the loud and the lovely

 

We've a loud house.

Loud with laughter, and squealing, and crying, and bickering, and roughhousing for sure.  (And no, I'm not mentioning here the raised voice of a sometimes frazzled Mama, thank you very much.)  Sometimes the whirl of childhood happening around me is so, so loud that I literally cover my ears.  Of course it isn't loud all of the time.  There are varying degrees of loudness, depending on who is at school, who is napping, who is, gulp, on screens.

It was loud in our old tiny cozy house with four growing kids.  I thought that moving to a larger house would spread the noise out a bit.  Silly me.  It seems wherever Honey and I are, within minutes there are the four littles.  Full energy zooming around us, clustered near us, piled on top of us. 

At times it is so loud I turn off whatever music I am trying to listen to.  Sometimes, I simply turn it louder.

Honestly I find moments of quiet more jarring than the loud.  The still noiselessness unfamiliar to me.  When there is that very rare quiet it takes me time to settle into its vastness, get comfortable in its unblinking truth, not sure what to do in the company of only myself.

But those times are few, and short-lived.  And that is okay for now.  That little glimpse of what is to come when the kids are grown and out of the house is enough for me to fully embrace the loud I live in now.  Not just embrace, but celebrate, and sometimes even encourage.

So within this loud I am constantly looking for the lovely.  The lovely that is here if only I have eyes to see it. 

Playing.

Creating.

Moleskine notebooks.

Balloons.

Winter wonder land.

Blue skies.

A school assignment.

Learning to wash your hands.

And then there is this.

A sculpture by my talented niece artist.  The class assignment was "first mode of transportation."  I bought it from her the moment I spied it.

Talk about lovely.

Even though my babies are no longer in my belly, it is a gentle reminder of my responsibility to transport them through this loud - and lovely - childhood.

this moment {lovey on prom night}

Joining Soulemama, and many others, in this moment. 

In Amanda's words: "A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."

Please link to your moment too -- I love to see what you are enjoying this week!

Wishing you a weekend full of grace and goodness!

loving

Valentine's Day seems a very fitting day to enjoy and share some things that I am loving right now.

:: a colorful iPhone case (it only took me nine months to pick it out, it reminded me of daffodils when I bought it.  When I showed it to Honey, he thought of the Steelers.  Uggg.)

:: Lovey's stripey polka-dotey fashion

:: these kids (and the wild chaotic bliss they bring to my every moment)

:: the Daddy that the kids are piled upon

:: a little boy who is teaching himself to walk by holding the handle of the yarn basket and scooting it around

:: the colorful packaging of this Trader Joe's chocolate

:: empty laundry baskets as pet beds

:: feeding and seeing our own little flock every morning

:: new Moleskins (ah, daffodils again.  I must be wishing spring.)

:: sweetly wrapped, fresh-baked presents

:: braids

:: handmade Valentine fuzzy friends

:: a sparkly heart-shaped magic wand

Oh yes, loving it all.
What are you loving right now?

through the blinds

Last evening as I made rounds to sick kids, doling out popsicles and ice chips, I noticed the sunset, a rich deep red, as pleasant as it was surprising.

I realized I hadn't been outside all day, regretting having missed the fresh air. 

This very thorough bug has now been with all six of us.  Each spending hours in flannel pjs, lying in bed, taking turns with the iPad.

Amist the cleaning up, making chicken soup, and loads-full of laundry, I'm grateful that timing brought me up the steps and to the doorway of the darkened room in time to see this beautiful hushed good-night.  Grateful I paused for a long, long moment, to really see it.

within

This was last night.

This.  This happened today.

Veteran's Day.  In the neighborhood.

Midweek.

 Last weekend. At gladsome.

Do you sense a theme here?  This is my fall.  My regular readers may have noticed that my seasonal pictures have been conspicuously few.  Few, that is, until now.

You see, I haven't posted my fall here because I have been deep within my fall.  Within the season that is outdoors, and within myself.

Early in October, this weekend to be exact, I had an aha moment that fundamentally shifted how I experienced this season.  I had checked out a local fall festival to see if we would want to go.  Cost was $6 per person.  They touted their huge leaf pile.

A huge leaf pile?

Aha.  At that moment I deeply recognized that there was much more to fall than buying an afternoon of jumping in someone else's leaf pile.  I decided that this fall we would live within it.  Every bit of it.  Chilly. Rainy. Sunny. Brilliant. Golden.  Sure we would still enjoy special traditions, some that even cost money.  But our fall wouldn't be limited to these special days.  Our fall would be felt everyday, whether we were wearing short sleeves and sunglasses (thankfully those days were many) or bundled up in hats and gloves playing at the park well into dusk or getting soaked while taking a walk in the rain.  We would be within all of it.

And the decision to be within has made all of the difference.  I have breathed deeply.  I have looked to the sky in its vast array of colors and clouds.  I have said yes to playing in the rain.  I have corralled the kids outside day after day after day.  I have corralled myself outside to at least feel the fall air on my face, look up to the sky, and appreciate the trees in their ever-changing display.  I have given up naps, chores, blogging, and so much more to simply be out of doors looking and smelling and touching and feeling.  Feeling so good.  I have truly been within fall.  And therefore within myself, changing in subtle substantive ways.

So my dozens of days, my hundreds of pictures, are here.  In this one post.  Because, my friends, you now understand I've been quite busy within.

Last Sunday. 

A rainy day.  There were few, save for Sandy.  It never fails that I wear these shoes when it rains.  It never fails that I forget that water leaks through the bottoms of them.

 Four weeks ago.  A glorious day, we simply had to forgo a nap attempt.

Almost Halloween.  Riding with the windows -- and my hair -- down.  Could anything feel so good?

The night we ate al fresco.  In our very own leaf pile.

During Hurricane Sandy.  Luckily little damage where we live, but days and days of rain.  So we simply called it a hurricane hike.

October 12th.  The day my aha took hold.

Early October.  Discovering how brilliant fall looks through magenta colored glasses. 

 October 16th.   A walk to school.  We were so very late.  It was so very worth it.

Three weeks ago.  The afternoon was terribly chilly and not a soul in sight, except the man blowing the leaves into piles.  It was magical in its quiet and we ventured into the woods a bit and were surrounded by gold.  What I would have missed if the cold had kept me inside.

A Friday night.  Munchkin was shivering so much he couldn't climb down.  It took much coaxing and catching to finally get him back on solid ground.

 Early November.  Digging in the sand.  In gloves.

 Tonight.  Sunset.