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Five Year Old Finnian.
There’s no end to the posts I’ve written about my youngest daughter. But when it’s your birthday – you get another one! Piper Finnian Willow Lacey turned five. Five! Half a decade. Little year on top of little year on top of little year. She only remembers ever having lived in South Carolina. She has no recollection of sleeping in a crib at the foot of our bed for the first six months of her life. Of loading all of our possessions in a U-Haul and moving two states down to as far south as I ever hope to reside. In her memory, her life began at Look Up Lodge…
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holding her hand
I lie in bed with my four-year-old daughter. We’re holding hands on top of the blankets. Her eyes are closed, I’m half reading a novel and half gazing at her tender, sunburned cheeks. My little Finnian. Our time together is both sweet and bitter. You know the combination. We have our moments – my youngest daughter and I. She is strong-willed and she is loud and she demands attention and as the youngest daughter in a family of so many, she currently adheres to the philosophy of “by any means necessary”. She is me. And I am her. You can imagine the struggles that creates. But I love her. Oh,…
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One for the Finn Files
Our family eats meat. We likes us some chicken. But, despite the fact that I was raised on a farm, I don’t care for discussing the bones of the creature that I am eating whilst chewing. Our dinner table last night featured a roasted chicken. (Yes, I finally remembered to put it in the crock pot. And it was roasted with rosemary that we grew in a pot on our front steps! I can’t believe I haven’t killed the rosemary.) Piper Finn and London both ended up with a chicken leg. Finn kept pulling out the bone and holding it in the air for us to marvel with her. “Look…
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speaking of . . .
Lately Piper says . . . “Speaking of…” She says it before she begins any random sentence. And most often when we have not at all been speaking of anything of which she speaks. “Speaking of corn – can I have some?” “Speaking of peanut butter – can I lick some peanut butter?” And this one. Said for real. “Speaking of pants – where are mine?”
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she’s still funny . . .
I should probably teach my four year old a little more about April Fool’s Day. (And the days of the week.) I guess she’s been mis-hearing the phrase for a couple of days. Tonight she walked up to me and said, “Hey Mommy. There’s a spider on your head.” Already cracking herself up, she added, “Happy Tuesday!”
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All She Wants For Christmas.
Despite the fact that we will only be opening stockings this Christmas weekend, the kids still love to chat about toys they like and items they would wish to acquire. On a recent car ride, the conversation in the backseat broke down a little something like this: “If you could have anything in your stocking, what would it be?” London asked. Normal responses flowed from her siblings. “A pillow pet.” “Nerds!” “Legos.” “Doll clothes.” Piper Finn didn’t offer such a speedy comeback. She sighed. She pondered. She waited until everyone was done sharing. She took a deep breath. Sounding as if she had just…
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My New Favorite Title.
Last week it was eighteen first graders in Bergen’s Class. This week it was seventeen four-year-old’s in Willow’s co-op class. The day was long but it was really oh-so-sweet. What a privilege it was to watch my child interact with her tiny peers. To see her serve as the helper and offer all of her classmates a squirt of hand sanitizer as they headed to lunch. To eat lunch with her at the same table and to feel her wee little hand pat my hand as I walked by her seat. I was the helper, of course, so my task was to help. To help paint seventeen small hands with…
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what have I done wrong?
Sometimes she makes this face – she calls it her cute face. Willow makes us chuckle. She makes us grin. Her turn of a phrase can send us rolling in the floor with laughter. And then there are moments like this . . . . Pre-dinner, Willow comes prancing into the kitchen with a smirk on her face. “Hey guys,” she says. “I just peed in the sink.”
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hand-me-downs
Piper’s closet is full. Overflowing. Brimming to capacity. Full. She owns five pairs of jeans. That’s more denim than I own. (Who can afford that many grown up jeans at the cost of Gap these days? And by Gap, I actually mean TJ Maxx or Target because I think those are the stores of choice for any jeans I have purchased in the past five years.) Skirts? Uh – probably a dozen. Dresses? Fuh-get about it! Too many to remember. Now wait. Lest you think I favor my fifth child more than the others or that I spend our weekly grocery budget on attire for a three-year-old, I must say…
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a chip by any other name.
There are many reasons that I love baking with my little Willow. The following conversation during yesterday’s cookie baking is merely one of them: Willow: Mom, may I have one chocolate chip? Long pause for dramatic effect. (As if I would tell that angelic face “no” to a single chocolate chip. Why bake with Mommy if extra chocolate chips are not part of the bargain?) Me: Weeelll, Willow, I guess we could spare one chocolate chip for you to eat. Willow: Oh good. Thank you Mommy. You’re the best. I’m going to name it Pixie.
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Piper Speak.
I love when my life just writes blog posts for me. It’s so easy. Piper Finn came wandering into the kitchen – apparently the room of our home where I spend the majority of my days. She had discovered a piece of ripped paper and a tiny notebook. Treasures to her four-year-old self. “May I have these?” she requested. The paper was a map of a hiking trail in Georgia from our end-of-summer adventure. “Sure.” I told her. (Pleased to have an easy yes for once.) She was thrilled and began right away sharing her good news with her unimpressed siblings. “Here’s my special map. Mom says I can keep…
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four. 4.
Tomorrow she turns four. She loves unicorns and princess and dresses and cuddling with her daddy. We love her knock knock jokes and the way she pronounces “ch” and her quick laughter and her many names. One. Two. Three. Four. Piper, we just could not love you more.
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one rainy night
Last night was amusing. And low cost. Incredibly low cost. Riley had to work. Kevin had to work. I was basically just looking for something to do with the five remaining children and their one mother. My first thought was to drive down the road a little bit and picnic and play by this cool stream/waterfall area near us. But the skies looked grey. And I didn’t feel like eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. So I loaded up my rag tag team and headed into town. (They really were ragtag. Mosely’s green skirt did not match her blue shirt – neither in style nor in color. Although London’s attire…
