SortaCrunchy

so long six. so now seven.

"The seven year old, with his toothless smile, is a physical marvel. He stumbles while running across the playground, because his legs probably grew while he slept last night. He looks slightly different every day, because he is growing teeth and losing them at a rapid rate. Suddenly, he is able to think outside the concrete experience of his in-the-moment life, and plan ahead, envisioning what is not yet there." -- Pam Allyn

It is the tradition I engage in every year on January 27th, a sacred liturgy all my own, remembering the last 24 hour hours before Dacey was born, the last full day before I was reborn as a mother.

I start at 6 AM, remembering the soul-crushing call to the labor and delivery floor of our hospital. "Too full." Too full for me to come in for the scheduled induction. Nine days past the due date I was convinced I wouldn't reach, nine days of growing more and more convinced she would never, ever arrive.

But later in the day, there was mercy in the form of the careful gloved hand of my doctor. Membranes stripped at 1 PM. Labor started at 4. I waited until Friends was over at 7:30 to go to the hospital. A long night and lots of things never imagined and she was born on the 28th - FINALLY - at 5:43 AM.

With solemnity and smiles, I mark the day every year. The last day before.

* * * * *

"Seven year olds worry, but they also revel in the rich moments that are special to their age. An ice-cream cone with a grandparent or a subway ride are grand adventures. Seven-year-olds are true companions, old enough to understand you have had a hard day, and young enough to need that day to fall away so she can crawl right back into your arms, preparing for the new and better day ahead." -- Pam Allyn

After school, she climbed into her booster seat and told me breathlessly, "Mom! I got my first birthday present at school today! It was from Maria!" Dacey's pre-K and Kindergarten class looped up together; I know them all by name. Maria is the only one from that class who is in first grade with Dacey, and oh, I do love that little girl. White teeth against brown skin make her smile a true wonder of creation.

"A marble! A clear marble with blue and orange swirl!" Dacey held up it for me to admire, and I said, "What a great gift! How thoughtful of Maria!" My daughter's big enthusiasm for the smallest things - I wish I could capture it and swirl in a marble and tuck it away to treasure the rest of my days.

* * * * *

"While we all rush by, busy and moving quickly, the seven-year-old will still tug at your hand to bend down and take another look. They want to keep that beloved book by their beds because the act of rereading feels important, soothing, and instructive. How right they are. In reality, they are building their reading muscles, becoming more fluent readers, and increasing their stamina and comprehension by revisiting familiar texts on their own that for years you have been reading aloud to them. -- Pam Allyn"

"Pray over me."

Every night, our ritual. Aliza Joy says it, "Pray about me," and Lord knows I do. But Dacey says it the way I say it and I say yes, I'll pray over you.

Holy God and Heavenly Father, thank you for my Dacey girl. She is a treasure and a blessing and a gift from You. Thank you for her beautiful heart and her so smart mind and her loving choices today. Thank for another day with her. Put your Hand on her mind, God, and keep the bad dreams away. Help her dreams to be filled with all the things that are happy and beautiful and good. In the name of Jesus I ask these things, Amen.

If there was ever a child who loved ritual and routine and re-reading and re-visiting, it is her. She feels ground in sameness, but proud of herself for trying new things. "It's good to try something new every day" has been her favorite mantra lately, and I am amazed by the way she has incorporated positive self-talk into her life at such an early age.

She is truly new each day. More of her pull close, pants too short each morning, big teeth pushing in as quickly as little ones fall out. She is growing into herself every day, and I'm learning to step back more and become a student of my child, one of the best texts I'll ever read in her big dark brown eyes.

It will be hard to top Six, it was such a great year for us. But I have high hopes for Seven, for this golden age that is the blessed middle, far from babyhood but still a safe distance from tweenage. Days of marbles and rituals and giggles and fairies that visit in the night, leaving behind sweet rewards as consolation for the pieces of my baby they take while she sleeps.

* * * * *

All Pam Allyn quotes are from her highly helpful book What to Read When: The Books and Stories to Read with Your Child--and All the Best Times to Read Them

Dacey's birth story can be found here: Happy Three to D!

Small Style: Sunshine on Clouds

For days (weeks?), we've prayed for rain.  Spring raised a sunny banner over thirsty, cracked ground here on the southern plains.  This week, the skies broke loose a bit and relented with relief.  A little, not enough, but some.

If there is one thing AJ loves, it's mud and puddles.  (Well, also dinosaurs.)  She also loves loves loves dressing up and insists on choosing her clothes daily.  As always, this is in stark contrast to her sister, who truly could not care any less about her outfit of the day.  Dacey wants to be a vet when she grows up; AJ wants to be a "clothes maker who also makes costumes."

I'm joining in with Small Style hosted by Mama Loves Papa for the first time today, and I hope you will be as entertained as I am by the get-ups - excuse me - outfits that Aliza Joy creates.

This is perfectly appropriate for puddle stomping and rock skipping, right?

sweatshirt: Target; t-shirt dress (underneath): not sure; pants:Target; rain boots: Payless

And for running errands with Mama:

dress: Jenny & Me (Big SIster hand-me-down); pants: Hanna; sunglasses: Tangled/WalMart

Dacey would rather me take pictures of her multitudinous art projects, but I did manage to snap this before church yesterday evening:

cardigan: Target (years ago, I think it's a 4T!); t-shirt dress: WalMart; pants: Target; barefeet: Mama's Influence

And Little sister at the same meal:

dress: The Children's Place (Dacey hand-me-down, years ago); pants: Target; shoes: Payless

As you may have notices, I've been in a bit of a creative slump lately.  Thinking about and grabbing shots for Small Style injected some enthusiasm into my veins this week.  I'm happy to be playing along.

 

6: Equilibrium

It seems like much, much longer than six months ago that I wrote about how I was about to lose my mind with the five-and-a-half stage of life with Dacey.

It's one of those wonders of parenting, isn't it?  The thing that puzzles, the thing that frustrates, the thing that brings you to your knees in despair . . . one day, you realize it isn't an issue any more.  And you don't know how or why the thing changed.  But it did.

On a warm, sunny Friday at the end of January, we celebrated Dacey turning six.  The months leading up to six have been warm and sunny, too.  Sunny and serene, you might say.  My heart is so full when I think about the absolute delight that she is right now. 

There is an evenness to her now that speaks of a level of maturity I can hardly believe.  The drama level has plunged to a record low while the helpfulness and kindness and sweetness levels are soaring.  She is funny and insightful and smart (and reading!) and precious and grown-up.

As I wrote six months ago, I knew at the time that we were going through some heavy days of disequilibrium.  I knew it was half-age angst.  I knew it in my head, but it was no less exhausting to parent her through.  Like the earliest days with her filled with sleep deprivation and too much milk (everywhere, all the time) and bouncing and shushing for hours on end in the late afternoon and evenings, I couldn't even conceive of a light at the end of the tunnel.

But every day with six, there are new surprises.  She opened a birthday present from her grandparents on Saturday, a gift bag filled with new art supplies, that which she loves most on the planet.  As she looked through the bag, she chose a drawing kit and handed it to AJ.  "Here, sister.  This is for you."  This morning as I grabbed my keys from the kitchen table, I noticed she had taken all of the breakfast dishes to the sink without a word from me.  She keeps track of her things, she follows instructions the first time I ask (well, most of the time), and I've caught her more than once letting others go ahead of her in line.

Did you know that within biblical Hebrew culture, children were considered babies through the age of five?  As I've learned from parenting author Crystal Lutton, five is a great big transition from babyhood to childhood.  No wonder the growing pains of five-and-a-half were so intense!  I wish I had been more mindful of that six months ago; I wish I would have applied the concept of "transition," that hardest, most intense aspect of laboring in childbirth, and considered how hard all of her systems were working to burst through to six.

I suppose in some ways I am writing this more to myself than anyone else.  I'm learning, slowly, the importance of coming alongside my children when every system in their bodies is feeling out-of-control.  I have to come alongside them in comfort and compassion and stability and strength.  When I want to flee the most is the moment I most need to draw closer to them.*

Aliza Joy is in the throes of disequilibrium right now.  They are roughly two and a half years apart, so someone will always be in transition around here, I suppose.  Three-and-a-half is really intense with her, much more-so than it was with Dacey. 

So I keep pulling at weeds and nurturing the tender seedlings, knees to the ground, intoxicated by the aroma of growth.  Fruits are ripening and the work and the reward are worth it.

* more wisdom from Ann Voskamp's 10 Point Manifest for Joyful Mothering

Like mother, like daughter

Dacey drew that in church yesterday.

She makes my tree-hugging ways look half-hearted.  I think her head might explode if we put a #2 plastic in the trash.  This ode to creation care was entirely her own idea.

I thought surely she wasn't listening as she worked on her masterpiece, but bits and pieces of the sermon on the importance of serving others found their way into her ears.  How do I know this?  At one point, the preacher made the statement, "And we see this in Jesus' acts of service."  Dacey turned her face up to me and asked in a stage whisper that would have made any Broadway Baby beam:

Jesus' act of circus?  Is that true, mom?  Was Jesus in the circus?

(cue muffled laughter from the pew behind us)

* * *

When we got home, nearly slammed the door on her sister and then bolted from the car, raced to the front door and commenced in the ritual of teasing and taunting Aliza.  "I-I beat you.  You-u didn't wi-in!"

I'm afraid the heart of the service message was lost on her.

And sometimes it gets lost on me, too, I suppose.  All too often, I overthink the serving of others.  Lost in an array of options, I do nothing.  Or sometimes I don't think enough at all.  I leave the house with My List and fasten earmuffs of indifference over my ears.  I can't be interupted.  Not today.

So I guess we're working out how this looks together, my little family and I.  Our preacher made the statement yesterday that if we as the Body of Christ were fixated on serving others, lives would be radically changed.  I've been fixated on far lesser causes, that's for sure. 

Tightrope balance and spinning plates.  Perhaps the circus insight was pretty darn accurate after all.

Can we be honest about five-and-a-half?

"What kind of a Mommy are you?  Your babies are causing trouble!" -- Olivia's frenemy Francine on the state of Olivia's pet mothering skills

Oh, how I can relate to Olivia's plight.  Many are the moments of difficulty in mothering, and we certainly don't need the court of public opinion weighing in with a ruling in our most tender spots.

I've alluded several times to the fact that this summer was difficult.  Very, very difficult. Early Five was lovely for a few months, and we've enjoyed lots of fun and funny conversation with Dacey as she moves ever forward into childhood.

big girl(s) now

A year ago this week, this was us.

And there she goes again!

My sweet Dacey Baby started Kindergarten today.

(Note: See how I do such a good job of not imposing all of my anti-consumerism fanaticism on her?  Through gritted teeth, I let her pick the Barbie backpack.  There are other battles for other days . . .)

this moment: sisters

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

(see more moments at SouleMama)

Cynthia Rowley has got nothing on cute (at least where diapers are concerned)

Hip. Trendy. Stylish.

These are three words I can promise you that would never be used to describe me.  I subscribe to three magazines : Time, Mothering, and Hobby Farm Home.  If you wanna discuss planting fall squash, natural cures for colic, or the latest Joel Stein column, I can probably hold my own.  If you wanna talk about the latest trends and newest styles, I will probably respond with a polite smiles and head nods that clearly signal my utter ignorance on the topic.

(I seriously didn't know who/what Paul Frank was until that whole Twitter thing happened.)

Thankfully, I can count on friends to keep me sorta in the loop.  For example, this week Gretchen at Lifenut mentioned that Cynthia Rowley will be designing diapers for Pampers.  I suppose that this is their attempt to one-up Huggies and their denim diaper release.  Gretchen noted that she isn't going to shell out more money for "paper madras," and I can't say that I blame her.  They might be cute, but they are destined to become landfill filler.  Cute landfill filler, but it's trash all the same.

this is us: preserving summer mornings

 

I cannot even tell you with words known to mankind how much I love summer.

Yeah, yeah.  It's hot.  And if I didn't live in the luxury of an air-conditioned house and an air-conditioned car that shuttles me back and forth from one air-conditioned shelter to another, I am sure I would sing a different song.

But because I do live in the luxury of protection from the hot, I am free to indulge in all of the coat-free, sock-free, shiver-free, icy-wind-that-takes-your-breath-away-free goodness that is summer. 

O Pioneers!

The next town over had a little Pioneer Days event today.

We
admired handwork

 

  and animal pelts