Sunday, November 9, 2014

nonlinear movement

Last night, I found myself doing something that likely appeared rather odd to anyone who saw us.  I went running with two of the kids and a dog who is not ours, visiting for the weekend, running through the streets of our neighborhood.  In the dark.  Very little of that was what I intended or planned for when I thought about how we would spend our weekend together.  But it was kind of a perfect window into our life.  

With the change of seasons comes the change of sports for Nicholas and Julia.  

We spent some time digging around the barn to see what we have, what can be passed from one child to the next smaller one.  And assessing what needs to be gotten, when the shifting of gear moves from one to another and someone is left without.

I took Julia shopping for new sneakers.  And found myself realizing, while in the check out line, that I was purchasing her shoes that are my own size.  Our middle child.  Not even my oldest.  There is something even more shocking about this than it was when it happened with our oldest.  

Nicholas, who will be nordic skiing this year, wants to work on his stamina and conditioning (yes, I really am in unchartered waters at this point) and has been wanting to run some each day.  Given the positive change in his mood and how he feels physically, we are all for it.  Not to mention, both Jonathan and I are getting out there with him (I can't keep up).

As is the way in our family, when one does something, everyone else wants to try it, too.  It is hard to say no when you are looking into the eyes of a younger sibling who says, I want to come.

So there we were.  Some in their pajamas, still.  Running.  Not gracefully, and not well.  And giggling.  And it begins to get dark now here at 4:00.  And this was when everyone decided that this needed to happen.  

It was 4:00 because we had spent the day, each of us doing our own developmentally appropriate work.


Bringing in wood for the week.

Along with the mess it makes.

Watching independent reading assignments be worked into a presentation.  And a huge thank you, again, to Steve Sheinkin for doing what he does, for making the the story of real world people just as interesting as any imagined character.  And therefore, making weekend homework projects feel just a little bit more okay.

There was time to cook from new recipes, such as this honey-based pumpkin bread.

My time in the kitchen took several unexpected turns.  As I began measuring the ingredients for the pumpkin bread, Elliott wandered in and wanted to cook.  I offered him the flour.  Thanks, but can I make my own recipe?

Swallow.  Sure.

And then I moved on, worked within the disaster that the kitchen was becoming, to make winter food for the bees.

A few minutes later, I had a small swarm of honeybees flying around my kitchen this afternoon.  This is not a good thing.  And I had to chase each one down, like Mr. Miyagi, and carry her outside ever so gently and release her.  

How had this happened?  It was entirely my fault, of course.  Leaving everything in the oven, I was under a bit of time pressure, and had headed out to the beeyard to check on a hive I am worried about.  
Seeing they needed food, I had run inside to grab the sugar candy I had made.  As I ran into the kitchen, still wearing my veil and planning to return to the beeyard right away,  I did not think to check if I had bees on me.  Mistake number one.

Then I heard buzzing and saw one, then two bees flying toward the ceiling light.  Deciding I needed to take care of these two bees and not head back out to the beeyard because my children were in the next room, I climbed up on the counter to grab each one.  Then, more buzzing.  Mistake number two?  Not having gone outside after I saw those first two bees and removed my veil.  Because if I had, I would have then seen that my veil was covered in a rather large number of bees.

In all, I found 20 bees flying around the kitchen.  The children took cover in a small room with the door barricaded and a rug stuffed in the crack under the door.  When I retrieved them later, I discovered they had built a rather epic pillow fort in the room and were giggling in there.  It seemed a good use of their time.  

It had been a full day.  With some fun events tucked in.  Big Nate, the musical.

And so, you find yourself running through the neighborhood with unpredictably zigging and zagging children and a dog, and you are zagging and zigging, giggling with them, running like an ungraceful and certainly nonlinear goof, in the dark.

It was a good weekend, full of all the things that it should be full of.  Friends, books, house tending and creature caring, tidying, resting, getting outside, and work.  It was happily full of all the mistakes and goodness and unexpected diversions and glorious messes, that get mixed into these days.  

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