Spray Paint + Chandelier

I did it!

(More accurately, I asked my husband to do it, and he did it.)

My dining room has a new and improved look in the lighting department.  I scooped up my sister-in-law's cast-off brassy-gold chandelier at her yard sale, and bought a can of the highest quality spray paint.  Jason is much more better and fantastic-er at spray painting than I am, because he is picky about over-spray and tiny details such as I cannot find the time or inclination to notice.  He kindly agreed to paint it for me, after the project had sat in the garage for a long enough creative incubation time.  Nope, that's not procrastination!  It's allowing sufficient time for creativity to hatch.

I cleaned out the hardware store's rack of at least one style of chandelier bulbs, so not all ten of them match.  Maybe a little tacky, but when the lights are on, I dare you to notice.

I would post a picture of the whole thing, but I haven't figured out how to get a good shot of it.  Here is where you can insert a helpful comment. 

Quinn's second birthday

September 9 would have been our sweet baby Quinn's second birthday.  Her special day fell on a Sunday this year, and we had plans with my in-laws for lunch and with a group of friends for supper.  So we took a family day on Saturday.  And instead of going off somewhere and spending money that wasn't there, we chose to stay home and enjoy each other.  Jason and the kids went fishing at the pond.  I had been planning on making pizza for supper, the kids' favorite, but we realized halfway through the day that they wanted hamburgers.  Because I was in no mood to go grocery shopping, I defrosted some miniature meatloaves and we grilled.

Once again, I had this general dread all throughout the day, and a sick, heavy feeling in my stomach.  Last year, I concentrated all my heavy feelings and blamed them on the butterfly cake, but now I know that's what grief does to you.  It can knock the wind right out of you.  It can make you dizzy.  It can leave you standing in the kitchen, paralyzed by decisions about handwashing the special dishes or piling them into the dishwasher because who the heck cares anymore. 

Sunday afternoon, we stopped by her grave site to lay down some fresh flowers.

How can this be so beautiful?  Her life was only six hours.  Six hours!  Yes, two years later, I can still be horrified by what happened.  I'm learning how to talk about her without crying, how to introduce my complete family to those who need to know without needlessly shocking them.  But I can very stubbornly resist allowing my heart to go back to those raw moments when our family was headed in a particular direction, and then we were not.  I don't like to look at pictures too often.  Her sweet things are tucked away in a box, and I don't want to open it.  Even though God in his mercy is healing my heart, and I have peace about the big picture, the anger and pain are very real when I'm missing my daughter.

My second daughter.  Helen's sister.  My girl. 

The other day, I found myself praying out loud that God would provide Helen another sister.  I have no idea why that prayer came out, because we are sooooo done having kids.  I was mourning for Helen's loss all over again.  I sponsored a Ugandan girl through Compassion International, but she's not a sister. 

It's just that when I see my kids, I see a hole where Quinn is supposed to be.  Which is why I cannot get over these pictures.  I do not understand how this happened.  I'm not sure I want to understand, so if you have some technical answer to how the sun's angle played with my camera lens, I don't want to hear it.  I just want to treasure the mystery and miracle of this rainbow.

How the First Day of School Changed My Life

 Guess who was beside herself excited to go to school this year? 

 

Dear Helen Avery, proud first grader!  She could hardly stand it this summer, she was jonesing for the whole school experience.  She was doing her best to figure out classroom rules before she got there, ever so determinedly careful to never disobey them and to always have the right answer.  Yes, always the right answer.  She was concerned about NOT doing something wrong, and having perfect work.  And checking and double-checking for confirmation over her perfect work.  Arrgghhh!  It's like me all over again, in miniature form.  On one hand, I kind of like this insight into my true mini-me.  But on the other hand, it helps me see the negative side of my personality.  The bottom line about Helen is that she just wants to be noticed and affirmed. 

And then there is Owen, headed into the second grade, school pro by now.  He didn't seem to be too bothered that he and his sister were going to be in the same classroom.  They attend a small private school, where two grades are grouped together in each classroom, very similar to the school I attended. 

 Owen and Helen have a sweet relationship, but they sure know how to disagree too.  Lately on school mornings, Owen has been repeating, "Remember, Helen!  DON'T talk too much!"  From what I gather, I suspect that Helen hasn't been over-talking in the classroom to the annoyance of everyone, but that Owen is personally bothered, as a brother.  I told him that while they were at school, he was going to have to ignore the fact that she was his sister, and treat her like a friend instead.  It seemed to resonate.  Snort.

 Here is Helen on her first day of school.

Please get me out of here, Mom!

 Doesn't that look make you want to scoop her up and murmur sweet things in her ear? "Sweet-Baby, I'm so sorry I brought you here. It's OK.  There, there.  Let's go home and make pie.  You can stay with Mommy"?  Nah.  Me neither.

Owen Darrell, seasoned student.

Please get out of here, Mom.

 Jack Herman, poor, mistaken little brother who thought he was going to spend all the rest of his days with Daddy at work, now that those older kids are gone.

 On the first day of school, Jack pulled on his favorite work outfit, fully convinced he was going to work with Jason.  While we had been prepping him for life without Owen and Helen, we gave him Owen's hand-me-down lunch box, and told him that some days he might be able to go with Daddy in the tractor.  Poor kid only got the good part of that message. It took a few tears and a few days of bad attitude, but we've achieved a good feel around the house while Owen and Helen are away.

I am still in disbelief over how much more work I can get done without all my kids here during the day.  Jack plays really well by himself, and Henry is generally sweet and content.  And let's not forget how easy the grocery store has now become!  In fact, it's almost a treat to go there.  The little boys are so cute in their steering wheel cart.  I get nice comments now instead of odd looks.  It's funny how tasks have a perceived level of difficulty that flexes with the number of kids you have.  

And by, the way, this is Helen after pick up on the first day of school.  She loved it, and was ready to go back again.  Just like her mama.

Great Grandparents

 Our kids are fortunate to have grandparents and great grandparents who love them and enjoy them.  Great Grandma Weber lives within walking and/or golf cart distance of us, and we get to see her regularly. 

One quiet evening, she popped in to return a vase.  I happened to be nursing Henry at the time.  She didn't hear me call out to her, so she went outside to the kids who were on the swing set.  Imagine my surprise when I saw her up on the first level of the play house!  I grabbed my camera, but at her nimble 87 years of age, she was down before I could get hard-and-fast proof.

We saw my Grandpa Gingerich while we were in northern Indiana this summer.  It was great to see Henry in his arms for the first time.

Henry also got to meet my Grandma Bontrager in Indiana.  She's a natural with babies. 

She wanted us to stop by her house before we left so she could give Henry his sock monkey and the other kids some treats for the trip. 

Grandma has sewn oodles of sock monkeys, and they are all over her house--in plants and hanging on stair railings.  She has given one to each of her great grandchildren, and now is making them to sell.  She has made all sizes, with the exception of George the giant one, which Aunt Julia bought for her.

I really can't find the words to say how grateful I am for my grandparents and their godly influence on their family's lives.  I have so many good memories of them, and it's sad to me that my kids can never know them the way that I do.  I can only hope to leave a similar legacy for my children and grandchildren.    

A Four-Year-Old and his Construction Cake

 What can I say about this small boy child?  He delighteth in heavy machinery.

So when he turned 4 in late June, planning his birthday cake was a cinch. 

I'm not sure I've ever had more fun decorating a cake!  Everything came together in the perfect creative storm.  I think I stopped to ooh and ahh more than I actually decorated. 

My sister in law found a multi-pack of brand-spankin-new John Deere toys at Tractor Supply.  I cleaned up Jack's sheep's foot packer, and we borrowed Grandma's excavator.

 

First, I outlined the number four using a straight edge.  Then I laid the crushed Oreo road.  The powdery sand is nothing more than smashed pretzels.  Cocoa Puffs made small boulders.  We couldn't find plastic traffic cones, so I whipped out a paring knife and a carrot.  So much fun!

My real challenge involved my *ahem* pride.  I wanted the cake to look perfect for our party guests, but sonny boy couldn't keep his hands off of it.  Oreo crumbs were spilling onto the table and floor, the road grader was not remaining in its neat and tidy place, and my nerves were fraying.  After a long moment, during which I realized that his little boy days are going fast, I decided it was OK to let the birthday kid play with his cake.  After all, he probably won't still be fascinated by silly things like cake by the time he is 12.  Better grab his heart while the grabbing is still easy!

Happy Birthday long past, Jack!

The Blur of Summer

Today was the first day of school.  Besides the fact that my inner worn-out mama is jumping up and down like a kid in a bouncy house, I'm left scratching my head over what happened to the last few months.  Other than the speed bumps of vacation, we've been at home, going ninety-to-nothing holding babies,

 

making dough,

  styling personal pizzas,

and baking a crazy cake all by our little self.

 We've been picking flowers,

picking noses,

 and picking footwear.

We've been buzzed by a crop duster,

scared delightfully out of our skins once 

 and twice.

We've lost teeth

and gained them,

drooling all the way.

 We've put up green beans,

sweet corn,

and gobs of tomatoes.

We've sneaked off during Daddy's Sunday afternoon nap,

  and mobbed him to look up the tractor classifieds.

 We've eaten many breakfasts,

 

 many dinners,

 and a little bit of ice cream.

 We've read voraciously

and slept soundly.

  We've been together...

a lot.

We've had a great summer, no matter the speed of life.  On the other hand, if my washing machine could talk, it would slap me. 

Yes....

 That is what you think it is. 

Henry!!!

**If you were mesmerized by that beautiful smile, and missed the color change on the floor, let me draw your attention to that schmear of mustard-yellow poopie beneath my baby's feet!