The "getting real" post

It happens, every so often, that I read a flurry of articles and blog posts imploring mommy bloggers and fashion bloggers and farming bloggers and faith bloggers to just get real. (Political bloggers need not fuss with this stricture as there is no getting around the real ugly.)

In case you missed the memo(s): Others' Facebook happiness makes us depressed, Pinterest as a whole makes us dissatisfied with our mere human crafting/cooking/skydiving abilities, and the rosy lives pictured in weblogs are akin to Photoshopped models in fashion ads, creating a rarified air that none of us can really breathe. Focusing on the positive can smother a person, apparently.

Pshaw.

 If y'all want ugly there's always mainstream media. And the cupboard to the left of the sink. And screen-time-limit meltdowns and arriving a month early (or a month late!) to the orthodontist-whose-bill-comes-anyway, or an aching shoulder and a little bit of arthritis in that hand that makes you inadvertently drop a pot full of stewed tomatoes. Talk about a hot mess. The satellite internet limit that is exceeded by streaming school classes two weeks into the month. And the neighbor who left cookies in your mailbox and then got upset when the mail lady thanked you for them when they were so obviously for your kids from the neighbor (Follow? Me neither!). Someone from your church facing divorce, someone in your family facing cancer.

I kinda got on a roll there just thinking about the "real" of this week. It's only Tuesday.

You know, these are the everyday and bigger uglinesses that just don't bear talking about.

 Let's encourage each other with thankfulness and prettiness and focus on that. Won't you? I am aware that on your blogs and facebook pages, most of you edit out the schmutz. And I'm good with that. Not because I don't want you to be real! I do! I am so achingly glad you a real human being on this journey with me, and I want to walk with you through whatever you want to share.

One of the ways I survive the ugly is to post the pretty.

Y'all know it's bad if you can't look around and find some beauty. 

There's my one-time farmhouse. It is so very pretty in each season. Finally sale pending and approaching closure, not that I want to jinx anything, after seven escrows. Seven. I haven't blogged adequately about the heart-wrenching decision to move to this new farm two years ago. I haven't shared in any small part how I feel about the quality of light at that house, about how I left behind community and struck out for something new and found myself not just alone in the wilderness but lonely here. It took more than a year to understand that the light filtering through forest is its own kind of golden green. There's a glow from the barn when the stars are the only other light, and when you drive past the spaces between the barn boards look twinkly. My garden is amazing -- and overwhelming! -- and friendships once easily maintained by a stroll down the lane and a cup of coffee remain, and that spending time with those loved ones on the once-dreaded phone and internet is a new kind of beauty.

My new farmhouse takes more careful framing to find the photo-worthy. So I focus carefully because otherwise I'd live in a puddle on the floor. Truly. I thank you for your positive, for your gratitude, for your rose-colored glasses where the world wide web is concerned. Because I think the more we zoom in on beauty, the more we find.

Yesterday I realized my husband's dog Jake died five years ago. And my dog Bonnie Belle died nearly three years ago. So we got Murphy and Molly two years ago and now Molly is gone. Guess what? I never blogged adequately about the vomit and the accidents and the geriatric care that each of those pets required in their final days. Do you know how I got on this subject? I happened upon an old photo of sweet Bonnie Belle on the forbidden couch, and then laughed as I scrolled through that album to see all of the dogs fully owning the couch at one time or another. I remembered that Jake's last trip around the property was in pursuit of sitting by Laura in the stroller, down by the barn where I was watching the big girls ride ponies. I remembered that Bonnie Belle would ever so genteelly accept treats at the coffee drive-through even though she would never, ever ingest them because she was above the crunchy bone-shaped weirdness and she knew enough to wait for homemade peanut-butter-filled jerky treats at home. Molly? Molly loved the children so much that she let them dress her in hats and scarves. She would paw around in the dress-up bin for a favorite wool (dog slobbery) beret. Which is more true? The embarrassing bodily functions of aging pets or the photographed and internet-shared memories that cast them in best light?

I'd rather watch for the prettiness on the internet and hold your hand in person when we're having a crisis, big or small. I want to be "real" with you, but not so much on the internet. I'm just sayin'.

Backup. No, back up.

 I don't write here very often or very regularly but every once in a while I remember the days -- do any of you? -- when I wrote many times a week. When my teens were small and I made a lot of doll clothes and organic purees. Thanks to the "you may also enjoy" feature that I somehow managed to add to the blog I sometimes see a baby picture of a toothless Laura, who is now 5 years old and reading, writing, running (our lives) or a paragraph or two about how Grace, now 9 and a pianist, seamstress and outdoor enthusiast, loved to play "finger family" and had named all of her digits and assigned them specific personalities and habits. Being the middle child in a family of five must make for a creative kid.

 When I blogreminisce like that I get a little frisson of panic, you know? Not just the passing of the years but the sheer volume of digital/electronic/interwebby family history I document here and notsomuch in a physical scrapbook.

For instance, Salvador,turning 3 this week, was photographed in the palm of his daddy's hand just days home from the hospital. Now he is a member of the hay crew. Well, with crayons and a hot dog in the tow vehicle. But still. (B)logged here.

 Our relationships with dear neighbors at the church-home of my heart, blogged here. Our ups and downs with barrel racing, horses, free range children, penned-up chickens, lonely ewe lambs and dearly departed Golden Retrievers. Blogged here.

 Might I take a side road, just a minor detour, to introduce to you Harold and Linda, our neighbors at the new FarmSuite homestead? He is 86 and still making hay. She is "in her 70s" and still riding along. (Blogworthy.)

My girls' theatrical and dance escapades, all chronicled in photos and a minimum of whining about the price of gas and the late hours of rehearsal.

                                      
When considering the massive volume of valuable-to-me farmy and not-so-farmy Suite family history I today undertook the BLOG BACKUP. Dun-dun-dunnnnnn.

It was a three-click procedure that didn't preserve the photos within the posts. But still. Have you backed up your blog lately? I bet your children and your vegetables and your life -- all growing. And if any of y'all or your tech-savvy friends know how to back up the blog without losing the photos, would you be so kind as to share that information with me?

Because I blogged here about backing up a horse trailer and I might need to refer to that one day.

In non-technical news, the garden is ENORMOUS. We are eating salads every day, twice a day, and watching the corn and beans grow before our eyes. I am excited about the coming tomato harvest (almost afraid to say it, just a little superstitious) and have set up a canning kitchen on the back patio since our new cooktop is glass. The hay is in and it was a somewhat disappointing bale count compared to last year. We are very grateful to be able to make our own hay but it does look like we'll be buying some to supplement this year as a springtime drought kept the grass from growing.

Feels like being a farmer.

Madeleine and Sarah are halfway through a three-week break from ballet and they walk around the house on demi-pointe all day to keep their, what, feet flexible? balance intact? I dunno. We are looking forward to a drama camp and some dance camps and a lot of swimming in the river this summer. Also a lot of garden produce.

I hope your June is blessed and, backing up a bit, that you make time to back up your blog.

More of that winter warmth

Reading this beautiful weblog this morning made me feel as though we're one community after all. City, country, farm, high-rise, we all face those days of flitting from project to project, homeschool to diapers to phone call to errands to -- eek -- what's for dinner. And then there's a funny perspective on taking a moment for the sake of our roots from another mom of four whose blog and life I admire. Oh! And I mustn't forget the inspiration of a kind and talented quilter and knitter who encourages little ol' scarf-stuck knitting me to move on already.



If ever you, like me, feel a little isolated or unfocused these wintry days, a little clicking around might be just the companionship called for. Plus you might find a recipe for dinner or at least for laundry soap.

Under the weather...

Well, dear readers, Miri has been caught by some gigantic bug. She is home trying to fight the bug to its death but that just plain wears her out. Reader, Miri feels bad. Like, snuggle with a hot water bottle and some herbal tea, bad. Not only did she throw out her hip but she also caught funkyvirusbactosus or the flu or some such thing.

Be not dismayed, dear ones. While soaking away her cares she thought of you, reader. She did not want you to think all hope of reading her blog was lost so she enlisted the help of a bloggy good buddy.

So, in the spirit of Get Well cards, leave Miriam a Get Well comment so she doesn't die from lackofcommentyosis.

Sometimes Life Is Funny

Sue over at my favorite funny site (I am not saying that so she'll like me and invite me over to a PJ party with s'mores. Really.), Navel Gazing At Its Finest, is putting together a book. This alone is enough to make us take notice. A book of bloggers being funny? Ooh... where can I buy it?

But it's more than that. A lot, lot more. It's a book to help Nie Nie and her lovely family. Here's how to submit.

I also want to say here that sometimes my life is funny, and sometimes it's not. Sometimes I write a bunch of pseudophilosophical stuff and sometimes I post pictures of my kids freaking out at ballet class (high decibels + pink leotards = great photo opportunity and much denial of parentage).

Several years ago my father-in-law was burned terribly in an explosion at his work. To say the very least, he is one of my favorite people ever. I don't want to trivialize in any way that it was a long, painful recovery. But I want to add that with the help of family support, amazing doctors and nurses, and many prayers, he is fully recovered today. Nie Nie's story (and I don't know her at all) could be any one of our stories: A beautiful young blogger mom and dad with a gorgeous, amazing family facing a very difficult time ... they need our help. You can read about their plane crash and the updates on their recovery at this site.

And if you want to help: You can write about it on your blog, to spread the word. You can write something funny to submit to Sue's book. Or, you can buy the book. Or, you can click here to donate. Sometimes we need to do what we can to help one another.