Checking the tights to make sure you've got the ones with the seams that lay just the right way.
You can rush through. You can argue. You can loudly proclaim that it ISNT A BIG DEAL and those are the only tights that match and just wear them please! Or you can get the ones that don't make tears in the early morning and take ten seconds more to straighten them out across tiny toes. Exactly even. And then wait five seconds more so she can do the test step or two. Just to be sure.
The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing.
– Blaise Pascal
May your hearts be sweet, full to overflowing, and and generously given to others.
Martha's heart-shaped sandwich cookies were made by Moira and Alannah one evening after work. That's what they do for kicks ; )
Today was not the most wonderful day ever.
It started with me NOT resisting the urge to crawl back into bed after seeing my husband and daughter off to be truthful. That didn't last long because dogs and small girls found me in short order. And husband soon wrote home to tell me one of our classmates from our tiny town's high school died suddenly. You can be gone from a town of a few thousand people (total, including outlying areas) a really long time and be right back in high school when something like happens.
Shortly after that the phone rang. The insurance company is totalling the car that was hit last week. We have to sort out the details and find another now. Just remembering that night still gives me the willies and I still shudder a bit passing semi's on the road. Ugh.
I rallied after lunch though. The littles have been enjoying school lessons. Tess is reading everything she can get her hands on. They are all doing an awesome job with their bible memory verses. We are settling into a Waldorf-y rhythm whereby lots of just living is happening and learning is fitting into that context. I may be rebelling and consciously slowing and focusing since Alannah began her job. She is working at a child care center and rotating through the preschool room this week. After absolutely loving the baby rooms she is struggling in this room.
You should be advised that attachment parenting can render your offspring unsuitable for certain lines of work. Turns out she doesn't yell well. Not loudly and not enough, to be precise. But she has been assured that it is ok. If she stays longer, she will "find her preschool voice." (ie a louder more irritated one) As it is, she is "too nice to them." She has a bad habit of allowing 'them' to hold her hand while they walk or of stooping to assist in shoe tying.
This is against the rules. This breaks my heart.
For this reason I suspect she will find herself back in the baby room where they still value soft voices and a certain amount of soothing. Not an excessive amount mind you. It has all prompted many discussions at home about why we do what we do and how effective the different approaches are respectively. I shared this article with her by way of contrast with her experience. Just to show what could be, even in a large group.
It is not always sunshine and roses over here, fwiw. I have been known to nearly pull my hair out over teenaged boys and the fog they seem to wade through at times, or chore chart boxes that stare blankly back at me hour after hour. But we rally. There are hugs and books and deep breaths and quiet voices prevail once more.
I don't often feel like a phenomenal success. And losses like we have seen this past year make you wonder what sort of legacy you are leaving should you be next. I read the accounts of Zelie Martin's children describing their sainted parents and sigh. We aren't always that. Then again, we have also raised children who grew up to hold little hands and rock babies and coach troubled kids and read books and speak softly. (mostly ; ))
Not small potatoes.
I am holding on to that tonight. And tomorrow, we will read some more. I will help tie shoes. We will look for a new car and be ever so glad we walked away from the other in one piece. We will bake for the big brothers' Valentine's box. (which will be late again – a hallmark of their mother's care packages) We will not worry about spoiling anyone. In fact I think we will try hard to spoil as many people as we can. And heck with it. If they don't hear me upstairs when I call about those bleepin' chore charts, so be it. I will go get them. Again. Because in a world where tomorrow is not guaranteed I do not want to be remembered for "having found my voice." Not that voice anyway. Not that.
"Who hath despised the day of small things?"
"…rejoice." Zechariah 4:10
breakfast book - 30's novel picked up at the antique store
"How many of them are boys?" People usually want to know when they discover that we have ten children. How many of those children are boy children? Because the higher that particular number is the louder the gasps as a rule. "Six boys? Wow. You must be a saint." I assure you, as can those six, that I am not. However I might suggest there is such a saint we might want to try to emulate in this case: John Bosco. He knows boys. I might be juggling six strapping young men. He cared for hundreds with one devoted woman, his mother. If they could do so well, surely we can do this too.
John Bosco was fatherless himself, having been raised by a widow. He took pity on the street urchins of his day, looked upon with judgement and disgust, kicked to the curb and urged on and away like so many stray dogs. He rejected the idea that genetics dictates character. He sensed that coercion and harsh discipline only bred bitterness and rebellion. He set about to test his theory that change is possible once you gain the affection and respect of your charges. In fact, he was pretty sure that was the only way.
Turns out he was right.
Boys flocked to his oratory which mushroomed quickly and grew into multiple homes and schools which continue to this day to employ his 'preventative system'. What is that you ask? Well it is directly opposed to the repressive system prevalent in his day and we could argue, still in pretty regular use.
"The repressive system consists in making the law known to the subjects, and afterwards watching to discover the transgressors of these laws and inflicting, when necessary, the punishment deserved….
The happy thing to talk about is tea today with these two. It has not been easy to get a table at this little tea room near the antique barn. The posted hours seem to be more suggestions than hard-and-fast opening and closing times. We tried to bring Megan a few weeks ago. We tried a couple days ago to take all the girls. That time we came very close. It was open when we arrived at the barn, but all the lights were out and doors locked before closing time. I was half expecting the same this afternoon when we came on Alannah's day off but we hit the jackpot. Tea and cakes while watching the wind and drizzle pick up out the windows.
That is the happy thing. The not-so-happy thing was the tree down in the road later in the evening. Or the lorry that hit us from behind. This is life too, yes? Not all tea and cakes. Still, we are all three safe and well and the driver has sent all his company's information to cover us it seems. Just am a little rattled still which explains editing in the wee hours. So off to bed with me now.
Wishing you a peaceful, prayerful Sunday.
I am sitting on a ton of lot of travel pictures but night after night I don't get them up. The times we are all home together I just want to be with the rest of them and we are doing something til it's time to drop it seems. I am in a hedgehog sorta mood – hibernating when I can. <g> So, instead of the cohesive note I will probably never compose….
In brief, it snowed. The first snow we have seen in England. Not much, but delightful nonetheless.
We made these muffins (pic'd below) and chicken soup this past weekend. I could live on soup right now.
A fair amount of my binder is being transferred into our Cozi app. The Luddite in me has gone kicking and screaming into the Brave New World admittedly. But since we are in it, I am determined that it will serve us and not vice vs. This is a great example. My brain was just overflowing lately with travel, schedules, chore lists, practices, shopping lists that were never completely complete. So now we have one app, we all can tap into it and I can watch their checklists tick off from any room in the house. Love.
I finished Kim De Blecourt's adoption story. Chock full of intrigue and corruption and suspense. Many of the good online reads of late ended up on the friendfeed to your right fwiw. Some good stuff!
A very good short read is here. Hat tip to Rebecca for sending and mulling it over with me. I think I am often too indulgent with myself. We hear all the time that venting is a good thing. I am not so sure. Never have been. Bitterness isn't any better in small portions. I am resolved to do better at catching the little foxes and remembering that success rarely lies in a few landmark battles but rather in staying faithful through many small skirmishes.
These everyday things – they are the big things.
And that is that. : )
"Winter, a lingering season, is a time to gather golden moments, embark upon a sentimental journey, and enjoy every idle hour." – John Boswell
After a full and bustling December we are settling into a somewhat quieter January. Breath in, breathe out. It is a little window before things pick up again and I have learned to gather moments where they can be found. This week we have brought home into clear focus again, taking into account the things scheduled in coming weeks and months and balancing those with a steady rhythm in this house and a generous dose of idle hours. We need those too.
Starry Sky Journal 