Blessings

After a season of life that could at best be called "trying", we are experiencing some sunshine.

For starters, my husband has accepted a new job that is a good fit for his skills and aligns him for career growth. We're so thankful. Even Morgan understood the importance of it and began to decorate the house. I love this creative daughter.

But wait... there's more... The other day Dan and I were browsing Craigslist. We were looking for a baby crib tent (which we found) but somehow we ended up looking at furniture. We have been in need of a new kitchen dining set for some time. One chair broke completely and the others were threatening to do the same.

Past ventures at finding something were futile. My husband and I couldn't agree on a style. He wanted something sturdy. I wanted something sturdy that wasn't ugly. So we tabled the idea of getting a new set and I mentioned the need to God.

I can't even say that I've been praying for it with any real regularity. I had resigned myself to fall-apart furniture until the kids are, well, much older.

But then this:

A posting for an oak dinette set on Craigs*list. Ladderback chairs with rush seats. A table with leaves. All oak.

Let me translate this for you:

The ladderback chairs with rush seats that Emily has been oogling in Pottery Barn for years.

The hardwood that Dan required.

The taller seats to accomodate Dan's frame.

All this with a very affordable price.

I told the couple from whom we bought it, "This set is going to a good home... We'll take good care of it. We'll have lots of people over and enjoy it thoroughly."

And we will.

Thank you, dear couple, and thank you, God.

Salt Dough

It's time for some good, cheap fun. We're making salt dough, folks.

Morgan shows us the salt.

She looks a little too happy about the salt if you ask me.

Salt dough is super easy to make:

Dissolve 1-1/4 cups of salt in 2/3 cup of warm water.

Then mix in 1-1/4 cups of flour.

That's it.

And with equal amounts of salt and flour, no kid in their right mind will want to eat this. It's yucky.

Well, you should probably knead it a little.

And then roll it out. Flour your rolling pin if it starts to stick.

Have at it. Create! Create!

Morgan had a great time making little food for her dollies.

Hotdog!

Put the dough in a 210F degree oven for an hour.

Turn the oven off. Leave the dough in it for another hour.

It will harden.

If you haven't used all your dough, save some for later, alligator.

And then, if you've got the notion, go ahead and paint the baked and dried dough with acrylic paint.

Mature Summer

It is the end of July, my husband told me this morning. He said it factually, but I heard a faint heaviness about his words.

I began this summer with grand plans and while many of those plans have barely seen the light of day, it has been a summer to remember, nonetheless.

My mushy mind searches words to attach to the memories of these hot days, but only fleeting images and soundbites of laughter are heard.

The evening when the girls ate a half watermelon between the two of them.

The week my sister visited. Little notes and envelopes passing between Morgan and her Aunt Becky all week. Giggling.

Laughter at a beautiful wedding, particularly when our toddler flirted with an older boy by showing him her skills at jumping. That's right: jumping.

And somehow between the mundanity of laundry, the repetitive act of feeding growing children and paying bills, somehow... nearly ten years has passed between me and the man I call husband. How does a decade catch up like that?

There is a maturity to our relationship that I find beguiling:

How can ten years afford us the opportunity to know each other so well and yet feel like our journey has just begun?

Each of us hold knowledge of the other's weaknesses-- the weaknesses that are also our strengths. The kind, uplifting patience of Dan is evident not only within our home, but also on the road when I would rather he was a more assertive driver. The ten years of our marriage tell me to quiet myself and smile at my happy situation.

The grand plans for a ten year anniversary getaway have been tabled for the time being. In its stead is a freshly brewed pot of coffee every morning and an invitation from Dan to meet under the pergola for some morning air and conversation before we enter the day. I'm unsure how this open air structure seems to provide such solace and shade and peace, but it does; it's so much like Dan in that way. I'm not "indoors" or "outdoors" when I'm under the pergola and somehow that image mirrors my relationship with Dan: not bound by walls, yet protected.

As Dan and I sit under the pergola, he mentions fall, his favorite season, and muses about how delightful it will be on crisp autumn days to sit under the pergola. I playfully tell him to hush; these days are the ones we are given and we must enjoy the ones we have now, not live in the "end of the summer" mode, but retrain our minds to see summer as a maturing of sun to earth.

I'm settled deeply in the arms of mature summer and have no intent of moving.

Eve Eats

She's bossy. And opinionated. And delightfully funny.

She acts like she's two.

She doesn't like to sit in her booster because no one ELSE sits in one.

But at dinner, we insist that she sits in it.

Because dinner is special.

It's much more messy.

Don't give me that innocent face, Missy.

And don't act all surprised that we distrust you at dinner and strap you to your seat.

It's just because we love you, girly.

If There Was Any Question...

...As to whether or not Morgan Kay is my daughter... just check out what the heat does to her hair.

You're mine, girly girl.

Abraham Lincoln

I'm trying to keep my daughter's brain from completely rusting out due to excessive s'more and Flavor Ice inhalation. The local library tends to do the trick.

I'm teaching my dear Morgan about herself, her family and where she lives this summer. What better way to kick off the study of Illinois than to read about shady governors learn about Abraham Lincoln?

This is my school door. I attached a piece of sheet metal to my basement door and *voila*... now it can accommodate magnets. And little girl drawings. And school work.

We learned that Abraham Lincoln was six foot, four inches.

So we took Morgan's height and taped it on the door.

We did this with the height of our whole family.

And Abraham Lincoln, our tallest President.

I wanted Morgan to see how tall six foot four was.

And then, in a moment of chocolate crazed stupor, I decided that we should continue learning with our sense of TASTE.

Oreos and black frosting. Interesting...

And melting chocolate...

And marshmallows dipped in the chocolate...

Okay, I'll tell you:

We're making Abraham Lincoln tophats.

It was a little tricky to get the coated marshmallows to stay up.

I skewered them and pulled the skewer through the underside of a drying rack.

It was a two person job. Who knew?

(Please, someone clever-er, educate me on how I could have done this with more ease. I am ALL ears.)

We coated the Oreos and the marshmallows.

And then we put the black "glue" on the Oreo...

... and stuck Mr. Marshmallow on top.

A tophat, Ladies and Gentlemen.

Doesn't look a thing like it, does it?

(Laughing...)

But we had fun, yes we did.

Summer is...

VISITORS!!

Eve: Um, is someone behind me?

Aunt Becky: I like books!

Eve: I am ENTHRALLED with Todd Parr books.

Aunt Becky: This fuzzy little head of hers tickles my chin.

Eve: Nice lips.

Aunt Becky: Bloop, bloop.

Eve: So, are they real?

Aunt Becky: (Muffled sounds...)

Eve: You think I can grow hair like you?

Aunt Becky: It's getting there, chica!

Summer is...

...discovering that raspberries perch ever so nicely on little fingers.

...a girl who gets her first play makeup set and insists on wearing green eye shadow while eating said raspberries.

...the simple things.

Of Wine and Bug Spray

It's the summer that gave me "what for".

A lot of things have happened this summer. A lot of very big things. The summer I intended to do homeschool with my daughter and post crafts regularly on my blog has turned into another summer: A summer of healing and quiet and faith. And some laughter and friends, too.

As I dip my toes back into blogging, I'll show you our pergola at night.

It has the twinkle lights I dreamed of.

It has the curtains I coveted in all the magazines.

It has some struggling vines on it, too... it'll take time for the pergola to be covered with shady plants.

Here it is: a sanctuary from the ordinary of life:

At night it looks magical.

Sometimes I dance under it.

Sometimes Dan joins me. Reluctantly, but still...

It's a place that's meant to be safe:

Safe for children to run on and off the patio.

Safe for people to be quiet or to laugh so hard they cry.

A sanctuary.

Some wine and bug spray doesn't hurt, either.

Later I'll post some info about the pergola, but for now, enjoy the pics. May you have a sanctuary as well.