18 Years of Parenting

She didn't come with a set of instructions. We just sort of muddled through, picking up the details we needed to know along the way, understanding that we would make mistakes and need forgiving.

She was my first close-encounter with my very own kind of miracle. The fact of her existence, evidence of my creative power, took my breath away. Then came the mind-boggling comprehension that she was mine, yet not mine at all.

I began to understand, quite early, how quickly this was all going to happen. The years rolling one right onto another, how effortlessly she grew from a baby to one who toddles to one who speaks and dreams and continues to alter the course of our daily rituals. I'd never been more content to simply observe, to drop everything I was and become for someone else, for however long she needed me, and then I would become again.

So here we are on the first day of year 18, with all its legal significance. She can vote. She can sign her own health forms. She can serve on a jury. She can maintain her finances privately if she so desires. And while I have no worries that she is capable, I have had moments of anxiety. Have I prepared her? Was there something big and profound I was suppose to have passed along by now that maybe I have forgotten?

Yet, it is a day like any other. A day we will continue to evolve in our relationship, she and I. A day we will continue to celebrate, both individually and together. A day when we will look back on where we've been, and look forward to all there is still before us.

Today I have been a mother for 18 years.

She continues to amaze me.

Sorting through the Voices in My Head

Sometimes I find myself sorting through a whole slew of responses, inside my head, that are not actually my own. I was sitting at the table when my middle kid (age 15) came in from a bike ride this evening. I kept thinking that there was something funny about the way the light was reflecting off her hair. Her hair is generally light brown. She was blond when she was little, but it's much darker now. Finally, it hit me.

Me: Did you dye your hair red?

Middle Munchkin (big grin): Yes... Yes I did.

Inside my head, I heard my mother gasp in dismay. In her world, hair dye was made to cover grey hair, and it was supposed to look so natural that nobody suspected. To be asked if she colored her hair was an insult. Inside my head, my mother... and possible my grandmother... shook their heads and worried. Coloring one's hair... especially something wild like red... just might lead down other dangerous and forbidden roads.

Finally, I heard my own voice.

Me: Cool. It looks really good.

Having Fun

I pulled out a photo book at random. It covered most of 2007, and a bit of 2008. The hubby and I flipped through the pages, enjoying the mini walk down memory lane, wondering at how much our three children had changed in such a short amount of time. Middle Munchkin was soon looking along with us, drawn by our smiles and our laughter.

"You guys make having kids sound like fun," she said.

It is fun. It's been nothing but fun. It's still fun. I'd do it all again, if given a choice. I'd relive every moment.

Munchkin Boy & Middle Munchkin ~ 2007

A Never Ending Awe

Munchkin Boy, my baby, is thirteen now. When I back him up against the fancy-schmancey "family tree" where I've marked the tops of kid heads for nearly 18 years, he's almost 3/4 of an inch taller than he was two months ago on his birthday, which was nearly 5 inches taller than he was on his 12th birthday, which is exactly 3 inches higer than the sharpie mark designated "Tracy," added a few years ago when Munchkin #1 was eager to see if she was passing me in height. (She didn't. We are exactly the same height, though she generally has better posture than I do.)

I take pride in being a mother who pays attention, who soaks in every detail, yet I find myself sitting at the kitchen table sometimes, absorbed in something... maybe mundane or perhaps profane... and my attention is drawn by something as simple as a word or phrase...

"neural pathways"

...and I tune in to a conversation about one's taste in music being less a conscious decision than a recognition by the brain that a melody is similar or different from those you most frequently listen to.

Sometimes these moments feel like waking after a long, long sleep. Who are these people in my house? Where did they come from? How is it that they come up with all of these marvelous thoughts, all of their very own making?

I often associate this kind of awe with the early days of motherhood, days of babes in arms, a time when I simply could not get enough of holding them, watching them sleep, listening to them breathe. There is this memory of a feeling of having grown more than twice my size, on the inside, somewhere in the vicinity of my heart and my brain, struggling with the wonder that I had anything to do, at all, with someone so whole and complete and entirely independent.

I think to myself, wasn't it just yesterday? Because I thought I was doing a good job of paying attention, yet we've gotten from there to here is such a short, short time.

My attention may be drawn by the fact that his pants are too short, again, but my mind gets stuck on the fact that I am looking a full three inches up into his blue, blue eyes, that I know are the same color as mine, and have often made me think of my dad, my grandfather, in the 13 years this little big guy has been in my life.

I look up to all three of my children, my son now literally as well as figuratively.

And I continue to be filled with awe.

Thinking Out Loud About Blog Direction: Unschooling, and Life

So the hubby asked if he should take this blog off his to-read list and I said, "No. Not yet. There's still a lot of stuff bubbling around inside my head and who knows when I will decide I need a spot to put it. Yet, I recognize that my track record has been so poor, of late, that I've pretty much lost what readership I may have once had.

I've been thinking that perhaps it's time to turn the talk here back to unschooling... or raising kids and family life and personal reflections, like back in the olden days.

I started this blog in 2005, primarily as a writing blog, but quickly realized I had more I wanted to talk about so I broadened my scope. Even during my quiet periods, I've been reluctant to give up blogging all together. I think partly because so often I have regretted that I took down my original blog (called an online journal back then) from the late 1990s. Then partly, as well, because I grow frustrated with the lack of control regarding format and storage of information on Facebook. Now that I've most definitely moved my writing thoughts elsewhere, I am left mulling over where "Inside My Head" belongs in the grand scheme of things.

Rather than mull silently, I might as well share.

Here, I let my mind wander...

My children are now ages 17 (I just had to ask her to confirm that), 14, and 12. These sound like awfully big numbers to me. This means that it was 12 years ago that I did not put my first child on the big yellow school bus. I remember thinking, at that time, that I was fairly certain I was doing the right thing. Three or four years earlier I had reluctantly agreed to give homeschooling a try when it was time to send her off to kindergarten. She was about 3 when I discovered the term unschooling. I was following my gut, but also reading voraciously and engaging with total strangers in some of the most powerful, thought provoking and eye opening conversations I have been a part of my entire life.

I wrote a lot about my life with children when the kids were little. In many ways, I was documenting the details I've always been fearful would escape me. It was really no more than a continuation of habit I've pretty much had for as long as I've been able to hold a pencil, the narration of my own life. But as well, I was making a record for myself, proof that unschooling worked, perhaps, or evidence I could turn to when I came up against doubts.

Then at some point I stopped writing... or stopped sharing it, for better or worse. Overcome with shyness, perhaps, as I was introducing myself to my new community. A struggle with a bit of depression, more accurately, as I succumbed to physical roadblocks and faced the reality of my mortality. But the learning never stopped and the belief in my children and in what they were capable of never stopped growing.

In the years since I became a mother I have spent tremendous energy exploring and connecting the dots in my world, and along the way these three children of mine have become my greatest allies, my co-conspirators on this journey we call life. No longer was I testing a method of educating them, we were simply living and learning and making mistakes and celebrating successes. We were learning from each other and learning apart, and at some point I must have realized I was no longer worried about screwing things up and wishing I had done it differently. I did it exactly right, even in all the times I ended up doing it wrong. I freed myself from the bonds of traditional thinking and action, initially with regard to educating children, and it grew to be so much more than that.

Sometimes I feel as if I am still in the act of falling into something special, enabling and powerful. Most often, I feel how this way of living has become habit. It's simply the way I look at things. It's the assumptions I make about the nature of people, young and old, and how open I have come to the belief that anything is possible. When I forget this, my children are pretty good at reminding me, often through a simple act or comment that they wouldn't even note as important.

A friend recently asked me what my daughter was going to do once she graduates. I simply shrugged and said I honestly have no idea, and I know enough by now to know that it's okay. How to explain that "graduation" is a concept that really doesn't even fit our plans? Yet she is designing her graduation announcement with her own blend of wit and sarcasm thrown in, and we've spent some time brainstorming her "I'm headed out into the world" party... or not... for lack of a better term for it. She is defining her future right now and has been, and I expect she will be for many years to come. I've never been in a hurry for her to grow up and leave the nest, and I don't really expect her to slip into traditional roles that children play when she's been free of them all her life. We talk a lot about what is happening to her age-mates in public schools. We've adopted terminology over the years to help answer questions that are inevitably sometimes asked. Sometimes we use it, and sometimes we are content to shrug and simply say it doesn't apply.

I don't know that I understand any more about raising (or certainly educating) children today than I did 17 years ago when I was only just beginning. I do know that trust in yourself and trust in them is the biggest part of the puzzle. I also know that whatever you figure out with kid #1, is likely to befuddle you again when the second kid comes along. I know I am going to continue to make mistakes and so are they. I know we will learn from most of them, and some we will simply try to put behind us. I know the success and joy we experience are going to far outweigh any stumbles.

Sometimes I am still baffled that not every family chooses to live this way. Sometimes I meet someone who seems to tackle it all -- the job, the parenting, the schoolhouse, the world -- in such an impressive way that I wonder, for a moment, if I and my family might have been one of them. My children don't share these doubts. I have asked, and they have answered. Yet I ask again, and they assure me if they change their minds and want to try something more traditional, they will certainly speak up and let me know. Of that, I have no doubts. My children have learned nothing if not to speak their minds.

I am thinking I am going to spend a little time writing here about my children again. If you have any questions about unschooling, I am happy to try to answer. I can share our experiences, at the very least.

Virtual Fishing

A couple of days ago, my virtual self stood shoulder-to-shoulder with virtual Munchkin Boy as we dropped our fishing lines into the sea and watched the sun set on the horizon. I don't know what this says about me, but I think I may have actually enjoyed it more than I would have enjoyed the real thing.

Munchkin Boy has been playing a game called Minecraft for more than a year now. A cousin introduced him to the game at a family gathering last year and he's been hooked ever since. The whole thing remained a mystery to me -- at least until a couple of days ago. We were haggling, as our family often does, and I exchanged with him an activity I really wanted to do for an activity he really wanted to do.

It's an interesting setup as we can sit across the table from each other and each play on our own computer. We are playing in the same virtual world, however. To lure me initially, he told me we could create a factory where we write and print our own books. Yep, the idea of being a virtual author is intriguing enough I accepted!

It's a process, as we've started on an island with very little to offer, we've had to explore and/or mine to collect the supplies we need to craft the tools to create the... I hope this gives you an idea. The first day I got to swim long distances and play with tentacled creatures that swim in the sea. I learned to make a crafting table and a furnace, a wooden pick ax and a torch. I'm now up to shovels, swords and cobblestone slabs (they make nice roofs and steps). Yesterday, I worked on creating a circular mine shaft that takes us deep under the ground. I learned to catch and cook fish, grow and chop down trees, and I picked flowers for the fun of it.

I have to admit, I've found myself puzzling, many times, about the benefits of all this virtual activity. My butt has remained rooted in a chair throughout, after all, and I've pondered why I don't have the gumption to put this kind of time into fixing my real roof which still leaks after our numerous attempts at fixing it. Numerous... at least if you count all the years back. Last year my efforts involved making sure someone had the bucket properly placed under the leak when it rained. I haven't figured out how to build a bucket in Minecraft yet, but I built a chest to hold all the treasures I collect.

This morning, Munchkin Boy became my real life track partner. We were out dark and early and I enjoyed his company immensely. This was our exchange -- some game playing for some track circling. It's a win-win. He's happy; I'm happy. And as an unexpected bonus, I've found that tossing my line into virtual waters and watching a block-shaped sun sink beneath the horizon is as relaxing (perhaps even more so on a cold night like tonight) than the real thing.

Tonight I learned to take virtual photos.

Fishing with Munchkin Boy. I'm the one with blue eyes. He tells me his skin is green because he is a zombie.  You can see our house on the left. The cobblestone wall is a protected tunnel that leads to the sea so that we can fish at night without having to worry about fighting with spiders and other creepy things that apparently spawn in the darkness.

Watching the sun rise. Our tree far is to the left and you can see the bricks of our home at the right edge.

Improvements in Texting

My Munchkin Girl has been away visiting family and friends. Seems like she goes away more and more these days. She's got plans this year to do some traveling. A train trip and an across the ocean trip, as well as a camp or two. Luckily, I'm included in some of those trips. She's got wings. That girl is going places. But Momma still gets to go along sometimes. She's growing, growing, grown... but she's not gone. Not long term, anyway. Not yet.

Her last road trip, I asked her to send me a text each day. I don't worry about her when she's away, but it is nice to hear from her. Last year, when she went to Delaware for a week, she and I didn't communicate at all. She had a phone and I kept my phone on me. I think we both had the idea that we could communicate if the need was there, but we didn't. At the end of the week, while I was waiting to pick her up, another girl's mom was telling me how she heard from her daughter 3 or 4 times a day. Calls and texting. We don't do a lot of that around here. I guess I'm the mom who always assumes everything is good, unless I hear otherwise. I don't expect reports. I just keep the phone near in case anything needs to be reported.

So when she laughed at me and asked why I would want a text each day, I said (not seriously) that I didn't want to have to be jealous that the other kids called home and talked to Mom each day. I didn't want to have to admit to other moms that I'd heard nothing and I was just assuming all was well.

She did text and it was fun to hear from her. And she's done it most days this time, as well. And the bonus, for me, is that I may finally be figuring out this whole texting thing. I sent a couple of notes long enough this time they cost me 2/3 of a minute rather than 1/3. I've almost got the pauses and the number of taps down pat for every letter of the alphabet. I text without apostrophes, because getting to the apostrophes exhausts me, but I'm picking up speed. I'm growing more confident in my ability to make that silly little phone speak my language -- written language.

Going to pick her up tomorrow. Looking forward to having her home again. Looking forward to hearing all of her stories. Looking forward to hearing her voice rather than reading her texts.

16 Candles

No cake yet, but Munchkin #1 is 16 today.

16 is a little hard for me to wrap my head around.

I remember 16.

16 was two years from leaving home.

16, in fact, was my first extended stay--an entire summer--away from home.

16 was boys as friends and what felt like a constantly broken heart.


16 was four years from getting married.


That was my 16, not hers. Likely, she does it different. Maybe, she does it better. Probably, she makes her own mistakes. Absolutely, she has her own victories.

16 is hard to wrap my head around, but I'm excited for her, all the same.

16 is pretty wonderful, and so is she.

Wireless Once Again

In spite of my last post, I am once again wireless. Therefore, perhaps, ruined as a writer...

--insert grin here--

At least I have an excuse again should I decide I need it.

Munchkin Boy has apparently missed having a wireless connection to his Wii more than I knew. He ran errands with me today and one of our stops was the office supply store. He requested that we swing by the wireless routers. Then, he proceeded to pull cash out of his wallet and buy one.

Wow! He still had cash from Christmas and he's been working at the office (cleaning for the building owner). I didn't realize he had saved so well.

Timeless Tuesday: Still Growing

Sometimes when I think about my family, about who I am and who they are, this is where my head goes. I first remember these little people. I think of this adventure into motherhood as a new thing, something I am just starting and learning and figuring out. Then I take a moment to blink, to look around, to pull myself from the sleepy dream-state I am in and I remember that this picture is the past.  

More often I am struck by how their lives run independent from mine. I used to have three kids who relied on me for everything from getting the bath water temp just right to tying shoelaces and fixing every meal. I was that home-birthing, sling-wearing, breast-feeding, family-bed-sharing, not-spanking, not-schooling mom who had the luxury of wrapping myself up in the act of growing a family and making a home.

Now I have two teens and one well on the way there. I can go for months without even looking at shoelaces and they make my meals/snacks as often as I make theirs. When my kids were still little people, I sometimes wondered where all of this was headed. What would they become? What would they make of who I was and the role I played in who they became? I didn't always appreciate that I was still growing up and growing into what I was going to be, as well.

Still growing. All of us. Still becoming, every day.

Belated Public Birthday Wishes

Little Boy Munchkin turned 11 earlier this month. We still have some celebration plans upcoming, but the date has officially passed. He made a great strawberry cake with cream cheese frosting for the big event.

Obligatory photo slide show (with music) including his 11th birthday photo, which we took early, or at the same time as his sister's 13th birthday photo, which we took late this year. It gets harder and harder to obsessively document my family's maturation as they get older and busier:

So the photo slide show is disappointingly pixelated, but it was free from Kodak.

Something new for me this year was purchasing a gift where I had absolutely no idea what I was buying. He wanted a video capture card, so I had to say, "Pick it and send me a link." I'm still not entirely sure of its purpose, but I'm sure I will learn soon enough.

Here's the whole collection of 2011 photos of my munchkins.

A Happy 13th Birthday

Miss Middle Munchkin enters teen-hood today. Her dad told her this morning that it was weird she was turning 13 because he'd been thinking of her as 13 for so long now. She said, "Me, too. Since about the beginning of August." Of course, we've always been about spreading out the celebrations, so the first gift arrived a few weeks back and we will have additional "parties" when grandparents return to town, a gathering with friends later, and she and her sister are still looking for that perfect concert to attend.

She pulled out a letter this morning that she wrote to herself last year on her 12th birthday. I was unaware of this gift, but it was pretty neat and I am wondering if it wouldn't be a good idea for all of us to spend a little time conversing each year with future selves. In her letter, her 12-year-old self made a list of things she hoped her 13-year-old self was doing.

One line reads, "Working hard. I don't really care what you're working at, as long as you care about it." (shared with permission)

Perhaps I am in love with this line so much because it sounds like something I would say. Throw your passion into whatever it is you decide to do. Let what you care about guide you; don't worry about what other folks care about.

Now on my list are birthday photos (times two!) Munchkin #1 has managed to avoid hers for MONTHS now. I've got to figure out how to reconcile MY passion for documenting her every year with her less-than-enthusiastic response to another set of photos in which she is still wearing braces.

A Friday Evening

3,000 words added to my work-in-progress.

A clean kitchen, even after a wonderful meal. (It was Taco Bar this evening! - Fresh pico from homegrown tomatoes, lean beef with fresh and local veggie crumbles for the carnivores, and my specialty -- refried black beans...)

Card night with the in-laws.
____________________

Overheard:

Munchkin Boy to Middle Munchkin: "Wanna do something?"

M.M. to M.B. "Like what?"

M.B. to M.M. "Play a game, build a course of dominoes, or maybe come up with a plan to rule the world."

____________________

How I Know They are Listening

Munchkin #1 enjoys baking. Cookies, pies and other delectable treats are among her favorite things to make. This is good for me. The only thing better than having homemade goodies in the house is having homemade goodies in the house that someone else makes for you.

Over the past couple of years, Munchkin #1 has experimented with things like dipping her treats in chocolate and occasionally tweaking recipes so that they include things like whole wheat.

Yesterday, she made caramels.

My weakness is caramel... more than chocolate, more than tart fruity flavors... I love caramel.

And this caramel, she informed me, was made with cream from a Kansas dairy and local honey. No high fructose corn syrup.

This is how I know they are listening. My girl came up with a "healthy" caramel recipe. One I can fully support.

Her plan today is to insert those caramels (those I didn't eat yesterday) into some sort of chocolate cookie.

Did I mention?  YUM

From Game Maker to Game Tester

Several years ago Munchkin Boy and I downloaded a game making program. This was one of those things that he really wanted to do and I did my best to be supportive. He wasn't reading yet, so his making games required me reading the directions. It was a slow process and I was easily confused, but we did end up successfully creating a couple of basic games.

His interest in game making passed to interest in other things.

A couple of days ago, he started talking about that program and about making games again. When I got up this morning (5am!) he was already up working on a new game. I actually thought maybe he had stayed up all night, but, no, he slept, and got himself up at 4 this morning. He tells me, "It's great getting up so early. I had the computer to myself. I got so much work done!"

He's always been an early riser, but the wee early morning hours have long been my own time. It's going to be an adjustment, sharing this space and time of day if he decides to make a habit of it. On the other hand, he's making games and I'm no longer reading directions and trying to make my brain think in ways it simply does not. (It was probably more about interest than ability, but still...) In fact, as he's talked about his progress in the last 24 hours, he's saying, "remember this and remember that" and I truly have no memory of the process. Just the fact that we did it -- together. The details of how the program worked all fell out of my head as quickly as I had accomplished the task at hand.

He remembered, though, and he is now building on what he remembered and adding new information to his arsenal. Yesterday afternoon he spent some time on some Wii games that he hasn't touched in quite a while. He told me he was looking at games differently now. What makes a game good? What makes a person want to keep playing it?

I am struck once more by how this role of mine is constantly changing. I can maintain interest in game making from a distance now. I am no longer required to read directions or help figure numbers. There is a sense of relief, yet I know that my children aren't done asking me to step outside of my own comfort zone or area of mastery in order to help them find their own.

It would have been easy, several years ago, to say, "You're not ready to make a game yet. You'll have to wait until you are older." If a mother isn't there to help fill in the blanks when you aren't quite ready to go it alone, what is a mother for?

Had his interest back then gone much deeper or longer, I probably would have looked for someone, another resource, to fill in the blanks more capably than I could myself. Figuring out how to best facilitate has always been the challenge.

At the same time, I feel a bit wistful for those days when we'd work on making a game together until my head hurt and I had to take a break. I miss the way he'd sit beside me and lean into me with the weight of his whole body when he was absorbing new information. I miss the way he'd get impatient for the action part of the activity and would distract me from the task at hand with his chatter and ideas.

Oh wait... he still does that...

I miss when we had weeks-long projects that required the two of us, head-to-head, to get it accomplished.

Now I can test completed games and provide feedback. I can be a person he bounces ideas off, and I will enjoy this role for as long as it lasts, for my sophistication as a game player may not meet his criteria for long.

For now, he can make games and I can play them, and whatever we do tomorrow... in the future... will be a learning experience for both of us.

How Not to Cook a Radish

I woke up this morning to the sound of the fire alarm going off in the kitchen. I wasn't terribly concerned. I could hear that someone was moving about it there, and the fire alarm, in our house, is often simply kind of a really annoying meal-time bell. I was kind of hoping that I had awaken to pancakes in the making, but when I walked into the room, Munchkin Boy said, "Mom! I've discovered two ways NOT to fix a radish."

At that point I decided I didn't especially want to be invited to partake in his breakfast.

Radishes are not good fried, apparently, and boiled radishes are less than appealing, according to my son. We'd already eaten them raw on salad, fresh from the farmers market. That was a dish he enjoyed, but he is always the boy looking for a more creative way to serve food.

"Did you try the radish sandwich?" I asked.

He turned his nose up. I explained that my father's favorite way to eat a radish was to slice it on a piece of bread with butter. "That just sounds wrong," my son said, but he agreed to try it anyway.

Later he told me, "Mom, I should have learned by now. When you make suggestions, they are usually good ones."

I told him I appreciated his confidence. "I guess I've had an extra 30 years," I told him, "Of learning how not to fix a radish."

But that boy still teaches me new things every day.

Leeks and Rutabagas

It's become clear to me that I've made a terrible, tremendous parenting mistake. I don't think it's undoable, either. My kids are extremely comfortable in the kitchen, you see. They plan meals, they make meals, they... experiment with foods and... encourage me try new things.

I can't say why they do this. I never made them sit at the table until they cleaned a plate. I never forced veggies. I never withheld desserts. It's true, a couple of times I might have slipped into some of my mother's old grooves and demanded they have a bite (a single bite!) of something I made that ended up looking unappetizing to one or another of them. Every mom has her not-so-proud moments.

Food in our house, like everything, has been part of the ongoing conversation. Why did we join the CSA? Why do we shop the farmers market before making meal plans? Why do we "fill in" with what we do and why do we avoid certain foods (mostly). Are we, indeed, what we eat? And why would it be better to be a carrot than a Cheeto?

A while back Middle Munchkin served us a meal called Hobo Pie. It was a vegetarian fare involving leeks and rutabagas. I can't tell you if I'd ever eaten leeks before. Possibly, but they aren't something I go out of my way for. I can tell you that rutabagas are not at the top of the list of foods I want to be. I've been known to eat a turnip, but don't go out of my way for them.

Munchkin Boy has been cooking quite a bit, of late. He's now into tweaking recipes and inventing his own. He's had several winners, and a couple of losers. (We dehydrated the split pea mush soup with the idea that maybe we could use it to "flavor" egg noodles.) Jury is still out on that one.

Last weekend when we were putting together the grocery list, I have to admit that I cringed when he asked his sister where she found that Hobo Pie recipe. It was actually a decent meal, but it didn't move me to long for leeks and rutabagas. It looks as if they will be on the table again tonight, however.

He's making what he is calling Tamale Muffins.

As much as I loved those tamales (they were one of his winning dishes) I'm a little anxious about this new recipe. I will try it, like a good mom, and I will give my honest feedback.
____________________

Update: Tamale Muffins were a hit. I ate three of them, and now I'm craving more.

A Hole in the Yard

My son is digging a hole in the back yard. I've never seen him happier, and it is contagious. His sister joined him about mid-way through the day and now this hole in the back yard has become a project between the two of them. It's a deep hole. Good sized. Out of the way of utilities (I'm pretty sure -- I had them marked when we moved here and I sent him to a space I remember as clear.)

Hubby comes home and son says, "Come out and see!"

Friends come over and son says, "Come on out and see!"

Sister wanders through the house and he says, "Come see! It's a hole. I've made a big hole in the yard."

There is a little part of me that wishes I had some need for a hole in the yard. Yes, I would like to say, put the hole there where we will build a swimming pool, or a duck pond, or a water snake garden. But I have no real need for holes in my yard. And I don't want to risk narrowing his joy by insisting this hole become something practical.

Maybe he will plant a tree. Maybe he will build a fort. Maybe he will find a huge and wonderful dinosaur fossil. Maybe he will sit in his hole and contemplate the workings of the universe.

Maybe he will simply find satisfaction in a big hole, dug well.

Here we snow again.

I peeked out the window at a quarter till 4 this morning (thanks, cat) and saw that there was no (new) snow on the ground. Sigh. Maybe they were wrong. At 5:15, it was snowing pretty good. By the time we left the gym this morning, it was pretty clear that the weathermen had called it correctly. Snow. Snow. Snow. Snow. Snow.

Tomorrow we get to shovel.

That's okay... shoveling is good exercise.

Munchkin Boy and I put up lights for plants in his room today. He's eager to start seeds for his garden, which we have sketched plans for (including a timeline for planting and... if all goes well... harvesting). He made our supper for this evening, as well. Cream of Split Pea Soup and he has baked some yeast bread with ham and cheese inside. He's been watching online episodes at The Perennial Plate and has been inspired. He seems to have developed some talents in the bread making department. He asked me this morning how many loaves he would have to make before the family stopped eating them right out of the oven. He is thinking he would like to bake all our bread (okay by me!) and is wondering how long it will be before the family stops treating it like a favorite dessert. Hard to tell.

Did I mention it is snowing again?

Happy 10th Birthday to My Munchkin Boy

Ten years ago today the longest pregnancy ever (I'm pretty certain) ended in the shortest delivery (he was in a hurry to join us) and this fabulous little man became part of my life. 

I am one lucky Momma.