The wait is coming to an end and now I want to push pause on time or at least move in slow motion for the next seven weeks. It is imminent that there is going to be change. Change from the family of four. We are thrilled beyond what we know thrilled to mean. We want to meet this member of our family who has been hiding out in my womb, but it is also quiet in there. It doesn't cry or need a diaper changed. It doesn't need me to stop what I'm doing and nurse. I'm torn. Parting is such sweet sorrow and new life is rich and rewarding and miraculous. We are parting with a past and stepping into something new and on top of emotions there are emotions. It is teaching me the meaning of cherish. I am cherishing all these moments with Amelia and George Wilder. We've played at the lake, at the creek, at the park. We've stayed up late dancing at George's gigs. We've made biscuits together and cookies and sandwiches. We'vedone a lot of fun learning this week.
Showing posts from September, 2011
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I mean well. I want to use reusable bags at the grocery store, but it is next to never that I manage to get out the door with bags. But I cringe at using plastic bags. I feel like I am creating waste upon waste with 10-15 bags not even nearly full. After all, nearly everything I bring home is packaged already. Our family came up with a plan not long ago. I put everything on the little conveyor belt that is already bagged -- Potatoes, bread, oranges, pretzels, (and the milk, they are going to bag it by itself anyway and it has a handle). I put down a little divider and place the small items -- cheese, canned tomatoes, nuts, etc. I ask them to simply put the items in the front back in the grocery cart and the others in paper bags. This seems simple enough but I always end up explaining my plan three or four times. Then there is the getting out the door. It looks like I haven't paid, so I carry my receipt. Out at the car, I line everything up in the back of the Subaru. I smile as pe
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The flowers brighten one more time – a farewell to summer. The garden even revives for one more round. Grandmother’s zinnias are blood red, the marigolds, sunlit orange. The children are barefoot. Feet are dirty always. We too are holding on to the remnants of warmth. The outdoors becomes our living space. We returned to the cabin in the cool and collect the last of summer’s wild flowers, identify them as Southern Obedience and Amelia turns it into a story. That is Labor Day. We come home, after the beach and the cabin (no pictures of the beach I can’t balance children, belly and camera carefully) and enter into a fierce schedule. George has school, classes to teach, a dissertation to write, job applications and articles and emails to answer. It is a juggling act and it won’t stop until May. The children and I attempt home learning. We’ve learned that Van Gough painted dark pictures until he discovered a Japanese artist that painted with vibrant colors, so he decided to switch. And h