You get a line, I'll get a pole...*

Growing up, we lived out. By "out" I mean we could get to a grocery store in about 5 minutes, but our house was at the end of a driveway .2 of a mile long, in the middle of 12 acres, with our closest neighbor at the other end of the driveway. I remember wishing to live near other kids while riding my bike up and down the driveway however I wanted. I remembering thinking how cool it would be to walk to a friend's house while playing on the swing set we could move whenever I wanted a different view of the mountains. I recall thinking we lived in the boonies when we'd have to plan our trips to "town" because it would take 20 minutes or more to get to the mall, Wal-Mart, etc.

Now that I'm grown and a Mommy, my perspectives have changed. When we come to NanaPop's my girls can PLAY. They can just play. There aren't cars to watch out for, roads they aren't allowed to use in play, dogs that aren't ours, neighbor's to consider, or toys to chase down from other yards. I sit on my parents deck watching my children run, squeal, go on adventures, collect treasures, and make their own way.They can play without me right on top of them. They leave their Tonka trucks in the driveway overnight without a second thought.

 I look up at the mountain and realize how flat our neighborhood is in comparison. I hear of insects from my childhood that I don't recall listening to from my own porch. I smell fall - really smell it. I show Miss Moo places that I played when I was a girl and give her my toys to use. I see Miss Roo clambering after her and recall chasing after my brother because he was so awesome.

I think I've mellowed.

 Or perhaps I have come to understand what is really important to me in the way we raise our girls. I do love the conveience of living 5 minutes from everything we could ever need, but I would much rather spend days playing outside with my girls than finding places to take them for those same opportunities. I'd like them to experience the "Bloo Mountatains" (as Moo calls them) daily rather than as an exclamation as we travel home. I'd like to drive around more with the windows down, two giggling girls, and country playing on the radio. I guess Kix and Ronnie were right after all.

So what am I to do?
 Come home as much as I can? Definitely.

 Let my girls get as much of the country as they can? Absolutely.

Accept and celebrate the rural-ness of my life and my heritage(including my accent)?  Without a doubt.

And perhaps, somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm thinking of ways to follow the siren song home.



*We'll go fishing in the crawfish hole
 Five card pocker on Saturday night
Church on Sunday mornin'
Little Big Town, Boondocks

Happy Fall!! - Our Little Trip to the Farm

To celebrate the first day of fall, the girls and I went with NanaPop to Jeter Farm for some pumpkin picking, farm livin', and fun! Happy Autumn!!!

Corn Pit.

"Milking" a cow.

Farm Girl.

And Jr.

Getting so big.

Pony rides.

For all!

Nana fun.

Pop fun.

Joy.

Sisterhood.

Picking pumpkins.

And carrying them.

"TRACTOR!"

The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter wools.
- Henry Beston

Does anyone know how to make a Mermaid out of tape???

Apparently, I do. Or, I WILL, rather,  as that is what Miss Moo has requested that we paint.

I purchased a few canvases a week ago with the intention of  teaching shape and line design, along with a little color mixing reinforcement, by creating two canvases in homage to Piet Mondrian.   This particular project was one of my favorite to teach and watch the children enjoy when I was a Pre-K teacher and later a Museum educator. The idea came from this wonderful book by Mary Ann Kohl. (If you like the idea of education and process not product, look her up. She's amazing!)

My Pre-K's LOVED this activity. They loved the bright primary colors with which they painted. They enjoyed laying the tape upon their canvases and watching shapes form between the lines. But mostly, they squealed in delight when they could remove the tape after everything had dried. I loved the activity because we could discuss so many concepts, and they kids could have entire conversations with one another about their individual works.

I couldn't wait to do this activity with Moo. I began telling her what we were going to do while driving home from the park yesterday. She listened intently as I began describing the process. I was almost done with the steps, explaining that when we pulled off the tape shapes would appear.

"How about a Mermaid, also?"

I glanced at her in the rear view mirror.

"The tape will make shapes, baby girl."

Her eyes narrowed a bit. Then she smiled.

"Ummm, no thanks. I think we should matke a mermaid!"

It was then I realized that even thought I may make lesson plans, homeschooling isn't going to be like preschooling.

We chose to start homeschooling this fall because Drew's company's contract is up for renewal, so our short term future isn't certain. I didn't want to enroll her in preschool only to yank her out in a month or two, move her, and start over again. Drew and I had also decided we were going to home school our girls starting at the elementary age, so starting a few years earlier wasn't going to cause any harm. If anything, it would get us all in a rhythm by the time she was "kindergarten ready". I've been reading, researching, compiling, and starting plans. We've been integrating some structured learning, thought she doesn't realize it, into our daily routine. I'm also trying to set up our calendar for outings and field trips once the weather cools down a little.

But unlike Pre-K, here I can focus on my two children and what they actually enjoy and excel in rather than what is required by a higher authority that they master. My Pre-K's didn't really have a choice in what they did, my girls do. In the past my plans were fairly rigid, now they are fluid. It's liberating- and a little terrifying. I'm learning along with my girls, some days MORE than they are. But this is my job now, and I do love a challenge. I was a great teacher in the past, so I hope to be as good to my girls as I was to my previous students.

So during nap today, I better teach myself how to tape down a mermaid so she can paint it. Simple lines just won't do.

Shake, shake, shake! Shake your BUTT-ER!!

I'm very excited that we've have the opportunity to purchase a cow share. We get a half gallon of raw milk weekly, along with a dozen eggs from our fabulous farmers Ms. Emily and Mr. Daniel at Tuckahoe Lamb and Cattle.

Last week for whatever reason, we didn't drink our milk. Saturday morning I stood staring at a gallon milk. We decided to make a go at butter.  Being a former preschool teacher, I've made butter from heavy whipping cream before. So using a spoon I skimmed the cream from the top of our milk and placed it in a mason jar. I set the jar on the counter top for an hour while I began making our roast for lunch.   After an hour in the ever warming kitchen, the cream felt the right temperature. I've always been a hands on temperature reader for most things, even meat at times. 

I began shaking the jar. Miss Moo came in and asked to help. We shook. We danced. We made a butter making song.  We shook some more. I was amazed at how quickly this butter came together. I recall being in the classroom for what seemed like an eternity shaking little jars of cream to assist my Pre-K's in the butter churning process.  I also recall having to form my butter into a ball before rinsing it in the past.

Here is my butter just out of the jar.

After rinsing and salting, I stirred it and formed it back into a ball.

I then remembered that Nana gave me a small pineapple butter mold.

Nana and I are a little nuts about pineapples. Well, perhaps that isn't worded strongly enough. We are a bit obsessed with pineapples. They are all OVER her kitchen and creeping their way in here. I LOVE the southern quality of the pineapple and just how happy they look!

Next, I shoved that little gal in the mold and threw her in the fridge!

After lunch, and with the girls safely tucked away in their sleepy naps, I pulled my butter out to see my pineapple :)

Pottery by John Bryant of Old Tavern Clay.

Can you see it?? Are you sure? Maybe if you squint?? Oh, good!!

Perhaps the mold wasn't the best idea considering I made a very small amount of butter. But the point is that I made it, it was easy, fast, and fun for Miss Moo.

I'm trying to find ways to allow her to help in the kitchen more. Miss Roo is much more of a challenge during meal preparation now that she is walking, running, and "helping" me. I spend a lot of time doing things quickly or ahead of time to avoid stepping on or over Roo.  Moo does want to help, but in many cases shows interested during the last few steps of meals which can be quite boring for her and frustrating for me. So, butter making was a great kid activity and simple. You might consider making some with your little helpers. It's as simple as a jar, a dance, and a song!

She's One!!

My baby is one. I missed Wordless Wednesday, so I'm making up for it today.

Closely Knit

I took a knitting class with a friend from college in March and it was great. While apprehensive at first that I would find knitting frustrating and counter productive, I find it quite the opposite. Knitting has become one of my outlets. It soothes me on days (like today) when I have not been in a room - yes that includes the bathroom - by myself all day. It helps me process when I'm upset or concerned. It helps me wind down at the end of the day. And it helps me feel like I can make something from the simplicity of some yarn and two sticks.

To say I've become a little obsessed in an understatement. I've knitted:

in the van...

in the floor during tantrums...

on the back deck during naps...(by myself!)

in bed.

There have been a few other locations, but I think you get my point. I seem to have knitting projectS with me no matter where I go.  Miss Moo is asking to knit. (There's a story there later). Drew finds it "Neat!" (He's a man of few words so that's a pretty good one.) NanaPop are prepared for a slew of knitted gifts at Christmas.

I am also thankful that knitting is a gift in many ways. Sure I can knit something for someone in a hurry and it's a "gift", but the time I put into things that are gifts for others are precious to me as well. Knitting gives me a sense of myself. Knitting gives my husband a wife who is sane. Knitting provided me the opportunity to make Roo a blanket for her first birthday. (Yes, her blanket was KNITTED. I am registering for a crochet class tomorrow. ) That's an heirloom in the making I hope. Knitting provided us that chance.

Moo sees me sitting quietly and calmly knitting and she sits down and is calm too. She picks up yarn and twirls it in her fingers. She watches what I do and listens as I explain my loops and twirls.  Daily I am reminded that there are so many skills, so many crafts, that will be lost unless we take the initiative to learn them and teach them to our children. In five years I want children who can knit, cook, grow, and create. I want children who take joy in slow creation and uniqueness of their fruition rather than having something that carries a particular label. I strive to not only create things but to create a legacy.

I'm planting that seed with Roo. 

Roo's blanket a few hours before completion.

A visit from One E. Bunny

Life is sllllllowly returning to normal after Easter, NanaPop, and "Spring Break."  Miss Moo is back to her routine and Miss Roo has another tooth - for a grand total of 5. I am still behind on all I need to get done and I'm starting to accept that as the norm around here.

Moo was very excited to see that Mr. E. Bunny visited us on the morning of the 8th.

The girls shared a basket.

Roo happily received a book, a Waldorf doll from a local artisan, and a wooden bunny teether.

Moo was elated with her dragon and rider, book, coloring book, and CAMERA!!

Moo is ecstatic about her camera. She's been interested in our big camera for a while, but I've been too frightened to let her try. Although her camera IS plastic, it is highly reviewed as durable and should last us through her sister.

She spent a few days taking pictures of herself, NanaPop, Roo, and the ceiling and floor. We haven't loaded them to the computer just yet, but at this point its all about process and not product. 

We also plan to use it as a way to engage her in things she otherwise might find - less than fun. I am hoping that giving her a way to document from her perspective and be able to share that with us will bring us another type of bonding and a new platform for discussion.

Or maybe it will just be something fun for her while I take pictures with the big camera.

How it all began....

Christmas morning carries an air of excitement for every little child. The tree is larger than life, with lights glimmering slightly brighter than the day before. Carefully wrapped packages beckon to be opened. Curiosity heightens as each oddly shaped parcel is delivered to the rightful owner Santa intended. Faces shine. Paper is hurriedly torn. Squeals erupt as treasures are revealed. Those were great mornings.

I remember clearly the joy of discovering ALF under the tree. The pure excitement of receiving not only Rainbow Brite, but her pal Patty O'Green. Stockings held the last morsel of surprise before breakfast. The afternoon would bring a trip to my grandparents house where the cycle would repeat with exuberance. I would make the journey with familiar anticipation. I knew that's where IT would be.

Gifts at my grandparent's house would reach from under the tree far into the floor. Boxes were always stacked into two piles by each child. One stack held colorful gifts of all shapes and sizes. The other stack held boxes that all appeared the same - the clothing boxes. Yet all of these boxes were not created equal. One of these seemingly ordinary shirt boxes contained, for me, the frock of the season.

One of them held my smocked dress.

Smocking itself has no inherent mystery. Women have worn it on their lovely gowns for centuries. It's origin is practical. Prior to the invention of elastic and spandex, how else would one allow for stretch in garments? Smocking was used for just that purpose. For me as a little girl, however, smocking was the necessary embellishment for the perfect dress. Whether it was ornamental or functional in its inclusion didn't matter. For me, it HAD to be there.

After all the boxes were emptied and the adults had concluded the exchange of their own treasures, I crept to my mother's side, dress clutched in hand. I listed numerous reasons why I needed to change into it: to check the size, to check the length, to see if it matched my shoes. Eventually, she conceded and I donned my prized dress as though I was the belle of the ball. I would admire myself in the mirror. Scarlett O'Hara, eat your heart out!

As the years passed, we all grew and matured. Gifts began changing as Christmas morning began adapting to our ages. The rituals were still the same, but some faces were added and some were missed terribly. I can't recall the exact year that I first missed my dress. I only recall realizing one morning that we weren't little kids anymore.

Now that I am grown, my boxes have taken different shapes. I have only one pile now. I delight in seeing smaller boxes labeled with my name rather than the shirt box I used to covet. Pearls and baubles replaced my smocking. Until this past Christmas.

For the first time in a long time, the tree at my parents house contained a shirt box. A coveted shirt box. The delight upon it's unveiling was a welcome friend. There it was in front of me. The frock of the season. Smocking for my daughter.

How it all began....

Christmas morning carries an air of excitement for every little child. The tree is larger than life, with lights glimmering slightly brighter than the day before. Carefully wrapped packages beckon to be opened. Curiosity heightens as each oddly shaped parcel is delivered to the rightful owner Santa intended. Faces shine. Paper is hurriedly torn. Squeals erupt as treasures are revealed. Those were great mornings.

I remember clearly the joy of discovering ALF under the tree. The pure excitement of receiving not only Rainbow Brite, but her pal Patty O'Green. Stockings held the last morsel of surprise before breakfast. The afternoon would bring a trip to my grandparents house where the cycle would repeat with exuberance. I would make the journey with familiar anticipation. I knew that's where IT would be.

Gifts at my grandparent's house would reach from under the tree far into the floor. Boxes were always stacked into two piles by each child. One stack held colorful gifts of all shapes and sizes. The other stack held boxes that all appeared the same - the clothing boxes. Yet all of these boxes were not created equal. One of these seemingly ordinary shirt boxes contained, for me, the frock of the season.

One of them held my smocked dress.

Smocking itself has no inherent mystery. Women have worn it on their lovely gowns for centuries. It's origin is practical. Prior to the invention of elastic and spandex, how else would one allow for stretch in garments? Smocking was used for just that purpose. For me as a little girl, however, smocking was the necessary embellishment for the perfect dress. Whether it was ornamental or functional in its inclusion didn't matter. For me, it HAD to be there.

After all the boxes were emptied and the adults had concluded the exchange of their own treasures, I crept to my mother's side, dress clutched in hand. I listed numerous reasons why I needed to change into it: to check the size, to check the length, to see if it matched my shoes. Eventually, she conceded and I donned my prized dress as though I was the belle of the ball. I would admire myself in the mirror. Scarlett O'Hara, eat your heart out!

As the years passed, we all grew and matured. Gifts began changing as Christmas morning began adapting to our ages. The rituals were still the same, but some faces were added and some were missed terribly. I can't recall the exact year that I first missed my dress. I only recall realizing one morning that we weren't little kids anymore.

Now that I am grown, my boxes have taken different shapes. I have only one pile now. I delight in seeing smaller boxes labeled with my name rather than the shirt box I used to covet. Pearls and baubles replaced my smocking. Until this past Christmas.

For the first time in a long time, the tree at my parents house contained a shirt box. A coveted shirt box. The delight upon it's unveiling was a welcome friend. There it was in front of me. The frock of the season. Smocking for my daughter.