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wilder.
Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for? -Robert Browning
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Name This Photo. Win a Silly Prize.
Growing up, my parents used to always receive this farming magazine in the mail called Farm & Ranch Living. My brothers and I loved the pictures of other farms and of kids who kind of looked like us – wearing overalls and plowing fields and lifting hay bales and feeding calves. And there was this one well-known photograph that seemed to always be featured on their back cover. Man, that magazine exploited this photo to the extreme. There were mugs, hats, t-shirts, calendars, shellacked wood pieces, clocks, bed sheets and car wraps featuring these two little farmers. (Alright – I never saw a bed sheet. Or a car wrap. But…
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The Two Tiniest
Dear Fox and Finnian, Can you please stay small forever? Love, Momma
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I’m No Videographer or Further Evidence I Need an iPhone or Further Evidence I Need a Nanny
You know, by the mere fact that I post words and seldom post videos, that I am no film maker. You know, by the copious number of times that I have mentioned my desire for an iPhone, that my current cell phone camera is essentially lame, and that, therefore, my videos will not be stellar quality. You know, by all of my previous set-up statements, that I am about to share a sub-par video. My piles of laundry are revealed. My voice sounds quaky. My parenting skills might be questioned. But the funny factor outweighs all of that. The stage is set like thus . . . Bath time for…
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a list. a distraction.
Six children. Two adults. Our house is full of people. With different opinions and changing moods. I thought I’d make a little list today to gage where the Keigley family members currently stand on a few non-essential topics. (Because I like lists.) Favorite Kid Television Show: Wild Kratts. (There might be some addiction to this show at our house. And Berg has begun calling all of his siblings “bro”, even the girls.) Most Frequently Requested Meal: Mac & Meat. (A throwback to my family growing up. Imagine homemade hamburger help and you’d be pretty close. Not exactly an inspiring dish.) Average Wake Up Time For the Kids: 8:00 a.m. (Excluding…
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… and counting
It has been thirteen days already. And this Fox is still rocking his amazing hat. It is possible we have forgotten what he looks like without it, so attached to this little accessory he has become.
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distraction #42
I am too sick and too tired to be clever. Our home looks a bit like a war zone and we are its casualties. I am grateful to a couple of good friends who stopped by the house with beverages and soups and so many others who have made kind offers. While we rest and get better, just take a look at these shots of our little Wilde Fox of an Otto. Marvel with me at how handsome he is. Admire what a fantastic photographer Emma is and how she captures his quirky little looks. And notice how much Otto adores his hat made by Aunt Sarah. Seriously. He has…
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the last one.
I do not want another baby in our house. Trust me when I say, the Keigleys are done giving birth to babies. I’m not even the type of woman who gets all googly-baby-eyes when she holds someone else’s newborn baby. I mean, I like holding your newborn baby. I like caressing their bitty baby cheeks and admiring their new baby ears. But holding your baby in no way makes me hanker to hold one of my own. I’m done with babies. We’ve had our years (and they have been sweet) but they are over. Nonetheless, something strikes me when I watch the babyness grow right out of my last little…
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Once Upon A Midnight Weary
Last night we went to bed a little late – visiting with some good friends. (More details on those guys tomorrow.) For now – let’s just focus on last night. Otto was sleeping in a pack and play in Kevin’s office and from our comfortable and warm bed I could hear him crying. The indiglo feature on my old school watch glowed 1:24. “If he is still crying at 1:40, I’ll go get him,” I told my sleepy self. It sounded logical then. I think I might have dozed off. 1:45. Oops. Still crying. Upon further investigation, Otto’s tears were justified. Somehow his sippee cup of water had been opened…
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the flip side.
When I have an afternoon (or a day or a week or a . . . you know) that I camp out in the Feeling Small Acres here at this home place I sometimes let my mind wander to all the jobs I could be doing instead. Teaching high school. Writing for a newspaper. Raising goats. And all the other places I could be instead. On a mountain in Colorado. At the beach. Canada. (Eh?) And, thankfully, it is usually at those very precise moments God gives me eyes to see exactly where I am sitting. Most recently, I was sitting at our kitchen table. With a kid eating a…
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mmmmm . . . good
Raise your hand if you think a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich makes a delicious lunch.
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not from envy.
Apparently we’ve been seeing a bit of green around our house lately. But not from envy. Nope. That would be easier to wash out I think. The funny truth is – I was probably not even fifteen feet away from The Incident As It Occurred. (What does that say about me?) Awww. Shucks. I guess it says that I have more than one kid. That one of those kids left the magic markers out again. And that another one of those kids decided it would be beneficial to her younger brother if he were to receive a tattoo. Because, as she stated, he wanted it. In green. All over his…
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Son.
Is it just me, or do I keep stacking up experiences for which I must apologize to my sons? So far the primary victim has been Hawkeye. Apparently, the littlest man of our house is now current game as well. Earlier this week, there was much giggling from the kids’ bedrooms. (All such crimes seem to be accompanied by much much giggling. A warning, I’m sure.) London hops out and spreads her arms wide, “Presenting . . . ” Before I could see the presentation with my own two eyes, London offers an explanation. “It’s hilarious, Momma. Otto can wear all of our dolls’ clothes.” And then the one-year-old fashion…
