Firsts

It was the night before Corynn's birthday and the stars danced and twinkled their heavenly eyes to congratulate her.

Papa was heading out of town the next day, his first out of town business trip was to be on her birthday (Wonderful timing. NOT.) and wanted to do something wonderfully memorable for her. Something special. So he gave her the best gift a father can give.
Time. Spontenaiety. Love.

Earlier that day he prepared the concrete blocks and she knew something was coming. Something good.

Secretly, I gathered the ingredients.

Then, he gathered the wood and set it aflame.

I hadn't anticipated her excitement to involve running indoors, but that she did- to fetch blanket and book. Apparently, there is nothing more appealing than firelit, blanket-cuddled reading.

We nestled our chairs up close to the fire, gathered sticks and ate Smores before dinner. During dinner. After dinner. We ate BBQ chicken bites, heated over the flames, while the peepers sang their nightsongs and the leaves whispered airy lullabyes.

Then~ all of a sudden~ ***P.o.P***

The sound was like a gunshot in the stillness of the night and the fire rudely sputtered and spit flames and smoldering wood at us. One rather large piece landed squarely on Panda's pants and there it smoldered (quite unknowingly on his part) until I noticed and in sheer terror flicked it off. I was never so thankful that he is not yet potty-trained and was protected by a diaper!

Apparently, rocks explode and my Eagle Scout husband forgot that tidbit. Since my attention was averted to my young son, I didn't notice that the chair I had just emptied to take a photograph (before the explosion) now sat with a large, quietly evil piece of flaming wood squarely in its' center. By the time it was discovered, the Patio chair pad was quite ruined.

After that, the children's chairs were moved back and the Mama and Papa risked our lives (and eyes, and skin, and clothing) to roast marshmellows for chocolatey, grahamy goo sandwiches.

An interesting turn of events, to be sure.

But our night was not ruined (though it would have been if any serious burns or scars had been a result.)

We just sat there in the darkness, chairs far enough away to be safe but close enough to feel the warmth creep into our skin, listening to the crackle of flame and enjoying the golden shadows that played about our bodies. We spoke in quiet tones and we gazed upward to find planets and constellations. We found an airplane or two, Venus, and enjoyed the moon but mostly just enjoyed the thousands of bright stars that lined that cloudless, clear night.

The expression on Corynn in this last one cracks me up. Mattie is scooting Panda back, and Corynn is wondering if another rock is gonna blow!

It was a memorable occasion, in more ways than one, but the one I trust the one the children will look back on is this: We were there with them, making moments into memories, and there is no where else we wanted to be.

And because they are abundant these days, a few more 'firsts' at the Newman Villa :

~ The first dinner at our dining room table, with REAL dishes and cloth napkins! How elegant we felt, even with just plain white Corelle.

~ A first Mama and adolescent bear sighting while eating dinner on the patio- and it found its way excitedly into conversation for days to come.

~ Our first anniversary here- which found a paper plate of grapes, cheese and crackers, and a brownie atop our bed and us toasting our lives and love with iced tea in Dixie cups. I love my husband. I love the six years I have had with him as my husband. I greedily grasp at every future year and memory the Lord will give me. Dixie cup or silver goblet, celebrated with an elegant evening or by doing nothing- our anniversary is always spent in amazement that our lives can be this good.

~ First apples eaten from our own apple tree. For several weeks, Andrew never was without one in his mouth or hands. He ate them even when they were not yet ripe, and actually enjoyed them that way!

~ A first deer family inviting itself to dinner under said Apple tree while we dined just a few yards away. Awe filled whispers and stares, and chubby, grimey dirty bare feet standing motionless in chairs to get a view.

~ Last Sunday was the first time I wore a necklace to church, that morning unpacked from a recently moved jewelry box. And I was dressed like a queen.

~ The first two child disappearances: I found them standing in empty window frames in the furthest barn from the house. They climbed up old rotten hay to perch in their own square, oblivious to the notion that I cared where they were.

~ A first pee on the potty-pot for the Panda with crowing cheers and claps from all.

~ A first night slept under covers all their own, on mattresses all their own. The children slept like babies.

~ The first box of books unpacked, joy of joys! Storytime just got more interesting!

~ The first time we 'created' with more than just crayons or a pen. Unpacking the 'art supplies' box has given us joy every day since. Markers have never seemed so vibrant until now. Construction paper is really quite beautiful. And GLUE!?! How handy!

~ Papa rested his head and fell asleep, cheek snuggled into my abdomen. Bunkin biffed him. SCORE! Your first, Bunkin!

~ A first day of Homeschool: and it ended with "Please Mama! I want to do MORE school! PLEASE can we just do a BIT more?"

It seems everyday there is something new to celebrate.

Monkeys swing from trees

Those highly observant individuals who visit my blog might have already noticed one of our most recent sky-high reaching projects.

It is certainly one of the most well-received. Painted cupboards just don't rate for the littlest Newmans, I guess.

Or unpacked plates. Or even fresh sheets.

I asked Matt to make the swing extra wide to accommodate two children at once ( I think that is SO quaint) or, perhaps, a wide-sitting Mama. ;-) I wanted something that older children could ride or littlest ones, so he made it low to the ground (easy to get on and off). I envisioned something that could be sat on OR stood on but never did I envision all the variations of riding that these kidlets o' mine have created.

It's fun to ride, but just as much fun to watch.

Who needs a head?!?

All this talk of homeschooling, painting, unpacking and construction: you might have forgotten there is a Bunkin in my oven.

As busy as I have been, I have come pretty close to forgetting myself at times. I certainly haven't doted on my unborn as oft as I usually do. But, despite my neglect of talking, posing, and introspecting on the life within me, Bunkin is in there and continues to grow and flourish, stretching my skin and tickling my insides all the live long day.

This week marks the second week of being in my third and FINAL trimester, a wonderfully exciting (and a bit nerve-wracking) milestone. Wonderfully eciting because what pregnant woman WANTS to be pregnant for eternity?!? Not I. I'd love to meet this wee one soon. Like today.

Yet, on the other hand...it is a bit nerve-wracking because I am still deep in the throws of deep cleaning and have only just begun the task of unpacking. Unpacking one room. Granted, the room is the kitchen-where the most stuff (in our case, anyway) resides, but still. ONE room-not yet completed. I fret and I worry that Bunkin is going to come and be welcomed in an unfriendly, non-homey abode that reeks of paint and cardboard til eternity. I SO want to be settled in by the time our sweet Bunkin is born. It is my greatest wish at this point.

I realized the other day that the last time I posted a photo of myself was at 16 1/2 weeks...nearly 13 weeks ago! I thought it high time, despite the fact that my tripod is still packed away in some dark and dusty place. What resulted were these Headless Horseman shots. Gotta love that. No one sees my double chin! ;-)

But when I starting looking on the computer at them...I was shocked! I don't look any bigger than what I was at 16 1/2 weeks! May I remind you what I looked like then- WAY back when?!?

This:

Now tell me, for 13 weeks later, is that not just insane???

I had a midwife appointment today and after measuring me, she assured me I was fine. In fact, I am measuring at 30 1/2 weeks. How this is possible I know not. I feel like poor little Bunkin just hasn't been growing, though each night as my insides twist and are jostled about, I know that can't be true.

Well anyway. Headless and not really all that impressive of a belly will have to do for now. I'll try to take a few more sometime soon. That is, after I practice jutting out my chin, aiming my camera heavenward, getting a breast reduction, finding a highly unflattering but very belly revealing dress and putting a pillow under there for some belly boost.

Yeah. That should do it.

Notes: The Seven Lesson School Teacher

I found this article and it intrigued me, to say the least. I am fascinated that a man awarded as New York State Teacher of the year, could write such a powerful and profound speech.

While homeschooling is often a religious choice, it is important to note that religion ain't all there is to it. This article doesn't even mention homeschooling, so don't put this out of your head thinking it is more homeschool mumbo-jumbo. It isn't.

If you homeschool- you will learn something. If you don't homeschool- You will learn something.

The Seven Lesson School Teacher

I hate painting

Is this something you know about me? It is something I am learning about myself...

This is week number one of having the house all to ourselves. The Amish workers stop by occasionally to do 'fix it' work that we discover was not done, but not regularly. I moved all their tools to the front porch and there they sit, awaiting being picked up.

It is a wonderful WONDERFUL thing, not to have to be crammed in one room while strange men work all around the house. Toward the end, it bothered me more and more. With their absence, comes responsibility though. I don't really have the excuse that I can't work because they are in the way-because they are not. Thanks to my tool hauling, neither are their tools.

The real work has begun.

One seemingly never-ending job is this: painting.

The kitchen had FOUR different shades of wood, entirely too much for my tastes. Not only that, but the cupboards were in R.O.U.G.H shape.

Despite my obvious distaste for the activity, I chose to paint the nasty cupboards- and that is what I have been doing. Every. Single. Day. Sheesh!!! Doors. Drawers. An Island. Wall cupboards. Sink cupboards. Elbows and clothes. The painting just keeps going on.

Truth is- eventually you just have to say 'when'. Several doors desperately need new paint. Closets would do well with a new coat too. As lovely as it would be to have EVERYTHING done now, it just ain't happening. I gotta just move in SOMETIME, right? Save some projects for later?! Yep.

I am really good at convincing myself of things. Like just now when I convinced myself it would be better to wait to paint the rest of the nasties until another time.

And like the day I thought it would be best to paint the cupboards in the first place.

And then, when I decided that the backs of the cabinets would look lovely with coordinated papers instead of just plain jane white paint.

Which I did because I was convinced I couldn't bear to paint the backs. It's scrapbook paper-so there are seams that can be seen. But I have convinced myself that it doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful.

Now- I just haven't decided if I ought to convince myself to keep some of the cupboards open and exposed. My dishes aren't luxury and they don't match. The whole concept looks GREAT in magazines, when they have coordinated sets and all that jazz. Would it look nice with my ecclectic groupings of modest, utilitarian dishes?

To be determined...

The gift

Papa told her to get ready for her gift and she put her hands out. Must have been expecting a book or soemthing... WA ha hahaha.

Call us crazy but we don't usually go all out on gifts around holiday times. Not in order to save money (though it certainly does and that IS a perk!) but moreso, to instill in our children a sense of thankfulness and to bypass the whole 'greed' factor. Not to mention: it helps them to grow with a right and good understanding of quantity- it isn't healthy to be overrun with "stuff"-at any age.

There is no rule in our "Newman Household Handbook" stating a certain number of gifts allotted for birthdays, but, for the last few it has been UNO. What's interesting (and fun!) is that the children don't mind in the slightest. In fact, they LOVE getting their one gift-and end up playing with it for the rest of the day and future days. They don't expect more and don't feel gipped in the slightest. I think it could be just because they have never been overwhelmed by roomfuls of gifts from the getgo. We've always had a three gift limit at Christmas-but that doesn't mean they always GET three and at birthdaytime, well, whatever goes.

Another rule NOT in our handbook (hypothetical handbook, that is...) is that the gift HAS to be brandnew. As in this birthday gift.

A bigger bike for the cool biker chick was necessary and I knew that this gift alone would thrill her so fully that no other gift could top it- so why try?!?

I went looking at yardsales and voila! A bigger bike, for five bucks. Got some cutesy spraypaint, a new spiffy basket and a really cool horn and called it good. Just so happens, Uncle John and Aunt Holly knew of our plans and got some danglies for the handbars and some other stuff to bling it out.

This is what it looked like before:

Not a bad transformation, eh?

Best of all was the little speed demon racing down the road on her new bike, all smiles..and the "Thank you Papa, for painting it pink- I love pink!"

She likes

Don't Laugh...

Since we *still* have no stove, this is the very first time in my history of wifehood and Mamahood that I have ever allowed the contemptable storebought cake into our midst. The children didn't even know you could buy cakes.

Okay.

The part about a storebought cake being contemptible is a bit of an overstatement.

And while I'm at it, I admit, my kids DO know that cakes can be bought in stores...because they admire them every time they head to the bakery for a free cookie.

But still. Never have I bought a storebought cake, never did I PLAN on buying one. Instead, our tradition has always been to have a cake made and decorated to order by the birthday girl/boy.

Lightening didn't strike me dead when I handed bills over in exchange for a rectangle of pure, spongey sugar flour. Nor does my child think any less of me. But that could be because I still decorated it to her specifications which went something like this:

"I would like a sleeping princess. On top of a bed. In a pink dress with ruffles on it and pink slippers. She has to have long blonde hair and wear a gold crown. And you have to go up lots of stairs to get to her." Kind of a mix between sleeping beauty and the Princess and the Pea, thought I. Easy enough. EXCEPT- I had to do it with NO ingredients in the cupboards (all that jazz is still packed away...)

It is much harder than I thought, decorating an already decorated cake with no decoration supplies. I got some rice krispy treats, some gel and some pink edible spraypaint (I couldn't believe they made the stuff!) and set to work. A few cookies from the pantry and some pink marshmellows helped out too.

This is by far the most pathetic looking cake I have ever decorated.

Honestly, with the candles-she looks like a corpse.

But it made Corynn happy, thankfully.

I have always liked how she is happy with whatever you can give. She never asks for more.

This is where she said "The whole cake is just so pretty- I just can't decide what piece to cut!"

Man, I love this girl. Even if she is blind.

A Whole Hand

It's a birthday sort of day today, for a certain Little Miss. A handful of years, she is.

Her first question upon waking up this morning was, "Are my feet any bigger!?!" I don't know why she wondered if her feet were bigger now that she is five, nor do I know if that fact would have been exciting or depressing for her. Who knows? She is a strange one, this girl o' ours.


But we love her, just the same.

You know what else I love about you, Little Miss?

Those deep brown eyes that know only puppy face or shiny twinkle. There is no middle ground with those eyes.

Your drama. My, you keep us on our toes!

The fact that your nose is always in a book. In the car. In your bed. Around a campfire.

Your dreams and the fact that you share them with me.

Your prayers- I have never heard such grown up prayers come from children lips.



Your giggle that has the power to make others giggle too.

That you want so much to please me. You do, every day!

That you are thankful for the one birthday present you received, and it doesn't even occur to you to look around for more.


Your scrawny little arms and your knobby knees. I have it on good authority that your Papa loves these things too.

Your great anticipation of Bunkin. You love to talk about holding the baby, and sharing a bed with him/her, and blankets. You already dream about reading books to the baby, and rocking Bunkin to sleep. And not a morning goes by that you don't say "How is Bunkin feeling today?!"


I love the maturity of your thoughts.

The quiet excitement and reverence you have when you take the bread and wine. Your thankfulness to be a part of the communion of our Lord.

Your uplifted song.

The way one moment you can be somber and quiet, and then, as if by magic...you do something silly and unexpected. Like this:




And I love the fact you can keep a straight face while doing it.

You are a darling and a dear and it will be my privilege to realize more things to love about you in the coming years. You Papa and I love you so very much, Little Miss.

And don't you forget it.

Kimono

A real Kimono, brought from Japan in Aunt Julie's suitcase, made from the softest silk and tiny fragile stitches.

What a treasure!

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