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Emma's soccer practice. Except she's enthralled with the big boys with potty mouths playing basketball.
  • Long hair! Can't wait to see her in a few weeks.

  • Potty mouths. Good times.

  • annarayne 268w ago

    How do you think girls become champions? Trash talking with a sailor vocabulary adds an element of intimidation that can't be matched ;)

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And then you blink and it’s the middle of October. Popping in to say hello and share this sweet girl. Gentle Jersey faces are my fave.
It's no surprise that the medal around her neck is St. Francis. Today, she's giving comfort to a sparrow. #tinynaturalist #saintfrancis
This year is the first time we’ve tried a classical catholic co-op with my two homeschoolers. Just a week before it started, we made the very last minute decision to move Elizabeth up a level and she’s completely stepped up to the challenge and I see her confidence growing.
For Birdy, with so much of the work being memorization and recitation, it’s perfect for her despite everything else that’s going on with her. (And they just so happen to be studying ecology so, you know, they’re speaking her love language. 🦋🌿🍄🐛) And for me, it’s taking a huge burden off my shoulders which often feel weighed down by worry that I’m never doing a good job at this gig. Today, I was catching up with a dear friend at co-op and she said “Look how God is always taking such good care of your family.”, and I remembered that pity party this weekend. And then I remembered that thing called gratitude.
Dresser: $2 from an auction
Mirror: $0 from a dumpster
Dust: locally grown. sustainable.
Not going to lie. I was having a pretty big pity party for myself this weekend. It just felt like ALL THE THINGS were either going wrong or broken or hurting or asking things of me I couldn't give. And I was wallowing in those things and all the other things that felt like too much.
Today is a new day. I'm not going to lie, and tell you everything is all better. But things are a little better. Just because they are. Not because I'm doing anything special. I made a list. And crossed a few things off it. I lost my voice. And found whispered communication with my kids sorta nice. And I pressed on. Because that's just what we do sometimes.
School has always been a struggle for her. While I watched everyone else her age dig into books and reading and writing, we were still working on getting the letters straight. I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong, as her mama and her teacher. I was trying everything. So I chalked it up to lack of interest because her curiosity and ingenuity and steel-trap-mind for the natural world and building and creativity were so above and beyond any other kids I knew her age.
I figured at some point it would just click. We were just on a (much) slower timeline than everyone else.

But still. Numbers and letters and sounds and sorting all those things in her head, despite all the different ways I approached them--we were making no progress. Like there was this wall and we couldn't find the doorway through.

On a hunch, and more likely God's tender care for this little soul, I sent a text to a friend. And in a matter of days, we found ourselves sitting in the office of gentle, caring woman--a specialist in these kinds of things--who had answers for us.
She was grateful to have met Birdy and wanted to help her. Kids like Birdy are her sweet spot. And it just so happened that she was taking an Orton-Gillingham course and hoping to find someone just like Birdy to help her learn. And so this woman, whose expertise and services we could never afford was offering to help, for free. It was as if Birdy was a bigger gift to her, than she was to us.
The road to this place has been rough. There has been some shame. And some embarrassment. But these answers are like a giant exhale of relief. In knowing what we're dealing with and feeling really good about what's ahead. And in the sweet anticipation of the day my little bird will be able to crack open those nature books all by herself and get lost in a whole new world she has yet to discover. #tinynaturalist
12 sept // my heart. it's hard to sit there and watch her struggle. but there's progress. and there's relief in finally knowing what's making things so challenging for her. for that, i'm grateful. #habitblog #acollectionofdays
I'm totally late to this party. Truthfully, I got one of these starter kits a few years ago but was totally intimidated, and never did a thing with it. This summer I'd really been feeling the push to be more proactive, not just reactive when it came to my own and my family's emotional and physical health. And I'm telling you, it's making a real difference. I only wish I'd wised up sooner. Who else is using oils? I'd love to hear what you love.
11 sept // twice today my work required me to read something on fear and taking risks. apparently i should pay attention. #habitblog
sept 8 || sitting in the chair. hemming her skirt. tiny stitches. simplicity. stillness. and the sudden realization that i have been neglecting this quietness, this work with my hands, for too long. #habitblog #acollectionofdays
Sometimes you pretend that the next town over is the family vacation that you never took this summer. And that's good enough. 💙⚓️🌿
5 september || he was right. it was so much better than what I imagined. #habitblog
Slowly, my kitchen countertops are less overrun with garden surplus--moving baskets of produce to any flat surface I could find, needing space to make dinner. Literal armloads of cucumbers and tomatoes. The last stragglers are appreciated much more these days. Garden beds are being cleared out. The counters are less crowded. And those last tomatoes taste so good. #wafflehillfarm
4 september. I was proud of them for saying yes. For jumping right in. It felt like an appropriate way to say goodbye to summer. #habitblog #acollectionofdays
She got a ride in before dinner. My first roast since last winter. The warmth in the kitchen was bearable. Blueberry buckle. A slow lingering dinner on the hill. #habitblog #wafflehillfarm #acollectionofdays
September. A time of beginnings, a time of transition. Back to school, the first hint of change in the weather...these days have us longing for routine, and for habit.

It has been nearly two full years since our last posts on the habit blog, and we are feeling the pull to capture our moments, to document our days.

So, we’ll be posting on Instagram during the month of September, paying homage to our beloved habit blog. The “rules” remain the same - capture a moment from our daily lives (real life, no staging) and post it along with 30 words that describe the moment or the whole day or something in between. We’ll be using the hashtag #habitblog to gather our posts in one place.

We three (emily, me + tara) will be posting at least three times each week on our own accounts, and we invite you to join us if you’re so inclined - use the hashtag #habitblog if you do so we can find you.
September 1
// i don't know why i have to learn this over and over. i put things off, that when faced and finished are much less overwhelming than i let myself imagine. //
Little #tinynaturalist prayers, answered. Her uncle has been watching a nest of robins in his barn for the past few weeks. Sending Birdy little video updates when he'd climb up in the rafters to look at the nest. There was one runt. Significantly smaller than the other two. And when they fledged, he'd be left behind and the mama bird would move on too. Leaving him in the nest, alone and not yet ready. Last weekend he said Friday or Saturday would be the day. We picked "Jimmy" up on Saturday. His siblings fledged on Sunday. Now hearts (and bellies) are full.
Birdy's best bud and second cousin is here visiting from NY for a few days. Last night we had our first sleepover which was pretty much a raving success. Although Sam keeps different morning hours than Birdy. We were up with the sun and out to the garden gathering worms for Birdy's most recent animal project. I guess this is how boys start their days. #wafflehilfarm #tinynaturalist
Last look back at this sweet girl with her big eyes.
2017: The year I only had to help shear the hard parts.