My Pumpkin Baby Turns 14

My belly and the garden squash grew round together. 

Rowan was dubbed "my little pumpkin" and came in October like a good autumn baby should. 

He was a deceitfully quiet and sweet baby, saving up all the talking, debating, and story-telling for later years. 

At 2, he was a terror, the pumpkin became a jack-o-lantern and gave us many scares. He caused me to be on a first name basis with the poison control center. 

To sum up in one word the first few years of his life....SCARY.

 Every year at his birthday, he asks for the implements for his latest obsession. We've been through wood-cutting, hide tanning, carpentry, photography, drones, coin collecting, and so much more. 

This year he asked for a motor to make an air glider or a glass bottom boat.

I.said.no.

I suggested a cupboard for the garage to organize all his past hobby paraphernalia in.

He said no thanks.

He has been in a bee keeping class for a year now and asked if he could have bee keeping accessories instead.

We said yes, because at least we'll be able to eat the honey.

He's still kind of disappointed about the engine. I told him he can get one after he gets married. 

Rowan is the most like me in the sense that he turns everything that happens to him into a story. We can't help it anymore than a spider can help spinning a web. It's just the way we're made. I coach him through it, telling him what to cut out and how to make the most of the climax. I tell him how to be aware of when he's losing his audience, and then I demonstrate, repeatedly.

He sees the humor in everything and gloats over it, finding joy in the people and situations around him. 

He is full of dreams and plans and ideas. The majority of which are extremely expensive. 

Sometimes I'm utterly surprised to realize how much I love him. He exhausts me and delights me and tolerates me by turns.

We will never be bored as long as Rowan lives with us. This summer he raised pumpkins. He planted this field with 100 seeds and then marveled in the drama of raising crops. Who knew a pumpkin field could yield such stories?

Rowan, we love you. You are an original, one-of-a-kind gift from God. We know that whatever you do for the Lord, you will do whole heartedly. And then you'll tell a story about it (making sure that everyone is maintaining eye contact). Because that is just who you are. 

And we love it.
Most of the time.

A Story and a Dream

The story goes....

One summer we felt the need to forgo traditional church and spend Sunday mornings with the kids in the woods. We'd pack a lunch, hike a trail, park our bottoms on some rock outcropping or next to a waterfall and do a devotion and pray. It was 2011 and our kids were 4, 5, 9 and 11. By the end of that summer two things were clear: our family needed more time together and we all absolutely loved the Columbia Gorge wilderness.

So we started dreaming. Like most dreams ours started with a "what if". What if we could find a house in the woods somewhere were we could vacation? What if we could find something small and low maintance with a creek and a mountain view? What if....?

So we looked and we found something that changed our lives....

I loved the cottage and the view and the creek....but it came with something I didn't anticipate but something I loved more than the other three put together.

An orchard...

I had never been in an orchard before and there was something so symbolic and beautiful and mysterious about it that I fell hard. I can't count the amount of times I've walked those rows praying my children and friends through mission trips and heartache, knowing that my prayers would bear fruit, heavy boughs of ripe God goodness.

Avonlea was 11 when we bought the cottage. She had never been in the woods for a prolonged period before, the cottage changed her life. During the last 7 years she has become an avid birder, animal tracker, mushroom hunter, and outdoor enthusiast. It's not unusual to wake up at the cottage and find her bed empty. She gets up early and stays outside in her camo with binoculars around her neck for hours. The peace and beauty of nature has become part of who she is.

Grant and Rowan slept in a tiny room together at the cottage. They stayed up late scratching backs and telling stories. The spent the days exploring with BB guns, machetes, and knives. They tried every kind of weapon they could get their grubby mitts on and they grew together tied by the bonds of a million adventures. They built forts and went sledding. The adventure and wonder of nature became part of who they are.

Rose was four when we bought the cottage. We would race down the long avenues of pear trees. She played Barbies in her room while the older kids were skiing. She'd come downstairs and ask me to make cookies and tea with her and I delighted in our quiet time together. She grew bolder as she grew older and learned to cross country ski, snow shoe, and sled (which one fateful Thanksgiving landed her in the emergency room). She grew up outside under the trees, under the stars. The joy and excitement of nature became part of who she is.

And so the story goes...

Avonlea's adventurous heart led her to New Zealand where she is thriving in Bible school and learning to unicycle. Every time she face times us she is outside with the blue sky over her head.

Grant starts community college this fall, on top of a part-time job, where his love of exploration will land him (in two years) with a high school diploma, AA degree, and his limited electrician's licence.
Rowan starts 8th grade next week. The curiosity and perseverance he learned in nature inspired him to write a documentary about iPhone usage and kids ("they need to get out and explore!"). He's interviewed professional doctors, psychiatrists, and brain experts. He will take bee keeping classes and raise a pig for the fair.

Rose starts ballet four days a week this September. Her love of the outdoors keeps her in the woods at our house when she's not dancing. The joy of nature has led her to love animals and she is currently saving up for a milk cow.

This weekend we said good bye to the cottage. We signed the papers, washed the floors, had a garage sale and drove away. Another family is coming there to grow and farm and fall in love with the woods. And we are glad. Mostly.

I stood in the orchard with Rowan on one side of me and Rose on the other. I told them this is my favorite view in the whole world. We see these trees pruned in February, small, reduced, and dead looking. We see them bloom into color in April. We see the elongation of limbs and the heavy fruit that grows in the summer, and I tell them, this is what will always happen when God prunes us. He cuts us back so that we can grow more fruit. Every.Single.Time. He is faithful.

For us, it always starts with listening and obeying in the every day. That's the foundation for our dreams, then we ask "what if..." and then we watch God change our lives.
Because He is always Faithful.

Stretching my Borders into China and beyond....

If you were to ask me the top things that I dislike in life (only pertaining to myself and not having to do with slavery, hunger, etc.) I would state the following: hiking uphill, being cold, critical people, competition, and arguing.

Seeing how I hail from Alaska and married a mountain climber, the first two are unfortunate, but I've managed to cope and wear long underwear. Critical people, I've learned to spot a mile away and shamelessly run. My family knows that mommy doesn't compete, even when we play games, so we play them nicely. "I'm sorry I had to send you home but that was the only move possible," is commonly heard. As for arguing, a kind answer truly does "turn away wrath".

Unfortunately, my children not only did not inherit my particular set of dislikes but they claim their own. Which makes for an interesting dinner table. They also possess their own particular likes that don't always parallel my own. Take, The Three Stodges for example. But I endure. Rowan, in particular, is passionate about things that I have a hard time getting excited about. He's a huge history buff, he collects instruments (and plays them), he wants to be president so he loves politics, he is constantly asking questions and debating my answers. But I love him. Love every freckle on his little nose. So I try.

Several weeks ago he asked if he could be on a debate team. I told him I'd look into it and contacted someone in charge of our area's speech and debate team for home school students. She said the best way to be introduced to their team was to come to the speech and debate competition, and since I was going, would I judge at it? (!!!) Every freckle, every freckle...so I say yes.

This my friends, is how I end up with so many stories. I say yes with NO INFORMATION.

Thursday morning, Rowan and I go to the school where the competition was being held at 7:15 am. I am told I will judge a debate on US trade policies with China. I will be the only judge and will pick a winner and rate the speakers from best to last. I try not to cry. You may realize that I just entered into a world in which the last three things on my list are first and foremost. I have to criticize people. I have to engage in a competition and listen to people argue (don't tell me debating is different). Not to mention: TRADE WITH CHINA. Which I know nothing about, nor have a any desire to know anything about.

I come in the room and sit at a table with the person who is timing on one side and Rowan on the other. I have a ballot in front of me. Each team has two contestants and they all come and shake my hand. Then one guy speaks up and asks, "We would like to know the extent of your judging experience and what you want to see today."

This my friends, is raw. Everything I've just written here flashes through my brain but all I say is, "I have no experience." Then I answer the second part of his question 'what do you want to see.' I refrain from the truth, which is, I want to see my bed and a cup of tea, and answered, "I want to see clear points with good support." God help me.

The debate is over. Everyone shakes hands. My eyeballs hurt. An hour and ten minutes of my life has passed. Rowan and I go to the judge's room and he tells me how to fill out the ballot and who won. He has clear points with good support. He says, "I love this Mom. I can't wait to do this." Every freckle, every freckle...

I then went on to judge literature interpretation which took two hours. The kids who performed weren't arguing and most of them made me laugh so that wasn't so bad. One of them made me cry, she got first place.

I came home five hours later laughing and thoroughly exhausted. How stuffy and confined I'd be if it weren't for my husband and children. They have stretched the borders of what I think and do until I almost don't recognize my own inheritance. The love I have for them is always growing, and in its expansion, I also expand. This isn't always comfortable but it's so worth it.

And if I'm going to enter the world of debating, I need to find the equivalent of long underwear.
Maybe earplugs?

Windows

This morning I awoke to the sunrise. A fruity affair of mellow cantaloupe and tangy lemons with a mandarin sun.
I was confused. We are going on eight months in this house and I had never before observed the sun rise from my bed.
Our room has four large windows in it. Dave and I, being city folk, were a little wary of these windows.

Windows in the city, mean people looking in. One time, it meant someone actually stopping and talking to us from the sidewalk as we sat on our couch. So we meticulously closed the blinds on the windows every night since we've moved in, thinking that in doing so we were securing our privacy.

Windows in the country, mean people looking out. Several days ago we had the epiphany that we have no neighbors that could possibly look into our bedroom windows, not even with binoculars. All we were doing, in our fear and self-consciousness, was limiting our view.

All these thoughts floated through my mind as I watched the sun rise this morning and I had to admit several disturbing things. Our preconceptions had made us miss many glorious sunrises. The sunrises that I did see, I had to go out of my way to find, when they were actually just beyond my own bedroom window.

God reminded me again, through different symbols, what He has taught me so many times.

Live with your windows open.

 

Fear will not stop the sun rise, it will only hinder your enjoyment of it.

Preconceived ideas only limit our perception of what's good, be open to change when His Spirit

nudges.

Securing our privacy often means missing out.

Stay in bed as late as possible.

I wish I could think of more lessons because I have more pictures. But I can't. If you can, let me know. I'll post the pictures anyway.

The Usually Unusual

I believe late summer always finds me extremely random.

It's some strange combination of too much sun, too much time to think, and lots and lots and LOTS of time with my kids. Whom I love. Even when they whistle. Even when they whistle songs that don't exist outside of their heads. Even when they are 15 and still mispronounce "legend" by phonetically saying "leg end" and leave me thinking tibia while they are talking Sleepy Hollow.
See what I mean...random.

I have to record a story right now because it needs to take it's place in the halls of our family history. But I'm warning you...do not continue reading if you are faint of stomach.
You may (or may not) recall that we went to Hawaii in April. Well we left a pregnant cat at home. With my mom. I gave my mom implicit instructions on how to deliver Persian kittens. Persians need help cutting the umbilical cord and delivering the placenta. I told her whatever she does, to NOT LEAVE the cat once labor started because they will let their kittens die if they don't have help. My mom took all this in with a half skeptical half terrified look. I assured her she's make an excellent doula and began to pray.

We got a frantic call in Hawaii that the cat was in labor and when Mom tried to help the cat bit her and broke skin. So she said something like this on the phone, "I'm bleeding. I hate that cat. I'm going to the store to get band aids. I hate that cat." And I wanted to say DON'T LEAVE THE CAT, RECONCILE, there are Band-Aids in the cupboard. But seeing as how I was laying on the beach and my mother was bleeding I wisely said, "I'm so sorry mom. You go get band-aids."
Let's fast forward over the part of this story where she came home to 2 dead kittens. She sent me a picture of the one live one and I had to ask..."Mom is that a dead kitten in the background?" Oops, 3 dead kittens. The good news was that about a week later she found another live one also.

Fast forward to last week. It was Grant's first week home from Trinidad and we celebrated by having friends over. On Monday and Wednesday, several groups of people came to play. Avonlea mentioned at various times during the week that people didn't want to play dress up because it smelled in the dress up area. Finally Mom commented that she thought the cat had pooped on a little pink costume. So later on Wednesday, after all our company left, I grabbed the offensive costume and had Avonlea throw it in the washer. When I opened the washer after it was done, I almost fainted from the smell. I took out the clothes and there was the poop, still solid after a round on sanitize. What had this cat been eating?? I scooped it up with paper towels and found myself looking at a kitten. Or what was left of a kitten. From April. Oops, 4 dead kittens.

Can I just say that this was one of the grosser moments of my life, and if you recall, I have four children, so that's truly saying something.

I don't really feel like writing (or eating) any more after that. But if I did...I'd tell you about my time on the hammock down on the island at the cottage. I took off my glasses and looked at the world, blurry and beautiful. Suddenly I felt like I was blurry, indistinct. I melded with the waving leaves and the laughing brook and the birds flitting all about me. I must have melded for quite a while because when my world came back into focus, I was looking at Rowan yielding a machete (it was actually a stick, I was still fuzzy). He said with concern, "You have been gone for so long! I came to rescue you!" Totally worth putting my glasses on to see each freckle on that precious face.

See I kept writing and I started eating trail mix, too, so that kitten story must not have been that bad.

On Sunday, the people who sold us the cottage came by it to meet us. I officially have new FAVORITE PEOPLE. It was amazing to talk to them and hear of God's faithfulness over the years and how He honors a Godly heritage. We were so encouraged and again recognized God's hand in leading us there.

Next time I write, it will be from a place of school and order and schedule. And I will live a whole year before I have the time to be random again.

This is a good thing.


Photos by Avonlea unless she's in the picture

My Thorny Rose

I am used to waking up when I want to. In other words, I'm spoiled.
This fall, Avonlea started public school. She had to be awake by 6:30am.
That meant to spend time with her in the morning, I had to be up by 6:30am.
That meant that if I wanted to exercise, I had to be up by 6:00am.
That meant OUCH.
But my daughter is more important than my sleep so up I get.
So sleeping in is reserved for an occasional Saturday and the sacrifice is so worth it.

But....last Friday.... I had nothing to be up for. A vast, unlittered morning to relax in bed with my Bible and maybe even breakfast. With a sigh of contentment I snuggled back into my warm bed and opened to the book of Luke.

That must have been some kind of cue, because in to my bedroom blew a Rose.

"Hi mommy. Do you want to snuggle?"
"Sure, come on up. Mommy's reading her Bible right now."
"Cool. Is Jakob coming over today to set up Rowan's drum set?"
"Yep."
(Jakob is the 16 year old son of my friend Natalie)
"I can't wait to see his eyes light up when he sees me."
"Um Rose, he's 16 and you're seven. You're like his little sister."
"No, I'm like his wife." She tosses her head and retorts, "Besides, I'm old for my age and tall for my age and some people think I'm eight."
I close my Bible.
She continues, "AND I have all my children named." She cuddles closer to me, "My first girl's going to be Annie."
Before I can express my gratitude for this honor, she rattles off the names of half a dozen other children that may or may not be a reality one day.
"Those are beautiful names Rose but you'll have to make sure your husband, whoever that may be, agrees with those names."
"No I won't. This is what's going to happen. I'll get married and get pregnant and then my husband will go to war, and I'll name all my children whatever I want."

Suddenly, sleeping in lost all of it's appeal. I was out of that bed with an energy I didn't know I possessed at that early hour.

I'll take 6am exercise to talking to Rose about marriage any day.
She is scary.

The Stories Together

I've been amazingly blessed with car time this fall.
Inevitably Rose starts off this time with, "Tell me a story Mommy."
It is not a request.
So a few weeks ago, I decided to turn the tables.
As soon as I heard her seat belt click into place, I said, "Tell me a story Rosy."
Silence indicated that she was contemplating this turn of events.
"All my stories are your stories Mommy."
And I blinked hard, because she was correct. All the stories she has heard and lived have been with me. Everything that has happened so far in her short life, has happened with me. I love that.

So here is our last month in pictures. All the stories we've lived together.

The frogs that my three younger children consider family.

The "all boy" camping trip out to an island for Rowan's 9th birthday.

Campsite!

Brothers!!
Dave's Aunt and Uncle gifted us this boat this spring. So sweet!

Pensive Grant

Eager Rowan

Picking pears at the cottage.

Rowan asked for a pair of overalls and a push lawn mower for his birthday.

The boy's dam and the resulting pond

The kids made themselves breakfast down on the island.

Rowan had to get creative with where to put the pears!

This fall has been a beautiful reminder that the stories we are making right now, will be retold to other little children someday. So I can laugh at the odd, embarrassing, silly things my children (not to mention their parents) do, because someday.....those very things will make a great story.