On Stage

I'm staring at my yellow mug, filled with my friend, Bindi's, home made chai, and fervently hoping for some sunshine. "Unprecedented" is what they are calling this rainy Colorado spring. We are used to 300 plus days of sunshine a year, so the constant gloom and drizzle is taxing my outdoor style. The rivers are oversaturated again, our xeriscaping and "drought hardy plants" are drowning with root rot, the chickens are up to their ankles in mud, and my heater is still sporadically still running. On the plus side, everything is green.

yellow

Aidan had his last middle school orchestra concert last night. It's really hard to find ways to express your individuality in orchestra. You are supposed to blend in with the group and create one movement of music and matching style. Aidan's teacher hasn't always appreciated his efforts to set himself apart. The fake mustache didn't go over so well that one time. But for someone who appreciates order as much as she does, she stretched to accommodate his personality, finding ways for him to step out of the box. And for the very last concert, she said "yes" to the kilt. Well done, Ms Plattenberger. 


The clan Cummings

8th Grade

Chloe and her two cousins, created an original comedy skit for their talent show. It was a parody on "What Does the Fox Say" with clever slapstick humor. I was in the back, and couldn't hear because the younger kids in front were laughing SO hard.

Talent Show

Our formerly stage-shy daughter was the mischievous fox, who wouldn't do anything the way that ringmaster wanted. Caedmon was a natural ham, playing the frustrated, serious role, while Chloe danced around, sang and wrecked havoc with his plans. She wasn't sure that she wanted to go through with the idea, but she didn't want to let Caedmon down, and then she loved it. Good friends are like that, they invite you into spaces that you never would have been bold enough to try on your own.

Talent Show

Noah was the distracted stage hand, Chloe's cohort in crime. He played his part rather naturally.

The Fox

I took Aidan out of school to skip health and sneak over to watch Chloe. The ladies at the front desk gushed over what a sweet brother he was to come with flowers. Looking closer, they wondered if he had picked from the school's gardens. We assured them of course we wouldn't steal from Ryan Elementary.  Now Angevine Middle School on the other hand...

More Than Middle School

Mom, this was my last Monday in elementary school...

Every day Chloe has been finding new ways to tell me that she's growing up, that she's leaving familiar things behind for unknown, uncharted territory. And I respond, I know, Baby. Because I do.

I've known from the very moment that I held my newest little bundle in my arms, that these moments are precious, and fleeting. In high school we had to decorate a poster to show what we wanted to be when we grew up. I found a picture of a lady in an apron, holding a spatula, baking something in a large bowl. I'm sure it was some sort of advertisement for Betty Crocker or something, and it was cheesy and stereotypical, not at all trendy or cool. And I remember thinking, Whatever, I don't care what anyone thinks. Because when I grew up, I knew I just wanted to be a mom.

Me and the Veggie Tales, making something amazing.

So yeah, I'm kinda aware that my baby bird is growing strong flight feathers, and is peeking over the sides of the nest. And I'm super proud. Part of me wants to build the nest higher, but the other part, the better and more selfless part, whispers, I know, Baby, it's almost time to fly.

She will fly because I know what's inside of her. Even though she's a black belt and can disarm an attacker, flip them over, and break their elbow in three places; even though she plays soccer like a fierce little tiger and can out run a cheetah; even though she's beautiful and smart and funny, those things don't define her. And even if someday she can't kick a little white ball into a large net as well, or if she trips and falls and can't run as fast, or if she finds someone more beautiful, smarter or funnier. She's going to be okay. Because her character is what defines her, and her Creator whispers you are enough.

The Sugar Queen

If I have done my job well, then she will face life head on, knowing that she is precious, priceless, and studded with stars. The thing that I pray over my kids, more than anything else, is, God, help them to know how much they are loved.

The reason our yard is full of dandelions

Because when you know you are loved, the little things don't matter as much and the big things are more manageable because you know you have a safety net when you fall. And you can do hard things bravely.

This coming fall, when she heads off to 6th grade, I'll tell her the same thing I told her brother: Decide who you want to be, and be that. With confidence. Everyone else is trying to figure out who they want to be, sometimes they hide themselves by picking on someone else. But if you're brave, and you know, and own, who you are, everyone else who is looking for their place will respect you too. But if you're afraid and insecure, those who doubt themselves the most will try to make you smaller to cover their own fear of not being good enough.

I know you're growing up, Baby Girl. But you're going to rock middle school, because you are more than enough.

Almost Done

We are grinding away towards the end of school. I'm not sure if the kids are more, or less, excited than I am. It seems like everyone is in a final rush to fit things in. My counters are cluttered with papers to sign, field trips to pay for, and my inbox is a steady stream of details to be ironed out. Yesterday, I noticed bits of paper sticking out of open spaces in my purse. It was an eclectic collection of to-do lists scribbled on envelopes, half finished grocery lists in folded up rectangles, and receipts that need to be recorded.

Orchestra

Chloe had her first "real" concert. All of the 5th and 6th graders in the area schools came together fot a joint concert. She's the cutest little cellist who spiced things up by adding a little tremolo to her song, something she learned from her brother. Her cello is almost as big as she is, and every Tuesday and Thursday, she heads off to the bus stop in her Bombur outfit: cello on the back, backpack strapped to the front, and a folded music stand on the side.

flowers from daddy

Leadville

We drove out to Leadville to watch this guy play some soccer. The other team's coach was a long haired hippie sort, laid back and leathery. He was wearing shorts and a sweater, in contrast to all of us lowlanders, who came decked out in layers of North Face, gloves, hats and blankets. The coach had spent the week shoveling the snow from the field so they could play. And since the referee was in Ukraine, he officiated the game and let his boys coach themselves. Aidan scored the most beautiful goal. Just past mid field and far over on the right, he launched a shot into the upper corner of the net. The parents were all so stunned, we didn't realize it was a goal, because we didn't see how he could have made that shot. In the span of an hour it alternated between gorgeously sunny, snow, and hail.

Hiding from the camera

Chloe's loving playing club soccer. She's a fierce little whirlwind and has scored in all but one of her games, a couple of times from mid field, sending the ball in the air, over a crowd of defenders. Aidan's been giving her slide tackling lessons because she really, really wants to slide tackle someone.

A Staff, Snake, and Brownies

When Moses was confronted with the burning bush, and the voice of God telling him to go and lead the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, he was a little resistant. He had several logical reasons about why he wasn't a good choice, and why God should choose someone else, and what if no one believes him.

 And so God asks him, "What's in your hand?". Moses replies, "A staff".

(This is my favorite part...) Then God gives him instructions to throw in on the ground and it becomes a snake, which freaks Moses out, and he runs away until God tells him to reach out his hand and pick it up by the tail, and it then becomes a staff again.

The thing that I love so much about this is that I imagine Moses giving his objections out of his own insecurities and then God says, "Fine, what's in your hand? A stick? Great. We'll use that then, so you will know this isn't about you anyway."

This idea "What's in your hand?" is beautiful to me. That rather than feeling insufficient for what we don't have, or who we are not, we can just run forward with whatever we're holding in the moment, because it's not about us anyways, and trusting that God can move in our lives as He chooses.

On the outside

When I jumped into the contest for Dream Jobbers and needed to create a social buzz for votes, I looked around and thought, "What's in my hand?" The answer was brownies and 8th graders. Aidan trotted off to school with a lunch bag stuffed with homemade goodies. Soon enough, we had quite a following. Some became so dedicated that they obsessively checked my progress, and created multiple accounts in order to cast a vote for all their family members.  Some people (who shall remain nameless) created accounts with names that could have only come from an 8th grade boy, and left comments with spelling errors and enthusiasm for my awesome skills. Voting spiked at Angevine Middle School's lunch hour. I discouraged plots to sabotage other contestants, offers to hack the system, and schemes to boost my street cred with falsified claims about my ability to cure cancer.

World Vision ended up picking someone who had in his hand some sweet videoing skills. Whatever. I still made some kind of impression on the tender hearts of children. In fact, just the other day, Aidan came home with a request from a friend who hadn't seen baked goods in a while. "When is your mom going to try to go to Africa or something again, so we can get some more food?" Brownies matter too, take that, video guy.

Fluffy, the broody chicken

In conclusion, here is a picture of a broody chicken. This is an example of a sweet, small brained, shy little hen, turned into a crazed velociraptor that chased the German Shepherd around the yard. Proof of what hormones can do.

Ginger Black Pepper Cookies

You know those food blogs that promise a recipe and then make you scroll through 25 pictures (sometimes artfully photographed) of their food, and short stories about everything under the sun, until you finally reach the recipe? That annoys me. Cut to the bottom line, as my dad used to say. Give me one beautiful, picture to see that it looks yummy, and the goods. Seriously.

In fact, I'll even go first. Here's a recipe for my new favorite cookie: (Adapted from "The Kitchen Ecosystem" by Eugenia Bone.)

cookies for all

Chewy Ginger Black Pepper Cookies
2 1/4 C flour
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp freshly ground cloves
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/4 tsp cardamom
1/4 tsp salt
2 heaping tablespoons of grated fresh ginger, or 2 tsp ground ginger
12 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temp
3/4 C sugar
1 egg
1/4 C molasses
Raw sugar

Preheat oven to 350. In a large bowl, combine flour and spices. (If using fresh ginger, wait and mix in with butter mixture.) In a separate bowl, beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Adding one at a time and beating well after each addition, beat in egg, molasses, and fresh ginger (if using). Add flour mixture and beat to combine. If you cannot roll into little balls without it sticking to your fingers, add up to 1/2 C more flour.

Place raw sugar in bowl. roll dough by heaping teaspoons and then roll in sugar. Place on baking sheet 1-2 in apart.

Bake 8-10 min.

And there we are, short, sweet and to the point.

Blue Funky

There's a creative blue funk I'm sitting in right now. I keep waiting for it to go away, but it seems to be lingering, leaving a lack of creative motivation as its calling card. All of my usual jump starts are not jump starting anything, and I keep making coffee only to leave it sitting untouched in the mug. The only creative juices that seem to be flowing are in regards to how to next email Aidan's teacher.

There was nothing else to be done, but to head to the florist and gasp in sticker shock buy plants, because putting things in order makes me perfectly happy, and quite frankly, the front yard looked like an overgrown beard begging for a trim. I've conquered my fear of the weed eater, no doubt inspired by my brothers' dire warnings of chopping my legs off. I also have an irrational fear of spiders that can be laid at their feet.

The good news is that I did not chop my legs off, and my favorite part of weed eating is making crisp tidy lines around the sidewalk. Instant gratification.

pansies & creeping thyme

We finished the day with Sicilian Pistachio gelato because today was officially the end of science fair. The board is packed up, and ready to be made into a dressing room or whatever other creative use Chloe will dream up. And since we survived with minimal scarring, no complete meltdowns, and all of our hair, I consider it to be a raging success.

And as a side note, we couldn't even view the winning project because the dad was standing in front explaining everything to a captive audience...

Science Fair and Therapy

I dread science fair more than my kids do. They pick a topic and then spend the weeks leading up to the finish line forgetting about it, but I know what's coming.  Looming over my head is the deadline, the crying, the arguing and fit throwing, and that's just me. (Kidding, sort of) Aidan is possibly going to need future therapy for his 5th grade science fair project. That was three years ago and the events of that last weekend leading up to project completion are still convulsing in his memory.

I'm so over the need to "help" my kids with their projects while casting sideways looks at the other parents' boards who were also "helping". It's a cutthroat science fair war out there, and I'm out. Now I look at it as more of a character building experience. "It has to be done, but nobody wants to do it, it's fine if it stinks, but it has to be your best effort, and sometimes in life you just have to do things that you don't want to do."

This year was much more relaxed, now that we worked out some of the kinks on Aidan. Chloe picked a topic and Chris was assigned the job of being her support team. As the resident engineer, after about 3rd grade, all of the math and science things are automatically dropped in his lap. A little time out to talk about engineers. They are perfectly wonderful, and I adore mine thoroughly, but they do have a certain complex way of thinking. They can be sometimes like a Rube Goldberg machine taking ideas from point A to point B. (This might be the moment when Aidan starts twitching)

UNphotoshopped

Imagine this: Chloe is on the computer creating a spreadsheet to graph her electrical output from her lemons and potatoes, Aidan is not at all helping by continually offering his memories of science fairs past, and I am lecturing Chris about exactly what it means to be a support team as opposed to a project manager. And then, the science stuff is all done, and now it's time for design. At which point, I stop lecturing my husband, and start project managering the photographs and painting (Chloe stopped me from photo shopping her pictures)... See? Character building.

The cutest little scientist

Petrichor: the pleasant earthy smell after the rain.
Vellichor: the strange wistfulness of used bookshops.

There needs to be a special word for that euphoric, blissful feeling, when the science fair project is finished. Or I guess, we could just say that it's ineffable: too great to be expressed with words.