trying to remember it

I was so tired last night, I fell asleep right after I put Roger to bed, sprawled on my tummy on my unmade bed at 7:23pm. I woke up thirty minutes later when Dave got home from an extra long work day and wanted some time with me before his own inevitable collapse. We had leftover meatloaf and apple cake and watched The Office and told each other the funny little stories of our day apart. He was ready for sleep by 9pm and I was wide awake from my accidental nap. So I lay in my bed, my little family tucked in for the night, my mind running over life and motherhood and the cruelty of children growing up and the imperfect nature of memory. 

I was trying to relive my labor, trying to remember how it felt to be in the contractions and to give birth slowly through the night. And as I realized I have already forgotten all but a few moments of it, my heart started to ache. I want to remember it all, but if so much of it is already lost, how much else of my little boy will I eventually forget?

I can still sketch a memory: Roger's birth was not traumatic; I labored serenely, they told me after. I felt myself to be in a sort of labor-induced trance that carried me through most of it, and my amazing doula and nurses kept me relaxed through the difficult parts. My midwife encouraged me to vocalize when it was time to push, and I remember feeling like I was doing something incredible with each crying push through a contraction. I remember vaguely those infinitely lost moments of first beholding my tiny, huge 8lb 6oz baby. There is a moment I'll never forget when our eyes met, when his crying stopped as he listened to my voice. But so much else is a blur.

And as I lay there last night thinking about the memory and the gaps of memory, I realized how important it is that I write it down before it's lost forever. And how important it is to me, as a mother whose privilege of raising little ones lasts only a few short years, to record and lovingly keep safe each special memory from this precious time. What a gift it is to be here now. And how tragic if I let it slip away unaware, and only later realize how much I miss it and how lost it is.

And I write this to you, mamas, to remind you to slow down and take it all in. To write it down. To put down your phone or your camera and just live this. To not let slip these messy and beautiful moments that are so uniquely transient. 

You get to have another childhood, as a mother, because you have an up-close view of the world of your children. You can choose to be all here, feeling with them as they feel, learning from them because they still have that fresh faith and honest spirit we adults can leave behind in our cold and cynical brush with the harsh world.

And I write this mostly to myself, to remind myself to place my values rightly; not to be just busy, but to be just present, even if that means my to-do list is perpetually half-finished. 

...

And this isn't what I wanted it to be as I wrote it out in my heart as I finally drifted to sleep last night. Too hard to put exact words to the stirrings inside, especially when I leave them open for the world to hear. But if I don't write it or air it out, I feel like it would be lost. And maybe there's just one other soul who reads this and feels the same, and realizes she is not the only one. 

autumn waves hello

Roger and I went on a walk to the farmer's market this morning. We set out at about 10am and returned at half past noon, him sleeping in his stroller, and I regretting my footwear.

The day is bright and clear and chilly like Midwestern autumn days are supposed to be. I walked past my dozen or so favorite houses in Sioux Falls on the way into downtown, and without Dave there to make fun of me, I took some pictures to try to capture their charm.

The camera lens is never a perfect conduit for the beauty taken in by the eye, but I try to ignore that. I did snap this one of the faded, white-washed brick house that Dave and I agree is our future home. You know, "someday."

I love the overgrown, careless charm of this house. And it's just as lovely in the winter.

We reached the farmers market in just enough time for me to snag the last of the arugula. So pesto is on the menu again, hurrah! 

Roger dropped his teddy at least twice while we walked. Thankfully I noticed both times and was able to retrieve it (having to backtrack and grab it from the middle of a busy street one of those times.) Most of Roger's favorite stuffed animals are actually from his daddy's childhood, so I had to get him a teddy bear so he has something that if lost on a walk, Daddy won't be heartbroken. Dave takes his childhood stuffed animals very seriously. His most highly-prized "friends" dwell on a high shelf in Roger's room so he can't ever reach them to ruin or lose them. (Dave is the sentimental one between us.)

I'm trying to decide what to bake today. I still have apples leftover from the ones I gathered from the trees at work last week (my nanny family lets me take all that I wish. It's another perk of my job.) Maybe a crisp or galette instead of pie like I made last weekend.

Although it's kind of hard to beat pie... I'll ask Dave and let him decide for me. I've got to fatten him up for winter.

Dave should be home soon; he's been volunteering on a charity paint project today and this afternoon we're going to go thrifting. Maybe I can even convince Dave to detour somewhere were I can gather more wildflowers for our kitchen table.

Gathering wildflowers is my F A V O R I T E . And Roger's nap is still going strong since I transferred him from stroller to crib. Today is already such a great day. I hope your weekend is going well too! Go outside, y'all!

weekend things

I've been delighting in my little oasis  of an apartment for the past few days. I made certain I could enjoy my long weekend by doing a cleaning marathon Friday night. I just C A N N O T relax in mess. It stresses me out. But I'm thanking my Friday Libby for doing the work because I could just enjoy my space over the weekend.

But it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a kitchen in possession of a clean workspace, must be in want of a mess. [Pride & Prejudice on the brain. No apologies.] And so I baked. I made a nectarine and raspberry galette on Saturday morning while my boys were sleeping-in and there was a lovely stillness in my clean kitchen. Galettes are my go-to because you get the flaky satisfaction of a pie but without the fuss. Make the crust, roll it, fill it, and flop those edges over however you please. This is why they're called "rustic tarts*." And we all know "rustic" is just a polite word for sloppy. But by that standard, a lot of my food is "rustic."

Then Sunday afternoon a friend came over and played with Roger and kept me company while I further cluttered my kitchen and made an experimental no-recipe nectarine upside-down cake. I baked it in the mini copper bundt pan I recently thrifted. It has decorative molding to make the cake F A N C Y, but I wasn't sure if my mad-scientist cake batter concoction would do it justice. It worked out better than I hoped—it wasn't too dry or over/under leavened. It baked up just right. When my friend and I were taste-testing it we both felt the crumb was a little course and almost too soft. It reminded me of pancakes. But I still feel like it was a win because it didn't explode or burn on the outside and turn to slime on the inside or something. 

I could have baked Monday as well but we went outside instead. We walked all the way from our house to downtown Sioux Falls and it was such a nice walk that Dave and I were both mentally kicking ourselves for never having done it till now. New weekend ritual?

And now summer is really over, ceremonially concluded with this lovely long weekend. And I have a short workweek to dream and plan my projects for next weekend. Maybe I'll embrace the fall and make apple pie. Maybe I'll find more wildflowers on the side of the road to gather before the frost and allow to grace my kitchen table. And I will hopefully have the company of a dear friend from MN here next weekend so I will have a guinea pig (other than Dave) on whom to test a recipe.

*it's "galette" to the Francophile, and "rustic tart" to the normal folk. Personally I prefer "galette." Much like I prefer "hericot vert" to "French beans." Just sounds prettier.

a sweet life

A friend recently told me my life is sweet. I had to pause and think it over. In the day to day, I don't usually notice this sweet quality in my circumstances. I most often see my struggles, and those little things that I'm trying to change or improve. I tend to experience the beauty of my life with half-sight, like I am missing an eye. I see it, but half of the picture is invisible. But when I step back away from thinking about the struggles, I do see where my life is rosy, with little ones to hold and love and days filled up with sharing their adventures. Where my little family is so happy and whole, and we are secure in our love for each other. Where we see God's provision with each step and His foresight as we look back from where we came.

I am trying to make this a habit: dwelling most on what is g o o d and beautiful in my days. These days are going to pass before I know it, and I won't have them back. So while there is hard work, children who can be naughty or difficult, ever-multiplying messes, illnesses and teething, sleepless nights, tight schedules to keep, and unforeseen challenges in every new day, there will still be an overarching beauty in this little life of mine. If I ignore that, what a waste of the gift. 

I need reminders. I need to be in the truth regularly, or envy can creep in. I have a degree in English Literature—I wanted to be an author by now. I wanted to write and illustrate my own children's books or have a novel published. When I see my peers succeeding in their fields, I am happy for them, but it's also a blunt reminder that I chose a domestic life and put professional dreams on pause. I chose a job that I love but which doesn't involve those dreams. A job that is filled with joy and gives me the gift of being with my son, but is only tied to the dream of motherhood, not the storyteller's dream. 

But who am I to look at my life and say in my heart that I'm not where I should be? I know I am exactly where I should be in this season. And I want to be all here. I want to go into each new morning with the belief that it is full of potential. 

Making this mental decision also makes my days more creative--what do you know!? When I'm content in life, the writer in me is awake, and ideas simmer at the surface. Being with children all day has to be more inspiring than if I was in meetings or doing bureaucratic paperwork all day in an office. I get hugs and tiny laughter and toddler talk and walks outside and days that fly by instead of ticking slowly by. I get to comfort hurts. I get to be a teacher. I get to witness the wonder of each new discovery these new ones make, making me appreciate little things I could take for granted: rain, tiny ant hills, birds, squirrels, pine cones, flowers, bumblebees. I'm with little kindred spirits all day long. How very sweet my life is.