Cozy

Today has been bone-chilling freezing! And all I can do is think of cozy!

Here are some snippets of cozy I've found from keeping my eyes open within my four walls. Today, cozy is:

A tabby cuddled up in the sharp morning light,

Breakfast carried up to 3 girls too busy playing to come downstairs,

Hot tea, good book, and silky warm cat while sneaking a few minutes by the fire,

Candles glowing after closing the blinds and locking the dark night out

at the end of another day.

When it's frigid outside, it's good to find scraps of cozy inside.

Happy Chaos and Old Dogs

It began around the time my oldest left for college.  A desire to bring some order to the happy chaos of the household.

I've always been quite comfortable with my easygoing outlook toward routines, schedules and lists.  In fact, I've probably been a little smugly happy over the fact that I wasn't an "uptight" mom.

And then Oldest Daughter left for college.  And Oldest Son leaves in 6 months.  And Middle Son is only a few short years behind.

And suddenly I find myself re-evaluating the way I want my household to run . . . and especially the home I want my kids to come home to.

It was one thing when it was the 7 of us living in a whirl of craziness.  I made sure every dish was done at least once a day.  But sometimes the time that happened was 7:00 a.m.  I could live with the kitchen in all its post-dinner upheaval waiting patiently through the night for me to attend to it.

But when Oldest Daughter arrives home at 1:00 a.m. after a 12-hour shift on her feet at Old Navy, cranky customers and the endless folding and refolding of stacks of sweaters and jeans, a kitchen of upheaval is not what I want to await her.

It was one thing when the 7 of us were basically within the same 4 walls, all making messes together, working to clean up together, and occasionally closing our eyes to it and sneaking off together for a bike ride around Furman Lake.

But more and more my older kids are not home.  They are out in a world that has a discord and tumult all its own . . . emotionally, physically, spiritually.  And if we aren't all together living our quirky chaos together, then I choose for home to be a contrast to the chaos outside the four walls of the house.

I now find myself wanting peace and order and simplicity and calm to be what my children come home to.  Because chaos away from home and chaos at home is just a little too much turmoil to deal with.

To that end, I find myself back reading Flylady's book, Sink Reflections, trying to be a little more open minded about routines, and cutting back on some volunteering.

Can I do it?  Wow . . . that remains to be seen.  There is, of course, the whole matter of old dogs and their tricks!!

Pioneer Woman and Balance and Home

I like Pioneer Woman.

She makes me feel like she's just another mom, like me . . . even if she did write a cookbook, 
publish her love story, and appear on all the morning shows.

If you read her blog, you can see she's pulling back  a little lately on her schedule.

She mentioned (on this post) a new upcoming opportunity and then added:

And most of all, it’s something fun I can do without ever leaving [home].

And I’ve learned that the more I apply that filter to the things I want to do,

 the more my life tends to stay in balance. 

 And balance, I’ve learned firsthand, is a beautiful, wonderful thing.


 

Home.

There's something very centering about being there.

And not even just "being there" physically.

  

But "being there" emotionally.

Heart, soul, body and mind.

Home keeps me humble, focused, and . . . yes . . . balanced.

 It is a "beautiful, wonderful thing."

 Yep, me and Pioneer Woman . . . just 2 BFFs learning life together.

 (all pictures courtesy of tiny white daisies)

Snow Means . . .

In our little corner of the sunny south . . .

where snow does not very often occur . . .

it changes our world . . .

it makes magical things happen that don't always happen.

Today, snow means:

 

An indulgent breakfast for me in a quiet house, since everyone is outside playing in the snow.  

(Brie cheese omelet with avocado slices and salsa . . . mmmmmmmmm!)

 

 Fire in the fireplace.

Cold little girl cuddled up by fire in the fireplace.

Chunks of snow all over the wood floors.

Teenage boys in the kitchen, making lunch "creations."

Lunch "Creations":  Beef hot dogs with melted mozzarella and baja chipotle sauce,
with a side of mandarin oranges.

 

Sister time together on the trampoline.

 

 Unique snow "shoes" crafted out of purple duct tape . . .

and happily modeled in the snow.  

(Yes, I know they're missing coats and pants.  I really do!)

A trudge through the snow with Youngest Daughter.

Today, snow meant unaccustomed quiet and peacefulness, opportunities to exercise patience, surprising bursts of creativity, and time spent together.

Because in our little corner of the sunny south . . .

where snow does not very often occur . . .

it changes our world . . .

and it makes magical things happen that don't always happen.

A Ritual of the Most Delightful Kind





photo from Attic 24

This weekend we gained a delightful hour of sleep.  Of course, it just wouldn't be normal if I didn't also stay up an extra hour later to completely rob myself of that delightful hour.  ::sigh::

And so now the dark nights of fall and winter are coming even earlier, sending my playing children scurrying for home before I've even put pots to the fire and whisked up their dinner. 

I would love for my home to be a warm and light refuge from the dark night.  And the adorable Lucy from Attic 24 has given me a delightful idea.  That's her picture up above.  Aren't the votives charming and inviting?  She says, "My evening ritual of lighting the candles . . ."

What a lovely evening ritual.  How warming for my family to pop their heads in the door and see candlelight glowing here and there around the house.

I think today I'll scrounge around and see if I can find some little votives for my own evening ritual . . . little pieces of warmth and light throughout the house to chase away the darkness.

The House Across the Street

I love, love, love big, wide, vast open spaces!

When my husband took me to his home state of Minnesota and his little farming hometown, I was enchanted. Beautiful, wide open spaces everywhere you looked. The little town of 900, plunked down right in the middle of corn and soybean fields as far as you could see.

I could stand in one place and see the horizon 360 degrees around. Oooh, I just love me those wide open spaces!

And that love of wide open spaces is what causes that little nag of discontentment to come inching in on the fringes of my mind when it comes to my own home and my own little plot of land.

On those itchy fringes of my mind is the longing and desire for my very own big . . . wide . . . open . . . vast . . . space!

So, when the house across from our subdivision went up for sale, I knew my prayers had been answered. I knew my dream was to be fulfilled. I knew that at last I could twirl in expansive delight in my open space.

There it was, edged with flowering trees and white fence:




There it was, set back from the road by a large horse pasture:

There it was with a large, welcoming gate:

For goodness sake, there it was with a FOR SALE SIGN!!

I was ready when the Man of the House turned the key in the lock . . . words spilling out . . . animated arm/hand motions . . . face alight.

"Mmmhmmm," said the sensible Man-of-the-House. "I saw that and looked it up online."

Aha, he was on the same page as me! Things were looking bright!

"Yes. You might be interested to know that the house is 7,200 square feet and the price is 2.5 million."

Aha. Uh-huh. Hmmmmm.

Don't want to clean 7,200 square feet of space. Don't have 2.5 million dollars. Doesn't look like I'll be getting that house across the street.

I meandered out to the back deck.

I looked to the left . . .

Constrictive.

I looked to the right . . .

Claustrophobic.

However, if I stand due southwest on my back deck and close my left eye, I can see a beautiful line of trees. And I know that on the other side of those trees is a tiny, barely-running creek. And if we have a lot of rain (and I do mean a gully-washer) there will actually be water flowing back there.

And so I stand on the back deck of my lovely, lovely home, and I choose to be very, very . . .

Content.

An Open Letter to the House

Dear House ~ ~

It's me, Love.

I'm back.





I don't blame you for the way you avoid eye contact or your cool, guarded civility around me.

I've treated you like a jilted lover. I understand your reserve.




Can I just speak two words? Basketball. Season.

We go through this every year, and it never gets easier on either of us; does it?




I've seen the cobwebs back behind your bookcases, mysterious stains on the office carpet, and the spoonful of grape jelly someone inexplicably flipped up onto your dining room ceiling.




I've noticed a dark splatter of uncertain origin on the upstairs wall, lint from a million spins of the toilet paper rolls collecting on bathroom surfaces, and finger prints around every light switch, door knob, and hand rail within your walls.

I just couldn't do a thing about it.

Until now.




Now, that it has reached its end.

Basketball. Season.




Surely you noticed my excitement at the end of the last reverberation of the last buzzer at the last second of the last game? I raced home, peered through your streaked front glass door, caressed your dusty bannister, and got . . . down . . . on . . . my . . . knees and kissed your dull wood floors.

I do love the games, the adrenalin, the fun, the excitement. But I always miss you, and you . . . well, you show the full extent of my distraction . . . neglect . . . abandonment.





But I've got plans for us! Have you seen the fabrics for the bedroom?

Have I mentioned the redo of the half-bathroom?

Have you heard of Oil Rubbed Bronze spray paint to spruce up your old mirrors?




I'll make it up to you. I promise I will! We'll fall in love all over again. We'll be so happy together.

Until next . . .

Basketball. Season.

Weekend Plans

Oh, I am soooooo looking forward to this weekend! I don't know how long it's been since I've been this filled with this much longing for the weekend!

Would you like to know what I have on my agenda?

Well, first of all, I'm going to spend considerable time flat smack dab in front of the computer screen enjoying Teresa McFayden's new E-Zine on freestyle embroidery. She calls it "embroidery where you can break the rules." Oooh, sounds like my kind of handwork. Look at some of her beautiful work:

(source)

And then when I've had my fill of that, I'm going to sit in my comfy leather chair and read some more of this book that I'm really enjoying:

And then I'm going to approach this pile and see what I can make of it. Maybe something fascinating, challenging, and slightly edgy . . . like a couple of crocheted dishcloths. ::sigh::





It's going to be a weekend full of creative endeavors and quiet contemplations.

"Wait a minute, didn't I hear that Youngest Son has an end-of-season basketball convocation this weekend?"

Oh, wow, that's right. Okay. Well, still . . .

"And didn't Oldest Daughter say she needs you to go buy Office Professional 2007 for her computer labs on Monday?"

Ah, yes . . . ahem . . . I do have to do that.

"And didn't Youngest Daughter say her pajamas were getting too small, and Oldest Son has run out of deodorant, shampoo and toothpaste all on the same day, and Middle Son has no pants to wear to church tomorrow that come down any longer than the bottom of his calf muscle?"

Yes, yes, yes, you're right. All that does need to be done . . . this weekend.

"And didn't the Man of the House say he has circus tickets for Saturday night and you'll get home about 10:30 p.m."

(silence . . . followed by a large, resigned sigh)

Oh, I am sooooo looking forward to next weekend! I don't know how long it's been since I've been filled with this much longing for the weekend.

Would you like to know what I've got on my agenda . . .