Pause Movie

My children have a somewhat odd practice of pausing whatever imaginary story they are playing or book they might be reading whenever they need to turn their attention elsewhere for the moment (like a quick trip to the bathroom.) It's really quite simple. I hear my daughter (who recently added ballerina to her when-I-grow-up list) say abruptly, "pause movie!" and run frantically to complete whatever task has interrupted her play. Then she returns and I hear, "unpause!" My son has this ability as well, only, being six, he is much more methodical, carefully saving to his memory base the last two words read in his book before turning it open face down on the couch and saying, "pause book" before making his way to the bathroom or for a refreshing glass of water. I'm serious, this is something that really occurs in our house many times a day. It's absolutely fascinating to me that my children can do this. Of course, I know how to use the dvd remote control as well as the best of them, but put a pause on everyday life...now that's impressive...most impressive.

As a parent, there are times I sure wish I could just hit the pause button...just for a few minutes, so I don't miss a thing. Who decided to push the FFWD on my children? Where was I when that happened? What's wrong with that crazy RWD button?! What, it doesn't work on kids...not even mine? Guess I better take a potty break and get a drink before the show starts...I don't want to miss a thing.

I Love You, Stinky Face

My children and I have found a gem. I Love You, Stinky Face ,written by Lisa McCourt and illustrated by Cyd Moore , has won our hearts. If you want a great snuggle-up-on-the-couch-with-the-kiddos picture book, try this one. It's full of laughs and charm. We love Stinky Face!

I met the greatest guy...

I have to spend a few minutes today on the subject of the most important person in my life. His name is Luke and I am so grateful and amazed to be loved by him.

A few things I really love about my husband:

He has a great red-ish beard.

He is tenacious about the important things in life.

He paces when he's thinking really hard.

He like's altoids.

He patiently listens to my ramblings and to all the little treasures I find in my readings of Frost, Wordsworth, etc.,etc., and may be the only person who keeps up with my blog.

Now, my husband is not exactly excited by poetry, so this is a labor of love: You know what's really great? Seeing him smile at me like he enjoys hearing me read to him just because it makes me happy. Now, that is love.

Something Worth Keeping

I have to admit it, I am a nortorious stasher. I come from a family of hopeless stashers. For years I prided myself in my ability to throw things out, but truth be told, hiding in every spare drawer and crevice of my house and scattered throughout the basement and closets are the products of my attempt to chronicle our lives: My stash of memorabilia goes as far back as I can remember, but has grown steadily with marriage and children. I suppose in some ways this space is another drawer to store my little tid-bits of things I want to save and remember from everyday life...only without the spare rubber-bands, paperclips, near-dry ball-point pens and half-melted birthday candles vying for room among other treasures.

So here's something I don't want to forget, a word that has won an honored spot in our house: top of the dry-erase board:

Magnanimous: [from: magnus (great) + animus (spirit)] 1: showing or suggesting a lofty and courageous spirit. 2: showing or suggesting nobility of feeling and generosity of mind.
Magnanimity: 1: the quality of being magnanimous: loftiness of spirit enabling one to bear trouble calmly, to disdain meanness and pettiness, and to display a noble generosity 2: a magnanimous act

Speedbuggy and the Princess

I have a 20-month-old daughter who is a little speedbuggy...she is very busy. She is also starting to put some pretty interesting sentences together. Her big sister, who aspires to be a princess, a candy-maker, a farmer, an artist and a grand-duke when she grows up, is 4 in May. They enjoy playing "Candy-maker," in which the Little Princess plays a character named "Hiya" (whom I'm sure you will learn more about later) and Baby Speedbuggy is always made to play "Hunca Munca," a Beatrix Potter character whom we have all been quite taken with. Last night, shortly before bed, the two girls busied themselves as I typed my post. I heard Baby Speedbuggy struggling to pull out the second row of diapers from the tightly packed bag to add to the growing pile the girls had transferred to the back hallway. She finally came to me with a flustered look and exclaimed (in her not-yet-two dialect), "Maaa! I nee hep!" Of course, I didn't help her pull the rest of the diapers from the bag, but I was instantly overcome by the blossoming communication skills of my baby.

This is not Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit

I have three children: 20-months, 4 and 6. My older two, a girl and a boy, are good pals and extremely imaginative. I am amazed at the stories they create together. Our house is full of the many characters created by my 4-year-old daughter. It is the background noise of my day and occasionally I jump into their world for a while.

The kids and I played with clay today.

This is Peter Rabbit in Mr. McGregor's garden:


This is Luke Skywalker with his padawan learner, Cottontail:


I took my leave before the story reached this point, but couldn't resist coming back with the camera when I learned that Luke Skywalker had taken Cottontail Rabbit, Peter's sister, as his Padawan learner.

This is not Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit.

Becoming a Masterpiece

I love art. I love looking at it, I love thinking about it, I even love learning the history behind great works of art. Do I believe that Claude Monet took great pleasure in creating unique and beautiful images of waterlilies and gardens and bridges? I do. I can only believe he was empassioned by his painting, as many of the timeless masters of the past were. A painting by Monet is unmistakable in his style and content, it bares his mark. It is uniquely Monet. Did he not sign his name in brushstrokes for all to see and know: "This is my work." Did Monet seek only the joy of creating? Or did he take even greater joy in seeing a completed masterpeice with the mark of his craftmanship? Did he take pride in hearing someone praise his work?

Becoming a masterpeice...knowing the Master created you, took care and pride in your creation. If your heart is prone to praise Him, bring an offering of your life as a masterpeice. It is true what Augustine wrote, "You have made us for yourself, O Lord..." We were made to bring God praise--not just words easily poured from our lips-- but a life surrendered to the artist's brushstroke.

If you've traveled a lonely path...

Let me reveal a small glimpse of our family's journey in the last few years:

Unsettled, confused, shaken
this is the overgrown road we've taken.
No clear path is set before
just a thick carpet of forest floor.
And this has been my only rest--
knowing that Your way is best.

One of my love-affairs with the written word...poetry. One of poetry's most intriguing aspects is how well it is lent to vagueness. Can you not read some poems and feel that you have been there in your own path? Though really you have little idea what experience has birthed these sentiments in the author, you know what has birthed at times the same in you. That is the power of poetry. That is the power of the common plight of each beating heart...a search for calm, and a place of peace. Never alone...

Choosing the Better (part two)

A few nights ago after getting the kids to bed, I walked downstairs and past the den where on the floor still lay a pile of clean clothes waiting to be folded and put away. I lamented , "Ohh, I still have to do the laundry." And my dear husband said, "If someone wrote a comic book about you, your arch-enemy would be the laundry and the dishes." I just laughed and said, "You're right," and curled up next to him on the couch. The laundry was still on the floor in the morning, but it is not there today.

I will not let what is undone steal my joy for the moment.

Choosing the Better (part one)

This is poetry that leaked out onto my page in a quiet moment last week:

The earth is still when a baby sleeps
and mother rests
but the chattering of little children
and the laughter of tiny voices
do not cease.

This, of course was written with the sound of little voices in the background playing quietly while mom took a little rest.

And then....as thoughts progressed:

I do not have the energy to clean
I used to clean because I felt I must
keep home and hearth perfectly spotless.
I used to clean because I thought
a perfect home reflected a peaceful heart--not so.

Now I am older and I long for the younger
Me.

A peaceful self who sat and pondered, sang and wrote
A peaceful self who walked and soaked-in life-surrounding,
then longing more for grace and truth.

My children have not met her.
My husband has not seen her for a very
long
time.

This Morning

This is our backyard this morning:

Spring Snow

Something that fell out of my notebook the other day...I wrote this probably last Spring (my deck-painting season) :

Thunder is rocking the morning sky threatening to break loose a billion tiny drops pelting my freshly painted decks. My first rose is in bloom--gloriously yellow with faint specs of pink crowning the edge of each petal. The rain comes. I know very few things I love better than a smoldering morning thunderstorm. Everything seems to come back alive on mornings like this--even the hushed rhythm of pattering droplets have life. And the thunder sounds sometimes like drums, sometimes like rockets, sometimes just like a friend knocking at the door...waiting for someone to open him shelter from the storm. Writing can be like that--sheltering. A refuge, a place of safety for your own thoughts. Writing can be like a good friend, an old friend. If you write freely and honestly, you can very possibly find the real you and connect with life...begin to notice and enjoy the steady of the rain from the eaves on one leaf of a potted plant. Even a plant--rooted--can dance in the rain.

For interests sake, the forecast here in late April for this weekend is SNOW...2-3" Saturday and 1-2" Sunday. Need I say more?

Find your rest

Today a series of various events have made me mindful of the heartfelt words of one who knew:

"You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless till they find their rest in you"
--Augustine

Come to a quiet place

I hope to make this blog a little like a cool, still stream...a place refreshing and peaceful, yet transparent enough that somewhere along the way each one who walks in these quiet woods will see a familiar reflection in the waters and take a good long thoughtful look. Thanks for reading!