Talk Feeleez

First

It's all so "first time", ya know?

The notion that a tooth might come loose one day is within the realm of their understanding. Kids know someday that will happen to them. They wiggle firmly cemented teeth and declare: "I think I have a loose tooth!". Parents humor them, "wiggling" a molar or some other tooth that is certainly not loose but coming up with vague encouragement nonetheless, "Oh! Maybe so huh?". 

And then one night, usually under extremely mundane circumstances, that same child complains that her tooth hurts. Parents, always mildly panicked about decay, put down their forks, exchange uh oh looks and pivot their attention to the little culprit. But lo! It's just a loose tooth! A real loose tooth, something so foreign to this child's personal experience that it wasn't even on her short list of possibilities.

A loose tooth. The weirdness! The wonder!

Thus begins several days of "first time-ness". The first time the little girl can't eat with that tooth. The first time the tooth wiggles without help. The first time the tooth loses partial contact with the gum. These firsts come tumbling out and even though millions of kids all over the world have lost teeth, even though I myself have lost an entire set of teeth, the wonder of it all is downright catching. (A body simply detaching an unneeded part and casting it off, it really is a trip.)

And then the tiny thing actually falls out. And even though you have practiced in your mind's eye what the child will look like with a new shiny gap, it still presents a startling surprise. She tells everyone, a gentle pale of shock, freezing her features. Shocked delight. Frozen wonder. Her mind turning toward the "what next", pillows and fairies and later, an hour after the surprise, a palpable melancholy and sense of loss. 

She's next to me now, writing a note to the tooth fairy explaining she is not so comfortable parting with her little gem just yet. I am keen to see how this plays out during the day, whether or not the tooth does in the end make it's way under her pillow and into the arms of that little fairy. (How beautiful that fairy must appear in Echo's mind! How little and special!) But I also understand the reluctance, as this phenomenon has never happened before, and now, in her teeny warm hand lies a treasure she is loathe to release to another.

It's her first after all. 

 

The News

Homeschool this week:

Documentaries! Our little town hosts a killer documentary film festival every year and our girls love it. On Sunday we took Echo to the shorts series and she sat enraptured watching films about:

• a house being moved
• peet diggers in Ireland
• a reclusive Scottish dart champion
• Japanese relocation camps
• the American buffalo
• the Great War
• insects in the garden
• and a 31-year old man who is learning to read

I feel like if we simply make ourselves available to answer questions about these things we have done our educational duty. Besides I myself go crazy for documentaries so I am pretty much in homeschool heaven.

Food:

I'm in a total rut these days. I made a big pot of lentil soup last night and I'm thinking that might just have to do for a few days.

Outside:

It's been warm the last few days. Folks around here only feel good and secure if it's practically dumping snow. Psychologically it's akin to having a mountain of firewood neatly stacked at the onset of winter. Plentiful snow soothes the hearts, reminds many of their own secure childhoods, and generally sets the tone of "everything is right in the world". In contrast, rain in February or patches of sunny grass sets heads shaking and inspires spiked anxiety about global warming.

On the upside my friend Romy got a head start on spring poop pick up. Usually dog poop is frozen and buried until at least March but this thaw gave her a golden opportunity. What, you didn't know early poop pick up could be seen as golden? Well now you know. It's snowing again now so I missed that boat. Ah well. 

Children growing:

They keep doing that! Just developing and growing without even being asked.

Bella is going strong with her middle school boyfriend. He actually sounds adorable and confident and incredibly romantic for a twelve-year old. We get updates via skype and many fist pumps are raised when we hear of things like what he wrote in his hand-made Valentine.

Xi too triumphed on Valentines, managing to pull off sweet and funny rhyming phrases that conveyed her feelings while still maintaining poise. Not easy to do! And she and Echo have been a team as of late, melting my heart. They wrestle and read together, create elaborate make-believe worlds, and even though they snip and snap at each other it seems they have become aware of that magical edge; the line to stay within if they want their fun and friendship to continue.

And Echo is just screaming down the highway of life triumphs. There is the loose tooth, and the earrings firmly cementing her in the "bigger girl" category, but there is also a new attitude. An attitude of: "Life is wonderful and I'm going to run out to meet it!" She's braver- joining kids she doesn't know very well for play at recess, walking in line with a partner and mama no where near, jumping onto the lap of Great Uncle Leland five seconds after he walked in the door even though the last time she saw him she was six-months old.

Yesterday morning she woke early and asked if we could get up. I answered cheerily that she was welcome to rise, knowing full well that this child has only gotten out of bed without mama  a handful of times and that those few other times she was accompanied by papa or a big sister. But this morning she simply got up, under the dimmest morning light, peed, got herself dressed, and fed the dog, the cats, and the guinea pig. She played alone in the living room until she got hungry and returned to bed for instructions on how to make toast. Then she made that toast! I "slept" until nine.  It's crazy.

What a fun time. We have kids that can make their own toast and settle their own arguments yet still clown about in their undies and snuggle up for stories. Kids really are the very best the age they are. Such a sweet relief to re-realize that at every single turn of the earth.

The cats:

Well we believe Frau is the a-hole peeing on the floor these days. Man, nothing gets ones ire up more that animal piss. Am I right? We can't figure it out, which is so funny to say because cats are the least figure-out-able beings on this planet. But Frau is outdoorsy. She's kick ass. She's fluffy and looks like a tropical fish but she can seriously take care of herself and runs the neighborhood like a seasoned don. So why in the world is she not going outside to do her morning pee and instead finding something on the floor, like a bath mat, to receive her entire bladder-sized puddle of urine???

Then again it could be Nimbus, the whale colored and whale-sized Russian Blue, only because he is a doofus and doofuses seem like the type to pee on bathroom floors. But he's also more the obvious type, the one who lays on your project or demands to be part of Echo's game by pouring his huge fatty self into her zone and purring, than the type to secretly pee. 

I suppose because Frau is bitchy we're blaming her. But why does it matter? We're entirely without recourse anyway.

*******

There ya have it! That's the news around these parts. How's your world?

Weekending

I'm a little sad to see this weekend go. It had that special, relaxing sparkle about it. This photo just about sums it up.

    

Quiet. 

    

It was just Echo as far as kids go, and a quiet Echo on top of that. She ate fruit, and granola, and a bagel. She played with Star Wars figurines, adorning Leah with a hot pink purse. She assembled a "clearing" and a library, and an elaborate home, all from objects from the toy box; rubber ducks, an empty box, wooden stacking bowls. She was content, which explains the quiet. In the afternoon we did some "school", reading from a fat anthology of stories we've been chipping away at for a week.

    

Outside it was quiet too. The foot of snow on the ground and the constant curtain of falling snow muffled all possible sound. And the cold and the "weekendness" of the days meant that not a soul was about. I went for a run with Henry and Romy's dog Shelia, feeling for a moment that perhaps it was a fool's errand as the frigid air hit my running pants and snow flakes turned my chin to an instant ice cube. But oh it was glorious! No cars, no people, white everywhere, and really I am hard-pressed to think of an image that brings quicker happiness than smiling dogs. They really do smile. 

    

I returned to a shower and lunch and stories on the couch. I think at one point both Nathan and I each caught a couple winks, lulled by the sounds of Star Wars men and women rifling through the books in Echo's mini library.

    

When dark fell we snacked on bread I made according to a recipe from sister Em. It's made from pumpkin seeds and chia seeds for flour and contains eight eggs! It's a dense mofo of superfood. I love it. Then we moved the couch. As you may remember we don't have a tv or cable but we do have a glorious desktop computer so when we want to watch something, Nathan and I haul our couch across the living room to the desk nook. We have to risk our lives stepping over the girls array of tiny toys that are always set up just so. But we made it and got settled in for movie night. I whipped up a salad and a HUGE plate of french fries baked in the oven. The Lorax and a platter of fries? That's seriously American.

    

Yesterday, (since it appears this post is turning out to be an actual rundown of our weekend...), we were more productive though still quite "hibernatey". This time I brought Echo on the dog walk, nestling a bottle of hot water in her lap and under her toes. She didn't say a word the entire time, wrapped up as she was in a personal "mind game", which she has described as a mental story telling and character development. I spaced out and worked over some of my latest ideas.

    

(As an aside, is anyone else just jamming with good ideas lately? I am, and my sister is, so I was wondering if it was cosmic or something.)

    

That afternoon I spent twenty minutes digging the van out of the snow. We suited up like we were going to the North Pole and went to the Feeleez shipping lab (which hasn't had the heat turned on in a few days). We spread a yoga mat in front of a cranked-up space heater and Echo unpacked her pink pack of toys to play. The scene was very hobo-ish. Nathan and I got down to doing inventory, the January "joy" of every small business. 

    

But we had fun! We laughed and joked and marvelled at the fact that this business even exists. Inventory is kind of abstract, you just count up everything that the business owns, but as I shuffled through Feeleez games and buttons and posters I started to trip-out. A whole business sprung from our hearts and minds. My own hands, in my own little house, drew images that now are found throughout the world. And our humble, good intentions to help children with their feelings have resulted in that very thing. I feel such love for each person that orders Feeleez as I imagine they have the same good intentions.

    

We trundled back home through the snow. We ate biscuits and soup while skyping with Bella and analyzing the muddy pool of hormones, emotion, and drama that is middle school. 

    

Viola! A satisfying, restful, weekend full of contentment.

    

How was yours? 

In and Out of the Game

I've spent the last couple of days getting my head back in the game.

The day after returning from Portland I hauled ass getting ready for our local killer craft fair called the Made Fair. I had my inventory squared but I needed to make teeny signs that said things like "Cinnamon Rolls $1.50" to put next to teeny cinnamon rolls, and get all my ducks in a row. I also needed to zip over to the jewelry store for some last minute details and, since it 'tis the season we had planned to put up our tree and deck the halls.

I can get stressed about that sort of thing even though I know it's ridiculous. I'm huffing and puffing looking at the clock, too realistic about how much time each task requires and knowing that even a day with moderate goals can get away from you. My family accompanied me on the walk to the bead shop and I was tapping my toe, wanting them to do a little less snow eating and a little more brisk walking. Brisk walking - Ha ha.

Here I am stuffing my annoyance into an untidy package of patience while Nathan snaps my picture.

The entire next day was spent selling miniature food to gushing folks. I really like what fairy food does to people. They seriously squeal. At the end of the day my face hurts from smiling in response.

That night, after helping Echo fall asleep, I stumbled downstairs only to let Nathan know I was going back upstairs to fall back into bed.

Then it was Monday. A regular day. Not a roadtrip day, not a craft market, and I put my head down; answering emails, freshening up the Feeleez financial books, printing shipping labels, and catching up with 6512. I cobbled together a homeschool curriculum for the week. We swam at the Y. I was just starting to feel like I had my feet under me again when I remembered. 'Tis the season... which means the regular game, of life and business and children, is just the baseline! There is all that merrymaking to be done as well.

I love my people. My family under this roof and my family under those other roofs. I love my neighbors and friends. And I want to express that this time of year. With presents, and cookies, and cards. When I remember this, while glancing at the calendar, before you know it that head I thought I had firmly back in the game has just come unglued from my body.

BUT. These are first world problems, I know. Scrambling to buy and make presents, dashing off to buy gingerbread ingredients. These are luxury tasks. And that's a good thing to remember. It's important to appreciate that the very fact that I am in a position to even put these "chores" on my list is a sign of wild abundance. 

So I am grateful.

Yesterday I went gift shopping with Echo and bless her little heart, in order for me to shop "in secret" and in order for her to be surprised by any gift I might buy, she turned her head in the opposite direction anytime I lingered to look at something. I put things in my basket and covered them with my coat. Then at checkout Echo shut her eyes. Isn't that the cutest and possibly most difficult thing for a child to execute???

I am grateful for that.

Going to bed last night she said: "Mom, thanks for covering the gifts with a coat to make things easier for me. And thanks for being my whole world of love."

I am grateful for that too.

Perspective is so nice. 

If Your Kids Are Like Mine...

Sometimes the girls ask me to draw things for them. They like me to draw a scene or figures or both and then they color them in. I like doing it because they always ooh and aah over my talent and then spend the next hour totally absorbed in coloring. Yesterday was one such day. I was at the table folding and gluing miniature grocery bags so I was game.

I drew a family of cats in formal wear. 

When they finished they wanted more and as I happened to be writing a condolence note to my grandmother whose dear little kitty had to be put to sleep, I drew more cats, this time to be colored and sent to their great grandmother. 

But I also had the sense that these girls might want more cats, or even more likely that one might want a drawing just like the one I drew for her sister. So this time I scanned them into the computer for easy duplicating.

But maybe your kids are just like mine?

Maybe they'd enjoy coloring in cat family portraits?

Well if so...

(These cats need whiskers added.)

Just a close-up of the suits?

Double-click the images and print them out. Enjoy!

Mrs. Loved One

Lately Echo has been calling me Mrs. Loved One.

"What's that you say Mrs. Loved One?"

"Can you help me wrap this towel around me, Mrs. Loved One?"

It really is too much. Too much cuteness and tenderness for one heart to handle. I want to turn my face and scrinch up, protect myself from feeling so strongly.

But I am not that foolish.

Everyone told me that these days of young children go quickly and I always said in return, "I know! I know!" because I thought I did know. I was wrong! I was so wrong. I knew it would go quickly, I thought it already was going quickly, but I didn't know it would happen so fast that you could barely see it whirling by. 

Over the years, upon return from my daily walk with Henry, I approach our house and try to see it with a stranger's eyes. It always looks colorful and full of life. It looks happy and, again lively. Lively is the word I use when I am seeing our yard from an objective perspective. As I get closer and my own perspective takes over I use a different word. Like messy or lived-in. There are forty-five (seemingly) bicycles leaned against the fence. The yellow plastic picnic table is always turned on it's side. There are various bowls full of mud and leaves and water lined up on the steps- mud-crusted spoons as companions. There are buckets of sunflower stems and yarrow stalks awaiting transfer to one of the compost systems. There are cats. There are elbow pads cradling fairy figurines nestled amongst the ferns.

Our house sits on a corner so you really can see it all, every last inch of our outdoor lives is available for viewing, and when I approach with stranger eyes I see liveliness and fun. When my own filters settle into place I see things to tidy and straighten. Then, when I am feeling gentle with myself, I remind myself that this is the yard of a household of young children. The rake may just sit out from fall until spring because the parents that live here are holding on by the seat of their pants - living sleep deprived, moving from snack time to snack time, booting up Robin Hood for movie night for the umpteenth time. 

But guess what? Our yard isn't that messy anymore.

Cue the tears: Our girls aren't that little anymore. They are five, and nine, and eleven.

Sigh.

Three days ago Echo got out of bed on her own. This sounds like no news at all. Every day kids get out of bed in the morning. But not this kid! In all of her five years not once has she put even a toe out of bed without a parent. (And it wasn't until two weeks ago that she would get out of bed with papa instead of mama.) Our mornings begin with chitter and chatter that eventually turns into pleading (on her part) to get up and mild pleading (on my part) for a couple more sleepy/snuggly minutes. So imagine my surprise when I felt the covers carefully tucked around me and little feet stepping over my legs. I waited to see what this was all about and waited and waited. Wide awake at this point I asked Nathan "Where is our child?" He promptly got up to search (which further illustrates how absolutely rare this occurrence is) and returned to say that Echo was dressed and playing in the living room.

I am not kidding you, my very first thought was: middle school. If we don't slow down this whole time passing and child development thing then one day we'll blink and our littlest will be in middle school.

I got up.

 

Our favorite Sky and Boat shirt, fresh off the press. This is the shirt which inspired big sister Xi and big sister Bella to coo: "Who's the buffalo? Who's the buffalo?" which baby Echo found insanely hilarious.

 

 

Five years later. The shirt was passed from baby to baby to baby and returned to us, a little worse for wear, and now somehow just the right size for the slimmed down belly and long arms of a five year old.

 

Where did those years go?

The same place as this current year I suppose. I reminded myself of this this morning when Echo pleaded with me to get up before the sun. I asked her about her new practice of getting up on her own and she said "Well... that's on pause. Because in the winter the nights are so long and dark? So yeah. Getting up by myself is a spring and summer sort of thing. It'll start again then." 

I got up.

And when she calls me Mrs Loved One I look her full in the face and smile.

Trusting the Process of My Life

I think I mentioned that I made a whole lot of fairy food over the last couple of months. I made so much that in between the first holiday fair and the next holiday fair I could relax since I didn't have to hustle to replenish my inventory. That meant when nine pm rolled around I was at Nathan's side watching the latest installment of our science documentary without a single bit of clay in my hands. Coincidentally I  was also snoozing in Nathan's lap by ten thirty, the last several weeks catching up with me while the lack of creative stimulation sucker punched me. But it felt good! What an accomplishment, I tell ya.

And it also felt strange. By the second post-holiday-fair night I had the clay out again. I made this:

Nathan looked at me with genuine concern for my sanity.

Withdrawal does make one crazy, but isn't it cute???

I have all of these little baskets, and clay, and well... TIME (at least comparatively speaking) and doing nothing just feels way too foreign. So I made these guys, fairy babies of sorts, that I know are going to fly off the holiday fair shelves into the hands of little girls that don't think they are weird at all. I made brown ones too. And little flannel blankies that fasten with velcro. And they each have their own basket for naps.

You should see their tiny, plump little bums. It's almost too much.

And that's how I'm handling my transition from the fairy food world to the real. Along with grandparent visits that just keep on rollin' (bye Granpop and hello Grammie!), dog walks in snow so white it looks fake, stacks and stacks of Feeleez packages, and of course the thrice weekly recess duty.

In fact, I have been so much in my own world lately that with the close of the e-course ( a resounding success!) my brain just kept right on trekking and before I knew it I was jotting down the framework for Parenting Teaching With Empathy in the classroom. Holy moly the possibilities are so exciting. So exciting that, because of my own little world bubble I mentioned, somehow without any preparation or prelude, between shoving little elementary bums on the swing, I blurted out to the director of Xi's school that I'd like to give a presentation on applying parenting with empathy principles to the classroom.

I said this off-hand and matter of factly and without an ounce of awareness of how presumptuous or critical that notion might sound to the director of a school, a woman who has been working with children for decades. Oops.

But she's interested.

I am giddy with the thought of school children receiving little doses of empathy throughout the day. I imagine their little hearts swelling and settling with satisfaction and contentment. They still will have to hold hands in line, clear their work space, and all the other little "shoulds" of the school day, but when they melt down or resist or drag their little feet? They might just be met by an empathetic adult and what a difference that will be, not only for them but for the teachers and co-students and parents and well, the rest of the world too.

From the micro to the macro, that's how my days have been going lately. Little inch long babies accompanied by continent-wide thoughts and ideas. If I were to map it out, how parenting and miniature pretend food intertwine to make e-courses, parenting theory, and emotional educational revolution make sense, I couldn't. But somehow it does. 

I am "trusting the process of my life", as a wise woman once advised, and who knows where it will go. 

****

 

ps. There is a fair bit of web buzz about this post lately. Want to weigh in?

My First Baby

It's this yellow guy's birthday today. He is nine years old.

Henry was my first baby. He taught me to get up early, to have patience, to love rivers more than ever, to talk to strangers, and to be happy with the simple pleasures of fresh air and neighborhood streets.

When I first moved to Missoula I was so, something. I want to say young, fresh, naive, but that isn't exactly it. I had lived in several places, even abroad, studied at Universities, worked a variety of jobs, loved a handful of men, so it isn't that I wasn't "experienced", but I hadn't really been tested. I hadn't been alone. I hadn't not known what I was going to do.

That's very much what my first year in Missoula was about. I knew nothing and no one. I went days without hearing my own voice, or my name from another human's lips. I lived on the northern most edge of this northern city without any indication that there was any reason for that location. I knew nothing about who I was becoming, nor where I was going. The only thing I did know was that I wanted a dog.

At that point I even had allergies to dogs and cats, a fur inspired asthma that kept me from breathing a full breath, kept me sneezing and gasping. But I wanted a dog. I went to my awesome acupuncturist, (one of three people that I exchanged words with that year), every week for six months. It worked.

I was getting my ducks in a row. 

I thought I lived in a pet friendly rental so when I, in good conscience, told my landlords of my plans and they said NO DOGS, I cried for three days straight. My journal consisted entirely of drawings of me, a house, and a yellow puppy. I started a campaign, an annoyance campaign in which I wrote letter after letter to my landlords describing my intentions and the kind of dog I planned to raise. I made assurances about peeing, pooping, barking, and digging. I didn't stop. After three months they said YES.

I went the next day and brought home a little yellow guy named Henry.

And so the rest of my life as I know it began.

If facebook existed at that point Henry would have filled every profile pic, status update, and photo album. Now days he is still in every photo, his shadow crosses the face of one of our smiling girls, his yellow leg juts into the frame from the side. He is always there, a solid consistent, hairy presence, that provides the steady heartbeat of the day. If I know nothing else about anything, I know I will walk him and feed him and kiss him everyday. 

He barks at the fence, he eats nasty turn your stomach things, he makes noises that we don't understand, he jumps out the dog door to pee and then upon return he barks to be let in the human door for no discernible reason. He is an enigma.

He is Henry Brown Christensen McTague. My first baby, the beginning of me in so many ways.

Fortune

The other day Nathan, Echo and I were taking a routine dog walk through some of Missoula's alleys and heard, through a fence, "Hey, there's free stuff here if you want!". My ears perked. Free? Stuff? We poked our heads within the courtyard and there before us stood an enormous pile of stuff. From a sorority house. The woman hailing us happened to be the house mother, in charge of dealing with all of the junk that a few years worth of sorority sisters never packed up and took with them. 

I was like: "Hell yeah I'll look through this stuff!"

It was like we stumbled upon our very own store. We just happened to walk by and she just happened to need to get rid of a lot of things. Everything we put in our pile was a favor to her. Eventually we filled a garbage bag and she said not only could we leave it there to grab later, she would also leave the gate open and that we should come back with friends. Hello free pile from heaven!

I walked into playgroup an hour later and said: Ladies. There is a free pile. It's huge. It's from a sorority house. And it is on reserve just for us. We waited for one of our wee babes to wake up from a nap and then piled into our van (Sylvia) for the short two block ride. Kris even drove her car so that we had enough cargo room for the loot. 

You know those slow-motion scenes in a movie where the team of five good-looking bank-robber/bad ass/power-men walk fanned out in a line, with some really flattering makes-them-look-even-better music pumping? Well we were like that. Except women. With lots of kids. And a mini-van. But you get the picture!

I think we were there forever. The longer we stayed the more things we found. The pile went on and on and on. There is no way to list it all but we got:

• brand-new bed clothes for four or five twin beds (chocolate colored sheets, deep fuchsia sheets, comforters, down comforters, booster pillows, pillowcases)
• skinny jeans 
• cute boy jeans 
• millions of tops 
• even tops for our never-stops-growing ten year old 
• yoga pants
• sewing scissors
• volleyball
• stuffed animals
• extension cords
• 3 lamps
• lap desk
• laundry baskets
• Halloween costumes
• storage bins
• fabric
• dishes
• crystal tea cups
• shoes
• sunglasses

The only thing that would have made it ideal, perfect, girl heaven, is a full-length mirror and the ability to try things on on the spot. 

I even got this...

Please forgive the home alone, late at night, web cam photo, but isn't it cute!

Tonight I was feeling ho hum and woe-ish. I shuffled into the kitchen to make hot dogs, mac and cheese, and heat up leftover soup, in my ugg boots and everyday jeans, all set for a lowdown mediocre meal and mood, when I remembered that I can't afford to let myself sink into the rabbit hole of fear and self pity. If I am attracting my reality every minute of the day then I've got to be pretty darn careful about the shuffling and the moping. 

Before I even put a pot on to boil I raced upstairs and put on this dress, high heels, and jewelry. I even put good smelling lotion on my legs! I click clacked back into the kitchen, put on my favorite apron and felt very much like a rich, high-society woman prepping for a party. Well I don't know about high-society, they probably hire caterers but you get the point! I wasn't shuffling any longer.

Echo came in from outside and instantly became twitterpated. The clicking and clacking, the dangly earrings, sent her into an eye batting, stuttering mode. When she saw the white table cloth on the table she sat down and said: Mom, I am about to cry from joy. Oh, the good times of my life! I sounded the alarm that we were having fancy dinner and Xi and Nathan came in with an enormous vase of lilacs.

We still had leftover soup, mac and cheese, and hot dogs, but there was cranberry juice in crystal glasses on saucers, napkins rolled in napkin rings, little dessert plates with little desserts, and family members completely decked out. Nathan in an elegant italian sweater/shirt, Echo in plastic high heels and a silk cape, Xi in a velour dress and ruby red slippers. Headbands and lip gloss, I tell ya we were a sight!

We lingered over dinner, feeling like a million bucks, and afterward took a clicky clacky stroll around the block like the Rockefellers walking the grounds.

Lucky free piles, kindred girlfriends, "fancy" dinners, eye batting children, vases of lilacs, there are so many ways to feel utterly rich.

ps. One week 'til group phone consult. Don't forget to sign up!

Glorious

 

When the world turns and tilts and brings this Northern part of the world back to the sun there is no place more glorious than Missoula, Montana. (Can I get an amen locals?) Seven months of winter makes us all, well, appreciative. Puffy coats are finally hung on the hook, sandals come out, and bare skin gets that first rosy blush of sun. We almost forget about skin in these parts. Most of us know the chin, nose, and ears of our friends quite well, we see those parts peeking out of scarves and hats for months and months. But come late spring there are arms too! And knees! Even a flash of midriff now and then. Yesterday at the park college students had on bikinis, which rendered me, Nathan, and every other mom and pop pushing dirty kids in swings speechless. All we could do was stare.

Ah sun.

The sun has also brought us out into the yard. Our construction-wrecked corpse of a yard. But with the new deckings of green it doesn't look so sad. Nathan pokes around with a shovel for an hour and suddenly we have less rubble and more of something that resembles an actual flower bed. Yeah! The sun has also brought the opportunity to throw our teenage "chicks" outdoors to peck in the dirt under supervision. They squabble over worms and suddenly run like chickens with their heads cut off for no discernible reason and make our yard feel farmy and busy. I love them.

But returning them to their plastic tub in the laundry room has felt less than springy. For one, now that they've gotten a taste of the good life, another afternoon with pine shavings and the rumble of the dryer has lost its charm. And I am no longer charmed by the smell. The scent of new baby chicks warming under a heat lamp is quite different from the stench of teenagers. So we built a coop!

I am extremely proud. I've built gigantic wire sculptures, huge towering ceramic pillars, jewelry, a child, thousands of dinners, tiny fairy food made from Fimo, websites, a business, to-die-for birthday cakes, sets for musicals, but never something from wood that isn't for looks. I was so unsure of our capabilities that I was bartering like a crazy lady, scouring alleys for coop discards, and asking every Tom, Dick, and Harry if they had an unused coop. Finally, with the help of an enthusiastic friend, the idea of building our own coop slowly bubbled to the surface. And let me tell you, I have had so much fun! I think I'm even good at it. Construction has been slow going, with frequent trips around the block as Echo tries out new training wheels, spliced in between sawing sessions, but not only is the result strong and perfectly designed, Its also good looking! 

Last night we tucked those girls into their new home with pride.

And Echo learned to skip and Xi learned to ride a two wheeler. Its been a week of milestones for us all, I tell ya.

All that stimulation has made for some sleepy, dirty folks around these parts, and science tells us that the more stimulation, mental or physical, a child gets the more sleep she needs to absorb and process all of that stimuli. But alas we aren't getting that. In the evening when we settle in for stories, not only is the room still bright (dusk comes around 9:30 at this time of year in this neck of the woods) but the sun is actually shining into our eyes. We have to hold the book just so, like a pair of sunglasses, so that we can even see the words. When we cuddle up for sleep it feels like noon, it looks like noon. So Echo chats and writhes and sings and needs to use the bathroom four times until shadows stretch across the bed and she finally, reluctantly gives in.

Fast forward a measly few hours and repeat. Early morning still-sleeping stretches are met with blazing sun and so instead of tucking back in for a couple more hours of sleep Echo picks up where she left off the night before. Writhing, chatting, and wide awake.

In short, we need curtains.

We are open to any visitors that bear yardage and sewing abilities. We will provide the machine, and are open to barter. Wire sculptures, fairy food, birthday cakes... name your price!