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o.t.t.o.
Four. Four is good. At four you sleep nearly twelve hours every night. You don’t poop in your pants and you can last an entire day with no nap and remain basically happy. At four you’re affectionate and you’re smart and you think Mommy is really funny. You can eat meals without assistance and you save your funniest grins for…
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framily. the beauty of it all.
We are so blessed. Framily is a gift so beautifully overwhelming sometimes. Papa Dale and a trip to the pond to go fishing after a trip to the auto store for man errands. Big buddies and little buddies. Oh, there’s all the usual chaos that accompanies a dozen-ish young children at every meal. But it’s…
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a wrinkle in time
Time passes differently out here on this beautiful piece of Virginia land. At home I feel as if my days run to this rhythm: Breakfast. Let’s do chores/errands/games/crafts/school. Wait – what? It’s lunch already? Okay, now let’s play/create/read/clean. Oh goodness, why haven’t I started dinner yet? Want to play a game/take a walk/feed the pets? Good grief, it’s already past…
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Fourth. To be continued.
It may be that my posts will all be on week delays this summer. It was July Fourth last week. Remember? And for our family for the last twenty plus years that has always meant the same thing — annual July Fourth party at the farm. The farm has everything that matters – people we love, wide open spaces, kids…
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what was I saying?
Oh yes. While our freezer was dying and our washer was waning, we were on a road trip. To that sweet land of Virginia to celebrate a kind and generous and hilariously fun family that I like to call my cousins. Amber was getting married. And my Piper Finnian was the flower girl to Amber. Amber. A grown up who…
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hello. my name is Lacey and this has been my day.
This is a true story. We interrupt the planned post of wedding hoopla and gobs of cute pictures to share the following true-life events …… (You cannot make this stuff up.) Monday Night 11:30 p.m. – Arrive home, road weary and sleepy. Children crawl into bed dirty and wearing the clothes they’ve been sporting all day. 11:40 p.m. – London…
Keep Reading . . .
The Things That We Keep Doing
Noonday Trunk Show
a little grief. how the time passes.
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Again From The Dark
When you read this, I imagine I’ll be in a car with seven other people, trekking through one state to reach another. Whirlwind days. Sunshine and rain. Beach walk and icy cold water. Night swimming and late sleeping. Wedding rehearsal and wedding the real deal. Cousins. Family. Friends. Kids dressed up so sweetly I almost couldn’t bear to look. But…
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driving. riding. typing in the dark.
This is a post typed on my phone well after midnight in a darkened bedroom with five of our children sleeping soundly on the floor around us at my cousin’s home in Virginia after an eight hour drive that didn’t even get started until after four o’clock in the afternoon and I’m thinking about letting it be one giant run-on…
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a little something something
Did a little front porch rearranging recently. (I like to shift what I already own so I trick myself into thinking I have something different than I had before.) I had Kevin draw an artsy chalkboard sign for me. I strung it up with a swath of red burlap. I grabbed an old favorite hand-me-down enamel basin, a star…
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natural to the core, or to the pit.
We’re drinking raw milk at our house. (I’ve been drinking it most of my life actually, thanks to that dairy farm upbringing.) With Bergen’s encouragement we’ve learned about the dangers of a plethora of initials from BHT to GMO to MSG. High fructose corn syrup rarely sneaks its way into our meals or on our shelves. Two rabbits are living…
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I think I’ll title this – Untitled.
Car Number Two is dead. See you later. Hasta la vista. Riley and I ride together early Monday morning to have Car Number One – The Last Surviving Great Maroon Hope Running Vehicle – serviced before our next road trip. Kevin is back at home with five children waiting to meet an HVAC repairman who might fulfill this fantasy of…
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40.
In less than forty days I will turn forty years old. Why is this birthday such a big deal this year? Sure, it’s cultural. And it is one of those significant birthdays I guess. But it’s mostly me, I think. Which is the problem, actually. The two problems really. Me. And thinking. I can easily become convinced that I am…
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a smattering of thoughts for a Friday morning
It’s solidly June and I’m so grateful we haven’t suffered from many staggeringly hot days thus far. I’ve misplaced my entire collection of bobby pins. They are stored in an Altoids tin. Let me know if you see them anywhere. The giant four hundred plus pages of Mansfield Park by Jane Austen is now finished. Phew. We’ve dragged out our…
