stop and smell

In the midst of an abundance of craziness and abnormal levels of stress, our little Gentleman has taken to reminding us to slow down, and that life cannot be put on hold until ____ is over.  We may be up to our eyebrows in boxes and tape and missing (?!) sharpies, but he's going to choose this moment to start crawling anyway.  I'm learning (slowly) to be more fully present even when my lists and my brain are looking long and daunted.  I suppose that's part of how motherhood is teaching me to be more like God.  Not too many years ago I would have been significantly more hyperventilation-prone through this process than I am today.  But, judging by my snappy mom voice in this clip, I've still got a lot of learning to do.



Early tomorrow morning we ride, and officially change addresses.  It's actually a messy convoluted gypsy-like weekend we have ahead of us, but for all intents and purposes today is the last where I call my parent's house "home."

when it's so good to be me....

Sunday morning at our house finds.....



rub-a-dub-dub two brothers in a tub
it's their boat sailing out to sea.
With a stick for a pole, and their fishing nets full
of paper fish caught for me!



(Somehow I made too many boutonnieres for yesterday..... I shall have to be more careful in the future, and triple check the amount before I commence with the gluing). Sir O's survived about 3 minutes of church, the Captain's is still intact on his lapel.

the heavy side

I've had an abundance of difficult things to contemplate in the miniature moments between tasks these days.



One of my little sister's friends committed suicide last week.  With my parents unreachable in Guatemala I've been left to feebly succor a steady stream of hysterical teenagers.  Not a comfortable job, that one.  I'm a little too prone to feeling other people's pain nearly as deeply as though it were my own.  I involuntarily dole out empathy in spades, and I wipe myself out emotionally and leave Mr Renn to mop the mess of me up off the floor.

I keep finding out about people I at least marginally love who quit when I'd prefer they persevered -  in their marriages, in their parenting, in their religion, and in living their lives.   And I cannot help getting overwhelmingly sad over it sometimes.  Perhaps these are the last days when men's hearts shall fail them.  (Mr Renn's Grandma, after her recent heart-attack, decided to change that scripture to "men's hearts shall have stents".... I smile.)


There is so little of life we can truly wrap our brains around.  And persevering in anything that makes live mean something requires an element of faith.  There's such a lot of lovely things to have faith in.  Faith in ourselves, in the future, in others, in love.......  But my favorite is always faith in God.  It tends to make everything okay even when it's not okay in the least.  Miraculous stuff; faith.  Perhaps I ought to peddle it more often.

I don't presume that anyone's problems could be fixed with "more faith".  But I'm able to not be consumed by my problems or the reality of others' problems and choices only because of my faith.  I think, so long as I don't neglect it, I have a gift of faith in a God who loves perfectly and who plans perfectly, and who knows better than me what really ought to be endured.  I trust Him.  Even when it hurts.  Even when it means a few loose ends where I can't get a perfectly satisfactory answer to my quandaries.  It has to be difficult to have faith.  Otherwise it wouldn't be faith at all.



Are you in the thick of some sad spots too?  I find that most people are.  How do you keep on with them tugging at your heart?

June loves me

I stole more moments from today than was prudent to just enjoy June.



 With the exception of our neighbor's cottonwood tree shedding malicious fluff all over the place it is downright pleasant to be outside right now.  It smells like summer should.  And both the good and the bad news are that the strawberries in my parents' yard are galloping toward ripe.

Picking strawberries is one of those perfectly idyllic activities that everyone in our family loves.... in small doses.  There may be no more satisfying sound than the zippy snap of a perfectly ripe strawberry that lets go of it's stem with ease when tugged on.  We all seem to adore plucking in 5 minute increments.  Longer than that and it is at risk of becoming a chore.



The smell that's leaving hints in the kitchen as the boys bring me present-piles of a dozen berries here and there is sweetness personified.  It's all accumulating into a mound of fleshy rubies, from which we nibble when we think no one is watching.  And I would love love love to put my life on hold to make some jam.  But this is not a terribly convenient moment for jam-making.
Remember, wedding?  moving?  
Yeah.
So I reluctantly send myself inside the house to work.  But I have trouble disciplining my kids for sneaking back outside to play.  It's pretty irresistible out there.

hop on pop

Father's day was lovely and largely unorthodox in our corner.  Mr Renn managed to be showered with gifts, but not so much with attentiveness.  There was no special meal preparation by this lady.  Um, oops?  My brain isn't working so well with the threat of the impending "wedding/move/wedding" crunch.  The to-do list constantly running through my head is long and complex enough to scare off any constructive linear thoughts or thoughtfulness.  Among other unfortunate effects this means I didn't pull out the camera until late at night when the kids had been put to bed.  No cute photo of Mr Renn and the boys all in matching bow-ties.  Use your imagination for me, will you?

I still dare to hope that will improve in a matter of weeks.

In the meantime. Mr Renn has a shiny new ice cream maker and an iron to brand his steaks with.  Dreamy, I know.



We got to visit with Mr Renn's family and celebrate his dad a bit, and my own dad is off celebrating his 30th anniversary and traipsing about ancient ruins in central America.  I can only trust he had a good Father's day and will not be too disappointed if we have to celebrate him upon his return.  I just hope he packed plenty of sunscreen and imitrex.

And now, due to the brain problem described above, all I can think about are the nearly 300 origami cherry blossoms I have to get wired tomorrow.  You don't want to follow me there, so I'll graciously end this post.  Now.

Revenge of the lists

Things are in a state of stressballs around here. It's all happy and constructive stressballs, but the effect is still about the same. Trying to round up all of our belongings and wrangle them into boxes is proving about as fun as it sounds. Trying to change health and auto insurance, arrange moving logistics, determine whether Mr Renn has an adequate wardrobe for a non-scrubs job (and he HATES buying clothes), secure malpractice and disability insurance, and try not to suffocate at the thought of paying for all of that PLUS making payments on all those implacable student loans.  Lean years ahead folks, (and weren't those lean years behind?)
(Oh, and a wedding next weekend, with another July 7)

And despite how tricky I expect this move to be, I'm antsy to get it going.  I'm excited to open boxes and see things I've been missing.  I'm excited in a twisted way to figure out exactly how outrageous my cookbook collection has become.  Mr Renn and I are both anxious to be able to invite people over for dinner parties again.   And to get our food storage assessed and growing again.  And to get our own grocery ads, and generally just have our own address.

It will take a good long while to get totally settled, we left most of our furniture in PA and our picky selves will be starting over on a whisper thin budget.  Craigslist is my friend, or will be once I'm not longer scolded for looking with "we don't want to have to move that."  So let's get moved and figure out exactly what we need (besides more bookshelves, that will be a given forever more) and get our house in order.  I want a home-base solid enough that we have the resources to be useful to people besides ourselves.

It could happen.

What stresses you out the most about moving?  Clearly for me it's packing with 3 small sick kids and knowing I'll be living in an essentially unfurnished space for months after we're there.

But but but

My kids will have a yard on a quiet street to transform into a whole world.  I should be able to keep tabs on their whereabouts with considerably less effort than it takes now.  I'll have dedicated space to sand and paint and otherwise recreate furniture as my budget allows, and we'll be able to park both vehicles in the garage for the first time ever.  Snowy winter mornings won't seem nearly so onerous.   Renn's work will be so close by that we'll get at least 15 more hours with him every week.    There is so much to be excited about.



And in the meantime I have a Sir O who, even when sick, forages in the yard a picks a bouquet for me once or twice a day.  There are always just enough moments like these to make me believe he really is my child and really will be the best of company forevermore.

promises, promises

My self-imposed parenting rule is that I will not make promises that I don't fully intend to keep.  I'm doing pretty good at this when it comes to punishment-type promises.  Reward-type promises are proving more elusive.



Sir O has begged on multiple occasions to go visit his "chickies" that live only 3 houses down the road.  For 2 months he has begged and only today did I make it happen.  We won't delve into the parenting guilt involved with that.  The chicks are doing splendidly, and are easy to spot.  Now that all their feathers are in, they are the only white ones in the entire bunch.  They're not entirely grown up, but they are a far cry from fluffy yellow baby chicks.  Once they are large enough to keep from being bullied by the old lady chicks, they'll be completely free range and have almost half an acre to themselves.





While we were there we also got to visit the horses, pregnant sheep, and some newborn cows.  My boys both bonded something fierce with the resident border collie, and we were invited all the way back to the flower garden where the irises and peonies were popping in full force.  My kids were insane, but there was room for them to be insane, and I was yet again convinced that my boys need to spend about a million times more of their hours out of doors. (Which means, yes, more parenting guilt).







While Mr Renn shows no signs of ever considering keeping animals (I'm waiting until our Captain is old enough to beg with persuasive arguments for a puppy.  Between his utter delight in the company of animals and his own puppy dog eyes he's sure to be the one to win Renn over) we have a mutual desire to live on enough land to at least nominally attempt homesteading.  Outings like today's remind us both how much we'd like that.  We shall see.

for the record

In case it should ever be wondered about, our gentleman is the most delightful and mellow tiny man this world has ever seen.



And I am loving every minute of it.  We all are.

A happy sadness

Today/Tomorrow (Friday) we are headed south to celebrate an "angel-versary".  It's been 1 year since baby Jonas was delivered as a still-birth, and it seems like an important time to help his family develop some peace-filled traditions.



When I spoke with his mom back in March she told us that when she was initially grieving the loss of getting acquainted with Jonas' personality in this life, she received a distinct impression that Jonas loves chocolate and baseball.  So guess what I'm bringing to the party?  These are Rose Levy Beranbaum's Designer Chocolate Baby Grands covered in almond bark.  Because chocolate ganache and glaze, while decadent, cannot be made to look like a baseball.  And that was important here.
If anyone else out there is looking for ways to be supportive of friends and loved ones who are enduring such a loss, this is a great resource.  For our gathering we'll be releasing balloons with letters to Jonas, and painting his name on rocks and anything else that falls in our wake.  Also, everyone present gets to blow out a birthday candle.  Hopefully this is the start of something good, if sad.

housekeeping

I've been looking into options for a more sophisticated comment platform.  I'm not sure why, since my commenting readership has been cripplingly poor lately.  Nevertheless, take a look and see if you think it's navigable.  And perhaps take a moment to tell me what sort of things compel you to comment on a blog.  That's a groove I seem to have lost long ago.

progress

I've got a rental agreement in my hot little inbox.

I'm just beginning to emotionally believe that this "living with the parents" chapter of our lives is ending.  Consequently, I'm finally motivated to pack up in earnest.  For how much I abhor packing, I sure seem to have to do it a lot.  By the end of May my goal was to pack up most of our books (I started!), break down the Captain's crib/toddler bed (done), and sweep the house for our belongings that have migrated outside of our designated space. (Done, but will need done again.  And again....)  We also packed up our toys, which might seem premature, but there are lots of toys that live at Grandma's house, and they boys haven't complained once.
This week I hope to finish packing books, pack up all of our dishes and pantry belongings, and pack up my craft closet.  After that we'll be moving into a higher gear.

We've had an abundance of wrenches thrown in our gears and have yet to be able to find a plausible move date.  I will regardless have a wedding right before and right after the move.  When July 8 rolls around, I expect to disappear in a heap of crashing and nesting.  I am looking forward to it and fully expect to relish it to bits.

Saturday, as I prepared to dash out the door for a day of house-hunting, I decided to check the online classifieds one last time to see if anything new had come up since the night before.  I already had a list of more than 25 houses to look at (and we came nowhere near getting to all of them) so I'm not sure why I felt compelled to consider adding more.  But there was one new listing that morning, and when we stopped by that house, we liked it enough to call the number, and the owner sounded excited to hear from us and drove right over to show us through the house.  We stayed for almost 2 hours and our search went no further.  (Which is good, the whole process was beginning to make us both uber-ornery).

(the back yard)

Assuming things go as planned (which I try to never assume with too much emotional investment), we'll have a house in a lovely neighborhood on a quiet street (we didn't see a single car drive by while we were there) with almost 1/2 acre, 3 fruit trees, grape vines, berries, rhubarb(!), and a large garden plot (that already has some volunteer pumpkins growing in it).  Along with flower beds full of the sort of loveliness you don't regularly find in Utah yards(double peonies, lots of clematis, columbines, and a whole row of irises).  The house has never been rented before and there are no other rentals in the neighborhood.  The neighbor over the back fence gives away gobs of garden produce and eggs from their chickens.  It's ridiculously close to Mr Renn's work and Sir O's preschool.  It seems like a pretty marvelous fit.  I've had more than one vision of myself making and canning jam in the kitchen.  It's not perfect, but it's certainly more than adequate.

So on the one hand, I have so much to do in the month of June that I need time to slow down.  On the other hand, I am so excited at the prospect of mid-July that it can't come fast enough.   Somewhere between the two is my stop-and-go reality and my emotional whiplash.  My plate is very full, but it's full of good things.  Now, back to work.

theme song

Our Captain is not very wordy, and it follows that he doesn't often sing.  Only very rarely when we have singing time in nursery or at home does he chime in with a word here or there.  But there is one song, in all the world, that he lurves.  It happens to drive me batty, and it wouldn't be my pick.  But when he starts singing it on his own when the whole family is in the car, it sort of makes Mr Renn smile at me and remark that our kids are so cute.  This is by no stretch his most verdant or enigmatic rendition, but it IS the one that he gave when I actually remembered to pull out a camera and capture it.  I expect to be immensely glad to have this someday.

cake lady

Craziness still abounds in my corner.  Our days are full of un-fun ventures like choosing private health insurance. I made some Strawberry Rhubarb pie today in a miniature effort to make my life seem fun.  My grandma has an ancient volunteer rhubarb plant that has lived at her house longer than she has.  I have lots of memories of picking rhubarb and chewing it raw (sour!) as a child.  So it should not surprise me that all of my children enjoy sucking on lemons.  My pie today was excellent, but it was made in a hurry and not quite pretty enough for pictures.  I froze one pie filling, so if the last pie is pretty enough when I make it, I will share my most excellent recipe post haste.  Those willing to accept a recipe without a picture are welcome to file a complaint with my vanity department.



But you know what was pretty?  The Mango Tres Leches Cake I made for enrichment last week.  And it was yummy too.  And mangos are in-season and on sale most places.  So go make one and tell me how it compares with the last tres leches cake you ate.  Because I was impressed. (And I just substituted extra heavy cream for the alcohol.  I don't happen to have any lying around.)

The Kids are Alright

'Tis a relief to be on this end of a puke-fest holiday weekend.  It just doesn't work for the mom to be MIA.
Thankfully Mr Renn is a perfectly capable parent, and didn't miss a beat taking the helm and being more productive than I ever am.
We made headway with packing, which will seem more exciting when I have a setting to envision unpacking in....a.k.a. a house to live in.
And the boys were most excellent versions of themselves this weekend.  Our Captain especially was a bundle of cheerful obedience.  But even better than the obedience was having two little men genuinely revel in each other's company.  Makes all this trickery of having children in rapid succession seem pretty darn worth it.











And while the short people are never quite as delightfully behaved once Dad returns to work and real-life settles back in, I still think they are the bee's knees.