Live Free

Still trying.

It's been a weird year for me, coming down from running a preschool in my house, to not and choosing to homeschool my only child.  Beatrix is nearing seven years old. How? In seven more years she will be 14. In ten years... Where does time go? Why is it so darn fast? It feels like in the blink of an eye, we suddenly took that long drive to Amarillo on a bright, spring morning. Met our 6 pound daughter,  fell madly in love, and leapt into the wildest, most profound journey of our lifetime...parenting Beatrix.  She nearly reaches me at my shoulder. She is heavy. I can't really pick her up for more than a minute or so.  She covers my entire body when she climbs into my lap.  She struggles with goodbyes. Her intensity is unlike almost everyone I know.  She feels all the feels from a large radius around her. Oftentimes, I worry that I'm too hard on her. Oftentimes, my heart breaks when she puts herself down. Oftentimes, I wonder how did we get to this point. Oftentimes, I try to remember to take my own deep breathe as I dutifully remind her to do the same.  Oftentimes, I wish for another chance to try again, that I didn't get it right this one and only time.  Oftentimes, I feel lonely and I sense that she does too. 

We hurt. We struggle. We love. We breathe. We try again. To get it. To be kind to ourselves. To be kind to each other. To heal the wounds that we each arrived here with.

Those are the difficult times. The larger than life, is everything going to be okay times?  In between, we look like most everyone else, I suppose. I'm grateful for this season of my life, with all of it's heaviness because I still get to dream of wildflowers, sip coffee, take in the morning sunshine from my kitchen window, plan my next road trip, listen to birdsong on our daily doggy walks around the neighborhood, feel the sensation of my toes and feet submerged  into the mini rapids of our little river.  And gosh so much more. Sometimes I joke with myself that if I squint my eyes just right, there's just the right amount of blurriness around our existence and it all looks like a fairytale. And then I chuckle, raise my eyebrows, and shake my head.  I remind myself daily to let the heaviness go. What will be will be. I'm doing my best here by loving unconditionally and relentlessly and that is enough. 

And in the end, I truly believe this life is beautiful and so worth every ounce of pain.  And it shouldn't go by without a little pause and reflection. And so, I'm here. In this place that I can't quite let go of. Still trying. 

 

 

Changes

We have been on the cusp of change for awhile now. Soon, a clear line will be drawn. This spring has been so lovely. So much has happened in so many little and big ways. With more still to come.  

Birds built nest, eggs were layed, nestlings nourished,  and fledglings flew. Caterpillers captured, fennel chewed down, chrysalis's formed, butterflies emerged, and then released.  Poppies came and went. And so did the bluebonnets. There were larkspurs and sweet peas, jasmine, and evening primrose. Delicate, sweet smelling beauties. Oh April was delightful. 

The rains have come. The river is flowing. I can't remember the last time there was so much water in these parts. You should see how vibrant the green is these days. Electric. We are studying pond life because well, we have ponds again. 

If you'd judge me by the looks of my yard, you just might think I've fallen off the deep end. It's wild out there right now. Crazy wild. Thick stands of firewheels galore. In both the front and the back yard. Don't ask. I swear I sprinkled Black Prairie Mix last fall. Otherwise, I have two beds of beans, one bed of tomatoes, another of peppers, and three of garlic and onions.  All happy so far.   I have around 20 lavender bushes started as tiny twigs two years ago. They are so very full  and blooming. The stuff dreams are made of, really. But now with all this rain, I pray their feet stay dry enough to survive! And then there is the sunflower situation. They are tall and abundant.  They create a little forest of their own.  

Our neighbors left us a few weeks ago. It's been quiet without them here. Their daughter and our daughter grew up together these last three and a half years. And now, it's just Bea and I during the day. It's funny how we adapt though. Each day is less and less quiet as we get use to the new now. 

We've closed the chapter on adoption. No more waiting. Life is calling our little family and we are beyond ready.

 In two weeks, I'll close down The Natural Child for good. It's been fun, but I'm daydreaming of what's beyond.  I am certain of  a few small details (well, with as much certainty as life throws at ya): the porch will acquire a picnic table (adult size, thank you!), a string or two of twinkly lights, some hanging and non-hanging plants, and maybe, just maybe, a cool reclining lawn chair.   

Otherwise, the plan for this summer is to unwind, unwind, and unwind some more. To sit on my porch. To sip sun tea. To bask in the sun. To listen for birdsong, cicadas, and crickets. To trim sunflowers for tabletop jars. And to breathe. 

Hoping all is well on your end. And as always, thanks for stopping by. 

XO,

Nichole

 

 

baby steps

"Every quiet step is thunder to beetle life underfoot, a tug of impalpable thread on the web pulling mate to mate and predator to prey, a beginning or an end. Every choice is a world made new for the chosen." Barbara Kingsolver, Prodigal Summer. 

I just finished this book last night. It was a summer re-read that I took in slowly and deliciously. The first time I read it was the summer of 2005. Byron and I had just completed a road trip move from Annapolis, Maryland to Austin, Texas. We didn't quite know how to process the Texas heat (even though we both grew up in the Deep South). We were living in the saddest, darkest, cave-like apartment in a complex on a major street in town. It was surrounded by gas stations and pawn shops and pay-day loan centers. I remember my heart feeling so heavy with regret for the life we left behind...a land full of summertime abundance of echniacea, black-eyed susans, yarrow, the brackish waters of the Chesapeake Bay, sweet colonial row houses, window boxes overflowing with petunias and pansies, and brick-paved streets.

What I remember most as being the highlight of my summer was Prodigal Summer and the apartment complex pool. Those two saved my sanity that summer. 

That was 8 years ago. Things - life - improved. The memory has a way of dulling our past. For better or worse. We adapted to our new life and even discovered endearing qualities to love about our new home. 

Fast forward to the present.

The grasses in the lot across the street from our house are seeding. Their unassuming whispy seed heads are just magical to me - especially in the morning light. I don't know enough about grasses to determine if these are native and beneficial or invasive and threatening. Whatever they are, they inspired me to dust off my camera, which has sat on my desk all summer, to try to capture their brave attempt at procreating during the most brutally hot and dry time of the year.    

Remember my post from a few weeks back? About how tired I was of trying to get it all right? I don't know what is going on with me? Maybe my whole being is leaning forward, forging through some sort of growth spurt. I can't really put it into words but my heart feels so tender and raw these days. Like I'm starting a brand new journey that I know nothing about. In order to survive, I must trim the fat of everything that leaves me scattered and distracted. Which means, I can't seem to surround myself with enough unconditional love and simple, yet meaningful interactions. 

A couple of weeks ago, I did something I've wanted to do for a really long time. I deactivated my Facebook account. I'm off. I know it sounds trivial... you know, getting off of Facebook. But it was an area of my life which did not serve me. Yes, on a superficial level, I love that I was able to keep in touch with friends near and far through quick and easy messages or updates. But for a while now, I've felt completely drained by the habit of being in contact so frequently with so many. And if I didn't respond quick enough or articulately enough, guilt and paranoia set in over how I was perceived by others (selfish, unappreciative, lazy, not witty enough -- nothing positive). Not to mention the constant bombardment of links to articles and studies to read. All of which left me so distracted, and at times, hardly in touch with myself and my own intution. 

So now, I am getting use to NOT KNOWING what the many people that I love and treasure are doing on a daily basis. I'm getting use to just wondering how they are ~ imagining what their own daily experiences may be like. And it feels good. Somehow, a lot more intimate and sincere. As if I am giving my heart a real opportunity to conciously think good thoughts about them. Instead of instantly knowing.  Sometimes I think what my spirit truly needs is an open and free opportunity to just wonder and not to know, to not seek the answer.   

I hope my disconnect eventually translates into more good ole fashion emails sent to friends. And who knows, I don't want to get too ambitious too quickly, but wow, wouldn't it be nice to get into a habit of writing an honest to goodness letter from time to time. Once upon a time, I use to love to write letters. As a child, my best friend and I would write letters to each in the summertime (even though we only lived 5 minutes away from each other). In college I'd write letters to my mom and grandma often and they did the same to me. One of my most treasured possessions is a rubbermaid storage container full of handwritten mementos from my past. 

So these days, I just find myself so desperate for alone time. Not from my family, per se, but from the outside world and things that don't feel me up. And yes, I know this blog is an outlet to the outside world, but it's different from the instant, constant noise of social media and iPhones. Blog posts can't happen unless I make an intentional effort to sit at my desk, put my fingers to the keyboard and write. And writing (even in my "dear diary" sort of way) always helps to restore some balance to my days. 

There you have it. Growing is all about taking baby steps, right? 

xo,

Nichole

Sometimes, I click into my flickr account and I'm struck with disbelief and awe that this is my life that I get to document. I don't mean this statement in a pompous or self-righteous way, just in a grateful and humble one. You see, I didn't have a childhood of sunflowers and gardens. I've come a long way from the poor, little girl in rural Louisiana, journaling away in five subject notebooks. There, I dreamed with my back against the foot of the bottom bunk bed that I shared with my younger brother, and my feet propped up onto the windowsill. Lanky, uncertain, and awkward, I had a whole soul's worth of curiosity and wonder-lust. And I was hungry for a connection to a life that resonnated with me.  

Now, here I am. That childhood dream I had of sunflowers came true. And so did so many of the quiet, sleeping ones I never knew rested within me. Really, can this, these moments, this life, be real? Are they mine? It's hard to tell at times.  

Let's be real. None of the good stuff could be appreciated, noticed, or captured if it weren't for the gunk that comes attached to it. We are so full of grumpiness, sarcasm, exhaustion, and every other hard feeling that every other family deals with. But in between all that hardness - and I like to hope that the "between" part makes up a nice, lofty, buffer zone, there's a dream being lived out in our little land. 

Life is so strange. So full of hurt and fleetingness. Aching with an overflow of treausreable moments one can never truly contain, like raindrops sliding down a windowsill. Dreams of youth, the realities of mid - life, the yearnings of what never became and the absorbtion of everything real, here and now. Like these photos of our lives - this simple space where we spend our days. Of my dearest, sweet daughter. Of my ever-devoted, kind and good husband. 

This one life is a beautiful one and I must always remember to savor it all. 

Valentine's

 

Happy Valentine's Day to all! I'm stopping by to quickly post a smorgasbord of photos from the past week. There seems to be a Valentine(y)/February theme to them, don't you think? Love, sunshine, flowering bulbs, sweetness, cuteness, etc.  

All is well in our parts despite the running lists that never seem to shorten in length and nightly 4am awakenings, due to the very indecisive house kitty (ehem), and my racing mind. 

We took a trip to Houston last week to visit Byron's parents and had such a lovely time. We squeezed in a trip to visit The Natural Science Musuem and (drumroll, please) Trader Joe's. You see, several years ago, when we moved to Texas from Maryland, I went through a mourning phase for that place. I truly felt at a loss without it for a long while, even though we had the flagship Wholefoods and a plethora of other health food grocery stores. In my world, none were as worthy as Trader Joe's. 

Over the years, (thankfully) I've adapted and I've grown to love certain grocery stores for certain items. I've all but whittled away my need for Trader Joe's, but it was nice to reunite, and to remember the people we were and the lives we were living when we shopped at Trader Joes in Annapolis. I stocked up on just a few items that we were needing: soap, shampoo, pistachios, and granola bars. I also splurged on a bouquet of tulips and daffodils.  Oh, how I love bulbs! One day, I will see, in person, the patchwork fields of tulips blooming in the early spring. I will. I will. I will. 

On the home front, the little one is as exuberant as ever. She's been really stoked about celebrating Valentine's Day with her little school friends. They are so dear together. They all get along so well and truly do love each other. It's such a treat to watch them grow together. This is a fun, fun age. Besides, her school friends, Beatrix is loving fossils (and even read the word 'fossil' today). She's growing up way too fast. She is also loving a gifted leotard and creating spontaneous afternoon dance routines in the living room. Her expressions and form are something to see y'all. For reals.

She is also rediscovering the So Many Fairies stories from Sparkle Stories. When we first subscribed last year, they were a little to deep to hold her attention. Now, she is soaking them in with a newfound peace and attention. So Many Fairies are truly such delightful stories. As is the trend when it comes to me and Sparkle Stories, I'm enjoying them just as much as she is!

Lastly, I am dreaming of more rain, green grass, damp soil, and a certain little one's 4th birthday which is quickly approaching. Lots of plans for these next few months. 

Life is good. 

Treasures and then some.

This quilt, from my grandma's. I'm not exactly sure about the story behind it. There might not be a story. It's probably just another functional quilt made of scraps kind of creation, but I'm pretty sure my great grandmother, Leontine, quilted it. She made lots of wild quilts in her days. The weight of this one is so great - heavy, substantial. I'm really picky about the weight of my covers on the bed and this quilt seals the deal in that department. Perfection. I love it. It is sewn entirely by hand and is in perfect condition. Can you say treasure? 

This girl. I admit, we have days that are not always so nice. Not in the least. She and I. Together, I know we must sometimes look like two elderly sisters living together and having quite a time getting along. But I like to think that mostly, we really enjoy each other's presence. She is so big and smart and full of important questions and things she wants to know more about - like calendars and fossils. She's getting into these phases where she can play and plan and create for hours. And then she'll go outside and play and play with her little friend next door. Unbelieveable. And then, she'll ask for me to hold her at which point she wraps her legs tightly around my waist and while her arms squeeze me, her nose nuzzles my neck. I love nearly four. Busy, purposeful and still my precious little girl. She's another treasure. The biggest one yet. 

We have eight hens and we gathered 8 eggs today. I'm a happy chicken farmer. Our hens are such good, pretty girls. I can't believe half the flock is over two years old already. Beatrix was just a tiny tot when we got them as baby chicks. Time flies. 

I made a terrarium today. For the last couple of weeks, I've been collecting supplies: moss, lichen, succulents, rocks, etc. I put it together today and it looks lovely on our kitchen table. I'm ready to make another one!  

Also, I think Lori already has quite a following, but just in case you haven't discovered her blog yet, please check it out. What I'm enjoying most is her series on Project Based Homeschooling for grownups. Yes, because we too, frequently need to have faith in ourselves, just as we have to have faith in our children, that we can grow, that we can self-direct, that we can still be curious, engaged learners -- even when we are in the trenches of parenthood. Our children need role models of people doing real, meaningful...stuff. 

In her posts, she says stuff like this. 

"Just like exercise builds muscle by tearing muscle, you can grow by stressing yourself out a little. You’ve already seen everything that exists inside your comfort zone. I’m not saying you have to leap right to public speaking or kidney donation, but maybe go to a social event you would normally invent an excuse to avoid. Maybe when someone asks for volunteers, raise your hand. When your neighbor asks if you want to go along to her book club, say yes. When you see a flyer at the library for an interesting class or seminar you would normally consider and dismiss, actually sign up. Get a babysitter and go."

Which takes me back to my post from last week. It was a funny little post which was basically just me having a conversation with myself. I really, really appreciate every single kind remark in response to my words. Thank you. It feels good to hear good things about yourself. Wow! But I didn't intend to come across as sounding pityful or needing a pat on the back. (Well, let's be real, shall we? Who doesn't need a pat on the back every now and then.) That felt good, like an unexpected massage, or an evening out with the girls. At least, when I wrote it, I wasn't searching for approval or reassurance... The truth of the matter is simple. I have good days and less than days. Somedays, the dishes feel so monotonous, the whining unbearable, the day so long, the inspiration for dinner seriously lacking. And most other days, the sun shines in the kitchen, I hear a mockingbird singing on the fence, Beatrix is doing something or another crazy awesome, and I feel so blessed about it all. This IS what I signed up for kind of moments. Still I know I need to take Lori's advice and engage more in things that I don't feel 100% comfortable doing. Just to keep stretching. Just to keep in shape. Just to keep growing.  




 

Ye Old Blog

Beatrix is napping right now. I can't believe it!! Blogging in the daytime is my absolute favorite. It's probably what I miss the most since the napping era ended about a year ago. The opportunity to write. For the life of me, I just can't compose a decent sentence at night. Much less a whole post which means anything to anyone.

This poor space. It's so haphazard and non-traditional, I'd say, as far as blogs go. I was never one to offer tutorials or recipes, advice and tips on this, that, or the other. It's just not my thing, though, I'm grateful for everyone else who does it. I'm most definitely not a technical writer and I'm okay with that. I have the most fun here at Live Free when I have the chance to blabber on about the experiences and emotions of daily life. At my best, I feel most authentic when I'm able to thread words into thoughts that somehow attempt to upturn a hidden connection amongst us all ~ as people, as mothers, as teachers, or daughters. Whoever we may be. I firmly beleive, that at our core, we are always more alike than we are different. 

Sometimes, as I'm hanging out laundry, or organizing an art shelf, or watching my little one dance to The Nutcracker one more time, thoughts spill out of me into the atmosphere, disapating as quickly as they arrived. Oftentimes, even I doubt their true existence. Other times, I can't for the life of me think of one single aspect of my daily life worth writing about. Not that my life is unworthy. Not at all. It's just that these days are filled with the upkeep of the mundane. My days hum to the tune of ordinary. Another sinkful of dishes. A breakfast of eggs and bacon. A walk through the neighborhood. Another nature hike. Time to tidy up. P,b and j for lunch. Apples for tea. Beans and rice at dinnertime. And in between all of that, there are funny, little conversations, there's grocery shopping, there's an email returned here and there. There are library books to return. Bills to pay. There's an Instagram photo of another cup of coffee, or a blooming something, or folded laundry, or a playing little one, etc.

Plain and simple moments. 

I'm at that point in my life where I pretty much have it figured out that I won't be remembered as a transforational figure to anything of great importance or to anyone beyond my closest of friends and family. Those few know my heart and know how hard I work at being just a tad bit beyond mediocre. I'm not alone, I'm just common. Maybe I've reached my greatest potential, right here, right now. If I sitting here wondering, perhaps I still have a ways more to go. We can always dream. 

But darn it, as long as there is a kid sharing this roof with me, one thing will always be certain: when the house is quiet and still in the daytime, I'm gonna keep trying to write. 

little conversations.

I participated in this conversation yesterday:

B: Mama, so, I weally am going to move away from you one day. I am. But I'm going to live in [our town]. And [little friend] is going to live with me. 

Me: Okay. Does he know this?

B: Yes!

Me: Have you asked him?

no comment.

Me: Has he said "yes?" 

B: Well, I'm going to go to his house and ask him. And if he doesn't want to, I'm going to go to his house again and ask him again. Over and over, until he says yes. I'm going to pick him up and put him in my car. 

Me: Wow. You know what you want, don't you? Do you think you'll know how to live by yourself?

B: I won't be by myself, mama. [little friend] is going to live with me. 

Me: Are you going to cook your own meals?

B: One night, I'll cook. The next night, he'll cook. I'll take a turn, then he'll take a turn. 

Me: Sounds like a good plan. 

B: Right. 

 

She's not playing around with this one wild life of hers. 

That Stubborn Thing



I have always believed that hope is that stubborn thing inside us that insists, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that something better awaits us so long as we have the courage to keep reaching, to keep working, to keep fighting. -- President Barack Obama

Over the last couple of months, which have perhaps, culminated from the last couple of years or the last decade and more that we've been together, we've been having these conversations with each other -- Byron and I. Not always particularly easy conversations, but necessary if we are to grow together in the ways we've always imaganined. The conversations have to do with purpose, service and duty. With striving to be more giving and forgiving to each other, to our daughter, and to the world at large. With contemplating the larger meaning beyond what serves our little family in this place and time. Stretching ourselves beyond our confort zones and knowing that the tight feeling of being stretched is probably a very necessary one if we are to evolve. Big wonderings. Big ambitions. There are pieces of us that crave to do big things. Big. Great. Things. 

We know this about ourselves: We are blessed and we are earnest. We are hardworking, honest and truthful, mostly. We are bountiful in flaws and mistakes. We try our best to live by the mantra of doing onto others as we have them do onto us. It's simple, but it's hard. And neither one of us wants to merely sit back and watch the wheels go around and around. In some manner, we want our hands to contribute to the momentum. We are ripe to give back and to make our days count.

The role of citizen in our democracy does not end with your vote. America's never been about what can be done for us. It's about what can be done by us together through the hard and frustrating, but necessary work of self-government. That's the principle we were founded on. -- President Barack Obama

We can do this important work in countless small ways each and every day. I can model my enthusiams for a seed sprouting to my young daughter. I can make sure that I always offer a warm smile to the cashier at the grocery store. I can wash and reuse my ziplock bags. I can vow to eat out less and instead nurture my family with the comfort of a home-cooked meal. I can delight in the sounds and scents of autumen. Leaves crunching below my feet coupled with the smokey, spicey aromas of nature's last hurrah before winter. All day, each day, we make little choices that have the power to stack one on top of the other. I want my stack high full of meaningful, helpful, choices so that when my daughter becomes old enough to go forth on her own, her foundation will be so strong and so certain. That etched in her bones and whispered into her soul she'll know decency, acceptance, tolerance, and hardwork. I can only hope that these virtues guide her in her decisions and her choices so that she too has the great opportunity to discover her own way to contribute to this great, big beautiful world.

Afterall, I'm convinced that there's a Miss Rumphius in all of us.  

"That is all very well, little Alice," said her grandfather, "but there is a third thing you must do." 

"What is that?" asked Alice.

"You must do something to make the world more beautiful," said her grandfather. 

 

 

 

these days...

I'm here at the coffee shop with a pen and a notepad. We are aiming to have Friday night as my night. Time to plan for school, read, or write for pleasure. I've been sorely missing alone time - in which no multitasking is asked of me - lately. And I feel so guilty for admitting that because I know this desire only exemplifies my priviledged status. My mom certainly never had "alone time" raising us six children on her own. She was breadwinner, mother, father, cook, housekeeper, financial manager, etc. all rolled into five feet and a hundred pounds. 

Some days I write post after post in my head as I go about my days of tending and caring for Beatrix and our little home. Mothering... what a job. That girl can make my heart swell with astonishment, pride, and joy just as quickly as her little being can trigger frustration and bewilderment. I try to take plenty of notes on the former and forget rather quickly the latter. 

Raising my exuberant little girl has me continuously questioning and refining my reactions and interactions with her. I've come to the conclusion that I can never have too much zen inspiration at hand. 

Overall, though, life is good. We are healthy, busy, somewhat tired, and a most-of-the-time happy little family.

October, my favorite month of the year, flew by, once again. It's popularity, I believe will be its doom in my opinion. Dare I say that it was almost too full to enjoy ~ or at least, to full to savor.

It was a month full of friends, weddings, and festivals. A whole lot of fun. It's left me feeling over-stimulated and eager to burrow myself into our quiet homelife for the remaining holiday season. I guess that's the harvest season for you though - a great big, noisy, exhale before the quiet inhale of winter.