Herding Cats May 2, 2013

A few days ago we were at one of Rowan’s t-ball games.  It was the third inning, and he was out in the (way) outfield, past where any kid his size could whack a ball.  He was supposed to be playing shortstop, but got bored, and wandered out to the fence that forms the perimeter of the field. He was trying to catch bugs that hovered around the pond that sits right outside the fence.  As he flung his glove around in an attempt to scoop up any stray insects, I knowingly smiled.  I had done the same thing during my t-ball days, and even looked forward to the escape of the outfield.  There were no pressures, no noisy adults dictating my every move, and certainly not much action.  I was free to dance, turn cartwheels, look for bugs, and just generally relax.  While my little boy was trying his hardest to fit his gloved hand through a space in the chainlink fence, one of the other mothers looked at me with pity, and said, “I know he’s homschooled, so don’t think too much of him not being able to play with the other kids.”  My jaw hit the dirt so hard that it’s a wonder I didn’t cause a new sink hole. (we’re kind of known for sink holes around here, because of the massive cave systems underground)  I managed a sort of half smile, and slowly inched away from her.  There are several reasons I didn’t turn it into an all out war smack down.  Here’s why: Rowan was too far away to hear, so I didn’t feel the need to say anything to explain away his behavior.  Also, why should I?  Show me one four year old that doesn’t like to dance, chase fireflies, and tumble around a grassy field on a sunny afternoon, and I’ll show you one unhappy little person, and an even unhappier adult.  Another reason I didn’t let her statement affect me is that at that exact moment, her son was busy removing second base from it’s nest in the ground.  I thought about that saying about “herding cats”, and was pretty sure it applied here.  Trying to get four year olds to play an organized sport the way professionals do, isn’t going to happen.  It’s like trying to herd cats.  Sure, some kids have the ability to blindly follow the crowd and easily fit into a mold casted by adults, but mine doesn’t.  He’s his own person, and I like it that way. 

I looked at our boys, neither one really thinking about what the rest of the team was doing, and I thought that they were having the time of their lives out there, locked in their own little worlds.  Rowan’s inability to concentrate on the game had nothing to do with him being homeschooled.  It had everything to do with him being four.  He’s a little kid.  As he reminds me every so often, he’s not even a whole hand old yet!!  I myself forget this from time to time.  I expect him to act like an adult, well trained by society, when he’s only been walking and talking for three years. 

I’m not a confrontational person, so starting a fight over someone else’s ignorance, especially in front of my influential son, isn’t something I’m prone to do.  Maybe I’m too passive sometimes, but I don’t see why I need to argue my point to know that I’m right.  What good would it have done, really?

In all honesty, it *did* bother be a little bit that she was judging my little boy because of his homeschooled status.  I know it’s not the last time this is going to happen, and I need to develop a thicker skin when it comes to this subject matter.  People are always going to judge, and look at us differently because I don’t choose to enroll my child in mainstream schools. 

All I ask is that people respect my decision to educate my son in a manner that suits us, and I’ll do my best to refrain from commenting on the fact that the kids from the public schools here can’t even properly re….oh right, I’m not going to mention that.

iKid January 16, 2013

Rowan was the very lucky recipient of an iPad for Christmas.  I know what you’re thinking: “Your kid is four already, and he’s just NOW getting an iPad?!?  Slacker.”  Okay, so you were more likely thinking along the lines of: “Why does your four year old need an iPad?”  That’s a really great question, thanks for asking.

There are some concerns that children will be less creative when exposed to the world of technology on a regular basis, and I think that’s a valid concern.  I understand the value of physically manipulating toys and objects and art supplies, which is why I don’t allow the iPad to replace those things, only supplement them.  Rowan has free access to all of his art supplies and his toys of course, while he has to ask to use the iPad.  I don’t say yes every time, forcing him to stretch his imagination, even if he whines about being bored.  We spend time outside every day, no matter the weather, and he will choose to go out and play over sitting inside with the iPad 100% of the time.  If that’s the case, one could easily argue that there is no need for an iPad in the first place.  Good argument guys!  I’m impressed!

Technology is going to be a central part of our kid’s lives, we might as well help them become comfortable with it now.  Rowan can turn on, operate his with ease, and even knows where to get free books to download.  Of course I have parental locks on there, so he can only access age-appropriate and pre-approved sites.  When I am unavailable to read to him, ie: cooking dinner, he can sit in the kitchen and be read to. (I’m a single mom, and in addition to Rowan, my 93 year old grandmother lives with us.  There’s only one of me, and sometimes I need backup.)  I confess, I’ve used it to “babysit” my child while I do things around the house, or while waiting at the DMV, or on long car trips.  Is it replacing his ability to wait?  Is he learning that instant gratification is the only option?  I don’t think so.  I see plenty of instances where he demonstrates his age-appropriate attention span, even sometimes defies it.  I remember one such instance a few weeks ago, where we had to wait almost two hours, and he amused himself with a pencil, a piece of paper, and three pennies.  I’m getting off track though.  Having a screen available to amuse him is as much of a discipline in patience and control for me as it is for Rowan-maybe even more so for me.  As with most things in life, if used in moderation, it’s not a bad thing.

The iPad is a toy, yes, but it’s also a tool.  As a homeschooling mother, I run across times where Rowan is reluctant to learn.  As with any child there are moments of frustration over not wanting to practice phonics, or learn addition.  After struggling through a lesson, he can back up what he just learned with a game involving his work for the day.  In some cases he even learns more, as he is more eager to play a game than do a worksheet.  He’s hitting all of his educational goals, and exceeding some, in part to the iPad.  Games that we can play together-we do.  Games that we could play with an actual board-we do.  If my child was in a public or private school, there is a good chance he would be using an iPad, and there is a 100% chance he would be using a computer now, or in the very near future.  This is no different from that, except the technology is more advanced.

My imagination and resources can only go so far, and what I miss, the iPad fills in.  It can provide story books, text books, and magazines that I can’t provide hard copies to.  It’s a window to the rest of the world via FaceTime and the internet.  It provides art, foreign language, and music lessons that I wouldn’t know how to teach.  Let’s face it, it can teach math lessons that I don’t know how to do!

So why does it benefit Rowan to own his very own iPad, instead of just using mine?  One of the reasons is that it’s easier for me! I don’t have to worry that he’s online purchasing a 5 million dollar car off of Ebay, or messing up the order of my apps.  There isn’t a button on his iPad he can’t touch or explore.  His has an indestructible case, and parental internet controls.  I’m not frustrated with his apps cluttering up my home screen, and he’s able to pick and choose on his own what he wants to do.  His stuff isn’t filling up valuable memory space on mine, allowing both of us to have more space.  I’m less possessive and controlling with my own iPad, now that he’s got his.  I don’t hesitate to install a new app, or allow him to get a new book.  With him having his own iPad, he can take control and ownership over that part of his learning, and he gains confidence from that.

Children and technology is a fairly new topic, therefore the studies on it are young.  I’m curious to see how children in this age are affected by it, in both negative and positive ways.  For now, I’m happy to let young Rowan use this portable learning tool as a complement to his daily life.

 

 

 

January 3, 2013

Every couple of months or so, I write a blog entry in my head, but by the time I sit down to write it, I have homework to complete, or am too tired, or need to vacuum up the hamster poop from under Rowan’s bed, where the hamster, Caillou, spent a day trying to evade capture.  It was a harrowing escape from his cage, with 4 foot plummets, dashes across rugged terrain laden with petrified remains of an afternoon snack, and two maniacal predators, that stalked the addled little rodent, but were too lazy to actually hunt him.  Instead they just sat on the piano bench, licking their paws, and emitting a half meow/half growl sort of sound and left the actual capture to me.  They licked between their toes, kicked one leg into the air to lick their back sides, and then licked each other’s ears, all the while keeping their eyes locked on Caillou.  This story has a happy ending, because not only was the hamster successfully returned home, but you’re getting a blog post out of it!

It’s been a remarkable year.  The most significant and life-altering event was the death of my dear, sweet best friend.  She was brave and brilliant and inspiring.  She was enchanting and confident and bright.  She was my grandmother.  I miss her more than I knew it was possible to miss someone.  While the pain isn’t as raw, those lugubrious moments still creep through, and I find myself crying over silly things.  Just yesterday there was a cardinal prowling for food, and preening itself on a branch not far from where she used to sit in her room.  There is no longer a bird feeder there, but every now and then a hungry bird will wander over to make sure the food is still gone.  When these little remnants of her life pop up, that hole she left suddenly feels bigger, and I ache to hear her laugh, listen to her read to me, or cuddle in her bed discussing life.  It’s been nearly a year since I’ve been able to experience any of those things, but less selfishly, it’s been nearly a year that Grandma has been out of pain.  It’s been nearly a year that she’s been able to walk and run and jump with her husband, her parents, her family and friends, and her dogs.  It’s been nearly a year since she arrived at the gates of heaven.  She’s perfect and whole now, and that’s enough for me to be able to let her go from this crumbling world.

This year Rowan and I both ventured into the world of academia!  Rowan started his home school career this fall, and has flourished.  He eagerly devours any work pages I give him, kicks my booty in any educational game, and gently corrects me when he sees I’ve put the days of the week in the wrong order.  (Okay, he laughed his head off and said, “MOOOOOOM, even I know Tuesday comes before Thursday!”)  He loves any arts and crafts we do, and puzzles are easily solved.  I think his favorite thing is when I don’t give him a cap on the amount of books I’ll read to him.  Wobbly stacks of literature surround us on Rowan’s bed where we learn about bats and insects.  We laugh at Curious George, and marvel at  mighty construction vehicles and powerful locomotives.  I’ve started reading to him from Charlotte’s Web, and he’s learning to sit quietly, use his imagination, and to genuinely love words.  It’s magical.  Homeschooling is proving itself to be the best path for my little family.  It provides us ample time to be together, a flexible schedule, and a peace of mind  I certainly wouldn’t have sending my four year old to public school.   I also get a firsthand seat to the greatest show out there-watching my son grow up.  We have such an amazing homeschooling community here, filled with friends and mentors and other parents to encourage me.  Rowan has friends to play with, learn from, and be a wonderful example to him.  Rowan is swiftly on his way to graduating before I do.

I went back to college this fall to chase the geekiest degree I could find: Library Science.  In other words, I want to be a librarian.  Highest paying job out there?  No.  Most prestigious? Not really.  Great benefits?  Not so much.  A job I’ll love doing, won’t bemoan over having to attend daily, and something I’ll be proud to support?  Without a doubt.  My grandmother instilled an intense love of literature in me at a young age.  She exposed me to so many genres and authors that now I love to read everything from biographies to science fiction to the articles in Country Magazine.  She taught me to write and be read to.  She taught me the difference between books to read for fun and books to change the way I view the world.  I want to inculcate, to infuse that same kind of lust for reading into others.  I would thrive in a job like that.

Grandma’s death brought many of her most beloved friends and family into our(her) home.  People poured onto our front porch, and story after story was acquainted of her life.  Many were from her childhood, some were from her adulthood, a few about her death.  There was one recurring theme that popped up no matter where she was, what she was doing, or who she was with.  She gave.  She gave her time and her talents.  She gave everyone a smile.  She gave advise and encouragement.  She gave me a love of words, and some of the best memories of my life.  Every person at that service knew that it was a celebration of who Jean Emily Wetherbee was.  It ended up being the highlight of my summer, as I was able to reconnect with relatives I haven’t seen for years, and meet some I’ve somehow managed to live my whole life without knowing.  We are not perfect, but let me tell you something about my family: we genuinely love each other.  I know I’m sort of biased, but I think my family is pretty cool, and I wish we all lived closer together.

In between all the big stuff this year has been lots of little stuff.  Rowan completely potty trained himself in one day.  Early in the year he just decided that he was done, and would wear underwear now-even at night.  He never had an accident, and I have happily spent all his diaper money on chocolate.  He turned 4, decided he would start reading, and soaked up any form of words people would give him. He’ll sit for as many books as you’ll read to him, he loves hearing different languages, and he’s more stubborn than….than….I was going to say me, but that’s not possible.  He’s just really stubborn, and unlike some parents, I don’t want to punish it out of him.  I want that strength to do what he believes is right, to follow him for the rest of his days.  I know it’s my job to mold that little boy into a man.  He’s not perfect, as nobody is, but he is a wonderful example of love, energy, a hunger for learning, humor, and a mischievous streak a mile long.

I’ve never in my life been so confident with where I am and where I’m going.  I’m happy.  My son is happy.  It’s just the two of us in our little family, but two is all we need.

Changes August 19, 2012

Did you guys feel that?  It’s the change in the air.  Not only is my favorite time of year(fall) quickly sneaking up on us, but life is about to drastically change in my household.

Tommorow I start school.  “For what?!” Everyone asks.  The answer is a slippery one, and I don’t even know what it is.  For now, I will take whatever classes interest me, and whatever comes of it, I’ll be ok with.  At least I’m doing something.  At least I’m moving forward.

While I’m in class for two full days a week my mom will be hanging out with Rowan.  I do understand what a drain on my mother this will be, but we both know it’s what is best for him.  He will spend some time with my aunt, and if any other of my local peeps want to hang out him, let me know!

Thursday, my cousin treated Rowan, Liz, and I to the state fair.  It was awesome and so much silly fun.  There was a free circus at this year’s fair, and while a buffalo balanced on a plank not ten feet from my face, I didn’t really see it.  The look on my young boy’s face was a gift for me.  A thank you for life, for HIS life, for the life he is allowed to live.  He was positively glowing.  I couldn’t move my eyes from those round cheeks, with that ever-present dimple.  The way the soft light hit his chin, with the smudge of fair dirt that I didn’t bother to wipe away.  Kids are meant to be dirty and happy and so gleeful that they aren’t even aware of anything but joy.  Those wide, sparkly eyes, dirty blonde hair falling into his face…he brushed it away, wrapped his arms around Uncle Kenny’s neck, twisted around, stood and clapped with the audience.  He grinned at me, flipped back and landed in his original position.   These are the tiny moments sprinkled through my life that will be forever burned into my mind.  That look….oh, I will always remember that look.

This Friday will mark the fourth anniversary of meeting the main man in my life.  Four years ago I gave birth to the cutest little blonde bundle.  He was alert and wiggly and the most handsome thing I’d ever seen.  It was love.  It still is.  He’s growing up strong and intelligent.  He’s growing up well.

 

Almost Four July 24, 2012

Rowan will be four a month from today.  CAAAAARAAAAZAY!  Anyway, here are a couple of videos to show him off, and also show the people that know him in real life what he’s really like.  HINT:  He’s NOT shy.  And he really likes to sing.

All we Need is Love July 11, 2012

You guys.  You guys…my blond, soft skinned, tender hearted, wild child snuggled in bed with me tonight.  He rested his head on my shoulder and we both let out sighs that said more about our day than words ever could.  Things like tantrums, playing legos with mom, whining, demanding, baking cookies together, inability to cope, mommy is funny when she tries to get my armpits, exhaustion, and love.  I hope there was a lot of love in those sighs-swirling in the air above my bed before slipping away-out the half opened window.  The day is now done.  We’ve done what we could and that is that.  It is what is.  I can’t help but wonder if I did enough.  Did I love enough?  Did I tickle him enough?  Did he learn enough?  Was I all the mother he needed in every moment throughout the day? 

I think about these things, with a frown on my face.  I look down and am almost moved to tears by the huge blue eyes and the innocent face staring up at me.  I wanted to shroud him in my love and be able to promise him that no evil nor pain will ever penetrate his world again.  Knowing I couldn’t possible follow through with anything as grand as that, I just smiled and kissed the tip of his nose.  “Call me Papacito, Mommy.  Call me that and then say I love you the best.  Say it, ok?  Mom, you say it now, ok?  Please mom?”

“Goodnight Papacito, I love you the BEST!” I kissed his cheek this time, causing him to sink deeper into my shoulder.  Rowan sighed once more, but this time I could read every single thing that he was releasing with that breath. “I am loved.”  “I am safe.” ”I am wanted.”  “Mommy may get frustrated with me, but she never for one second, stops loving me.”  I am loved.”  “I am loved.”  “I am loved.”  “I am loved,”  And then he is asleep. 

We had a hard day.  He is stubborn and strong-willed and brilliant-a deadly combination.  He knows how to get his way, but when I assert my authority, he tries to find a loop-hole in my reasoning as to WHY he doesn’t have to do what I’m asking.  I will NOT raise a child that does not respect authority.  I will NOT raise a child that does not obey.  I WILL raise a child that knows he has a home of unconditional love to come home to.  Doesn’t matter how many times he pushes my buttons, disobeys, lies, or says something smart-mouthy(Gee, wonder where he gets that from?  Me?  Eeeeep….), I will ALWAYS love him.  Today wasn’t great, but my almost four year old is asleep overflowing with love from his little family. 

I may not have had the kind of day I would brag about, I guess in the end, it’s the end that matters.  I may have gotten frustrated, he may have gotten mad, that’s okay.  We love each other, if for the rest of his childhood the only thing he thinks about while falling asleep is how loved he is than I AM A GOOD MOM.  When I was called to be a Mama, I wasn’t being called to perfection.  That’s something I need to hold on to each and every day.

Dear Life, July 6, 2012

Dear Life,

                When you do something, you really go all out, don’t you?  This is not always a bad thing, as you’ve given me some really amazing gifts.  Let me give you a few of my favorite examples: 

1. My son of course is the biggest, best, and most beautiful.  The rest of my family isn’t too shabby either.  Every single one of them drives me insane.  I mean, off the wall, batty insane.  How is this a good thing?  For every time they make me want to run away from them, they make me laugh so hard I could cry.  Sometimes I do.  They are my world. 
2. My friends.  How cliché…my family and my friends are my best gifts from you.  Pssssh…whatevs…haters gonna hate.  Bottom line though is that while I’m not always a good one, the friends you’ve given me have rarely let me down.  So, you know, thanks for that.
3. My past.  Saaaaaay whaaaaat?!  I know, I know, it’s been strange for me to wrap my brain around that one too.  Without my past, I wouldn’t be where or who I am today.  I’m not done evolving, and I’m not done going places, but I’m pretty darn proud of how much crap I’ve plowed through to get here.  (Did you get the farming reference?  I live around a lot of farms.  FARMS.  Plowing?  Crap?  Mmmmmk.)
4. My place of residence.  The place where I rest my head every night.  The place I arrange into not a house, but a home.  A home for my son to grow up and form the past that he’ll be writing about some day.  It’s a home that my grandmother can feel  safe and cared for and at peace in during the last years of her life.  It’s a home that’s not a NURSING home, which is her worst nightmare.  It’s a small house, nothing fancy.  It’s got rooms and walls and carpets that are dirty, because the previous owners put white carpet through the whole house.  WHY WOULD SOMEONE DO THAT?  By the world’s standards, it’s not a particularly nice house.  For the three of us though, It. Is. Perfect. 

 

So why, you ask, am I thanking you for these things, Life?  I’m thanking you because this past week you preserved every one of those things when you could have ripped them away from me without so much as a how do you do.  Yet, here I sit, in my house, with my son fast asleep next to me, his sweaty right leg thrown over my thigh.  My niece and nephew are peacefully reading in the room across the hall, and my parents are across the street, resting from a day of grandkids and cleaning up after the land hurricane. 

1.                 Wait.  What?  Oh yeah, that.  Life, WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?!??  Friday night you threw a heck of a curveball.  On Thursday afternoon we were pleased as punch to hear that our good friends Jane and Barry needed some dog sitters for two of the most awesomest  dogs  that this earth have ever had the privilege of being pooped on by.  Rowan had I had just finished a three day stint out at their incredible house by the river, and I think our hearts were still there….floating around in the woods and frolicking by the campfire.  To add to the wonderment, my niece Alisa, was staying with us, so she’d get to share in the joy.  So we packed up (well, I packed up, and not very well mind you.  In my excitement I forgot to pack any extra clothes for myself.  THANK GOODNESS I remembered the chocolate and cookies though!) and hit the open road!

                We arrived to the kind of welcome only dogs can give.  You know, boundless love and energy, and a few sniffs to the crotch.  After acclimating Alisa to her temporary home, we lotioned up and dove into the river.  It was a perfect day for it too; brutally hot.  Thank you for that sun that burned our shoulders and warmed our lunch.  Thank you for that humidity and stillness that drove us to spend hours wading in the water and searching for smooth rocks.  It was ultimately that weather that would later cause me to huddle in the stairway with my child weeping softly into my neck, but it couldn’t take away from what that day had given us-perfect memories.

                After a campfire and marshmallows and too many mosquitos, the kids bathed, and played with trains, and bickered too much, I read them some stories, and tucked Alisa into bed.  She instantly fell into a deep sleep.  Rowan and I wandered down the hall and cuddled together while I did my nightly meandering around the internet, and he sing-songed himself into a happy relaxation.  The dogs were worn out from their day and sighed contentedly as they drifted off into a near oblivion.

Rowan was fighting sleep, as he usually does when he is overtired.  I was deep into Pintrest when the lights flickered and then went out.  This happened the last time we were there due to a thunderstorm.  I glanced out the window and saw nothing but blue sky and a woodchuck that was waddling up the driveway to, I can only assume, chuck wood.  Surprised, I jumped out of bed, alerting my little boy.  Fully awake now, he clung to me and together we went out to investigate. 

                I’ve never seen the weather change so quickly or so drastically.  My gut reaction was panic-rightfully so too.  A sound so foreign and so loud filled every space surrounding me that my human brain could not process it.  (Later I was to learn that tornados had touched down not far from us.)  The sky instantly turned shades of grey and black with bold streaks of lightning as my only way of glimpsing the steps in front of me.  Great, the apocalypse, I thought.  And me without a clean change of underwear…

I rushed my precious child inside, and stood in the dark visibly shaking.  Sensing my fear, Rowan started to cry.  At this point I can’t recall the details.  I was so filled with a feeling of dread and doom that I don’t WANT  to remember the details.   Even thinking about writing about it almost sends me into a panic attack.  Post-traumatic stress disorder, much?!

 I was appointed the task of protecting two small children and two dogs that didn’t belong to me, and I had no clue how I was going to do that.  I was completely and utterly out of control and I was  sure we were all going to die.  And it was going to be my fault for being unable to protect who and what mattered the most.  This is where the details get a little sketchy.  To summarize that time period of about three hours in one word: terrifying.  I went back and forth between throwing two very sleepy, very frightened children, and two damp and excitable dogs into my little Ford and making a break for it -or trying to organize that same entourage and gather them under the house for as long as it took for whatever it was you were throwing at us to pass.  Life, at that point in time, I was very disappointed in you.  At the very least you could have given some hint of what you had tucked up your sleeve.  Instead, you literally left me in the dark, a baby on each hip, pleading for our lives.  You’re like a scumbag deadbeat dad.  I’m so taking you to court for past child support.  Life, you can be a real JERK sometimes!

On the other hand, do you have any idea how humbling it is to hear a three year old pray for your life?  No, no, not his life, YOUR  life.  He bypassed his own primal instinct to protect himself, and instead held open his hand and offered me his own, priceless prayer.  My kid….my kid….he is the epitome of all things wonderful.

As you’ve probably already surmised, we made it through your storm.  The next morning the sun shone brightly, and the little world capsulated in the river house seemed all right.  After finally being able to get through to my parents, reality hit like a ton of bricks.  West Virginia was in a state of emergency after the hurricane left almost of all of it, and some surrounding states without power, without water, and with much damage.  The wind had ripped up trees, torn apart houses, and downed power lines.  The lightning had set many fires and the chaos of it all left residents bewildered and lost. 

Here we are, seven days later, still no power, in the midst of a heat wave, all the food in our refrigerators thrown out, no gas for cooking-no gas for cars.  Yet, we thrive.  Life, you can’t get us down.  Neighbors have been helping neighbors.  We’ve hosted our elderly back-yard neighbor for many meals, dad cooking on his grill.  In return she’s brought us ice.  (The stores have a very limited supply and are rationing it out when it’s there.)  People are helping each other clear up the brush and downed trees and siding from their houses.

 I went and got my nephew after the storm, as he is diabetic, and needs to eat certain amounts at certain times.  Without a grill or any other way to prepare meals, the options were limited.  I will openly admit it hasn’t been easy with three kids and not even a fan to cool our overheating bodies.   We’ve swam in the pool, thrown water balloons, ran through the sprinkler-anything to beat the heat.  The heat is kind of beating us back.  The kids have fought and bickered and tattled and I’ve come close to wanting to crawl into a cave and stay there for a month.  I’m tired.  I’m hot.  I miss electricity.  I miss the internet.  We were close-the internet and I.  I feel so abandoned.

All this being said, you may have tried to show us who was in charge around here, but I think we proved it’s not you.  Life, you are powerful and ornery, but we have such a strong will to survive, that we will.  My three children are learning to live without TV, video games, or lights.  They’ve figured out how to read by candlelight and lanterns, how to set up miles of hot wheels track on the porch and launch cars into the bushes.  They’ve learned to get out crayons and play-doh without being prompted.  They’re ok with being bathed in the pool, or with water heated up on the grill.  They’re good with peanut butter sandwiches for lunch every day, and cereal with powdered milk.  They know how to push each other’s (and mine) buttons and make each other cry, but Rowan, Dylan, and Alisa have never been closer.  Thank you for that.

We’re ready to get back to our “normal” routine, but we’ll continue to live outside our comfort zone for as long as we need to.  Thanks for giving us a little dose of humility.  We’ll always remember the summer you reminded us that you can be a lot simpler than we often make you out to be.

 

                                                                                Love,

                                                                                     Me