Intentional Weekend: Mommy Date

In six days, we leave to drive her down there. She'll spend the week, happily ensconsed in her grandparents' house. And every morning, for two and a half blissful hours, she will go to Sewing Camp. She has wanted, wanted, wanted to do this for so very long. Despite the fact that I've told her it is far too early to pack, she has reaarranged her drawers and I can tell that her clothes are already sorted into piles for each day she will spend away from home.

When a girl is the seventh in a family of nine children and she is four years older than the "Little Girls" and there are two brothers between her and the "Big Girl," sometimes she really needs a Mommy Date. When her little sister asks to come along, she might just shoot those big brown eyes at her daddy and beg him to "do something with those little girls." And he will.

We went to the fabric store to choose fabric for the quilt that she will make while she's in Charlottesville. She flitted happily from bolt to bolt, dragging the heavy load hither and yon so she could come up with exactly the right combination.

And then, she chose the perfect shade of  thread. We also shopped for measuring tape, scissors, and a seam ripper--all pink.

Of course.

And, after much consideration, she chose a box for all her goodies.

(That purple one on the lower right came home with us.)

Shopping finished, we shared a big bowl of Pho. Conveniently, there was big screen TV in the restaurant and we could chat and watch the US Women's World Cup match while eating our girly lunch.

And then, to make the afternoon truly perfect, we might just have picked up some happiness.

{A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. The cups said "Happy 4th of Gelati." Who could resist?}

She said she's going to send me letters from camp. 

I can hardly wait.

Dear Friend, Please come visit.

I promise you that I will not spend days and days cleaning my house before you arrive. I will not stuff the evidence of life lived here into far recesses of closet corners you will never see. I will not pretend that the life we live here is always ever perfectly ordered. I will not seek to impress you. Instead, I will endeavor to befriend you.

I will make sure that nothing gross will surprise you in the bathroom. I'll probably plump the cushions on the couch. I'll make you something good to eat and share with you endless of pitchers of green tea lemonade. Instead of coaxing my children to scour and shine, I will share with them the fun of expecting company. 

I tell you all this--I'm doing it this way--because I trust you. And I want to be your friend. I trust that you are coming to spend time with me, not to judge me or take notes or compare me to anyone else. And I promise you that when I come to your house, I'm coming for you--your company and that alone. I trust you with who I really am, imperfect though that may be. I trust that the half-finished paint job will make you smile in ready recognition that you have been there, done that, too. I'm going to throw open my doors--and my heart--and be real with you. 

Because that's what friends do.

And you're my friend, in every sense of the word.

Love,

Elizabeth

Every Day Intentional

Today is the first day of summer. Why do I feel as if it's half over? My calendar is filling fast. There are lots of calendar items over which I have no control. Let's begin with 6 orthodontic appointments and the domino of followups. Nah, let's not. Let's put that off just one more day.

I've spent a significant amount of time lately pondering the living of an inentional life. Someone I love faces every new season and wonders if this one will be her last. And so, we talk about the important things one does with the time she has when she doesn't really know how much of that time there is. We talk often about being intentional. Every day.

But do I know? Can I know if this summer is my last summer? Can I know if tomorrow my whole world will change? Of course not. Only God knows if a child's seventh summer is to be his last summer, if a mother's hot August will predictably melt into a mellow September, if tomorrow will be a sun-dappled day of delight or a gray goodbye. Only God knows.

In hindsight, I can see that last summer was my very last summer with a baby. Sarah Annie is most definitely a little girl. I intend to not dwell on empty arms (my arms are not so often genuinely empty anyway) and to think instead of free hands. Hands to go and do and make those things that truly I could not with a babe in arms. My first summer with free hands.

I promise this did not set out to be a heavy post. It's just an echo of Sarah's thought. Let's not let summer slip through our hands before we've had a chance to consider how glorious they are, each tiny grain of sand that is time. 

Enough pondering. I aspire towards a summer that honors the gift that time really is.

• 1. Take Nicky and Stephen out on a rowboat. Burke Lake. Just the three of us.
• 2. Learn to sew with Katie.
• 3. Knit. A lot.
• 4. Oversee some house renovation and remodeling.
• 5. Read the new version of Educating the Whole-Hearted Child in its entirety. Face the new school year refreshed and re-inspired.
• 6. Visit a yarn shop with a friend I don't see nearly enough.
• 7. Hang out at Bull Run with Linda.
• 8. Walk on the beach with my sister.
• 9. Stand waist high in the pool and let Sarah jump to me. Over and over and over again.
• 10. Host a neighborhood crafternoon.
• 11. Figure out a way to see more of Ginny.
• 12. Take Patrick to get his driver's license. 
• 13. Get Christian registered for college.
• 14. Listen to everyone ten and under read aloud to me, every day.
• 15. Revive our morning walk routine.
• 16. Drink enough water every day. Make sure everyone else does, too.
• 17. Start the day with time alone, knitting and praying.
• 18. Conquer the basement once and for all.
• 19. Make date night happen. Often. Very often.
• 20. Carefully plan lessons for the fall. Share them?
• 21. Watch Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Persuasion, and Sense and Sensibility on afternoons too hot for anything else. And knit (of course).
• 22. Watch The King's Speech with Christian
• 23. Tie Dye tee shirts.
• 24. Write a book.

I'm sure there's more. Katie and Gracie and Karoline have been making a list for days now...

Don't Miss This

That day is forever etched in our memories. But even more, that example is forever etched in our souls. And we are grateful.

Do not miss this reflection on fatherhood.

Love on an Ordinary Day: Update

I’m sitting at Starbuck’s, trying desperately to shut out the sounds around me. I’ve left my home this morning — 15 children there, mine and those of visiting guests. I thought it would be quieter here. Instead, there is a trio sitting nearby, a man and two women. They are discussing their divorces, the marriages that preceded them and the divorces of their own parents, too. For a moment, I stop trying to write, stop trying to think. And I listen. Listen to the pain — the pain of abandonment in childhood, the pain of abandonment in middle age. And now they are talking about their children, split between two households, about broken dreams and dashed hopes....Read the rest at the Catholic Herald, please.

*fixed the link:-)