The Next Thing and the Next Thing

Summer is coming to a close, which means the children go back to school, Henry starts preschool three days a week, and football season begins. Now that we're done with this thing, onto the next thing. The clouds are racing and changing across the sky, moving the weather and the seasons along, and now it's almost fall. Would ya look at that.

Who am I kidding? I'll be whining all fall
about this guy being on the road.

This might be the first year I am not overcome by anxiety about Brandon's travel each weekend. Maybe it's because nobody in our family is playing soccer, so I don't have any Saturday morning, standing in the cold and rain, cranky spectator obligations. Maybe it's because the kids are getting older and more manageable on my own. Maybe it's because I'm getting older and able to occasionally recognize the lonely Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights without Brandon around after the kids go to bed for what they are, or can be: my weekly writer's retreat, my silence, my repose. Maybe I'm just at a really steady and secure place, not overwhelmed by job decisions or graduate school or babies, just... here.

Don't hold your breath, though; I will probably find myself sitting in our living room a night not too far in the future, alone with my laptop, pouring tears and capital letters into this blog, waiting waiting waiting for my husband to come home.

Voted "Most Powerful" for the Ashland University
MFA Class of 2015

Keeping in the spirit of weekly writer's retreats, though, I am very excited about this fall. I finished my MFA at Ashland University this summer, and I spent the last few weeks reorganizing and writing a few additional pages towards my manuscript, American Honey. I am really pleased with this final draft... or at least this I-think-I'm-ready-to-send-to-agents-and-editors draft, and my plan this fall is to send it out into the world of agents and editors. If you are by some magical coincidence an agent or editor reading this now who sees the need for a collection of memoiristic essays about the first decade of marriage, temptation, desire, and love, well, ahem, I'm available by email, phone, or post. I can even access a fax machine.

One of the essays in the manuscript was just published online by the litmag Full Grown People, "Careful Intimacies." To me, it captures the spirit and tension throughout this collection. That essay I linked to above about soccer, "The Worst Soccer Mom," is also included.

I'm also continuing as a regular contributor to Off the Page, a ministry of Our Daily Bread, and I'm loving that monthly exercise. I write twice a month for them. It's where I've been going to hash out the things I think about on the way to work, listening to audiobooks, the matters of faith that matter most to me right now. Here are a few of my most recent posts:

Today: Sabbath Afternoon - "If you haven’t done so lately, it’s time to grab a picnic blanket before the warm days slip away and the evening sun skitters over the horizon in the hurry of new autumn notebooks..."

August 5: Know Thyself - "One of the things I love about this world (and there are many of them) is the synchronous connections that happen throughout the whole body of knowledge. I was reminded of this again recently..."

July 22: At Least Ten Best Things about Girl Friends - "Greeting Cards We are called to encourage each other, and so we buy and send and give them on a whim. Thinking of you! we say. Hang in there! we say. You and me, we’re..."

July 8: Gas Station Evangelism - "An older woman pulled up behind me the other morning as I was pumping gas. She got out, walked straight over with her Bible in her hand, and said she had a verse for..."

This Day in History:

2014 - You're Going the Wrong Way: God's Plan and Purpose...

2013 - Just Call Me Sarah "All Heart" Wells (oh Lord, what a day at church this was.)

2012 - The Road Ahead: Fall 2012 Outlook

2011 - Soccer Mom Fail (the origins of "The Worst Soccer Mom" essay)

2010 - I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the map

2009 - Pushing Matchbox Cars

2008 - Seconds from Shaken Baby (the good ol' days... ugh)

Right Where I Need To Be

A few weeks ago, after Brandon and I returned from celebrating our tenth anniversary, I looked ahead at our calendar for October.  There were a lot of commitments that required a lot of babysitters, which translated to many nights and weekends away from the kids (and several hundred dollars in childcare and travel expenses).  I of course love to get away, especially when it is for good things, like time with my husband, writing conferences, and poetry retreats, but with Brandon gone every weekend and me working full time, it just didn't seem fair to the kids to escape leave so much.  I emailed my friend in Kentucky and reluctantly pulled out of the poetry retreat that was to take place this weekend.  I let my cousin (awesome babysitter) know that I decided not to go, and promptly willed myself to forget about the retreat.

This Thursday, my poet friends posted photos of their road trip south, and from my office desk I pouted.  I was supposed to be getting ready to head out for Louisville.  I sighed.  It would have been such a good time to hang out with these friends.  I reminded myself of the much-needed downtime with the kids, the bushel of apples ready to be sauced, and the cash that was staying obediently and responsibly in my bank account because of this decision.  But that doesn't mean I didn't throw a small tantrum on their Facebook comment section.

After work, the kids and I were off to a great start to the weekend.  Everyone ate dinner without whining.  The paved path through the woods and field behind our house beckoned.

"Do we have to wear a helmet?" Lydia asked, and I considered for a moment saying no. We had ridden the path in the field without helmets lately.  Elvis was nearby, getting ready to ride his bike, listening for my decision.

"Yes, you should still wear your helmet, since we're planning to ride through the woods."  She strapped it on.  Elvis did, too, and we set out for a leisurely ride through the woods.

The new path is only paved for about fifty feet into the woods before it transitions to gravel and dirt.  Since the weather began to turn a few weeks ago, pine needles and leaves have begun to fall across the trail.  I love the pine needle floor of the forest, the canopy high above our heads, the scratch and rustle of the squirrels through the fallen leaves.  We rode along, Henry in the tow-behind trailer and Elvis and Lydia speeding ahead.

Just over the peak of a small hill, I heard Elvis scream.  I rolled my eyes and smiled and sighed.  He is always falling, and every little bump and bruise causes him to erupt into tears.  I pedaled my way over the hill, Henry sitting in the tow-behind trailer.  There he was, splayed out on the trail, still on top of his bike.  Lydia was slowly making her way back to Elvis.

"Oh, buddy, are you okay?" I asked him, helping him to get untangled from the red Lightning McQueen bike and stand up.  He looked up at me with tears streaming and blood dripping from his lip and chin.  "Oh my goodness, Elvis, come here." I gave him a hug and worked his fingers and wrists, asked him to move his arms and legs to make sure nothing was broken.  It was clear he split his lip.  There was a small cut on his nose and a small bruise forming on his forehead where his helmet likely jammed into his skin, a couple small cuts under his chin and on his neck.  I stood for a minute, balancing my bike and Henry and holding Elvis.  A man with a dog came down the hill and held my bike for me while I inspected Elvis some more, considering what to do next.  It wouldn't make sense to take Henry out of the bike trailer and walk all three of us back, and the handlebars of Elvis's bike were bent out of shape.

"Elvis, can you walk back beside me?  I'll go real slow with Henry, and we'll leave your bike here," I said.  He nodded while wailing and hiccuping, still shaking from his fall.

"I'll ride back to the house and then come back for his bike," Lydia offered, and I said that was a good idea.

"Be careful!" I yelled.

We walked/rode back out of the woods, Elvis rubbing his neck and crying, me rotating between "Oh, buddy," and "It's okay, you're okay, you'll be fine," and "I love you, little man," until we were out of the woods.  It was still early, and we passed others running and walking along the trail.  He kept touching his fingers to his bloody lip.  Each time he did this and saw the blood, he cried harder.  Almost back to the house, Elvis spoke for the first time since his fall.

"My tooth," he muffled.  I stopped.

"Your what?"  I asked, bending over to look closer at his face.  When he fell and looked up at me, I could have sworn he was missing a tooth, but maybe he had recently lost one and I just mis-remembered?

"I lost my tooth," he cried again.

"Let me see, open up a little so I can get a good look."  His mouth was bloody; there was a dark gap where one of his front teeth had been.  "Oh no, Elvis, do you remember if you had already lost a baby tooth, or was that one of your adult teeth?"

"It was one of my adult teeth," he said, his big brown eyes watery.  I couldn't remember -- had he lost his top teeth already, or was it the bottom that were permanent?

"It's okay, buddy, it'll be okay.  We'll figure out what to do."

So began our weekend.

His other front tooth was loose, too, and I urged him not to play with it.  The next morning, I woke up congested -- tell-tale symptoms of a sinus infection brewing -- and Henry seemed a little congested himself.  Elvis threw up twice.  Concussion?  Probably.  I took him to the dentist.  She confirmed that they were, in fact, his baby teeth (thank God), and his permanent teeth had not suffered any damage from his fall.  Whew.  Crisis averted.

The boys and I enjoyed some time with my mom Friday morning, and after I put Henry down for his nap, I fell asleep on the couch.  For almost three hours.  Henry slept just as long, and Elvis put together four puzzles, colored two pages of a coloring book and some posters, and played with his Legos.  Other than a fat lip and a couple of scrapes, Elvis seemed back to normal.

I had some girlfriends over Friday evening, and after they left, Henry proceeded to wake up every 90 minutes until 6 a.m. the next morning, thoroughly congested and struggling to breathe.  My sinus symptoms worsened throughout the night.  When it comes to sicknesses, my tendency is to head to the doctor's office at the first sign of symptoms rather than let it hang on for days and days, but I've been trying to break myself of this.  Most things need to run their course, and I've paid enough co-pays to know this now.  I spent Saturday hunting on Pinterest for home remedies to treat my sinus issues and Hank's chest congestion.

Me and Henry at the football game a couple weeks ago

By Saturday night, Henry's breathing was frighteningly forced.  I called my friend Julie who came over with some essential oils, and even though I had tried steaming up the bathroom, a humidifier, chamomile oil and peppermint oil, honey, and hot tea, we gave her treatment one last shot.  Still no major improvement.  So, it was off to the emergency room.

You know, of course, that my husband was out of town this weekend, as he is every weekend in the fall.  This is how it goes, tragically funny how these things happen.  The last major incident was Elvis's kidney stone back in March, which set me further down the spiral of an unconfirmed mental breakdown.

As soon as I scooped Elvis up off of the bike path, I knew why I had to call off my weekend poetry retreat.  And when the sinus congestion clogged up my nasal cavities, and when Henry's chest heaved and wheezed on Saturday night, I knew why I was home this weekend.  It felt like God providentially said, "Nope, not this time," two weeks ago.  "Nope, you need to be with your kids.  You need to be Mom.  The poetry can wait."

I don't always feel this way, of course.  I leap at opportunities to get away, and I think that's healthy for me and for my kids.  But other than a smidgen of envy at the laughing, eating faces of my poet friends, I felt no regret about being home this weekend.  Disappointment, yes.  Disappointed that we had to spend it sick, nursing fat lips and receiving breathing treatments at 11 p.m., cancelling plans to watch the Browns with my husband at the stadium.

But I was here.  I was present.  I was available to snuggle my loved ones on the couch, to watch Despicable Me and Cars 2 and several dozen episodes of Looney Tunes, and to rest.  Sometimes that is exactly what we need.  Exactly where we're supposed to be.

The Road Ahead: Fall 2012 Outlook

We had a great weekend with the kids here in Ashland, the last weekend before Brandon goes back on the road for football season.  It feels a little bit like a storm front is on the horizon. There's only a few more hours of daylight to soak up before hunkering down inside for the long night of lightning and thunder. 

It isn't that bad, really, it's just different from what we've been used to for the last three months or so. It's much faster paced, more scheduled, more demanding, more exhausting.  Summer is over.  I am taking deep breaths and long sighs; I am mentally stretching and flexing for the quickened pace.  I'm out of practice, haven't trained for the coming marathon. 

So tonight I went for a run after Elvis's late birthday party, after our parents left and the kids were bathed and ready for bed.  I didn't take my phone, didn't wear headphones, knew that if I ran through King Ridge and back toward campus it'd be about three miles or so, a solid 30 to 45 minutes.  I haven't run since July 9 but I figured if I took it slow enough I could make the distance. 

Sometimes I have to run without music in my head; it invites the kind of plodding out of thoughts and emotions and prayers that require pounding feet and even breaths, and as I rounded corners I welcomed the stream of conscious ponderings. 

I made some commitments to myself about exercise (before work), about date night (probably once every other week, maybe once a week), about how to handle the evenings when BW is out of town (friends and wine and when they aren't available, writing and books), and I made some concessions about time and weeknights.

Let's face it: turning thirty doesn't just mean I get to feel like the adult that I am a little bit more.  It also means I have three children who require, demand, and deserve my time and attention from 5 p.m. until they go to bed at 8 p.m., whether that means carting them off to soccer practice (which will take place four out of five weeknights the first few weeks-- gah!) or just skipping out on the temptation to commit to a dozen non-children oriented evening activities.

With Brandon leaving town Thursdays or Friday mornings and returning late Saturday or Sunday each week, I have to admit to a weight pressing down on my chest right now, a wearing down thinking about just me and the kids those days and nights.  I love the time I get to spend with them on the weekends, love going places and doing things with just the three of them, but I also know what it's like when it's all of us during the summer, when we're a less scheduled and stressed family unit.  And I know Saturday morning soccer standing in the cold wet with a toddler and a preschooler.  And I know packing up the kids for church and standing in the pew alone.  And I know family gatherings with me and the kids, taking pictures and sending them out to Facebook so he can see them.  I don't want him to go.  I miss my husband already and he's sitting eight feet away.

Now that I've finished throwing myself that little pity party, bawling and sobbing and causing Brandon to worry about his crazy little wife and her sudden eruption, let me say too how grateful I am for this work and that it is important for our family, financially and strategically, that he has this work and this schedule so one of us can be at home with the kids any time we're needed.  This is important and good for them, especially good for Henry, and maybe in a few years when he's in school things will be different, but until then, it's so great that Brandon can be here for Elvis and Henry during the day.  It's so great that we can both parent our children, even if it is in shifts.  It's so great to be able to work off some of the debt that we keep piling on and then chiseling away at.  It's so great to be blessed with jobs at all, let alone jobs we enjoy and are proud to do.

Running is a lot like writing, the outcome is unknown (exhausting or satisfying), both require an undistracted block of time, and both take you routes you might not have traveled otherwise.  Both always lead me home.

"Sow your seeds in the morning, and at night let not your hands be idle, for you do not know which will succeed, whether this or that, or whether both will do equally well." Somewhere in Ecclesiastes

Pedal through the Bumps

My kids wanted to ride their bikes to school this morning, so we headed out at 8 a.m. on the drop-off circuit.  I put Henry in the Baby Bjorn, our new dog Jelly Beans (Beans for short) on his leash, and my travel mug of tea in my right hand, and the Parade of Wells headed down Phillips Avenue.

For the most part, sidewalks in this city are level and smooth, but I think it is up to the homeowner to maintain them, so there are a few sections that are less-than-perfect.  Tree roots and frost have driven the concrete up in sharp angles, and driveways worn down past their gravel cause detours and slow-downs in our commute.  Over and over again, I tell the kids to pedal through the bumps.  Lydia understands better than Elvis, for the most part, and she's able to buckle down. When adversity comes, she stands up and pedals harder. 

I think I'm a lot like Lydia.  Out on my morning jog, I like when I make the turn from Budd to Katherine Avenue. I like the slight incline, the tangible strain in my calves and thighs, the sense that I am working hard, and when I turn again from Katherine to Mifflin, I can see the crest of the hill and push for it even as sweat starts to drip down the side of my face, because I know after the uphill is a steady slope downward, a chance to breathe, an opportunity to let my legs coast without a whole lot of effort.  There is a reward for battling through the trial.

But if Elvis's tire hits the crack, he stops, looks up at me with a perfect pout on his face and waits for me to nudge him out of it.  He might sit there all day waiting for someone to give him a shove.  For Elvis, this walk is one he'll claim was uphill both ways.

You can't stop on an incline and expect to keep rolling forward.  When you see a slant in the sidewalk ahead, do not slow down.  Do not panic.  Push harder, hang on tight, and pedal through the bumps.  Pedal through the bumps! Elvis seems to get stuck at every one of these cracks.  On the bike and off, he needs a push to get through.  At lunch today it took all of the coaxing, threatening, and encouraging I could muster to get him through half a ham and cheese sandwich before rest time. 

Sometimes he's lazy and just doesn't want to try harder.  But sometimes, he's just plain tired, and the effort to chew seems too much because he's struggling to keep his eyelids from falling down.  And so sometimes I'm like Elvis.  Sometimes I hit my limit, and it just isn't possible for me to pedal through the bumps.  Sometimes, I need a good shove from a friend, my husband, my pastor, my parents, my family, my God.

The beauty of our walk is that it just might be uphill both ways, but that means it is also downhill both ways.  There's a climb, a struggle, a challenge, a strain, but there's also a chance to coast, to catch your breath, to appreciate the crisp fall air on your face.  Sometimes this walk feels more like uphill all the way, and every struggle stops you in your tracks. And then someone with a little more strength comes along to give you a push over the bump, and that someone will be there again at the next bump, and the next bump, and the next bump.

Yes, persevere through the trials.  And yes, ask for help when the trials seem like too much.  One way or the other, you can get beyond the cracks in the sidewalk.

Twelve Apples and a Blog

Twelve shiny, locally grown apples are sitting on my kitchen counter ten feet away next to the cutting board, apple corer, slow cooker and paring knife. Fortunately, they are all inanimate objects who can only beckon with their glaring presence. But I have a hot cup of apple cider, James Taylor Pandora Radio, and a blog I haven't updated in over a month because I have been TIRED, BUSY, and PREGNANT.

There, I said it. Come on people, if you know me AT ALL you know how hard it is for me to keep anything a secret. In spite of our miscarriage history, I've always announced pregnancies within a week of finding out myself. I just can't keep it in! How women can go without knowing they are pregnant for months is a mystery to me... I feel like every pore of me seeps out pregnancy hormones for any human being to sniff in the air the minute I find out. I have a radioactive glow that shifts to a pale-ish green around 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. and then again around 8 p.m. It's so friggin' obvious that I'm pregnant, I don't even need to say anything.

Of course, the people that I did tell early on knew it long before I said anything. And you want to know why? TWO people in different circles said they kind of figured, since I didn't want a glass of wine that one night a few weeks ago. This says something about me that I won't point out because we're not talking about wine tonight.

This is my seventh pregnancy and probably my last. BW and I figured this time, maybe we would spare ourselves and everyone else the uncomfortable, "We're pregnant!/We're not pregnant anymore" fun, so we tried to keep it to ourselves. It was really hard the first few days, for all of the reasons I mentioned above (the radioactive glowing, etc.), but then I got excited about having a secret that only my husband and God knew about. That rarely happens - I'm just not a very private person.

My landmark requirement was hearing a heartbeat on the Doppler stethoscope (no, I didn't remember the name of that device all on my own), because we've never gotten that far and lost a baby. Every night for a week leading up to the appointment, I had vivid dreams about losing the baby - miscarrying here, there, and everywhere. It needed to stop. I'm grateful for the prayers of a couple people that I'm convinced helped the dreams end-- the night before my appointment, I dreamt of an ultrasound showing that it was a girl, and that all was healthy and fine. I needed that.

This past Monday, I heard that fast-paced swishswish. My doctor, who has been through each of my pregnancies with me too, might have been as relieved as me. I'll be 11 weeks tomorrow :)

:)

Hearing that heartbeat seemed to give BW and me permission to breathe again. In the past seven weeks, we didn't talk a whole lot about being pregnant, I think in a self-preservation effort. While I began developing all of the first-trimester symptoms of pregnancy, we carried on with our lives as normal. Now we have enough to cling to in order to give in to hope. And we're ready to share that hope for new life with others, able to rejoice, if not cautiously and prayerfully, together.

So that's why I haven't gotten around to making my homemade applesauce.

Lifestyle Changes

This fall, I am doing this crazy thing: I am taking off every Friday. That's right people, four-day work week until 2011. There are two huge payoffs to this schedule. First, the work week is packed, and I mean PACKED, with stuff to do. I'm not really one to sit around waiting for someone to tell me what to do anyway, but knowing that I have one less day a week to get everything done that typically needs to be done is a fabulous motivator to get in gear. Second, my weekends are almost as long as my work weeks. Obviously, right? But think about the difference between 5/2 and 4/3. It's significant. The amount of reading/family/resting/traveling/visiting/occasionally cleaning time I have just increased by 33%.

The original motivation for this schedule was financial. In the fall, my husband travels for work every weekend, and rather than have the kids in daycare every Friday while he flies or drives away, we figured we could save several thousand dimes by taking Fridays off. But I think if I have my way, I'll keep this up every fall, regardless of what my husband's schedule is.

The other new thing happening this fall is DATE NIGHT. Do you know the magic of these two words? I'd like to post a banner across every doorway in every home with DATE NIGHT on it. Since BW is gone from Thursday through Sunday most weeks and I work Monday through Thursday, the chance the two of us would be alert and engaged together at any point during the week was slim. So one weekday night each week, we have our faithful babysitter over, kiss the kids goodnight and wish them happy mac and cheese meals, and dash out the door for any destination other than our house.

So far, we've enjoyed golfing, going to an Indians game, a movie, and dinner together. Next Tuesday the Cleveland Jazz Orchestra is coming to Ashland, so we're going to go to that. DATE NIGHT was the best idea anyone ever gave to us, I think. I might be overly enthusiastic about this whole thing, but this is one more new change that, if I have my way, will never disappear from our budget. We might have to be more frugal in our DATE NIGHT selections, but I do not want to lose this time with my husband. It's like we're married and not just the parents of our joint children!

I just finished the book, Outliers: The Story of Success, which was quite good and quite interesting. As I was talking to someone about it, he asked me whether it changed my definition of success. Not really, I said, it just shed some light on one kind of success. He asked whether a plumber can be considered to have led a successful life. Of course! That wasn't the kind of success Outliers studied - Outliers looks at the people we deem as extremely talented stars, geniuses, millionaires, etc., and how they got to be where they are. The success that Michael was talking about was what I think is better tagged "fulfillment." Can the plumber lead a fulfilling life? Absolutely. Fulfillment has less to do with monetary success and fame than it has to do with attitude.

I feel like my life is more fulfilling with these new changes - extra time with my kids, and extra time with my husband - because these are the relationships that make my life fulfilling. I would rather sacrifice 8% of my salary and $50 a week to spend this time with my family. It is a worthy investment whose return is priceless.

The Homecoming

Tuba bells catch stadium light in the end zone,
flash it to cymbals, who wait at attention
in the percussion section. In the stands,
parents bundle under blankets, wave to friends.
Elementary boys wear oversized jerseys and blue jeans,
chase girls with bags of popcorn and fruit punch.
Their older siblings gather in corners, drink Pepsi,
eat pizza, go out into the night with fragile confidence.

The director paces the goal line, then signals
Instruments Up! and the crisp fall air
fills with "The Old Colonial March," low brass
and bass drum escalating into squeaks and trills
from clarinet and piccolos as the band steps off,
an eight-in-five march down field. The audience claps
a dutiful round and waits for the invitation
to rise to their feet. The director cues the snare
who rolls off - O Say, can you see?

Stars and stripes flap steadily in the late evening,
all heads turned, all hearts covered. Some sing,
but most have forgotten the words, hum along,
or hold tight to caps - and the home of the brave.
Then the cut-off, three taps into the fight song.
Now the crowd is giddy with cheers, yelling,
"We're gonna fight fight fight for every score!"

After the procession to the bleachers, the coin toss,
the kick off, all boo when the ref throws a yellow flag.
Cheerleaders chant DEFENSE and prance, pom poms shining,
swishing down the track. Dads lean against the fence
and count the seconds their sons get to play,
tally tackles and fumbles for post-game breakdowns.
Moms sip hot chocolate and gossip under their blankets.
Daughters walk in huddles and whisper five feet behind
an oblivious pack of boys - fingers in their belt loops.
The girls giggle when one turns and smiles.

And the younger children zig between,
learn their lessons well, never wonder
at the simple patterns, calculated plays,
choreographed routines. The chill will grow deeper
as the season of passion swings to a close,
home team victorious, or not. We all return to that year,
that night, when the lights hit the field and made it magic,
the way the band played, the extra point into overtime,
words exchanged in the bleachers, the unbeatable defeated.
We all come home to this Friday night.

Saturdays

Lately, I have had the great joy of spending all day with my kids on the weekends. At least it feels like that - maybe it hasn't been that way for long, but I LOVE this exhaustion from a day well spent. We squeezed out every ounce of good times from each available minute today, and my feet have much to say in response. It was good.

Saturdays are Pancake Days -- occasionally Sundays are also Pancake Days -- which sets the day into gear. Today, after pancakes, we putzed around the house for a little while and then went to the grocery store for apple cider and a few additional odds and ends. Then we swung through a few garage sales, first by car and then by foot (BIG mistake - long walk - Elvis fell asleep in his race car and Lydia tired out 1/4 of the way back to the house, but everyone slept well this afternoon!), and then back to the house for a lunch of leftovers. Elvis had a hard time falling asleep but once he did, he slept until a little after 3. Lydia went down at 1 and slept until 3:30. She was pooped.

After the kids fell asleep this afternoon, I took a shower since that didn't really happen this morning, and then I made something I am dying to taste - Pumpkin Streudel Squares. mmmm they sure look and smell yummy. They are in the fridge right now, and I'm debating, first, why I made them, and second, when I'm going to eat them. There was an initial motivation behind baking these that has since passed. I don't remember what it was. I'll probably save them for small group tomorrow night.

Once the kiddies woke up, we had a snack and lounged around a few minutes and then went to feed/terrorize Lisa's cats. Mission accomplished, we ran through the ATM at the bank to deposit a check and then drove the few minutes' ride out to our friends' farm for a fall festival (ffffff). It was... fun! :) We had a blast, to be completely honest -- playing with other kids, meeting more great people and finding a kindred writer spirit, carving a pumpkin, eating hot dogs, taking a hay ride -- it was a grand affair. We are all thoroughly exhausted, I think. Here's hoping the kids sleep in (yeah right).

The weather is amazing this weekend, too. It is so nice to be outside - I feel as if it is a necessity to get outdoors as much as possible before the days get shorter and the temperatures drop even more. The kids (and I) love to be outside and take walks, and I will miss it a lot when the snow starts to fall. I get a cold nose and dry hands just thinking about the freeze.

I think tonight is the perfect night to veg out in front of a good, predictable movie I've seen a hundred times. And then fall asleep on the couch, probably.