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Adventure: Day One
A Keigley trip always looks a little like chaos. Mostly organized chaos, but chaos nonetheless. And since I am blogging on the road, a new adventure for me, this post may sound a little like chaos. Organized chaos, maybe, but chaos nonetheless. (What I am actually trying to say is – this post might be a bit like Virginia Woolf’s writing. Scattered.) Today we made it to Gatlinburg. We let the kids ride go-carts even before we bothered to eat lunch. On every family trip we always ask the question beforehand, “What’s the one thing you most want to do on this trip? If we were in the car driving…
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The Hawke Has Landed
I sat down tonight (or last night, if you read this during the day, like regular folk. or tonight if you are alece and you read somehow in cyber space over my shoulder as I type in the nearly wee hours.) to type a little post about something else. I can’t even remember what right now. Because I was interrupted by a boy named Bergen who was telling me stories about his recent ManTrip 2011. It was really too late for him to be awake, but since he arrived home and crashed after the trip from about 5 p.m. until about 7 p.m. – wrecking both tonight’s rest and possibly…
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Love And Do Not Love: A List
Any given day has its highs and its lows. Any given person has their loves and their not-so loves. We can all agree upon that – right? Take today, for instance. I really love whoopie pies. And I love that our vacation begins this Wednesday. I do not love hearing my name called as if it really is on some horrible loop. “MommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommyMommy.” I love King Solomon’s current background. I do not love white icing from the inside of whoopie pies smeared on the leather sofa. I love sitting up far too late into the evening and talking about life with Sarah. I love Aunt Sarah stopping in for a…
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wednesday afternoon.
I’ve had this idea rolling around in my head for a few months now. An idea about home school and community and the type of children Kevin and I want to raise and about help and asking for that help from my many talented friends. I’m not going to really explain the idea right now. I’ll save that for another post. But it’s an idea that I have pitched, but have not completely followed through with. Not surprising, really. Is it? Last week brought about the idea’s second glimmer. (That first bright spot is a story for another day. Wait for it.) Ryan Gillispie. Call him the forerunner. A herald.…
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Otto Meets a Hawk
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Like Mother Like Daughter
As if we need further evidence that Piper Finnian Willow Lacey is my daughter indeed. But here it is just the same. I do not actually care for Oreo cookies. (gasp.) Not the traditional black and white numbers anyway. But ever since some genius in marketing over at the Oreo cookie factory brainstormed the idea of the Golden Oreo, I have been hooked. I could eat the entire bag. I try not to buy them when I will be alone. (I know my own weaknesses – okay?) My favorite part of the Oreo is the white cream center. I have long joked that there would be one simple way to know…
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Just so you know, Mom.
Not all of London’s notes are love letters. The other day I walked into the kitchen to find these announcements placed on canisters on our counter. First – on the jar of peanuts. And then the container of oatmeal. (Clearly not her favorite Monday morning meal option.)
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Want to take an adventure with our family? (Virtually. Of course.)
Spring break is next week. Well, spring break according to Riley’s school schedule. And since we like Riley and want to include her in our adventures, we declare next week to be our entire family’s spring break as well. Gas prices are, um, frighteningly high. Especially when you drive a gas machine like our Suburban. So we are staying closer to home this year. Just through the mountains a bit to our neighboring state of Tennessee. Gatlinburg, to be precise. Sure, it’s a little touristy with their never-ending pancake houses and fudge factories on every corner. Their mini golf up a hill and their family dinner shows that seem to…
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as the pendulum swings
If you have read this blog for any length of time then you already know a-plenty about me. You know that I love a list. And I have a fondness for schedule. Let me tell you this, I can plan the mess out of something. I make a mean routine. I am a first-rate organizer. I draw it up in colorful coordination. Little squares, circles, colors assigned to each child, a day per activity. If there was a thrown-down for planning, I could take you. But, uh, I have a little problem that no amount of planning seems to solve. I think you call it follow-through. I mean, ask me…
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17.
Seventeen. This kid who was once six and Southern-sounding as all get out. This girl who changed her own name when she was nine and politely insisted that her third grade class refer to her as “Riley” henceforth. This waif who won my momma’s heart from the first hug as she wrapped her teeny arms around my mother’s neck as soon as they met. This team player who agreed to don full Little House on the Prairie clothes and enter a Laura Ingalls Look-Alike contest. This mini-athlete who wore a series of ill-fitting jerseys through every season of rec. league soccer with her daddy as her coach. This new teen…
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the big reveal.
I’m not going to lie. I love my new iPhone. I love taking pictures with it and then applying the instagram app to those photos and then suddenly seeming like a capable, artsy photographer. And I love how much time it has saved me with its ability to sync our family’s calendar and the well-timed reminders it intuitively knows to send me when an event’s date is approaching. I also love the shopping list I downloaded (at no cost) so that I never find myself in Publix with five children and no list without the presence of mind to remember if I needed sour cream for dinner or cream of…
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little rewards
Our friend Bob is an artist. He’s a great additional grandpa. (The kids refer to him as Pop-Pop. That is, when they aren’t referring to him as the “maker of the finger paint you can eat”.) He’s a minister. He’s our friend. And he has written a children’s study of Lent and wanted us to give it a test run. Which we have been doing. And in so doing, we had a short history lesson about pretzels. The word means “little reward” in Latin. The shape resembles the crossing of arms that monks would do as they prayed. And now you have had a little history lesson as well. The…
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almost out the door
Perhaps my favorite phrase yelled at me by any human being that has ever existed. Berg. Dashing through the house. Decked out in full pirate attire. On his way to adventure and life. The great outdoors calling him. His hand is on the door knob. The entrance to What He Has Been Waiting All Morning For. He stops. Hesitates. Searches for me. Finds my eyes. And shouts, “I love you mom. I love you more than everything in the world except God!” And then he’s gone. Back to the wild which holds his heart.
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at the table.
Sometimes I just love simple beauty the best. A wooden farm table. Big enough to fit our family of eight and some friends too. Scratches and fork marks particularly noticeable on the corner that has seated every Keigley kid plopped in the blue and white booster seat. A green bowl. Bought for me by my mother when I was back in high school and she believed her daughter should have a hope chest. A literal chest filled with dishes and cloth napkins and crystal pitchers. Yellow lemons. A yellow only God could make. Too bright and too much like sunshine to be shaped into a Crayola cylinder. And waiting to…
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