rest easy.  We relax.  Our anxieties dissolve.  Not just because so many livelihoods depend on the white fluff (that too), but because there is something comforting about it.  Whew.  Winter's here.  Our blanket.  No snow in winter is like going to bed on a zero degree night with an open window and a cotton sheet.  Brrrrrrr!  

:: Our Life in Snow.  A photo essay from the last 12 days.

Lovingly, my man plows out a run for the chickens.^ 

I'll admit: this is kind of a problem area.^

Random side-note: it seems all the adult sunglasses in our house have gone MIA.^