birthday month

It's September, and around here we know what that means: it's birthday month.

Don't ask me what we were thinking when we decided to have all three of our kids within 9 days of each other on the calendar. December is a great month... but we do end up paying the price in September. My own birthday is a few days later at the beginning of October. By the time we make it that far I am so exhausted that I usually don't mind when my birthday is completely overlooked. The greatest birthdays are the ones preceded by low expectations.

We try to make each child's individual birthday special... which means that each child gets a cake of their own. Of course, we end up with a ridiculous amount of cake, and no one wants it again until next September.

Traditions are started in a moment of perceived brilliance... that later may feel as far from brilliance as possible. In the spirit of tradition I asked each of my 3 kids the same questions:

Annike (turning 7) answered:
What kind of cake would you like?
    --- A fox cake!
What flavor should it be?
     --- Fox flavored.
Hmmm... Fox flavored cake? Are you sure?   

Sommer (turning 4) answered:
What kind of cake would you like?
   --- An osprey cake!
What flavor should it be?
   --- Bubble-gum flavor!
Well, daddy will definitely not be helping us eat that cake.

Karsten (turning 2) answered:
What kind of cake would you like?
   --- Doot!
What flavor should it be?
   --- Choo!
Good. I think I can handle that one.

Wish me luck. I am off to creative caking. Cake-creativity. Cre-cake-tive baketivity.
Oh dear. Bad start.

a trip to nantucket

Travelling is not something that typically gives me anxiety.  This particular trip, however, gave me knots in my stomach for weeks beforehand. I sat up at night jotting lists of things that needed doing and schedules that needed booking. I was very nervous.

It was a 6 day trip with just Karsten and me. I had 5 items to carry in and out of the airport by myself, which involved some complicated strapping systems. In fact, the above picture is me "practicing" in my driveway for my dreaded trek through the airports. We flew on 4 different airplanes flown by 4 different airlines, hopping through 3 different places coast to coast (from San Francisco to Chicago to Nantucket). Fortunately Karsten still flies for free as he is just a few weeks shy of 2 years old, but he is pushing the weight limit for my lap so I wouldn't recommend this. All to be a part of 1 very important wedding on the island of Nantucket.

It had been over three years since I'd seen my paternal grandma, now well into her eighties. She had never met my little boy. On the way to Nantucket we made a 36 hour stop in the outskirts of Chicago to visit her.

When I was in the midst of chest-clenching anxiety over the details and realities of the trip I had scheduled, a friend reminded me, "You might feel stressed at times, but you will never regret making this trip." She was absolutely right.

  

One result of my extra stop was that 3 days out of my 6-day trip were spent in airports. I should mention here that for as long as I can remember I have burst into uncontrollable tears at the sight of strangers running through an airport. I believe it dates back to the time I was nine years old and my mother and I were stranded in Dallas because of a hurricane and had to do some running of our own. Whatever the reason, seeing people make that run with anxious faces and all their luggage makes me cry every time as I imagine the heartache of a missed flight and loved ones waiting at the other end.

We had a couple of close calls in the airport, but it was the connecting flight to Nantucket that was a near miss. It was also the most important piece, since there are not exactly a lot of flights to Nantucket running in a day. Getting stuck overnight in Washington D.C. was not on the itinerary.

I raced through the airport with an obscene amount of stuff and a small boy (or giant baby, however you want to look at it) strapped to my chest in a Bjorn carrier he outgrew a year ago. At some point my backpack had come unzipped and strangers were chasing after me with things like wet wipes and trail mix that had fallen out. I'd packed enough food to feed every passenger on the plane, so we fared okay despite some minor losses. If I'd been a bystander seeing myself run through the airport, I would have been reaching for tissue by now.

I held it together until we collapsed into our seat on the Nantucket flight, only minutes before they shut the airplane door. It was enough. I had spent the previous five hours worrying that we wouldn't make it... worrying about something I had absolutely no control over. Tears were welcome now. Hopefully the stewardess just thought I had allergies. Deep breaths. God provides, sometimes only by the very skin of our teeth.

Actually, God provided quite a lot for me in ways that I still can't fully see. Washington D.C. was just a layover location for me, not an actual destination. But oddly, on this same day of my near miss in the airport, a number of my extended family members were gathering for a funeral right there in D.C. While I fretted and waited on a delayed plane, there was an underlying peace knowing that I had family in this foreign city that would come and get me if I needed them to. It felt like a specific answer to my anxious prayers. I didn't end up needing help, but I did need peace, and I did need to know that God was taking care of me.

Karsten and I made it to the Nantucket wedding with time to spare. We watched my brother wed his lovely bride, now my sister-in-law, under a historic lighthouse. The setting pushed the anxieties of travel far behind us.

  

Karsten found a special joy in photo-bombing wedding pictures. He is used to being the cutest and most exciting subject for the camera, so I believe he was miffed that more photos were being taken of the lovely couple than him.
... No, he wasn't the ring-bearer. He was cupid-in-training.

Don't let the hassles of my story fool you. I wouldn't have missed this wedding if all of the airports shut down and I had to run my way to Cape Cod!

To the lovely couple: I wish you years of love and joy and friendship. May God bring a peace that will overshadow all of your anxieties in the way that He alone can. The wedding was beautiful, but the best is yet to come...

XOXO, Ashley

summer gone by

Summer has come and gone. Another season gone past, and I am not exactly sure where it went.

I had excellent intentions for doing fun science projects with the kids, and getting out all of the crazy messy art supplies, and taking day trips to museums and amusement parks and kid-centered places, and establishing a routine of summer academics in the morning and quiet reading or rest in the afternoon. I had excellent intentions for being a creative and exciting mother who is the perfect balance between structure and fun. Most excellent intentions.

The truth is that our summer didn't look a thing like that. Our move date from our beloved "farm", where we had spent 6 years in a phase of life mostly collecting stuff rather than getting rid of it, was the very final day of school back in May. Which means we started the summer with a house full of boxes to unpack and no where to send our children while we did it!

I am not exactly sure what we did with our summer days, but they felt busy. We unpacked boxes. We explored our new yard. We tried to do small projects, but I feel this was mostly unsuccessful with all three kids at home. We entertained family and friends and guests of all ages, coming to say hello in our new space. We stayed up late, playing outdoors until the darkness sent us inside. We argued a little. We laughed a lot. Somehow, without any follow through on the best of intentions, we had a lovely summer.

There was that learning curve in the first few weeks of June when we didn't have a T.V. hooked up, or internet, or any of the go-to entertainment when Momma needs to get something done. I heard the word "boring" few times. I may have felt frustrated a time or two, and may have shut my children up in their rooms a time or two, or more. I may have attacked my husband when he came home from work with a wild request for some alone time for ME.

Then, the magic happened... the kids began to find things to do on their own. Miraculous. Imaginative. The kids did what kids have done for centuries while parents attempt to be responsible for other things: they played. Once they started, they didn't stop. I do believe my children played all summer long. Just as it should be.

With all of the playing, the summer finally flew by. Here we are now, already finishing our second week of school. My oldest in second grade now (Wait! How?)

My middle entered pre-school for the first time. Three days a week and she is already running the class (so I am told...no surprise.)

My baby turned into a little boy over the summer. (But I can still call him "baby", right?) We are enjoying some much-needed solo time together a few times a week.

Without the girls around, the house is oh-so-much quieter. It is a good thing for this season to have a few quiet hours every day. I will feel more mentally ready for the next loud season after I bask in this quiet one for a while.

The quiet is good for my soul. It reminds me to be listening. When I am listening, I can hear the whisper of God's voice. That voice wasn't absent over the summer, it just felt really hard to hear at times amidst the noise of visitors and moving chaos and the constant list of things that need doing that played on repeat in my head. And the incredibly loud shrieks coming from my children. Sometimes shrieks of joy. Sometimes shrieks because one child had removed a handful of hair from another child. Whatever the reason, they seem to be always loud.

In the quiet, now, I feel ready to start back into this blogging hobby that has become an important part of my spiritual journey. It was an unintentionally long break from posting, but a needed break. I am ready to begin again... so, here we go!  A new season in so many ways...

letting go

The time has come for us to sell this beautiful property where we have lived for the past 6 years. While we never intended to stay here forever, we find that along the way we have most decidedly grown attached.

I clearly remember the first day we made the drive out to this place we now live and call home. As I process my mixed feelings about this move, perhaps a bit of background is helpful in understanding how we came to live a short season of our lives on this country farm, far removed from our old way of life in town.

My husband surfs the real estate websites as a hobby. I never worried about it because we were happy in our little 2-bedroom cottage on the hill with a view... even though it was getting mighty cramped after the arrival of our first baby. I assumed his hobby was exactly that - a hobby. Rookie mistake.

One afternoon my husband sat me down with a twinkle in his eyes, and his kindest, most compassionate tone of voice. The tone most likely to be used when he is going to ask me to think outside the box. The tone used when he knows I probably won't like what he has to say, but is hoping I will get on board with a decision of my own free will. I was not expecting what came next.

"I have been watching for investment properties while the housing market is low, but I found this property... maybe we can go see it together tomorrow... and you can think about whether or not we can move there to live for a few years while we fix it up," he said in this honey-soaked tone of voice.

What?! WHAT??!!!  Shocked. Do I seriously only have one day to think about whether I want to move to a new house, a new neighborhood, in an entirely removed community from where we have been for the past 6 years? If I don't want to move, will I dash my husband's dreams? Change is something I avoid at all costs,... and yet, we won't fit into our cute little cottage forever. Where exactly are we planning to put any of the other children we hope to have?

We made the 20 minute drive outside of town and pulled into the dusty driveway of this farm. I knew at once that my husband was suffering from tractor envy and the romantic calling of the big red barn.

I strapped 7-month-old Baby Annike into the Bjorn and toured the place with a more detailed eye. Every square inch of the house was covered in grime and wreaked of cigarette smoke. The floor plan was odd. Half of the rooms had beat up wood siding instead of dry wall. There was no landscaping. The woman of the house was wearing a large sweatshirt that said, "BITE ME" and I vaguely wondered if I might end up looking like her one day if we moved here.

This place was going to be a full-time project. Oddly though, I felt a sense of peace flooding me. Something about the property breathed life and adventure and magical moments. The lush green spring fields whispered in the breeze about a different kind of life we could lead for a while.  My friends and family would all think we'd gone crazy... but since when did I care about that?

With me on board in the decision, we made the old farmers an offer that afternoon. (Dare I say, my husband chose one flexible wife?) The market was low and the property had "potential".

Of course, to capitalize on that potential meant we needed to redo the roof, replace the windows, update the plumbing and electrical, tear out and refinish the flooring. The entire kitchen needed to be gutted and redesigned. I was personally in charge of washing down and painting every surface inside the house while my young baby played at my feet, and miraculously didn't get into much trouble. The week after we moved in, I flushed the toilet and the water backed up into our shower. Please note that this is never a good sign. It turned out the septic lines needed to be replaced too. In the end, even the one bathroom we thought would not need to be touched had a major leak. The tile was torn out and we started over. All this in the first year. (For some old "before" photos, see these posts.)

We have poured our hearts into all but the foundation of this property, reviving a dilapidated farmhouse into a place called home. It was a little fun, and a lot of hard work. Despite our emotional and physical investments, however, we never intended to stay here forever. It was an opportunity seized at a market low. It was a project tackled while we were young, strong, and wearing barn-tinted glasses. Now the time has come to sell this beautiful place. We find that along the way we have most decidedly grown attached.

I feel sad, yet willing. This season of rural life has been joyful. I will miss the magical warm evenings when we take a family walk through the oak trees. I will miss the fruit that flows in the orchard all summer long. I will miss the barn parties and hay rides. I will miss watching the mist disappear from the hilltops while I sip my morning cup of coffee. I will miss our fenced in kid-friendly backyard. I will miss these things because I have enjoyed these things over the past six years. To be sad about a passing season is to recognize that it was a good one.

The question that everyone has for us is "Why?" I can't answer that question in a clear and direct way. There are a lot of tiny little reasons that have built up to the direction of a move. None of them stand alone to support such a decision. The real reason is that God seems to be prompting us to let go of something. In the letting go, there is a type of cleansing and healing taking place in our hearts.

Together my husband and I are unified in this decision. It is one more reason that it feels right. My greatest fear is that one day we will look back at these days spent here and kick ourselves for not finding a way to hang onto the property for all of its uniqueness, knowing our children may one day want to ride their dirt bikes around and play capture the flag with their friends.

...Then the whisper to trust... and to not worry about storing up for ourselves treasures on earth because we might possibly want them again one day.

We were never meant to grow so attached to a thing in our lives that we couldn't let it go. When it comes down to it, however, I find that letting go is difficult. From small things to big things, from a set of old towels to pieces of furniture, from the toys my kids once played with to the dishes I might need again one day, from a home loved and lived in to a season of life that can never be repeated. Letting go is hard, and sometimes sad, but it is also good. Perhaps if a thing is too perfect it can become a crutch that prevents us from moving on to the next good thing that God has in store.

We are moving on to another home, another season, another set of memories. We will be closer to our daughter's school, closer to the beach, and a little closer to town. We will still have space to grow a garden and to grow our kids, but I have the feeling our days of rescuing great-horned owls and canning excess fruit grown in the yard are over. While rural living might be coming to an end, life's greatest adventures are spawned not as a result of where we live, but how we live.

I have already begun a temporary hiatus from blogging, as filling boxes becomes a priority over sitting down at the computer. I will be back when we settle into our next home, a land of less boxes and packing material, a land of new memories and new adventures.

ode to farm life

We are selling this rustic farm property, and will soon be moving closer to town. The time has come to trade it in for less land and more house. In two weeks we will close escrow and I can be a little more informative, and will share and shed my tears here with some honesty.

In the meantime, we celebrate our final spring in the country. Overdue for an animal update, here is a glimpse of our outdoor happenings this spring...

You never know what you might find under a rock. Salamanders must be one of my favorite amphibians.

There was plenty of insect life this spring, and I am sure none of them minded being caught by a proud child. 

My favorite of our animal endeavors was rescuing this juvenile red-tailed hawk from the blackberry brambles. I am not sure how this majestic bird got a thorny vine wrapped around his neck, but after untangling him he flew away with only a superficial cut.

We get excited to find these gopher snakes in the yard because, as their name implies, they hunt the plant-eating rodents that decimate our garden. Everyone wants to get in on the action.

Blue-bellied lizards run in and out of the yard. Periodically an unfortunate one gets caught.

Karsten has taken to farm life like the healthy little boy that he is. Chasing chickens is one of his more favorite activities. These feathered ladies will most certainly NOT miss him when we move.

He has developed a tractor fetish, just like his daddy.

And a mud fetish too. What little boy wouldn't? (When I wasn't looking he decided a flower pot I had just watered was as good as a swimming pool.)

Many evenings after dinner, we take our family walk around the property. I take up the rear, picking up the stragglers, snapping photos here and there, observing my sweet family as they live and grow. This is my view. The best part of this view is the part I will be taking with me when we move.

Farewell spring. Onto the season of summer! Farewell apple blossoms. Onto the fruit that follows! Farewell farm. Onto a new season bearing the fruit of our days spent here!

twelve years

Twelve years ago on the twelfth we walked an aisle, shared vows, listened to the singing of dear friends, and said "I do" to a life together.

It feels like it should be a momentous occasion to celebrate with the man who has walked beside me for the past twelve years. I have learned, however, not to let my expectations run wild on me. With three small children there are inevitable surprises and unpredictability. Celebrations will rarely live up to my expectations. I refuse to wallow in disappointment over the absence of Pomp and Circumstance for the day.
 
This anniversary arrives at the end of a very long week. A week that will be branded into my memory as one of the very most intense of my entire life. Full of emotion and friendships and company and studying for certifications and spring break and paperwork and endless cleaning and fun and stress, and thankfully no sickness. If there had been sickness it would have put me over the edge. We have had a week of Open Houses and realtors, and I have so much more to write about this as soon we will be selling our farm and home where we have lived these past 6 years. It has been a week of sadness and joy. 

And today, no, today could not be about me.

My daughter sat at the breakfast table looking at old wedding photos this morning, identifying familiar faces of friends and family among the guests, and told me, "Momma, I wish you still looked young like that!" 
 
You and me both, honey. The face I am wearing now is what 12 years of marriage with 3 children inducing 6 years of sleepless nights do to someone. It is a face with more wrinkles, now peppered with age spots, and a body with more rolls. 
 
It is also a heart filled with more love. 
It is arms filled with more hugs.
It is cheeks filled with more kisses.
It is a lap never empty.
It is bedtime full of more stories.
It is a brain invited to ever be creative.
It is a set of lungs filled with more laughter.
It is eyes that have shed more tears for the people I love.
It is more people to love, who fill my life and fill my heart.
It is death to selfishness in a way I was never capable of without this marriage, without this family.
 
Today's face sees youth passing, but you know, I wouldn't have it any other way.

P.S. We have a date set to officially celebrate our 12th anniversary later in the week. I want to make sure that no one leaves this post feeling sorry for me as I do not come anywhere close to living a deprived life. Sometimes we need to alter our perspective to get a million dollar view of all the blessings.

eggs and bunnies {repost}

The following is an Easter re-post from way back in 2010, when my first baby was one and half, and my other babies didn't exist. The connection between eggs and the resurrection story is still a little fuzzy in my head. I went hunting for this post in the archives to remember what I once knew:

The challenge as a mother is to make our holiday traditions meaningful to little children. I find that much easier at Christmas then at Easter. At least Santa was originally a saint who gave unselfishly of himself to others. What did the Easter bunny ever do for humanity, aside from gorging them with chocolate? Where do eggs fit into the Resurrection story? 

It is well-known that bunnies and eggs are a result of the merge of our Christian holiday and the pagan celebration of spring and fertility. All new life was believed to come from the egg. And rabbits, apparently, were prolific egg-layers.

I was skeptical that any legitimate link could be made between eggs and Christ. Upon researching this, however, it seems that the church made a valiant attempt at making the connection: 

• The hard shell of the egg represents the sealed Tomb of Christ.
• Cracking the eggs symbolizes Christ breaking open the Tomb, being resurrected from the dead.
• The hard-boiled egg inside of the shell is perfect, just like Christ was perfect when He exited the Tomb. (He did have scars from His piercings, so I think we can forgive ourselves if we knick the egg while trying to crack it open.)
• The egg, as mentioned above, represents new life. This life is truly found in Christ.
• The egg was a symbol of the rebirth of the earth in celebrations of spring. In the Biblical world, this translates easily as a symbol of the resurrection of Jesus.
• Traditionally, Easter eggs were dyed red to represent the blood of Christ. 

I have to say that I was surprised to realize all of the connections, because I have never been able to come up with any on my own. I find nothing wrong with the historical church attempting to be culturally relevant by using familiar symbols to teach people about what Jesus Christ did for us on the first Easter so long ago. 

My one-and-a-half year old won't understand any of this yet, so we made the connection between eggs and Jesus a different way:

Our eggs were decorated with secret messages (in white crayon) about God's love for us... things like:   

            "Jesus loves you!"   

                          "He rose again!" 

                                       "God loves Annike!"

We even got a cracked egg to say "the curtain of the temple tore in two."

Ultimately, I have decided that traditions are what we make of them. As for bunnies, I think they just come with the territory, kind of like Santa's reindeer.

Doesn't she look just like Karsten does at this age? Same shaggy white hair and blue eyes. All except for the fact that she is wearing pink. And I distinctly remember that she sat on the floor and peeled hard-boiled eggs with me for an hour. I can picture this day going very differently with Karsten: in a 60 second span my son would throw the eggs around the room and then pitch a tantrum when I took them away.

Happy Easter! He is Risen, indeed!