26 of 52 :: portraits of the boys

if not for summer when else would we crush the grass with our bare feet? 

hide out among the tree tops,

sing out to the birds, 

make friends with the worms over turned in the mud? 

summer is for lazing. 

        and lounging.

for scrambling up creek banks, 

poolside shivers,

whittling poles for fishing, 

learning how to whistle,

and the first wiggle of a loose tooth.

all for summer and the bare chested, 

                                                     bare footed boys 

                                                                            sprouting

                                                                                      in the splendid sun. 

the youngest: in our clementine tree with his friend.

the middle: trying very hard to work on his whistle.

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blog love from last week: Helen's sweet girl trying out her laugh. The joy in the photo is contagious.

 Joann's gorgeous children. I know those looks in my house so well.

this beautiful photo from the blog Still Moving Swiftly. 

Gretchen's sweet back and white photos of her two. 

Kate's sweet photos of Sophia and Alba.

 Cassie's beautiful brood. So happy amongst the waves. 

xxoo

P.S. so I know you have heard...google reader says goodbye July 1st. There are many ways we can stay friends! look to the left and follow me or find me on bloglovin', feedly, instagram, G+ or facebook! xxoo

fodder + folly

follies of the week:
-not carving out enough structure to our days.
-hiding from the summertime chaos rather than embracing it.
-feeling a bit like a fish in a bowl when it comes to certain things.
(swimming around in circles, always ending in the same place).
-waiting for__________ to happen instead of going out and getting it done.
-illusions of grandeur.

fodder for the soul:
-getting through the chaotic week with out choking on my own grumpiness.
-listening to the boys giggle.
-watching them play intentionally together.
-my youngest getting up early today to set up for his older brother's birthday.
-celebrating the birth of my now 10 year old!

provender for the weekend:
-celebrating the middle's birthday.
-remembering how lucky I am.
-beach time.
-movie date night (grown-ups!)
-clearing clutter (from my house and my mind).

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how has your week been? what are your soul-filled moments? any weekend plans?

xxoo

tasting :: happiness

undefined happiness seeps into us like the icing
of chocolate cake melting on the top of our mouth.
it spreads a warm, low humming, soft soothing sensation of joy.

then comes the pop of the raspberry, bright and sweet,
exploding next to the melted chocolate on the languid tongue.

sometimes the bright berry cancels out the happiness;
sometimes the sweet cheeky raspberry brings it in closer.

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what are some some seasonal flavors you are tasting?

hope all is well as you wind down your week. 

xxoo

midweek messiness :: white wondering

I want nothing more these days than my house to be clean scrubbed white with the scent of fresh lily white roses and the stung smell of lavender and lemon clinging to the sheets.

I wonder why white is the quintessential color of summer for so many of us. After these last few days of impossible messes, I am starting to think that my color of choice for the summer should be a dark muddy gray instead. Something to blend and hide the stains of summer.

Alas, I think nothing will be white again, in this dirtied berried busy buoyed house clinging to unbleached, fast, muddied colored lines.  Perhaps not until the boys are sent off to school in the fall. Perhaps, even then, my hope is futile.

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creatively coloring the summer days with my merry men.
linking with Lou.

xxoo

an order :: a summer decree of chaos

and unto us, decreed by the order of summer,
there shall be a slow churning of chaos in our veins.
an unpinned, uncertain future of days that comes with tightrope walking
over a vast open field full of dark dew, fairy-ed fireflies, mint stung clover, and pennyless thoughts.

vague plans crowd our dream filled memories;
there is no bridge across the channel
to sensibility, instead we must hang down upon it,
muck our way through the crowded
days, no direction, no compass,
        tromping through the moored wet grass
        clinging petals at the hem of our soaked feet

until.

until we pull ourselves up
into our desks at autumns gate.
sweaty legged in scratchy classroom air,
blow the shavings of wood and crushed lead off our pencils,
sitting down to scribble instruction once more.

25 of 52 :: portraits of the boys (the screen addition)

Despite summer and all its bliss filled lazy ways, the week felt long. The boys' dad has been gone since early Sunday morning (he returns late tonight) so I have to admit, I let the boys get away with a bit more "screen time" than usual (though for my oldest, screen time is actually reading books on line, once he has gotten through the paper-bound ones we have fetched from the library). The upside of screen time is that the boys' are actually still for longer than two seconds. However we did construct a huge blanket fort mid-week in our living room and have been hiding out in there ever since:  playing games, escaping the doldrums, pretending we live at Hogwarts...and enjoying a little screen time under there as well, hence the odd lighting in the first shot above (the youngest + the middle) and the very last shot (of the middle) below.  

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I loved so many portraits this past week it was hard to whittle down to a reasonable number:

Mel's portrait of her sweet brood over at Coal Valley View is spectacular!// Lila's photo of two sweet hands, napping, at Little Wolf // Wendy's photo of her sweet bubble boy at Little Nico// Milena's perfect photos of her two sweet men at boy eats kasha// the colors are superb in Ashley's beautiful photo of her husband at the Stork & the Beanstalk.// Vanessa's important, stark and beautifully raw honesty in Slow Heart Sing's post. //Amy's sweet portrait of her daughter at Fer Cute// all this baby and sweet cuteness at Patchwork Cactus; 

PS. have you seen this screen addition?  xxoo

summer happiness, undefined

backpacks litter the floor. 

forgotten and shirked off for the summer. they smell of forgotten lunches 

and the smooshed sugared crumbs of lost snacks hidden inside the creases of their pockets. 

notes and papers are crammed hidden under the leftover books. 

laced shoes are all but forgotten.

midweek messiness and summertime gifts

For the record, we have dived into the laziness of summer with ease. The younger boys have been playing games and digging in earnest in the backyard, helping me with the garden.  My oldest is often found reading. We are sleeping a bit later than usual and start most of our days with nothing planned. It feels like a small gift after the hurried end of the school year. Yesterday the youngest and I went to the pool three times to swim. Yes, three times. Bliss.....

poetic droplet :: soft, the touch of a bee to her favorite flower

i wonder of the soft intimacy of the bee to her favorite flower,

the dusting of pollen across her abdomen,

sipping slow the nectar to make the hived honey. 

24 of 52. portraits. of my merry men.

in the low light of daybreak, they slept on, 

safe in his deep tenor voice, a heavy blanket woven 

from scratchy bearded kisses and deep arm swings up into the air, 

a beloved knowledge that he would catch them before they fell. 

and in the soft quiet, morning, they slept on. 

leaving behind dark days and unloved dreams

sleeping while their father took watch through the deepest of night, 

reading until dawn, pouring out words, and outlined songs of sweet humming comfort. 

holding them in the safety of his hands, 

and joining in their dreams of revelry and running. 

for fathers know of these things remembered and wanted,  

            all things wild and unfettered,

for they once were little boys too. 

A photo of their father reading them to sleep, asleep himself. 

Photos of the boys, the last morning of school before summer holiday. 

happy father's day to my number one. xxoo

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blog love this week: Sweet Belinda's beautiful photos of her children visiting their great-grandmother; sweet little gnomes over at to gather and love; Christie's sweet photos of her son; again, such preciousness when old mets new at Little Sleep; these two sweet images at bluebirds of happiness; sweet pea slyvie's capture of her little man pushing at the most glorious red door; these sweet captures at Jane Mabel; and these two sweet b+w captures at hello sisilia. 

how are you this week? what lovely captures have you found in this 52 project? Joining in with Jodi and many others in the 52 portrait series. xxoo

poetic pause :: windows

what do I know of another's life but through your door,
through your windowed threshold,
loomed with the thoughtless threads,
covering a barren land, full of forgotten intent.

cake, mud and footed pajamas.

watching my youngest live fully into his first full day of summer vacation yesterday made me all sorts of happy.

midweek messiness and lives lived, loved.

When I think of the last 7 days I feel exhausted. I walked into last week tired. and very whiny. I felt the full load of end of school year busy making,  the field trips, and sick children.  My house, cluttered with projects brought home from school and the never ending frustration with the last bits of homework battles. I was tired. messy beyond compare.  

But then after Friday, I wasn't sure what to feel.  My whining and exhaustion were put into focus; messiness mattered not, loving the boys to bits did. 

resilience, hope

and in what we thought were the confines of our humanity, there is hope, there is resilience;
there is a stretching out across the continents, through puddles of blue, and oceans of despair,
hands held together by the common thread of deep love for all of humanity, for all of our children's sake.

we keep our little rafts afloat. we refuse to sink. we refuse to stoop to base convictions that evil should be met with evil and violence met with violence. we meet way out in our tiny little basin of stars, and agree, that as long as we are camping out here on this planet, this little corner, this eternal turning towards the sun and revolving through the ages, we will hold each other accountable to do better.

we will change our tattered pages of history. we will sew down the frayed edges, mend broken spirits and rethread a new story in this quilted milky way of stars.

thank you, every single last one of you, who kept watch in your hearts with me this weekend. who said a kind word on my blog, or hugged their children a bit closer.  thank you, thank you for handing a stranger a look of hope on the street, or offering to carry someone's worries for them.  thank you for your random acts of love and the beautiful dance you create as you step through your day.

thank you for keeping a light on in your hearts, and in your home. xxoo

23/52 :: the quiet, the aftermath

there is a tipping point. 

of not being able to return. 

to childhood. to reverie.

to the gardens left with broken down drained earth.

we trudge forward anyway.

 carrying the remnants of crushed petaled dreams in our pockets,

our babes across our back.

the heavy weighted love for our children yoked on our shoulders.

and we leave a light on in our windows

a whisper against the dark night.

a small path lit, letting our sisters know,

our daughters, our mothers

that we remember the children who can't come home at night, 

and those who have no home.

for the departed who visit us only across dreamed up landscapes, 

and in gulped back tears.

we leave a light on in our windows

for the unwritten song of a child's life who is taken. or has left too quickly.

for the motherless child who no longer has a voice to sing out her song.

we leave a light on for this heavy weighted love for our children, yoked on our bent shoulders.

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the portraits this week are of time spent gardening with the boys. a highlight moment of my week.

then yesterday the boys' schools were on lockdown because of a man on a shooting spree.  people were killed.  others were injured.  I feel torn up inside, not only because it all unfolded blocks, steps, from my home; but it unfolded in the lives of my children. your children. our children. my oldest son's class walked to their class picnic down the very street where this man would be using a machine gun (senseless, heartless) recklessly shooting as he made his way to the college that shares the same street with my son's school.  I am so grateful that the moments carved out in time did not overlap. My middle, almost ten, locked in a classroom, was unable to go to the bathroom and had no other choice than to wet himself.  humiliating, I know, but at least he was safe.  All three of mine are safe. but there are others, no longer children, who did not return home last night.  and a man, ill and with a locked heart, that was once a baby in his mother's arms, that robbed people of their lives and of their dreams, and then, was shot himself. so my heart feels a bit shaky, my home a little torn.

much love and peace to you out there in this world today. & remember to leave a light on in your heart for those who have no light, no hope, no home.

joining in with jodi and so many beautiful others.  xxoo

fodder+folly

follies of the week:
-tripping on my own words.
-best laid plans...well we know where they went...
-too much time distracting my self with things I have no control over.
-the unfolded mountain of laundry in my bedroom.
-over explaining & over extending.
-unwanted exhaustion.

midweek messy:: field trip and flowers

My obsession with the mighty peony continues, and lingers on. I cannot stop taking photos of the flower and all her glory,  and I see that I am not the only one. Due to an overly exhausting weekend and an unexpected field trip to the Doctor's yesterday for my youngest (eye swollen with a skin infection. ugh) I have not been out gathering these peonies from anyone's yard nor have I been in search of sweet hedgerow as suggested over on littlegreenshed.  These are just from my local market.

poetic pause :: wrinkles

but there are stories tucked in those lines.
soft ones, laughing ones.
tattered, dog eared book ends dusty on the shelf.
forgotten and remembered.
a breathing in. a letting go.

tucked inside the creases of a mothballed shirt.
old soul sung young.

and us. us who are afraid to cling to the wrinkled, the old aging breath,

who are afraid of the skin on the over heated milk,
we try to stamp out and smooth down the aged.

so unlike when we were young,
when we parted in and out of the doorways
 with death strung out across our back,
no fear in hiding from the poetry of old age.

taking and talking hands, holding onto the new,
tight closed fists. and in the small bits,
 we wrinkle ourselves,
wrinkles pressed in the creased quivers of living life.

in the breathing in, the folding of hands,

and the breathing out, through time stood young.

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foliophoto :: with the ever talented ladies at besidesign and rainforest creative salon. 

xxoo

reflecting on love

hello monday!....

you have me thinking about love dear monday: the love that it takes when it is hard, the love that it takes when it is new, the love that it takes to pull your self up and wipe yourself when you have messed up, the love that it takes to make something work. it is not always pretty. sacrifice and compromise are often the name of the game in a well sorted partnership. you have me thinking about this all dear monday.

clickety-clack call of the week(end)

portraits of the boys :: 22 of 52

Every night I worked late, every night after a long swing shift,
I would come home into our small squeezed out space in this world
and watch you asleep in your bed, breathing in and out.
               You were so so small.
My heart ached at all this smallness asleep in the dark of the night.
   I tucked your fallen covers around you; took the book that you had fallen asleep with from you;
kissed you and told you how much you stamped my soul with meaning;
made me who I was always meant to be:
                                                      your mother.

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