Recital Sick

This weekend was truly the first time I spent most of the weekend thinking, "If we were still in Michigan, I would be (insert activity here) right now." 

It was recital weekend there and I kept thinking about my fellow dance teachers (I really want to write "comrades in arms") at Connie Cassidy School of Dance  and all the struggles/problems/frustrations... and joys... that occur in these two short days.  Saturday is spent filling the stage as quickly as possible with class after class for rehearsal.  Shoe changes happen rapidly (and not so rapidly), last-minute tickets are sold, and questions about nearly everything are answered.  And on Sunday, nine months of weekly classes boil down to two hours on a red-curtained stage.

For nine years, I have spent a weekend in June in that theater, and I really missed it this year.  I kept remembering all the things I would do to move things along and solve problems and help where I could.  I kept thinking, "I should have told (insert name here) about (insert problem here)."  But I'm not so deluded as to think it can't be done without me.  And perhaps that bothered me a bit too...

But I also missed seeing all the hard work come together.  There have been years when I felt like certain classes would never pull something off, and they did.  There have been dancers that I thought would never "get it" and they did.  Strangely, I also missed all the goofs and problems and catching the eye of a fellow teacher with the look of "What just happened?" flashing between us.  And I missed seeing each dancer grow up as the years passed.

This year I'm also filled with guilt over the-recital-that-wasn't for my own daughters.  I miss the after-church rush of eating lunch and getting dressed into beautiful costumes.  I miss the frustration of trying to get Abby's long hair into a bun (or whatever she has in mind), and trying to get Ella to do something (anything PLEASE) with her hair.  I missed the battle over just how much make-up I would allow.  And the excited car ride to the high school...

And I missed the goofy grin I would get watching my girls dance... (the same grin I once chastised MY mother for wearing during my performances).

We didn't talk about it much at our house.  I know the girls are disappointed.  They love recital.  And we were so close... the costumes are hanging in their closets.  But it was time to put our family together again.

So I spent this weekend being "Recital Sick" (like being home sick) and trying not to show it.  I think we did a good job of distracting the girls from the day (and I'll tell you about that later), but it didn't work so well for me... (sigh)

Edgefield

I have found that with each of our moves, we have been left with a hankering for some restaurant or place we've left behind.  When we moved from the Northwest ten years ago, that place for us was Edgefield.

Walking up to Edgefield's side entrance

It holds special memories for us because it was one of the first treasures we found when we hit the Portland area.  A little poor in both cash and friends, we'd head around the corner to Edgefield.  It's the county's old "poor house" that the McMenamin troupe has refurbished into a B&B, complete with gardens, extra restaurants, a brewery, a winery, a distillery, a three-par golf course and more.  Our "night out" would consist of wine tasting in the grotto-like wine bar while we dined on oyster crackers.  Sometimes we would splurge on the fifty-cent tasters.

But more than that, it's enchanting.  There is artwork everywhere - and I mean everywhere.  Even lighting and the necessary evils of buildings (like exhaust systems) are turned into something beautiful.

Edgefield outdoor light

Tiny, old outbuildings become charming settings with tables for two.  Winding paths lead to unique finds... like this one:

So, we were excited to take the kids there on Memorial Day.  The weather was iffy (and always is here it seems), but we were able to get in a few holes of golf - Wren only had "to go" once on the course - and end our time sitting outside while the kids slurped up chocolate shakes in the sun/rain/sun.

It was a good day...

But now I could really go for some Glenlord pizza...  (sigh).

A Three Hour Tour

I know I promised pictures of all the quaint details of our house, but you'll like this better.  I promise...

The Butcher came home last week and announced we were going on a hike Saturday.  The trip to the trail head was to be about an hour and he heard the hike was awesome, ending at a beautiful waterfall.  He even invited a friend and his kids to come along. 

It was going to be great - a wonderful reconnect-with-nature day.

But we woke up to this.

Rain.  Not just your typical Northwest Drizzle, but actual pouring rain. 

The Butcher would not be dissuaded as he packed a backpack with snacks, grabbed a handful of ND baseball caps (I swear, at one point we all had on ND baseball caps), and made sure the kids had "rain gear."

And off we went.

About an hour down the road and after much "Let me check the GPS," we turned around.  And a little after that, we turned around again.  And the kids complained of all the "turning around."  The "hour down the road" turned into two, and I reminded him of another "three hour tour."  Pretty sure he didn't appreciate that.

During the drive, the rain stopped and we finally made it to the trail head.  We piled out of the cars, checked to make sure we had coats, hats and snacks and headed into the woods.

Yes, it really says 2.2 miles.  We took a four year old on a 2.2 mile hike into the woods... and back to the car.  And truly, she did great.

And we were all rewarded with this.

But truly, the best parts involved singing silly songs along the trail (Wren turned it into "99 Barrels of Beer"), finding good "potty spots" for all the kids, forging a stream to stay on the trail, and getting to spend some time with some of my favorite people.

And the rain held off until we were all securely back in the cars...

Moving... on

Well, it's been a bit... and the chaos has swelled to high tide and now seems to be receeding.

We have made the move across the country, back to Washington where the Butcher and I lived pre-kids. 

But now we're here with three kids... how things change.

I have decided to take a page from my favorite blogger, Gabrielle Blair of DesignMom.  She's spending the year in France with her husband and six kids and often posts remarkable pictures and stories about their travels and daily lives.  So far, she's offered "tours" of the amazing house they are renting, told stories about French schooling, the markets, their travels, their parties... and more.  So, here is Vancouver, WA...  not quite France.

Here is the house we are renting...

It doesn't have a fancy name like the French house, but I'll come up with something soon... any ideas?

Note the spacious front yard, the extended drive, and the flourishing planting beds....

And here is our "land"...



Alas, there is only room for a table on the patio... our al fresco dining will have to wait.

We have tried to spruce it up with flowers.  Here are some we bought:

And a planter I tried to put together...

And of course, Poe...

Next time I'll show you all the charming attributes of our rental... just like Gabby does.

Kiss Kiss,

S

Independence

I can't decide if today's beautiful thing is really a good thing or not.

That's not entirely true.  I know it's a good thing... I'm just not sure I like it that much right now.

See what you think.

Today I participated in the rare class party for one of my daughters.  I'm not saying the parties are rare, I'm saying my participation in them is rare.  I am not the mom who is in the classroom each week helping in the library or with math stuff or walking track or anything like that.  Not that being that mom is a bad thing.  I'm sure I should help out more.  But when the list is passed around at Back to School Night and all the slots are filled, I do sigh with relief.

But the call went out for help with an Amazing Race type Halloween party for 4th graders and I thought, "Now that's the type of party I can help with.  No 25 kids stuck in a room sucking down sugar at an alarming rate.  Fresh air.  Games.  All good."  (Not to mention that the last class party I helped with, I got thrown up at - not on, thank goodness!).

I kept my participation a secret from my daughter.  I thought she'd enjoy the surprise.  But I'm pretty sure the 3 yr old gave it away.  So I show up expecting a look of shock and pleasure and a huge hug... and I got a wave.  From across the room.  Oh, and a half smile.

So the party commenced and she did her part in the race.  And did not even say "Hi" to me when she was at my station.

Then they all went into the classroom to decorate a cookie.

Still no acknowledgement of my presence.  (At least she gave the 3 yr old a chocolate chip.)

Ahhhhh, independence.  I guess this is what I am here for - to train her up to be an independent person who does not need to rely on her mother.  And she is that - already - at 9.

I know it will serve her well as she gets older.  She will be brave enough to go to that college away from friends, or travel alone, or take that job in another country.  She will not need to rely on a man to define who she is, or friends to do the same.

She will be her own person - independent (and confident).

And that truly is a beautiful thing.  But right now the thought of it hurts a bit.

Coming Home

How can a door hold so much power?  Not just any door, but one particular door... the one you walk through that means you're home.

Last night, I had a great time with my book club.  We're a rowdy group, made up mostly of recent transplants... and me - the local.  We laugh so much that I don't need an ab workout for days (not that I participate in that sort of thing anyway).  And we drink copious amounts of wine.  And we share strange secrets and motherly struggles and marital frustrations.

We eat more than we should... and there is always dessert (last night - a chocolate fountain with Pringles, Twinkies, strawberries and NutterButters - - YUM).

And we end up staying out later than we ever would with our husbands.

So it was at 11:15 that I found myself walking through my kitchen door - to a not-so-clean kitchen.  But it was home, and it felt good.

Which got me to thinking about all the good "home comings" I remember - either from those long trips that you can't wait for and then can't wait to end, or just from a regular day.  When I was in high school, I came home one blustery fall day after cheerleading practice in the rain to find my mother at the stove cooking biscuits and gravy.  And, for some reason, that simple day is one of my favorite "home comings."  I think about it all the time.

This is what I want for my kids.  I want momentous home comings to be great memories, but I also want simple, regular days to be good home comings.  I want that kitchen door to mean something wonderful to them - something they look forward to seeing - whether they realize it or not.

So there - today, I have found the beauty in a boot-kicked, much-in-need-of-a-good-scrub (and some paint) door.

It's the simple things...

Wigging Out

Ok, I know it's been awhile.  Life gets busy... and I spend all day working on a computer...  sometimes I just want to walk away from it.

But I'm feeling computer-refreshed today.  Perhaps not so tied to it.

Anyway, this picture happened just about a month ago when we took out our Halloween decorations.  The girls had a blast swapping wigs and personalities to match (note Ella's 'tude).  They even went to a neighbor pretending to be new to the neighborhood.

It was extreme silliness.  I can't remember the last time I was extremely silly.  Heck, I can't even remember the last time I was remotely silly...

Isn't that the great part of having kids?  They keep silliness in your life.  Because while I may not have been getting silly lately, my kids sure have been.  And I get to experience silliness-by-association.

And here, they got even sillier.
Now I must go find something silly to do...  and so should you.  Maybe it will keep me young...