life of seven

Christmas Joy

Ah, Christmas...so sweet and lovely and sparkly and special. The night we decorated the tree was just magical. I couldn't seem to take a single bad photo as the kids delightedly hung ornaments and stood back to admire them Part of the magic came in watching Clementine explore the new, brightly lit decoration in the house, that was covered with bright, glittery balls. One of those balls proved irresistible to her and finally ended up broken to shards (as they do) and needed to be swept up. It's hard to keep her away from the tree, because she just loves it so much. Her other favorite thing to do with our decorations is to go through the house and find all the little baby Jesus's. I think we have three different Nativity sets of one sort or another, including one of her very own, made of soft dolls that stick to their stable with velcro. 

My heart was so full that night as we gathered to watch a Christmas movie together, and I have hardly felt as thankful as I did that night that all of us were together, healthy, happy, safe. So often it seems too good to be true. I should always be more grateful for the blessings given to me, and repent of those times I take our wonderful life together for granted. 

Up until last night, this Christmas season, and life in general, was feeling quite hectic and rushed, with trying to get back into some sort of school routine after returning from Denmark; getting all the kids well, running the regular household again, long overdue dental visits. Meanwhile I felt I should be wanting to prepare for the holidays, but it was feeling more like a chore to me than a want. I think I realized, though, that whatever happens this holiday season will happen, and what we don't get to will just have to be okay.

Yes, there are two birthdays coming up: Grace's and Truman's, but even a trip to the movie theater to see the new Star Wars (something everyone in my family is highly anticipating, though least of all me, but I wouldn't miss their faces when they see it for the world) would make a wonderful birthday celebration all by itself.  This time of year I feel the guilt of not organizing photos and making a photo album, but I'm not going to let that bother me either. If I get to it, wonderful, and if not, it will eventually happen, and of course, there's always next year!

The worry about gifts bought, handmade items finished, Christmas songs learned on the piano, and cookies or candy made should never steal away the joy of the season. What matters most of all is that we're all together (Back in Colorado! Back in Colorado!). Celebrating life together and the birthday of King Jesus is the best gift of all.

Stockholm, Sweden

 

Please forgive my rather erratic posts over the last few weeks. It seems there's either no posting for several days, or else its a post with a million pictures. This is a post with a million pictures.

Anyway, these are all pictures from our trip to Stockholm. What a beautiful city it is; we enjoyed every minute there. The weather was absolutely glorious the weekend we were there. The sun shone the entire time, with not even a cloud in the sky. It reminded me a lot of fall in Colorado, actually, though it was bit cooler. Nevertheless, we were able to shed some of our coats and hats as we explored the city. 

Our favorite thing we did on the trip was visit the Vasa Museum, right downtown along the water's edge. Probably one of the best museums our family has ever visited, the museum is a huge building built around a warship from the 1600's that sank, get this, 500 meters into its maiden voyage. It then rested in its watery grave for over three hundred years until in the 1950's it was discovered buried in the sea, brought to the surface and restored. The restoration process itself is mind boggling, and has been called "the world's largest jigsaw puzzle", with 98% of the re-built ship being original. Furthermore, the museum was put together in such an interesting way, with many levels to be able to see the ship from all angles and many displays and videos made to illustrate ship life in the 1600's. We were there so long I began to fear ever getting to eat lunch, and then I began to fear ever being able to drag my husband out at all. I do believe we came closer to exploring every inch of that museum than any we've visited before. Anyway, definitely worth the visit should you ever have the chance in your lifetime. I'm grateful we got the chance. And, I'm grateful we walked straight to a hot dog stand afterward. 

I know there must be plenty of American foods that don't sound good to other people, such as, perhaps, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Or dipping cookies and graham crackers in milk, till they're soggy. That probably sounds gross to people who haven't grown up eating it. So, in that note, I must admit that when I read the option at the hot dog stand for a hot dog with two scoops of mashed potatoes on top, I was a bit taken aback. I wasn't quite hungry enough to go with the hot dog with mashed potatoes. Now I kind of regret it. Maybe I am missing out on something amazing. Maybe when I get home and feel homesick for Scandinavia, I will cook up some mashed potatoes and scoop them on a hot dog, just to see.

We were able to ride on a ferry along the water through downtown Stockholm, got pictures of tourists taking pictures of Clemmie, came across some swans- fantastic- ate some great food, but, regrettably, were not at any restaurants that served Swedish pancakes. Jude was so sad about this. When he heard there were no pancakes at the restaurants, his eyes squinted up and he blinked away tears and said, "But why? Why are there no pancakes? Can't they get pancakes?" He was crushed. Well, add that to the list of foods I will make at home when I'm feeling homesick for the Nordic countries.

The weekend was fantastic, and felt like something out of a dream, with the amazing weather, some great sight seeing, and Clemmie having the absolute best morning of her life at the Junibacken, Stockholm's children's museum which I will write about in an upcoming post. The only part of the trip that wasn't perfect was the coming home, when our train to Copenhagen got delayed by over two hours, causing us to miss subsequent trains to our home. It was late in the night and kids were either extremely hyper or sound asleep, and getting us all home by two in the morning was one of the most exhausting things I've done in my life. I was never so glad as to get in bed as I did when I crawled in when we finally got home. I could have cried. Sometimes, though, just as many memories are made from less than ideal circumstances as from perfect ones. And I know I'll never forget how good my bed felt at two in the morning after our long journey home from Sweden.

Les Miserables, West End, London

One of the funnest things we did on our trip to London was going out to dinner with our four older kids (we traded nights babysitting the little ones with our friends) and going to see "Les Miserables" at West End. It was an experience I couldn't believe I was sharing with my children. Since the age of thirteen, I had desperately wanted a chance to see "Les Mis" live, ever since I became familiar with the play and the music. Since then I have listened to the songs many, many times, and eventually took my older girls to see the movie in the theater when it came out. I know many people loved the movie version, and while it was a great experience to watch the movie version and hear all the songs, I had such a hard time hearing Hugh Jackman singing Val Jean instead of Colm Wilkinson. Colm Wilkinson sings like an angel. A male angel. The female angel vocal award goes to Julie Andrews. Second place goes to Lea Salonga, who was made famous in part to her performance of Eponine, a performance that I really believe is second to none. So yes, she sings like an angel, too. I just love her.

But where was I? Yes, the movie was okay, but to me the play is more about the music than huge scenes and putting more into emoting rather than singing. And, you know, I do believe Russell Crowe really tried with Javert, and I've gotta tell him, good effort, and I'll stop now before I say something cruel.

Finally, a couple of years ago, when my husband took a business trip to London and was kind enough to take me along, and I must also add, our friends were kind enough to take turns watching the six children while we were both gone, we went together to see the stage production of Les Mis. It was a dream come true. I had desperately wanted to see it for about 20 years at that point. And true to my suspicions, it did make a much better play than a movie. What they did with the sets and the stage, the lighting, and best of all, the singing, just could not be topped. 

When I got back from that trip to London, I just couldn't stop raving about it to the kids, even though they felt quite envious. So we just continued to listen to the songs, arguing with each other about which was our favorite, debating about who sang the best Fantine, having the (non) debate about whether "Les Mis" is better than "Phantom of the Opera" (of course it is!),  searching for a Val Jean who came close to Colm Wilkinson, and occasionally listening once again to Russell Crowe attempt to sing the part of Javert, all thanks to youtube.. 

When I discovered we would be able to take the kids to London, I realized they would get a chance to see our very favorite musical. It was just the best night ever. There's just nothing better than sharing your very favorite life experiences with your kids. It just feels too good to be true.

The cast, like when Ben and I had seen the play in London two years ago, was just amazing. I have to give extra props to the man who played the role of Javert. Usually I don't feel like that role is done justice, not even when sung by Mr. Crowe (snort). When we saw it in London, though all the actors were amazing, I really felt Javert was the standout in the cast. In my opinion, one of the best songs in Les Mis is "The Stars," due to it's complexity both musically and lyrically, and at the play we saw, I felt it was the best song of the night. Though that's a hard call. The scene at the end, where Val Jean dies and Fantine and Eponine come into the room singing in beautiful harmony is still kind of haunting me. So it's hard to say for sure. Anyway, it was just an amazing night spent together as a family, one we will remember for the rest of our lives. I love live music, and there's certainly been some great music heard on this trip.

Catching up a bit

October. My very favorite month of the year. I hope Denmark's October promises to be as beautiful and cozy and wonderful as Colorado's. Sunday we went for the most glorious walk. The sun was out and shining, the weather was warm enough to discard our jackets, and it felt just like the perfect fall day. Our walk brought in Roskilde brought us in close proximity to the North Sea, where Vikings used to sail their ships, and where jellyfish, hundreds and thousands of them, swim. I could have stood there all day, observing them floating around hypnotically. I'm pleased my camera was able to get a decent picture of them.

I have a couple more days of our London/Paris trip to show you, but I'm eager to get back to my normal daily life blog posting. It's my favorite type to do. I have trouble describing big events without feeling like a journalist of some kind. I much prefer writing about our little life adventures, in homeschooling, in knitting (of course), in raising a large family. I hope to post about our trip over the weekend perhaps. And anyway, that's all I'm going to say about that.

This week I am striving to have more patience as a mother and as a teacher. It's too easy to freak out about any little thing that comes up, or get upset or angry when someone isn't doing what they should be doing. I am praying that I would use a sweeter, kinder tone with everyone. Sometimes just being aware of something that is an issue gets you halfway toward fixing it. A peaceful home is a happy place to be, and I want to set the example for everyone else. Since it's no longer Monday, let me wish you all a happy Tuesday!

On the bus in London, England

 The second we arrived in London, England- no wait, let me rephrase that. The second the children learned we would be going to visit London, England, I began being bombarded with the question, "Are we going to get to ride on one of those double decker buses? Can we ride on the top?"

I was asked this question, and many other iterations of it, no less than three thousand seventy-nine times, so the minute we were in the city, I begged Ben as hard as the children to let us "Please ride on one of those double decker buses, on the top, immediately, before I lost my mind being asked about it again."

The funny thing about having quite a few children, is that if each one innocently asks me, even only once, to get to do something, by the time child number four asks me for the same thing, I respond, unfairly, and none too gently, with, "Can you stop asking me that question! I've told you a thousand times, yes, we are going to ride on one of those buses!!!!"

And then poor Evie looks at me in astonishment and says, "But I only just now asked you. This is the first time I've asked, I promise!"

At this point I apologize, and realize I should probably take better notes of with who I answered what question. However, I'm pretty certain that at least my littlest boys, Jude and Truman, each asked me about the bus 50 times alone.

So, the first thing we did in London was ride on the double decker bus. Actually, the first thing we did was go to McDonald's and order breakfast. Jude and Truman had porridge. Because, we were in England. Porridge is on the menu. Naturally. I asked if it was like oatmeal, and the woman looked at me, confused, and said, "No, it doesn't come as a meal. You have to order it by itself."

Ah, gotcha. So porridge, not oatmeal, it was. After this we hopped on the Tube to the center of the city. We got quite good at navigating the Tube, I must say. I'm sure the other passengers, upon hearing our children's squeals of joy, and amazement, and laughter, as we whizzed through tunnels underground, must have reminded them of the story of the city mouse and the country mouse. "How quaint," may have been in their thoughts. At any rate, we certainly livened up that train.

I think my snapshots of the city speak for themselves, in regard to our first day in London. Rather than taking too many days writing about this trip, or rather than putting up fewer pics, I'm just going to sort of bombard you for the next few days with a whole bunch of photos. The editor in me is taking a vacation. I've spent enough time lately editing my children's creative writing each day, in fact. So I'm just going to put a bunch of pictures of the trip. If there's too many, you can just ignore them and scroll down.

Thankfully, Ben responded to my pleas and okayed the bus tour first thing. When we turned the corner to St Paul's Cathedral, we jumped off the bus to visit it. This is that St. Paul's, of Mary Poppin's "Feed the Birds" fame. I just dare you to try to walk around that glorious cathedral and not sing, or at the very least, hum,

"All around the cathedral,

The saints and apostles

Look down as she sells her wares..."

No photos were permitted inside the building, so you don't get to see any of those, but I'm certain there are better renditions of the inside through a quick google search than what I would be able to take, anyway.

 Most of the other pictures in this post were taken from the top of our double decker bus tour. I'm absolutely certain it was as wonderful to my children as they imagined it would be. I'm really glad we were able to start out our trip with a tour of the city like we did. It gave us such a feel for the city of London. Seeing Big Ben, parliament, and other notable buildings from that angle was unbeatable.

I'm a bit of an Anglophile, and while I would never care to live in a big city, as far as visiting one goes, London is my very favorite. You just can't beat those British accents. Or those bright red double decker buses.

Birthday Party

Happy, happy, birthday, Little Miss Clementine Merriweather Davenport. And a happy, happy birthday to my aunt, Ruth, as well. The morning Clementine was born, Ben called up my Aunt Ruthie (that's what I've called her all my life, can't bear to call her anything else) and said, "Happy Birthday, Ruth!"

She said, surprised, "Why, how nice of you to remember!" (Ben and I aren't exactly known for keeping up with birthdays...I should change that...anyway:) 

Ben said, "I thought you might like to hear that you have a brand new baby niece to share a birthday with from now on."

Well, my aunt thought that was just wonderful. I could hear her delight through Ben's side of the conversation over the phone. My dad's side of the family is very sentimental like that, in a good way. They are the kind of people that stand in the driveway waving when you leave the house till long after the car is out of sight. They are the kind that call up and sing "happy birthday" to you on the phone, and if you don't answer, leave a message of them singing it instead. They are the thoughtful sort that thinks all birthdays are deserving of breakfast in bed, no matter what the age of the birthday person.

Of course I know this since I grew up in the same town as my aunt (and the rest of her family) and was always treated very special by them on my birthday, and so many other days. I thought it was great that Clementine shared a birthday with my aunt.

This year, for her first birthday, and Clementine's being the last one year birthday I would celebrate of my children, I wanted to make sure I did something special to commemorate it. And four days before her birthday, I came up with the perfect thing: a party for Clementine, with a surprise guest of honor, her aunt.

Naturally this fell on the weekend of Grace's big concert, with a camping trip to follow in a few days, and a humungous move to Denmark after that. It made perfect sense to throw everything together like that.

I'm impulsive, and I always have been. I could blame it on my husband's influence on me (he's the same way) but I'm afraid it wouldn't be fair to do that, since I have been this way my whole entire life. If an idea occurs to me I generally just try to do it without putting much thought into the logistics of it. 

By Sunday morning, the day the party was to take place, I had done basically nothing to prepare for the party, but between my parents, my sisters, and my kids, we had transformed the yard by noon and beautiful cakes, homemade pesto, zucchini from the garden, and fresh bread were all made. We brought our couch outside, a coffee table, and thanks to Grace's concert the night before, had several bouquets of flowers with which to decorate the tables in the yard.

It was such a lovely party.

I have to say, Clementine was the perfect one year old. She did exactly what one expects a one year old to do at their first birthday party, but seldom does. She was awake and cheerful through the entire thing. She visited with people and tolerated being held by, what were to her, strangers. No, she didn't blow out her candle, but she was wide eyed and happy to stare at it in a mesmerized fashion.

She immediately grabbed the raspberries off the plate and popped them in her mouth, despite all the faces staring at her and cameras aimed at her (I've known many a baby to burst into tears at this point or be completely camera shy and just sit there, uncertain what to do). She picked at the cake and smeared frosting over herself, and plopped most of it on the ground, to the delight and entertainment of her guests. Hardly a bite was actually eaten.

Once cleaned up, she sat on Grace's lap for the opening of the gifts, and seemed to know exactly how to open them, and that we all expected her to. She tore open the paper and inspected the box to see what was inside. She appropriately appreciated each gift by hugging the stuffed animals, admiring the new dress, glancing curiously at the new duplos, and adoring the new books. One stuffed animal, a giant stuffed fish, she did not appreciate. She seemed frightened by its large eyes and mouth and pushed it away, frustrated. This, however, brought a rousing laugh out of everyone, so she continued those antics for quite some time.

In summary, the party went just how I had hoped it would, and had worried it wouldn't the night before, when I realized all the preparation that needed to be done the next day.

Clementine, my darling, I've loved every day that you have been with us, from the moment I first knew I was expecting you, to your birth, to your very first birthday, and every day in between. You bring joy and delight to all those around you and we are so privileged to have you in our family. It's been a year now, that I've enjoyed looking into the lives of my seven children. At times it's crazy, hectic, loud, messy, and disorganized, but at other times it's peaceful, cozy, fun, fascinating, educational, and comforting. I wouldn't wish for my life to be any other way than what it is right now, mothering these seven darlings every single day.

Birthday

Yep, today is my birthday. I had to stay in bed this morning while my children scurried around, making breakfast and cards and cleaning the kitchen. Sorry that I just said the words "had to." I'm sure you must feel very sorry for me. 

Greeting me when I was finally allowed to come downstairs (I'm a morning person, okay? I fly out of bed the second my eyes open, the earlier the better) was a beautifully decorated table and perfectly cooked eggs and toast.

"We're sorry the eggs are cold, Mom! It's really hard to get breakfast cooked for everybody and have it all be hot."

So true. I told them it didn't  bother me a bit. They really did cook the eggs perfectly- I was quite impressed.

Such sweet cards they made me, and somehow my husband remembered about the jewelry I loved  that I had told him about months and months ago. Ben loves to by me jewelry. I know, poor me, again, right? The thing is I generally don't like most jewelry, and seldom wear it, either. He always seems to be on a mission to find me just the right necklace- and yes, it usually is a necklace, since that's the most likely thing I'll end up wearing- and I always end up saying, " I don't need it, Babe. I'm good. I have plenty of jewelry. Just buy me yarn to knit." Haha. But quite a while ago I told him about  Alex Monroe and told him, "Now there's a necklace I actually really like, if you're ever in the mood to buy me one." Wow, I'm coming across quite charming in the is post, aren't I? Well, I'm just giving you the facts, letting the chips fall where they may. Sweet man remembered the request of his sarcastic wife. 

Ben and the kids said the thimble was a kiss, just like in Peter Pan. How sweet is that?

I'm 35 this year, in case you are curious. It doesn't feel terribly significant to me, though it may for a lot of people. 30 felt like a huge leap. 35- well, I'm good. Let me just say that. My life is good. My kids are good. Everything's good. You can't say much better than that on your 35th birthday.

 

On loving my children

This week I am going to try to remember the words of Jesus: "Whoever welcomes one of these little children in My name welcomes Me." It can sometimes feel like such a mundane task, mothering. In light of all the issues going on in the world right now, and all the causes that can be taken up, raising children can seem like such a small thing to be doing with my life.

But it is no small thing when Jesus says that serving my children is the same thing as serving Him, and therefore the Father that sent Him. It's too easy for me to belittle what I do each day, to tell myself that it is unimportant. 

But when I get Truman yet another glass of water, it's the same as giving it to the Lord. I'm going to remember that today. I will strive to be kinder, more patient, more attentive, more loving to my children; and I will remember that while I am doing these things I am serving the Lord.

Brand New Baby Deer

Before I begin, let me assure you that the department of wildlife was contacted and we followed their instructions explicitly.

Yesterday, my mom and Gideon went to the back of the property where my parents' house is going to soon placed in its foundation. Soon, soon. We're so excited for them. They went to look at a deer that was back there. After a few minutes, Gideon looked down into the foundation where the crawlspace of their home is going to be.

"Grandma! Grandma! Look! Look! A baby deer! Look Grandma!"

Nestled into a corner was a tiny fawn, fur still damp and ruffled. Mom called me on my cell phone and told me to run out there to see it. I told the kids, grabbed my camera, and we rushed back to the property.

Based on a little research, I'm guessing it was less than a day old (photo is cropped- it was hard to, but I stayed back far enough to not give the baby fawn's mother a heart attack).

There is Mama. The baby fawn stays by itself for the first few days after birth and is scentless. Mama stays away so that predators will not smell the baby. A brand new baby fawn mostly lies there, motionless.

My dad grew concerned that the little baby would not be able to get out of the foundation, but the department of wildlife was closed for the day, so we decided to wait till morning to see what they advised.

Next morning, we saw the little baby had moved to another spot, but it still lay there, very, very still.

My dad spoke to the wildlife department and they gave explicit instructions on how to move the baby, agreeing that it wouldn't be able to get out on its own. We wanted to move the baby immediately before it grew any stronger and would kick or squirm. The fawn is the size of a cat, or maybe a rabbit.

Dad said he would don rubber gloves and wrap the baby in a blanket and would need to hand it to someone standing above to put the baby in the grass.

I thought Grace was going to faint with excitement when I agreed that she could be the one to do it. I knew she would follow the instructions exactly right.

The fawn had moved again, and I was able to get a nice photo as Dad picked it up. We couldn't see the mother, but knew she was watching us the whole time. The mother stays away from the baby but is always, always watching. Awwwwww....

Dad getting little Bambi...or Faline, I suppose. The blanket was to cover the fawn so no one's scent would be on it, and to cover its head so it couldn't see and be needlessly frightened. 

The expression says it all.

Done perfectly. The Spiderman blanket...well, you know how that sort of thing goes, and anyway it happened to be the perfect size and thickness for the job. Grace said the fawn barely moved.

In a safer spot now. We spied the mother's sharp ears in the grass nearby. We peeked back to see if the baby was still there 20 minutes later, and mother and baby were gone.

This was one of the best adventures of the summer. Last year it was a moose, this year a little fawn. Something none of us will ever forget it. 

One easy reason

Uh-oh. Look who thinks she is such a big girl now. And, yes I'm the mom who quick snapped a photo before I took my daughter off the somewhat precarious object she was determined to climb on. Look at me explore, Mom, she says to me with a her proud face, and now I've captured that expression  forever. Don't get me wrong, I am the first to freak out if the kids attempt anything I think is truly dangerous, justifiably or not ("Don't you dare do a flip off the high dive!"-- "There is no way you are tall enough to go on that ride...you are?...well, can we wait till next year?" --"Kids, stand back away from that rail!" "Mom, it's a hotel. I'm pretty sure they built the rail to code and I think if we look over the other side we will not compromise the rail or our safety" are all conversations that have taken place over the years).

In that vein, I don't allow Clementine  in a room with stairs with my back turned, since she is absolutely convinced she must climb them as often and quickly as possible. However, when she is actually allowed to climb those stairs (with me behind her, just in case she loses her balance and would otherwise take a tumble), she turns every few steps and gives me this look of absolute satisfaction and pride.

As her mother it feels like an allegory of what our life together will look like for the next dozen or more years. Me, gently guiding her, helping her, standing back and watching to see what she does; making sure she's safe, and applauding her triumphs and consoling her after her falls. One day, not very far off, my big girl will climb those stairs without needing any help whatever from me; one day, too, she will leave our home and be a big girl able to make her own decisions, climbing whatever mountain she chooses to try to conquer.

I've been trying to think about a short answer as to why I homeschool. It's hard, because there is no single short answer, rather there are dozens and dozens of reasons, some long and complex, some short and simple. Here's a simple one: just like I want to help my daughter take her very first steps with me by her side to protect her from any tumbles, so too do I want to continue to be that guide during her school age years, when her mind is growing, and exploring and learning. I want her to turn to me looking for my expectant smile when she achieves a great accomplishment, and I want to be the one to comfort her when she gets frustrated or even fails. I want to be her life teacher, mentor, guide, leader, friend. As a homeschooling parent, it is so much easier for me to be all of those things.

So there it is: one (short, simple, to the point) reason why I love to homeschool my kids.