happy december, everyone!

I woke up this morning and found a new character at the Nativity.
It's December 1st and the official countdown to Christmas has begun!

our town

Around here this week there's been a little undercurrent of excitement. Thanksgiving is coming. The holidays are here. The countdown chain is hung and every morning little fingers get to tear through the paper and I do declare we're one day closer to Christmas.

On Sunday we found ourselves planted on a curb downtown in Farmer City. The crisp November air bit at our fingertips as we waited for our first parade in our new tiny town.

The whole scene felt thick with nostalgia to me as I watched small children with mitten covered fingers and scarves wrapped around their necks line the street and wait alongside their mom's and dad's. And the sweet people of the local church huddled together behind their small card table and giant thermos passing out steaming cocoa in styrofoam cups to passersby. And the sweet man with the genuine smile and giant hefty bag collecting discarded cups, wrappers and strewn about trash.

The parade started ceremoniously with police cars and men carrying weighty American flags. It would be my very first Farmer City parade and would be the thing to kick off this holiday week. And as I stood and watched and gazed about the little town square we were standing in the midst of I thought of only one thing for a moment. Winthrop. The town I'd grown up in, teeny tiny Winthrop, Maine. Every year there had been a holiday parade there and I'd watched from the front stoop of our house for many years until I was able to wield a saxophone and then I'd marched, fingers freezing, in that very parade playing that very ridiculously too large for me saxophone.

And then they came. The Blue Ridge Knights in all of their glory. And now here I was, in another teeny tiny town halfway across the country, watching this holiday parade, here, with my boys.

It felt exactly right. It occurred to me that even though it sounded crazy to admit, that this little farmhouse in this little place is exactly where we are supposed to be right now.

And so we watched. We collected candy. We waited for Santa. I waved to other characters along the way, while the boys hid and huddled behind me for safety from them.


We marvled at the ingenuity of some of the floats.

And finally he came. With arms waving and hearty "ho-ho-ho's", Santa passed by and his float lumbered further down Main Street. The parade ended and our holiday season felt as if it had officially begun.


**{All pictures from the parade I took with my phone, so they're not the best quality.}
**{Other than fires in our trash can, we have had no fires to report, however, if that vehicle that Santa is riding in is really our fire dept, then I'm afraid we're in trouble if we do need help.}

I Ikea'd

Last weekend I got to spend a whole entire afternoon at Ikea with my best girls. And I am telling you, it was right out of a dream. {The whole weekend was, really. But more on that later.} We took our sweet time and meandered through the gigantic store, floor by floor and bit by bit. And as anyone knows, meandering is a treat. Especially meandering with my best friends. It is a rare and fortunate blessing to find myself among them; the best of the best, all at the same moment in time. The ones who know me and love me still.

We filled our carts, heaping full and stretched our budgets, stretchy tight. I admire each of these girls for many reasons, the one particularly noted during this shopping and meandering being their design sensibilities. I truly love the way each of them has decorated her home. Their styles are not all the same but the one thing that is absolutely certain is that when you walk into any one of their homes, you feel cozy and warm and right at home. They are hospitable and inviting and warm women and their homes echo those sentiments.

More than chips and salsa or icy salt-rimmed margaritas, what I wanted most on Cinco de Mayo last May was a mosey through Ikea. On that very day we closed on our Leland Street house and the farmhouse was all mine. {Well not really all mine. It's not even really a little mine by ownership standards.} I would close my eyes and conjure images of dangling chandeliers and flowing drapes, matching bedding for the boy's new shared room and end tables for drinks and coffee tables for feet. The one thing I knew for sure was that I wanted this humble little house to be a place of warmth. A place that feels cozy and warm and welcome.
I would have snatched up the whole store that day if I'd had a semi-truck, and a bigger budget. I did get a bit of Christmas shopping done {like a tiny, minuscule bit}, and I also got some new throw pillows for our couch. They are soft, they feel down-feather filled and most importantly they have covers that can be unzipped and washed in the machine. Necessary! There is lots of eating and drinking and sticky fingers and spilling juice on our couch.

I also got a few things for these white shelves in our dining room. I love these shelves; formerly a black bookcase in our Leland St office and formerly before that a faux wood bookcase in our Leland St basement left by the seller and scored by us upon our move in. And really there's nothing better than free furniture given new life by a coat of white paint. These shelves are still not perfect. Last night I held up my Ballard Designs catalog to show Patrick what else I needed to buy to make the look more complete. His basic man response was save the money now and spend it on the next more long term place we live. I get that. But a girl's got to feather her nest, right? Those big white boxes on the bottom are among my favorite finds. At 2/$5, they are a cheap and still attractive storage system. With one marked "Henry" and one "William", each boy now has a place to put his school papers. And those have been flowing out of my ears. In a good way, but still. I'll take storage that's functional and easy on the eyes all for the price of one grande pumpkin spice latte {2 pumps, hold the whip}.

ordinary day

It doesn't look glamorous.

It's the sunrise on the horizon at dawn, possums in the vent, pee in the pants, birds in the yard, books on the floor, tractors on the couch, oatmeal stuck to the face, sunshine in the eyes, puddles under the house, pajamas all day, dirt in the toes, hours in the van, chicken wire on the vents, spiders on the walls, water from the well, smoking garbage in the can, rides in the combine, stranger's dogs on the porch, laundry in a heap, cereal on the dinner table, bubbles in the bath, bouncing on the bed, deep darkness in the night.

Nope, it's not glamorous or note-worthy,
but it's our ordinary day.
There's a quote in "Crazy Love", {Francis Chan} that struck me by Annie Dillard, 
How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.

See, there are days that are unique and special and catch me completely by surprise. And then there are those that feel completely dull, drab and utterly ordinary.  Both make up the beauty of this patchwork we'll look back on as our lives. The dull days blur together in shades of gray but they are highlighted by the bright colors of the days full of friends, vacations, celebrations, holidays, and surprises. If our lives were a large, colorful, patterned quilt, the ordinary days would be the threads that tie the pieces together; the polka dots and stripes that color those brightly sewn squares.

I want to take neither kind of day for granted, for I know just how quickly things can all change. Ordinary days are the ones that string together to make up our lives. I want this blog to document the less than spectacular days as well as the bright and shiny ones, too. Today is an ordinary day at the farmhouse. The Barbies of my youth have been resurrected and today they are hanging out on their fire-engine red couch. They are wearing pretty shoes and are changing party dresses quite often. And they are really looking darned good and not showing their age one bit.

I love the way he loves them and the way the blond of their hair looks all white and glowy in the sunlight. I love the way Henry raced inside after school and said, "William, let's go play Barbies!". And the way William happily followed suit, but not before claiming the Barbie purse and the baby. It's just an ordinary day at the farmhouse, and I feel appreciative for it in a way that makes me hang on a little tighter to my boys and cling a little bit closer to them. 

And because it was an ordinary day, I should note that shortly after I pecked out this post, even while the sweetness of the warm moments of this day lingered at the forefront of my mind, naptime ended, fights between the boys broke out and I lost my patience. Not glamorous or pretty for sure. But quite ordinary and very typical. In these moments I'm reminded of the extraordinary amount of grace that I'm in need of each and every ordinary and typical day.

sweet corn

It is September first. Good.ness. I don't naturally hop, skip and jump right into Fall. There is so much to celebrate in this new season, but I just like to hang on to the sweetness of summer. So today I'm sort of dragging my heels into this new month.

I can drag, but the world goes on around me. Patrick's dad is already harvesting his corn. The field next to our house has been combined to the ground. Our view is already so different; so vast.

In July Patrick taught me how to reap a harvest of sweet corn. We, as the locals would say, 'put up some corn'. And this is how we did it.

We picked a whole bunch. Three recycling bins were filled to their brims with ears of the sweet, juicy stuff.

Patrick and Henry went to work shucking the cobs.


I waited inside with a vegetable brush and they brought them in by the bucket full for me to scrub.

The sink was so full. It became a little bit of a game to see who could be faster; me as a scrubber or the boys as shuckers. They won.

I boiled two big pots of water and plunked the corn into them to cook once it was clean.

And then it went into the colander to cool.

There is just something so beautiful about that bright yellow glow of the cooked kernels. It just screams summer and sunshine.

Once it was sufficiently cool, Patrick cut the corn from the cobs.


And lastly into freezer storage bags it went.

I don't remember the exact finished count, but there were at least thirty 1-quart bags full of corn.
The smell of corn permeated the air and made me crave salt and butter. It tasted yummy in July when we were cooking it. But I'm pretty sure it will be at its most delicious peak in the middle of January when the wind is whipping through the emptied snow covered fields and the humidity and sunshine of July are but a distant memory.
I hope this corn will taste just like July.

gone are these days

I've been looking through old picture files lately and I can hardly stand it.
My baby has gotten so big. I carry him on my hip and cuddle him with his blankets. But carrying and cuddling cannot stop time. He is changing from less of a toddler and into more of a big boy.
In fact, we have a chart of stickers plastered on our fridge that makes it official.


It turns out that stickers are very motivating for my little blondie. He shed his diapers and is now wearing big boy underwear. They look adorable on his little bottom gracing his still chubby thighs; one of his only baby traits left. And while I know I should be cheering and having a diaper burning celebration, I'm sad to say goodbye to those days. For the donning of big boy undies marks the end of yet another 'last'.

oh, August you've proved almost too much for me.



We've bid farewell to the crib. The start of something new is always exciting. Everyone in our family was excited to pick up this big boy bed and set it up for William. He and Henry snuggled right in throwing blankets and pillows on it and cuddling up even before I had time to dress it properly with sheets.

And Bert quickly found her place cozied up next to William wrapped in blankets with her head resting on a pillow.



With all of the excitement of yet another first, I can't help but think of the utterly tear-jerking book 'Let Me Hold You Longer' again and how the precious lasts pass all too quickly. Now another marker of William's big boyhood is firmly in place. His crib sleeping days are behind us. Time is marching on the way it does and his squishy thighs and dimpled hands are some of the only things that remain of his babyhood. I am proud of the sweet little boy he is and look forward to all that he will become. But I can't help but want to hang on to those lasts just a bit more. So I will continue to tote him on my hip as long as he will let me and snuggle him with his blankies on the couch. I know time is marching on and these sweet days of carrying and snuggling and still sometimes rocking to sleep are a precious few.

poolside party

If there is one homeowners wish I could have granted it would be the installation of a backyard pool. An in-ground pool surrounded by plush, chaise style lounge chairs and tables with bright red umbrellas. A shallow end and a deep with a diving board, for me to practice my cannon balls. The pool boy in a Speedo serving pina coladas is optional. {Sweetie, I'm kidding. That would be you of course!}

I've always dreamed of lounging and playing with my boys in our very own backyard pool and of having pool parties in the summer, inviting friends over and staying up late to swim in the moonlight. But for now, that's a dream and a field of soy beans is my backyard. So we decided to have a pool party at the Farmer City swimming pool instead to celebrate Henry's birthday with his friends.

I have to give Erica all of the credit for this idea. When I told her we were thinking about renting the Farmer City pool for Henry's birthday party, she suggested a popsicle party; serving popsicles and juice boxes in lieu of cakes and cupcakes. I immediately loved it and decided to keep things simple and totally summer-evening-at-the-pool relaxed.



And so at 6:00 in the evening on Friday, August 6, the pool was all ours; shallow end and deep, chaise lounge chairs and diving board, lifeguards and all. It was the closest thing to having our own backyard pool bash and I, for one, loved every minute.






















The parents sat in chairs and ate Dilly Bars and talked about our plans to enjoy these last sweet days of summer while we watched the boys jump and dive and cannon ball into the deep end. My boys took their first daring jumps off the diving board and kicked and splashed around in the kiddie pool. Popsicle juice dripped from little chins, rootbeer bottles clinked, and Henry opened his gifts. The night ended with a few last jumps and dives and swims while the sun set behind us.

It wasn't our own backyard pool, but it definitely was the next best thing.