Now We Are Six, Laura Edition

Fun and games

We have family visiting this weekend.

We're celebrating dads and grandpas and father figures and love.

We are also celebrating the end of the Suite school year! The girls put on an amazing presentation complete with recitations, dances, musical instruments and five costume changes. I for one am exhausted. So the pictures will have to wait. Oh? And also? We finished priming the inside of the canned ham travel trailer. It's been a bigger project than I'd anticipated but it is so light and bright and cheerful sometimes I take my iced tea and a book out there and hide during afternoon rest.

Shhh... don't tell anyone.

This one's for my dad

Recently we enjoyed a day with family at the new Matt Court, aka Matthew Knight Arena, to watch the Ducks play basketball.

Laura had the best seat in the house.

My dad asked to review the snapshots before I left for home.

I told him he'd have to check at farmsuite.

So there you go, Dad, I have successfully lured you to my little weblog.

Meanwhile, back at the homestead:

Salvador is sick, the canned ham trailer rejuvenation project is on hold because I can't paint while he's coughing, my quilt tops still need sandwiched (see former excuse), laundry threatens to take over our every waking moment (not necessarily a product of caring for a sick baby, but not helped by that situation either), seeds call out to be started (and will wait for no illness), neighbor children are visiting every day after school (necessitating much cookie baking and Clue playing by all).

It's busy and it's a beautiful thing. Except, you know, for the sickness.

Fancy Tuesday

Groove? I had a groove?

I like to worry way, way ahead of time. (Which of course is ridiculous as there's not really an appropriate time for worry. But follow me for a moment, if you will.)



I especially obsess about things I can't control and/or about which I have only a vague idea, such as Empty Nest Syndrome and Blog Readership Decline.

Well, maybe I could work on controlling the blog readership thing. But in my random notions on the subject I'm sure that it would require posting regularly, with some, er, content, and even possibly some expectancy of quality. And the main reason that's a problem for me is that I'm too busy worrying about how to keep all my babies from ever leaving me in an empty nest.

Kidding.

Sort of.

After our fourth baby, Laura (who turns a dynamic, energetic THREE today!), I spent a little bit of precious time looking for my "groove." I emailed with some friends and some bloggy buddies, fellow travelers and writers on the subject of getting that groove back for goodness sakes. I wanted to know if I'd ever feel "myself" again. That writing, reading, traveling self who skipped the recipe section in magazines because she ate mainly yogurt.

But after the arrival of our fifth child, Salvador (who is all of six months old and still as delicious as can be), I'm not feeling the groove search. It's possible I'm still caught up in 2010's goal of living in the moment (which sounds a little, upon re-reading, like living in the past?). Or it's possible I've simplified to the point that I don't need to return to any pre-mommy glory days.

These days are fairly glorious all on their own.

And they're fleeting.

Our eldest, Madeleine (a scary-smart 12 years old!), second daughter, Sarah (still my 10-year-old bookworm mini-me), and our middlest, Grace (6 and a half and a Lego/puzzle/spatial genius)... these three have taught me that the baby years go too quickly to be wished away in any way, even in pursuit of finding oneself. There will be time for that when the nest is emptier. Right?

At this point, and I reserve the right to freak out later, I like my particular current groove just fine. I like my recipe-reading, bread-baking, baby-wearing life like I like jazz. It's sometimes unexpected. And it's beautifully full of high and low notes with an engaging beat of soul.

I might even call it groovy.

Spunky and the gang take a walk

My girls and our favorite neighbor boys like to take Laura, the two-year-old also known as "Spunky," for walks in her wagon.

Until little Ryan gets tired and decides the two-seater wagon has room for him too.

And that's when Spunky shows her stuff: Without a fast shutter speed you'd never know he didn't walk the whole way; he was only in the wagon a split second. And if only I'd had a longer lens on the Nikon you'd be treated to a glimpse of the patented FACE that bid him back afoot in a hurry.

Oh, friends, what's a mom of five to do when her fourth is so clearly another firstborn?

More summer loving

Laura said it's time to come in!

But the big girls didn't want to come in... because they were enjoying KL's homemade ice cream, delivered into the water just like our rural version of a swim-up bar.



Meanwhile Salvador slept in his basket.

And the junior lifeguards went back to their duties.

While Gracie denied being tired. Or hot. Or anything but quiet.


Someone was always ready to pick up the baby.

And ice cream lured Grace and Cameron back out of afternoon exhaustion.

Sweet friend Emily turned out to be a baby whisperer.

And food. Oh, the food! Pulled pork sandwiches, pesto pasta salad, watermelon and berry salad.

We hated it to be over. And that's why you have to suffer through two posts about the big birthday bash at the lake.

After the water adventures the big girls returned home with us to attempt to stay up late in our glamper (Glamorous camper? Glamper? Anyone?) with movies and snacks.

They slept like puppies in a pile and woke to homemade waffles and more blueberries. Also to the little girls clamoring to join them.

Don't you just love summer?

What are your traditions that let you know it's summertime for sure?

Why, yes, we diaper our babies with dandelions

Sticking to the shade. Doing a little weeding and wrapping it around some baby dolls.

How quickly we forget the cooped-up feeling of "endless" spring rain...

...in favor of the shady, sun-dappled back yard and summery temperatures.

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The back yard here at our little homestead is my favorite place on Earth. I do not say this lightly.

Surrounded by 80-year-old Big Leaf Maples and a few rhodies, in view of my kitchen window and a stone's throw from the garden, the back yard is simply perfect. It's our own little glimpse of heaven. With a play structure.

Don't ask how I know

Vinegar water and a half-hour's elbow grease will remove an entire tube of pink lipstick from the tongue-and-groove wainscoting.

But no amount of eagle-eye care can guarantee that all of the purple glitter is out of the alfredo sauce.

(I think that's why they're called the "terrific" twos.)

chocolate angel

This was the scene of the crime.


This was the perp resisting arrest.

Just a few more notes from my files.

What a difference a year makes

Laura at her first birthday. Just look at that little dimpled chin, willya?

Not only was the weather different at the coast for this year's birthday jaunt, but we couldn't get Laura to sit for a picture. She wanted to embrace the whole beach.

She was busy, raindrops or no.

All the girls have grown and changed so much in a year. Laura is walking and talking (and talking). She's dressing herself in her own unique style and she is sweetly opinionated on nearly any subject you care to discuss. Mother Goose? Window washing? Naked trees? You bet she has a dissertation on that one. While she's gone from baby to toddler: Grace is reading, Madeleine and Sarah are playing instruments, everyone's jeans and shoes have gone up a size or two.

And they're still the same happy gaggle of girls ready to celebrate. Happy Second Birthday Laura!

People pocket dress

I got a little restless while waiting on some paperwork yesterday so I started cutting up Laura's t-shirts and some random flannel bits.

This dress is not the most seamstressy thing I've ever made, but it sure is the baby's favorite.

Because of the Little People pocket! An afterthought with an oversized button closure and a scrap of ricrac, it makes the perfect play dress accessory. I might have to add some Little People (Lego, Beanie Baby) pockets to more of her swing tops.

(Don't mind the mountain of toys in that snapshot. Please.)

What have you repurposed lately?

If you know what's good for you

This past week has seen my novel (sounds so grand, doesn't it?) fall far behind the word count goal. I'll catch up! I must!

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It's not my fault, Ossifer, I have good alibi:

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Three doctor appointments. Three volleyball practices. Two volleyball games. Two music lessons. A repeat of the ever-escaping pony drama.

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Ooh. Let's lean on the pony drama.

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On Saturday we were watching Madeleine serve it over the net and score on a small town near us where the players are all fed Miracle Gro or some such supplement so as to make our team look like miniature players on a full-size court. That was my view from the bleachers, at least in between serial battles to keep Laura from, er, borrowing extra team balls and hucking them into the field of play. I think she was trying to confuse the other team. Or get us some penalties. It's hard to tell; she's not yet 2.

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Anyway between Games A and B I had to miss out on the ever-tempting concession stand lunch to run into town for my H1N1 immunization appointment.

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This is when I abandoned my mother and Mr. Suite in our group efforts to corral Laura and cheer on the mighty Wildcats.

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And while I was gone, my husband's cell phone rang. It was our next-door neighbors of the B&B, now for sale and looking oh-so-French-Country should anyone out there be interested.

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So Mr. Suite answered. He didn't figure it was a social call. Never has been.

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Nope.

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Dolly-the-danger-girl Shetland was out of her paddock, causing my elderly Arab much anxiety.

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Dolly never ventures far, mind you. She just wants to taste the grass on the other side of the fence and it's a bonus if she can drive her pasture pal insane in the process. Just because he's not willing (or able) to commando crawl under the bottom wire. Gee whiz. It never occurs to gentlemanly Two Spot that he could leap the top wire with ease. He's just a law-abiding sort deeply offended by Dolly's disregard of the order of all things barnyard.

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Anyway this escape caused the neighbor (did I mention their house is beautiful and for sale?) much consternation as he is not a "horse person" and his wife is allergic. (To horses, not him.)

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Mr. Suite (otherwise known as my long-suffering non-horse-person husband who loves me despite my horse habit) was 30 minutes away from home and I was 45 minutes to an hour away. The hour existing in case I might have time to pull through Dutch Brothers for a mocha. Full disclosure. And, hey, I'd just had a SHOT. In the arm.

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Recap, without parentheticals:

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I'm in town. My husband's watching four children and a volleyball game three small villages away. One pony is out and one horse is pacing the fence and whinnying like a heart attack. The neighbor is worried about ... well, who can blame him? ... his lavender plants.

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So Mr. Suite does the most expedient thing possible and gives the combination to our barn lock to the neighbor and explains the steps to capture said pony.

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Oh, poor, poor neighbor. For a non-horse-loving person to be subjected to this: Open barn, step over feed sacks and assorted tack items, scoop out can of grain, call for unhaltered naughty pony, open gate in (schlocky deep) muddy paddock entrance, shoo away full-size panicked horse from open gate, maybe even step in the mud in order to lead stinky pony inside, close gate, re-lock barn against tack thieves... it's all too horsey for words.

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Also I think this is why good fences makes good neighbors.

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So I'm driving home like a maniac, sans mocha. Mr. Suite is driving home much more safely because he has Laura and Grace on board, having left Madeleine to finish game B and Sarah to keep Grandma company and further to beg for Taco Time on the way home.

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I beat my husband and the babies home by a few minutes, long enough to watch Dolly look left and right, to simply step over the lower rail and duck under the middle rail to freedom. By this time Two Spot was bored of the drama. As might you be if you lived with Dolly.

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I called to the naughty pony, opened the gate and she marched back in with her head held high.

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Then Mr. Suite went to town and bought some solid field fencing. He and his dad spent a happy (okay, that part's maybe not true: it's a frigid 40 degrees out here in the evenings) afternoon fencing our lower paddock. The openings in the field wire are three and a half inches square. In fact it resembles a volleyball net, just a little, so that's bringing the themes together for you. Such service with the tangents.

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Dolly has not figured out a way around (through, under) this. Yet.

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Just like I haven't yet figured out how to catch up on my word count. 'Cause I've been too busy catching ponies. Yeah, that's it.