weekending {a wee bit late}

I know, I know, it is Thursday night. Well past the weekend, and on the eve of the next.  But some weekends beg to be shared, no matter how many days later.

Last weekend was one of those weekends.  Days filled to overflowing with goodness and loveliness and emotion that reminds us what it means to care deeply and feel connected to others.

As has happened during a handful of moments since our move, a feeling takes hold.  Like a breath, a rustle, a warmth that makes this new house feel more like our home, not the place that is still filled with boxes and large splotches of sample paints on the walls (ahem.)  That feeling of home came to me strongly Friday evening as I spent my first real spell at the sewing machine.  I could see the boys playing outside, the smell of Honey's homemade pizza came from the kitchen where Lovey was dancing along to the Friday-evening music.  And I felt it.  Home.  In a way not yet felt here, knowing that home is a feeling gathered over time and intricately layered upon our lives, sometimes so quietly we are unaware.

This time I was aware.  Feeling it deep in my gut, rising, threatening tears.  I stood watching my daughter dance.  And marveled.  Marveled.  Marveled.

Saturday brought more marveling, and humbled amazement of people.  Their courage, bravery, moxy.  Characteristics I value and hope to possess.

My oldest sister Michele began running two years ago at the age of 45.  And on Saturday, at the age of 47, ran her first marathon.  In the face of recent knee pain, and the discovery of being seriously iron deficient, and with her final weeks of training being not quite what she had hoped because of these.  She ran a marathon.  26.2 miles.

I waited for her near mile 21, and as I saw her round the bend in the distance, I ran toward her.   I hadn't planned to, but something inside was compelled to go toward her, her courage, her bravery, her moxy.  I ran toward her, yelling and clapping and cheering her on.  Her slow and steady, not pain-free, pace.

I even ran along side her for a short distance, giving what felt like meager little support compared to her amazing strength.  She had just come up a very long steep hill, and was smiling despite the discomfort.  Smiling!

For the next several miles two of her daughters ran portions with her.  And my sister Danielle -- who had earlier run the half-marathon -- met up with Michele and ran the last two miles with her.  Ran what would be the most grueling two miles of the day, but she did it to help her big sister reach the finish line.

Look at these beautiful women.  Smiling after 26.2 and 13.1 15.1 miles!

I spent my childhood looking up to my big sisters.  How lucky I am, at 42, to still be looking up to them.  Amazing, beautiful women.

And then there is this.

Sunday, Sunday!

It was spent with the dearest of friends, Jennifer, Gina, and Annie, whose talents and passions and ideas and energy are making gladsome 2013 into a weekend that will be simply amazing.  A. MAZ. ING.

We spent (mostly uninterrupted) time together planning and preparing, and some good 'ol scheming too.  There was laughter, lots of laughter.  From us, and from the gathering of just some of our collective kids.

Being together was a balm.  A familiar warmth.  A heaping of nourishment. An overflowing of gratitude.  A gentle reminder of the ways our connectedness makes this life wonderful.

As was the weekend.

gifted

{All photos above from December 2010}

One holiday tradition that we share in our family is the sewing of matching flannel pajama pants for all of the nieces and nephews.

The kids, all nine of them, have great anticipation for the moment on Christmas Eve when they get to open and wear their new PJs.  It is one of their most loved gifts.

But the real gift, I believe, is the day spent actually making the pajamas.  It is the single day each year that my sisters, mother, father and I spend uninterrupted time together.  Just the five of us.

Early in the morning, we converge on Nonnie and Poppy's house and then spend hours measuring, cutting, remeasuring, pinning and sewing pants after pajama pants.  Sewing machines whirring.  This is best accomplished while telling stories, listening to Christmas music, sharing thoughts and lots and lots of laughter.  Some, doubled-over, cross-your-legs, tear-inducing laughter.

Of course all of that creating is punctuated with breaks for meals, all prepared by my Dad whose job that day is to keep us well fed.  And we are well-fed indeed. 

What a gift it is to be together, just the five of us, as we were 20 years ago before each starting our own families.

Sharing grace. 

Sharing meals. 

Sharing ourselves to each other. 

Sharing laughter until we are crying.

Gifted indeed.


While I can't show you photos from our sewing day this year lest I ruin the surprise for my nieces and nephews who are regular readers, I can share some pajamas from Christmases-past.

{2006}  This was our second or third year making pjs and we had to get creative when we couldn't find enough yardage of the same fabric.  These still are one of the favorites!

{2007} The one and only year we did different fabrics for different kids.  They insisted on all matching after that!

{2009} Did I mention the kids also do a talent show on Christmas Eve?  Here are cousins singing.

{2010} Last year we managed to make 17 pairs in one day and surprised the adults with pajama pants too!

this moment {mother's day poetry}

Joining SouleMama, and many others, in this weekly ritual of pausing to savor a moment from the week.

Beautifully simple.  Extraordinarily lovely.

I love to see your moments too, so leave a link in the comments!

Wishing you a wonderfully shared weekend!
Claudine