out of doors

Roy works most evenings during the week and after a day full of work, I am more grateful than ever for beautiful weather and places to enjoy it.

Our routine is home - Miller watches an episode of Thomas the Train while I prep dinner - we eat - we go outside until it's nearly Miller's bedtime (7:30).

We walk up and down the street, sometimes we head around the block, mostly we end up at the park at the end of our street.

With plenty of grass, slides and swings nearby we rarely venture out in the car, but last week we went to the Arboretum at UKs campus. It was so worth the drive.

This one loves to run, a hobby I hope to cultivate. Soon she'll be old enough to do Girls on the Run, but in the meantime, we'll find time to jog.

The other one loves his sister, and the fish at the Arboretum. I could not pull him away and a few times I thought he was going to tumble head first into the pond.

Yesterday I told him he needed to come inside. He said no. Sophie said no. He walked to Sophie, took her hand, and they walked in the opposite direction together.

I am so screwed.

Every day I am tired. Every day I work so incredibly hard. And every day I come home to these kids and they make me happier than I ever knew possible.

They are so amazing. 

The Holy Mystery

As a teen and pre-teen I would kneel (figuratively) before God (usually as a result of guilt or peer pressure) and confess my sins and ask for forgiveness and promise to give up lustful thoughts and jealousy and hateful feelings and pray every day and be a good little Christian and even give up swearing, which was the absolute WORST part about those short-lived religious explosions.

At the little Christian High School I attended, there were many, many discussions on the importance of having Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior.  Hell was a place I was sure to end up (along with the rest of my heathen family) for all my wicked thinking about boys and the cussing and all my evilness. Oh and the conversations with one school-mate who insisted that Gandhi was in hell because he was Hindu.  The "speaking in tongues" hubbub my Junior year sent underclass boys and girls (and even me, by that time a disgusted and rebellious near Buddhist) into tailspins of self doubt.

During those same years I remember a conversation with an older, wiser friend who, when I confessed my fear of hell, laughed a great, deep belly laugh at me - "you are not going to hell" he told me. I looked at him, shocked. "I'm not?" I said. Somehow, that's really all I needed to hear.

After leaving home, I settled into a comfortable existence of believing in God (most of the time) and being "spiritual but not religious" and when the religious right political movement really took off I about lost my shit.

So to come - 15 years later - to where I am now is all at once completely expected and a total surprise.

Most Sunday mornings I find myself looking forward to the time that I can get on my knees (literally) and pray. To thank God and call forth those names so present in my heart. Sometimes I light a candle. I hear Mother Laurie preach the refrain, "God loves you anyway" and know my daughter is getting her religious instruction from her. I take the weekly Eucharist with people who are black, white, gay, straight, single, married, old and young and we are all equal and unjudged. During the peace I am met with hand shakes and hugs and peace signs.

The religious fervor of yore that I experienced in high school still exists in some circles, and hey - that's great. You go with your bad selves. But that's not where God speaks to me. And that's okay, too. Some friends find God when they're in nature. Others don't find him at all. That's okay. God loves you anyway.

On May 16, I will become a confirmed Episcopalian. I will never lose my Mennonite roots, but this inclusive church has brought me back. I have fallen in love with its history, its tradition, its public statement of tolerance, and its Book of Common Prayer. It is where I have rediscovered God.

this.

I'm sure not all moms are proud when their daughter comes to them and asks, "Can I please find a big tree to pee behind?" but I sure am. I also love a bedtime story that is accompanied by hair that smells like campfire and palms that still have remnants of marshmallow.

Today we played on the greatest playground in the world (Jacobson Park) and fed ducks.

Ah, this.

Schmecking

If my math is correct, it's been about 3 years since I was last home for Schmeckfest. This annual Festival of Schmecking (Schmeck = Taste) has been going on for 53 years and this year my amazingly talented brother directed the featured musical, The Wizard of Oz. I couldn't miss it.

For those of you who haven't been, Schmeckfest is a two weekend event that features an amazing array of ethnic Mennonite foods that is really a mishmash of Swiss, German, Russian and Jewish traditions. Local folks showcase their talents, making sausage, cheese pockets, peppernuts, fruit pockets, and new years cookies; they make rope and willow baskets and caned chairs and spin yarn - literally and figuratively. They feed 1,000 people per night and most stay for the show afterword. This volunteer effort is community at its best, and I am proud to say it happens in my home town.

I braved the 6-7 hour trip to Chicago by myself (with the kiddos) to pick up one of my dearest friends, Timothy. This is the only picture I got of him the whole weekend and it's fitting that he's following/chasing Miller, since he quickly became Miller's favorite person.Timothy was a Godsend this trip and his humor and gentle nature was a great compliment to the long drive across Wisconsin, Minnesota and into South Dakota. Plus, I got to spend time with a dear friend who now lives much too far away.

Once we arrived, things pretty much went like this.
I brought a cooler specifically to bring home Schmeckfest sausage and the good, squeeky Dimock Colby cheese I can only get in Freeman, so when I grew tired of standing in the slow moving line I headed to the museum feeling a little sad. On Sunday, Uncle John informed me that his brother announced in church that they would be selling Schmeckfest Sausage on the honor system.

So Timothy and I trudged over and into the unlocked maintenance shed to find this:
The sign says, "Help yourself to bags on lower shelf. Payment in box below." Only in Freeman.

Such a great trip home that I hardly have the words. Yes, es schmeckt gut.

Happy Days

With spring came a new tradition of evening walks. Sometimes we venture as far as the park at the end of the street, but usually it's just up and down our block, Miller sitting on every stoop along the way. Sometimes, Sophie joins him.

Progression

We went from this:
to this.
And also this:The weekend was a lot of this:and this morning I woke up to this.*
Beautiful and unexpected. Ain't that just life?

*Our friend Bret and his girlfriend built a snowman in our front yard this morning, well before anyone was up. This fact has brought me to a smile all day. I love that I have friends that would do this - and while Bret fessed up, it could've been any one of the many I'm lucky enough to have in my life. The cigar would've given him away, though.

spring in february

It's not news that the weather around the world has been funky this season. Today.Was. Gorgeous. I walked to one of my favorite restaurants, Natasha's, to have a long overdue lunch with one of my nearest and dearest. I was too warm in my winter coat. I looked out the office window longingly just WAITING for 5:00. (this pic was actually taken Tuesday but it could've been taken today.)
I picked up Miller from day care, headed home, threw some eggs on the stove to hard boil, grabbed chex mix and yogurt tubes and crackers and (of course) cookies and looked out the window in time to see gray clouds begin to roll in. We slooooowly walked up to the park and got about 10 minutes of play time on the jungle gym before the skies opened up.

We retreated to the picnic tables under the pavilion for our dinner. Miller was very intrigued by the rain and kept walking out into it. He'd cry. Then stop. Then look. But he didn't want to come back under the roof. Mostly he just looked like this:Sophie was slightly unnerved by the occasional thunder, but she took cues from little brother and put on a brave face.

When it became apparent that the rain was not going to stop, we took advantage of a slight decrease in precipitation and walked home. We came in a little cold, a little wet, and a lot happy.

What a beautiful winter-disguised-as-spring day.

(sorry for the crummy, old iPhone pictures!)