the honey home

them apples

Wilting spearmint, an almost-finished cup of coffee, a stray apple, and the two-year-old who’s after it. She’s already eaten an apple this morning, so I won’t let her eat another, yet. She’s contented herself, instead, with peeling off the stickers and placing them on herself.

For the last half-hour I have sat in the oversized easy chair and nursed the baby–the baby that now contorts himself every which way instead of lying contentedly against my chest. A friend said recently that nursing a baby boy is like trying to nurse an alligator. I wrangle him, and Elvie brings me apples until I tell her to stop. Then she brings me “abocados” instead.

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over and over

lensbaby swing-21

In the quiet of the afternoon
after the morning of playing and swinging and chores and errands
after the washing of hands and the sit-down lunch
after the rounds of may-I-be excused‘s
and the carrying of cups and plates from table to kitchen,
after the three-year-old says I’m ready to snoozy
and the two-year-old begs for “Night-Night Pooh”*
and tries to climb into his crib himself
after the baby is fed and put to bed
and the five-year-old hauls his basket of trains into the guest room for his quiet time
after the groceries are put away
after the coffee is re-heated
and the coffee cake is cut
and the only sound is the clock ticking
and the five-year-old sneezing
and the audio-book reading
I sit down to write.

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strawberry picking

(I almost titled this post “Strawberry Fields Forever” but decided that was way, way too cliche, even for me. So I spared you that–but now you probably have the song stuck in your head anyway. Sorry about that.)

There’s something about waking up incredibly early that always inspires me to venture out. Most of our adventures seem to come about when I’ve been up at an unreasonable hour for some unreasonable reason. (See our woodsy walk or Miss Mamie’s for examples.)

strawberries-2

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two months

Miss Elvie Kate turned two months yesterday.

elvie two months_-19

She’s quite the little thing, captivating her brothers and wowing strangers at the grocery store with her astonishing collection of head wraps. Incidentally, I’m awfully glad we have those wraps and head contraptions since she has very little hair to speak of, which I knew would be the case should we ever have a baby girl. The boys all had hair in spades, and I had to cut it again and again and again. And now here’s someone whose hair I don’t have to cut, but she doesn’t have any…! Life isn’t fair.

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