We All Fall Down

It's actually a bit embarrassing. I didn't realize my infatuation with Autumn was so obvious. Last month's photos alone are enough to catapult me into the stalker category.

But it's not as bad as it could be. I could have posted a video montage with Natalie crooning "These Are the Days" in the background.
But I didn't. Even though these really are the days.
I'm lucky enough to have friends who are as seasonally smitten as I am. So when play group day rolls around, it is not a question of what we will do, but where we will hike.
And how far we will run.
And will we choose the leafy playground or the grassy meadow?
Duck-duck-goose or ring-around-the-rosy?
Oh, really, why make us choose. Let's do it all.

Linking this post in the free-for-all week at You Capture, hosted by Beth at I Should Be Folding Laundry.

Read more...

Nature Rarer Uses Yellow

Nature rarer uses yellow
Than another hue;
Saves she all of that for sunsets,--
Prodigal of blue,

Spending scarlet like a woman,
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly,
Like a lover's words.

-Emily Dickinson

The photo above is untouched, taken several years ago with a cheap, ancient camera, en route to Vancouver. This photo used to stand watch whenever my computer slept. Sometimes when the M&A lawyers called, I'd click away from the piles of PDF due diligence long enough to steal a glance. It was my "serenity now" when I sat hours on end in an ergonomic roller chair.

These days, I find more and more of these moments in real life. I don't have to stare at a screen to see them. Like this morning, when I ran under a moon so bright it cast my bundled shadow onto the pavement. I ran past Halloween remnants of a sheeted ghost and picked up the pace when the peripheral glances at the fire hydrant flags made me wonder if it was actually the face of a skinny person poised to yell "boo!". Then the sun set off yellow flares on the horizon to announce its arrival, and the bare branches turned into the claws of a black cat against the brightening sky.

These are moments so majestic they need no editing, no adjustment. The master Artist has already seen to everything. So effortless, He could do it in His sleep, if indeed, He ever slept.

I'm not sure I can agree with Emily, at least on this one point. Nature doesn't seem to be hoarding yellow anymore. In fact, she's outright licentious with these golden splays. And I love her for it.

As for the other Emily, the host of Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky, I couldn't agree more with her encouragement to find gifts in the messy, lovely and unexpected. This week, I'm celebrating nature's generosity with yellow and the gift of seeing it firsthand.

Read more...

Taking Flight, or Maybe Just Candy

I have a pitiful track record when it comes to Halloween pictures. Last year I forgot my camera entirely. This year I didn't think to take pictures until after dark. I snapped maybe three shots of Caed and Dani together, even though I know it takes at least 50 attempts to capture two simultaneous forward-looking smiles.

So I'm drawing from the morning dress rehearsal instead. Here is Caed, who was actually the "black spiderman" for trick-or-treating but decided to wear the "regular spiderman" this morning to battle the princess.
Yes, you heard me. Spiderman picked a fight with the princess. But don't feel sorry for her. It turns out a tiara can be a very dangerous weapon. Plus, she stole black spiderman's mask, so really, this princess is doing juuust fine without a prince to save her. She does, however, need to learn to share and be nice.
At the final hour, Dani decided she'd rather be a butterfly (a repeat from last year) than a princess. It turns out she was really just after the wings. She put on the wings, skipped around the house and wondered, "Why dey not f'ying? My wings aren't working!"

Once we established that the wings work only for pretend flying, she seemed to come to terms with her own gravity. That isn't to say she didn't try spreading her arms and looking to the sky a time or two more.
And really, who needs wings when you can soar in the sugar heights of kit-kats and milk duds?

This post linked up to Musings of a Housewife for a bit of Halloween show and tell.

Read more...

Autumn is a good influence on me.

Lately I am perfectly happy to take a walk or to sit under a shedding tree, without the urge to tell anyone what I'm doing in 140 characters or less. I have Autumn to thank for this.
As a redhead, I feel a bit entitled when it comes to Autumn. I figure, after a sun burned summer, Mother Nature owes me and my freckles a break. It's our turn to blend in with the scenery, to look and feel like we actually belong.

(Autumn is also the only season you'll see a redhead on the cover of a catalog. Because the pasty look rocks the earthy sweater. The swimsuit, not so much.)
Autumn makes me as curious as my kids to explore where the trails lead. Or to see how high we can climb without freaking out about the lack of railings.
Autumn admonishes me to stop the clamoring, the staring at the computer, the dashing around as if my time is somehow superior to that of others.

Autumn encourages me to curl up and turn pages, to reacquaint myself with the crock pot, to grind cinnamon over my latte, to sing a hundred rounds of "I love you a bushel and a beck" and never, ever tire of the hug around the neck.

And it is easy to comply.


This post is linked up to the You Capture series at I Should Be Folding Laundry where the challenge was "Autumn."

Read more...

Carefree

My little sister Robin has a very imaginative memory. Or so we tease her. It's just that she remembers so many things from so long ago in such vivid detail. And many of the alleged events involve her maltreatment at the hands of her siblings. And (shockingly) none of the supposed perpetrators have any recollection of such events.

Ahem.

That's Robin, right there. Isn't she adorable?

So it turns out there might be something to these memories my sweet little sis has been storing all these years. Tonight she reminded me of a scene so vivid I swear for a few seconds I was there.

I was a twig-legged seven year old, twirling around in the living room like it was nobody's business. My sisters were there too, the three of us engaged in a quest to make our cotton skirts fly like the Knottsberry Farm swing ride.

I dove dizzily to the ground and gazed up to watch the ceiling spin. All the while, Dad played the piano, sang at the top of his lungs, and bounced on the bench with every push of the pedal.

That's Dad, with my baby brother on his lap. Not pictured: The twirling girls.

I don't remember the melody of the song or the feel of the carpet (Robin probably does!), but I know exactly how I felt in that moment.

Carefree. Lost in the moment. Happy. Secure.

Fast forward a few decades. Now it is Caed's and Dani's turn. They are the carefree kids climbing every last lookout at the old fort and giggling their way through the "tickle tunnel". And I get to be the Mom, the one who keeps the cares at bay, who keeps track of them when they're lost in the moment.

As precious a privilege it was to be a twirling carefree seven year old, the joy is doubly mine in giving my children a chance to do the same.

This post shared with the Tuesdays Unwrapped community hosted by Emily of Chatting at the Sky.

Read more...

All Stocked Up

It snowed exactly one week ago. Yesterday it rained. And rained. The sun rose today in response to our demands for an apology and offered a contrite message in the sky. In invisible ink, of course.

"I've erased all the clouds!" she said. "Even the nice ones. And today, just today, I'll bend a few degrees closer. Enough to put the sweat back into your sweatshirts. Enough to brush a summer blush on your cheeks."

Apology accepted.

We wore coats only out of habit. We didn't need them. And we ditched them halfway through our exploration of the old Fort by the sea.
I would have gone crazy snapping photos of the children had it not been for the ever precarious posing places. How can I tell them to relax and smile in one breath and then yell a panicked, "DON'T MOVE" in the next? Yes, I think we'll just stick to the scenic stuff sans kids. And you'll just have to trust me that the kids had a grand old time.


The squirrels store up acorns for the winter. Little Sal's mother stores up blueberries for the winter. Talented mommy bloggers store up apple pie filling and canned pesto and salsa and who knows what else for the winter.

I store up photos for the winter. I inhale Autumn and exhale memories. My mental pantry is teeming from today alone. We're all stocked up on beautiful days.

Read more...

Another Reason (Not that I needed one)

On Tuesday, my friends and I discovered another reason to love Maine.

Pineland Farms + Autumn = Me Blown Away (along with some leaves).

I was blown away by the scenery.
And the smiles. (This is the part where we told them to say "cheese" at the creamery, where they were watching the stirring of a 1500 pound vat of cheese, glorious cheese.)

And the locals. Who gave us a very warm (and slobbery) welcome.
Well, not this guy. He thought was too good for us. And he was right.
And did I mention the wiggle room? Wow.

And the opportunities for random photos of farm equipment that I thought looked artsy, but is most likely a gigantic automated pooper scooper or something manure related.

And now I have to come up with a much better way to end this post than to reference cow dung.
Hmm, lemme see.

Oh, I've got it! Let's just do a repeat of the smiles, shall we?
Insert contented peaceful sigh raaahyeeet Here.

Read more...

Denim is the new Velveteen

I'd rather be a pair of well-worn jeans, loved and familiar, reached for on the daily, than hang on a rack, admired from afar, known by no one, empty.

What profit to be perfectly stitched, faded only at art's intention, embellished, loops forever untugged, only for show?

I don't belong in the window or on the runway.
I'm fine with falling to the floor in a heap after my element-shielding shift is over. As long as I've given all day long, stretched a comfortable close around them, then I am all I am meant to be.

I used to judge those well-worn jean ladies. I thought they were missing out on being somebody. Didn't they care about career and accomplishment? I shook my head and wrote them off. I'm sure it's great to be a wife and mom, but is that really all you want to be? And then I added a "not that there's anything wrong with that" to get myself off the hook for being judgmental.

Well. I can't speak for last year or for next week, but for now I answer my own wagging finger. Yes. Today that's all I want to be.
Because even though I spent a decade swearing I'd never let myself get lost and faded and stretched at the hands of another, it turns out I'd rather be really important to somebody than be somebody really important.

And this wife and mother gig? No one is more surprised than I at how perfectly it fits.

(And none of this is to say that you can't be important to somebody and also be somebody important. Of course you can be both. I was just telling you what I'd pick if we were playing the "would you rather game". So, Oprah, when you read this, don't get all offended, okay? I'm sure you're really important to somebody in addition to being somebody really important. And also know if that if you want me to come on the show, I'm totally open to it, even though I said that thing about not belonging on display. It was just a metaphor. Seriously, call me.)

Read more...

The Halls Are Alive

The halls are alive with the sound of music.

Okay, well, calling it music might be a bit of a stretch. But the halls are most definitely alive with the sound.

And what is it they say? "One person's headache is another person's music?" Something like that.

Admittedly, if Julie Andrews were here to listen in, I don't think Maria would be the most pressing problem to solve.

We brought home a set of congas today. It was a birthday gift to the Man, whose enthusiasm for the idea of Family Jam Night predates the existence of our family.

Two kids and a husband beating the bang out of congas is music to the heart, if not the ears. And even though I really identify with the quiet old lady character in Goodnight Moon, and even though I'm a chronic shusher, I loved every bit of our noisy togetherness.

Because.
Love, it is palpable. And happiness, it is heard.

Using my best inside voice to share this very loud gift as part of Tuesdays Unwrapped, hosted by Chatting at the Sky.

(Also, I feel compelled to point out that I'm now aware both kids are wearing a full helping of spaghetti sauce on their faces in the pictures above. Lovely!)

Read more...

When It Rains, It Snows

When it rains, it pours. Rain, in this case, being a metaphor for fun.

On Saturday, Caed went to a birthday party that included a Karate lesson. He got such a kick out of it (hardy har har). He hasn't stopped talking about it since. And, given the fact that the dynamite instructor had a room full of five year olds standing at attention yelling "Yes Ma'am!", I am highly inclined to sign that boy up for regular lessons.

And then there was Sunday, the supposed "day of rest." Yeah, I'm not sure what that even means. Dani was up at 5 a.m., and Larry left for work by 6:30 a.m., so the only context for the word "rest" was in the sentence, "So, you can handle the rest, right?"

The day was what you might call a tight squeeze. We left church with just enough time to scarf a PBJ and change into jammies for the Laurie Berkner concert. (It was a PJ themed concert. Hence the PJs). None of the pictures I took did justice to the downpour of fun. Afterward, my face hurt a little bit from smiling. I knew they'd enjoy it, but I had no idea how much. They danced, clapped, hopped, giggled and sang with the kind of rapt attention I could only dream of obtaining from them.
And then. We ran (through the actual rain) back to our car to head to a pumpkin carving party. Where, (why yes, how did you guess?) we carved pumpkins. I hoisted Dani up to see the action while Caed spooned a few seeds out. Then off they went to play with their friends in a knife-free environment while I slaved away on the cleaning and carving.
We lingered a long while with our friends, gobbling pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies, catching a bit of football and wondering why it was snowing in Foxborough but raining in our backyard.

Then we got home, and stopped wondering.
Which of course leads me to conclude that when it rains, it snows.
(Buh dum bump...I'm here all week, folks!)

Read more...