all the single ladies

we have a lot of chickens. 

we've had chickens for years now, usually six or seven at a time, nicely contained in a pen a pleasant distance from the house. we feed them, we watch them do their chicken things, they lay eggs, all is good. we'd lose one occasionally to whatever it is that lives in our woods that likes to eat chickens, but even that felt sort of okay, in a circle of life kind of way. the kids have been present when it is time for slaughter, they have helped bury chicken parts when an animal gets into the coop. we got this farm life thing down pat.

this year we raised chickens from chicks. rabbit and eric researched and decided on a farm that would send us 25 chicks of various breeds in the mail. the post office called us one morning to let us know they had arrived and we hurried down the mountain to pick them up. we could hear them peeping as soon was we opened the post office door. it was exciting and heartbreaking to open that box. such cute little bundles of fuzzy, but five didn't make the trip alive. it felt like a sad way to go about starting a flock, and we quickly decided we'd never go the mail order route again. I especially had a really hard time with all those little tiny lives on my conscience, a new feeling for me, not being particularly fond of animals in general. but now we know. and now we know better.

the difference in raising chickens from chicks and just "having chickens" is huge. the girls we have now are pretty much pets. jamin and cora LOVE to play with them, carrying them around like babies and singing to them in some strange falsetto southern accent that is reserved for two chickens in particular, bebe and brobro. seriously, they can be in the yard for over an hour carrying these birds around and talking in this obnoxious voice. we've given all our birds individual drinking lessons (from a fancy waterer that rabbit built, complete with something called "chicken nipples"). eric brings home throw-away produce from the splat to feed them. they also love soured yogurt and cottage cheese, so our yard smells AWESOME. we had big plans for this fancy moveable electric fence so we could ease the wear-and-tear on our yard, but our ladies (of the chicken variety) quickly showed us they had other plans. so now we are free range homesteaders, by default more than design. now we have chickens waltzing into our kitchen on a regular basis, and we had to designate one broom solely for poop sweeping on the deck.

but this week we got our first eggs, little tiny things with the orangest yolks you have ever seen. we even got one egg without a shell. cora and rabbit put golf balls in the laying boxes to teach the girls where to do their thing, and it seems to be working. jamin and cora probably check for eggs six times a day, a novelty that will wear off in a week or less, I'm sure. but for now it is fun to see them excited and proud of the flock they have nurtured, even if they are totally partial to two of their babies in particular. I am thankful that they have had this time to chase chickens and make an investment that they know will end in due time when nature takes it course. and while I will probably never be a huge fan of those nutty hens (they jump into my car with me if I take to long with the door open), I can appreciate the lessons they are teaching my family. and the eggs. I can certainly appreciate those. and the photo opportunities they provide. and the free babysitting service they offer. okay, so maybe I do sort of like them after all. just don't mention it to them directly. they'd probably strut into the kitchen again just to thank me.
 

dog days

and all of the sudden it's the end of july.

I can look back at pictures and try to piece together what we've done and how I feel about it, but mostly the days are a blur of playmobils and bathing suits that are never quite dry and cabbage. so. much. cabbage.



there are heads of garlic drying in rabbit's bedroom. there are onions (twenty pounds of them, to be exact) under the couch. there are jars and jars of sauerkraut, upstairs, downstairs, anywhere there is shelf space. the chickens ate four questionable watermelons in one day (there was lots of messy poop that day, to say the least). I think we are having a good year for berries, but none ever make it into the kitchen. we've had plums and squash and broccoli and carrots and potatoes and the lumpiest tomatoes you've ever seen. eric made pickles, the kombucha is happily fizzing away, the freezer is almost halfway full, and the drone of the dehydrator is the soundtrack to our summer. and my kitchen looks like this almost all the time:

there is a new baby in our world. our girl had her baby boy in the middle of july, just the same size as jamin when he was born. too many circles for my brain to travel, remembering a july six years ago when I was the one with the teeny tiny in nothing but a diaper, doing the "baby go to sleep" wiggle, wondering if my boobs would ever be the same. now I am watching her do the same dance, the same emotional shuffle, the same tininess and tiredness, the same elation and exhaustion. and here we are, doing it again half a generation later. and we get to be a part of it, that is the best part. here is where we are, so it must be just where we are supposed to be.







eric's mom found a long-lost box of old letters and memorabilia at eric's grandmother's house, things I had long given up as gone forever. I spent last night poring over old writing, notes from our early days of marriage, photos from camp, drawings from group home kids, pressed flowers that I can't recall being meaningful. funny to see how far we have come, and yet how much of how we struggle is the same: "are we doing work that matters? should we stay or go? is there something better just beyond our reach? how do we fight the good fight without wearing ourselves out so darn quickly? is the good fight really even worth fighting?" I think about those kids who drew those stick figures, married now with kids of their own, or the younguns eric and I were ten years ago, so sure of what we were doing and still wondering what we should do next. but what I love most about my life is the same: connecting in ways that matter, investing in people because it is worth it, opening my home, my heart, because it is all I know to do. even when it is hard. even when I know it is going to hurt. how could we do anything else?

dog days, indeed. I think the hottest of days have always suited me best. 

71 months ago

I wrote jamin a letter every month for the first year of his life. this is the first one I ever wrote. my boy will turn six this week. we've come a long way, baby.

jamin,

as of today, we've known you for one month. it is hard to realize that only a month ago we didn't even know if you were a boy or a girl, and we thought of you only as pari the parasite. now here you are, asleep on your dad's chest, living and breathing on your own. pretty crazy stuff. 

I wish I could tell you all the amazing things that happened this month, but to be honest I can remember very little of it. it has been a blur of feedings in between far-too-short naps. I hear your dad talk about labor, how proud he is of both of us, and it makes me thankful he was there since I couldn't tell you much beyond just wanting to be done so badly that I forgot to look to see if you were a boy or a girl when you finally made your appearance. you'll have to ask him all about it some time. but labor isn't the only thing that is leaking from my brain. already I am forgetting how hard breast feeding was at first, how painful engorgement really was, how scared I was that you wouldn't grow because I couldn't feed you because my nipples hurt so darn much. I'm already fuzzy on your first trip to the doctor that I couldn't go to because I wasn't supposed to go up and down the stairs of our apartment building for the first two weeks. and you've changed so much already! your nose is totally different and your mouth is a little wider and we marvel at your eye color anew every day. all of these images of you will melt away, too, in the haze of lack of sleep and the shortness that you are in this newborn stage. I guess that is how people do the birthin' thing more than once.


people ask me all the time if I am not just so in love with you. I have to admit, jamin, that I am not quite there yet. I feel like I am still getting to know you, and it is just too early to make declarations of being in love. sometimes I really like you, like when you are waking up and contorting your face into grimaces that are too cute to even try to describe. or when I am changing your diaper and you check yourself out in the mirror beside you and then glance up to stare at my reflection in the mirror, too. I love my mornings with you, waking up slowly and enjoying alert time, just me and you. the past couple of mornings we've spent some time rocking in the porch swing when we take rhodie out. it is moments like those that I just want to freeze in my brain in hopes that I will remember the peacefulness of it when you are two and having a tantrum in public or fifteen and yelling and slamming doors when we really do expect you to stick to a curfew. 

I love seeing you with your dad the very most. he sings to you all the time, mostly songs he makes up as he goes. he sings about your very cute baby thighs and how much he wants to chew on them; he raps about you mackin' baby honeys in your tie-dye onesies. he seems especially inspired during diaper changes when he sings about things too embarrassing to admit to publicly. he loves to wear you in the sling, to show you off to people, even complete strangers. lots of times we hold you while you are sleeping and look at pictures of you on the computer at the same time, just to remind ourselves what a cute kid we really have. 

and about pictures...you'll probably wonder why there are so many of you and your dad and hardly any of me. well, the obvious reason is just how cute the two of you are together, who could resist taking pictures of you all the time? the other reason is that it is too hot to bother with clothing, and while this is perfectly acceptable for you and your dad, it just doesn't fly for moms, at least not on camera. but I am here, I promise, just as much as dad. just a little more scandalous. 


but, I gotta tell you, there are a few things we still need to work on. lots of them have improved already. I feel a little better about your eye contact, which makes me feel like you might actually notice more of me than my boobs occasionally. but only occasionally. most of the time I feel like some mechanical mama and you are just my robot baby. all we have to do is perform the right program to get you quiet, and we have succeeded for the day. not so rewarding. I am eager for the smiles, the hugs, jeez, just some form of recognition that we are doing something right and you appreciate it. that's the part that makes me not so ready to claim to be head over heels for you quite yet. but we're getting there.

the other thing that has to go is the screaming in the carseat. the car is supposed to be soothing to babies; you are supposed to like the gentle motion of the highway. apparently you did not get the memo. instead, once we strap you in and hit the road, your face turns a frightening reddish purple, and the sound you emit is simply not human. so we stop, and I pick you up, and all is right in your world again. except we still haven't made it to wherever we're going. not cool. so, let's get over that rather quickly, shall we? there is a lot of world we want to show you and it will be much easier to get there is we can just do it with fewer rest stops.

there will be even more firsts for you this coming month, much bigger milestones than the first bath or the first trip to the lake to feed the ducks (which you slept through anyway, so we'll have to do it again). today we are back at the group home, your first day on the job. it was a little overwhelming with so many people here to fawn over you, but we've already decided that you are a great motivator for kids to earn their free time. everyone wants to be near you! this month will also be your first road trip, your first camping experience, and your first vaccinations (!). lots to accomplish for such a small guy, but you seem up to the challenge.

even though I'm tired beyond belief, a little sad at my lack of social opportunities, missing eric even though I am with him every day, unsure of whether I am even doing a good job being your mama, still not fitting into my favorite clothes, not showering with much regularity, wanting to scream back at you when you are still awake after two hours of bouncing, and sometimes wondering what I did to my life, I am so so so very glad to be getting to know you better every day. we do a little better every day, you and I. you get a little cuter every day, I think, too. and, jamin, don't you ever doubt for a second, just don't ever even think that you are not so very very loved by the one that borned you.

love,
mama

jump off rock

last week after I dropped stevie at the bus station in charlotte, I moseyed back up the mountain and had a little time to kill in hendersonville. I lived in hendersonville for awhile after college while I worked at the group home in brevard. back in those days I spent a lot of time by myself and one of my favorite places for personal reflection and sunset viewing was jump off rock in laurel park.

so with time to myself in my old stomping ground, I headed up past my old apartment building on up to jump off rock. it was just past sunset and super windy, just the way I remember so many other visits. as I watched the last of the color fade from the sky, it was easy to recall all the dreaming I had done in just this spot:

"I want to move to asheville. I want a house full of kids. I want to love someone who loves me back. I
want to live in another country, to be a foster parent, to make my parents proud of me. I want to go back to camp, find my tribe, have a job that means something. I want a dog and a garden and a porch to sit on. I want to travel and find a home and do things that matter."

I have done it all. every bit of that dreaming has come true, not always the way I thought it would, not always the way I thought it should work, but here I am with a completed checklist.

so it must be time for a brand new dream.

'tis the season

halfway though 2014 is a good place to review your word for the year. my word is season.

this is the season we are in:
the season where I stay put and everyone else
comes to me
because home is too much work to leave,
especially when the work is finally
beginning to pay off.
(we had a potluck last week--30 kids and
34 adults--and I hung pictures on the wall
ten minutes before the first guest arrived.
four years in this house, but
the season for settling has only just arrived.)




this is the season we are in:
the rainy season, even though it is really
always rainy here.
I've just never had to pay such close attention,
I suppose. "when will papa be home?"
let's check the sky for clouds.

this is the season we are in:
the season of bug bites and briar scratches.
I have the legs of an eight-year-old
and my children are catching up.
this is the season of almost big kids
where we can hike
and jump off rocks
and slide down waterfalls
with independence in the air.
this is the season of playing together
rather than just playing along.
we are almost there.

this is the season we are in:
change comes slower than I would like,
at least the changes I thought I wanted.
life around us buzzes with other people's news of
new babies
new jobs
new places
new ideas
but I am frozen in place amidst the swirl of new
and that itself is new to me.

this is the year of season: rhythm and time frames and "this is not forever." to season is to make something suitable for use, to flavor. the timing, the intensity, the flow of life: it is all here, all in fullness I haven't seen before.

thumbs it up!

my children are huge fans of pandora. their love for this smartphone app has lead to some interesting phraseology around our house. jamin and cora both strive to be the first one to notice when we are listening to a song we haven't heard before. after a few moments of careful consideration one will say, " this is a good one, mama. I'll thumbs it up."

getting to engage the "thumbs up" button on the touchscreen is definitely part of the appeal, but I think there is also an element of being able to have visual recognition of their own opinion and approval. there is something to be said for a platform for expressing what you like and what you don't, what you want more of and what just won't do. I think about it in terms of energy flow, or even just behavior: what we pay attention to is what we get more of.

so I've started saying it back to the kids, only not about musical selections. "jamin, cora is being so gentle with your lego building: thumbs it up!" or "cora, I love it when you use you big voice: thumbs it up!" and then I notice it for myself, too. what am I giving my attention to? what am I thumbsing up? is it really worth a thumbs up after all, or should I turn my attention to something more worthy?

enough metaphorical rambling. to make up for too much waxing philosophical, I offer you the MUDFLOWER SOUNDTRACK TO SUMMER. you are welcome. feel free to have a dance party in your kitchen in our honor.

(ed. note: I didn't watch all these videos all the way through. if you have kids jamming out with you, keep another browser window open just in case. jam on.)

my silver lining- first aid kit (okay, so really only I love this one, but still. totally worth a listen.)
five years time- noah and the whale (I love to clap my hands. it (and any other receptive noise) made my mother crazy, so I always love finding a song with lots of clapping so I have a good excuse to clap along.)
I'm alive- michael franti (the little rap part in the middle is the song we wash our hands to these days. just the right length for plenty of suds making.)
dog days are over- florence and the machine (I feel like I might be too old to like this song as much as I do, but I just can't help it.)
royals- lorde (hearing jamin sing this song while he is splashing in the creek or chasing chickens is hilarious to me. I can't believe I let my children listen to a song about bloodstains and grey goose.)
all arise!- the decemberists (jamin loves this song because he is eager to learn to play the intro on his fiddle. we've agreed to take lessons together in the fall.)
against the grain- city and colour (cora loves this guy. she asks for this song and "the girl" over and over and over when we are in the car.)
ho hey- the lumineers (the kids sing this one to me when they want something. they know it melts me every time.)
no one's gonna love you- band of horses (I have had a crush on tyler ramsey since eric and I saw him at LEAF eight years ago. what can I say? I am a sucker for a good beard.)
all the trees of the field will clap their hands- sufjan stevens (a friend from our summer adventure last year introduced us to sufjan stevens. total trance in the backseat when we play it in the car.)
messages- xavier rudd (there aren't too many xavier rudd songs I don't love. this one just happens to be a household favorite right now.)
west coast-(coconut records) (jamin loves the idea of packing someone you love in your suitcase)
riptide- vance joy (go ahead and roll the windows down. just do it.)

what are we missing? what songs do we need to add to our set list? what makes summer groovy in your house?

a wish for wendy

the drink tastes as good as she looks.

the days are longer in june.  and it is finally hot.  hot enough to drink a dark and stormy and eat watermelon and splash in the creek (maybe at the same time, maybe not. depends on the day).  but june also welcomes the most highly anticipated day of the year.  june five.  wendy's birthday.

jamin and cora have been counting the days down on a board in the kitchen for ten days.  in the caverns of chaos created by kids, a rumble of excitement bellows.  i have been pacing in and out of the house for days trying to construct your birthday present.  jamin winks whenever he wants to work on it with me.  we want to celebrate you.  

you're lucky i didn't send this to cat fancy magazine.

i celebrate you for always having a different book next to your bed, hanging clothes on the clothesline, your yogini musculature, for answering the call when rhodie starts tap dancing at five in the morning, your newest garden skill: wrapping up fruit and berries to prevent frost, hot biscuits from scratch, camp wendy, the way that only we hold hands, the time you put a sweater on the cat, all the times you dance hard in the kitchen, hearing you sing at church, your laughter when we realize i put dish soap in the dishwasher, that you feed, water and let out the chickens every morning before i am awake, and i am so very grateful for your manner banners.

every day is a silly day at mud flower. 

i am excited about the year ahead with you. i want new experiences and laughter and more and more time together.  i want you to write, and to read, and to love your friends from near and far.  you are the beginning and end of my day, when our feet mingle under the sheets.  you are my yesterday, today, and tomorrow, and as the sun sets on your 34th year, my wish for you is to feel grounded in the decisions you make and the risks you take, and to be led by love.  i wish for you a summer filled with smiles and swimming and something sweet.  i wish for all of your friends, family, and followers from afar to post their wishes and blessings.  come one come all, and celebrate the beauty and wonder and birthday that is wendy.  do you have a wish for wendy?

happy birthday, slick.  i like you ten billion more than last time.