a little cinnamon and a little soil

One of those mornings,
where the list of errands to run before naptime
grows and grows
before we even leave the house…

The bathroom is swamped
after my shower; little hands keep pulling back the curtain
to toss bath toys into the tub for me. Two plastic fish
and a pink balloon float past my ankles…

I’m loading the car,
grocery bags, jugs for water,
diaper bag, lists…
when Amelia pushes a chair
up to the kitchen sink and begins to play
in the soap bubbles of our soaking
oatmeal pot…



Walking past, I hear her talking through
her recipe for a ‘soap-pie;’
a little cinnamon, and a little soil,
put it all together…

I love that combination.
I had to stop and play a little
in the sink, too.

At the end of the day,
what is it
that you remember stopping for,

making the time for.

lately

I love having an early morning to myself. It doesn't happen very often...Aven is still averaging 3x a night wake-and-nurse sessions, and Mike and my father-in-law, Marty, have been leaving the house early most mornings to haul grain. It is harvest time and hunting time in our part of the world, and that leads to early activity in our house just about every day of the week.

This morning I woke at 5:30, rocked Aven and put her back to bed, then tiptoed downstairs to a quiet, dark house. The sky was clear and starry and cold, so after standing on the porch breathing and waking up a bit, it was back inside to make a fire in our kitchen woodstove and some strong coffee.


ahh, a quiet house...

We've had a beautiufl end-of-summer. Days that still feel long, afternoon sun that still heats you through.



There is still time for new explorations; which can be as simple as pulling over on the side of the road while crossing the big hole valley. Because sometimes you just have to get out of car and stretch a little...or ride your motorcycle a bit...


biker babe

We've had good visits with some Bitterroot buddies,



and tried out new looks in our old tub.



Amelia started dance classes last week- which she loves.





And we've spent lots of time just enjoying our place on these last warm days.








daddy's closet = best hideout ever

We did a little painting to memorialize our first summer here.






Amelia proudly represents the family biz

Hope you're enjoying these last days of summer.

to the river

There are times when the only reasonable thing to do is strap my children into their carseats and drive away from our house. Away from dishes and laundry and dinner-that-should-be-made...usually we head for water...



The other evening was one such evening...



Mike was planning to hunt until dark, the afternoon was hot, the girls and I were feeling restless...



My daughters are becoming (to my absolute joy) complete river-rats...



It is a week until the first official day of fall, which in Montana, means very cold water...

but apparently no one told them that summer was (nearly) over,





although there were signs everywhere.





Oh, and Amelia looked up at this beautiful ancient tree and said Mama, look at this cottonwood, and is it wrong that I am more proud of that, than when she tells me the sounds each letter makes, or counts to eleventy-six?



We spent a few hours by the river, then drove the road back home slowly...singing along to all the CDs that have been in my car all summer,







savoring the air that still smelled like summer, windows rolled down, mountains rising purple in the distance, everywhere we looked.

gratitude

Lately, it has felt easy to forget the world. My average day's to-do list is full of actions that nurture my family and myself. I take the girls for walks, I make meals, I comfort and carry.

We don't have a television, so I usually stay in touch with the rest of the world by listening to the news on the radio. Often I feel I need to listen to the news with a hard heart...otherwise I cannot bear to listen at all. I haven't been very good at that whole 'hard-heart' thing lately. Maybe it's because my life feels so peaceful, so contented right now, but lately it seems that whenever I tune into the 'news' I am left somewhat devestated.

From the unimaginable violence in the eastern Congo, to the unimaginable ignorance of book burners here in our own country, to stories that are simply tragic; parents mourning lost children, veterans mourning the loss of their pre-war selves. I feel almost guilty for these steady sweet days I've been living.



It can be easy to forget that all these things happen in my world. It is the world I have planted my children into, so full of incredible beauty, joy, violence, and misunderstanding all together.



Where am I going with this? I'm not sure. Except that the other morning as I drove and listened to these stories, I was overwhelmed by such gratitude. Despite the loss, the divisions, the horrible ways people hurt each other...I am blessed with such a beautiful life.



I know I'm getting closer to the person I want to be. Because I carry this enormous gratitude with me every day, everywhere I go.

Gratitude for the mountains painted with morning sun, the foothills tumbling to the valley floor, creased and golden like rumpled bedsheets.



For the silver spray of sparrows that fly like light over my head, their collective sound like water moving over stones.

For the knowledge that everything we really need is within our reach, our means;
clean water from the spring up the road, food we grow and harvest, from our garden or the wild.



I think of mothers all over the world, and I am overwhelmed by my luck -
that when I put my children to bed at night, I have the luxury of knowing they will be safe until morning. I'm not putting them to bed in a tent in a refuge camp, or telling them that I'm sorry, but there's just nothing left to eat or drink.

There are so many mothers just like me that do not have that daily certainty, such a basic thing,
to want to protect and keep your children safe, healthy.



So I guess this gratitude is laced with empathy and a mindfullness of how delicate our world is. How delicate our lives are, our relationships with each other. How we must take the time to stop and breathe, and be greatful for those moments and connections that sustain us.

at the fair

Once a year, at the end of summer;



you can be kissed by a sheep,



witness unimaginable cuteness,


this looks like a stuffed animal, don't you think?

lounge with a prize pig,



cuddle with exotic creatures,



wander past lazy giants,


Aven went to the Ravalli County Fair last year on Friday. She had been born Monday. I'm not sure why I decided that was a good idea...but she was much more impressed this time around.



sympathize with a sweet donkey,



buy then use up all your tickets,



scream your head off next to a complete stranger,



find foods in all imaginable possible forms,



watch the sun go down,



and the lights come on.



Until next year...