Calm and Bright

It has been quiet here, hasn't it? I don't really have any explanation, exactly. But it has been good. I feel ready for the flurry of feasting and giving and receiving of the next few days. All our extended family celebrations will be happening before Monday, so Christmas Eve and Day are all ours, for worship, and simple food. Scattering glittery oats on the lawn for Santa's reindeer, rising early, curling ribbon and muffin crumbs, and two boys impossibly taller than last year. For once I feel ready to drink in all its messy glory.

This year feels different. We did the dinner party, and it was fun and busy and festive, and then I just. . . stopped. The days since have been quiet. I had a visit from a dear friend, and Joshua had a school program. Sam stood up so straight to sing in church, and we caroled on the coldest night yet. But mostly it has been reading The Long Winter aloud to the boys, opening a new door in The Advent Book each evening, drawing Christmas trees and reindeer over and over, and playing a CD changer full of holiday music on the stereo next to the tree.

I let go of many things. We were so inundated with homemade treats from others that I have not baked very much, and for the first year, we have not sent Christmas cards. I imagine myself writing some letters in January to dear ones. We said no to several events; if we were trying to decide and it seemed like a bit too much, we said no.

And just now that feels just right. To know that I would not have traded one peaceful hour for our own greetings to be winging into others' mailboxes, or to purchase one more "perfect" gift, or to turn out Martha-worthy trays of confections. Our kids are still young, and their boundless delight in the small ceremonies and celebrations of home is a luxury I am reveling in.

We have many traditions that are the bones of our Christmases, but the character and shape of them is different every year. Every year we discover a new tone to our celebration, and perhaps this is uniquely appropriate for a holiday that is not a day at all, but a Person. May we, may you, as we savor Christmas, meet Jesus in some fresh way. Let us make Him room, as the hymn says, let heav'n and nature sing.

A Feast Before Us

I am not crazy about "Christian book stores." Not because of the books, for I love books, but all the "stuff." (And I won't go on here, because there is a big old soapbox of self-righteousness calling me, and I'm keeping my feet on the ground today.) But one time, in one of those stores, I saw a poster that depicted the Bridegroom's banquet that awaits us in heaven, a table with places set, stretching as far as the eye could see and beyond. I loved that.

Last night and today, I have felt like a guest at a feasting table, each rich and fragrant dish that passes a blessing heaped on my plate. Holidays and calendars are so good for marking our time, looking back to the last time or two we hung an ornament on the tree, or set out the silver. And I cannot deny that, while there have been times of need, moments of loneliness in these last two years, we have traveled a way I could never have imagined. At last, a career that my husband loves, a home that is beautiful to us, boys blooming with health and good-naturedness, a church home. In letting go of some things, some people, my hands were opened to welcome others.

And for this moment, I am so glad to sit at this table.

To Make Ready

Every year of our married life I have filled the shallow pottery circle with water, and snips from the yard, magnolia, nandina and evergreen, fitted the candles in place. Sometimes joyfully and expectantly, sometimes in sorrow and uncertainty, through the dim sleeplessness of new parenthood and the glad noise of small ones. And we have drawn around this circle.

Likewise my heart has been in different states by this Advent wreath. Absent and distracted or worried. Longing beyond the lighting and reading to bedtime for little ones and a few moments of peace before I am sleeping too. But, somehow, always making this circle of light part of our Christmas preparation.

This year, as the cut stems drink and the wicks stand ready, I, too, am longing. To drink more fully of Advent, to experience a season of preparation for Jesus. A slow dawning in my heart, again, of what it means that God poured His divine self into a human vessel, a man who laughed and wept and taught, who made friends and loved and was betrayed. But Who, Himself, was faithful to the cross, To the tomb. And now, to the Throne. Breath held, candle lit, as an old story is told and retold in our own four-flame circle, I want to see the wonder in our faces, to be made ready to come and adore Him.

St. Nick of Time

I cringe at puns, I really do. And yet, occasionally, I cannot resist them.

Here it is the Advent calendar inspired by the wonderful Teresa McFayden. I LOVED doing this project. My total cash outlay was $3, for an adhesive magnetic strip to make my magnet numbers. I had the cookie sheet, and the paint, glitter, paper, and trinkets were all from my craft room. Ribbons and glue and mateless earrings, bottle caps and wooden stars and stickers and ink.

I finished the last several markers today, and after this picture was taken, all the magnets were removed so the boys can start taking turns tomorrow, adding them one by one.

My favorite thing about this project was that I felt so free with it, like I could just have a good time making each little piece. It will be out for a short time, it can be homespun and crazy and glittery and a little too much. And now it is ready, ready for the first of December tomorrow.

Good night, and twenty five more sleeps until Christmas!

Dry Run Dessert, Take One

We are having a little winter supper here in a couple of weeks for John's coworkers. (I am resisting the term dinner party because it sounds oddly grand for what I am hoping will be a festive but relaxed gathering.) And so it is a winter supper with a lovely salad, a choice of soups, and these little lovelies.

I am testing my recipes this week so all my plans and shopping lists are in place well in advance. I am serving a chicken tortilla soup that is less a recipe than an always evolving Southwestern stew. The potato soup I am serving tastes amazing, as my family could attest after Monday night, but did not prove very photogenic on a dark, rainy evening.

And now these cakes. I'll make them the day before, and the ganache the day of the party. Dessert plates dusted with powdered sugar, cups of decaf all around, Christmas tree lights twinkling off of silver. . . aahhhh.

Greenville Glitterati

The paper trees have been put on hold for the moment so I can steam ahead on the Advent Calendar. It is trucking along, life is good, boys were just taken to the dentist by their daddy and I have glitter under my fingernails. It is a gloriously sunny day, washed clean by yesterday's rain. Two embroidery projects down, one to go for gifts, and then another tea towel for me if time and crunchy neck and shoulders permit. Seems like the camera spends more time slung around my neck than snug in my bag, the boys have caught the bug and are cutting and gluing and pasting at every turn, and my papercrafting desk looks like a very pretty, sticky bomb went off.

I've learned, in my life of creative pursuits, that it always seems to be this way, a flood of ideas and energy and inspiration that has my fingertips tingling.

Or three months of evenings spent on the couch, eating Cheetos and watching House reruns.

Creative energy is always a gift of grace for me, and I've learned, learned slowly and with trial and error, to take it in, to clear the calendar, to let the house be a little dirty and get my hands more than a little dirty. It is feast or famine, and when the feast comes, best to pull up to the table, spread the napkin, and dig in.

God gives us so many gifts of fellowship with Him, ways to peek into His God-ness. To me this most precious one is the curiosity, industry and spark to make beauty, to enjoy process and product. To feel a faint shadow of perhaps what He felt, when jewels of stars slipped through His fingers into the velvet night, when He said it was good.

Make

I hope everyone had a Thanksgiving full of good food, the people you love and enjoy, and a heart full of gratitude. It feels like we had it all-- extended family time, a lovely dinner, and lots of hanging out, just the four of us.

Now, a confession: I LOVE Christmas. I love the preparation, physical and spiritual, the candles and readings of Advent, and the decoration of the house. I love the hushed and holy, but I love the bright and glittery too. I love the fleeting wonder of Santa in my boys' eyes, and I love giving presents.

Each year, we thoroughly enjoy Thanksgiving and the autumn season. (Yes, I am another indignant blogger who does not appreciate lit trees in Hobby Lobby the day after Labor Day, when I am there to buy floss to embroider maple leaves on a dish towel.) But after Thanksgiving, all bets are off. Like, the day after Thanksgiving. We enjoy a Christmas season around here! The kid in me just can't wait, and the mom in me thinks that with all the time that goes into the trimming and feasting, we might as well enjoy it for a few weeks.

And like most of us who play with paper and glue and thread and such, a chilly, rainy day turns our thoughts to crafting. I made the little tree above in non-traditional colors from directions here It will look perfect in our pale blue and cream bedroom. And I've had the paints out this morning to make one of these. My goal is to have it finished by Saturday, so we can start adding the numbers.

We have Advent booklets from our church, one for John and me and one geared more toward the kids. When the rain stops, I'll be clipping evergreen to trim our Advent wreath to make ready for Sunday.

Suffice it to say that it will be looking a lot like Christmas around the blog--- I have plans for a couple of kids' book reviews, and maybe a recipe or two. Blessings to you!

Edited to add: I've tried a few times to fix the abrupt text size change that occurs for no reason toward the end of the post, but with no luck. Formatting, not my gift. Many apologies!

Waking Up and the Power of Touch

I am feeling grateful in this week of gratitude that the ghastly cold that lasted way too long, (over your seven to ten days pal!), has packed up and moved out and I am left with that wonderful sense you have when illness has left, like all your windows have been washed.

I've been feeling better for a few days, but reaching out for work in my hands rather than burrowing into the place in my head where writing happens. That is the gift for me of embroidery, of papercrafting, even of cooking if the recipe is familiar and the ingredients certain, is that I am drawn out of my head and into a peaceful place that is more restful than sleep, as the work emerges beneath my hands. As I've written before, these things slow me down in good ways.

And the sense of touch does not lie-- things can be tarted up to look good from a distance, but the hand gives them away. Luxuriously good hand cream has a definite feel between the fingers, the smoothness of cotton pillowcases beneath the cheek, even the freshness of produce or bread tells its tale beneath our sensitive fingers. In the same way, I can feel the love knitted into the stitches of the scarf Rachel sent me today, the yarn that passed warm through her hands and needles and sent on to me communicates her care. As I run my hand over the stitches of the angel I am fashioning, I feel the many moments of silent worship that moved in and out with the red thread through the weave of the dishtowel.

Long before our children can make sense of our spoken words of cherishing and devotion, our gentle touch of loving, feeding, cleaning, soothing, whispers our love, bears them up in silken threads of nurture.

In this week when many of us will spend hours preparing food, laying a table, writing down our blessings and speaking them aloud, we will be communicating our love with the work of our hands.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. Hold a hand of someone close to you, breathe a blessing and receive one.

Light for the Way

I came here to write a wonderful review of the book I just finished: Building the Christian Family You Never Had: A Practical Guide for Pioneer Parents. And it was wonderful, wonderful and searing and full of grace but hard truth too, hand in hand as they serve best.

But I can't do it. As someone with a painful childhood who has heard someone say, "I get it," and is feeling some creaky old doors in her heart come open, as someone who is sensing a new peace stealing around her shoulders, I can't write a glib few sentences.

I am feeling thankful, I am reading back through my notes and just breathing.

Congratulations Elizabeth!!!!!

Good morning, happy November, and even for moms of sleepy post-Halloween kids, Reece's peanut butter cups are not a breakfast food!

Today's post is a shout-out to Ms. Elizabeth Dillow, whose book, The Scrapbooker's Almanac , is being released today! Hooray Elizabeth! Her book gives scrapbookers tools and ideas to celebrate special days throughout the year, whether the usual red-letter days, or lesser known reasons to make and document a memory.

I love E's blog and her photography, and through a little blog community we are both a part of, I've had a chance to see her warm and generous spirit. I can't imagine the work that goes into a project like this, and I hope today tastes sweet indeed! So from the middle of my creative space, Miss E, I salute you!

Daily Delicious

There is a little something I try to do, that I have been neglecting lately. I've been bogged down, full of lists and plans and schedules that really do taste like so much paper and are about as satisfying. But today I am feeling inspired to get back to it-- a little something delicious everyday. Something out of the ordinary, out of the humdrum, something tasted or worn, experienced or created or listened to, that is not strictly necessary. Not a "have-to," but a "want-to." A little indulgent even. Because of my inability to drive, my Daily Delicious is by its nature frugal, since it has to be here at home, and simple, or it would be work!

If you've been needing a little more Delicious in your day, please allow me to share my recipe for a few days worth of inspiration.

--The tooth-rocking sweetness of homemade caramel apples, a once a year harvest treat, and more fun to make with little ones to unwrap the caramels. Drizzle with dark chocolate for more grown-up taste buds.

--Old rhinestones, cleaned gently to a sparkle, to be worn to a fancy work event tomorrow night, are even more fun tried on at midday. With a sweatshirt.

--A nap. Is there anything more delicious to a tired mommy than a few moments sleep, shades drawn, quiet house? An elusive pleasure worth seeking.

--The soundtrack to Chocolat, borrowed from the library, evocative and spirited by turns, takes me back to the essence of a delightful movie, picturing the cherry red of Vianne's cloak against the slates and putties of the village. (Oh, Netflix?)

Something I often reflect on after one of these little treats is that I don't really need much to feel refreshed, just a little inspiration in my head and heart. What are your favorite little luxuries?

Great Expectations, Adjusted

The bricks on the patio are wet and leaf-strewn. It is not all that chilly, but damp and dim-- the lamps are on now, at noon. I'm moving slowly today.

My sweet husband has a theory that most of the discontent in life comes from unmet expectations. We decide how something is going to go, it doesn't go that way, and we are mad/sad/disappointed. Our feelings about the happening may not have anything to do with its actual outcome, but only that our chalk mark for "good" wasn't met.

I think goals are great. I make lists-- things to do, things to read, things to buy, gift ideas, craft projects. I start the day with a general idea of how I want things to go, what I want to get accomplished, and I put a fair amount of energy into thinking through the best ordering of my time. All virtues. And as such, all can become idols. And like anything we worship other than our Creator, those good and worthy intentions can end up only echoing their, and our, emptiness.

There are days when my lists and plans are full of smart ideas that have nothing to do with what God is whispering to me about my family's needs, about my own needs. The kitchen floor getting washed before company comes is all well and good, unless that half hour is better spent snuggling Sam on the sofa, or reading aloud, or writing a letter to a friend.

This is one of those days. To dial back the expectations and go slowly. Or even be still. Breathe thankful prayers for the rain and prayers of hope and healing for the families driven from their homes by wildfires in California. To rest. To extend and receive the grace to just be.

Cousins, Bluegrass, Funnel Cake, Campfires and Cameos

Looking at the calendar back in July, the school schedule and fall events and special meetings at work and church, we saw a window of grace: a four-day weekend empty of command performances, ripe with possibility, in the middle of October. John put in for vacation and we were happy for that little island of peace coming, lapped on either side by waves of busyness.

Thinking back over it on this morning of odd, pink, fretful storm skies, I feel full and satisfied. The boys had their cousin over for a first "real" sleepover, we did some needed errands at an unhurried pace, we had lunch with my mom. We went to a fall festival in a park and ate fun food and heard music and played. Joshua kayaked for the first time and I bought handmade soap from a local artist. We saw people from work, from church, from school, and felt ourselves slowly but surely wrapped in the community we have been longing for since our move to this part of the county. We camped for a night and fished, roasted marshmallows and got rained on, a little, and bought apples at an orchard.

Not everything went perfectly. The autumn color I had hoped so much to capture was mostly the dusty yellow and brown of the drought that has gripped the Southeast, rather than the fire-kissed hues of frosty nights. It was quite a walk to the campsite for the kind of comfort camping we do. We had hoped to pick the apples, not just purchase them, but the rain and three busloads of schoolchildren altered our plans. The boys slept much better than we did, so were full of songs and silliness on the way home, with bleary parents still waiting at midday for a good cup of coffee. And, good heavens, the laundry!

It was a great weekend, funny in its imperfections, appalling in terms of nutrition, one which will require a few days to return our normal rhythms to us. And such a time out of time means that the first day back feels a bit thrown in the deep end, the plans and dates, joys and obligations of the next few weeks all come begging at once, and must be sorted out, dealt with, or sent to wait their turn.

But there is also the refreshment deep down to come back to this life and do it, and resolve to find odd moments in the day to let in cracks of light and air, to hear the banjo and feel the mist over the autumn fields, a thousand shades of brown and gold.

In My Skin

This is the dress I wore home from the hospital. I believe my sister chose it. It hangs on my bedroom mirror, and there were once little shoes that matched it, pale yellow and covered with lace.

Looking at it, there is a lump in my throat. It is so dainty and delicate, as was the pink baby who was dressed in it and carried home. And she was loved, I know that. But she was also delivered into a heritage of estrangement, resentment, simmering unspoken anger and pain and verbalized rage and disappointment. She learned that normal was a mental list of topics and people of which you never spoke, that emotional violence ran in families like eye color and wavy hair, that there were unwritten rules to dodge direct suffering, but no way to escape collateral damage. To escape being the collateral damage.

Many of us survive these childhoods, and arrive on the cusp of the world, fired with a deep-running vein of promise: everything will be different. It is actually a touch of grace when we realize that we have survived, but there is only One who knows all our broken places, Who speaks the language of our faulty "how life works" rule book, because He was there as it was written. Only He can rewrite it, trade a thousand lies for truths, truths that always begin, "My beloved. . . "

His loving course correction has even been with me, giving me a sister who can say, "You're not crazy, I was there too." Giving me my husband, who helps me to sing a new song, who tells me I AM different, not a recording of my parents' litany. Giving me friends who have their own war stories and continued peace talks. Books and art and music that remind me that becoming a new creation is not the work of a day, but a divine dance to the day of Christ Jesus.

Every day as I grapple with my short temper and impatience, my tendency to melancholy, as I fall and ask forgiveness and get back up, when I do, by grace, speak to my kids in gentleness and relate to them with integrity and peace, that little girl is being healed by her Father. As I raise my children, He is bringing me up. He is teaching me to forgive and be forgiven, to give grace as I drink deeply of it, to know that the hurt of my home of origin was born out of a deep need for Him.

That little dress is a reminder to me that I was always surrounded by loving hands, though sometimes they were invisible.



I am back in this space, counting on my day to day sensitivity to our family's needs to monitor my computer time and energy. Blessings to you as you read these words.

Blog Break

Hello everyone. I will be taking a little blog break as I evaluate my time on the Internet and how it impacts my day. I wish you all a lovely week.

Happy Birthday Rachel!

Today I want to celebrate my dear friend Rachel, on her birthday. I am confident that her husband a little boys are giving her a wonderful day, and I want to join with their love and good wishes.

If you read Rachel's blog, you get a pretty good glimpse of this woman I am so blessed to know. She loves God and wants to understand where and how He is working in her life. She seeks an ever-deeper and more true relationship with her husband, and she is crazy about her boys and about all this she asks the good but hard questions of herself, over and over. It has been a great privilege of my life to know her as a single woman, to be in her and Doug's wedding, to now share mommyhood and wifehood with her.

But mostly what I want you to know about this precious woman is that she loves me well. She is really good at rejoicing with me and mourning with me. She listens. She asks good questions. She laughs and makes me laugh. She danced with my tiny firstborn to U2 in the kitchen. She is a gift of God in my life that I get to keep discovering in different ways. We don't get to see each other often, we usually have to plan our phone dates with strategy and hope for napping kids, but she is there.

Bless you Rachel. You are a gift. Celebrate today.

Golden Afternoon

Well, the muscles are tired and I'll be ready for my pillow tonight, but the insides of the kitchen cabinets are looking spiffy. I am so happy that Sam had no way to record my moaning and groaning, and there is no video record of my paint stained gray-legging-ed self stuck out of a base cabinet. You'll just have to imagine. . .

Once I had scrubbed the paint from beneath fingernails and from forearms, I treated myself to a little more fall fluffing of the house. Our family room fireplace was on the home improvement list to be tended by a professional this summer, but we ran out of time and budget. In South Carolina, our fireside dreams will keep for another year, so I decorated the hearth. Then, later in the afternoon, I glanced over and saw the whole scene bathed in the golden light of autumn.

One of the things I love about this season is how it comes on inexorably; it will not be denied once it has begun. It was over 80 degrees today, but the quality of the light has changed, the brassy brightness of summer has mellowed. The sky is the deep, grand blue of October, not the soft wash of spring or the haze of summer.

One thing about painting cabinet insides or watching the measured pace of a turning season: these days are engendering a peace in me that has been long absent. The progress of brush or roller over wood, the nighttime chill a little sharper each week, the honey-flood of light across an afternoon floor, dusk a little sooner each evening. The last few days, I feel I've been drinking from a deep, cool well, refreshed when I did not know how parched I was. God is good.

Restlessness is a thief of this peace, and restlessness seems the disease of our modern times. Even if we are not always jumping, cricket-like, to the next new thing, we may feel as though we should be.

So it is good to work, to work hard and to want only rest, to be tired and in a posture to receive, to be still and know Who God is. And Whose child I am.

Up to My Elbows in Ivory Semigloss

With my usual zeal, I have tackled the inside of the kitchen cabinet painting project. (wooo hoooo) Very faint cheer. There will be a real post tomorrow or Wednesday, when I get all the paint off of me.

Whew!

SAM: "It doesn't take long, with a little boy's help!"

I still miss Joshua every day when he is at school. I suppose I have gotten used to it, to wondering what he is doing and who he is playing with, what books he is reading and hearing. Sometimes he shares a lot of vivid information from his day, which helps my imaginings.

But though I miss my big guy, though I sent him back to school reluctantly, I embrace the one on one time with Sam, which is flying by now that there is less than a year of it left. Time for him to be the main squeeze, time for his words to bubble out uninterrupted, corrected or echoed. He LOVES to help me, to dump flour into the mixer bowl, to touch the elastic and smooth bread dough with a finger, to toss clothes into the washer and hand up clothespins to hang them to dry.

The efficient side of me sometimes loses patience, sometimes forgets that I am a few fluttering calendar pages away from doing my day alone. My little helper will be about his own business, navigating the academic and social waters of kindergarten. He can't wait.

But I can. I can wait. I can answer a few more thousand questions. I can pause to get out the step stool and explain again what the yeast does, I can smile over the haphazardly set table and slow my steps to his. I can mark the passage of the day by snacktime, lunchtime, naptime. This Mommy will keep her little boy helper as long as she can.

Hidden Home Improvement

Today it is the real deal. No sun-drenched room makeovers, no recipe from scratch, and no deep spiritual insights.

I've been painting the inside of our kitchen cabinets.

Some of you know that our kitchen makeover, in two parts, was fourteen months ago. We painted the really dark wood cabinets a soft cream, and ripped out mud-brown carpet. My sweetie put down a charcoal and cream checkerboard ceramic tile floor, and we painted the walls a soft, barely there pale green. Barn red accessories, red floral window treatments my precious sister made for our last house, and a breakfast room light fixture purchased 90% off at Lowe's. Other lighting changes, a new countertop and a new stovetop are years down the road budget-wise, so we called our frugal, DIY kitchen makeover finished.

And I closed the cabinet doors on their dark and sad interiors.

Until lately. When it started to nag at me. I mean, I cleaned them well when we moved in, and I clean them now, but there is a level of UGH in old wood cabinets in an old house that even Mrs. Meyers cannot banish. And the paint is here-- we had lots left of the custom mixed paint from the outside of the cabinets. So, a free project, without the usual money guilt. No reason to not dive in.

Except for the Total Kitchen Upheaval emptying the cabinets means. Except for the ancient Contac paper clinging to some of the shelves. (A pox on Contac paper, except of course for the very handy for kids' crafts clear Contac paper.) Except that this is a most unglamorous project, not decorative in the least and utilitarian to the extreme.

But I am going ahead with it. I suspect in my housewifely soul that once it is done, once it is a memory and all the Contac goo is gone from beneath my fingernails, I will enjoy those clean, bright, smooth cabinet insides nearly as much as I love my newly redone living room.

And such a mindless project gives me lots of time to listen to music and talk to Sam, or if he is otherwise occupied, think. So perhaps the next post WILL be more philosophical, as in how sin is like old Contac paper, coming away in maddeningly small shreds, or decorative, like artfully arranged boxes of mac and cheese. . . on the laundry room floor. . .

A Public Service Announcement in Two Parts

Perhaps you might find yourself with a free hour or so this weekend, and the desire to make something yummy for you and yours. On an overcast and unusually cool day in South Carolina, we are yearning toward fall, but it doesn't feel quite right yet to break out autumnal staples like apple and pumpkin pie. I am here to help.


Firstly, do you have a cookie scoop? I did not own one up until about three weeks ago, and now I am all about this handy little item. Mine is by Oneida and came from Wal Mart, for about $6. I have learned by unfortunate experience to spend the couple of extra dollars and choose the heavier kitchen tool when possible, so I bypassed the plastic, and brought this little guy home.


And so, Sam and I made Oatmeal Toffee Cookies from the recipe on the bag of Heath Baking Bits that had been lurking on my counter, tempting my husband for a few days. WOW! There nowhere I need to go that half a pound of butter can't take me! These cookies were delightful. Thanks to my new tool, there was no messing around with two teaspoons or a spoon and knife. All the cookies were the same size, so they baked evenly. And I scooped half the dough onto parchment and flash froze them and popped them into a freezer bag for later use.

The cookies themselves were great. The cinnamon was the perfect foil to offset the sweetness of the toffee and brown sugar. They are wonderful with a cup of coffee, and they won kid praise as after-school snack that day.

So for the weekend, I wish you warm baking smells in the kitchen and a crisp edge to the air in the morning, long evenings with those you love.

House Happy

John painted again this weekend, dipping once more into the five gallon bucket of "Heavy Cream." The family room was settled back into order, so it was time to tear the living room apart. :) We emptied the books from the seven foot bookcase you cannot see in this picture so it could migrate across the room, we pulled out all the china from the dark red cabinet in the corner, because when we started, it was in the breakfast room. It traded places with my desk. We spun the sofa around, moved mirrors and the candle chandelier. Because, why JUST paint when you can redecorate?

I feel a little silly about how happy I am with the room now. I go in there just to look at it. As we put things back in place, or rather in their new places, we deep cleaned and polished and washed and dusted. I am much more of a fall cleaning person than spring. I may be sharing more pictures of this serene and shiny space. (Rather, than say, the top of my craft desk, which has not been seen in months. :)

Moving my desk to the breakfast room and putting the dark red china cupboard in our living/dining room was equal parts form and function. The desk I am talking about is not the computer desk, which is in the family room, but my writing one, where I pen cards and the occasional letter, and where I plan menus and manage coupons. So it made sense that it would be closer to the kitchen, where the food and cookbooks live. But I also wanted that symbol of busyness and planning out of the living and dining space, with its piles of paper and scribbled on calendar and clippings. Now this room is all about reading and listening to music and family dinners and board games and the moment we are in.

The breakfast room is about eat your cereal, don't be late, what do you have for homework, are granola bars on sale, do we have more toothpaste, and how much chicken broth do I need for that recipe?

Cross from tile to hardwood, and I wanted even the furnishings to say, take your time, have another helping, whose turn is it, okay, one more chapter. Or, because I don't live in a dreamworld people, one more light saber fight, one more round of hide and seek, one more game of tag. You're it!

We've always been in the position of furnishing our spaces mainly in hand me downs and thrift store finds and kind gifts, and have have long made peace with making peace with what we have, rather than envisioning the wonder of choosing every fabric and silhouette and detail. I don't mind a slipcover, or painting a piece or two. And with this comes a freedom I have come to appreciate. Without the pressure of having spent a lot on choosing things for a specific room or use, there is no guilt or worry in making our chairs and desks and tables migrate to serve the family. No sacred cows, no untouchable surfaces, and only things that are beloved because of the life that is being lived on and around them. I love to decorate, but if it doesn't work for busy boys and a husband a foot taller than I am and our modest budget, it doesn't work. And in this way, we are making a home I am falling more in love with all the time, mostly because I am crazy about these people with whom I share it.

Sweet indeed.

Measure for Measure

I really used to dislike baking. I am a self-taught cook, and baking, at first, was just not fun. Fun was slinging palmfuls of basil into pasta sauce, or serving up a satisfying bowl of chili at the end of the day, topped with golden shredded cheese.

But baking is chemistry. Teaspoons matter. Pinches and dashes matter. Precision and focus and attentiveness matter. And thankfully, as patience has come (somewhat and hard-won) with a bit of age, I have learned to bake. Now, I did not say anything about artfully iced cookies or cakes decked with sugar sculpted roses. But for a wholesome, simple loaf of whole wheat bread or a batch of lemon muffins, cinnamon rolls scenting the morning or a homey pound cake, I'm your girl.

I remember learning how to measure flour for baking. I was taught that if you dip the scoop into the flour, it is packed into the measure and you end up with too much flour in proportion to the fat and leavening and liquid in the recipe. But if you scoop the flour into your cup with a spoon, allowing air to remain incorporated in the flour, and gently scrape the measure level with the backside of a knife, you have the right amount. Your bread will rise. Your cake will be moist and not dry.

Our days are the same. Filled with too much, tight and dry as we can pack them, they become hard as doorstops, or closed hearts, or stumbling stones. There is no room to breathe, to expand, to rise, to show hospitality, to allow our agenda to be derailed by a child, by a need, by a Father. And it backfires. I really believe this. That the things we make of such days are not nourishing; they are as heavy as our over scheduled hearts.

So I am trying to fill these days with a light hand, scoop gently into them, and smooth the top. The unused flour, the undone task, the unexplored idea, the unread book, is not lost. It goes back into the bin. There are more days, more hours to come. There are pizza crusts and biscuits and breadsticks to be made for another meal. It is all good, it just doesn't all belong in the same batch.

To Remember

A pause today to remember all who perished on September 11, 2001, both those who were attacked as they traveled or worked, and those who ran into the horror to assist them.

A moment to honor those who serve us still in our Armed Forces, law enforcement, and fire departments, who forgo safety and comfort to insure our own.

A prayer for those families who must share such a rending personal loss with the world, for whom this day is forever dark.

The quiet blue of a September sky will never be the same.

Rescuing and Freshening

John and I celebrated twelve years of marriage this weekend in true Kemp fashion-- a little home improvement, a lot of time with the boys, some tasty food at home and out, and just being us. It was good. (I love you sweetie-- I am excited to begin another year with you!)

But all this rescuing and freshening started last week. I brilliantly wore my most comfortable white T shirt on spaghetti night. Just call me grace-- with my first (hearty) forkful little orange dots sprinkled my shirt, and despite Early Stain Intervention, they remained. Now at this time of year I could buy any number of white T's on clearance, but somehow I wanted to rescue this one, not have the answer found in the bottom of a two-handled plastic bag. So, now I am in LOVE with this swirly, feathery leaf from Jenny Hart , and I want to put it on everything.

And then this weekend, thanks to a generous anniversary gift, off we went to Lowe's and came home with paint for the family room and living room-- a five-gallon bucket of an Olympic color called Heavy Cream. Now on the family room walls, it is the color of really good vanilla ice cream. Next weekend we will paint the living room and we have color plans for the hall and bathrooms for later. The family room is so pretty-- I would not have thought that a little color change and the sheen of satin finish could make such a difference. We are going much more subtle with all colors in this house than ever before, and loving the result-- restful and multi-seasonal.

In the course of painting the family room, it got a top-to bottom fall cleaning-- so nice-- rug beaten, surfaces deeply cleaned, and today, inspired by Meredith, the sofa and chair cushion covers are being washed and the cushions themselves aired in the hot sunshine. (See Meredith's post to view the color my cushion washing water was. ) And the same will happen with the living room next weekend. And it is deeply satisfying to me.

Can you tell-- the air was crisp this morning-- I am steaming ahead toward Fall!

Grateful

Good morning! Where does this day find you? Where are you as you read these words? Obviously it is late October in this Carolina heart-- I continue to share images from last Autumn-- a quiet defiance to a predicted 93 degrees today.

I am feeling grateful. Just that, really. A glance back over my shoulder to say that good things are happening, that some worries and anxieties have been smoothed and soothed by grace and provision.

--Joshua is loving first grade. Bounds out the door to school, leaps off the bus daily full of news and excitement. "Mommy, Mrs. R is the coolest teacher EVER!" He is at ease and confident, and his teacher uses a project-based learning approach to weave the disciplines they are studying together, an atmosphere in which he is thriving. We are working with him an a "Who am I?" project, making a time line of his life and sharing pictures and stories. I was so anxious about this year, and every new day God is assuring me that He knows Joshua and cares for his heart, even more than this mommy.

--Sam did not have the adjustment period I feared, with brother away at school all day. As we get into fall, he and I are going to do a little more structured learning, but for now we are just enjoying reading and playing and reuniting with his brother at the bus stop.

--I'm feeling thankful for our church's Wednesday night time-- with fellowship, learning and Scripture memory for the kids, and an adult Bible study for us on the Gospel of Matthew. Last night, as Pastor Mark thanked God that He "redeemed us by His Providence," that one phrase fed my spirit so much. God does redeem by His Providence-- us, our plans, our worries-- He holds and transforms-- not always into what we desire or imagine, but always something better, more whole, more true.

--I am always cared for so tenderly by my sweet husband. John reminds me everyday that this mom gig is challenging, and that he respects both that I do it, and how I do it. He is my very tall cheering section.

--I have lots of creative goodies here to play with when I have bits of time to do so. After letting pictures to order pile up for an embarrassing amount of time, (do as I say, not as I do: order pictures regularly), I got a box full of prints from MPIX last week. Pages and pages for scrapbooks are filling my imagination. And I have a couple of other projects in mind as well. I want to try my hand at these . And I have the materials to make two of these, from my father's old pocket watches.

--Carrie Newcomer's music, rediscovered this summer, has become an almost daily soundtrack.

--I'm happy about the meals I put away in the freezer, that give me the gift of time during these busy, start up days. It is good to learn again that organization can actually create flexibility and graciousness later, by anticipating future needs and schedules.

-- All the really wonderful people who write for children, both the ones who write "literature" and those who pen the fun, laugh-out-loud books, give a gift to us parents. A balanced reading diet of both is producing in Joshua, and planting in Sam, both an appreciation for and delight in books. Seeing this in action has given me the grace to intersperse my own more serious, focused reading with lighter fare. Takes me right back to childhood days, legs flung over the arm of an old green chair, chapters and hours flying.

-- My fellow bloggers, who write,quote, share, and photograph-- I am indebted to their daily inspiration.

What's on your list?

Feeling Septemberish

It really did change on Saturday, people. On Saturday morning there was the smallest note of coolness in the breeze. And this morning, I did not break a sweat as I hung out the laundry. Of course, it is supposed to get to 94 today. But the shift is happening. I love that this year, I didn't miss it.

We had a little anniversary fun over the weekend-- a wonderful dinner with my sister and brother-in-law and the treat of a night away while the boys were with Grandma and Pop pop. I can't believe we are celebrating twelve years-- inside I still feel like that twenty-three year old bride!

Perhaps it seems inside out, but I love that we began our life together at the start of my favorite season. Though nature wanes in autumn, fall has never lost the back to school feeling for me, the quickening of creative and physical energy, even as we draw the home circle in a little tighter, as we tuck in loose ends, trade the grill for long-roasted oven meals. Perhaps I feel my energies are concentrated, my focus is tighter and clearer.

Or maybe I just really REALLY like the little lights I bought this weekend, that look like candy corn.

Adding to this sense of well-being is the quiet delight of reading a wonderful book. I checked out Hannah Coulter, sent on a quest for Wendell Berry fiction by the wonderful Molly. It has proven to be a soul-feeding book, more deeply true, somehow, than non-fiction. Ending each chapter feels like the end of a good meal, when you use the last crust of bread to soak up the last bit of sauce, not wanting to miss one drop.

I know these times of peace are a blessing to any family, these weeks when Joshua can't wait to get to his wonderful first grade class, these golden afternoons of snacks and schoolwork, long evenings when we are all here. The quiet mornings home with Sam, nights of deep sleep for all of us. Wishing you all this and more, swinging as we are between summer and fall, everywhere a bountiful harvest.

Warm Thanks, Autumn Dreaming and a Book or Two

Not so much sleeping happening last night, so I am greeting Monday a little gritty-eyed and not really feeling like living my best life today. Maybe tomorrow. :-) But let's give it the old College try. . .

I must being by saying thank you to sweet Susanne , who honored me with a Creative Blogger Award. Blogging has given me such a gift, by making a space for me, both in cyberspace and in my day, to unite my loves of writing, photography, cooking, homekeeping, and parenting into one form of expression. I receive so much inspiration from other women who dig deep every day for words, images and projects and put them out here for us, to enrich our lives.

I am also feeling grateful on a very practical level today: after rummaging around in freezer and fridge and cupboards, I have found raw materials enough for several meals to make over the next couple of days and store in the freezer. Today I put a chicken pot pie and a huge dish of homemade macaroni and cheese on ice, tomorrow I'll add meatballs, pizza Stromboli and whitefish cakes. (These are made like crab cakes, but with the whitefish I never seem to cook correctly.) I feel "paid double" by these dishes, in that they are being made with small, odd amounts of ingredients, and that they are my insurance policy, on weary evenings, against an unplanned meal out.

Finally the picture with this post is not just to torment all of us who are counting the days until autumn arrives, it ties into my latest favorite children's book: Pumpkins. Not a Halloween story, Pumpkins by Mary Lyn Ray is a delightful story of love for the land, hard work, self-sacrifice and conservation, told with wonderful language and humor. We had checked it out once before in the spring, and I enjoyed it even more the second time around as Joshua read it to us last night. I have requested her other books. And also in our stack: When I Was Young in the Mountains. Cynthia Rylant has become a perennial choice of mine, and this Caldecott Honor book has the Appalachian soul that appeals to this Blue Ridge girl.

Happy Monday, everyone!

Lemony Steam and Home Thoughts

There is something about ironing that takes me back to the days when we had first moved into this house. Really beyond memory, more an inhabiting of those first weeks here, every time I unfold my screechy board and set to work with spray and starch and steam.

The kitchen around me looked very different then. Dull and dark wood cabinets, brown carpet on the floor, and primed walls, it looked kind of like a whitewashed cave. But nothing made me feel so much at peace in our new home as being there, looking out the window, smoothing wrinkles and crisped creases.

There were more questions than answers, then as now. Then, I contemplated some relationships and wondered if they would survive our transitions of career path and geography. Some didn't. I dreamed over our new home and imagined the loving changes I wanted for it. As always with a family with small children, the pace of those changes has been slow, as we have resolved to be careful about laying aside too much living for the sake of improving. I reflected as I pressed business shirts for my husband on his love for his new job, and felt a profound gratitude that long-deserved professional success and satisfaction was finally his.

The kitchen looks different now. The room of the house where we have laid the heaviest hand has pale green walls, creamy cabinets, and the door and drawer pulls I set my heart on. I walk a cream and charcoal ceramic checkerboard floor laid by my husband. I wonder about different things, like our new church home, Joshua's school friends, Sam's last year full-time with me and what books I should use to tempt their vibrant minds.

But deeper than any conscious thought is this settled feeling of peace, that has been with me since the first morning I stumbled into this kitchen to make coffee. Like a quiet whisper-- here we are, we live here. These walls contain our truest selves, we make a good place for each other, a soft place to land at the end of the day.

Signing My Name

This is one of those posts that maybe should be more like five posts. But the clock has been ticking on it, swirling around in my head with all the emotions and thoughts and anticipations and prayers of the new school year beginning.

Tonight we are headed to Meet the Teacher night at Joshua's school, and I am getting excited, almost in spite of myself, to be back in that pint-sized world, to meet the personality I'll loan my precious to for six and a half hours a day, for the next nine months. I think, despite my kicking and screaming, that we are all ready for the adventure to begin.

I have mommy friends who send their littles to public school, to private school, and who teach their children at home. (One dear mom I know, because of the different needs of her kids, does all three.) The blogs I read represent every sort of home education flavor I can imagine. And I would be so much poorer without my homeschool blogging buddies, in the richness of their pursuit of children's literature, nature study, and out-of-the-box learning, and their devoted hearts and spirits.

But I am a public school mom. Joshua will continue at our neighborhood school this year, and my expectation is that Sam will follow him there next year. It is not a lesser choice, an inferior choice, a sub-par choice. We believe it is our calling for our family. It is our choice.

It has been our experience with Joshua, and was his father's and my experience in our day, that the halls and classrooms are staffed with compassionate, skilled, and devoted professionals. They are overworked and underpaid, which only makes their performance more laudable.

We know. We know those places full of laughter and art also harbor too many days of standardized testing, bullies, lunches of questionable nutrition, worksheets and other busy work. . . on and on.

The kicker is, the kids themselves. The kids my boys would not meet on our street or on Sunday morning. Kids who give them a bigger sense of the world. Kids to love, kids to worry over, kids to stretch our hearts a little bigger. Redefining our notion perhaps, of who our kids are.

Of course, last year this led to some eye-opening dinner table conversations-- Joshua testing the limits of vocabulary on occasion, questioning entertainment guidelines, and sometimes giving us a peephole into a classmate's life that broke our hearts. Sometimes uncomfortable, always challenging. And some of the richest moments of parenting I've experienced. When I have come to the end of my "wisdom." And really need wisdom from Another.

So that is who we are on the educational landscape.

And here is where it gets messy. There are hard decisions we make, raising our kids. It isn't picking paint colors. It is growing little people. And we all make the decisions we make because of what we think is right. That only makes sense.

And we sometimes fall into a couple of pitfalls along the way. One is thinking there is only one right decision. (I remember weeping, post-mastitis and in the midst of post-partum depression, knowing deep down I could not face continuing nursing and sure I had already failed my little boy. )

The other is believing we must be in conflict over our differing choices. (A big thanks to the authors of any articles called "Mommy Wars" or using the term "versus" to apply to parenting.)

The problem is that it is easy to give lip service to the idea that we are all doing the best we can figure out, we are all aiming to raise great kids, that there are many paths to that goal. It is harder to keep our internal dialogue and how we view other, different parents compassionate and tolerant. It is easy to understand how we can fall victim to judging other parents, sometimes over the smallest issues. We are unpaid and largely un-praised. We don't get promotions or incentive-based raises. No one sits down with us for a performance review, and many of us are constantly evaluating our approach, because the stakes are so high, or seem to be. It is hard at times to maintain our perspective and our sense of humor, and all too easy to say to ourselves, "Well, I am not doing that great in this area, but at least I don't ____________ like ____________ does."

I'm not innocent of this, and neither are most of the parents I've met. The cocktail of self-doubt, conviction, sleeplessness, and pressure that parenting can be wears us down, in a sense, to this sort of one-upmanship. The problem is, left to grow, these attitudes isolate us from parents unlike ourselves, who have made different choices, and these may be the ones from whom we stand to learn the most.

I am all for passionate parenting, conviction, strong feelings and opinions. My husband would tell you I am composed almost entirely of those! So I am trying to learn the art of owning where I am in this journey, signing my name, not apologizing, and at the same time, retaining the humility and humor of just one mommy, knee-deep in the process. There is only one perfect Parent, and I am still growing in Him after all, still a Child myself.

Blessings to anyone who loves a child, educates a child, kisses a child as she gets on the bus, holds a baby to breast or bottle, potty trains and sings to sleep, reads aloud from Milne or Calvin and Hobbes. Company for the journey. . .

Normal

We are back from our adventures away, and sliding into a day at home, with the AC humming already and bread rising in the kitchen.

I love traveling, just the four of us. There is a subtle cementing of family identity that happens when we are on the road, not in route to see extended family, but just out for pleasure and to take pleasure in each other's company. We are always enlivened by the curiosity of the little guys, their eagerness and excitement and gratitude. We returned tired, but felt bathed in blessing.

What I found waiting for me was our beloved home, but also an ache, familiar after the last couple of years, but no less acute-- that in ten days or so Joshua will go back to school. Back to lunchbox and playground and worksheets and cubbies-- though perhaps not cubbies in first grade, perhaps a real desk. And from eight to two-thirty, he will be a citizen of the wider world, and Sam and I will hold down the smaller fort of home. Until Sam's turn, next year.

And I am faced with the question every mommy asks, nearly every day: Is this normal? This wrenching pain I feel at this little letting go? The tears that will flow at the slightest thought of the year beginning? Feeling fragile myself yet protective of these little hearts and minds? Greedy about hoarding these easy hours that drift by nearly unmarked by clock or bell?

I've searched my heart about homeschooling. I am not, at this season, called to it. I have not heard the deep YES that has marked every major decision John and I have made, and neither has he. Despite my mommy tears and our mutual trepidation, we know that this year, Joshua will be where he belongs, at our neighborhood elementary school. And we also fiercely know that we will not hand over our places as the biggest influences in his little life. We only loan him-- we do not give him away.

I used to see those back to school commercials, the ones where they played the song, "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year," as blissful parents filled their carts and contemplated their little darlings going back to school. I heard other moms, counting down the days until they joined car line and relinquished their summer role. Was this something that would just happen to me, that as August waned, I would spur my littles out the door with glee?

It didn't. It hasn't. I don't think it will.

Is this normal?

All I am left with is the resolve to savor these days and the trust that I am only me, only one mommy, called to love and pray for these two little guys, to feel deeply, to laugh loud, to shed my tears and dry theirs. To get to know his teacher, to love the boys and girls who will join him on his adventure, to ask for meetings and send e-mails and be really present, here and there. There is no getting away from it-- the need for focus and attention, balanced with the grace to let go.

A little.

A Wish For Good Times and a Blog Break

It is ticking in the background you see-- the countdown to summer's end. For us it started July 21st, when there was officially less than one month left before school starts. But now it is August-- time to get serious about soaking up what is left.

So that is what we will be doing-- sights to see, books to read, maybe a couple of low-key projects, time with friends. . . Close your eyes. . . imagine your summer as a watercolor. . . does anything need to be added to the scene? A last minute feast under the trees, toes dug in the sand, a balloon set adrift on a breeze, a paperback and a hammock? Pick up your brush. . .

I'll be taking a little break from the blog for a bit, but I will return to share our adventures and the cooler crisper ones we have planned for the months to come.

Take Me To Your Leader

More stitching fun this week from the still-amusing and inspiring Sublime Stitching. I found a couple of Tees for the boys on a clearance table at Old Navy-- heathered cream with chocolate brown trim. Rather unremarkable until they met our alien friend. A blue-eyed one for Sam and green-eyed for Joshua, whipped up on Wednesday, about to be hung out on the line, and likely worn tomorrow. We 'll be in T-shirts for three more months here, so this little buddy will have a lot of wear, even if the usual Mid-Winter Growth Spurt strikes both boys.

I think one of the main things I like about embroidery is that I am not great at it. My vision is really bad, and I am not very patient-- and I pretty much do one stitch over and over. And I am so good with that! I am a perfectionist in so many areas, and other hobbies in the past have ended up in the pursuit of everything other than fun. This is such a relief! I still strive for excellence in lots of areas, but in stitchery, I find the grace of good-enough.

The boys think it is a miracle that Mom can make an alien on a plain-Joe T-shirt, and no one will ever mistake it for anything other than it is-- the product of loving hands at home, a summer afternoon well-whiled away.

And Yet Another

Two posts, one day? Only moments apart? What is she up to? And where are those boys of hers?

I simple couldn't resist. Daily I am undone, moved to laughter, tears or prayer by Ann at Holy Experience. And we know how bad I am at putting off tinkering with the code that steers the sidebars and bones of this blog. But this morning, when I read, and smiled, and sighed happily yet again at her words, I had to come back here and bring her to you.

A warning--- if you delve into the rich mine of her archives, make and pour your coffee first, or it will grow bitter, forgotten on the burner. Settle the kids for naps, make a quiet space, and listen to this exquisite voice.

Another Voice

I really wanted to blog today. This is the last day of July, and we have less than three weeks until school starts. Stirring in me is the simultaneous mourning for the summer that is passing, and yet the sweet ache for autumn-- long cool twilights, soups and stews, trees aflame and clear blue sky over bluer mountains.

But I am reading one of those books that makes me feel like everything has already been written, like a kindred spirit, in this case, Katrina Kenison, has brushed her fingers against the pulse of what I believe and transcribed the aspirations and longings of my heart into her pages. At the end of each essay, there is a long satisfied sigh, the exhale of, "Yes! That's it-- that is it exactly!"

A sample:
"When we cultivate a mood of calm repose in our homes, we scooping out a space for reflection and wonder, for contemplation and reverie. Our children are exposed to incessant commotion in the world that exists beyond our walls. Let home be the place where they can find the peace and quiet they need to make sense of it all. A place, too, where we can nurture our inner lives without distraction. The soul speaks softly. And so I guard our quiet times. Creativity flourishes in these spaces; grace and peace reside here too."

Mitten Strings For God

I am about halfway through this book, recommended some time ago over at Eyes of Wonder. And some of my specific approaches are different than Kenison's, but the spirit of this book has been breathing a blessing over my mothering. May I suggest reading it, and perhaps passing it on to a friend, or making it a gift for a new mommy in your life?

Of course, I'll be back with my own words-- likely a riveting post on recipe organization or a rhapsody on Mrs. Meyers linen spray. :) But in the meantime, I am enjoying this friendly voice, who more than anything else is whispering, "It can be done!"

A Place for Everything

Yesterday morning I tackled a household job I have been putting off for awhile. We have two different desks, one for the computer and a writing desk, as well as a large buffet with many drawers. Lots of storage is a good problem to have, but since we moved in and placed the furniture, I had not taken the time to think through all these spaces and the tasks I do on or near them. As well, we started the adventure of having a schoolboy. (I now envision him stepping off the school bus, pursued by a ceaseless river of paper that surges ankle-deep up the hill and into my kitchen door. ) The result was that I was not using my space well, and had little piles everywhere. Articles to read, book recommendations jotted on slips of paper, recipes clipped from magazines, and going on around them, constant searches for the stapler, address book, or a sharpened pencil.

I think it is true of many of us, that we are ruthlessly organized in some areas of life, but those skills never make it to other areas. For instance, since I cannot drive, I am very organized about our errands and shopping. We rarely run out of anything, my lists are written in the order items appear in the store and I try to buy in bulk to take advantage of sales and to stock up. I knew if I could conquer my mess of paper in the same way, I would reap benefits of more time and less frustration.

So yesterday, armed with a box for recycling, a trash bag, and a paper shredder, I went through each drawer and sorted and discarded and tidied. Some drawers already performed good functions and only needed "weeding." Others were emptied and given a new purpose. I stopped to think through WHERE various parts of my life happen. Most of my book recommendations come from the Internet, and I reserve library books online, so a little notebook in the top drawer of the computer desk for titles and authors only makes sense. I plan menus and make lists at my writing desk, where I need a drawer for my menu calendar, grocery ads, a coupon book and a folder of recipes to try. I write letters there as well, so stationary and stamps need a home. The deep drawers of the buffet are great for storing art projects and extra crayons and notebooks. Tape, pens, pencils and a pair of scissors in multiple locations is just, well, realistic.

I spent an entirely satisfying morning and finished with a box of paper to recycle, a bag of trash and a diagram for the family notebook so my husband can know what is where without searching every drawer. (And now the family notebook has a place too.)

Of course the value of this is not in the neatened drawers or even my little spurt of housewifely pride. I am now faced with the serenity of clean surfaces, free of little stacks of who-knows-what. And time and energy will be saved by knowing exactly where to go to find the tools for and records of our household life. And I have an action plan when the dam is unplugged, school starts and the paper tide heads this way. It is an easygoing and realistic system I can keep up with.

Now there is more space and time for crafting, reading, taking photographs and even just long, deep breaths. More time for living, and less spent on mere maintenance. And that is something to lift a glass of lemonade to. Cheers!