Zzzzzzz

In the mornings I shake out the comforters and blankets from my bed after the girls have run their feet to their room to check on the dollies. I feel that last of the nights heat in a wind over me. And I can’t help but smile. These are the days.

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Somehow in the space between “My baby has a room. And she’ll sleep in it. ” and “should we start sleeping side ways to fit them all in?” we became co-sleepers. Nolie was in her crib from week four on but has now turned the cozy corner and comes to our bed around 2am and falls deep to sleep curled up to my back. Ever has been in our bed from birth. We started laying her in her own little floor bed around 11mo and she took right to it and sleeps the first half of the night there and then I wake when I hear her little footy pajama feet pad out her room, through the kitchen, and into my bed. I love it. The best of both worlds. Our room and bed is our own till the world is asleep, and then the comfort of hearing the chorus of my deep sleeping family till the sun starts to flood around the shade.

I have found peace in our nights. The times I am awake, and they are many, nursing-cuddling-back rubbing, I pray through our family in thankfulness (have you tried this? Instead of praying for change/people/ease/stuff/whatever I have been just working through a list of family and friends and just thanking God for the attributes and love they just pour out. It always leaves me lighter, and it helps me fall right back to sleep) and try to turn my “OMG YOU CANNOT WANT TO NURSE AGAIN!!” into “This will pass. Meet the need and this will pass.”

It’s been nearly 5 years (next week! What?!) and I have yet to consistently sleep through the night. And, I am okay with that. I am expectantly and excitedly dreaming about that time, but I am staying quiet in the moments now. The time when I can realize; I have easy nursers, loud gigglers, great eaters, and lame sleepers. You win some, you lose some. And each morning I wake up with a snoring husband, a latched on toddler, and a murmuring “loveyoutoooooebberever” preschooler, I feel like the overall is win.

 

Traditions: Pumpkin Patch

Year One: 69865_494766586256_4175302_n

Year Two:307806_879709193820_583087261_nYear Three:

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1069290_10100668462423000_2099827825_nYear Five:

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Also, somehow our three kids (we always pumpkin patch with the same sweet families who have been there through thick and thin, pregnancies, pregnancy scares, and all the booze and popcorn fueled playdates you can imagine) turned into seven over these years.

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Mom Feelings.

I wrote this a few weeks ago. I found it lurking in the drafts and quite nearly deleted the whole thing in one easy click. And wouldn’t that be so beautiful. If those rushing, less than, imperfect moments could all just be clicked away. But, they can’t. They are there. And I would wager that this drowned in dirt and sleeplessness feeling is one that is fleeting but known by every mother. Our sleep has been sparse lately and these feelings run so close to the surface when I’m extra tired.

I told a friend last night “today I just kept thinking, “have I ruined everything?” like.. sleep, attachment, the whole thing.” and she confided back, “yeah, I think that at least once a week. About. . . anything.” And that’s it. When you are engaged, and thinking, and researching, and praying, and asking, and. . . and. . . and. . . it’s really really hard. But, if you are doing that. If you are meeting their needs, and loving them hard, and sitting there, back rubbing, through the screaming, and nursing through the tooth pain of your baby, and cuddling in with those big babies just because they “need some extra time with you”. . . and the hard days, you have not ruined everything.  And you aren’t wrong for putting them first. And you will make it through. And these really are the shortest years. And they are worth this work.

And, as today showed me, there will be different days. Beautiful, overfull to the brim with confidence in your choices, even when they are hard, and the kids just thrive. And you can see the wheels in their beautiful heads just turn turn tun as they figure it all out. All the love, all the attachment, all the closeness. And it’s all worth it. And those baby faces with old old eyes seem like they could blink and be 15, and I could just weep for the loss of years that aren’t even gone yet. Because baby hood, all five years of it, are so heartbreakingly beautiful.

***

I scooped armfuls of clutter from the back of the car. I have two dirty secrets. One is that I had never taken my kids to the dentist, the other is that for all my tidy home keeping… the car. The car is a mess.

There are layers of banana chips, jars full of dirt (Ever?), old baby dolls, endless clothing changes, dirt and mud covered pants from fall’s, so many pairs of shoes, and lost socks. Books discarded, library borrows sulking in the back corners, and abandoned muffins we shouldn’t  have bought and couldn’t afford but splurged on anyway… near needlessly.

Yesterday was a hard day. A day where I doubted my choices. Doubted that I was the best Mom for my kids. Where I couldn’t leave the house. Where my brain went ten thousand miles and hour and wouldn’t slow down with thoughts of “I love them so much!” “I am so deeply tired.” “when will I ever be alone again?” and I let the thoughts grow with speed. With spin. With a tornado of weight that made it destructive and pointless and heartbreaking when the dust settled.

It settled around three crying girls. Appologies pouring from my lips. Tears dropping from my eyes. And wise words from Nolie. “it’s okay Mama, everyone had hard days sometimes. That’s why tomorrows are nice.”

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deep love for this 102 year old lady(home).


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Grass green, pale pink, sky blue, flowered wall paper, linear “Roberts” flowers, those are the layers we’ve discovered under our white paint in the office. They are all so beautiful, and sitting here, thinking about all the people and families who poured their style, taste and love, into our 102 year old home. . . I’m awed and don’t want to cover it all up (now that each chipping layer is exposed on one portion, of one small wall).

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Chipping away these flies on the wall of our homes history, wondering about all the previous owners, and thinking about the decades… century (!) of love and memories  etched into each layer.

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The deepest layer of wall paper is paper bag brown with beautiful botanical book style flowers on it, and I am imagining it was once a sweet nursery full of golden books read by a darling chubby cheeked little baby girl, and a spindly white cradle rocking next to to the beautifully framed window where my gangly girls now hang out their bob haired heads to yell for they neighbor boys to come over.

And, the newest layers. The chalk walls, first words written and sounded out, serious stares of sleepy shuttered eyes. And of two sisters. Who are leaving big love and memories and marks.

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I have fallen deeply for this home. Over, and over, and over again.

And am proud to hang a bit of it’s history in on my walls.

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long weekend love.


We’ve been living this weekend, and it feels good and slow and bright and just right. And there are still a couple days left. I’m so full.

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And eating well. Those quiches, yes. Forever and always.

Full.

 

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I used to think that fulfillment was found in only the usual spaces. The paycheck with my name on it, the pat on the back from a superior, the scale moving downward, and the compliments from strangers. It was a small definition and one without much depth.

I grew a little and found fulfillment in consistent alone time with God, in meeting Him at 6am, on the dot and without fail. In being at church on the right days, with the right people, at the right time. But that was weak and small, that was habit and religion, not fulfillment and relationship. That was another definition that was little and without growth.

Lately I’ve noticed fullfillment shifting, new every day. It those deep baby sighs as they fall asleep in my arms, full. In hands plunged deep in the sink of hot water washing the film from a meal I made with my hands, full. I am finding it in reading to Nolie, endlessly, full. In spelling out words, counting up high, singing without ceasing, and prayers on my lips all the time, full. Thanks Full. His gifts, so full. A constant conversation with my God, not a stranger, feeling Full.

I have been doing the work, or rather letting it happen, that I am not aching for Full to come in the form of a check, habit, number, or accolade. But I am noticing Fullness, fulfillment, and Him. Everywhere.

In bubbles blown high off the back deck, in a freshly cleaned kitchen, in burping a newborn, in a rearranged living room, in a nearly all homemade renovation, plunging into the cold lake, in hands callused and held tight for ten years, in my girls bright eyes, in new words learned from lips and pencils.

The definition is growing, expanding, exploding. And it’s unending.

fathers day; Dear Charlie

I wish I had all the moments bottled up. They’d fill the mason jars, overflow the cups, it’d be the moment when the bath runs too high and Nolie starts giggling and Ev stands tall and the water just barely drips over the edge and all of a sudden it’s an overflow of love/holdme/read another book/can you build that papa/I’m your baby/toss me up high/draw another picture with me? and those looks you give. The exchange between all of those sparkly artist eyes, the ones you all share.

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The look of concentration Nolie has, ear protection on, while she builds a fairy world in the scrap wood box below you as you craft art for our home.

The tiny voice saying her known words, “Ebby Papas Baby. Ebby Lobah you.” that she’s felt since the start and can now put to voice.

It would be canisters full, memory cards overloaded, words piled on top of each other in the tiniest scrawl I could fit on a card, that would start to scratch the surface of those moments.

You are a super dad. A super husband. And a constant source of hand squeezes, kisses, encouragement, and growth. You see where we fall short and work to build up. You look at our girls as precious, important, and people in their own right. You don’t steam roll, take over, covet control, or put your foot down. You give empathy, words, affection, read books and care about learning what we can change and do better.

My hope was to be with a man who was always growing. Someone who knew that they knew nothing, who didn’t take the roll of Dad lightly. You study it. You pray over it. You talk and talk and talk with me through the ideas and ideals. You put effort and time, care and thought, and so much love into being a Dad.

When we first found out I was pregnant with Nolie. And I sat there on the big green ottoman, knees to my chest holding that test. And you ate peanut butter cup after peanut butter cup after peanut butter cup and I shook and shook and said “I think I should just call my Mom. I really need to just call my Mom.” and you looked at me, with steady eyes and said. “Autumn. I am so excited, this is good!”

You were right. You were so right. This is good. This is past good, out of the park, beyond my wildest dreams, the best adventure. Thank you. Endlessly, over the top, don’t have the space or words in the world to put it together, Thank You.

You blow me away my Love.

Happiest Fathers Day Charlie, your title of Best is shared with only one other man, my Dad. And I don’t have to tell you what a high honor that is.

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hands in deep.

I have my fingers dipping into so many little pots, stirring and tasting and trying, but not quite seeing the ends yet.

It’s a phase of calm and consistent. Eating well even if my jeans stay tight, of running the miles even if they feel hard each time, of talking her off the ledge and using calm words and decibel even with my crazy rises and bubbles up into what could be explosive. I am in a space of meal planning, the same simple meals, to save the pennies. To paint the same colors and love them each time I stroke them on. It’s feel like a hard space, waiting. The in between. The “results” and “behaved” are far off, or maybe right there, but I can’t tell because it’s all around a bend.

All I can do is remember two things; I am worth moving, eating, loving well. No matter what. No matter what the ‘results’ look like. And no matter how long any of it takes to achieve.

And, two, the girls are worth my calm-loving-empathetic and listening response. Every.Single.Time. No matter if it’s the hundredth time Ever has hit Nolie, or the thousandth time Nolie has deemed a trinket “too special to share! NO EVER! NO!!!”, no matter if I didn’t sleep the night before, or if we are out of coffee. No matter what. They are worth that. And hand in hand, they are worth apologizing too. Even if they don’t apologize back. They are worth the fresh starts, the clean slates, the ‘no keeping of accounts’. They are  girls who pour grace out on me when I fail, and model to me all the love I want to give right back.

This is a good space, a good season, a waiting and calm and consistent space.

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finding my church.

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I don’t make room for guilt and God in my heart. It seems that one or the other is reigning and the relief and comfort both bring, while so different, is consuming to the point that my body is flooded, there is no room.

Today, during my few minutes of yoga  (I’m doing another ‘ten day challenge’ on my blog Facebook and instagram) I had that sweating/shaking/you brain isn’t ‘thinking-thoughtful-thoughts anymore’ moment. And I felt so clearly; “God is here. Here in yoga, in your book, in your baking, in your interactions with your girls. You are engaging Him, loving Him, and knowing Him better in these spaces.”

I am not a fan of many devotional books, contrived bible studies, or video series that are shown at Women’s Breakfasts. I have a hard time reconciling the woman on the video with my woman in the mirror, we seem like different breeds. The Church and I often times not lining up. My heart wanting to give to every homeless person I come across for my tithe, and churches seeming to scramble for new sound systems and technology for their sanctuary… I know none of it is that simple, but it feels simple to provide what you have to those who ask, without question. And, regardless, it often times leaves me feeling  lost and guilty for not being at every study/sunday morning/and devotional. And I have battled that guilt for years. Ached for those spaces to feel right, the right fit. But have yet to find that church setting that seems to be brimming with Jesus and not judgement and legalism. And I know that half that battle is in my own heart, but big pieces of it also seem to lay in a deeply broken church. One that holds one mold, one kind of person, and I have struggled to reconcile where I fit.

But this morning it rained down on me in the midst of a thankful filled Sun Salutation. Yoga is a prayer, I spend those 25min feeling awe for His creation and how intricate my body and muscles and blood flow are. I feel intense thankfulness for the time and space from my girls I am getting to take. And I feel that calm, quiet, listening space emerge in the moments of holding a post just long enough to shake. I feel Him. Without judgement of “are my hands in the air?” or “did I just parent wrong in front of that church Mom?” or any other guilt ridden junk I lay on thick in those situations.

I feel abundance, and wholeheartedness, I feel vulnerable and awake, and feel thankfulness and new understanding. I end conversations with fiends (“non christians” !) and feel closer to God, deeper in relationship, and in Worship without ceasing, as opposed to ending the song set and checking the clock worried about my preschooler in the sunday school program.

I’ve found where I fit. I fit in with God. I fit in with movement. Nature. Friends. I fit with vulnerability and raw conversations with people who challenge me to look at what I think and believe and back it up; in scripture, in great books, in prayer, and in ironsharpensiron with Charlie. I feel at rest in where we are right now.

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And if those movements don’t look and feel like worship, deeper than I’ve ever known, I don’t know what does.

spring fling.

The sun has been out in full force and with it I’ve felt the settling into this home. Hanging some photos, getting some personality into the nooks and crannies, hosting friends and so many kids for all day playdates, and getting down to business on back yard planning. But in all of it I can get so swirled up in ideaplanmoneytodorepeat that I don’t get anything done and instead end up pinning for days and stream of conscious planning with Charlie but never pulling the trigger on even the small projects. So, I need a few goals. A couple of bullet points to get going for the upcoming spring; Happy Spring Year? Happy New Weather? Happy Midmarch? I’m not sure. Whatever it is, I’ve got the fresh bug and want to get while the gettings good!

First Off! FOOD. We’ve been packing in the fancy pizza, amazing mead, endless pudding and pie, and… obviously… pounds. So some smoothies, clean eating, and fresh foods are first on the list. And, WATER.

1977237_10100813944166420_485947768_n{Charlie got me a Ninja as a housewarming gift, not the biggest fancy set but the sweet $100 one from Target. It still felt like a big pill to swallow $$$ but OH MY  has she been earning her keep. I’m going to post some of my favorite things I’ve been making in there. But let me just say; If you aren’t making pancake batter in a blender, you’re doing it wrong.}

Two: Get in the sun, every chance I get!

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I am a rain lover, a cozy upper, and a hot drink connosouir. But lately? I’m a sun cat. I want to be in it, around it, soaking it in, and keeping all those rays in my pocket for the harder days. Our new back yard is super different (wrap around, say whaaa?) and has some work to be done. We need to fence a portion of it, make the whole space a little more entertain friendly and get some playspaces set up. And the planning phases are SO fun. But the execution is going to need to really get started! Brings me to my next one…

Three: Put my  hands in the dirt at every chance. Need to till up the garden beds, get my seeds going ASAP, and make all my big long seed lists!

Four: Run. I’ve been sorely neglecting the gym and the pavement and my body/heart/mind are all suffering. I feel lost about trying to shore up the motivation (again again again) but I know how worth it the fight is. Here’s to starting anew tomorrow. If I put it here, it’ll happen, right?

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Do you have any new goals? How are you carrying them out? Forehead tattoos? I’m thinking thats my next step.