Storm’s A Comin’

Batten down the hatches and secure the rigging! A storm is on it’s way.

At least I think it is. Wind-storm warnings have been headlining the local news, and I hear a bit of whipping about out there. Earlier, the windows were rattling with an occasional large gust, but other than that . . . it is quiet; and I am trying to sense if it is a normal quiet . . . or, you know, one filled with foreboding.

It feels foreboding-ish. Mike is out of town – which makes me feel, inexplicably, that, at any moment, any number of things could go horribly wrong. I certainly haven’t properly secured the rigging. I sent Abe out to make sure the lid was shut tight on the chicken feed and Goldie to bring her guinea pig in from his precious outdoor home (precious to me – I love when he is not in our house). Meanwhile, I brought two strollers into the garage and pulled the garbage cans into a somewhat sheltered spot. Then I just stood there. Shivering. Looking at the large pile of tree branches and bush trimmings sitting on our front lawn, waiting to be hauled away. I pictured them flying across the road, causing cars to swerve and crash; or littering all of our neighbors’ lawns with debris. Then I bit my lip. Scowled thoughtfully. Looked over my shoulder as if, perhaps, I might find the answer there. Then I shivered some more. Gave a little half shrug. And went into the house.

Securing the rigging is for husbands. . . . And sailors. 

So, now I wait: thankful to have a roof and solid, safe walls surrounding us; and hoping that all the little people snuggled up in their beds sleep despite any potentially fearsome and loud winds whipping about their windows . . . or, possibly, slamming unsecured trimmed branches into their windows.

In the mean time: A few pictures of the little boys this afternoon – safe and sound – oblivious to any potential storms that might be ahead: figurative or literal. Sometimes I kind of wish I could keep them this way. All safe and snug and unaware of storms: dealing only with such issues as how to take a toy apart or how to not fall off kitchen-table chairs. (Just such an event was the cause of the little tear remaining on Anders’ cheek post hug. He got carried away and drove one of his little cars further than his legs could reach . . . and down he went. Poor little guy. He would only cry and hug for a minute before it was back to driving. He’s rather fond of toy cars.)


(I love this picture. I don’t know what Jesse is thinking, but I am quite certain he is trying to figure something out. His life is figuring things out.)

Discipline Fails and Little Boys

While Anders naps, and Penny and Jesse play in the bathtub next to me (after having exacted a promise that they could indeed play in the bath without any actual washing happening), I have allotted myself some blogging time.

My mothering style doesn’t, perhaps, fit any certain method. I’ve read some things . . . though, if I get any time to read, I am more likely to be deep in fiction rather than the realm of . . . bettering myself (typed shamefacedly). I tend to mother mostly based on instinct, occasional inspiration, a fair amount of winging it, and, sometimes . . . pure survival.

For the most part my kids seem to be well behaved, well rounded, and overall pleasant enough children, so I suppose I am doing all right, or, perhaps, they are doing all right despite me.

Jesse is no exception to this rule. Yes, his overwhelming curiosity and desire to understand how all things work causes some stress, but also, a lot of happiness. It is quite enjoyable to watch that mind at work. And, he is a quick one to accept correction. Still, as with all of my kids, there are times when some aspect of his behavior needs curbing.

Lately, he has taken to using a rather frustrated, exasperated, and out right annoyed voice with me. “FINE, MOM!” Seems to be a favorite.

I was discussing this with Mike on the phone one day when he suggested a method that might most likely be found in a book of questionable dog training techniques. “Maybe every time he uses that voice, we just need to squirt him in the face with a squirt bottle,” he suggested.

When I told Jesse, as seriously as I could, that we might have to do that if he speaks angrily with me, both he and Penny burst out in hysterical laughter. As they rolled about laughing, Penny exclaimed, “I wish they would do that to me!”

Fail.

Another day, when Jesse was in a time out, I asked him what he thought we should do about the situation – giving him the chance to suggest an appropriate punishment.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I’m all out of ideas.”

Well, and so was I. We did nothing. Who needs discipline?
 
Speaking of mothering. It is strange how, in 12 years, things can switch themselves around so much. First my boy and girl – who loved to play – creating different scenarios for hours – with small figures. Then, as Abe went to school, there was nothing but girls. When Daisy left, still girls. Little girls were always here left behind. After eight years, there was again a boy left home in the day, but always still with a sister or two.

Now, suddenly, my day times are full of two rascally little boys.

Sometimes, after we have taken every one else off to school, I find myself rather surprised. I’ve never been a mother of little boys together.

Here they are a day or two ago. I was lying on the couch reading. They were throwing pillows at each other and fighting over flip flops that were not their own (why??). Luckily my camera was nearby so I caught a few moments of . . . I don’t know . . . just little boys running about. I like them, and I like that my mothering years are including so many different combinations of people together.

Also, despite all of my mothering failures, I appear to have, ounce again, given birth to a child prodigy. It can’t be helped.

Where Have I Been?

It is so unlike me to leave my blog here – all quiet and unattended – for so long. I know three weeks is nothing for those of my family and friends who just blog the occasional update, but for me – the me who uses this blog as a . . . as a what? Hmm. A place to record life? Yes. But more than that. A place to sort my thoughts. A place to give words to things I am just beginning to feel or understand. A place to test my voice.

For that me, three weeks is a very long time.

I have discovered better who I am here, in this little spot, on this little screen. I have become a better writer. I have pinned down fleeting moments. I have timidly and sometimes boldly tested different sides of myself.

And when I do go several weeks with no real desire to write or record anything; no ideas about how I might present some happening or thought – holding it out in my cupped hands, where I can twist and turn it in the light and examine its different angles – I worry that maybe I won’t ever know how to say anything clever or meaningful or worthwhile again. I worry that I’ve lost my voice – the very voice I am still trying to discover.

But I imagine that is just my tendency to overanalyze. The truth is probably much more simple. We all have things that vie for our time – things that make us busy – and while we can’t do everything (and perhaps wonder how on earth this person does that, or that person finds time for this), most of us do find time for some things. And this is one of the things I find time for. . . . Usually.

As I look back over the past few weeks, I see that I have simply been choosing other things. My voice hasn’t left me (though it waxes and wanes in its strength). My words aren’t gone. The moments that want recording will continue to demand it.

My life is pleasant. It isn’t so hectic that I can’t manage to do anything I want, but it isn’t so carefree that I can do everything I want. The last three weeks I have chosen books, and Easter eggs, and phone conversations.

And, it would sound really perfect if I were to add something now about how I have been choosing more important things . . .

But I haven’t. Hopefully Mike and my kids aren’t among the extra things that I have been talking about choosing. Hopefully they are always being chosen. Hopefully they don’t come and go as one of these bonus things. . . . Because, honestly, as I’ve read books and talked with friends who have needed a listening ear, my kids have mostly run about the house making awful messes, watched a few too many Phineas and Ferb episodes, spilled bottles of bubbles that were meant for blowing, eaten Easter candy with abandon, and tracked A LOT of mud around the yard and house!

So . . . I suppose I can’t claim to have been absent from blogging because I have been busy being an extra saintly mother.

I see blogging like choosing classes in high school or college. There are the required subjects (my family, my faith, and, sadly, some level of home maintenance) and there are the electives. You can never take all the electives. But you can choose one or two. I suppose I take blogging and photography most quarters. . . . Perhaps I’ve taken fiction reading this quarter (yah, I know, three weeks isn’t a quarter). But I always take the required classes . . . even if sometimes I am acing them and sometimes I am . . . neglecting my studies a wee bit (hence the muddy, candy-eating kids this week).

But I do love my little folks. I love my life right now. While I still have a full load of little ones, there is something about having older ones as well, that makes it easier for me. Not that they are changing diapers or tending. It’s still six kids. It’s still more work than it maybe used to be. It’s just . . . the dynamics are different. Mothering feels less overwhelming and hard. Less lonely. More full and satisfying for me with the added variety. Our days seem full in a very good way (though sometimes busier than I’d like). And I never find myself in the boat of needing some way to pass the time like I occasionally did in my earlier mothering years. It is a very happy phase for me.

Here are a few recent pics of the stinkers. And, while I feel like I am wading back into blogging as one might wade into a cold lake – inch by inch rather than leaping – I will add another post of two after this one (though I suppose they will appear above it) with simple words and pictures (so as not to overwhelm myself . . . or you, dear readers).