SouleMama

the first three years

Ah. Can you hear that? Imagine the longest (in my mind) email 'whooosh' you've ever heard - it's the echo of the manuscript being sent off early this morning. I always think there should be a more dramatic way to send off such a thing that's been so dear to me for so long – perhaps with a quill pen signature on the top of it's two hundred pages wrapped in twine and delivered by Johnny Depp on horseback - to my dear and lovely editor who will now manage to make some kind of sense and order out of my butchering of the English language and unclear ramblings and run on sentences (much like this one).

So that was today.

But I also want to tell you about yesterday. Because yesterday was my three year blogaversary, or blog birthday or whatever it is that we call these things. I've come to think of this near-daily writing here as a cup of coffee that we share each day in my 'living room' on the internet. If you will.

It's been three years full of many, many things in this area of my life - support, creative inspiration, friendships - some that have been lucky enough to grow beyond the computer, opportunity I never could have imagined, lots of learning, and of course a few challenges and frustrations along the way too. But one thing that happens for me in this space is something I never could have anticipated. (You can tell I'm going down the path of gushy now, can't you?)

You give me hope. (But it's true.)

Because, you see - though this was initially a surprise to me - I've come to learn how very different we all are. From your comments and emails and your blog links, I've discovered that some of us are parents and some are not; we are Christians and pagans and atheists; unschoolers and public school teachers; republican and Green; crafters and not so-into-the-crafting; in the US or clear halfway around the world from my home; women and men (yes!); some of you are in school, while there are others who are caring for their grandchildren. And so many more examples I've seen, and everywhere in between. We are as different as we can be. And yet. There is something. Something that brings you hear each day (or week....or even just 'once in a while'). And that 'something' may be defined very differently for each of you and may very well be a number of things. But I think it has something to do with our common goals to find a little bit of beauty in our days; to add a little more mindfulness to our lives; and perhaps give a little more respect to the little ones in our lives.

And this? This, my friends, on the best of blog days fills me with so much hope and beauty about the world and the children in it, that it often brings tears to my eyes. So, thank you…thank you for reading, and thank you for seeing past our differences, and thank you for finding what we share in common. Thank you for filling me with a little more hope about the world. And thank you for the ways in which you seek beauty in your life and just as importantly - the many ways in which I know you share it. You inspire me.

Happy three years to us!

SoulePapa Blogs :: Go Mama Go

The Mama :: The Manuscript

The light in the forest

Go Mama Go!!!

SoulePapa Blogs :: Into the Light

The fevers have parted.  Noses have, essentially,  stopped running.  The sun shone brightly and warmed that crusty, frozen surface of the home we call Earth. We stepped from our den of hibernation,  a place we've been squirreled away for the better part of two weeks, riding out a miserable flu, into the outside world.  What a miraculous feeling to absorb that heat. That light.  To breathe the cold winter air into recuperating lungs neglected with days of dry, indoor air. 
The boys quickly realized the sun had softened the top layer of snow just enough to make it sticky.  We rolled it in white mounds all about the yard to make a wall which soon formed into a fort.  Calvin grabbed his sled and began making quick steep runs off our mammoth snow pile.  Using the fort wall as a banked turn, he slid with a fury, narrowly missing Ezra's feet on each descent.  Ez did not peep nor move.  He sat, silently.  Content to be out of doors munching a block of snow.
Adelaide, the latest and hardest hit influenza victim, was happy to be in Mama's arms watching the action.  And Mama, delighted to be taking a well deserved writing break and soaking up some sun of her own.

Legs turned, blood pumped, eyes closed and thought of nothing but that very instant and the feeling of being.  Healthy. 

It's snowing again as i write this.  All are asleep (except Mama, of course) and I turn off each of the lights and walk out into the yard.  The flakes, big and wet, drop and silently wipe away the traces of life that were here only moments before.  Like an evening tide erasing a thousand footprints that won't ever be duplicated. 

It is magical and it is bittersweet and it is all that I believe.

SoulePapa Blogs :: Three May KooK

Kook (ko̵̅o̅k) : Someone regarded as eccentric or crazy and standing out from a group.

exhibit 1:

Dinner was late as usual with Papa at the helm and the kids were beside themselves with low blood sugar, tired bones and more than a touch of delirium.  Things were escalating in a direction that most parents would recognize and probably label as "not good."  As would I.

One had emptied the dolly carriage contents across the room, like a bad doll car wreck, and proceeded to place his sister inside for a high speed ride. The other had begun to turn out all the lights in the house, upstairs and down, rendering it virtually impossible to cook and even more difficult to properly navigate a doll carriage with your sister inside.  Even if she was shouting with glee at the moment, I could see this ending poorly.  I demanded to be listened to, as any father would, but could sense, with my extra keen nodes of perception that I've developed over these years of parenting, that I probably wouldn't be. 
Attempting to use a more subtle means of strength than the forefathers, I went with the fast and determined stride across the room and took my subject gently by the shoulders and turned him away from the light switch to engage in eye to eye deliberations.

"Ezra, WHAT are you doing?" I said in my calm, collected guy voice.

"KooKin'!!"  said he, with a smile so wide and so contagious I had to have one too.

Now, I had no idea what "KooKin' " was.  I'd never heard the word.
But, decided right then that it deserved a day in court, " Five minutes of KooKin'!!" I declared. 
"BUT," waving the fatherly finger and setting the ground rules, "I get ONE light!".

In unison, "OKAY!"  Aargh, I low balled.  "AND," trying to reassert my control over the situation, "Don't bother your mother, she's trying to work."

"Yeah, RIGHT!", a faraway voice from upstairs hollered.

"Sorry, Sweetie!!" I yell.  "Sorry, Mama!!" they yell.

"Let the KooKin' begin!"

I now have five minutes of guaranteed light, by which, I finish my cooking.  The children have a sanctioned bout of rough housing - running, jumping up and down and shouting, "kookin!" - interrupted occasionally, of course, by Papa for rules infractions usually of the, "that is going to hurt somebody," variety.  And...well, tradition is born.
So, this is how a semi-regular "Papa Style" ritual develops around our household.  Something like 1 part necessity, 1 part understanding and 3 parts lightening up.  Something like that.

Invention, my dear friends, is 93% perspiration, 6% electricity, 4% evaporation, and 2% butterscotch ripple.

                                                  - Willy Wonka

checking in

Hello, Hello! I wanted to pop in to say hi - I was missing you guys! I've got just a few more days to go - and I find myself going back and forth like a ping pong ball between the sheer delight that comes with knowing I'm so close to the end, and the absolute horror that comes with knowing I'm so close to the end. It's a feeling the Harlot can describe best of all. I can only say, 'it's nutty.' and hard. and fun all at the same time.

I'm being heavily fueled by the four lovebugs around me. And a few other things too...

the beautiful:
A constant  supply of fresh flowers in my studio. Imperative for any February, but really imperative for the last week in February in which my manuscript is due. Milk glass vase required.

the essential:
When a package of Green & Blacks arrived in the mail last week I do think I squealed.  It's essential fuel, and I had nearly run out. Not good. Chocolate is very important in this stage of the game. (And bacon + chocolate? surprisingly right for something that seems so very wrong.)

the delightful:
Love notes slipped under the door that just about melt my heart. And the love notes in my email inbox, and in my post office mailbox. thank you. They've not only brought a smile to my face, but at critical moments of doubt, they've reminded me of why I'm writing this book.

Alright! Back at it, then. I now turn you back into the very able hands of our guest blogger...I will see you again in March! Oh, March...

Have a lovely week!

SoulePapa Blogs :: A Moment

With Adelaide drifting through a high fever nap in the sling, the boys make halfhearted, restless attempts at quiet play.  Clearly they would rather be shaking about in goofy gyration to some raucous tunes or scaling the small mountain of ice deposited so graciously by our heroic plow guy (He may not leave much room for vehicular passage but he does set the kids up with some serious winter terrain).  But, Papa had his hands full of sad sweetness and the motivation for them to get geared and out the door, without help, was failing them in miserable fashion. 
Eventually, they geared down and sunk into some late afternoon projects.  I got Ezra a book from the shelf that I often turn to when asked to draw...well, any animal pretty much.  Good old Ed Emberley's Drawing Book of Animals leads you through a really simple progression of shapes added together to build a variety of animal characters from lady bugs to dragons.

Before long I was being handed a steady stream of drawings that each contained significant alterations to Mr. Emberley's originals although, I'm sure he would have been pleased by each.  I had no recourse but to begin covering the refrigerator with them as fast as they came.  In typical Ezra style the last drawing was not from the book but from his very own, very big heart - a tiny hand making the  "I love you" sign.  He's nice.

Meanwhile, on a train of thought far far away, was Calvin.  He had concocted a mouse condo out of cardboard and decked it with all the plush comforts a small rodent could want.  Such as a wet/dry lounging area and a tunnel to the half pipe box.  This explained the series of, "Do you think a mouse could fit through this?" questions.  He was now busily working on a trap to acquire a tenant for his abode. 

A moment of silence washes over the house.  I stop to breathe and realize how amazing it is to be home for a few weeks while SouleMama finishes her manuscript.  Shadows lengthen and the sun gives us a last brilliant display of light as night falls all around.  No two days are alike.  What a beautiful place.

SoulePapa Blogs :: Act Global Think Loco

Mid - Winter.  Snow, freeze, sun, melt, rain, freeze, snow, sleet, melt ... repeat!! 
It's a cruel lesson in expectations and reality.  Spring too far off to ponder and winter too long to believe.  Waking up in darkness so cold it freezes your heart and slows your brain.  The heat sneaks past a veil of clouds and warms your cheeks for a brief glimpse of how things could be if only...if only you lived. SOMEPLACE. ELSE. 

Wood stoves, furnaces, car heaters, bundled children, shovels, plows, ice, sand trucks, scraping windshields, running noses, frozen toeses. 

All that winter fun, so wondrous in those early days of snow,  loses its luster and seems like so much effort for the brief moments of joy it now brings.  Digging deeply into the recesses of your brain to retrieve that scrap of memory which you will drain for all its comfort and hope.  Beach sand.  Bicycles.  Warm Breeze.  You strain to imagine.

Holding tight to that last tattered shred of sanity.  Keeping that warm glint of resolve in your eye.  Letting that icy realization pass over you that this season of darkness will continue.

We move on and scour the horizon for those bits of light.

Man, I love Winter and its challenge to us that we find it's beauty.  Wherever we can.

letter of surrender

A vase of pink tulips will have to stand in for my white flag because it's time to admit defeat!

This month had already promised to be a challenging one before it even started. But on top of the expected came a whole bunch of unwelcome and unpleasant unexpected. And here I find myself not quite to the end of it yet, and feeling stretched in too-many different directions. I would try to give you the analogy I've been using to describe this feeling to friends - something involving silly putty, a brick wall, and five limbs snapping. But yeah, I think I scare people with that one...(and really, I'm okay. Just a little dramatic.) Suffice it to say, though, these last 11 days before turning in the manuscript are destined to be a little nutty no matter what. I hear (and remember) that it's just a rule of writing a book (is this comforting? not particularly). Piles of finished projects, piles of unfinished projects, piles of paper, piles of edits, piles of late minute ideas, and piles of doubts. Par for the proverbial course.

So rather than take you down the path of nutty right along with me (though the company would be lovely), I think it's best to take a little breather here. Ah. Feels better just saying so. Maybe I'll pop in with a picture or an update so you know I'm still kicking. Or - if we're really lucky - maybe a guest blog from my favorite peeps will appear here and there. If we ask nicely, I bet they'll do it. They're pretty swell like that - refilling my coffee cup, taking away the coffee cup and telling me to drink water, reminding me to breathe, and telling me ever so gently that it's time to take a shower.  How many days has it been, again? Right. I should do that. Shower and stuff.

Thanks for hanging in there - you're pretty swell yourselves - patiently tolerating my chatter about the second book before you've even seen the first. It's coming so soon, friends. Thank you, and I'll see you later next week!

peace,
amanda

p.s. I've got this (I think I can...she says in a quivering voice), and then this one in my head. (That would be Cheap Trick, a cheesy 80's cartoon, and a third person reference all in one sentence. That's the kind of nutty I'm talking about.)

holding on

It seems as though we're nearing the end of the nap era here. If I were completely honest with myself I'd tell you - and she - that naps are all over. Because the after fall of her napping at this point often makes for a difficult nighttime - a wakeful night with lots of nursing, some tears, and endless laps around the house in the sling with Papa.  But. She's in between. And I'm still holding on. There's something so wonderful about a little rest in the middle of the day. Besides the chance to rest body and mind, it's also one extra opportunity in the day for that special falling-asleep snuggling, as well as the refreshing opportunity for 'beginning again' upon waking. And then there's the peace it invokes nearby as we all repeat to each other, 'shhh....she's sleeping!" The sound of her sleepy breathing feels like the heartbeat of the house in those hours, as we all settle in to our quiet projects. Until that waking moment when we're all greeted with a sweet and cheery, "Good mornin'!" (each waking is like a new day). It's precious...and it's beautiful...and it's fleeting.

I'm finding myself holding on - not to the nap that seems to be ending, because clearly that's changing, and of course I'm excited to see what will come on the other side of this transition. But I'm holding on to the preciousness of it - the beauty of it - the gentleness of it all. The fingers curled up and covered in marker from the morning's play, the chosen doll or animal of the day snuggled up next to her, the sun streaming in through the windows and catching those little tendrils of hair at the back of her neck. I'm capturing a bit of it in my mind, and sometimes in my photographs. And holding it close to my heart, forever committing it to my Mama memory.

February Ten

Oh, February. How you can give me the funk. But alas, there really is far too much to be joyful about to be February-funked-out for too long. This time of year, I find myself a little more mindful - a little more attentive to the things that bring me joy. They're extra-appreciated amidst the cold and the snow, and the sometimes dreary days. And so today, I bring you my February Ten - ten little joys that are making me smile this  week. Feel free to play along if you wish - in the comments, on your blog, on paper, in your head. It feels good.

1. the bursts of color that radiate from the kids' drawing table

2. a new (but more expensive - dang!) chocolate love

3. a battle of epic and now-comic proportions with Banjo over his admittance into my studio

4. the big toothless gap in my seven year olds' mouth

5. the sudden and beautiful appearance of arms, legs, and faces in my baby girls' drawings

6. a manuscript that's molding into just the right shape at just the right time

7. how in just the right light, the snow looks like a crisp and cozy down comforter - kinda

8. the sound of my honey's guitar and the ripple of delight that follows it through the house

9. the deliberate and determined sounding out of words by my newest reader

10. the sun - gracing us with its presence longer and longer each day

Wishing you many, many little February joys and a lovely weekend!

WHO Bread!

So here, my friends, is the recipe for the WHO Bread I photographed last week. And here's a little surprise about it (and me): it's a bread machine recipe. I know, I know. You're surprised, aren't you?

I will admit - I wasn't interested in a bread machine for um, years. I'm not only stubborn, but I get a little skeptical about the latest and greatest 'thing' we're supposed to 'need'. Truth be told, elaborate kitchen gadgetry kind of irritates me (where to put it all?, to begin with). But then...last year I found myself staring right at a brand new one at a yard sale for $2 (I think used & good condition bread machines are plentiful in the thrift world), and I thought I should give it a try instead of just grumping about them, as I had been doing. I won't say that I'm hooked - I really love making bread by hand. I truly do. The entire process of baking bread by hand gives me so much pleasure. Except for the times when it doesn't give me so much pleasure. And then I happily use the bread machine.

We had experimented with a few different recipes, and never quite found one we liked. So we scratched them all and came up with one of our own. It's basic, but we think it's pretty yummy. When we make it, it's usually our 10 o'clock-ish snack - our 'second breakfast' if you will (c'mon - don't you have at least three?)

My absolute favorite part of making this bread (which is likely no surprise), is that the kids can be so easily involved. Ezra - who loves to cook- writes & draws the recipe over and over and can nearly do the process entirely by himself. If it weren't tasty anyway, the feeling of success that it gives him would win me over too.

WHO Bread

(makes 1.5 lb loaf, set to 'basic' with medium crust)

1 1/4 cup water
2 tablespoons honey
2 tablespoons butter @ room temperature
1 tsp salt
3 cups of flour (we do 2 cups unbleached white, 1 cup whole wheat pastry)
1/2 cup rolled oats
1 tablespoons brown sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
2 1/4 tsp active dry yeast (or, one package)

Enjoy! (And Happy Valentines Day!)

my "urchin beret"

I'm pretty much in love with my new hat. And yes - I know I just said that about another hat. It's not that I'm a fickle hat lover - it's that I actually - and sadly -have misplaced that hat (I'm not calling it 'lost' yet). A bummer to be sure. But - it also gave me the perfect excuse to knit myself another new hat. A silver lining!

The pattern is the "urchin beret" from Twinkle's Weekend Knits: 30 Fast Designs for Fun Getaways. It's a beautiful book, and the designs really are unique - but wearable. Wearable is important. I've been itching to make a sweater, and I think it might just come from this book - I'm deciding between the Nimbus or the Cloudburst. Such fun names, aren't they? And it just occurred to me (sometimes I'm slow to catch on to these things) where the name "urchin beret' comes from for this hat. It totally does look like a  sea urchin from the top! And how much do I love the thought of walking around with a little bit of the ocean on me in the middle of the winter, even if only in theory? So much.

(all of these photos are by my very talented and sweet Steve by the way.)

I do realize (now) that I've knit myself more than a few green hats over the years. But - leave me wandering in a yarn shop with no pre-determined plan and there's a likely chance I'll walk out of there with some green yarn. (This is Cascade Magnum, from KnitWit - a favorite local yarn spot.)

Oh, and, this book is aptly titled - particularly on the 'fast' part. This hat - knit on gigantic size 17 needles - was finished before the end of a movie. (Jules et Jim - oh my gosh, I love that movie - I could listen to this over and over.) Anyway, that's a fast knit. I don't really think of knitting as something that needs to or even should be done fast, but sometimes it's kind of fun when it is. Especially when there's snow in the forecast (and in Maine this winter, when isn't snow in the forecast?), and I want to wear my new favorite hat. Like, today, for example.

(Hang in there, local peeps & similarly snowed-over friends! Spring will come. And for now, we have some beautiful snow. This is my February mantra.)

the "Second" Syndrome

I think these curtains have already had their blog debut - in sneaky bits here and here. But here they are in all their simple curtain glory. I made them right before (hours before?) our Christmas morning brunch, though I sat on the fabric (all 10 yards of it - my goodness) for a few months before that. It's from Denyse Schmidt's Katie Jump Rope line. Love that line.

I've always felt rather ambivalent about having curtains in this room - it's so lovely to see clearly outside, but in the winter it always feels a little bare. So my intent was to make these for the winter months. I made them floor length, which I love, and I hope means that wherever our 'home' may be in the future, I'll be able to find a window in which they fit. Otherwise, I've got 10 yards of fabric I love with which to play. Not a bad option, either.

And now let me show you the second window in this room. Oh, Right. There is no second set of curtains. Did I mention that I finished that first one on December 24th? Ah, yes. For two months I've put off finishing this project. It feels like the second sock. Or legwarmer. Or mitten. All of which I have a problem with, clearly. That second bootie, sock, curtain - whatever - is always a little bit of a hump that I need some pushing to get through. It's my personal crafting hurdle, if you will. The Second Syndrome.

At dinner a few evenings ago, Ezra took a nice deep breath and announced his revelation to the table, "Mama! There's only one curtain in here!"

Okay, okay. I'm sufficiently pushed now. The curtain is coming.

after the dentist

A few weeks ago, I went to the dentist (yes, that's really how this story starts. Bear with me - my voice feels a little scratchy after 30 days of quiet here).

And you know - it's the dentist. My dentist himself is very pleasant. We always have lovely conversations about books. (Or, at least  as much as one can have a conversation with their mouth wide open and someone's hands inside it. Maybe it's more accurate that I do a lot of listening about books.) Last year he convinced me to read all of Julia Alvarez' books, which I can't believe I had made it 32 years without reading. Wasn't I an English and Women's Studies major in college? Yeah, it just seems wrong that they let me get by four years without reading her. She's amazing.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. In the dentist chair where I was fantasizing what I was going to do with the rest of my solo Mama time that afternoon (because going to the dentist does not count as "recharging Mama time", even with the charming book chat). And I remembered a flea market nearby. Ah, perfect. Sometimes I love just slowly wandering around the stalls at an indoor flear market alone - in the quiet, surrounded by my own thoughts and a whole lot of 'old things' - some of them quite lovely. And the rest - well, I can see past a few baseball cards. 

And that is just about the longest way I could have told you - that I found this quilt there that day. There's never really any doubt when I find one of these, and it's reasonably priced, that it will come home with me. Despite the growing piles of old quilts around here ('that we can't even use!" Steve says, befuddled and humored. "But these ones are art!" I say, entirely serious).

It's actually a total cutter quilt. There's a big hole in the middle and the edges are really, really frayed. I have a few projects in mind for it that I'm excited about trying out. But...I'm not quite ready for the cutting yet. I want to stare at it just a little bit longer. Think about the woman who made it. The people it might have warmed. What their life was like. The artists who designed the fabric. What they were inspired by. And on and on. I want to study it, and dream about it, if you will.

And, I want to play Quilt Twister. "Left foot on yellow floral! Right hand on green plaid!" My children have such sweet tolerance for their crazy Mama. And I'm very grateful for that. And the flea market. And my dentist, too.

saturday night

working late tonight...

Enjoying:
"clean" paint (milk paint)
my apron (by Rectangle Design)
camera obscura
with a dash of cabernet.

wrapping it up

Thank you for all of your enthusiasm and generous words about the 30 day project! It was so lovely to hear your thoughts on the images each day, and lovely to hear from so many of you saying hello for the first time! Hello! I enjoyed the month of photography so very much - it was such a great way for me to reflect on the little moments in each day that are important to me, and to us. The little toes that I want to cherish, a book that I've read hundreds of times, a quiet moment at the end of the day.  Moments that are so important in our everyday, day-to-day life as a family - moments that seem as though they could never be forgotten...and yet, of course, with time, they do and will fade. I'm grateful for this little collection - this tiny little snippet into what our life looks like right now - without the faces, without the  posed shots. Just the everyday, ordinary bits of family life that I love. There's more to come of the 30 day project - I'll share how I've collected them as soon as it's ready. And in the meantime, I'll be incorporating "Everyday Photography" posts into the fold here from time to time.

The project also gave me a wonderful break to reflect on this blog space (which is nearing three years old. is that possible?) - time to think about what it means to me and what I'd like to do here. I'm excited about all of that, and look forward to jumping back in next week!

Before I go though, let me direct you to the wonderful blog Artful Parent, where Jean has written a review of The Creative Family (April 1st inches closer!). You'll find a little interview with me, and (you'll like this part!) a chance to win a free copy of the book. Thank you, Jean!

Oh, and I can't leave for the weekend (see, now I can't stop talking) without sharing a little bit of beach with you - from yesterday, containing a few of my favorite things:
new shoes
by camilla & converse
the ocean
on a date with my love.
breathe. 

Have a wonderful weekend!

30 days :: 30

Us, everyday.

30 days :: 29

The kids have named this bread we make, 'WHO bread" - Wheat. Honey. Oat. My little almost-readers love the acronyms.

edited to add: I'll share our recipe sometime next week!

30 days :: 28

Snow today....outside and in.
Creating and reenacting one of his favorite book scenes of the moment.

30 days :: 27

A person is a success if they get up in the morning and gets to bed at night and in between does what he wants to do.

- Bob Dylan

30 days :: 26

in the early evening.

30 days :: 25

Working on the manuscript, eating leftover cake, and smiling at the note Calvin slipped under the door.

Happy Weekend to you!

30 days :: 24

Inspiring:
Shutter Sisters