The doldrums of winter have passed and there is wind in my sails again. Springy things are happening--tulips popping, mud puddling, laundry hanging, ice cream outings increasing. We scooped up a cupful of frog eggs on our last hike excursion through the Canterbury Hills in Ancaster, and although the biologist of the family had completely lost faith in the little guys, (granted, they sat unchanging in a Tim Horton's cup of sludge water for nearly 3 weeks) I did not, and they hatched 2 days ago. We are now growing frogs on our front porch.
Saturday was a particularly enjoyable day, being Mother's day, despite two serious parenting fails.
The first- James and I, picnicking at the park with the kids, talking about how awesome this park is because the kids CAN'T hurt themselves (ours usually do) when Anneliese falls off the jungle gym. A big drop. I didn't know I could scream until that moment. She was fine, overall, but James retreated into himself for the next 3 hours or so going through all the horrible worst case scenarios of what could have happened. I'm glad he kept that to himself. I'm much more the "oh, phew- she's fine- let's forget about THAT" type. To each his own. That wrapped up our picnic pretty quickly, and we headed into Dundas for a little window shopping.
Second fail-- deciding it would be a good idea to take the kids into a toy shop in Dundas. (Italics needed to stress that Dundas is the upper class side of town, and children just don't do upper class). We enter- kids bee line for a wooden clown on a stick, start to fight over it, and then I step on it and snap it, in my attempt to get in between the squabble. Then I hide the stick, (all my proper upbringing gone in that one instant) and football carry an angry son out of the store. James, in no mood for this, is already long gone with Anneliese. At the car, I tell him I snapped the stick, and he tells me to get my butt back in there and buy it (a good man :)) So I go, $20 bucks in hand, to buy my Mother's day gift on Mother's day. (side note- the lady said she was feeling magnanimous, (which I had to go and look up when I got home) and let me off the hook. The word was a good one, if you're interested: generous in forgiving an insult or injury; free from petty resentfulness or vindictiveness: to be magnanimous toward one's enemies.)
Sunday was a day to bask in the glory of my parent's estate. Forsythias punching colour along the property line, magnolia blossoms in full swing, and the cousins dominating the tennis court on their little trikes loving life, liberty and the pure childish pursuit of happiness (plagiraism noted ) I love my parents home. Every time I go I have grand plans to take hikes with the kids and explore my old stomping grounds but we always end up just staying put and soaking everything in from the pond or patio. I forget that the kids don't need 'outings' like they do here in the 'burbs'. They have enough to do on the property, and that's exactly how I remember life at home growing up. I think that's why it's so easy to be there, and why I love taking my family there. And of course my parents are fabulous.
Another thing of note-and completely off topic-- every member of the former 'wild things' clan (my childhood friends for life) have now crossed over to the stage of motherhood. In order- Joc was the first brave soul to take the plunge, then me, then Vanessa, then Kristina, then Sarah, and now Cheryl. Congratulations friends! This was a topic discussed at length in the hoeing fields growing up, and can finally move from speculation to fact. I'm happy for each and every one of you, and I am ALWAYS available if you need someone to share a coffee with, and to give you an honest sschpeel on having life turned upside down, and finding a way to navigate it while on your head:) Yes, sometimes it's that extreme.
Now a shout out to my babies.
Jesse makes me proud. For a week our driveway has been piled high in paving stones, and Saturday was the day to set out the skids and start stacking. Tim, Jordan, James and myself got to work, loading wheelbarrows etc, and Jesse came in with his little red wagon and just got it done. I think, on his own, he stacked 3 layers of the smallest bricks. Seeing that kid work makes me proud. I no longer work to distract him, but get him to work. Tonight he cut all the mushrooms for our dinner with his butter knife. I like noticing these subtle developments in my boy. He's a sweetheart.
Anneliese makes me laugh. Her life is a giant game, and I think that's pretty great. She sings a LOT - her favourites being Raffi's "It's my bathtime" and the classic Sharon, Lois, and Bram "Skinna marinky dinky dink". She repeats everything and has a dirt fetish. I think she's a grub on purpose, just because she loves the bath so much. Her hair is getting blonde, and is going to be beautifully curly. Her eyes are more hazel now, like mine, but darker. There's nothing very delicate about her, but it's nice to know that she can fall (far) and bounce back up. A strong girl.
And baby #3. We don't know you at all yet, but I'm going to get a little look at you next week for my 19 week ultra sound. So far, you've been a joy to carry :)
Annnnnd it wouldn't be fair to talk about new babies without mentioning my newest and only Harskamp nephew- Judah Glenn Matthias Harskamp- born only 4 days ago to my wonderful bro and sis- in law Brian and Ali. As far as I know, they are all doing great. I'm pretty pumped for my kids to meet the newest cuz, and to see just what kind of boy he's going to be for his parents :) Can't help but hope he's a lot like J- bear :)
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Changing my tune
I'm in the uncomfortable stage of my life where friends around me are drifting enviably around God's globe while talk at the Harskamp home is circling around that most unsettling word--"settling". In short- buying a house. Where and when and why are my constant question companions while I let this notion settle into my brain space. The pessimist in me hears the clang of mortgage, cramped crappy 70's home, 10X10 patch of grass passed off as a yard, city kids, but worst of all, nomadic freedom at its end. This minor chord plays while I fine tune my hearing to the major. Our own land, to manipulate, to plant, to beautify. Our own home, where we can knock down walls, and fix our own lightbulbs! A place to call ours, for real, for keeps, for starters.
As far as starter homes go, I'm stuck in an obnoxious b flat. Everything I've seen so far in this "glorious city of Hamilton" is a lot of buck for no bang. I'm told, "don't worry- it's a starter home" to which I am tempted to respond, well then- screw getting "started". Let's go to New Zealand. And if I received even an inkling of encouragement in this regard from my dear husband, the bread winner of the family, I would be happily spending our savings on flights there before Anneliese turns 2 and we've got to buy 4 flights instead of 3. But, the home convo keeps circling like a hungry turkey vulture, who will soon spot that lonely vole and dive. My problem is, I don't want a lonely vole. I want an R.O.U.S (if you don't know that that is, you should find out) That is to say, I want what people say doesn't exist- a big place, a nice home, close to everything, away from everything, peaceful, but sociable, reliable but exciting, full of potential, a place to grow the family UP all the way through, without switching from home to home until we arrive at 'the one'. I want exactly what I had growing up, and I know it's crazy to try and get it. But that seems to be my standard, and if it doesn't exist in Hamilton, might we try elsewhere?
This is danger zone. Leave Hamilton? Because you know, the grass is always greener...
Stay in Hamilton? Raise city kids!?!
At the end of the day, I know it's trivial. Put in its proper perspective, the turkey vulture will get a mouse and be happy because it's alive and soaring. I get that. But I get dreaming too, and that's my privilege as a human being. I don't need to have all my standards met, but I do like to set my standard and shape my visions. The dreaming part is fun too. Just all the more trickier when you are dreaming for two, then three, then four, then five.
Oh ya. We're having another baby :) And he's probably not going to care where he lives, as long as he/she has someone looking out for him. It's crossed my mind occasionally that it really isn't nice how short babyhood/childhood is, considering how long we have to live as responsible adults, buying homes, and paying bills. But I guess the consolation is that while we do our duties in life, and live it, and love others, we can fill up the cracks with developing dreams. And that, folks, ends this blog in the right key, on the right note.
As far as starter homes go, I'm stuck in an obnoxious b flat. Everything I've seen so far in this "glorious city of Hamilton" is a lot of buck for no bang. I'm told, "don't worry- it's a starter home" to which I am tempted to respond, well then- screw getting "started". Let's go to New Zealand. And if I received even an inkling of encouragement in this regard from my dear husband, the bread winner of the family, I would be happily spending our savings on flights there before Anneliese turns 2 and we've got to buy 4 flights instead of 3. But, the home convo keeps circling like a hungry turkey vulture, who will soon spot that lonely vole and dive. My problem is, I don't want a lonely vole. I want an R.O.U.S (if you don't know that that is, you should find out) That is to say, I want what people say doesn't exist- a big place, a nice home, close to everything, away from everything, peaceful, but sociable, reliable but exciting, full of potential, a place to grow the family UP all the way through, without switching from home to home until we arrive at 'the one'. I want exactly what I had growing up, and I know it's crazy to try and get it. But that seems to be my standard, and if it doesn't exist in Hamilton, might we try elsewhere?
This is danger zone. Leave Hamilton? Because you know, the grass is always greener...
Stay in Hamilton? Raise city kids!?!
At the end of the day, I know it's trivial. Put in its proper perspective, the turkey vulture will get a mouse and be happy because it's alive and soaring. I get that. But I get dreaming too, and that's my privilege as a human being. I don't need to have all my standards met, but I do like to set my standard and shape my visions. The dreaming part is fun too. Just all the more trickier when you are dreaming for two, then three, then four, then five.
Oh ya. We're having another baby :) And he's probably not going to care where he lives, as long as he/she has someone looking out for him. It's crossed my mind occasionally that it really isn't nice how short babyhood/childhood is, considering how long we have to live as responsible adults, buying homes, and paying bills. But I guess the consolation is that while we do our duties in life, and live it, and love others, we can fill up the cracks with developing dreams. And that, folks, ends this blog in the right key, on the right note.
Monday, March 3, 2014
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Right before church Anneliese walked into a door and got a huge goose egg.
During church Jesse wet his pants, and we had no back up pair. He ran out of church in purple tights (Apparently their ARE moms out there (with little girls) who pack these things)
The outfit, coincidentally, matched perfectly with the purple ball gown Anneliese "insisted" on wearing. How does a one year old insist? It's a rodeo. A rope flings out of nowhere, fitting snuggly on the calf's neck. There's a second of absolute stillness. Just pull her in. Then she balks, kicking, crying, stamping, snorting. The rope is slipped, the calf is free, show goes on. The jean jumper will slip the rope. Not the ridiculous purple ball gown.
Meal time has turned itself into a particular kind of nightmare. The timer is not a threat when your toddler asks for you to set it. And then has you dancing about setting three different timers at his request. Nor is the bedroom of any consequence when your son asks if he can go and sit in his room, rather than eat a green bean. Two hours restrained in the booster seat does NOT phase him. For the love of beans, (for which he has none) what do parents actually DO to get their kids to sample vitamin A?!? I find sanctuary in my well traveled thought-road " honey nut cheerios have everything a growing toddler needs" or " I'm sure one meal a day will keep him alive".
Dinner is dreaded, but dealt with.
On to bedtime. Thoughts of hot coffee push me out of the black hole of dinner and the next routine begins like clockwork. Drawing energy from the simple sound of percolating goodness, I fill the bath, plug it with a bouncy ball (the bath plug went missing months ago) and before the temp is set, one dinner-stained, naked toddler is vaulting into the tub, with his baby sister at his heels. I catch her, strip her, and then set her wriggling into the water- a naked guppy in her glory. My kids LOVE the bathtub.
The shower tiles don't. Like baby teeth, they started strong, but with a little wear and tear they got loose, and then with a lot more tear (literally) they have fallen out completely. We've lost three, and and it's now only a matter of time before the tile wall comes down.
Our landlord will have his hands full with the bathroom.
Every bath ends. This is known. Yet it ALWAYS results in tantrums. We towel them, lotion them, diaper them, dress them, (quite deaf now by the escalated pitch of pissed offness) and then distract them from the fact that they are no longer pulling tiles from the walls.
Parenting, I've discovered, is 90% distraction.
Post bath is wind down time. Time to read a book, sing a song, get a sippy cup of something, then - stroke of genius- convince them that they should walk themselves to bed because they are just so tired. This works 10% of the time.
Once in bed, there is a perfect calm.
Never trust the perfect calm.
It precedes the storm of questions, requests, outbursts, general desperate attempts to get back out of bed because they have been duped into believing getting in was a good idea in the first place.
This is when I think two parents has never been more important. When resolve weakens in the one, the other is there to steer the course. "Don't give in!" "He's playing us" 'He'll get tired soon"- the verbal buttons we press on repeat while sucking back coffee because if we don't, we probably won't get to drink it while it's hot.
But then the trump card comes out, and there is simply nothing to do when it's played.
"I have to pee on the toilet".
What do you do with this? You lose every time. Don't let him go, do a load of laundry the next morning. Do let him go, and he might not have to, he just wanted to get out of bed and prove to you he could. And by this point, who is really winning anymore?
By 9:00, I let my breath out slowly, tension eases from the shoulders. The game is over. Anneliese and Jesse are simultaneously asleep, and until 11 (inevitably when Jesse tends to fall out of bed) there is a beautiful 2 hour window of opportunity to read and grow and learn and refocus on all the things I want to do in MY life. A selfish, important 2 hours. That's what I get in the day. I wonder sometimes about what life with babies has reduced me to. ( Reduced sounds like a bad word, but sometimes, it is the accurate word). Who am I to people anymore? Why do my blogs all focus around my kids? Where did James go? How did my demanding little kids bump him to the outer circle? Or do we both just have our noses to the grind and don't notice we are rubbing shoulders in the same circle? I think that's it. And I think that's why date nights are imperative with kids.
James is here, marking papers and planning lessons. Our routine around 9 usually involves something coming up on the big screen and a snack of something and an hour of watching easy entertainment. Even with the kids asleep, bread and circuses live on. I don't know that this is a good thing, but after a day spent with min- tornadoes, it's a needed thing.
So, this is a stage in life. A very real stage of life. At times it's my comedy, my tragedy, my history. But it IS my story, and I delight to tell it, exaggerate it, and find the humour in it (but only in the 2 hours of stillness does the comedy come alive.( eg. in the moment, a diaperless boy pooping on his chair holds no humour))
We don't always like it, but we may love it, because God help us, we can't seem to help it :)
During church Jesse wet his pants, and we had no back up pair. He ran out of church in purple tights (Apparently their ARE moms out there (with little girls) who pack these things)
The outfit, coincidentally, matched perfectly with the purple ball gown Anneliese "insisted" on wearing. How does a one year old insist? It's a rodeo. A rope flings out of nowhere, fitting snuggly on the calf's neck. There's a second of absolute stillness. Just pull her in. Then she balks, kicking, crying, stamping, snorting. The rope is slipped, the calf is free, show goes on. The jean jumper will slip the rope. Not the ridiculous purple ball gown.
Meal time has turned itself into a particular kind of nightmare. The timer is not a threat when your toddler asks for you to set it. And then has you dancing about setting three different timers at his request. Nor is the bedroom of any consequence when your son asks if he can go and sit in his room, rather than eat a green bean. Two hours restrained in the booster seat does NOT phase him. For the love of beans, (for which he has none) what do parents actually DO to get their kids to sample vitamin A?!? I find sanctuary in my well traveled thought-road " honey nut cheerios have everything a growing toddler needs" or " I'm sure one meal a day will keep him alive".
Dinner is dreaded, but dealt with.
On to bedtime. Thoughts of hot coffee push me out of the black hole of dinner and the next routine begins like clockwork. Drawing energy from the simple sound of percolating goodness, I fill the bath, plug it with a bouncy ball (the bath plug went missing months ago) and before the temp is set, one dinner-stained, naked toddler is vaulting into the tub, with his baby sister at his heels. I catch her, strip her, and then set her wriggling into the water- a naked guppy in her glory. My kids LOVE the bathtub.
The shower tiles don't. Like baby teeth, they started strong, but with a little wear and tear they got loose, and then with a lot more tear (literally) they have fallen out completely. We've lost three, and and it's now only a matter of time before the tile wall comes down.
Our landlord will have his hands full with the bathroom.
Every bath ends. This is known. Yet it ALWAYS results in tantrums. We towel them, lotion them, diaper them, dress them, (quite deaf now by the escalated pitch of pissed offness) and then distract them from the fact that they are no longer pulling tiles from the walls.
Parenting, I've discovered, is 90% distraction.
Post bath is wind down time. Time to read a book, sing a song, get a sippy cup of something, then - stroke of genius- convince them that they should walk themselves to bed because they are just so tired. This works 10% of the time.
Once in bed, there is a perfect calm.
Never trust the perfect calm.
It precedes the storm of questions, requests, outbursts, general desperate attempts to get back out of bed because they have been duped into believing getting in was a good idea in the first place.
This is when I think two parents has never been more important. When resolve weakens in the one, the other is there to steer the course. "Don't give in!" "He's playing us" 'He'll get tired soon"- the verbal buttons we press on repeat while sucking back coffee because if we don't, we probably won't get to drink it while it's hot.
But then the trump card comes out, and there is simply nothing to do when it's played.
"I have to pee on the toilet".
What do you do with this? You lose every time. Don't let him go, do a load of laundry the next morning. Do let him go, and he might not have to, he just wanted to get out of bed and prove to you he could. And by this point, who is really winning anymore?
By 9:00, I let my breath out slowly, tension eases from the shoulders. The game is over. Anneliese and Jesse are simultaneously asleep, and until 11 (inevitably when Jesse tends to fall out of bed) there is a beautiful 2 hour window of opportunity to read and grow and learn and refocus on all the things I want to do in MY life. A selfish, important 2 hours. That's what I get in the day. I wonder sometimes about what life with babies has reduced me to. ( Reduced sounds like a bad word, but sometimes, it is the accurate word). Who am I to people anymore? Why do my blogs all focus around my kids? Where did James go? How did my demanding little kids bump him to the outer circle? Or do we both just have our noses to the grind and don't notice we are rubbing shoulders in the same circle? I think that's it. And I think that's why date nights are imperative with kids.
James is here, marking papers and planning lessons. Our routine around 9 usually involves something coming up on the big screen and a snack of something and an hour of watching easy entertainment. Even with the kids asleep, bread and circuses live on. I don't know that this is a good thing, but after a day spent with min- tornadoes, it's a needed thing.
So, this is a stage in life. A very real stage of life. At times it's my comedy, my tragedy, my history. But it IS my story, and I delight to tell it, exaggerate it, and find the humour in it (but only in the 2 hours of stillness does the comedy come alive.( eg. in the moment, a diaperless boy pooping on his chair holds no humour))
We don't always like it, but we may love it, because God help us, we can't seem to help it :)
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Talking about my girl.
Tomorrow my girl turns 1. I distinctly remember the months d.r.a.g.g.i.n.g. by until the big 1 year milestone for my firstborn. How did 4 months pass by me without so much as an anecdote for #2? I remember just hoping my son would make it to a year without dying. Anneliese, that thought hasn't even crossed my mind with you-- not that it shouldn't. Last week you fell into the bath tub, got trapped in the toybox, climbed onto the table, and attempted the stairs while my back was turned--and you've survived.
You started walking at 9 months. You were running at 11 months, and now you are on the brink of turning 1, and I want to freeze you here, just long enough for me to process how OLD you really are, and when you started doing so much stuff. I am not one to say things like "I need to process..." mostly because I don't. Things happen, I react, and then I move on. But now I want to process. I have two wonderful kids. Jesse cried for 15 minutes today just because you had to take a nap. He adores you, but doesn't quite snup that you are a small girl, and he is a big boy. Today's game was fishing- he would toss you a spatula tied to a string, and when you would giggle and grab it, he would sprint down the hallway with his string, pulling you with him until you crash( letting go was not an option, apparently) These are the games you two play. And I pick my battles.
You love to cuddle your daddy. Yesterday both you and Jesse were clinging to his legs before he left for work, and I had to console two bawling kids that didn't want their pops to go to work that day. It's slightly irritating in the moment (being left with the riffraff of snot and tears to wipe and dry) but while I process this memory, it warms me up to know how much you guys love your daddy.
Sometimes I feel that for every one step ahead, I am 10 steps behind in all things domestic. In those moments where I let feelings of defeat wash over me, and silently pray that I can become a career woman, I make the decision to let everything be, myself included, and I just find a comfy place to lie down and watch you play. It doesn't take long for you to realize I am lying star fish fashion on the shag carpet, an easy target, and I become the make shift trampoline for as long as my ribs can stand it. And then I have to play--balancing Jesse on my hands, tossing you up in the air off my legs, a regular 'ruff n' tuff routine- and it's hilarious. I mean, I like a tidy house, and I like to walk on the floor without peeling squashed bananas and soggy cheerios out of my toes, but I also like to play and laugh and enjoy you-- it's good for us.
I wish it was easier to describe just you, Anneliese, like I described Jesse's solitary trek through babyhood, but you have a sibling that is shaping you, and I can't seem to find a lot of stories that involve just you. But you're a quick one. You were quick to be born, quick to sit, walk, and run, and I think behind those beautiful brown, smiley eyes, you've got a quick little brain madly working to figure things out-- most of the time it's working overtime just to figure out your older brother. It's been a quick 12 months, and I can't freeze the time. That's what words are for. I hope I can write down enough of them to capture the little girl from a year ago.
Love you.
You started walking at 9 months. You were running at 11 months, and now you are on the brink of turning 1, and I want to freeze you here, just long enough for me to process how OLD you really are, and when you started doing so much stuff. I am not one to say things like "I need to process..." mostly because I don't. Things happen, I react, and then I move on. But now I want to process. I have two wonderful kids. Jesse cried for 15 minutes today just because you had to take a nap. He adores you, but doesn't quite snup that you are a small girl, and he is a big boy. Today's game was fishing- he would toss you a spatula tied to a string, and when you would giggle and grab it, he would sprint down the hallway with his string, pulling you with him until you crash( letting go was not an option, apparently) These are the games you two play. And I pick my battles.
You love to cuddle your daddy. Yesterday both you and Jesse were clinging to his legs before he left for work, and I had to console two bawling kids that didn't want their pops to go to work that day. It's slightly irritating in the moment (being left with the riffraff of snot and tears to wipe and dry) but while I process this memory, it warms me up to know how much you guys love your daddy.
Sometimes I feel that for every one step ahead, I am 10 steps behind in all things domestic. In those moments where I let feelings of defeat wash over me, and silently pray that I can become a career woman, I make the decision to let everything be, myself included, and I just find a comfy place to lie down and watch you play. It doesn't take long for you to realize I am lying star fish fashion on the shag carpet, an easy target, and I become the make shift trampoline for as long as my ribs can stand it. And then I have to play--balancing Jesse on my hands, tossing you up in the air off my legs, a regular 'ruff n' tuff routine- and it's hilarious. I mean, I like a tidy house, and I like to walk on the floor without peeling squashed bananas and soggy cheerios out of my toes, but I also like to play and laugh and enjoy you-- it's good for us.
I wish it was easier to describe just you, Anneliese, like I described Jesse's solitary trek through babyhood, but you have a sibling that is shaping you, and I can't seem to find a lot of stories that involve just you. But you're a quick one. You were quick to be born, quick to sit, walk, and run, and I think behind those beautiful brown, smiley eyes, you've got a quick little brain madly working to figure things out-- most of the time it's working overtime just to figure out your older brother. It's been a quick 12 months, and I can't freeze the time. That's what words are for. I hope I can write down enough of them to capture the little girl from a year ago.
Love you.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Summer Nomads
Anneliese. You are 8 months old and the days of sitting and smiling quietly are long gone. You crawl like the devil's on your heels, you eat steak, you stand alone for 10 seconds at a time, you say 'ah dun' when you finish your bottle, you are weaned, you love Jesse (even when he uses your head as a rock in leap frog) you are feisty and mischievous, and I know I will have my hands full with you as much, if not more, than I already do with your 2 and an almost half year old brother. You cuddle when you're shy, you scream when we leave you in the babysit, you chew on your toes to amuse yourself, and you love to sit at the table with us. You are starting to hate the gruel I feed you when I'm in a hurry, and I'm going to have to plan meals a little better to accommodate you as a 4th person at our table. And that's what I've realized this month. You are not just the baby, but another person in the family with an apparent, delightful personality. You are a smiley thing, and I sense that you may live up to my middle name much more than I tend to. Thank you for that!
My boy. Your laughter is contagious, your joy is robust, and your anger could scare a storm cloud. I don't always know how to keep up with your shifting moods and stubborn behaviour, but most of the time, I enjoy trying. It feels like you've really grown up this summer. You are now a little boy, doing little boy things, with a sling shot in your back pocket, drinking chocolate milk from a real cup, riding your red and white tricycle, peeing in bushes, making up songs, roaring at your sister, and talking (in your own fashion) to grown ups about things like "dock spiders in heaven" and "waterpalls" and "apple duice". You are a stocky, strong boy with amazing hair. Your aunty Michelle harasses me to cut it, but 1) you hated your last haircut, and 2) it's shockingly blonde and curly and unruly, and that suits you. Jesse, my unruly boy, and Anneliese, my doppleganger, you are such a gift to us. Thank you Lord.
( Trike and slinghot combo- the ultimate toddler; church picnic lion cub)
I'm still selfish, but being a wife and a mom and a child of God helps with that. Especially when God reminds me, and steers me a little straighter in the course. Thanks for that, too.
And so, with the trip behind us, this next week sees James starting his very first career and my life as a mom starting to get real. James will be establishing rules and routines for his flock of 33 students, and I will most likely have less success in just managing our two, wrestling with the notion of how to bring order out of chaos. Sounds like Andy Crouch has my number. I consider these photos step one in culture making.
Friday, July 12, 2013
It was so great to be back. I needed a chance to revise my former perception of the province, and this was the week to do it. Sunny skies, warm weather, clear views, and major beach time. Jamesis not typically a beach guy, but the beaches here come with grass options, and although Jesse and I opt for sand, Anneliese and James are grass people. Win-win.
But the sun and the beach were not the highlight of this trip. Seeing our family again, celebrating Oma's 80th, getting to know my sis-in laws better, seeing James around his brothers, his mom and dad, his new niece-- and especially seeing Jesse bond with his Oma and Opa- that was special. It was so fantastic telling Jesse at 5:30 am to leave us alone and knock on Oma's door instead. Even more fantastic that mom actually opened the door and changed his diapers for us. Not to mention potty training him! Three cheers for an experienced mom of four boys! It was also so great that everyone was around and wanted to DO things! This made for full days, which I love. We planned our days to match what the kids could handle, so we were usually out the door exploring things early, and home in the afternoon to let the kids crash, and to get in some solid adult time. The adult time was centered around the kiddie pool where we could cool off from both ends- feet in pool, cold beer in hand ;) As dad would say, "Delicious".
We managed to squeak in a few evenings with friends, but we tried to keep those visits (as nice as they were) to a bare minimum. This was family time, and that's what we wanted anyways.
It was neat bringing a brand new person to James and Jesse's home away from home. Anneliese is about the age that Jesse was when we went to Ecuador, which blows my mind because I can't believe how much time has passed since that adventure. Anyways, Anneliese is 6 1/2 months old, has two teeth with a 3rd on the way, and is on the verge of crawling, if not already there. She likes to pull herself up to her tiptoes and watch the world. She doesn't sit in one place long, which reminds me of her brother at that age. Sitting is not a stage- it's a means to crawling, which is a means to standing, and soon, you can't let them out of your sight. So that's where we are at with her. She is still adorable in my books, but that has a lot to do with how much she laughs and smiles, and eats. She's into solids now, and I am not as anal as I was with Jesse about what I introduce and when. So far, her stomach seems to be able to handle it. It was also cool having Elizabeth around to keep our baby girl company. I wish they could grow up together. Maybe Mark and Leah should move.. ;)
Anyways, that's the update. One summer trip has come and gone, but there are two more on the near horizon. Who works anymore, right? ;)
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