Cynacism come each time this year.

Last year I wrote a blog post dedicated to all those people out there that do not have a father in their lives. The ones that had been left behind by someone they never knew who had better things to do. The entire post is completely and utterly still entirely relevant.

I wonder if this hurt will ever go away.

Having had the life experience of a seed donor father and then the Earth-shattering experience of an adoptive abusive one, my views on fathers in general is tainted at best, mildly cynical and mostly sarcastic.

I wonder if I'll ever look at a father -any father, anywhere- and not immediately expect the utter worst.

I've also decided for both an opportunity for personal growth and to fictionally share my experiences I'm going to start writing some stories that have come into my head that deal with these issues. They will be adult content stories, the length will work itself out as I write. I might write about the same content: abused teen girls dealing with their situations. I might write long stories or short ones. I just don't know yet. But I have had a feeling for quite awhile that I need to share these fictional stories. Some things will be hard to read; they're supposed to be. But I hope that by my writing I can open up topics for discussions between children and their parents, show other adult abuse survivors that there is nothing to be silent about.

I started this a long time ago writing a short story about a girl named Krista*. It's free on Scribd. I hope you will read it.

*Krista is an adult short story that includes graphic material. Please be advised.

The Boy Turns Nine.

It is absolutely insane to think I am the mother of a nine year old. But regardless of my inability to feel my age, my oldest kid did turn nine yesterday.

It's both easy and hard to remember how difficult he was as an infant. By two weeks old he was diagnosed with reflux (funny how I forgot about the projectile vomiting) and treated with two different medicines once twice and the other three times a day. He slept propped up in his car seat next to our bed or in the swing so that gravity would help the acid stay put.

It was miserable and at times I swore to never have another kid again. (See, this is where the Universe laughs).

He's the kid that broke me into parenthood, spiraled me into a Brooke Shields type of PPD and single handledly amazes me each and every day. Alex is such a wonderful boy, though he has his less-fun moments at times. For his birthday this year he asked for two things; Civilization V (a pc game) and a chocolate cake with mint.

I couldn't refuse either.

The cake is my basic go-to chocolate sheet cake recipe that I have scribbled on a paper so I can't remember where it came from. I don't usually do chocolate frosting so I searched for an easy recipe and found this then added some peppermint extract -real not imitation- to the mix. The Andes got frozen and mashed up with a mortar and pestle.

For someone that doesn't like toothpaste flavored chocolate, I do really like this cake.

We almost had a serious dilemma when the sparkler candles he picked out had melted into a single lump on the kitchen windowsil. Note to self- wax in a hot window = bad. We managed to scrounge nine non-girly candles out of the junk drawer and salvage three of the sparkler candles from the hardened gob.

Now I have a whole year to get used to having a kid in the double digits. I'm so not prepared for pre-pubescence.

Happy Me Day

Yesterday was Sunday. It was also Mother's Day, incase you hadn't heard. We spent it cleaning the house, selling one of the new baby rabbits and eating. Quite similar to every other day around here but I also got a couple cards from my kids. One as a beautiful drawing of me inside much skinnier and redhaired than normal, and the other has a food pyramid and a brain on the back. Hallmark, eat your heart out.

I am not a sentimental person. I have saved a few baby things from my kids, mostly for their benefit, really, in boxes under my bed. I save some of their better artworks in a box above the bookcase, the cards will join them. I take lots of photos though with the accumulation of my new digital camera do not print out many if any at all (so who knows what will happen if I lose my computer? whole years will be wiped from memory).

All this non-sentimentality makes celebrations hard for me. I don't like to be gifted "just because". I think cards and mailing of them a complete waste. I've tried to be "good" and sent birthday/anniversary/new baby whatever cards but I just can't find it in me to support something I just don't get. I'd rather a phone call than a sparkly card or better yet see the person *in* person. Though I tend to forget doing that as well. I notice all the plaques, teddy bears, fake floral arrangements, cut flowers and candles propped up in stands on the side of the road and cringe.

Perhaps, that is the practical side of me. The side that dislikes waste and clutter. To me all those trappings that people swerve off the road to consume scream landfills. The market flowers are dying beauties using up land resources that could be better used to grow food or stay on the vines to feed the ever disappearing bees. Gifts of meaning that last beyond the day, that feed my body and soul and not just a need to provide a gift because someone declared it a holiday mean the most to me. But I didn't get any gifts because they're not necessary.

During this day of matriarical celebration I decided (after much debate since we're up to our eyeballs in birthdays right now) to make a cake to share with my family because spending time with them as they helped me bake and consume it was better than anything store bought, any smushy pre-printed card, any plaque that waxed poetic about being a mother. Because being a mother is more about enjoying motherhood all the time than being set on a pedestal a single day. I think we should strive to be kind and cherish each other because we're family all the time not just at birthdays or other pre-disposed times of the year. (Though throwing in a cake now and then doesn't hurt.)

Am I the only non-sentimental mother out there?

Four, glorious Four!

My daughter Amelia turns four today. Last year I wrote her birth story here.

I am still amazed at her. She is smart and witty and though she will laugh and be silly, she's one of the more serious of the bunch.

I think three and four are my favorite ages, even if they have their own challenges. We had a great time yesterday celebrating her birthday. The long road to the next town over is briming with wild flowers so we stopped to take some birthday photos. She had a marvelous time picking the ones that caught her eye.

Then we visisted a friend whos cat had kittens a few months ago and picked one out. It's been a long time since we have had a kitten in the house. 

I made her special request of a "flat cake with yellow frosting with strawberries, sprinkles and four candles" from Smitten Kitchen's Lemon Cake recipe.  It was a wild success.

She passed out in her bed about five minues after lights out. Being four is a lot of work.

Happy Birthday my big girl.

Handmade Holidays- Felt Ornaments

With less than two months until Solstice (or Christmas, if you prefer) I'm running down to the wire on the Handmade Holiday things I wanted to get accomplished. I've gotten pretty much zero done.


The socks I wanted to knit are not going to happen. Don't even ask about them.

In my effort to do more handmade, involve the kids in stuff that affects our lives, include "school" in everyday and use up the plethora of supplies I have on hand, I decided the kids and I would make holiday ornaments for the tree (yes, we have a Solstice tree.) I looked up some free directions online and found some cute handsewn felt ones.

Though a lot of the prep work -the cutting out the pattern, tracing it on the felt and then cutting it out of the felt- fell to me, the kids did a great job hand stitching their selected fabrics together. They're getting much better at weilding a needle.

Olivia's pattern is adapted from The Purlbee

Cordelia's baby Partridge is from RetroMama, there is a mama Partridge on it's way, too.



Alex's anxiety-ridden owl is a pattern by JuicyBits

My only downside to this endeavor -which is usually an upside- is that they don't use very much material at all. But these are going to look awesome on the tree, be treasured for decades to come and be passed down to my kid's kids. I think this needs to be a new holiday tradition.

Happy Day!

Yesterday was husby and my twelve year anniversary. Yeah, TWELVE. I can hardly believe he's put up with my insanity this long and is actually looking forward to dealing with me for even more years to come.

Twelve years ago.

It's hard to remember a time before kids. Where we did things as a couple or did nothing at all.

A magical time where I actually fit into a single digit pant size. And I complained it wasn't good enough.

Then the busy days of childrearing started and those special times between us grew further part. We don't have the luxuries of coupledom anymore. Our days are harried with our separate persuits; his, working to support us and mine, supportive of our work. But it's been a good twelve years. Looking back at the memories of our childless days, I smile, I laugh at our immaturity, but I wouldn't trade the world to go back.

Here's to a happy day and many more to come.

Contest and a real Birthday

Just a quick note to everyone that entered the contest. Today, after Yoga, I'll write everyone's names out on slips of paper and throw them in a hat...or a bowl. I will then deploy a most scientific method of picking names out aided by various kids. If you win one drawing you're out for the rest of the prizes. Just FYI. I'll post the winners on here probably tomorrow and notify them via email.

Today, is in fact, an actual birthday in our house. Olivia, my first born daughter and second born kid, is now seven. Holy wow. I mean, I knew it was coming but...geeze.

We had her party last night. I barbequed some dogs and burgers and a huge pile of veggies. Earlier, I had made cupcakes which I let her pick from a mix. Remind me to never do that again. They were gross. They tasted like dry cherry candycanes and too sweet frosting with no flavor other than copious amounts of white sterilized sugar. I had to make it up to the Confectionary Gods and make some of my famous chocolate ones from scratch. With almond frosting. mmmm. I hope it earned me some forgiveness.

We ate and goofed off for the camera. The present pile was meager but if you don't make a big deal over it, kids don't notice. I still have her birthday quilt to finish which I haven't presented to her yet. I tried to choose things that were meaningful, worthy and inexpensive.

I bought her a long pesant dress and matching doll dress from A Lady out of Carolina after swearing profusely at the high prices looking over the American Girl doll store I found her on Etsy and fell in love. Not only are her dresses well made (with serged edges and good quality cotton), she makes them all herself, in America (which AG can't say). I only wish I could have gotten everything else like that.

I picked up a wooden nursery and birthday playset from Play Wonder* at Target. Olivia wanted this badly and it fits perfectly in the wooden doll house Cordelia got for her birthday at the begining of the year. They're simple, sturdy and not too expensive. Then she got the Toy Story 3 Leapster game. I <3 LeapFrog.

I manned the camera, which you can tell by my absentness from the photos...again. I would have gotten more photos of the toys but they snatched them up and scurried away with their prizes before I could. The day was simple and meaningful, two things that I strive to bring to our home. I feel so much has gotten away from these two values. Our souls feast on lasting gifts and memories and the whole face wide smiles of a very happy now-seven year old.

*Play Wonder is made in China. I know, I know. I try my best.

A Father-less Day

I'd like to write a post for those of us that don't have fathers. I don't mean the ones that have grown up with a dad and have lost them far too soon. While my heart goes out to you that have known and lost, this is for those of us that never knew a father in our lives. Never had a dad to tuck us in or lovingly scold us over our current boyfriends or too short skirts. To be overprotective or spoil us. No one to walk us down the aisle when we were married or to be papa to our kids. This is to those that had to explain to all the other kids in class why you're making a Father's Day card for your Grampa or your mom.

We just don't have a dad.

We never did. We never will. There is no one on the planet that will stand up and claim us as their own. Even as our mother marries or remarries those men aren't our fathers. They're not our dads, most of the time they're not even male role models. They're just people that are with our moms.

It's a hard concept to grasp; not having a father, not knowing who he is. Looking in the mirror and wondering what bits of you are from that side of the family. Worried you're genetically destined for some major health failure that runs on your imaginary dad's line and you'll never know until it's too late. There's just an emptiness, a void. Like part of who you are has been erased, though you can still see some of the smudges. A shadow of something that could have been there.

Sometimes we feel lost and incomplete. Half of a whole. Sometimes we get angry with those that complain about their overbearing fathers. When explaining why you have no idea who your father is, is just one time too many. Sometimes, even hearing the good things our friend's dad's do, simply hurts.

But most of the time I don't think about it. Most of the time it's not a big deal...Most of the time.

Today, I've already given my thanks to those dad's that are currently in my life. Though none are father-figures to me, they're still fathers in their own right that deserve recognition. One of which, is the amazing dad to all five of my babies.

But I wanted to give my support to those of us that have a Father-less Day today. To let you know you're not alone. That even though the circumstances boil down to being crummy and unfair, we can still turn out all right. We will be okay.

Happy Father-less Day from me to you.

Happy Birthday, my Man.

Yesterday was the celebration of the birth of my first child. My first son. The only person on the entire planet that was responsible for making me a mother. Wow, how time changes things.

He just turned eight.

He has big boy adult teeth that are a little too big for his still little kid mouth.

He has to share his room with a baby. And doesn't complain.

He does third grade Math and fourth grade Language Arts. Even though he's supposed to be in second grade. He's my little Einstein.

Or my little Tesla. I haven't figured out which. Though he might also be a Jedi. Or a race car driver. Or an Astronaut. Or some other thing where you could build bombs and singe off eyebrows (his words, not mine).

And he's obsessed with the computer. And he loves his sisters. Even when they butt in on his photo shoot.

And years and years ago, he used to look like this.

Oh, where did my little baby go? Now, I have to say Happy Birthday, my (almost) Man.

Small Little Gifts

All in all, raising five kids is hard. In essence, there are five little, growing souls that are all vying for the upper hand, a slice of my undivided time, all pushing limits, all day, every day. They're expanding and exploring, developing relationships and learning. And making messes. And sometimes fighting. And enjoying copious amounts of climbing. Like this

and this

Things that drive me batty happen almost every instant and leave me to question the reason I even decided to get impregnanted with the first one, let alone FIVE. In. Six. Years. My body is still a little nervous around me wondering if I'm going to abuse it more by stretching it into ridiculously impossible shapes and then snap it back all in one wild ride of pain. Side note: skin is an amazing organ. Sometimes Most of the time life with a husband that is gone part of the time, five kids, two cats, two rabbits, a dog, seventy square feet of gardening, embarassing amounts of projects and hobbies, homeschooling, college, two additional correspondence courses, a bookstore worth of books and a huge daily dose of music is just, honestly,  insane.

And then there are the little things that push all the craziness right out the window. That make me whole and heal my heart. That remind me why I get up every morning -despite being chronically sleep deprived- and subject myself to what is sometimes flat out abuse*. Moments of perfection. Small little gifts.

Like when I hear this from the other room:

Emmy,  "Everyone be quiet. I telling you ah-tory (a story) in my book. I said quiet! Okay. One a time...quiet Ahl-yex (Alex). *audible sigh* One a pond a timed they has a duh-wagon (dragon). And then you turn the page and they all run away. And a duh-wagon is a mean. He say GRRRR. Just like that. Now, you try it. Quiet, I reading you ah-tory. And then one day he's no mean n-e-mow-ah (anymore) and then it de end. Quiet, Ahl-yex, I not done yet. I still looking at the pictures."

Oh, I love that little three year old. She's like a shaken little soda bottle when she's riled up. They all are endearing, every last one. I couldn't picture my life without them. Any of them. The craziness helps shape me. It makes me strong. It makes me cherish tiny bits of time that are peaceful and quiet. Too much peace and quiet and I get nervous. It means somethings wrong. Deep in my heart I love the rowdy, raucous, loud, crazy life I have, even as I reach for the ibuprofen. It takes a certain kind of person to delve into my world.

People sometimes think I'm amazing (some certain unnamed people better. You know who you are.) but I'm really not. I'm the same as every other mother out there whether they have one kid or nineteen. The second we find out we're responsible for life other than our own we're all essentially the same;

hopeful we're not screwing up
determined to make it to bedtime
focused on getting through the current fight/argument/mess so we can get back to doing the dishes
afraid we're lacking in some terrible way and we won't know it till it's too late
amazed at the life that sprung from us. From us!
sad that it's going by way too fast
graceful as we weave our way through life
flat out brave for just every single thing
forever beautiful in the eyes of our children
Thankful for their children, their own small little gifts

*teething babies like to bite. Hard. Three year olds in a tantrum fit don't care if they kick you in the mouth. Or anywhere else. Six year old girls will scream that you've ruined their lives.

Happy Birthday, Amelia Jane!

My fourth child, Amelia Jane -or Emmy- turns three today! The crazyness that surrounded her birth will be etched in my soul forever. At thirty-seven and a half weeks pregnant I started bleeding. A lot. It was ten at night and the three other kids were already in bed. Thankfully, Rob was home. I got dressed and drove myself at breakneck speeds to the hospital three miles away. Trying to keep myself calm enough to not speed too terribly bad. Horrible thoughts zoomed in my head. I wasn't in labor. I wasn't contracting. I hadn't felt her move in a while. She wasn't moving now. The bleeding wouldn't stop.

It's never a good sign when the doctor says "that's more blood than I'd like to see".  I didn't look but it felt bad. It seemed the nurse was changing the towel under me at an alarmingly frequent rate. The emergency c-section was being prepped and the doctors warned me that if I couldn't get her out within the hour, they'd take her out. The bleeding just wouldn't stop, it wouldn't slow. Rob was able to come up. My mom stayed with the kids. I was hysterical. Crying, sobbing, shaking with fear. I think, if she could, the nurse would have slapped me. Instead, she just firmly scolded me to get a grip. I couldn't have a baby if I couldn't focus and concentrate and I needed to have this baby. Our lives depended on it.

I alway tried to be the "good" patient. The one that doesn't scream and throw tantrums while in labor. Yelling is a waste of precious energy, I was told. I remember being in the hospital with Cordelia, I had been admitted for three days at only seven weeks pregnant because I couldn't keep anything down and was vomiting blood. I remembered hearing a woman down the hall screaming and cursing deep in the throws of labor. It lasted for hours. It scared me and I had already had two children. I hoped to never do that to another mother so I vowed to keep my moans and grunts to hopefully normal levels.

After they administered the epidural -just incase I needed the c-section- everyone left the room. I rolled onto my back and at that instant she crowned. She was coming fast and hard. I freaked. Rob freaked. We couldn't find the "nurse" button on the bed. I screamed louder that I think I ever have in my life. In a flurry of motion there was more staff in the room that I could count.

The nurse donned birthing gear as the doctor had "stepped out". They frantically tried to find him while Emmy was quickly decending. They told me not to push. There was a NICU nurse prepping an incubator unaware the condition she'd come out. The doctor walked in just in time to catch her. Almost literally.

At 1:57 a.m. May 2, 2007 we welcomed a very healthy baby girl into the world. Thankfully, without the need for a c-section. She was pink and screaming. Hearty, healthy and whole. The room took a breath. But there was still a problem; I was still bleeding.

My world tilted for long moments as the doctor not-so-gently poked and prodded in my womb trying to find the source of all the bleeding. I listened to her screaming, the best sound in the world. There was a worry that the bleeding wouldn't stop. There was a soul deep fear I wouldn't be here to see her grow. Finally, the bleeding slowed. Stopped. We were alright.

Today, we celebrate the miracle of life and cherish the days we're given.

Today, we celebrate a Happy Birth Day.

Happy Beltane!

Today is May Day, or Beltane to some. While many in the world will be celebrating today, we're hosting a bbq later this month for friends and family instead. Nothing fancy, just a small Beltane fire, food, music and togetherness.

We might not be pulling out the revilry today but we're still honoring in other ways. I put my Moon Gazing Hare in the garden in rememberance of Flora. She'll sit and look towards the moon as a reminder of what has been lost, both now and in the future. The Hare brings with her the symbol of  growth, rebirth and abundance. Where else to put her but the garden? And what better day to initiate her to our family than May Day?

  

*

Merry May Day or Happy Beltane to you all!

*Our Hare was bought on Etsy From The Heart Creations and is gorgeous. We support Handmade and hope you will too.

Happy Earth Day

Today is the recognized celebration of Earth Day. That photo up there our slice of the Earth. It's funny to think back ten, fifteen, twenty years at the person I was and how far my conscious has travelled the cosmos since. Even five years ago I wasn't who I am now. When we bought our current house, which is a fixer-upper, I won't lie and say that those cookie cutter houses didn't look appealing. They did. Though somewhere in my essence I knew that it wasn't what I wanted. We wanted trees, quirk and history.

Ten years ago I didn't think there was anything grander than a HOA. Fifteen years ago I loved apartment living. Stacked and bordered, gated and secured. Funny how all that changes.

As we research and develop our ideas out on paper and through discussion, more than not our conculsions take us into the realm of what is considered Earth Friendly. Off-grid water, rain collection, recycled building, renewable energy. All those things that people come out to support on Earth Day will be our home Every Day. There will probably be more work but it will be honest, fulfilling. The rewards that much sweeter tainted with our blood and sweat.

It's not for everyone, the life we're planning out, but our little slice of Earth is calling to us. I hear it from all these miles away, beconing for me to come, treat it right and learn what how we can work together.

Happy Earth Day to you, my friends. Celebrate and cherish it well.

Thoughts on Easter

We went to my mother-in-law's yesterday to celebrate Easter with her. We don't do Easter here as a general rule but we're not opposed to helping others celebrate their holidays. After all, isn't that part of what holidays are about? Connecting with loved ones and acceptance and repect of those people? I tend to flow more towards rituals and celebrations that have a more base focus than the Christian theology aspects. Things that focus on energies and seasons. Connecting to the land and to each other. A circular hoop of belief that encircles us all. While my view might not be wide spread, it's what I've come to believe is true in my heart through out my own religious trek down the spiritual road.

I like to envision that spiritual road paved with a myriad of cobble stones. Each special, unique. Each stone a different color, shape, texture, contour that changes our perception of our beliefs as we feel it underfoot. All the stones are facets of religion. A thought here, a scripture there. The connectivity between all beliefs. A spriritual causeway unique to each person, created by them as they develop their sense of self.

It has been difficult to get this far and I know that I'm not anywhere near the end. Alas, I think I shall never be until that day comes when my soul is given back to the universe. And that's okay.

Easter is a time of birth or rebirth, if you will. The plants that went to seed last year, that were frozen over during the long winter months, are reemerging as new life. Spring is a notorious time for baby animal births (and human ones too). The cold winter winds pick up the tinge of hot summers to come. The Wheel of the World turns again. I can feel it sing to me.

I hope to teach my children about the song of life and I am excited to see where their paths lead them.

I know that religion and politics are two hard topics to swallow so I won't get into a whole lot on here. Just some general thoughts about certain things. But if you read my blog, I think understanding a little bit about my religious beliefs is important. It highlights some of the things I do. It's part of the reason I wish to be a farmer. It's why we have a lot of kids. I think its important for others to gain an understanding of things they might not agree with, or believe in. I read a lot of blogs from Christians. I also read blogs of Pagans, Wiccans, and a Buddist. And a few others I don't really know their spiritual designation.

Sometimes I worry, like with today's post, that I will loose some readers because I'm not the same religious affiliation as they are. And I talk about it. That perhaps, they don't want to read about my ideas or thoughts if they're incongruious to their own. I've read some comments on other bloggers posts just for the meat/no meat issue that has divided bloggers from their readers. I hope I don't push anyone away. I don't think religion should be seperate. I don't understand why so many can't accept others for our differences and love and grow with those people. Rejoicing in the diversity of life and the magic of the world. I enjoy listening and learning about the religious beliefs that make others tick. It's most of the reason I attend a Unitarian Universalist church.

So, I ask you readers, since I share so much with you but might not ever know who you are, What is special for you about the season?

My relatives must have been Irish

Ever since forever I've had a lusting for Ireland. The accent, traditional clothes, food, sheep, rolling hills, thick wool sweaters, dimly lit pubs and rainy days. When I was a tween I had a crush on an Irish boy named Billy, he didn't have an accent though. I even thought myself a sports fan* of who else but Notre Dame.  I can't watch an Irish movie (OMG! I love "Once") without wanting to hop on a plane. I think sometimes my relatives must be Irish. At least one had to be for me to have this odd craving for a land I've never seen. If someone came up to me and said "Hey, here's a house and a job but you have to move to the Emerald Isle." I'd be packing boxes before the words left that strangers lips. Yeah, it's a little odd.

So, I tend to get all excited when St. Patrick's Day rolls around. Up until now I've hidden it really well.

Yesterday morning I woke up to the wafting smell of corned beef, potatoes and cabbage slow cooking their way to dinnertime. (I had the foresight to make the meal the night before, go me!) I made the kids dress in green. Then had the inspiration of making green chocolate chip waffles.

At lunch we headed outside with our St. Patrick's printed worksheets (again, thanks to Enchanted Learning) after reading St. Patrick's Day book (isbn 0-8234-1173-7 $6.95). The book has a Legends about St. Patrick section where the kids read about different things. One being St. Patrick and the Poision. The legend states, in a very simplified way, that a wizard tried to kill St. Patrick by putting poison in his drink. St. Patrick turned it to ice and dumped it out. Here's an excerpt from the following conversation:

Me- Do you think legends are real?

Alex - Probably not. People like to make up stories about stuff that isn't true.

Me - Do you think St. Patrick could have turned the poison into ice?

Alex- Well, the wizard could have.

So, there you have it. The legends about St. Patrick aren't real but wizards are. Oh, I love my kids.

We talked more, we colored some, we ate sammies of green bread, almond butter and honey.

We hunted for shamrocks in the yard, of which we have an alarming amount.



Then the healthy (well, except for the green food coloring) lunch was topped off with green frosted cupcakes. The "frosted" and "cupcakes" are two separate links to the BEST EVER recipes for chocolate sheet cake and frosting made with flour. Yes, you heard right, flour. And regular granulated sugar, not powdered. It's magnificent and I ate four too many of them yesterday.

I imagine everywhere on St. Patrick's day, in color-coordinated Ireland, everyone busts out the green food coloring, creating food that might look a little "off" (see green pancakes above) and it's not just a silly thing that American's have done to sterotype an entire island nation. Though if you're Irish and completely apalled by my celebratory actions, please feel free to *gently* enlighten me in the comments section. And if you could somehow do it in an Irish accent, all the better.

*I am not and will never be "a sports fan" of really anything, ever. Except maybe sheep shearing or pie eating. Those are sports, right?

Cordelia is Five

My middle child turned Five last Friday.

That's Cordelia Anne. With an "e". Named for Anne of Green Gables (my favorite book/series/movie) and from Shakespear's King Lear. This means I have kids that are between one and eight. She's 4 years older than Max and 2.5 years younger than Alex. She was my most difficult baby.

She picked Macaroni Grill for her birthday dinner. We don't do parties. Just seems kinda avaricious calling people and inviting them to bring you gifts. We like to celebrate as a family instead.

We have a good time. And we still eat cake.

The lady on the left sang Cordi "Happy Birthday" in Italian.

Max thought it was delightful.

We all shared the cake and had ice cream too. Later on a set of Grandparents came by and gave her a gift she'd been wanting. A ballerina costume.

She's quite happy being five. Even if its bittersweet for mom and dad.

My Holiday Card to You.

I know I complain a lot and I probably rarely have much to say. Most of the time I feel like I'm tumbling through the world without a steering wheel. Or seat belt for that matter. Apparently, I want to take you for a ride.

We might not see eye to eye on a lot of things. We might envy each other for things we didn't even know were enviable. We probably don't understand much of what make the other person tick. I think that's why I like you.

You inspire me. You make me laugh or give me something to ponder. You pique my interest and light bulbs of ideas over my head. I learn from your mistakes, honestly offered up. You help me choose or not to. You let me know I'm not alone.

 I hope I can return even a little of that gift to you.

I read your blogs and web articles. Your product reviews help me. I regularly turn to your freely given recipies and instructions. I try and support you when you sell something I need or want. I pass on the recommendation of you to others.

We're a faceless community. An anonomous voice. If I passed you on the street I wouldn't know it but you're a part of my world none the less.

Sometimes when I read your words I want to respond, post a funny or insightful comment because you touched my life in some way. Though, like the awkward kid I was in school -and even on playdates now-  on the web I have hard times making friends. I don't know what to say so mostly I don't. Maybe that's how you are on here too?

It's a pretty amazing and facinating thing to be a part of, this whole blogging universe, and I want to give you a big THANKS for letting me in.

There's Jenna over at Cold Antler Farm who is like an icon in this house though we've never met. Amanda at Kitschy Coo that always makes me laugh or wish I had more time to sew. I oogle her wares with fascination and awe. Supermom Jess who Homeschools in Heels was amazing even years ago before we blogged. Mrs. Humble at Not So Humble Pie constantly triggers my salvatory glands and makes me want to search for odd science themed cookie cutters. And probably a hundred or more others that I stumble upon while I search for information, integrating your bit of self into our world over here at Solidity though you might never know it.
 
So, while I might not have a red coat (mines blue) or a big sack filled with presents I want you to know you're appreciated and I'll try and make the next year worth of blog posts the best gift I can give.
 
Happy Holidays. Be Safe. I hope to see you in the new year.
 
Sincerely,
 
Crystal

Happy Solstice

We're still figuring out our traditions for this time of the year. The kids are completely confused. As am I. It's Solstice, let's party! Or not. I'm not sure.

This crossroads I've been sitting at this past year has started to slowly pass me by. I think we've just passed the turn juncture though. And I'm pretty sure there's no U-turns allowed. I don't think I could go back to who I was if I tried. I'm just not exactly certain what road we ended up on. I feel like we're blundering down the path, however slowly, with no real clear goal in mind.

I'm going to be picking up some books to help us define our beliefs and the traditions we want to incorporate into our festivities. We want to celebrate I know that much. After experiencing the miracle of five healthy happy babies joining us in this world, how could we not have anything to celebrate? I do know that the way it's been isn't how I want to continue. We don't have the same beliefs as others. Being a Unitarian Universalist can be a tricky thing. There is no real guide to tell you how, what and when to celebrate. There are no UU holidays. Hell, our religious preferences and beliefs vary widely over the seven people that share this little house!

Part of our UU principles is honoring the inherent dignity and respect of individuals, which means that if our kids want to worship the Flying Spaghetti Monster we encourage them to do so. Finding appropriate worship and celebration techniques will evolve as we all search for our inner truths. We grow as a family spirtually just as we did ushering each new born babe into our home.

 Piggy-backing on their religious holidays feels false, wrong and it's what we've been doing because we just didn't know any other way. It's scary to turn from what's accepted and comfortable. Each year, since giving birth to my very first child those almost eight long years ago, I've struggled with performing rituals that are incongruent to my personal beliefs. Though each year -nay each holiday- the feeling has grown and bubbled becoming an amorphous beast looming darkly overhead as whichever celebrated day approaches.

Our goals have changed. We had entertained the dream of being farmers for years before it morphed from a idyllic notion to having purchased a very real piece of land. The feelings and beliefs with what is important to us has so drastically changed that daily tasks such as shopping, cooking and even throwing the trash away are done with more conciousness than we'd had before. It's hard to look at TV as just a harmless tool to keep the kids occupied. A very real threat looms in our livingroom. Food we'd have just tossed away before gets made into left overs, cat food or nourishment for the worms. Getting the mail has moved from a simple chore to at least a twenty minute endeavor as I take the time to baby my wee garden. How can my day change so much yet the holidays become unaffected? It can't. What I expose my children to (as well as myself) is an outward approval of whatever it is I grant access to me and mine. From the shows we watch, the end result of our food, the care of nature and the celebrations of the year, I have to pick and choose what is showcased in our lives. What I decide will effect generations of people that will someday share a bit of my DNA.

The small changes made in our daily lives open our minds to issues and problems in the world. I ask myself; Where does that food come from? What is that show teaching my child? How are these toys or books benefiting our lives? Are these holidays reflecting our heart's beliefs? The fact is that none of us are Christian. Celebrating Christian holidays looks nice, as does eight days of presents, but it's not ours to celebrate.

This year we just winged it. Presents got wrapped and laid on the couch or in their stockings. The tree stayed boxed in the shed. Santa didn't get cookies or milk -much to my dismay. Holiday cards still haven't got sent but that's more my personal procrastination problem. The gifts were sparce and most purposeful; sippy cups, school supplies, a chess set and the like with a few fun things for each. The small magic set with a bio of Houdini, an MP3 player loaded with read along books, art supplies that came in a container to store them. I'll be making a dinner with all the trimmings to enjoy later after Rob gets back from work. Next year I hope we will have some set festivities that showcase our individual inner truths as well as our overall belief as a family. But I feel good with the progress we made this year. We're trying and I think that counts for a lot. For now folks, Happy (enter your personal belief holiday here) everyone.