Creating Christmas

Our home has been buzzing with good creative holiday preparations and I am grateful for it all.  This morning, my son recommended a movie I should watch and my gut reaction was "I don't have time." Quickly I realized how much a complaint that sentiment sounded and I thought I'd better clarify.

We've been busy, yes, very, very busy.  But I have enjoyed every. single. moment.  The busyness of making gifts has gifted me with being in the present moment with my children, adoring their own expressions of creativity.  This year, with a job change, these creations have included Papa Bear. Oh my, how wonderful it is to have him fully present in this season.  It's been a long time.  So thankful I truly am!

We've settled into a rhythm this year - a balance of homemade gifts, gifts that help and serve the world in need, and store bought gifts.  It is certainly the hand mades that seem to have brought peace and warmth into our home this holiday season.

Breads for teachers, handmade packaging, photo gifts from my own collection, and even our own Christmas Eve worship and tapestry.  So today, I share with you this gift of our creating... Enjoy!

Blessings from our home to yours!  May this holiday season be warm, filled with love and peace, and bring you lots of good reason to create!

a music corner

A music corner - something I always imagined I'd have in my own home.  Though in my days of imagining I assumed I would have ALWAYS had one.  In my college days, I would never have imagined days of not playing my flute or singing in a choir.  Even in my early adult and working days, I would never have thought I would pick up my beloved instrument only once or twice a year.

Being a musician defined my early life.  Lessons, rehearsals, ensembles, solos, concerts, church services...this is what I recall of my youth.  I excelled and knew competence.  I failed and knew defeat.  I worked hard and showed talent.  Music was part of my fiber and I knew it would always be.

So, to find that the early part of parenthood for me would be defined by many other things than music surprised me greatly.  My flute has been largely packed away.  Performances few and far between.  No solos, no ensembles, no concerts.  There is a piece of me packed away in those things hoping someday to find its way back out.  But such is the life of a parent.  The makings of a life for three little people have taken center stage.

When they were little, I dreamed of piano players and vocalists...watching them learn and master instruments.  I delighted in any sign of innate rhythm and talent.  And then I watched them show interest in soccer, t-ball, basketball, video games, gymnastics, cheerleading, art.  I love to see them each explore new things and even to shine now and then.  But I have to admit, my heart grew heavy with each non-musical interest.

But this summer, it happened.  One, then another, and still another, expressed interest in piano.  Now the sounds of simple tunes, melodies, and harmonies, wrong notes and wrong rhythms fill my home.  More so, they fill my heart.  To hear the sweet exercises in treble and bass, to help them learn their notes, to count and sing along.  This is the stuff of my dreams.  I am thrilled!  We've added viola to the offering and I've been able to play my flute along with them.  It's truly delightful!

Among all the pieces of furniture that make our house home, we've now added a music corner.  I'm not one to function well in clutter, but I welcome this clutter with open arms and a joyous voice.  Singing along and making music!

home

Home....

This simple and lovely word has been very present on my mind of late.  What does it mean, exactly? How does one find home?  How does one make home?

Paint is my usual answer.  Just paint the walls.  This color or that.  Warm or cool.  Paint will make this place home.  You see, that's the extrovert in me which believes if I can control what's on the outside, I will feel in control on the outside.  Unfortunately, I have a strong introverted side that doesn't fall much for this pretense and still looks inwardly for answers.

It seems I have a tendency to know in my being when I am not in a place to call home.  That shy, pulled back temperament sneaks in and effectively shuts off all intention of interacting with others.  I am guarded.  

I've done my fair share of whining about how this place is exactly that -- NOT home.  Work, community, churches, the narrowness of it all.  I've held the same position at the same institution for eight years and feel no more part of that community than I did the day I first stepped on campus.  Such irony for a campus known for its warmth and welcome.  It's there, to be sure.  Just not for me and I am not alone in this experience.

For much of my life there has been no place more like home than church, especially when I was making music with others.  I'm still working hard to find home in that space.

As I've not been able to find it in the traditional places, I've been yearning for home.  A place where my body softens.  Where I might laugh.  Where I might stop trying to figure things out for just a bit.  Where hugs are genuine and strong and the people inside know the heaviness of my heart before I even speak a word.  Where once inside, the heaviness falls away.  Just...like...that.  So simple.

My respite has been my mother's home where my guard comes crashing down and I stop doing.  This is a place where I can say aloud the thoughts on my mind and don't fear they will go unheard or belittled.  Where the loneliness of my darkest hours finds company and my spirit strengthens.  This I call home...

I want so very much for my own home to be this space for me, for my children.  I notice how there is tension when we greet others in our home and I wonder what I've done wrong.  Somehow our home seems a base, a place to clean and straighten before heading out into the world in our own separate ways. A place where doing gets in the way of being and there is much to be done.

A few weeks ago, a dear friend invited me and my family to a peace pole dedication. I watched as my son leaped through the front door to find his new friend and thought how he looked as though he were home, a place quite familiar and comfortable.  As I crossed her threshold, I felt it too.  H.O.M.E.

She told me later she was glad we came.  Holding back tears, I replied...it feels a little like being home.  And it did.  So many dear friends and friendships unchanged.  I recognized myself in her home -- my own warmth, my own love, my own softening.

I think of her words often.  She thanked her guests for coming that day and making her new house feel more and more like home.  She's written about the moments in their new house that add to the feeling of home.  I've witnessed her being that sings an example of making home for every person who comes through her door.

Following our visit, I had a strong urge to paint. I brought home paint samples galore with a patchwork of colors still fixed to my kitchen wall. We did paint the dining room.  But, Papa looked at me in the middle of my frenzy.  He gave me those eyes that said this isn't about paint.  And he was right.  It is all about finding home...

harvest of all sorts

It's harvest time and preserving time and baking time again in our kitchen.  Such a favorite time of year.  Wonderful things have found their way into my kitchen, all of it local, little of it from our own garden.  Sigh.

These delicious veges and tomatoes used to make the sauce seen below are from this amazing CSA.

I've noted a change in myself this summer, especially as we approach this season of canning jars, strainers, hot water baths, variations on tomato preservation, and using the last of the zucchini.  I'm more anxious, more overwhelmed.  There is more longing in my arms and legs and soul.

So noted...but I'll understand this shift in time.

There are seconds among the angst where my attention seems to lag behind.  For in that second, I'm watching a child grow or a child doing something that I can't remember her doing just a year ago.  I'm ever grateful that my attention pauses long enough to acknowledge, to realize, to admire.

My children fashion me a baker - the best baker ever.  I think they are really cute!  I think I read directions really well (thank you Betty Crocker). I do love that they love my treats. And ask for my treats.  And have stopped asking for store-bought treats.  They get it.  Homemade tastes better.  I get it.  Homemade IS better.

What really matters to me, though, is my baking creates memories.  And Papa's dinners create memories.  And both bring us together as a family where we share stories and accolades.  Where my children profess Papa as "the best chef ever" and dream of a time when Papa and I open a restaurant all our own.  We all know that will never happen, but we all know that dreams are better dreamed together.  It really is fun to see where a simple batch of chocolate chip cookies can take us.

My children don't often help when I bake - at least not in the practical sense.  Cheerleaders, yes.  Kitchen assistants, no.  Recently, though, Peace has shown some interest.  A good practice for my patience to be sure (note the flour all. over. the. counter.).  

But I do love having her at my side.  Her growing, kind, and caring self seeking how she fits into the world.  I can see that search in her eyes.  It is familiar.  Sometimes her eyes are dancing.  Sometimes they are sad and far away.  But she's taking it all in.  The roles women in her life play: athletes, dancers, teachers, cheerleaders, doctors, wives, mothers, and more.

She watches the roles I play. I wonder what she thinks of those roles.  And when she is ready, when she's noodled them over in her amazing mind, she'll tell me what she thinks of the roles I play.  Sometimes, I know.  Like when she asks why I don't wear makeup like her teacher who is so beautiful.  Or when she doesn't want to race me because she knows I run very slowly.  Oh I wonder.

This time with her, in my kitchen, is a bit of a gift.  Just like everything else that happens in my kitchen. And for a woman who doesn't cook, that's saying something!

dirt

We're getting a new backyard!  Really!

Our old backyard spent most of its time under water, tired and spent, muddy and cracked.  So, we brought in A LOT of dirt and we're starting from scratch.  We're not done.  Not even close.  In fact, the first loads of dirt arrived almost three weeks ago.  So, you might imagine that this mama is growing impatient.

What better solution for impatience than to play.  And play in that dirt we did. 

Notice Pie in her dress and pink sparkly shoes!  Yep, it was spontaneous and I would never have dreamed of stopping their play.  That was, of course, until Peace found the blade from gardening sheers buried. Yikes!  

So we moved on to the machinery left by the workers.  Yes, they left the keys in the ignition.  No, we did not turn it on!

Like much of the play in our home, each child required a turn in the spotlight.  Each had to take their turn climbing, posing, jumping to Papa.  Yet, each made a memory that will last a lifetime.  All from a little dirt!

busy doing nothing...

This was a "busy doing nothing weekend" and we enjoyed every. moment.

 

 Here's a little of what we did...

:: embarked on an Easter egg hunt at Grandma's work

:: built and built and built loving our new Lego Friends

:: emptied the board game shelf and played every. single. one.

:: enjoyed one last fire before it warms 

:: baked cookies, together

:: raised our palms and sang hosannas as we prepare for Easter

:: ventured outside to see how much we've grown this winter when the bikes seem too small and the reach to the first monkey bar well within our grasp

:: discovered new challenges flipping on those monkey bars, riding bigger bikes, and trying scooters that are not quite our size

:: helped Papa Bear plan for the planting of new trees

:: did a little planning of our own

:: visited the local greenhouse for our annual trip to Easter Bunny Lane

:: admired my new orchid packing a color punch in my dining room.  Oh. I. love. it. so.

:: wondered what to do about the horrible lighting in my dining room that makes me walls look yellow.  They are a soft melon. sigh

:: enjoyed this time playing hard and being together.  Just how it is meant to be.

It's not often that the pace slows enough to spend a weekend like this.  How grateful I am for these moments when they come!