Paper chain

There was this paper chain. In the kitchen. It was fairly long. Not anything impressive like military-deployment long (one of the reasons we waited to have kids). But still, it was far more days than we had ever been away from each other (beyond military life).

It was a count-down, and there was more than a week still left on the chain.



While we waited for the school bus I told one of the boys to rip a link off the chain.

He was sufficiently confused.

"Did we forget one?"

This is supposed to be an end-of-day activity.



Little Miss Destructo had no hesitation in breaking our own rule and ripping a few links off. Over the last nine days we had to re-tape several unauthorized removals back on. I have also had to extract one cat's tail from the door (pretty sure it, the tail - not the door, is broken), rescue a boy's formerly elaborate half-dismantled Lego creation, confiscate a broom (don't ask), and clean up the remains of 52 (yep, fifty two, I counted) over-ripe apples that were used as bouncy balls indoors... all courtesy of The Unstoppable Bean.


{the princess shirt kills me}

Then a fight broke out. Someone grabbed a link out of someone else's hand, or took one out of turn, or I really have no idea. You know, the usual. The princess was the one left crying, however, which is unusual.

It's hard to feel too sorry for her when she's usually the one wrecking everyth... well, nevermind.

"Boys. BOYS! What does it mean if the whole chain is gone!?"



1/160th of a blurry second, apparently, and they got it.

Daddy was coming home early!

From the surprises-don't-ever-go-over-so-well even if they're fantastic ones, I-don't-know-how-to-express-myself face...



to the really-Mom-you're-not-joking, wanting-to-believe, guarded smile...



Really?

Ummmm.... yes.



The only bad news was his surprise early return left me no time to borrow a donkey.

I guess there's always next time.

"Gift" is an understatement

He's an enthusiastic plumber. He's the road superintendent of miniature towns built around our yard. He can tell stories filled with such creative use of words that your brain is left spinning.

A package arrived here Monday, with his name on it.



We only told him was that it was something very special, and that he had been specifically chosen to receive it. I knew what it was, but thought I must be dreaming. And when he saw the picture on the front of the box...

His look of confusion and disbelief matched my own.





But there it was. And it is real. Somehow of all the deserving children who were nominated to receive this, Autism Care Team chose him (and four others).

We are blessed.



I can't even begin to imagine how this is going to change his life. It's a motivator, a reward. It will calm when anxiety is too much. It will be a positive distraction when all else fails. And more.

Already it's been so interesting to watch how he reacts to this device.



I should really have something clever and interesting to say about all this, but I'm still just in awe. I mean, why him? Why us? And knowing the background of why this charity was formed, I'm so stunned that this flood of encouragement and support has rolled all the way down to us.

Our struggle doesn't feel as lonely.

Being mindfully aware

It was one of those crisp but sunny autumn mornings. A morning where the front door squeaks as it complains against the changing seasons. The kind of morning where you wonder if you really need that jacket and hat... when a Daddy keeps the kids busy so a Mom can spend a quiet hour crossing one more thing off her must-do-before-winter-sets-in-with-a-vengeance list.

The Christmas gift I lost nearly two years ago has been found. I still don't understand how I managed to lose it in the first place. I walk toward the barn with determined resolve to completely disregard the caution label on the side of that expensive shiny tool.

"Use cutting edge for cutting wood only"

I guess, technically, I did plan on hitting wood with that thing. But only after passing through something else with it first.

It was the kind of morning, the kind of tool, the kind of resolve, the kind of simple story that so many other prairie women have experienced in days past.



51. The privilege to teach my children that meat doesn't really come from a cellophane-wrapped package at the grocery store.
52. Knowing that his days were real... singing, scratching, free, drenched with sun and wind.
53. Feeling his life within my hands in those last moments, holding him close with quiet respectful gratitude for the gift that he truly is.
54. A deep connection to the prairie women of days past who put food on the table in exactly the same way.
55. Being mindfully aware of the true cost of my food.

This has nothing to do with the incomplete story I posted two days ago.

His support

Every time I mentioned it, his quiet comment was always the same. Always.

"No film"

It was where he drew the line.

"No film"

This whole photography thing of mine is all his fault. When I was drowning under the deep darkness of depression, being smothered by undiagnosed hypothyroidism, in the midst of trying to understand one child with undiagnosed autism and utterly exhausted from dealing with another child who would never ever sleep, AND in complete and absolute denial that I was again pregnant... he was the one who told me to get a hobby. Something for me? Yes, the blame is squarely on him. But he carries it well.

Too well, perhaps.

As my skills outgrew my equipment, he gently pushed me toward the more... ahem... professional expensive options.

But there has to be a line. Somewhere. And he drew it.

"No film"

For some reason, I casually mentioned it again. And again. Maybe it was something I read, that I thought was worth discussion. Or some quality of an analog image I saw, that dropped my jaw. Or some itch deep within me, that I didn't understand.



Or, possibly, three unused rolls of expired film rolling around in a drawer had something to do with it.

When it came to "if I spend my birthday money on this, and shoot one roll a month, would our marriage be over..." he sighed in loving defeat and told me I might as well get a glorious expensive medium format camera.

But that was where I drew the line. He didn't have the slightest clue what he was suggesting.



31. A new challenge: Fear of failure. Fear of success.
32. The perfect fit of an old beat-up Canon in my hand.
33. Expired Fuji 400 film.
34. Forced slowness.... the quiet of deliberately making every tiny decision for each click.
35. A notebook gathering much more information than I imagined. So much more than shutter speed, aperture and ISO.



36. My mind's view of the finished image.
37. The snap of a shutter that sounds like pure magic.
38. Not looking at the back of the camera even once.
39. Complete satisfaction in the face of delayed gratification.
40. Another reminder that I am human, as I simply enter "oops" in my notebook for image number three.
41. The entertainment my mother-in-law provided by her disbelief that I can't see the pictures on the back of the camera.
42. Listening to my boys oooh and aaaah after waiting so long to see the pictures.
43. Support and encouragement of a husband, even when I know he'd really rather not.

Continuing to count

12. October days that feel as though summer might just stay forever and ever.
13. Bare feet on warm gravel.



14. A brand new fiber optic cable buried along our driveway.
15. The sweet smell of ripening melons on our back porch.



16. That delicious moment when the complex subject I've been studying starts to seem ridiculously simple.
17. Little cats with more than nine lives.



18. A diagnosis from Canon that the focus was indeed operating improperly on my big camera.
19. Repairs being fully covered by that one year warranty. Amen.



20. Being encouraged to continue with self portraiture by friends who declare their self portraits are inspired by mine... such a beautiful humbling circle.



Also linking up with Selfie Magic

Counting to One Thousand

I have my good ideas. The way I think my life should be, how my days should go. I carefully stack everything up.



It all gets overwhelming so easily and precariously leans toward disaster. If I try to do it on my own, the disappointment comes. I'm left gathering up the pieces, every time, wondering what went wrong.



But it's painfully clear, and I know the truth. The support is there. I only have to look, and ask. It's hard to ask, to admit I can't do it all on my own.



Part of that, for me, is stopping to see the beautiful details in the chaos of my days. Remembering to be quiet for even a moment, to be thankful and remember that despite my frustrations, He is there... giving perfect gifts always.





Finally, I am here, beginning my count of blessings large and small. My count of One Thousand Gifts. Why I need to be hit in the face, repeatedly, by something from every direction before I finally take notice and act on it, I'll never understand. This is something I need to do. For me.

1. The sheer determination of a little girl as she turns an everyday consumable item into building material.
2. Trying again, and again, and again.
3. That one bouncy curl. No I didn't cut her hair, these photos are from July.
4. Rare quiet time together, no brothers, just a girl and her Mommy.
5. The shocked gasp when the toilet paper towers fall, followed by giggles.
6. Reusing size 6 month dresses as 2 year old shirts. *swoon*
7. The click of my shutter, shooting ISO 1600 like it's nothing.
8. Capturing these moments just as they are, so I never forget.
9. Being content in this moment.
10. Her. That beautiful her. The very surprise gift I didn't know I needed.
11. Remembering that HE has given all of this.

Peace Like a River

Our snow melted. Most of it. There is still a surprising amount left in the tree rows. All that melted snow? It's less than ten feet from our house.

My kids have been boating.



Wood Ducks have moved in.

The roads are a mess.

Our neighbor was moved by the Spirit to request the song "I've Got Peace Like a River" during church on Sunday. It was only the day before, on his birthday, that he'd been standing in waist-deep ice-cold water trying to unplug a culvert with my husband. As we were singing, I was moved by the Spirit to turn around and look at him in disbelief. He was grinning from ear to ear and waving his arms around doing the actions to the song. Clearly, in my professional opinion, he was still suffering from hypothermia.

Peace like a river?

The minute I saw those ducks in our backyard, I should have known what kind of day it was going to be. A Monday in every negative sense of the word. I should have known.

So it was that our power went out on a beautifully sunny day. And our sump pump, and our drain tile pump, and our septic tank pump quit running. And our sewage came pouring into our house like a river.

I sacrificed The Bean's squishy pink ball and shoved it down that ancient crusty shower drain in the basement, with a stick, and wedged it in with a concrete block. Apparently I'm not superwoman, because the pressure change caused a geyser of poo water to shoot straight up from a crack in the floor beside me.

Peace like a river.

I made an executive decision that the situation was out of control, and slogged my way back through three inch deep sewage in my rubber boots.

Peace like discovering that by some miracle, the cell phone actually had good reception without having to climb the windmill. My lucky day, indeed.

Peace like good neighbors who dropped a driveway/culvert project to rush over with a generator.

Peace like a quick lesson on how to use the shiny new generator my husband raced home with.

Peace like a few Japanese origami cranes to remind me that others need my prayers and truly, I have nothing to complain about.



Oh, Japan.

I have. Nothing. To complain about.



Peace like knowing He will Never Let Go

Three kids - window light

I'm almost ready to admit that I need to take an online workshop. Or something. My photo skills have hit a hard brick wall. Being self-taught can only take a person so far.

I am so excited to have come this far in only a year and a half... but I want more. And I need help to get there.

Asking for help is extremely painful for me. It's one of my many many flaws.



A workshop came up that is, er... as humbly as I can say it, most likely not the right choice for me. But they're drawing for a free seat in the class. Free is good. And to enter you have to post a photo with a window in it.



So I hauled the kids into my bedroom and took these yesterday.

And I'm glad I did.

Even though I didn't wash my windows first. Real life, I won't apologize.

Look! I even got all three in one picture! (sort of)



I am so blessed to have this time at home with my kids, to have a handful of quiet moments in which to read and learn. So thankful for my supportive husband who pushes me onward in this hobby.

Where to go from here? That is the question.

What we have

My mind was made up.

I had suddenly come to the realization that my relationship with our vintage 1980's dishwasher... it just wasn't working out. It was far too demanding. Finding myself in a position to have to practically wash dishes before and after whatever it did with them, was ridiculous.

I'd walked away before. But this time? This time I meant it. For real.

I even reclaimed the custard cup that spent the last six months upside down, supporting the sagging right corner of the bottom rack.

OVER. Totally.

And yet... here I sit, a week later, waiting. I'm waiting impatiently for that rattling and humming to stop so I can rinse my darn dishes off and go to bed. Again. Why do I keep going back?

The honest truth? I feel like whining and complaining about all the large appliances in this house.  I fought them all day long. Every single one.

Then our home sighs as the furnace moans and does it's job. The content little half-Siamese stretches out long in front of her favorite vent. Outside, it is cold. Very cold. We are warm. I am grateful.

In the midst of battle earlier, I screamed at my washing machine. (I was soundly defeated.) Even if I had to ring out soaked socks and underwear by hand, we do have clean clothes. When we moved here, we didn't know the previous owners would leave their washing machine, so we brought ours. It's a wonderful thing to have a spare washing machine. It screeched as my husband slid it across the concrete basement floor and into place. I am grateful.

The dishwasher is finally done with whatever it does, and sure enough, it was a good thing I stayed up to rinse those dishes off.  I turn on the faucet.  The water that comes out?  It's clean and hot. I expect this, but why? Clean water is really something, and hot water something even more. I am grateful.

Darkness out my window, the clock ticks, I tap at my keyboard, my children snore... I'm glad for having stayed up. Glad for the quiet.

When I stand up from this computer and push in my chair, I'll run my hand along the table. This is the table where my children gather to color, build dinosaurs out of play doh, eat, fight like siblings always do... the same table their grandfather sat at as a boy. Every scratch, every ding, every embedded piece of glitter, every creaky wobble of this table tells a story. I am grateful.

I'll tell myself that I'm not going to use that dishwasher again. Ever. I'll think I mean it, but I know better. It does kind of, sort of, clean my dishes.

And yes, I am grateful.

It felt like home

We were in the big city, and it felt like home.



Winter was blowing around our car, a bit of melted ice framed the view out the front windshield, but we were warm and cozy inside. Low clouds softly bounced the city lights all around.



Early winter. The chill. Soft lights. Being cozy. It felt like home.

Dear Rebel,

My sweet little second-hand XTi, how I've loved you so. You have taught me so much.

We've spent countless hours together, your strap across my shoulder, my grimy face pressed into your lcd screen. I know every curve and scratch on you. I know every one of your buttons by touch alone. I know exactly where a perfect exposure should fall on your light meter.

We've thrown away at least a thousand or two images, but to be perfectly honest, I believe we've made a few beautiful ones too.


{Rebel XTi}

But we need to talk.

This random malfunctioning and front-focusing business is completely unacceptable.

When I ask you to focus on a certain point, it's because I really do want to focus there. Not over there. You can't fool me into thinking it's user error. I know you too well.

And when I need to change my shutter speed that means I need to change it now. It's not optional. Ever. Getting the correct shutter speed is, like, a vital part of taking a decent picture. I cannot imagine how you think locking up the shutter speed until I turn you off and back on half a dozen times could be good for our relationship.

But what has me completely perplexed and confused, is why... why on earth... when I've turned you OFF and removed the CF card, why would you think it's acceptable to turn yourself ON to "Program" mode. Program mode? Even when your switch is turned OFF? Seriously? When have we ever shot in Program mode?

I should not have to resort to yanking your battery out to turn you off. That is just ridiculous.

You have some serious issues going on here, and you know it's true.

Maybe it's my fault. Perhaps I disrespected and pushed you too hard. I wanted to see what you were capable of. Well, it's been made painfully obvious, but now I know.

You earned yourself the lensbaby full-time. If you want make bad pictures you might as well make really wacky ones while you're at it. We'll just call it art, okay?

You'll always have a very special place in my heart. But...

I found someone new.


{5D Mark II}

My friends, I pray this post doesn't come across as arrogant or ungrateful. The truth is, I am in complete shock and disbelief at how I've been blessed. I'm so overwhelmed by my sweet husband's support and encouragement, and humbled by his belief that I'm actually worthy of this glorious piece of equipment.

And now, my kiddos are in bed, it's dark out, and I'm off to play with some freakishly fantastic high ISO settings.

The cost

You Capture this week is "photographer's choice". I don't understand how that is a theme. But, whatever, it's Beth's deal so she can do what she wants. It will be fun to see what everyone comes up with.

Photographer's choice? Consider yourself warned.

Okay, I'm teasing and I promise my photo isn't graphic. Promise!

I had some business to take care of on Saturday. My oldest boy wanted to assist, which made the job even more entertaining. Things started off in our usual fashion as it took us nearly an hour to round up the items we needed.

First, a rake. The tines on the one in the barn weren't wide enough for the job. Since it was obvious that the boys had stolen the other one, I sent the kid searching our yard. Our yard is big. BIG.

Meanwhile I looked for the block of wood I used last year. It wasn't in the barn. It wasn't behind the barn. It wasn't anywhere. I started searching our woodpile for a suitable replacement, but couldn't find one that met my strict criteria. I am so hard to please.

The kid had gotten distracted and was hypnotized by a water hose.

As I stood there bemoaning the fact that my perfect old chopping block was gone forever, the little rooster crowed honked, which caused me to burst into laughter... until I realized I was an idiot. Why hadn't I locked him up the night before? I needed him too.

Aw, heck.

From the front corner of the barn to the back, around the lean and back in the front of the barn, me after Honk the whole way. This interested the kid so he joined in the chase. My memory fails me at this point as I don't recall where I finally nabbed him. I do remember the kid laughing.

I decided one of these blocks of wood was going to have to work, but I now had a hormonal adolescent rooster in my hands. The kid didn't want to hold him. I needed my hands free. Into the dog house Honk went.

"HONK"

There was the missing rake beside the dog house which is also in the barn. It had been there the whole time.

My shiny, new, gleaming, expensive, sharp, forged steel head, unbreakable handle, lightweight, evenly balanced axe has gone missing. How is it possible to lose an axe? If anyone can, well, apparently it's me. I grabbed the awkward, double-sided, four foot long wooden handled, hefty old blood spattered axe. Honestly.

{Cue the theme from Mission Impossible here}

I am woman, hear me roar.

A lost-and-found rake, replacement block of wood, barely tolerable axe, and annoying rooster.

Use your imagination.

Or not.

Did I mention I had the camera on the tripod, all set up and ready to go?



No roosters were harmed in the making of this photo.

It's like picking home grown vegetables, except... not.

Honestly, although it makes for a humorous story, taking his life was not something I took lightly.

I was able to thank him for his life, knowing he had a real one. Honk did not grow up under a heat lamp, but under the warm wing of a loving hen. He spent his days scratching and singing out in the sun, interacting with the social order of the flock... so different from the lives of store-bought chickens. In taking his life, I was mindfully aware of what my food really cost. You're welcome to read more of my thoughts on this topic HERE.


You Capture - "Photographer's choice"

Delicious quiet

The boys are out fishing with their Daddy, in the wind. The Bean is down for a nap, recharging her batteries. The house is quiet, momentarily.

Quiet. It's delicious.

My quiet is balanced on top of the sound of a cricket singing and the trees dancing in the wind and something else.

A screen door is softly tap tap tapping as the wind pulls it barely open and then lets go.

Why?

Because my "I am such big fancy stuff" Red rooster crowed.

He does not crow once. Nope. Once he gets fired up he crows at least a dozen times. At least.

Where?

He crowed right underneath The Bean's window, and she is sleeping, you recall.

I jumped off my chair, out the door and down the back steps, nearly landing on a hen.

Red saw me coming.

He took off for the lilac bushes and I was close behind. I chased him across our clover and bee filled yard... bare foot. I did not get stung. It must be my day!

Around and around we went. I told him to shut-up. I said it nicely. Maybe.

Dude gave me a dirty look like he always does when he admits that I am the bigger rooster. And I am. He knows it's true, just needs a reminder once in awhile.

And then we just stood there looking at each other. He is a beautiful bird. His tail feathers whipped around in the breeze. The sunlight bounced off his back. He turned and I watched him walk his ladies across to the other side of the yard.

I am sitting here listening to a cricket singing, the trees dancing in the wind, and the tap tap tapping of the screen door that I didn't quite get latched on my way back in. I do not hear any chickens.

Quiet. Mmmmmm...

An after-church cucumber

Sometimes the life of our Bean is just plain old rough. Especially when she has tried so very hard (and failed) to sit quietly through church without beating her older brothers up. It's hard not to. I totally understand.

It's way past nap time.

It's one of those Sundays when everyone loiters around outside after the service. Small talk about the weather, the crops, the gardens. My boys are crawling through the dirt catching small slimy creatures.

The Bean is hungry.

But today is special. She won't starve. Someone brought cucumbers to church.

Yes, this will do. It will do nicely.














Linking up with Summer's Simple Things with my new friend Kim, The Inadvertent Farmer. Go check her site out. Why? The woman is hilarious. And, she has a camel. For real.





Now I want a camel.

I'm also using this post for my You Capture - "Everyday things". Even though it isn't every day the little Bean munches on a cucumber in the car, this is exactly the type of thing that makes up my every day with these kiddos. The kind of wacky every day thing I don't ever want to forget.

Simple beauty

My kids are young.

We don't have a television. Although to be fully honest, we do sometimes watch movies on our laptop. The world hasn't yet told my babies what to believe. I am aware this will soon change, but for now I'm allowing myself to completely enjoy it.

Our home is on acres and acres of untamed goodness that we never tire of exploring.

And, as you already know, we are easily entertained. Yes, very much so.

This spring, like many boys, mine gave me dandelion bouquets. Then, when I was too busy to cut them myself, they brought lilacs into the house and asked for a vase. It was wonderful!

And then, in mid June, I smiled when they found beauty in this...


{that is not a color cast around the edges, these are actually fringed with an almost iridescent purple)

"Oh, you brought me some grass! It's so pretty, I love it!"

"NO Mommy, it's flowers. You need to put them in a vase with water or they will die."

I gently explained that they had, in fact, picked some amazingly beautiful grass, and that I had a tiny vase that would be perfect. Satisfied, and proud of themselves, they marched back out the door to their other world.

Just don't ask me about the vase.

On forgiving

I've mentioned that my boys have been fighting non-stop lately. After time-out they are required to apologize and forgive one another, and most of the time, I believe they honestly mean it. They've gotten as good at becoming friends again as they are at being mean to each other.

Practice makes perfect, I guess.

One day recently when the mosquitoes were particularly bad, my oldest boy was flopping around the house, moaning and complaining because I wouldn't let him outside to play. The mosquitoes were that bad. I could have dipped him in a vat of DEET and they would still have eaten him alive.

"Mommmmmmmy, I wish there was no mosquitoes. Ever. {grumble, grumble, grumble} Why are there mosquitoes!"

I don't really know why I chose the words I did, but I was tired of his arguing. I simply said, "Because our world is not perfect."

Days later my littlest boy landed in my lap and asked "Why is our world not perfect?"

Wow.

"Because Adam and Eve disobeyed God when they lived in the perfect garden." Obey and disobey are words that are heard frequently around here. This kid has a very intimate knowledge of what they mean.

He gave me a defiant look, transformed into the I-am-pushing-my-limits version of himself and growled at me, "And I will disobey God too."

I'm sure he expected me to tell him no. "Yes, you will, everyone does."

His eyes got big, and his face softened.

I continued, "But you'll say you're sorry."

He was listening.

"And then what will God do?", I asked.

A big smile came over his face, and he looked right into my eyes as he whispered so softly that I almost couldn't hear it, "forgive".

Holding my breath

It's Mother's Day.

If you read about my determined hen you know that I have been counting days. Specifically, I've been counting the twenty-one days until today, Mother's Day. Not because it's Mother's Day. That happened to be an appropriate coincidence, and nothing else.

Today is the day our Nest Queen has been sitting on her eggs for twenty-one days, the day I marked on my calendar "Chicks due!".

I didn't expect to find babies this morning when I visited her, and I was right.

She has oatmeal all over her beak in this photo (which was taken with my unbelievably amazing, obnoxiously large new lens which I am, by the way, absolutely head-over-heels in love with) because I brought her a treat. My husband, by the way, thought I was a freak for using a telephoto lens in the coop.

Whatever.


She was sitting there. Grumpy. Doing her usual thing. I tried to prepare myself for the fact that they just might not hatch. So many things could go wrong.

We got home late from church, and had to get the kids fed and the baby down for a nap. I raced out to the coop the first chance I got.

Something seemed different, but I wasn't sure exactly what.

I squatted down quietly beside her nest. She wasn't happy with my presence, but she didn't move. Her body was in the same position on the nest that it always is. No fuzzy little heads peeked out from beneath her.

Then I heard it.

I could so easily have missed it.

If it wasn't for the three-day-old baby chicks that my chickens used to be a year ago when they arrived in the mail, I would have missed it for sure. That sound is imprinted on my mind forevermore. My heart beat faster before I even realized what I had heard.

I very carefully reached beneath her and gently pulled out the most beautiful shiny brown egg.

It was hot.

It quivered and vibrated ever so slightly in my hand.

It was alive.

I held it to my ear. After a moment, I heard the tiniest "peep peep peep" you could imagine.

Quickly I tucked it back into it's warm space under it's Momma.

As I sat there, every so often I would hear one of the babies, "peep peep peep" from within it's shell. Every time I heard it, Momma Hen heard it too. She would put all her feathers up on end, and glare at me. She knows, although I wonder if she really knows. What mother truly does know what she's getting herself into?

There are still at least a hundred things that could go wrong. But right now, I am completely amazed. An egg, people, it's an egg. You know, those things that you crack into a hot pan and cook. But these ones are ripe with life. It's a mystery to me really why, or how... but right now, at this exact moment those baby chicks are probably only hours away from hatching.

This is my gift on Mother's Day. I am once again overwhelmed with awe of my creator, filled up with excitement of this mystery, in anticipation of the joy of seeing those fuzzy little beady-eyed babies.

I know for a fact that Momma Hen didn't lay a single one of those eggs she incubated, and chances are good that they won't all survive. But they are all hers, and she is their mom.

Happy Mother's Day.

Happy Mother's Day to adoptive moms, to stepmoms, to moms who have given birth to babies, and to moms who hurt today because they have lost children. We are all moms, and what a mystery it truly is. My love to you all.

Green

Mmmmm...

I love that green, green grass.


I want to fill my fists with it's cool moist freshness, and throw it at the sky. I want to run around barefoot and feel it's kiss between my toes.

I want to rub it in my hair.

What's that you say? I have loose chickens?

I nearly forgot about that.


Okay, an occasional chicken poop aside, that beautiful soft green blanket just makes my heart sing.

It turns our harsh winter into a forgotten dream.

It creates magical little spaces to search for hidden bugs.

Oh dear.


Yes, it also makes me want to kick my boys out the back door. For hours at a time.