This is Fair Week

Start with the smells.

Smoky charcoal grills cooking up the onions and peppers for the bratwurst.

Funnel cakes drizzled with honey.

Fried mini-donuts served warm in brown paper bags.

A whiff of pepperoni pizza.

The scent of hydraulic oil from the rides.

The pig barn, which can be smelled from yards away, so strong we hold the backs of our hands to our noses as we walk through to peek at the huge pink animals and their comically small, curly tails.

Fresh hay in the goat pens.

Soap at the washing stalls that is scrubbed from the animals and travels in rivulets down the hill, making sudsy puddles near the barns.

Rabbit fur, soft and warm, with the slightest hint of wood chips.

Now to my favorite sights:

Meya as "Little Miss Muffet" and Blaze as "The Spider" in the animal parade.

Madi's farm cake which she entered in the Junior 4-H category and won the grand prize. She auctioned it off Friday night and earned a good chunk of money for her college fund.

Madi saying goodbye to the rabbit she's about to auction off. Wearing her cowboy duds, she took the rabbit into the rink and proudly held it up as the auctioneer rattled off, "$10 a pound, will ya give me $10 a pound, $20 a pound, now 20, now 20, will ya give me $20 a pound, who'll pay 30, $30 a pound...going once, going twice, SOLD at $30 a pound!"

Leasie sitting on a bench before her auction. She grinned from ear to ear as she circled the rink to show her rabbit to the bidders. Her smile earned her an extra $5 a pound. Her rabbit sold for $35 a pound!

Moments before the auction after a week of work, showmanship, judging, ribbons, fair food, rides, heat&humidity, fun, laughter, and family time together. We all agree that besides Christmas, fair week is our favorite time of the year!

This is summer

It is a summer afternoon...

Madi is curled up on the blue leather chair in the front room, her feet tucked under her, with a book in her hand. She doesn't answer when I call to her which makes me smile. She's too far away, swallowed whole by a good story.

Breakfast and lunch dishes fill the kitchen sink waiting patiently for me. A half eaten watermelon rests on the counter tilted on its side; bright pink juice puddles beneath it. I can still taste its sweetness on my lips.

I carry Baby C upstairs for her afternoon nap. She squirms in my arms as she reaches for her blanket. I kiss her cheek which is sticky with Popsicle. I brush her yellow curls away from her face and pull her shirt down over her wonderfully protruding belly.

The afternoon light squeezes past the edges of the window blind, and I pause for a moment in the artificially darkened room. Outside, Cicadas drone in rhythm as steady as lapping waves. I close my eyes and listen. Then I peek at Baby C who has already fallen asleep.

I nearly trip over the swimming towels strewn throughout the house like storm debris. T-man helps me gather and carry them to the basement. They smell of chlorine and Downy. T-man bends to push the last towel into the washer and as he does, his swimming trunks fall just enough to expose a perfect line of white skin at his waist. I'm surprised how tan he has become.

I hear thumps and thuds overhead and know that Leasie and Meya are dancing upstairs in my room. I'm sure it is a party of pink tutus, sequins, and fringe.

This chaos. This freedom. This nothing-importantness. This everythingness. This potentially forgettable moment of summer is exactly what I want to remember.

The past three weeks

A blur. Craziness. Sleeplessness. Too much busy-ness. The first three weeks of our summer has been jam-packed with doing! I was the director of the Pickwick Players Summer Drama Camp for the first two weeks. It was a huge amount of effort (which included but was not limited to) dancing, singing, acting, preparing schedules, preparing daily theater lessons, playing games, preparing daily activities, truck loads of set, and costumes.

We went from this... To this...
And I agreed to do it all...for three simple reasons: Madi, Leasie, and Meya.

They were orphans in the show and loved it! (Madi is in the green shirt, Leasie is next to her in yellow, and Meya is in the pink shirt on the end)

As the cast took their final bow and the audience (aka parents and families) clapped, Meya burst into tears. "I don't want it to be done!" she sobbed as I hugged her. "I'm going to miss all my friends."

I've felt the same way at the end of past shows, and I was glad Meya had such a positive experience that she didn't want it to end.

Today...more than a week after their final bow and goodbyes, I found the girls in my room acting out the scenes from Annie. They were singing, dancing, and laughing.

So, I venture to say that it was all worth it.

Handfuls

One evening this week we took a family walk in our neighborhood. It was dusk. The heat of the day had subsided and the air was full of the smells of summer: freshly cut grass, smoke from a charcoal grill, and sweet honeysuckle. We strolled to the empty lot at the end of our street. The field was alight with fireflies. The tiny blinking bugs hovered a few feet above the grass.


We introduced Baby C to the fireflies and soon she was walking with hands outstretched calling and coaxing, "Here bug."


Madi stepped through the field with hands down and cupped. She literally scooped up the bugs by the handful. Then she lifted her hands and watched as they gently took flight from her palms.


Soon all of us were scooping up the fireflies. Handfuls of light.




Later that night, after the children were tucked in bed, I flipped on my computer to check email. My dear friend had posted a beautiful blog entry about her daughter's battle with leukemia. She wrote about combing her daughter's thinning hair.


I imagined a different handful. And I wanted to cry.


Handfuls. Sometimes life gives us a handful of light, of pure enchantment that makes us believe in magic, goodness, and miracles. And sometimes life gives us a handful of heartache that forces us to believe and hope and pray. And both polar experiences make not only our hands, but our hearts full too.

The Juggle

It is that time of year, when I have so many things to juggle I truly feel like I'm about to lose my mind. My calendar is covered with so much pencil and ink, it looks like it has been the victim of vandalism graffiti. I've got notes taped to walls and cupboards (for those events I think I might forget...which is many). And my daily to do list reminds me of a detailed procedural list for a scientific experiment: "At exactly 8AM, have at least one load of laundry done and make the following phone calls..."

So this morning I thought I'd just list it out. My to-do, not-to-forget, list, with the hope that I'll feel much better and not succomb to the chaos and go rock in a corner.

Prepare for 2 week "Annie" Drama Camp (I'm the director of 43 children!)
Host Drama Camp Counselor Kick off Party
Soccer tournament (includes two games this Saturday)
Baptism to attend on Saturday
Madi's piano recital (30 minutes after her last soccer game on Saturday)
Prepare for my 6 week summer class (I'm teaching at Nova starting June 29)
End of soccer party (bringing fruit salad)
Leasie's Violin recital next week
Kindergarten end of the school year Cowboy party
2nd grade end of the school year Mexican party
Restaff two teachers in primary
Write script for one part of the Stake YC trek
Plan for Primary activity on July 24th
Get Madi, Leasie, and Meya ready for County Fair (4-H project books!)

I know I'm forgetting something...oh yeah, take care of five children, cook food, do laundry, and try to keep the house clean.

No wonder my mind is spinning like an out of control merry-go-round. The funny thing is...I'd venture to say that most people reading this (especially my Mommy friends) have a list equally long. And to you I say...let's escape together to the Bahamas.

DC United

Have you ever been to a professional soccer game? I hadn't...until last night.

Madi's soccer team won a sportsmanship award from their league and they received FREE (yes, free) tickets to a DC United game. My husband and I went along for the ride. A what a ride it was! The stadium was huge. The night was steamy hot. And the playing on the field was spectacular!
Here's our favorite player of the night. The DC United goalie pulled the ball out of the air on at least three corner kicks with opposing players surrounding him--boxing him in, and jutting their heads toward the ball. He made some amazing saves--diving across the goal box. He really got us on our feet cheering.

Of course, we dined on cotton candy (which, in my opinion, is the epitome of a summer, fun treat) and pretzels. And we guzzled water. (Did I mention it was hot?)

Here a picture of some of Madi's team - we're sitting in the far seats with Madi in the middle.

But my favorite moment of the night was at the very end. We ducked out with only one minute left in the game. The three of us held hands and ran through the empty stadium corridors, down through the tunnel, and into the dark parking lot. The stars twinkled above us in the nighttime sky. I looked down at my daughters face and she just beamed.

We made it to our car before the crowds and drove home in less than an hour. Madi fell asleep before we were out of the city limits. My husband carried her inside and we tucked our happy, exhausted child into her bed.

Good times.

Storms, Butter, and Curls

I laughed out loud once and cried twice today.


I laughed when the kids and were caught in a downpour at the park. There was a rumble of thunder and suddenly one raindrop turned into a shower--a million huge plops that splattered and soaked us. What else could I do? I laughed.


I cried when I came down after putting laundry away to find that Baby C had finger-painted with butter on my kitchen floor. It was just such a big mess. What else could I do? I cried. And then I cleaned it up with lots of hot, soapy water.


And when I sat at the computer this evening, surrounded by the familiar sounds of evening (Madi practicing piano, Baby C giggling, and T-man protesting his dinner dish job), I read my dear friend's blog about her daughter's leukemia. What else could I do? I cried. I cried for my amazingly couragous friend who is facing a mother's worst fear. I cried for her dear daughter and all her pain and suffering. I cried for her thick brown curls that will soon be gone.


And when Baby C came to me with arms outstretched, wanting to be picked up, instead of sending her back to Dad or shooing her away to play with her blocks, I let her join my on lap. And I held her close.


What else could I do?