New Blooms, Rain, and More Oranges

Suddenly, it is spring here.  I didn't know if we would really have a true, bursting-from-the-ground sort of spring out here.  Granted, it's not nearly as dramatic as cherry blossom buds after a cold and barren winter, but it is here: the trees are pale green with new leaves, there are new flowers bursting from the ground, the fruit trees are starting to blossom.  Flower are all over, and it's still novel to me to be in a place with native blooms that I surprise me from my own dining room table (above, bouquets from the girls, below tulips from Ben!).

For the past week and a half it has been raining.  Our kids are little enough that they have sort of forgotten what to do in the rain since we've been living in a drought ridden state for the past 8 months or so.  We used to be really good at rainy days, but it's the sort of thing you have to practice, you know?  A morning of rain is one thing, but we had many back to back days of solid rain, and Clara and Dorothy were looking at us like, "You mean I can't just stroll outside in what I'm wearing?"  So we had to teach them about all of the things you can do on a rainy day, like lounge around the house and do puzzles and read and maybe get around to sloooowly making something for dinner.  It's good to have a rainy day like that every now and then.

I adore baby Josephine.  Of course I adore each of our babies, but being the sixth child in the family does sort of make Josephine the center of a lot of love.  There's Josephine, sleeping right through snuggles, kisses, pokes, and jiggles.  We have our steady refrains for children who are interacting with Josephine, sung on repeat and hesitantly heeded, "With an open hand" (to prevent poking), "on the top of her head" (to prevent kisses on the mouth, nose, eyes.  We've seen it all, folks), or "Give Josephine a bubble" (which is our last ditch attempt to convince to give her a little room).  Luckily, she seems to adore all the attention, eagerly following her siblings with her eyes and increasingly smiling at even the sound of their voices.

Oh, and we're still picking oranges.  I remember when we first moved here, I looked in horror at oranges that had fallen from orange trees and were left uneaten (just right there, on the sidewalk, or in someone's yard, or their lawn waste).  But now I get it.  The past month we have gone from cherishing the incredibleness of having fresh citrus in our backyard to the grim reality of moldy oranges on the lawn.  We're harvesting those oranges every day and we are only about half way through.  As of this evening, we have newly harvested oranges ready to give out to any friend/potential friend/neighbor/teacher/passer-by ready to receive them.

I'm joining in with Like Mother, Like Daughter today!

Slow

You guys, we found a turtle!  Spotted by Zosia while crossing the street just like it was no big deal.  We deliberated for some time about whether he was a pet or a wild animal, but the determination with which he was crawling towards the creek led us to believe wild animal.  We spent a little while trying to train him (with success, if you would ask Lily or Hugo, who would stand directly in his path while yelling "Here, turtle!  Here, turtle!" and then claim victory when he took a step towards them before changing directions).  And then we released him and he crawled away, eager to continue on his journey.  Quick as a wink, and here we were thinking that turtles were supposed to be among the slowest in the animal kingdom.  Just a few minutes, but he certainly captured our imaginations.

Our lives these past few months have been composed of many such little fragments.  Any moment has a list of five very urgent matters that must immediately be tended to.  A meal, a diaper, a guest, a game, a book.  And then, five minutes later, the list changes.  It creates a beautiful mosaic of a day, although in the moment, it can feel like a bit of a marathon.  And despite the fact that I sometimes find that a morning has flown by and I have not gotten off of my feet once, I nevertheless have become a little addicted to the quick pace of life, to tell you the truth.  It is thrilling and feels incredibly fulfilling to be able to care for one another diligently, and there's a way that a big family starts to feel like a well oiled machine.  

Every now and then these days, we find ourselves with a longer stretch of quiet time, and it's that slowness that takes some adjusting to.  Last week, the girls participated in a sweet little dance camp, and I found myself only with Hugo while the babies napped in the morning.  We would read something like ten books, play a few games, all at the most leisurely pace.  Eventually we would tidy the house a bit and get a sack.  Every moment I was filled with the feeling that surely I must be forgetting something.  But no, there was nothing extra.  Just Hugo and two napping babies.  What a funny feeling!  And these days I'm realizing that it's okay to slow down the pace, since things will be quieter when the big girls are in school this year.

Which brings me to our school decision for the coming year.  As many of you know, this past year we homeschooled for first grade.  We loved it.  We loved having Zosia around, loved the fact that we could learn so much so quickly and then spend the rest of our time learning through play.  It was a wonderful year, and it was an incredible gift to have our whole family here during the year that we welcomed twins (seriously! My two "big girls" have proved themselves competent as baby holders, baby entertainers, and even baby diaper changers.  It was like having two built in mothers' helpers).  

However, as the year progressed, we realized that finding time for formal instruction was becoming trickier.  Now, enter two crawling, cruising babies, and it is suddenly even trickier.  As much as we loved homeschooling, it became clear that this coming year was not a good homeschooling year.  Regardless, we felt like there were a lot of things that we had accomplished at home that were wonderful.  Things like nature study, reading live books, integrating our faith into our schooling, and being actively involved in the educational process.  We felt sad to be letting these things go, and started thinking and praying of a way to continue along this path.

I can't narrate all of individual events that transpired in such a small space, but they go something like this.  We found a school, one that we loved, and every barrier  (substantial barriers, mind you!) were lifted one by one.  Our prayer for clarity was decisively answered.  The girls will be in school together at a sweet small Christian school that is close by, that is very homeschooling friendly, and that welcomes (requires, even!) substantial parental involvement.  And what's more, not only do they support the type of school we tried to create at home, but we feel like have a lot to learn from them.

We are all excited to imagine what this coming year will hold!

Mud Pies and Virginia Summer

I was born and raised in this part of Virginia where we're raising our family.  At the closest hospital to our house, brought home to our family's apartment just a mile from where we live now.  And if you talk to me about it, you will learn that I am quite the Virginia enthusiast.  It's kind of a great state: there are beaches, farms, mountains, rivers.  The seasons are distinct and showy.  Things are always changing, ushering in a new feel to the air, or new colors to the trees.  The clothing we wear changes drastically from month to month, as do our activities and the ways we interact with the outdoors.

And let me tell you that in all my years here in this state, I have never known a summer quite like this one!  Mild, cool, breezy?  I am tickled, as these days remind me of our summers in Boston (whose summers are stunning).  Our windows are open, we often find ourselves wearing a sweater.  It has been pretty great, and we have been living out of doors whenever possible.  It has been a flurry of energy and activity, and I have found myself taking cues from my wise eldest (who lives up to the meaning of her name, wisdom), who sometimes asks if we can spend the afternoon at home.  And we do, and take a deep breath and remember that the coming seasons hold for us more of this rest, the still time indoors to create and take in a different kind of beauty.

Clara and Dorothy are crawling.  Dorothy crawls hand over hand, quickly and assertively.  She loves it when I vacuum (still! The babies adored this as newborns!) and follows the vacuum around.  My little housekeeping companion.  Clara is crawling, too, but slowly, deliberately.  There she is crawling to my camera from her blanket in the grass.  At our six month appointment I informed the doctor that the babies were crawling.  She wasn't too impressed, until I sat Dorothy down on the exam table.  At which point she swiveled into a leaning sitting position, then swiveled again into a crawling position and proceeded to crawl (almost) off the table.  "You will never see a six month old do this again," the doctor, stunned, informed the resident.  So there you have it, our incredible crawling twinsies.

The kids have been making mud pies (I have learned to always trust Ginny's book suggestions!  They are the best) and setting teatimes for dolls, stuffed animals, brothers and fathers alike. I received a serious reprimand for discarding some chalk tea, which was left out in the kitchen.  Seriously, sometimes mothers just do not know what's most important!  

And the girls have been preparing for this coming year, during which they will be going to school.  We have been praying and worrying (me) and trying to figure out the best path for our family this coming year, and in the end our discernment was clear and easy: I'm excited to share more with you about it in the coming weeks.

(Oh, and will you look at the babies with their cousin Grace!  We call her the "big triplet," and I can already see how these three will be thick as thieves over the years).

Growth

::He's as sweet and lovey as they come.  He will come right up to you and kiss your nose, your ears, your eyelids while saying, "I wuv you, I wuv you, I wuv you"  over and over again.  He makes my heart melt and I already lament the fact that one day he will likely love another woman more than me.  And yet pure mischief.  Proudly bringing me a large empty bottle of baby oil, which he dumped.  On the carpet.  "Sowy, sowy, sowy.  I not do it again" (and he didn't do that again, although I did just discover that he dumped a cup of water.  On the same carpet).  And then a smile and a twinkle in his mischievous eyes.  Oh my, this boy.

::Growing so quickly, and just like that everything is green inside and out.  This is the week.

::Chocolate chip pancakes which my husband declared were the best he's ever had (while Zosia looked over his shoulder saying, "Not so much brown sugar.  They have chocolate chips,dad!"  I never knew children would be such upholders of virtue and moderation).

:: The sweet potato has sprouted.  It took about two months (!), which we speculate was due to some treatment they give grocery store potatoes to prevent sprouting.  But we waited and waited, and there it is.  Now does anyone know whether we can translate this into sweet potatoes in the garden, and how?

:: Today we had all three meals on the deck.  It makes me happy that the wildlife can clean up the crumbs instead of me, and the fresh air seems to give everyone a better appetite.

:: Bedtime reading and just like that the day is done.

Raised from the Dead

It was our Spring 2014 work weekend.  Everyone helped.  Well, not the twins. They either slept inside, or hung out in their little shade tent outside, or let's be honest, were carried by either me or Ben.  A huge pile of mulch, dumped on the driveway, needed to be carried to all of the flower beds and spread.  We are once again trying to plant grass in our backyard, which seems resigned to remain in its perennial state of being a mud pit.  Every year we plant seeds, full of hope, and every year they fail.  Five years and counting.  This weekend we integrated top soil, put down fertilizer, raked it in, even have straw to spread on top.  This is our year for grass, I can feel it in my bones.  Lush, thick grass.  Mark my words.

I took the big kids to church with me on Sunday while Ben stayed home with sleeping babies.  Being at church together is the sweetest thing, because the big kids are just thrilled to snuggle up in my lap without a single baby vying for my attention.  Soaking it in, such sweet kiddos.  Midway through the homily about Lazarus being raised from the dead, there is a shout from the congregation.  "Call 911!"  Everything stops.  A man has collapsed.  Is there a doctor in the congregation?  Yes, a few men rush over to the collapsed man.  Is his heart beating?  Is he breathing?  His adult daughter is shouting and crying.  Many people are crying.  They are performing cpr.  We are three rows away from him, and his body is limp.  The kids and I are huddled together, praying.  A woman raises her hands and starts praying a Hail Mary, and we join.  The moments drag on.  I am thinking of ways to explain to my children that we have just watched a man die. The ambulance arrives, and we are asked to stay in our seats, to make space for the responders.  Hugo, meanwhile, is loudly telling me that he needs to get onto the ambulance because, "I have owie, mama!  I have owie!" (ah, life with little kids!  What would I do without this comic relief?)

There are many people standing around him, and we can't really see what is happening.  We wait to see him lifted from the pew, nervous to look, and yet unable to pull our eyes away.  They are lifting him.  We are about to see him.  We are about to see him.  And there he is.  Only, wait!  He is walking.  Walking himself to the gurney.  Totally, completely alive.  Everyone is stunned.  You would think that the congregation would burst into applause or something, but we just sat there, totally silent (I think this is where you know we are Catholic.  Can you imagine this happening at a Pentecostal church?  I get excited just imagining it).  Our priest, who had been at the back, waits a moment to see that everything is okay, and then walks back to the front.  "Wake up, Lazarus!" he proclaims.  Indeed.  Risen from the dead before our very eyes.  I will never forget it.

And oh, these babies.  Such smiley, good natured little things.  And they talk!  They just love to chatter and I don't think we've ever had babies that talk quite this way.  In whole baby sentences and paragraphs, I would say.  I hold them so close and nibble their chubby dimpled cheeks and say thankyouthankyouthankyou thousands of times every single day.  There is not a moment in their presence that is not awash in gratitude.  I will never forget that miracle, either.