How's about cookin' somethin' up with me?

Nothing says romance like light beer and pizza. Hurray, Hurrah, it's date night at the Sabourins'! Skedaddle up to bed, kids! No, you cannot share my Junior Mints. Here's a kiss, brush your teeth, we'll see ya in the morning! It used to require more - more fanciness, more courses - to fill my "love tank." But now those couple of hours we somehow manage to steal (once a week, if we're really lucky) and the appetizer-less take-out meals are enough to make me giddy with anticipation, the whole day prior. I can remember, as a girl, fuming at night over the sound and smell of popping popcorn not intended for my brother and I. It's not fair, I thought bitterly, When I'm a parent, I'll always let my children stay up late and eat snacks with me. I also promised my future sons and daughters that I would never respond to their very enlightening musings with a distracted m-m, h-m-m while rudely continuing with the chores.

It turns out, I was sorely, gravely, destined to be, mistaken. Delight, my dear mother, in finally being understood by your daughter. I'll admit it, you were right to protect your one-on-one time with dad, and your stash of Hershey's chocolate. Here's to less than healthy treats used to sweeten up a marriage (and free DVD's at the library)!

Early Morning People

I went to bed late on Friday, and it's a good thing that I did. I was ironing, in fact, when at 11:30 pm, Priscilla came bursting through the front door all sniffling and red-faced and disappointed in herself, after a failed sleepover attempt at our next-door neighbor's house. "Sorry," I waved to my neighbor and her daughter, and then held Priscilla on the couch for awhile, wiping tears and confiding in her that I, too, used to get homesick as a child. It felt so good, just snuggling, that I took my time with wrapping things up, finally carrying her to her own room after midnight. And then I dawdled, read a chapter of my book, and crammed my brain too full of thoughts to settle down in a timely manner. The next morning, when our alarm when off at 6:30 am, I thought I'd die (or at least throw-up) if I attempted to open my eyes, so heavy and swollen with exhaustion. What in the world is going on here? I asked my husband, only just in my head. I was in no condition to communicate or think logically.

After a few hits of the snooze button, I remembered that, wait, this was Saturday! The promise of beautiful weather, good company, strong coffee, and boxes of donuts had me dressed and even lucid in no time. By 8:00 am, I had picked up Paige and was pulling into the parking lot at St. Elizabeth's. The Sabourins, then, spent a lovely couple of hours shopping and volunteering at our Church's annual Rummage Sale. A leather jacket for Elijah, a winter coat for me, and computer speakers for my husband were just a few of the finds we carried home with delight in our recycled plastic Walmart bags.

I am feeling more and more a part of this community, the little town in which I live and teach and worship. It's been two- and- half years now since we nervously traded big for small, fast for slow, urban for quaint and quiet. I recognize people almost everywhere I go - the store, the park, the YMCA, or the library. It will be interesting to see if my own kids appreciate the predictability and intimacy I find so novel and reassuring, or if, as they grow, they'll ache for anonymity and adventure. That's usually how it works, right? The odds are pretty good that I, too, like my own parents did, will help move my children from one cramped city apartment to the next. And I will tell them, like my own parents did, that each one is homey and roomier than I expected. I will unpack boxes and scrub, until my fingers bleed, bathtubs and sticky kitchen floors. I will wave goodbye and leave them there. And then I'll worry...worry.

Right now, though, their on top of me, eating me, breathing me. It's impossible to tell where I leave off and they begin. Tomorrow, when the alarm cuts short my rest, I'll wake to noise and needs and nerves about to fray from all the pressure I've put upon myself to take care of everything and everyone. But if I'm smart, I'll find some caffeine, say a prayer, and tune right in to the gloriousness of them here within my heart, within my grasp. I am thankful for this place and for my family.

i love the rain the most...when it stops

I swear you could wring out our maple tree and fill a bucket with the excess water. The rain came, with all of its grayness - unusual amounts of fat and heavy droplets falling steadily for hours; plip, plop, plip, they sang on window panes and roof tops, like a lullaby. It's too early, I know, but I am sorting through the sweaters, the fuzzy jammies and woolen tights because it's cool today. In this one area, I'm far from melancholy. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out!" I yell to summer each September, then grumble bitterly when she overstays her welcome. Bring on the early darkness and the musty smell of leaves falling brown and gold and red on cracking sidewalks. Cover me with a blanket, pour some cider in my mug, slow me down, reign me in, let me hibernate awhile before the frigidness of winter has me crying for the spring. I need a change.

You ought to be in pictures

This, obviously, is a picture of my husband, Troy. Mary is just now starting to draw actual objects, animals, and people instead of scribbles, and I'd forgotten how enthralling it can be to witness, as a parent, that developmental skill unfolding. So delicate are her pen strokes, so unpredictable. "That's never going to work," I think, as a head either much too large or too tiny
for a recognizable human form is swiftly sketched on to some paper unselfconsciously. But two beady eyes and stick legs later, I'm proven wrong. Of course it is a mamma or a daddy or a baby, an ethereal looking creature worthy of awe. Part of my incentive for keeping the children out of a system where peers dictate their tastes, hobbies and sense of worthwhileness, is a desire to foster within them a real comfortableness with their own unique talents and artistic preferences.

I loved to write as a kid - poems, songs and stories for the pure joy of it. But my friends, they preferred dancing, and lip-synching to Michael Jackson, Prince and Madonna. You can correctly assume, then, that I forsook my childish hobby, followed in their moon walking footsteps and replicated their less than flattering "valley girl" style. I lost myself for years and years in the trends and whims of popular culture, wasting energy on fitting in that could have better been spent on standing out, as a girl at peace with herself. And while I'm not so naive to believe that limiting their access to teen pop stars, the emerging cryptic language of phone texting, cliques, and the pressure to conform to the standards being established not by genuine beauty, quality literature, the saints, or inner spiritual convictions, but rather the banal and downright stifling impulses of profit driven marketing, will guarantee my kids a more calming and creative existence, I sure as heck believe it will up the odds a bit.

"What will become of them without the influence of classmates?" I am asked. "Won't they be out of the loop, socially? Too different?"

I certainly hope so.

teach your children well

I have a picture very similar to this one, taken last year, of my kids on their first day of public school when I was more than relieved to see them board the bus heading somewhere that wasn't here - with me - all morning. "Please, please, please get on the porch," I begged of them after breakfast because today was another first, and you know I love to commemorate really important events like birthdays and shoes being put on the right feet with plenty of digital photographs.

So here they are, just minutes before piling into the van for our first ever homeschool co-op meeting - a place for them to find friends and me to latch on to other insane women who are taking on the awesome responsibility of teaching their children themselves. "How many times a day do you bang your head against the bathroom wall in frustration?" I wanted to ask, just to be sure that my own head banging was within the national norm for homeschooling mothers. But I restrained myself and focused instead on my nine-year-old son surrounded by other boys, laughing and joking and learning about the Middle Ages.

All four of them, from Elijah, to Prissy, to Ben and Mary, had a fabulous time and I feel greater than great about it, really. It's starting to dawn on me that rather than assuming homeschooling, or even parenting in general for that matter, should be mostly fulfilling with a few moments of despair sprinkled in, I should view it as plain old hard, sometimes tedious, sometimes maddening work with occasional episodes of delight so sweet they more than make up for the crying - my crying that is. Tempered expectations just might be the key to finding peace in the chaos.

on the road...

So what happened was, the pen (that's right, I brought only one pen) I'd packed to write an article turned out to be dry, dry as dust and just as useless. We had the windows down to make up for the fact that our air conditioner is broken, so it was also too noisy to maintain a conversation. I was bored. I broke out the camera. I took some uninspired pictures, wore out the battery and by doing so missed out on some great photo taking opportunities later on. So enjoy these random snapshots of my family and I on the road...they're all I got.

Love Train

Mary's godparents like to tap their toes and fingers to a good ol' Big and Rich song while cruising to Wisconsin for a weekend get-a-way. And since this post is dedicated entirely to them, for their thoughtfulness, patience, and generosity, I've picked this rockin' little number in their honor to accompany my photo of Elijah having an amazing time swimming and diving for hours on end in the lake behind their cabin. I could kick myself for wasting my camera's batteries (and leaving without my charger!) on ridiculous car portraits on the drive up and thus not being able to capture for all eternity some really special moments including campfires, a kayak, birthday celebrations and a late evening round of Trivial Pursuit. Believe it or not, some couples might think twice about opening up their cozy home away from home to seven adults and their nine active children but then again, not all couples have hearts as spacious as our dear Greg and Marian, or nerves of steel.

I have to be honest, I'm not a good traveler. I hate packing and unpacking and sleepless nights spent adjusting to a new environment, but this trip left me refreshed, renewed, and more in love than ever with my friends and family. Thanks again and again and again for your hospitality!