Home

(The view of the sunset out our front door)

After a lovely week at the Outer Banks of North Carolina, our family is home and beginning to find the rhythm of regular life again. Although I would love to share our adventures of the trip, I accidentally left my camera in my brother-in-law's car, so I'll save my stories and pictures for another post. For now, a few thoughts on coming home.

I lived on the East coast for a good 12 or so years, if you count my time in Nashville, so I know humidity. But having now lived in Colorado for the past 7, I know it doesn't suit me. Mark and I found ourselves commenting more than once on the way back home how much we were looking forward to returning to our dry Colorado air. And that's when I was reminded how much I really love where I live.

I know that dry air doesn't sound like much to those of you who've never been here during the summer, but it's amazing. It's a cool 65 or so degrees in the morning. And the sky is amazing because it's just so blue. The day slowly heats up and you can begin to shed your morning layers (yes, we wear layers even in summer) as the sun peaks and heats the earth. Swimming is delightful because the water cools your skin so quickly as it evaporates in the dry air.

And then there are the evenings. Bugs are hard to come by, sunsets are always amazing because of the lingering clouds from the frequent afternoon cloud bursts, and the chimenea calls your name as the air cools once again to that temperature that is just chilled enough to make you want to cuddle.

It's these things I looked forward to as our plane headed towards Denver. But not only the weather. Also the sense of home. A place where all our family comes together to be with each other. To find space together and apart. To come and go and pass one another in these familiar rooms and hallways. Where we brush up against each other as we move, as we have a thousand times before.

Familiarity can become mundane at times, but after a trip, it's comforting, like a blanket from your childhood. It makes you appreciate what you have and be thankful that, even after a wonderful trip, you want to come back home.

Summer Photos

There's lots to tell of this summer, but right now I'm only up for posting photos. These hot days leave me little energy to write and reflect. Instead, enjoy the pictures of the kids enjoying the lazy days of summer.

Cameron began walking the first few days of June. Here's a short video of him showing off his new skill a month ago. It's amazing that he now can almost run. He's really motivated to keep up with Carter.

Carter has loved all the time we've spent at parks. This is one of our favorites by our neighborhood library. Carter and Cameron on our front walkway, waiting for daddy to come home.

Carter loves the splash parks we've discovered this summer. He was hesitant at first but then he realized how fun it is to run through the squirting fountains.

Cameron found his own version of water play--drinking the dog water.

Cameron loves being so much more mobile. Here, he's running from Carter who loves to play chase.

While Mark and I were climbing, Carter pretended he was a squirrel in a tree. I love this picture.

That's all for now. I'll upload some more soon. We've got our trip to North Carolina coming up soon, so I'll be excited to share pictures from the kids' first real beach experience. Happy summer!

Children of Summer

School's out and the warm weather's here. I've taken my solo trip for the summer (to visit Laura in NYC), and now I have a month and a half before school starts again. Mark's taking a couple classes for most of the days this summer, so it's just me and the boys on the weekdays. I wasn't sure how I was going to feel about that, about going from full time job to full time mom without much chance to get out on my own, but so far I'm loving it. It's making me really make an effort to enjoy each moment with my kids and think of things that will get us all out and about.

I'm realizing how well I do when I can make my own plans without having to meet other adults' needs and can really focus on Carter and Cameron and follow their natural rhythm. I can leave in the morning for an outing when everyone's ready, and not before, and head home when everyone's had their fill and needs the comfort of their own bed for the afternoon nap. I even get a few moments of shut-eye here and there.

Now that Cameron is walking, Carter and Cameron often can entertain each other without needing me unless there is a dispute over a shared toy. Today I went to a nearby lake with a friend who has kids the same age, and we both noted that we were able to carry on a complete conversation without needing to tend to our kids. It doesn't sound like much, but it's amazing what a difference it makes not always having to be doing something for the kids.

I've started to be able to get my own enjoyment out of activities I do with the kids. Tomorrow I'm going on a hike and, although I know it will be at Carter's pace and it will take me a good part of the morning to get ready, I anticipate that I'll still feel like I'm getting outside and at least getting a bit of exercise, even if it's only because I'll have 30-pound Cameron on my back.

The shift is taking place ever so gradually, but I get glimpses of not always needing to be concerned about what my kids need, who's hungry, why someone's crying. I'm having more and more moments of truly enjoying the relationship with my kids and doing things that we all want to do. It makes me realize how cool I really think my kids are and how amazing it is that I get to spend the rest of my life with them.

Cultivating

(Carter and me, taking some time to just be. Olympic Peninsula, WA)

In reading this post, it brought to light for me how much I treasure the little vegetable garden I planted a couple weeks ago. It's something I've been planning since last summer. I began with little idea of what I wanted to include and then where I might be able to find a home for it in our yard. A place not too big, with just the right amount of light, and where Winston wouldn't be running through it. I actually built the border, a row of partially buried bricks, last fall, and had a sketched drawing of where each plant would live in my little 8' x 8' square of life. As soon as I knew the danger of frost was gone, (late May at our house), I dug up all the weeds, filled our jeep with planting soil, and hoed the dirt.

The next day I took a cherished trip to the gardening store alone and just walked up and down the aisles breathing in the fragrant-fresh smell of the nursery. I loaded my cart with herbs and a few sprouted plants, and carefully picked my seed packets (do I want big max or autumn glory pumpkins?). I returned to my patch of earth and tenderly planted my crop. It didn't take long, Shorter than Mark's trip with Carter to the hardware store, but I had sown my seeds and was filled with a sense of satisfaction and anticipation.

Having two young children and full time job often leaves me feeling like I spend most of my time and energy meeting the needs of others. And making sure I have sleep and food and the basics is for the purpose of being ready to serve others again. But not my garden. It is my own 64 square feet that I can do what I want with. My energy put into it is for no purpose but my own. If all the plants die or flourish, I'm the only one who will care, and right now that is good.

I look forward to the fruits and vegetables I will have over the next few months, but it's really more about the journey. It's a few minutes a day Carter and I spend together watering (he loves the shower head on the hose), and it's a few minutes a day where I am solely focused on the signs of life. It's my little zen garden where I can take a few minutes for myself to cultivate.

Weathering the Storm

(Carter and Cameron enjoying lunch on Mimi and Papa's boat)

Wow. It's been awhile. As my last post alluded to, there's a lot going on right now, and much of it I'm still muddling through. But the clouds are beginning to part. I can feel a sense of burden lifted from my shoulders. The waters are calming and it's beginning to feel easier to swim. For one, the kids are getting older. I can sit for almost five minutes on occasion and not have a single demand asked of me. Not often, but enough to make a difference. Another reason, summer's coming. I can open the doors and windows and get some fresh air, have some space, let Carter play outside and entertain himself with the grass and bugs and sandbox. Work is busy as ever, but the end is in sight. Three weeks left. And I've started climbing again and am beginning to be reminded of who I am other than Mom and Wife. I have goals that are just mine and can only be accomplished by me.

It's amazing how feeling in control and happy and content with one part of my life spreads and is contagious with the other parts of me. It's the snowball effect. The best kind of snowball there is. I can feel my infectious smile touching my kids and Mark. As I am more fulfilled, I have more to give, which naturally leads to others giving back. I can feel my life's investments giving great returns.

It's not all smooth sailing. Cameron's teething and Carter just threw a notable I'm-too-tired-to-not-cry-and-scream-and-kick tantrum this afternoon. But I have more within me to get through it and move on. As I sit here in the early evening sunshine and watch Mark and Carter mow the lawn together, my heart is full.

I think I've come out of this last storm without too many lasting bumps and bruises. Hopefully just some great swimming experience to help me get through the next one.

The Sea

I am struggling where to start with this entry, or where it is going, so I'll just begin . . .

I'm having vividly detailed visions of the sea recently. Not a calm, sunny day, breezy sea. More like a late evening, cloudy night, slightly drizzling sea that churns and froths. The moon is full but is almost completely covered by shapeless clouds, with only a faint glow of cloaked light cast on the beach.

I find myself a part of this scene in many places, sometimes standing on the beach, watching those close to me swim in the sea, struggling, doing their best to stay afloat. Other times I am that person in the sea, splashed by waves, bobbing with little control over my direction. Later, I sit upon a floating vessel, not so much a boat, but perhaps an inflatable raft or unstable surfboard. I ebb and flow with the waves, not really going anywhere, but in a constant state of motion.

All around me, at work, at home, on the phone, in conversations with others, I find I am surrounded by and a part of unease. As I support others who are floundering, I also fumble and falter. It's not one event, one person, one area of life. It's an indefinable sea that has no clear borders and edges. This lack of definition leaves me at a loss for words, unsure of what I need. My usual compulsion to talk and consult and vent is absent. Silence feels more comfortable right now.

But I feel buoyant and hopeful. In time the strokes I need will come naturally and fluently. The clouds will part, and I will once again regain my footing, will see clearly what to do, how to proceed. There is no storm brewing on the horizon. I only need to wait and be patient, take deep breaths and keep on moving.

Playing Nice: Addendum

A quick addendum to yesterday’s post:

Last night we went swimming again, and Carter found a little girl named Erika to play with. We went through the routine of Carter asking her name, and my telling him to ask her and tell her his name as well. Names were exchanged, and the rest of the night, she referred to him as Tater and he called her Kylie, and they both responded to each other as if those had been their names all along. Erika’s dad and I attempted to clarify with our children the other’s name, but it was unsuccessful, and really, it didn’t matter. Tater and Kylie got along just fine without us.