Shopping

I went to the mall in search of necessities...but look at what enticed me away from my mission on the coat rack at Macy's! As I slipped it on...I fell in love. I was like a little girl in a candy store who had discovered her favorite candy...in her favorite color!

Check out the chic style...not to mention the fit! I haven't found a coat in years that actually fits comfortably in all the right places!




Of course, my daughter added her perspective...unadulterated preteen viewpoint.



And in the end, I still love it!




Now, I need somewhere to go beyond soccer games, the library, preschool... Though I could step up my bus stop attire...Nawww...I like my rumpled look. It keeps suburbia interesting. They need this country girl in her t-shirt and jeans ready to finish the day's chores. Gasp! I just admitted I do my own cleaning! Yep...and I love to dress up, but not to scrub the bathroom or go to soccer practice sporting my latest desinger trends for assessment of my social status.

Cynical...hhuuuummmmm...perhaps...

However, I must acknowledge the fine photographer who helped me recreate my shopping extravaganza!




Kiahra's spunky style matches her personality. Isn't she beautiful? I love her...and her mommy I will always be!

Breathtaking

From my back deck, I gaze out into my woods, and the majestic beauty of Pennsylvanian autumn takes my breath away. My eyes drink in the diverse color and rich textures of leaves after our first frost. The vibrancy of fall renews my spirit. It flutters in the gentle breeze of the crisp, cool morning. Each day is a surprise.

Autumn is a season of change. Sometimes folks express their discontent with fall as everything begins to die, but I disagree. It is certainly a change, but before those leaves fall they go out in a blaze of glory. I hope I can live life with such vibrancy. After birth and growth, each leaf finds its own personality and transforms itself into bold beauty. Each leaf is unique. As I gaze at them I can see the personalities of my children. I hope they dance with courage on the limb in breathtaking beauty.

Speaking of dancing on the limb, Nikela gracefully navigated her soccer game on Sunday against the autumn backdrop. As I watch her play soccer, I not only see her skill, but the beauty surrounding her...inside and out. We share the magical the moments of love and laughter with her as treasures, drawing them close to our hearts like a blanket on a cool evening. Whether it is a clumsy mishap or mastery of a challenging musical piece, it evokes love and celebration of life.

I love to watch the leaves fall from the limbs into the yard...sometimes creating a circle beneath the tree. As the leaves drift down into the street, I feel like I am in a parade celebrating life lived to the fullest. Kade loves the leaves. He loves to pile them high and jump into them. He buries himself in them. I like to think he is snuggling in surrounded with love. My heart flutters at the sight. I want to hold onto this image forever.

As I gaze out the window,

I reflect on my nostalgia for the season this year, as Ron prepares to celebrate his 40th birthday next month. Just a few years ago we were in our early twenties :) full of life, hope, optomism...and the rashness of youth trying to flutter ahead in the breeze of life. Soon we rolled into thirty and paused a bit more often...and knew less. Now as we gaze at forty, we are humbled by life and enjoy the precious moments with our family realizing that somehow twenty years have escaped us, and while we have trod the path of life with zest and love looking ahead to the future, we now continue down the path more apt to enjoy the scenery and vibrancy of life rather than straining to see down the road.

Note: For visual eye candy double click on the photos.

Renaissance

Ich was in one sumere dale;
In one swithe dighele hale
I-herde ich holde grete tale
An ule and one nightingale.

The poetic debate of The Owl and the Nightingale is my favorite Middle English piece. When I uncovered middle English poetry, I was fulfilling a convenient scheduling credit, but I fell in love. The intellectual renaissance of the twelfth century intrigued me as the owl and nightingale debate their philosophies of life...inconclusively.

Renaissance–noun 1. the activity, spirit, or time of the great revival of art, literature, and learning in Europe beginning in the 14th century and extending to the 17th century, marking the transition from the medieval to the modern world.

Thus, when the local Renaissance Festival came to life, I dragged the kids and husband through the woods and mud to the village.

From the modern world we travelled back...smiling!

The blare of horns heralded our entry into the renaissance era.

Royalty comes and goes, but the kids affectionately tagged this gentleman the "troll," as his character and personality demanded notice in the streets he traversed.


Chayse was grinning as happily as the street performer, as she attempted to learn the art that looked so easy!


Of course, weary travelers must pause in the village square to enjoy authentic cuisine...Chicken on a Stick!

Exploring the fashion for the era with guidance from a Cavalier, I was mindful of my humble place.

Finishing touches!

Just in time for the Queen's arrival...

Setting sail requires some rope work and team work!

Skillful archers prepare to join Robin Hood.

The king rests with his little Princess.


The world of Shakespeare and Chaucer came alive in all the characters we met. The wenches at the well (follow the link) had to be related to the Wife of Bath. Though Kade commented that while all the performers were funny, they were not always appropriate...which led me to explain the humor of the time was often "bawdy," which required additional explanation, and the best I could come up with was humor about the body.

The jester is so familiar in each Shakespearian work, and he was equally important in the village to keep us laughing at ourselves!

Fare thee well.

Playdate

This fall, Chayse enthusiastically hops out of the car to preschool four days a week. Last Friday, her preschool class washed the local fire truck. Parents were invited to meet each other and take photos of the special occasion. I joined the party a bit late, as I had to run an errand.

As I snapped a couple photos of the preschoolers in front of the fire truck, I was surrounded by other parents. I was one of a few that did not have additional children in tow. Chayse greeted me with a hug and immediately introduced me to her friend, Paulina. She was a beautiful little girl with dark hair and eyes just like Chayse. A few minutes later, her parents introduced themselves to me. As we navigated the initial awkward conversation of getting to know each other, gradually our speech became more natural as we followed the kids to the playground to watch. I felt myself smiling and laughing. Despite my reluctance to join the party, I was enjoying myself.

I discovered that my new friend also had a younger son at home. Then she asked, “Do you have other children?”

“Yes.” I responded with caution. I am very aware that I have more children than most mothers here and sometimes the response can be unpredictable.

“How old?” she persists with care.

I like that.

“13, 11, 9, and 8.” I rattle off, as I watch her face. She processes this information slowly as her eyes grow wider.

“Wow. You are a busy Mom.”

Fair answer. Sensing my reservations in discussing the rest of the gang, as I know this will not help us reach a common ground, she did not pressure the topic, and we shifted back to comments about preschool.

Then she proclaimed to a passing mother that her husband had managed to snap 350 photos today. I tried not to smile. Yes, he was the father documenting the journey of his oldest daughter, age 4. Of course, guilt pulsated through my heart as I thought of the five or six shots I had captured; however, at my rate, I won’t need to add memory to my computer anytime soon.

Finally, as the day wrapped up Paulina’s mother suggested a play date. When I inquired about her work schedule, I learned she was working five days a week.

“However, I am home by five, so we could meet before dinner from five to six,” she continued.

My mind scrambles through the afterschool hours. Yesterday afternoon I picked Chayse up from preschool at 3 PM. I arrived back home minutes before Kiahra walked through the door at 3:15. Nikela was already walking to her piano lesson. Kiahra needed her pointe shoe ribbons sewn on before ballet, again, so she grabbed a snack and dressed for dance while I found my needle and thread. Together we rush out the door to dance 30 minutes later. As I drove home, Kade and Ethan were walking home. When I arrive at 4:15 PM, Kade’s guitar teacher is walking through the door. As Kade takes his lesson, Nikela arrived home and I throw dinner on the stove. Reminding Nikela that she has soccer at 6 PM and we need to leave at 5:40 PM, I quickly set the table, minimally. In the meantime, I am calling Ron hoping and praying that he can pick up Kiahra at 6 PM, as it conflicts with soccer delivery…or I will be late picking her up. Then I can turn around and pick Nikela up shortly after 7 PM and be home by 7:30. Did I forget to mention homework?

I didn’t say a word, but evidently the expression on my face showed concern because she continued.

“We could also meet on Saturday morning or Sunday afternoon.”

Kade plays soccer in McCandless tomorrow morning, and Nikela will be playing in Pine Richland Sunday afternoon.

I am speechless. It is hopeless. As I gaze at Chayse, happily playing, the guilt completely engulfs me. I cannot even schedule a playdate.

As I drive home, Chayse animatedly shares the details of her day with me. As she comes up for air, she asks, “Will I be able to play with Paulina someday?”

My heart stops. What do I say? I don’t want to be dishonest. I don’t want to disappoint.

“Perhaps someday…” I hesitantly answer.

“Are Nikela and Kiahra home yet, Mom?”

“No, they won’t be home until this afternoon.”

“Can we go to lunch instead?”

Chayse has moved on. Later, when the kids start coming home and spilling out the doors of the neighborhood houses, she disappears into the cul de sac amidst the voices and activity. I hear her laughter. It rings sweetly through the hills. I smile. She has a playdate everyday. More kids, more fun. It’s my motto.

No scheduled playdate. Just spontaneous fun.

Chayse will survive. She may even conquer, as I watch her boss the neighbor boy into compliance before they roar off on their matching motorcycles.


Hhhhhuuuummmmmm...I can't find the firetruck photos to post. I think I left my memory card in the computer when I grabbed my camera, so no photos. Mom of the year? Perhaps not, but I think someone has one or two to spare.