Quiet Wonders

Are you sick of my flowers? Too bad.

I grow where I am planted quite well 10 months of the year. Unfortunately, Canada day seems to usher in a slight ache for home, humidity, trees, and water which acutely grows as the mercury rises.

I tried to "prep myself for success" this summer by allowing for little wonders to be savored and enjoyed (and by Jedi mind tricking myself with mantra's such as "It's not hot", "You are not suffocating". I am so almost brainwashed).

Some quiet wonders to enjoy in my microcosm:





The wind tends to blow a bit in our neck of the woods (such is the cost of living on a gully overlooking a canyon). Brad and the kids make the best of it with Sunday kite flying.







Of course, a few kites lost their way and were found on our roof and the roof of our neighbors, but Brad isn't afraid of heights so all is well.







Norah's silliness, drama, and energy is at an all-time high. I am exasperated by the time I put the other children to nap, which means: it's time to put her to work.



We work side by side to bring our fairy tale garden dreams to fruition (OK, me a little more than Norah, but mind you, Norah has plenty of fairy dreams in the garden). She lugs a purple watering can by her side, splashing and tipping water about on fresh compost and sizzling concrete. Little is left for the intended flowers, but a task is a task and she completes it.



I look on as she spins and leaps, falling and crashing with the intensity of a street car and the grace of a butterfly all at once.

I look forward to our time alone every afternoon. It is still and quiet. The nuances of our relationship and leisure settle on the steps of a silent siesta.

Details and delights swirl and stretch at our fingertips and toes as we slowly weed and sow. Sometimes the sun shines too brightly and we fad amidst our infant blooms. Often, merciful shadows blossom, growing in pearly swirls of smokey cliffs and bluffs. Mystery unfolds. Suddenly the sky splits, and soft encouragement falls.

In these moments we drink in the fragrance of the summer. We grow heady in the bathing of our organic fortress. We marvel at the tiny, translucent praying mantises which climb clumsily on our arms and bleeding hearts.



I am perpetually covered in earth and varying degrees of sun rash; but I am in love.







We enjoyed our annual round-up dinner with the Smiths, wherein we digested gossip, laughter, and the goodness of an 11 year friendship.



I relished a dinner with blogging friends who I have been anxious to meet. Over red curry we shared, giggled and barely noticed we were the last customers at closing. I am grateful to have made such beautiful friends.



And at the end of the day, with the condensation from a lemonade sliding on my fingers, I escape to the porch with Brad and listen in silence to the dusky drama of our back yard.

Simple Summer

I'm hoping for a simplified summer; lived and relished. We have tickets to ride to the Old Mission peninsula, hopes for heaps of vegetables, plans for camping, swimming and bug catching.



I plan on regularly sharing photos of our days, but will add very little commentary (unless of course, I feel like it) because if I feel like I need to and I don't have the time or inclination then I won't post anything.



So here are the photos of what we've been up to:

Singing Heart

I thought I should probably check in.

Even though life is complicated and at times stormy, there are blessings that illuminate and are enjoyed.



Every Friday I take the children to the public library. The trip is greatly anticipated, yet you wouldn't think so by the fight that ensues at the front door when too many hands try to push the automated door opener. This squabble is quickly followed by the argument over who placed the most books in the return slot, which is followed by who gets to carry the book bag, not to be out done by the fight over the drinking fountain stool.

These details are not my point, my point is: Norah picked a book a few weeks ago titled My Mother has a Dancing Heart. Trying to implement more of a dancing heart into our daily routine, I kicked my daily impromptu musicales up by singing Pop Corn Popping on the Apricot Tree Axel Rose style. I was quickly interrupted by Abram's loud objection of "Momma, don't sing". Norah sweetly healed my wounded pride with a "My mother has a singing heart".



With all of my short comings, fumbles and foibles; I will seek a dancing and a singing heart (except of course, when I don't. You understand right?).



The above photo makes my heart dance. Lulu's pants are perpetually on the loose.




Abram split his lip open and required 8 stitches. What? You can't see them? That is probably because we will soon be receiving an extraordinarily high bill from a highly skilled plastic surgeon. Still; this ordeal made my heart perform an off-beat dance while I was at Youth Conference (on the phone with the hospital, my mother, and Brad) performing an amazing race.












We've been fixing up our house a little bit here, a little bit there. The children have tipped over more than one cart at DI, but the treasures are worth it.





Our yard is finally being done and landscaped (by done I mean it will be ready for me to plant and dig and vegetate with the heirloom tomatoes that have been patiently waiting in pots on the porch). In fact, as we I write, the bobcat is squealing along at top speed and my oak floor is blanketed in a layer of top soil and desert floor. But I am so excited to stick my hands in some compost and come away filthily cleansed.



We just returned from Zions where lizards large and small are breathing a sigh of relief.







We've chased butterflies, rain, and the bobcat (hours of entertainment) and have attended spring programs galore.







I'm wishing for a summer that never reaches 90 degrees, thunder storms at least 3 times a week, and one that remains calm; yet filled with dancing and singing.

I'll keep you updated on the dancing and singing. Let me remain in my fantasy about the weather.

Tumble

The foundation gapes. Cracks wind brazenly dividing common ground. Fragmented, crippled pieces fall and tumble. They disintegrate; forgotten and taken for granted.



I naively make a mortar of contrived moments, hoping an open window and soft breeze will seal wounds.

I move slightly and slowly, holding the door open for simplicity and pleading with peace to settle.

We woo the beetle and the moth. I memorize the lashes, glances and the soft miniature fingers gripping mine; praying these moments will be my savior. Huddling together we read fairy tales and hold hands 5 people wide to cross roads.




I tie the apron around her waist and teach her the art of peeling carrots. Over my shoulder I watch as she smiles upon her work, finding her rhythm and making headway.



I love hard and try to hold my tongue.

They are so soft.

Inside, so am I.

Nick by nick the splinters fall. Frantically I grasp and pull and smooth but the trail grows narrow and ruptured.

I'm loosing my step and cannot find solid ground.

I'm tired and things are rough.

I don't really feel like blogging anymore. It feels disingenuous.

I am so grateful for all of the beautiful people I have met and who have supported me. I am grateful for those close who I have understood better. All your kind words, emails, and phone calls have always meant the world to me. Thank you.

I know I have been blessed with wonderful friends who are so sincerely kind and loving.

I may change my mind, who knows. But for now it just doesn't feel good.

Thank you.

Mother Love

There are discrepancies between the love I have for each of my children.

With some, the flow is easy. Copious kisses and squishing snuggles stifle any budding wedge between us.

With another, practice and prayers are required.

And with Lulu: she leads and I follow.



Her pink grip of steel has taught me to be a physical mother.

Her unfailing script (day in day out) reads:

"I want to hold you"

"I want to give you a hug and kiss"

"Can I scoot by you?"



Any anger directed toward her is quickly dissolved by a frantic plea for reassurance that my love still exists. And I learn my lesson.



She is an organic child; no pretense or guile.

As much as I feel for her and as many needs as she has; I believe I need her more than she needs me.

Site Unseen

The past few weeks have been a bit bruising. So goes the ebb and flow.

Amidst the purplish blues I've taken inventory.

Fettered precariously about me rub crippling vices and stinging commentary. Raw and exhausted I asses truth.



Time dissolves whether I run or walk. It's lost regardless of pain or peace.

Often, time employs me instead of me taking my time.



My truth is to make gold.

After listening to a friend teach gospel doctrine, I approached her to share my appreciation. She said preparing for the lesson changed her life-"At least for today", she added with a laugh. Giggling, I commiserated with her about the spiritual ADD I seem to have. Sweeping moments beckon my heart toward my potential. Momentarily I see a lighted path that feels tangible. But always my head turns back to the fetters as the hiss drowns the whisper.

Making gold is hard.

Much is required-pretty much all I have.











And lots and lots of all consuming, shameless love.







And a calming distraction (like sewing skirts and pillows).



And laughs brought on by a boy who breastfeeds his bear (by his navel of course).

Days Gone By

So...on the last day of spring break I had a momentary lapse of reason and took all 4 (very young) children to the zoo by myself.

Judging by the size of the crowd waiting to buy tickets and the mile away parking spot I was granted, I surmised that Good Friday may have not been the best day to visit the elephants.



But we had already driven the distance and I would have some seriously resentful children if we didn't see some spider monkeys.



I don't know how many times I was told (referencing Rosemary) that my son had lost his sock. First, whatever. Like I should retrace my steps at the zoo seeking after the lost sock (I guess it was Good Friday)? Second, whatever. She is wearing pink pants. She is clearly a girl.



Things actually went fairly well; that is if you don't count the 27 times that Abram was tread over by patrons.



We even ate lunch at the zoo. We found a dirty table, shared a Sprite, smeared nacho cheese and pizza sauce all over ourselves, and Norah purchased a contraband hot dog all on her own.



The last half-hour wasn't pretty, but we made it out by the skin of our teeth and our only loss was one sock.



Later that evening we attended our ward talent show. By attended I mean, I sat in the back shoving popcorn into an 8 month old's mouth and recycled spilled root beer float from the seats of metal chairs for my 2 year old while Brad and the girls sang Red Bird. It was pretty adorable. The girls each had a stuffed red bird (non-taxidermied) which they ran around flying while Brad played the guitar.







I did finish my sewing. I also used the left over felt from the bunnies and made the girls some barrettes to go with their dresses.



Norah asks for hair like Lulu's on a regular basis. I just am not that mom; but Saturday I decided to be that mom. We borrowed a triple barrel from a neighbor (thanks Val) and blew out both of the girl's hair and them waved it.





Rosemary isn't wearing her Easter dress because we finally got around to blessing her on Sunday (that and I didn't finish it). She could practically sit on a chair to receive her name and blessing. The dress she did wear is a hand made christening gown my great grandmother made for my grandfather. Both Norah and Lulu wore it, as well as all of my siblings starting with Andy; I believe Nate and I were actually sitting on chairs to receive our blessings, thus making us too big for the christening gown.



I'm the only one in my family who has wanted to use it thus far; but the romance and the sentiment of it create beauty beyond the lace in my mind.