Boreal Witch

Balin is quite fond of dressing up.

I've made him an Elsa dress with a turquoise second-hand skirt and shirt. I've made him soda-bottle jet packs out of two 2-liter bottles. I've made him Jedi robes and bought butterfly wings. He regularly wears one (or more!) of these things around the house, pretending he's a character from Skyrim or Elsa or even Evil Cinderella.

Though he loves sea lions, he is also quite fond of raccoons, which we have nicknamed "rascals" because of an orange and white t-shirt. There's a picture of a raccoon on the front with the word banded across the face. I'm not quite sure what the appeal is. Is it the mask? The perky snout? The black hands and feet? The ring tail?

Whatever it is, Balin is obsessed with them.

While out shopping with some friends, I found a raccoon costume pattern that I had to purchase. Normally I feel as though I don't have to buy anything, but this was an exception. Balin would have a raccoon costume. He simply must.

He even got to pick out the fabrics: sparkly pink for the body, white for the tummy, and dark grey for the mask and tail. I finished it in a day.

When it was finished, I handed it to him, telling him he could take it to his dress-up box. He began to cry.  

"What's the matter?" I asked him.

"I don't want it to get ruined!" he sobbed.

It looked as though I did my job a little too well...

Blessed be.

We went to the farm this weekend because not only it was Labor Day Weekend but - with the onset of fall - the apples were finally ready. The pears, Gloria explained, were still rock-heard, so they wouldn't be ready for another few weeks. Still, she encouraged us to take some anyway, especially since we weren't planning to be around. The next time we came to visit in another few weeks, the pears might be gone.

Arthur was quite eager to pick fruit this year. He demanded we pick apples before lunch, but we insisted he wait until afterwards so that we could all pick together.

We set up the ladders, grabbed plastic and paper bags, dusted off the apple-pickers and started gathering apples. Even Papa and Gloria helped.

About half-way through the chore, Marshmallow (also known jokingly as "Mushroom" by Papa) climbed onto a ladder and sat next to Balin. She begged for attention, meowing and rubbing up against him while he showered her with attention. Balin, terrified of our own cat, happily complied.

Arthur, my little daredevil, wanted to climb the trees. He spent a good portion of time after the clean up climbing up and down one of the apple trees. As he grew comfortable up among the leaves, he became less apprehensious and slipped. He managed to hang onto one of the branches and I grabbed his waist and lowered him down. That little hiccup didn't stop him; however, because he shimmied back up one of the ladders and back up the branches, the perfect apple in his sight.

When we returned home Monday night and the apples and pears were finally unloaded and stacked in the living room, we began the arduous process of producing apple butter. It's sweaty and time-consuming, but it's well worth it!

Blessed be.

Dear Parents of School-Ages Children:

This morning as I walked both of my boys to school, there was a tear in my eye. Perhaps this little detail is a bit surprising to those who know me, who know that I marked the first day of school as "Freedom Day" in the calendar on the first day of summer. It was mostly in jest, of course, and I had always claimed that today would be something new.

It would be the start of a new life: a life without children. A life with more freedom. A life with no little hands grabbing items off shelves at the grocery store or a life bound to the children's section at the library. It would be a life without constraints; a simple life.

Today as I begin this new chapter, I'm crying. With this new life comes freedom, but it's also scary. Who will I hang out with on these long, boring days? What will I do to fill my time? Who will I have lunch with?

People often say that children grow up way too fast. I say they just grow up. People say that their children don't need them anymore. I say they will always need their parents, just in different ways.

Many of us chose this life: first the diapers and midnight feedings, then the potty training and the many stages of no, and finally school. We chose to nurture these little fledglings until they become birds and fly, fly as far as their wings can take them.

And so I say this, to all the parents with children in school: it's lonely and it's sad, but there's a comfort in it, too. There's comfort in knowing that we survived these first few years and that there's hope to survive the ones to come.

There's comfort that we'll now be able to spend more time on ourselves as well as our children. That we'll be able to recharge enough to pick them up and whisk them off to all of the other activities that they do: soccer, basketball, gymnastics, dance, piano.

There's a comfort in believing that the world isn't ending because they are in school. It's merely changing. It's scary and weird, but you will thrive. You will be able to focus on the task in front of you. You will be able to accomplish other things, different things, projects that have been sitting for years because you were never able to pick them up and complete them.

This morning, as you sip your coffee and eat breakfast (that isn't Cheerios) in a quiet house, just breathe. Let the events around you unfold as they will. Take your time. Don't become overwhelmed. You have the entire school year to get things accomplished. For now, just sit and take some time for yourself.

You earned it.

Blessed be.