Oh, Baby, Baby

About a month ago, John and I were unloading our circus all the children from the van when a lady called out to us from a few cars down.  As anyone with more than two children knows, people in public places are willing to share their unsolicited opinions about the size of your family, and these opinions are generally negative, even if implicit or well-meaning. So as she called out, I slightly braced myself for what I anticipated hearing.

Bless her bones.  I heard no, "Wow!  You've got your hands full!" or "I sure couldn't do it!" or "Do you know what causes that?" or "Man, I can't stand having even TWO; I don't know you do it." or any of the hackneyed phrases that I grew tired of hearing years ago.  No, this middle-aged woman surprised me with a big grin and a loud, "THANK you!"   She went on to say that it was so good to see a large family out in public and that she missed seeing more than one in a blue moon.  She continued talking, and I listened with my jaw on the ground, until I remembered to thank her in return.  Her words were refreshing and encouraging and totally unexpected.

Now, we do get positive comments quite a bit, mixed in with the rude gaping and muttering, but these comments are usually along the lines of how well-behaved, polite, and beautiful (?) our children are, which I think is less a reflection on our girls and Zeke and more a statement on how far the general populace has fallen, with its unrestrained and ugly screaming tantrums in the grocery line and the just as unrestrained, ugly responses by parents who should love better, but who, for whatever reason, don't.  Our family is flawed, like all families, but people usually expect the worst when they see half a dozen children out together.  I want to help people expect more.

I have a string of responses for those comments these days and offer them like a reflex.
"You sure have your hands full!"
Yes, happily so!

"Wow, that's a heckuva lot of kids."
Yup, they're wonderful!

"I sure couldn't do it."
I don't do it well half the time, either, but they're worth it!

"Do you know what causes that?"
You bet!  Why do you think we have so many? Or there's John's usual response: Ummm.  No....but I'm gonna keep trying until I find out.

"What's in your water?"
Something AWESOME, obviously!

And, no, my husband doesn't make much money, though he's right where he should be (about $11/hour minus taxes & insurance is modest, right?), and, no, we're not on government assistance (and yet we still have brimful bellies), and, no, a rich uncle didn't leave us a chest full o' gold (where is that uncle with his chest full of gold?), and, yes, we have more than enough.  This is a testament to the wealth of our country, our daily choices to live simply and work well, the love of others, and, over and through it all, God's open hand of provision.

These are all Pollyanna responses and don't show the full, messy picture of life as a mama of many, with all my sorry screw-ups, but I weary of strangers complaining about their children-- to me or to whomever they're with, and usually with their children listening-- and I don't want my children to hear anything of the kind.  Instead, I want them to know, bone-deep, that they are precious, they are valued, they are loved, and that their Creator-God named them before He even shaped the world.  They are not accidents; they are not a result of irresponsibility or oversight. They were deliberately knit together by their Father, and they are welcome in our hearts and lives.

I've briefly touched before on the fact that John and I accept the children that God gives, without too much elaboration because this blog's not designed for debates people love to scrap about, no matter how deeply held the belief.  All this to say, in brief:  We are honored to accept this little soul.  May God protect him or her in the womb and out, and may He give us the grace and wisdom to be better than we are.

Oh, yeah.   If you think of it the next time you see a large family out and about, give them a big grin and a thumbs-up from me, will you?  Trust me, they'll love you for it.

And thank you all for your big grins and thumbs-ups!  We love you for it.

The Way Home

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With windrows eventually curving back to where I begin,  I use the newly mown field as a track, and over stubble my legs move in steady rhythm, unbroken save where an odd branch or dip forces my stride.  It's August ending, and my feet raise life.  Strikingly bright against the grass, swallowtails eddy upward from my wake, and grasshoppers slice sideways through the air before my foot falls. Without warning, I'm surprised by a strange and momentary pang, a quick flood of regret that I'm outside of this seasonal cycle, like a clumsy giant who disrupts everything by simply walking in the room.

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I wrote that a month ago, before the harvest poured in, and I stopped running for two and a half weeks to make room for the flood of ending-summer chores.  Last night I ran again for the first time.  It doesn't take much to change the face of things; two and a half weeks is all.   A few weeks ago, I ended my run in full light, and now I end in darkness.  Night peels back the layers and leaves the beautiful bones of things.  It began with a tawny harvest moon hanging low, balanced large and heavy on the eastern horizon, offset by the last smoky line of sunset burning in the west.  As I ran to the crest of the hill, a shooting star streaked past.  On my return, one bat darted overhead, and I saw the dim outline of a buck pooled in black, frozen in my path but bounding away when he saw I wouldn't yield.

If it weren't for the huffs and puffs of lazy lungs, it would have been a charmed night. 


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And, now, two weeks after I wrote that, running is a foggy memory, I'm ten pounds heavier than I was at summer's end (but I feel at least twenty pounds heavier), and I huff and puff simply moving up the stairs.  There'd better be a biiig baby in here...

Wait-- what?!

Shoot.  I guess that's an announcement, then. 
 
:)

A Walk to Find Fall

Those observant among you will notice that while I have only a fistful of pictures to show for the entire month of September, I took a slew of them over a two-day period of October.  Sorry.  I'm unbalanced like that.  Fall is my favorite season, and October is my favorite month.  These two truths, combined with the fact that I was actually outside of the house instead of cloistered indoors, overcame me.

We awoke to a day that smelled like Indian Summer, all smoky and crunchy and windy and warm, so we skipped hlearning and walked in the woods all afternoon instead.  I came home without a single ounce of energy left to spare, but it was worth it, and then some besides.

We walked through the field, entered the Big Woods, played in the creek, crossed the ravine, and came up the other side to find the Camel Tree and a bed of moss on which to read and snack.  (Always bring snacks.  Always.)

Annie wanted to take a picture of Zeke and his precious wild apple.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let's Feed the Horses

Okay.

 


 

Save Some for the Squirrels

Everything glowed golden, and hickory nuts fell from the sky and made us duck.  The children munched wild apples and hulled nuts while I did nothing but take pictures.

And, yes, we saved some for the squirrels.

 

Sorry for the over-saturation of these pictures.  I guess Pip's and Annika's garish monochromaticity  was too much for my camera's capabilities.  Yikes!

 

 

 

 

 

 

After filling a basket with nuts, we walked into the woods to gather materials for fairy terrariums.

 

In case you want to do the same, be aware that moss and sundries will spring up everywhere.