almost summer

We've had so many summer-like pleasures lately.  Just this weekend, we've had cook-outs, beach walks, ice-cream, a parade, back-yard kiddie pool splashing, sprinkler adventures, tree planting, grass mowing, eating breakfast and dinner on the deck, even eating the first few strawberries from our garden. 

After tomorrow, I'll have just one official teaching day left.  Quite a few organizing, planning projects to do as well, but the school year is disappearing quickly.  Tomorrow, I'll have my fifth graders for the last time.  Being an elementary-only music teacher has its sacrifices.  Saying good-bye is one of my least favorite.  Last week, those fifth graders shared some special solos and I had a few specific words of appreciation and affirmation for each of them.  There were tears and hugs and lots of loving words from the students.  Tomorrow might be even worse.  It's hard to say good-bye to students.

I grew accustomed to keeping them....from first grade, right on up to graduation day.  I was spoiled, but it was one of my favorite perks of being a multi-age music teacher.  I loved the longevity of my relationships.  That was hard to give up.  And it was very, very hard to say good-bye to those students.  Before I had my own daughters, they were 'my kids'...and I think I'll always feel a little of that protective love.

But summer is coming and my kids and I have some beautiful plans for our sunny mornings and days at the beach and time with cousins and friends.  My time with them is already speeding by.  That protective teacher love is so much fiercer now as mother love.   And that short-and-all-too-fast-window of "first grade--on up to graduation" is now my own reality.  Maya is an official first grader.  A graduate.  She reminds me of this several times a day, sometimes with teasing words about how fast she's growing up, sometimes with factual information about being DONE with kindergarten, sometimes though...my favorite...is when she just circles around me humming 'Pomp and Circumstance.' 

 

I'm not so sure I'm ready for the pace of the fall....and first grade!  I can hardly think about September now.  

But I am ready at least, to embrace June, July, and August!

maya grace

She is grace.  A gift.  Gentle and so thoughtful.  She loves deeply and compassionately.  She is protective and nurturing.  She's funny and smart.  And she loves to make people laugh.  She gets so excited about the little things, that it is always fun to watch her face fill with delight with any surprise.  Even if it is just a sandwich cut like a gingerbread man or a wave from teenager that she knows and loves.  She's the best gift-receiver that ever lived.  She 'ooh's' and 'ahs' over things that are beautiful.  And she makes sure you know that she feels grateful and SO lucky to have received your blessing.  

It's pretty fun to surprise her.  

When she's comfortable and confident in her surroundings, she's goofy and weird and utterly lacks self-awareness...she just dives into whatever play she sees or imagines, and never thinks about how others might perceive her pretend voice or wild chirping sounds or authoritative play directions. 

But sometimes, she's painfully shy, completely quiet, deeply sensitive and very attached.  

She loves affirmation and safety.  

She knows the power of words.  She had a pretty big vocabulary before most kids her age could talk. And at six years old, she really loves a great story.  In either role (listener or teller), Maya could live in a story all day long.  She knows how to use words. (This ability can be used for encouragement, persuasion, anger, manipulation, imagination, storytelling, expressions of love...)  

Mostly, she uses her power well. 

She's supposed to be in bed, but she came downstairs to use the restroom and wash her hands.  She stopped in front of me, stroked my hair away from my face, and kissed my forehead.  

  

I am so grateful. 

Happy Sixth Birthday, Maya.

packing a lunch box, and other small things.

The first time I logged into pinterest, I found this brilliant pin about lunch box ideas.

Source: wendolonia.com via Angela on Pinterest

And this.  Another of my favorite (and first) pinterest discoveries.  Perfectly packaged apple slices.

I know, I know.  When did I turn into such a suburban 'mom' who gets excited about lunch boxes?? 

Source: athomewithrealfood.blogspot.com via Angela on Pinterest

Maya loves her apple slices in her lunchbox everyday.  The multi-level appeal of this treat is so impressive to her...it's a puzzle, it's apple slices, it's a whole apple, and best of all,  the slices don't get brown.

And I immediately started packing Maya's lunches differently.  She loves all the food surprises she finds.  We were only a few weeks into the school year when her lunches were getting kind of repetitive and boring.  I'd been a little creative, I thought, but we had (more than) overdone tabouli and sunbutter sandwiches (even if they were shaped like gingerbread men).   Preparing her lunch has become something special for us both.  I write her simple little messages too, just like my Dad used to do.  At first my messages were mostly just stick people, smiles, and "i <3 U," but now that she can read just about anything, my notes are a little longer.  Communication with my daughter through written words is pretty amazing.  Every day, that twinkle in her eyes (when we share something secret and special between the two of us) seems a little older and more 'knowing'.   She is growing. Fast.  

As a mom, a wife, a teacher (really in any life-role), preparing and repairing things for people out of love has to be something joyful and purposeful and faithful (like cleaning dishes, picking up junk, sorting papers, tuning little violins, answering repeated questions, folding clothes, sorting music, sorting dirty laundry, packing lunches, making meals, ironing, etc.) ....or beautiful things like service and selflessness and gratitude and contentment morph into something ugly like martyrdom, entitlement, bitterness, self-perceived underappreciation, and boredom.  Trust me, I know.  Those little things, ways of being responsible, neat, helpful, consistent, and goal-oriented...they are big.  Each task, an important, faithful, act of love.  

  I'm not really good at this.   I'm really NOT good at this.  Instead of actually living my life and doing the small things that make it work pleasantly for myself and everyone else who lives in my house.  I long to read, to write, to learn, dream about the big things, study my French, or plan (and internet hunt for) beautiful and artistic creations....and sometimes make them, or blog about them.  

In fact, I'm avoiding some of these loving tasks (folding clothes, ironing, organizing papers, picking up junk) at the moment.  

I know I can (and usually do) get it all done in a great flourish of energy and inspiration, but I just can't seem to be consistent.  The small tasks become really big ones before I want (or am forced to) tackle them.  Sometimes I feel hopelessly incurable in this regard.  But I know I'm not.  I'm far too optomistic to accept those hopeless feelings.  I think I might need a self- intervention, though. 

So I'm pondering some resolutions, maybe even some rules for myself.  Any ideas from my more practical, responsible readers?  How do you feed the creative, philosophical, word-loving, beauty-seeking, relational, story-loving part of your soul and still manage to be a responsible human being? 

When I do "figure it all out".... I may even attempt to live by my resolutions a while before blogging about them.   That would take some discipline.  

Though....the blog therapy really works for me.  (At least I like to think it does.)

I'm off to fold laundry.  I promise.  I won't be back again until it's done.  

a february flourish

Yesterday was one of those energetic, sun-filled days brimming with people and good things.  On my calendar, it didn't seem possible (to actually do all the things we were committed to), and I was a little nervous about attempting it, but somehow it worked, splendidly.

The girls woke up first (of course), playing and thumping around the house, gathering toys and setting up little "hide-outs"... until they got thirsty and hungry enough to barrel into our room asking loudly for some apple juice and 'frosting cereal' (Sophie's pretty serious about her daily frosted-mini-wheats).  We had whole-wheat apple and flax seed pancakes instead.  Saturdays deserve special breakfasts, I think.  Those extra hours (before anyone has to be dressed and prepared and somewhere-other-than-home) allow for a sunny meal at the table...usually waffles, pancakes, sausage souffle, or york-shire pudding.

Maya and Sophie usually have "sleep-overs" on the weekends.  We pull out the trundle bed in Maya's room and they stay up a little later, whispering silly things in the dark.  Sometimes, Ryan and I listen for a while by the door, stiffling our laughter and trying to remember everything.  I don't remember hardly any of their silly imaginings or conversations, but I remember the feeling of that shared moment, theirs and ours.

After our slow morning at home, we volunteered at a Symphony pre-concert event.  While clowns rolled around on unicycles, making balloon animals, giant animal-costumed characters roamed around the lobby delighting (and terrorizing some) children.  Pop-corn was popping, animal tattoo hand-puppets were being applied to children's hands, and I was helping children (and adults) try violins and cellos at the "Instrument Petting Zoo."  Maya and Sophie loved the whole thing. It looked like spring outside the windows of the Frauenthal lobby.  The Muskegon 'Snowfest' made the downtown a busy place (a rarity), street volleyball and chili cook-offs and people (sans the February winter coats) and bright tents filled the streets.

The symphony concert, though quite enchanting and beautiful, proved challenging for our 3 and 5 year olds.  Maya might have done okay if she could have seen better, but with her patch covering her good eye, I doubt she could see any details from our balcony seats.  Hearing the music might have also helped, but a terrible ear infection this week made her unable to hear the subtle sounds of the string section.  Eventually, the dark, and the music, the exhaustion from a busy day, and my fingers 'playing' the notes on her arm put her to sleep.  But both of them managed to sit relatively still and quiet through the first half.  We didn't attempt the second half.

After the symphony we raced to a 'Mr. Potato Head Birthday Party' for one of our favorite three-year-olds.  

By the time the house was filled with many of our closest friends, it was time to leave for church music practice and Saturday-night church.  Some kind friends volunteered to keep our kids and bring them later, so they didn't have to miss the rest of the party. Which turned out to be quite the event (including a special drive-by visit from a real fire-man with his firetruck delivering fire helmets to all the children)! 

At church, Ryan and I and our friends made music together (which is always good for my soul and mind), we played and sang to each other and to our creator... violin and 2 accoustic guitars... 

...heal my heart and make it clean

open up my eyes to the things unseen

show me how to love like You have loved me

break my heart for what breaks yours....

...

...then sings my soul, my Savior, God to Thee

How great Thou art...

After church, we ate tacos at El Burrito Loco around a wild table full of children and laughter, then headed home for a late bed-time (and for me....a late-night run and some yoga, then to bed with peach tea, new pajamas, a book light, and my Conversational French book.)

This may be the start of a flourish on the blog too....  I have lots of things to post about. Lots of things to be grateful for.  Did I tell you I'm going to Paris?  I am.  And I have lots to say about that.  Stay tuned.

Or don't.  It could be a long wait.

"Sisters..."

"...Sisters
Never were there such devoted sisters."

(Creepy make-up, I know. It was 'required' for her dance recital. She looks frighteningly like her future 16 year old self. But I love their embrace in this picture. So excited and happy.)


Right now, as I type, I'm listening up the stairs.....to Maya breathlessly singing... "two different faces, but in tight places...."

She can hardly keep her voice going for all the dancing she's doing. I hear her feet thumping around.

A minute ago, as they got their pajamas on, Maya and Sophie went back and forth (about twelve times) saying, "thirsty" (Maya) and "thuh-sty" (Sophie).

It started like this...

Sophie: (from the bathroom, probably getting a dixie cup full of water) Maya, ah you thusty?
Maya: (a bit mockingly) Thusty? Sophie, do you mean thirsty?
Sophie: Yeah, thusty. Ah you thusty, Maya?
Maya: Sophie! It's THIRSTY. Say THIRSTY.
Sophie: Thusty
Maya: Thirsty
Sophie: Thusty
Maya: THIRRRRRRR... Sophie, say Thirrrrrrrrrr
Sophie: THUUUUUUUH
Maya: THIRRRRRRR... Sophie, say Thirrrrrrrrrr
Sophie: THUUUUUUUH
Maya: (sweetly condescending) goooood, Sophie. Thirrrrrrrr...
Sophie: Thuuuuuuuuh
Maya: Thirrrrrrrrr...

...and it went on like this for quite some time. Then, the song began... "Sisters, sisters..."

I'm not making this up.

But I should go send them to bed.

I've been hunting

...for the original clothes for my American Girl "Kirsten" doll ever since I brought her out of storage for Maya and Sophie to play with. Until a few months ago, she was packed up in a clear zippered bag on a shelf in the basement, just waiting for the day my daughters were ready.

This summer, when one of Maya's generous friends decided to just GIVE her an (extra) American Girl doll...(and a Bitty Baby for Sophie, and dresses and accessories, etc.) it was time. I decided to get my Kirsten out, so that when another friend came over to play (that same day), they could play together. But my doll had no clothes. I just knew that they were packed away carefully in a shoe box...somewhere. I asked my parents to search my old closet, the garage storage, the crawl space...

When I was little, I knew that ownership of such a doll was no small thing. In fact, no one gave her to me. I'm pretty sure I knew better than to even ask. I carefully studied (or memorized) the catalog as I saved my money...for...years. When I finally had the $90, I ordered her.

Just the doll. Not the extra accessories...

Not any of the other outfits or books or furniture either. I made those. I sewed a detailed quilt by hand, my dad built a poster bed, and I made pillows, a sham, a fitted sheet & top sheet, I made her an apron, my mother sewed her an extra dress. I loved this doll. And I loved the historic time she represented and all the ways she excited my imagination.

I do have issues with the whole game that the "American Girl" company runs. While there are a few great ideals wrapped up in the "American Girl" package, it mostly seems to be a slick and brilliant business, marketing endless products and accessories, all exhorbitantly priced, offering branding and identity shaping, early materialism building.... The whole machine makes me a bit cynical.

But I'm obviously still (a little?) guiltily hooked. I try to be a skeptic, but deep down, it's really hopeless for me.

After that day that I pulled my Kirsten out of storage, I did a little internet searching on her. She's 'retired' now, and sells for over $300 new. Not that I'd ever try to sell her (she's not in good enough shape if I did)...I was however a bit more desperate to find those original clothes. I called my parents again. I went there and dug through my old closet myself. No luck.

Tonight, as Ryan pulled down the Christmas boxes from the garage attic, he found a box, a huge forgotten plastic tub. He thought it might hold some of my childhood things. He was right. It was filled with baby blankets and six labeled shoe boxes, each a treasure chest for a sentimental mother of two little daughters. Inside the tub, I found my old Madame Alexander baby doll from my Aunt Connie, my only "Barbie" (not a real worldly Barbie, of course. Mine was actually a Biblical "Esther" doll purchased at the local Christian book store), my Hatian doll (brought back by missionaries), a white and pink quilt from my bed, a few of my prettiest baby clothes, several doll dresses, and my beloved "Sarah" cabbage patch doll.

I had a handsewn "cabbage patch-wanna-be doll" for a long time (that someone made lovingly for me, I'm sure), but it just was never the same to me. I always wanted a real one, like all my friends had. When I was seriously ill in the hospital as a five-year-old, my next-door neighbors bought one for me. I still remember opening the box in my hospital bed. She had long brown hair and brown eyes like mine. She wore authentic cabbage patch accessories, white & pink pin-stripe jeans, white tennis shoes with pink stripes, a pink rain jacket (all found preserved in this magical bin). Owning her then made me feel SO rich.

And in the box on the bottom, Kirsten's things. The pillow I made for her bed with a ruffled edge and heart hand stiched in the center, a red flannel nightgown (which will be perfect for our Corbin family Christmas red-flannel pajamas tradition) and Kirsten's original dress and apron.

I'm full of once forgotten memories now, and...pretty excited to reveal my treasures in the morning to my two sleeping girls.