My Pixie

She dresses herself with care.

She wears sparkles on her feet and pearls on her dress.

She knows what those glitter shoes can do and they take on a life of their own.

She dances on sunbeams.

Postpartum: Take 9

*Emerald Peace 1 month old*

And then

she looked at me 

and yawned

as though

I were the reason

for her tiredness.

No Pause Button

Perfect spring days; some cool and wet, others balmy warm.
Sun dappled decks and growing green call us outdoors
and I leave things a shambles inside
to go out.

It strikes me especially just now,
how like the new little evergreen trees
my children are.
Long, lanky, sprouting new growth every year
and stretching ever upward much faster than I notice.

I want the days to stay this way forever.
Noise and messes and crunchy floors, as my friend calls them,
wear a mommas body out with their never-ceasing ever-presence,
but my heart says please...
please pause!

When all the chicks are under our wings
and the days are drenched with living
truly living...
When life is full of light - even on shadowy sunless days
and big burps, quick wits, squeaky babies, jokey laughter and grins
are a dime a dozen,
me and mine - we look at each other and don't see the age
but these children, they prove otherwise.  Time is not stopping for us.
And we want these days to stay forever.
At least pause for a while so we can saver the moments
more thoroughly.

There is no looking back
and there is no pause button
and time will continue to exist until Jesus comes back for us.

I want to banish tiredness and crankiness and feelings of defeat
I want to remember that I live in freedom
and that grace is not just for them
and that old things have passed away and ALL things have become new
(even me).

I want to worship the Lord in all the moments - even the hard ones.
I want my children to see a real mom that is really forgiven
and knows real humility and is willing to ask forgiveness
even of them.
Maybe one day they will know how I wanted to be perfect for them
wanted to be just what I thought they needed
wanted to have no regrets.

If they will just know how much I love them...

Do you hear that Precious Ones?  I love YOU!
You.
You guys who are growing too fast and becoming such beautiful people
and taking my breath away as I watch you live with such zeal!
My heart aches with the loving
and is fuller than I can bear for the gratitude of getting to be yours
and for the amazement that you are mine.

If this day will not stay forever
your dad and I will watch those legs keep growing
and those spirits continue to develop in wisdom and in depth of understanding
we'll measure your height on the wall
and watch your personality blossom in abundance of color
and take in the sweet aroma of your character.
We enjoy you each so much!

I hope we can follow you in your adventures
as you have been faithful companions on ours.
I hope you find a best friend to marry
like I did.
I hope your living rooms have enough space for us
to roll out sleeping bags and have slumber parties and spill pop corn on your carpet
when we come to visit.
I hope you have lots of babies and crunchy floors.
I will sweep them for you.
And be sure to live in a house with a porch.  It is the best spot to sip coffee together.

Oh my favorite people in the whole world!
I want these days to stay forever...
but since they won't
I can't wait for sharing all the ones we have.

I love you!

~Your Momma

Baby, Oh Baby.

Baby for not-much-longer...

Why does that little nose keep running?  Aren't we done with this sickness yet?
And why do runny noses come with so much whining. Why?
I want to know.
My momma ears are falling off from the high-pitched discontent strains,
and the cacophony of coughing is wearing on them too.
Do you want to put a pillow over your head as well?

What a rude gesture to brush though your hair, when you're clearly not
feeling your best, but after a week's-worth of one nappy, unchanged 'do,
it's clear that  the time has come to apply a comb.
At least get it tidied up until we brush it again next week.

I'm glad you're eating well Baby-mine.
But why can't you wait just one minute?
I'm hurrying as fast as my morning hands can go - to peel this orange,
to cut up that egg, to wipe your nose once again.

How can the sick discontents be so insatiable?
There is virtually nothing that will pacify.  Except hugs eh?
Except Hugs.  The kind that mean "pick me up"
"sit you down, mom" and "stay here for a while more."
So we do.  While it brings everything else to a dead halt, we sit and hug.
All things considered, it's a prescription I can follow in good conscience.

What is so important I can't stop really?
What's the matter with crying - let's just cry together.
This illness won't last.  The sad sounds will cease. Your nose will stop running.
In one day or ten we'll look backward to this sick day from the land of the well.
And in almost as few days you'll be my "big" girl, no longer the tiniest of the troop.
So let's sit and hug, Baby.

You're still my baby today, and it's a good day for hugging.

Goodbye April

Goodbye April

Goodbye another year older

Goodbye Aloria's baby-hood

Goodbye last bit of winter's snow

Goodbye sledding and goodbye snowshoes.

Goodbye neighbor-cousins

Goodbye short days

Goodbye soups and stews

Goodbye mulled cider scented candles

Goodbye heavy jackets and goodbye drying rack in the living room.

Goodbye crackling fire in the fireplace

Goodbye wood chips on my floor

Goodbye snuggling deep under blankets

Goodbye warm leggings under skirts

Goodbye winter stillness and goodbye cold.

Hello May.

heartfull thanksgiving

delightful
precious
moments

sparkles
on the shimmering pool
of time


























one moment to cherish
that one unmatched, irreplaceable, dreamlike moment
beheld of mine eye

tucked safely away
in hearts embrace
to recall at any time

loving dear ones. family by bond of blood, or through marriage. these are my friends.
remembering times together
and having many many reasons...

 to thank Jesus.

because He loves

Come to our home after dusk
enter in
elude the darkness
warm hands
warm face and ears from the
crisp
autumn
twilight air

home sweet sweet home
welcoming the familiar
and the stranger too
keeping bitter cold outside
the toddling baby in.

soft ambiance surrounds all
on this side of the door
flickering glow illuminates
each  face
makes eyes sparkle
adds a pinker hue to cheek
.
light that warms the soul
these propane lamps omit;
ever forgiving father time
erasing wrinkles
blurring creases. and gray hair. and thick middles.
fearlessly hiding dust bunnies and cobwebs.  and dirty socks.

weary traveler
tired mother dear and loved
neighbor casually dropping in
put up your feet
rest your eyes
let laughter work as balm.

education is a constant here
to learn what is lovely
noble
true.
we are growing
growing up
growing quicker to listen. and slower to critique.
growing out of last years blue jeans
and into a deeper love with Jesus.

welcome in. welcome. welcome.
yes there is volume
sometimes a din
but here there is something more
glowing brighter than our fire-lit mantles...
it is Light..
and Life. 

"welcome to our home, my Lord
quench darkness
conquer death.
humility is no stranger here
as we wrestle with sin. self. and flesh.
warm our hearts with your love my Lord
fill our home with You
because
in Your presence is fullness of joy!
and Life everlasting.
and Light.

enter in, my Lord
invite with you the downcast
bring the discouraged and rejected too
let us serve them. serve you, here.

Soft Ambiance permeating every corner
help me see people as You do.
lovely.
loved

Take me with my ragged edges
use me as a beacon
shining true.
Light around me. on me. in me.
let me love
as You do."

(by momma bug  10/10/11)

I do not see the dirty socks.

Dirty socks in pairs draped over leather boot tops
are not a bother.
They are a sign of life.
They are evidence of a man who comes home.
Who understands me:
a mom who needs a break
a wife who needs a cry
a girl who needs a laugh
a friend who needs a hug.
A man who understands kids who need to wrestle with their dad. 
All at the same time.
A man - living and breathing, an every-day hero
who puts chains on tires in the snow
takes on the compost toilet maintenance
carries in the groceries
hauls trash to the dump
keeps the fire lit in winter
and takes us to the lake hot and dusty in the summer.

Socks beside the green recliner mean
there is a man with feet up, eyes shut resting there
confident he can relax in his own home after a day full of
meetings
emails
spreadsheets
phone calls
research
numbers crunching
putting out fires
reinventing the wheel
or
felling trees
stacking logs
bucking up firewood
pounding rebar
pouring cement
building a porch
a closet
a crib
a bunk bed
a shed.
Moving dirt with a shovel
moving it with a tractor
moving mountains.
He needs his rest.  He earns it.

Big smelly socks laying neatly in pairs on the floor
mean something the casual observer wouldn't know;
the pair of feet which those socks protect
and warm
and cushion
hold up a man
who carries the weight of the world
and holds the heart of his beloved.
When I see them there.  Or here.  Or here and there
I know he doesn't wish to add to my dirty laundry
protest when I pick them up
grimaces when I do
smiles when I tell him I don't mind.
I know he intends to wear them another time before sending them to the wash
even if he never does.

Dirty socks on the floor are nothing romantic
unless you can see beyond what the eye presents
to what those large gray woolen things mean.
They are signs of life.
They are evidence of a man who comes home
to me
he comes home.

And has comfortable feet :-)

*Written for my man.  That man who comes home to me,

in honor and celebration of our 14th anniversary this week.

I am so grateful to be picking up YOUR socks!  I love you.

    

My Homemade Circus Act

So begins the opening performance of the marvelous Marvel Hill Circus
-the new "school" year-

where juggling is not only the Opening act,

nor glorified to status of Main act,

but is in fact,

the only act.

Unfortunately for the audience, (and also the rest of the Big Top crew)
I don't know how to juggle.

I am probably much better suited to the title of

Human Cannonball
but was not offered a say in the matter.

As some people are fond of saying
what is...is.
So rather than colored balls, sharp knives, or flaming batons
I juggle:

Laundry
diaper changes
grocery lists
chore charts
hugs.


School schedules
dinner menus
nursing baby
instruction giving
questions that require thoughtful answers.


Saying it once
repeating myself
follow-through
repeating myself
repeating myself.


Making lunches
picking up pieces
checking work
feeding the baby
listening



Reading out loud
singing inside my head
finding stuff
losing my mind.
laughing!


Looking at treasure
discovering
wondering
Googling
 learning together.

Coffee refills
ordering books
buying presents
making calls
guests.


Dental appointments
Orthodontists 
babysitters
paying bills
Aunties that save the day.


Writing assignments
math books
copywork
encouragement
naps.

Cleaning up
wiping down
doing it over
forgiving
being forgiven.


Making time lines
making art
making messes
making memories
smiles.


etc.
etc.etc.etc.
etc.
etc.etc.
because the list goes on.


I'm pretty sure flaming swords would be easier.


However, the task, or calling, or commission - whatever you call it
the job is mine.
And whatever gets dropped I will pick up
or let it go.
Or replace it.

But I will learn to juggle.

For the show...
 must.
 go.
 on.

Wishful Thinking

I wish those cherries would come to me.

I wish mom would take that camera back to wherever it came from.

I wish she'd turn the other way too.

Or close her eyes.

I wish...

I wish  my arms were longer

I wish my chair was closer

I wish my tongue could reach from here.

I wish cherries were for dinner.

 I wish I didn't have to wait.

I wish my powers of persuasion to be larger than they are.

I wish...

I wish my sister for an accomplice.

I wish my brother'd help me out.

I wish that daddy was near by.

He'd understand.

I wish that I was bigger.

I wish that I could be "in charge"

I wish that everyone would take a hike and let me be.

I wish that Gramsie bought those cherries.

I wish that Grama filled the bowl.

I wish that someone would have compassion on poor little me!

I wish...

I wish it was dessert time.

I wish rosy red-toned jewels for a snack.

I wish, oh how I wish 

those cherries 

would come 

to 

me.

The Day The Sisters Made Peaunut Butter

They wanted to try it.

I said Okay..

They asked if they could use...

Butter Knife
Cheese Grater,
Bowls,
Plates,
Strainer,
Cutting Board......

I didn't ask.

I just said "Okay"

They worked
and chattered
cracked nuts
and more nuts

And they dreamed big dreams.

Grated
and chopped
and strained...

They giggled
and tasted,
and searched for better tools.

And they dreamed big dreams.

Finally I was presented with fruit of their labors -
a taste the size of a single green pea.

Summoning my courage
and not looking too closely
I opened my mouth to receive the honor.

Hmmm....
It tasted like Peanut Butter!

Alas.
That was the whole lot - all they had created!
So much for canning it;
for sharing it with brothers;
for starting a business...

But no  tears to be seen
no downcast spirits,
no rude awakening to the beautiful dreams...


Instead with undeterred creativity,
They began on Peanut Soup!

***********************************

 Peanut Butter How-To, by Susanna and Olivia

The word for this picture is: UNUSUAL.

 Lately I have been basking in the peace of freedom.
Freedom from the fear of men - from fearing how others perceive and value me.

Freedom to know my family best
and then serve them accordingly.

Freedom to decide what we eat
(chocolate covered cherries?)
and when
(10am breakfast?)

Freedom to make oatmeal every morning 
or something different every day of the week.
Freedom to bake freshly-ground whole wheat bread
or buy corn dogs and french fries for dinner.

Freedom to wear rubber boots all year
... even with skirts
and jammies all day during the Winter
...if I want to.

Freedom to wear a LITTLE blush,
big dangly earrings,
and a silk scarf
...without any place to go.
and just because I can.

Freedom to make another new schedule
only to throw it out before the weeks end.

Freedom to design the perfect chore list
only to discover that the list wasn't the problem
...when it came to actually getting the chores done.

Freedom to buy another kind of pencil
another bucket for organizing pens
one more binder,
copy book,
or personal sharpener
because it's okay not to know what will work
until I try it
...sometimes over and over again.

Freedom to start our school at the same time every morning of the week
...except one.
That "one" is subject to change on my whim.
...and sometimes I change it up every day.

Freedom to use Saxon Math, Abeka Math, or Math U See.
Or maybe just write problems on blank binder paper
and count loose change.

Freedom to not call "playing in the snow" Physical Education, but
...plain ol' "playing in the snow".

Freedom to be a Round Peg
when most the holes are square.

Freedom to collect clutter
and enjoy it.

Freedom to like bright colors 
and not shades of gray or off-white.

Freedom to make mistakes 
and laugh at myself
...and let others laugh at me too.

Freedom to know that God does not exist in a box,
I can't put Him in one
and He has given me His salvation
precisely
so that
I 
can be
FREE in HIM!

.......................................

Can I say again; How unusual to see all my children 
huddled around the table 
doing their various works and creations  
at the same time!!!

........................................


Oh lovely friends~

My household is dynamic.
ever-changing.
I set many goals;
many come to no account.
I often forget to notice the few things
we are succeeding at!
What a shame.

Your house is dynamic too
and totally different than mine.
You are succeeding in ways I envy,
and shouldn't forget to look there
instead of at the places where you feel you are drowning. 

You are FREE too, to be a friend of God
because of His grace and salvation
and  by His power!
Never use someone elses success for your measuring stick.
Only worship HIM 
with what you have, 
...and what you broke
...and what He has restored.

True Freedom is found only in Jesus.
Rest there with me.

Through the Red Mug

The Red Mug.

It likes coffee with hot chocolate and half n' half best.

But is learning to appreciate tea.

The Red Mug prefers Peach or Peppermint with Agave stirred in.

But not especially herbal teas, and NEVER Licorice!

The Red mug likes mornings

And afternoon escapes.

Evenings are nice too, but only with Rocky Road ice cream and milk poured over.

The Red Mug is cheerful all the time.

Content to sit on the shelf when I don't have the heart,

and happy in the hand when I do.

I could probably learn a thing or two from The Red Mug.

Perhaps she'll whisper a few lessons

while I sip

steaming sweet chocolate

and peek at my little son

through 

her 

handle.

I hope so.

*

*

*

How one small boy makes the sun shine

Balancing near me, removing his hands from their support so he could stand alone.

"High five" is the new thing we practiced today when he stood 

- and just after, he plops on the ground in belly laugh.

Laying his head on my shoulder when I pick him up; 

he knows he is loved.

Sitting on the living room floor with the big boys, watching them play a game.  Taking it all in.

A bit later, on his tummy next to Clay pondering the potential for a winning move.

After the game, placing the flat glass beads into a jar one by one.  "Bee'"  He says  "Bee'!"

He is the spoiled one who gets to hold my cell phone.  That cell phone is very much off-limits otherwise...

....but little brother is so much like his biggest brother.  

I think they two have been the only ones interested in this all-consuming way.

Open, close.

On, off.

In, out.

Placing one thing inside of another; stacking mason jars when momma turns a blind eye,

mixing something with a spoon, in an empty cup,

trying out the echo's in all varying sizes of cups, cans, and jars.

Exploring.

Imagining.

Creating.

Moving.

Doing.

Being still and resting.

Making my mother-heart smile all the time.

Is there anything this boy can't do?

It has ARRIVED!

*** The Snow ***

 

And just as I suspected, we are enchanted.

bewitched with the first blush of love.

In the morning, the first sound I wake to is a restless buzz of excitement

the joy of awe and wonder displayed on each face.

I myself am infected

infatuated

inspired

 

*

*

*

The days had been starting out dark and very gray

but any light in the atmosphere reflects off the glistening frozen white

so the mornings are more welcoming with snow

and even a night with no moon seems to glow luminescently.

Breakfast is "got-through"
 

and school is beyond hope 

until children see if 2 inches of snow will mobilize their sleds.

I have to curtail the fun early in order for wood-stacking chores to comence

otherwise cold fingers win.
 

Don't worry children O' mine,

There will be more snow tomorrow.

And if not,

surely our Winter will be fuller of snow 

than eve YOU can think of enough uses for!

*

Here's one more best thing about snowy days...

.....a warm fire with my favoritest little people :-)

Dear Rain,

I'm not sure how I could have been 

so sad to see you go

but since I have to give you up

I'm thankful for new glistening snow.

***

To: Marvel Hill, Far North Idaho

 Dear Marvel Hill, 

We are on our way!

I hope you are starting to show signs of Spring, but not too much.  

I want to arrive in plenty of time to plant a garden, 

and to see the Fern unfurl.  

I'm also very curious if the Roses and Hydrangeas we planted took root and if they have, 

are they still upright?  

Or have they been obliterated by the new driveway going in.  

I know what tractor work does to a beautiful yard.  

Hmph.  

Did I hear correctly that my sink is plumbed in?  

What else is new?  I can't wait to see it all - every little bit!

Anyway dear Marvel, be patient.  

We're loading up and fueling the van as I write.  

Everyone is itching to head North, 

and there is much talk of what tree and fort, and garden seeds will be priorities.  

Much love to you!

Love,

Me

Sleep-Shmeep, also titled: Sleep is Highly Overrated

One night earlier in the week I was up late.
Unintentionally.
In fact, I had actually climbed into bed early for a change,
and the baby cried.
And cried.
It was a night in which a distressed toddler woke in need of post-midnight hugs.
It was a night in which an older child slept hard and didn't make it to the toilet.


The crying baby required a bit of walking (on my part) while being cradled in my arms, so through a dark I house I walked, and landed myself on the porch.

Have you ever stood under Wisteria on a warm moonlit night?

I discovered something:

Quieting a bundle of baby where the sweet scent of Wisteria tickles ones senses may be one of life's pleasantest apologies.

Not that life has anything to apologize to me for, it's just that moonlight and Wisteria almost make up for being waked three times (plus several nursings) after midnight.

You know, I realize that getting up in the night is part of my job description.  And I also realize that my getting up is related to normal child-hood inconveniences and not under duress of a terminally ill baby.
That is much to be thankful for.
My getting up in the night is because my husband is sleeping soundly, resting his body for another day of work where he will once again provide for his family's needs, not because I have no husband.
My getting up in the night is a labor of love.  An opportunity to die to self, and to bless my little ones; to bless my tired husband.

I am used to very little sleep by now.  One day it will be a shock when I sleep those hours in uninterrupted segments.
Unfortunately when those days come, I won't have such a precious reason to stand on the porch in the moonlight breathing the soft scents of Wisteria.
That's rather a sad reflection.

So on second thought;

Dear Life,

I am a very content woman.

No need to apologize.

...Unless you want to give me moonlight and Wisteria.

That I'll gladly accept!

Love,

Analene

Heaven is Closer Than Kentucky

Dearest and only Love,

This thought dawned on me the other day as I was thinking of you and the many miles between us:

I think Heaven might be closer than Kentucky.

I even went out on a limb and voiced the idea to a few people who raised their eyebrows quite high and limped up one half of their frozen smile in response.
Their faces clearly said "she's off her rocker!"

Am I?

I don't think death is the only way to get there - to Heaven I mean,
though it may be the most common avenue.
Perhaps since death is so unthinkable, so intangible, so unbearable,
and we want it to be so far away... perhaps Heaven is too.
At least for some people.

Is Heaven really far away?
Truly?

I can count the miles from California to Kentucky;
and it's a three hour time difference.

It sure seems beyond reach - Heaven, I mean.

But not "far".

Far is the distance from the airport where I dropped you off,
all the way back to home with and empty front seat and a van full of your children.

Far is from here to Chicago where you called before getting on yet another flight going the opposite direction from me.
From us.

Far is the reach across the bed in the night only to find emptiness
and space to spread out.

Far is Louisville Kentucky.


I don't know where Heaven is exactly. I haven't been there yet, but I do know this:
God is near.

"The LORD is nigh unto all them that call upon him, to all that call upon him in truth." Psalm 145:18

That's my hope and conviction; and I also believe that the place where He dwells is near even though we can't see it, or touch it...
Yet.
And I can't wait!

Yes.
Heaven may indeed be closer than Kentucky - it's a thought worth pondering anyhow.
But I will choose to be glad you are those many miles away from me today, dear one,

because even if it is - Heaven - closer I mean...
There's a better chance of me seeing you at the end of the week if you're in Kentucky!

I love you.
~me

It's Raining Today...

It's raining today
The sky is gray
The light is dim
The colors muted...

It's raining today
Weather matches my mood
Emotions expressing themselves in wet saltiness
Swollen eyes...









It's raining today
Hear the music in my head
Hushed calm in the house
Turn my eyes outward...

Out...
Outside the window
Outside myself
Out where the water refreshes the earth

The roses look up
The leaves look up
All bend under the weight
And my heart looks up...













Weight of sorrow
Weight of hope
Weight of knowledge (or lack thereof)
Weight of droplets round and clear

The scene transfixes me
Pulling
Tugging
Drawing me out...









I look closer
And closer still
The water gathering
Gathering in pools, puddles, drops...









Takes me deeper to see
The reflections,
The light...
Hope













What first appeared as gray sadness is now seen in
Upside down
Dancing
Color...









My heart leaps!
joy?
Hope?
Ahhh... peace.

The earth rejoices in the rain
It knows
The heavy wetness
Brings growth

It's raining today... And that's good.

I will be content...
To let it rain.


(for you, my dearest Mother... with love, Analene)

My Jewels

My jewels, my precious jewels



Sparkling colors

Unique hues

Shapes and sizes that tickle my fancy.

Catching my eye

In the light of the Son

Reflected from a million facets.

Gathering

To polish

It's a mother's job to see the imperfections

Remove the dirt

And shine some more

Then lovingly cherish their beauty

Gazing

Intently

Admiring the depth of color and brilliance.

Sparkling colors

Unique hues

Of my precious, precious jewels




(This poem by me. The inspiration: my little Ones)