A New Page

For those that have visited this space over the years, you know that one of the (only) times I reliably post an update here is in the days leading up to the birth of one of our children. This late autumn evening is yet another one of those times. We find ourselves in the weekend following Thanksgiving, which fell late this year. December will begin on Monday and in the days that follow, our family will grow to include a new member — our fourth child and second daughter, whom we plan to name Rasa.

Image by Sarah Cramer Shields

The final days and weeks of pregnancy are always somewhat anxiety-ridden for me. The discomfort of full term sets in, as does the frenetic push to identify and finish what is important before the family grows, the rhythm of daily life is changed and the needs of a newborn become paramount. I have always had a strong nesting instinct in pregnancy, an urge which at times drives me and all around me a little mad. These twin pressures — on the body and on the heart — can make the final stage of pregnancy feel burdensome at times.

This is likely the last time I will have this experience. I have said before that it is an honor, and while that may sound trite, I can think of no better word for it. I know there are many who wish to experience this process and cannot or do not, and those who may have wished to do so more times than they were able. I am so very fortunate. Moreover, as others have observed before me, it is not often as parents, or in life, that we are able to know that we are encountering something for the last time. The fact of that is often only revealed in retrospect. I am using this awareness as my touchstone in these final days. There is part of me that is not at all ready to move past this stage of life, this time of newborns and babies and toddlers, of promise and wonder, wrapped as it might be in noise and mess and chaos.

But it is time. Since we began on this parenting journey more than six years ago, with the birth of Jonas, we have been building a family, one that we are now days from completing. It is time to do so, to gather all our babies in our arms and greet a New Year all together. It's time to move forward to the next stage, when we are raising this brood and building the life that will allow us to do that.

Rasa, we await your arrival. Your brothers and sister have known about you for months now and the excitement to make your acquaintance is nearly boiling over.

Image by Sarah Cramer Shields

Your oldest brother, Jonas, has vivid memories of your sister Nida's birth; he fully understands how our family will grow with your addition and he couldn't be more excited. He wants to help care for you and has Big Plans for all that he wants to teach you. In him, you will find a buoyant, kind soul who has boundless inquisitive interest and energy for life. He will be your guide, your role model, your Big Brother, and he will relish every bit of it.

Image by Sarah Cramer Shields

Your brother Silas, meanwhile, will be your protector. Si runs at life with abandon; his fears are few and far between. He, too, is inquisitive, though in a less verbal way than his big brother. He is also very observant, curious and capable. And while he may seem to be in his own world — and often is — you will also find that he is more tuned in than you know. When you want a friend to be engrossed in a game or an activity with you, Silas will happily be your partner. His has a love of the present hat so few of us can manage, and sense of humor that keeps us all grinning. I hope he retains these abilities and can continue to share them with you and your siblings for the rest of your lives.

Image by Sarah Cramer Shields

With your birth, Nida will transition from the youngest sibling into a big sister. Although she cannot fully grasp where you are now and what your addition to our lives will mean, she is sincere in her excitement — as she is with so much of life. Nida is a combination of her brothers — the cerebral intelligence of Jonas mixed with the goofy playfulness of Si. She will love the role of big sister, and while she adores her brothers, I think she will quickly find the pleasure of having a sister to share her life with, as well. In learning how to be an older sibling, she can have asked for no better role models than Jonas and Si.

Image by Sarah Cramer Shields

In the coming weeks, you will have two parents caring for you day in and day out, but your daddy will be a constant figure. In March of this year, he and I began a new part of our journey as partners and as parents — putting our efforts fully into our own business in order to create our livelihood. This has meant that your father has also become the primary parent during the workweek, shuttling your brothers and sister to various activities, teaching them school at home, creating the household's daily rhythm and caring for the homestead's needs as well.

When you are curled up in a carrier in a month, asleep in the late afternoon while dinner is being prepared, it is daddy's chest upon which you will have your head. You are one lucky, lucky little girl.

Image by Sarah Cramer Shields

As for me, you are my last baby. Yours is the last birth that I will anticipate. When you are drawn out and held up before me, it will be a moment of awe that will echo backward in time to the births of each of your siblings, but it is not a moment I will have again. Each of your firsts will also be my lasts, and that knowledge will at times be a heavy one to bear.

And yet, as the last baby, you also have the opportunity to complete our family. You gain a household of five people who can't wait to meet you, to help you, to love and care for you. Soon we will hold you. We will know your face and voice; we will know your presence and smile. Your personality will unfold slowly — a magical flower that will awe us with each revealing petal.

Thank you for joining us, for filling the role you will step into. I promise to celebrate all your firsts, even when a little corner of my heart twists with the duality of my lasts. There must always be a last. I am so grateful that for me, it is you.

Love,

Mommy

Image by Sarah Cramer Shields

A New Year

It has been nearly a year since I've been present in this space. Since February 2013, much has changed for our family, and I'm grateful to say most of that change has been positive. My business, Fine Lines Editing, quadrupled in size over the course of 2013, with several new clients and a wealth of new work, including my first published book.

The last year has been a truly transformative one. Our family went from having one parent working outside the home and one working part-time in the home to two parents with full-time jobs. I have been very fortunate to be able to remain home-based, which has given me the opportunity to spend every afternoon with the kids, and to be present as needed during their mornings with their (incredible) sitter (though honestly, when she is here, I am often chopped liver). But this change has meant a lot of work at night and on the weekends, which in turn has meant that for much of 2013, the rhythm of family life felt uneven, lurching from one day to the next as we tried to keep things as even-keeled as possible for the kids — an effort that was at times successful and at times a complete flop — and tried to master new roles and skills ourselves.

In the year that has passed since I was last here, our children have grown. I've always heard that parenting gets easier (perhaps temporarily?) when you start to have children age 5 and above, and from what I can see that rings with truth. Jonas has become a steady, helpful little guy who is just as smart and observant as ever, with that kind, gentle heart I so cherish. Yes, we call him Steve Jobs due to his uncompromising opinions and stringent standards, but he also keeps us honest, so those standards aren't all bad.

Silas came through the twos with a fair amount of grace, and while he still has the vestiges of toddlerhood about him — Silas, please pick up. Silas: Please! Pick! Up! ... Silas! ...Where is Silas? —he is becoming more aware of the larger world all the time and continues to show an uncanny awareness in the mechanics of life.

And Nida. What an incredible little person she is turning out to be. At 16 months and counting, we're already deep in the rebellion and chaos of the early toddler years, but one is no sooner astounded by her tenacity and bullheadedness, then impressed by her ability to understand everything around her. I mean, this kid has been accurately answering yes-or-no questions since she turned a year old. And let's not even talk about the fine motor skills. *shutter*

2013 was a year that showed us how fortunate we are. Look at these children. Look at this family we're  raising. Look at this incredible community in which we live, these marvelous people who support us and collaborate with us and cheer us on. I feel like we ran at 2013 with our arms flung open, full tilt, and it bear-hugged us right back.

Not every year is like that. We've had hard ones. 2009 (aka The Year of Murphy's Law) comes to mind. And there will be others. I'm also keenly aware that 2013 was full of difficulties and sorrow for several people that I love. The disparity in their experience of the year and mine is not lost on me. I am grateful — deeply, abidingly grateful —for the experience of the last year, and will do my best to remember it in years that are not as kind.

And here we stand, our shadows long across a new year. We have many plans. Our little homestead is ready for some evolution, and a greenhouse and beehives and expanded gardens are all on tap, with some side conversations about ducks and goats as well. After months of flirting with homeschool, it is time to get down to the work in earnest, and we are on the cusp of beginning that journey — wherever it might lead.

Perhaps the greatest challenge of 2014 is going to be refining the growth and promise of last year into a rhythm that better meets all our needs. There is a lot of discussion happening about that, too.

As with each year, I am hopeful I can make this space a part of my life. I find it difficult (unnatural?) to blog. My inner writer and editor are at such odds in this kind of a forum, and yet I recognize the opportunity this medium gives me to record, and to share, our journey. At this point in time, in these early days of the year, that is my hope.

Greetings 2014. Let's do this. Let's try.

First born

He seems so big these days, but sometimes I catch a glimpse of the baby I knew. He used to carry these animals with him everywhere.

12 weeks

This is my new baby, who is somehow now 12 weeks + 1 day old. Meaning that she is no longer a newborn; she is instead an infant, gaining velocity and knowledge every moment.

I have now shepherded three children from that magical existence in the womb through those delicate first weeks and into babyhood. And as much as I have tried to savor it, like pregnancy, the sharp memory of it quickly fades – no matter how you try to hang on.

And yet. That sadness, that melancholy, it is displaced every day by the smile. By getting to know this new person, which I could never do if she stayed a newborn. And so: I am thankful.

The glamour of the home-based office.

A good day

Some days just work out. The baby sleeps when she's supposed to; the boys don't fight too much. I'm able to feed everybody in relatively good time, and keep the house somewhat picked up. Those are good days, and when they happen I feel so much hope.

These are the days that make parenting seem possible, enjoyable, almost sane. It is these days that leave me to wanting to have 10 million babies. Luckily, they are balanced out by days that make an argument for the exact opposite.

The state of the kitchen table is usually a good indicator of the kind of day we've had here. So, today was a good day:

Zzz

Babies are each so different. It is often said, but even more often true. Jonas fell asleep in my arms, with his head resting on my shoulder, exactly one time when he was an infant. It is Nida's absolute preference. Not nursing. Not rocking. Not in a carrier or cradled in my arms.

This.

Familiar

When you first bring them home, newborns seem so delicate, new and unfamiliar. Today, I found myself holding her with ease, like an extension of my body.

Five and a half weeks after her birth she is 3 lbs 10 heavier and 2 1/2 inches longer. And she is becoming familiar. Still a mystery unfolding. But my mystery.

Equinox

Holding you, four weeks old, in the rocking chair in your brothers' room, watching out the window at leaves sinking to the ground, one by one by one. Clear blue sky, Saturday morning, the first day of fall. Your brothers playing in the backyard, their young voices drifting, muted, into the house.  I recall the vision we had of a little girl at our table of boys. And here you are, falling slowly asleep in my arms.

Ladder of days

Four years ago, I wrote a letter to our first unborn child, Jonas, sitting in our living room late at night, heavily pregnant and swelling with anticipation, anxiety, fear, excitement, trepidation, awe and all those other mystifying emotions one has as they await the birth of a child, especially that first one.

A bit less than two years later, I sat again -- late at night and late in another pregnancy -- and dug up the letter I wrote to that unborn Jonas, adding it to what I wanted to tell my then-toddler Jonas about himself on the cusp of the birth of his baby brother. I wanted to try and capture how I felt about the baby who had grown before my eyes into that precocious toddler.

And here I am, a bit more than two years after that night, again filled with excitement and anticipation, hoping again to steal some moment in time and tack it here, where it will always serve as a touchstone for me, capturing these small creatures in their present states so I can return here fully again and again and again.

But it doesn't work that way. The morning after Silas was born, when Jonas came to the hospital to meet him, I felt absolutely stunned by how big he looked as he strode into the room. He was 22 months old and though always tall for his age, he appeared giant after I'd spent the past 12 hours gazing at the comparably tiny Silas.

Not only did Jonas look enormous, but he seemed so grown up and I saw a little boy before me, rather than the little baby I'd had not quite two years before. It was as though that silver thread that had connected me to that tiny infant had been broken by the experience of birthing and holding the new baby I had in my arms. And while I was amazed by Jonas' maturity and genuine delight in meeting his little brother, I felt the wrenching realization that the silver thread was forever broken.

It got easier. The year's journey between Jonas' second and third birthdays proved he was no longer a baby many times over. He was squirmy. He was stubborn. He didn't want to cuddle with mommy. He was frustrating and frustrated. He would have been all of those things with or without younger sibling, and in a way, the small space created that day in the hospital helped brace me for the larger space Jonas would create -- naturally, as he should, despite how painful it was -- over the next year.

And then, the journey from three to four, which has been a delight comparatively. And while I miss the newness of that tiny baby Jonas and how miraculous every moment seemed, watching him truly turn from a baby/toddler into a little boy has been its own profound miracle. We have discussions now. He asks thoughtful, sometimes stunning questions. His memory astounds, his imagination is complex and consuming, he is intense and sensitive and kind. He has charted the journey of his baby sister in a way he simply couldn't have with Silas, as he was too young then to comprehend the process. And while I can tell his is still unsure of how all of this new baby stuff will unfold, he is participating in the ladder of days leading to her arrival and is excited and anxious, just like his parents.

Silas, like Jonas when he became big brother, is a bit too young to grasp what is transpiring. He knows her name and that the grainy, sepia pictures on mommy's phone are of this creature. He knows that mommy's ever-growing tummy has something to do with this creature as well. He cradles and nurses and caresses his baby doll, though interestingly he calls it Baby Silas while he does. I would not expect him to grasp this essentially imaginary concept, yet I know he will be a fine big brother when the day arrives, because he has had an exceptional role model.

________________

Jonas, I couldn't have asked for a better big brother to Silas. You were enthusiastic from the start, from those early weeks, when you climbed into his crib and jumped up and down on your knees, tossing him in the air to his absolute delight and my absolute terror.

You were kind and patient, especially for being so very young when he was born. You love him fiercely and thoroughly, and he knows it. All the while, you have weathered the storm of your parents, as the three of us stumble along this oldest-child path together, each day uncharted territory, each phase full of wonder and uncertainty. We are always crossing a milestone, with another on the horizon, but you seem to sense that your father and I are learning as you do. I marvel at your mind as we travel each day together.

Silas, you have been a terrific baby. Smiling at three weeks -- how many mothers get that? And indeed, you've had a ready smile and giggle every day since.

You are both keenly observant and totally wild. Your grandmother describes you as the type of person who long ago would have made a career out of being shot from a cannon, and I think she may be right. You are so unlike me in so many ways (though that explosive temper -- that I recognize), and added to your cannonball approach to life, I never know what is coming next, which makes the journey an adventure. And while you are the extrovert of our little family, at least for now, you have been so genuinely attached to me that I have felt your love deeply and thoroughly for these past 26 months, each and every day. Every mother needs a child like you.

Nida, we await you. As with each impending birth, I find myself full of anticipation to see you, meet you, hold you and get to know you, while nervous about the process that will get us there. I hoped for the opportunity to mother boys and girls, and your addition to our family will provide me just that. I know I am fortunate to have that wish granted, and I linger in that knowledge.

There are things that give me pause. As with many mothers of little girls, I worry you will eclipse me in the Pink and Frills departments, and I will not know what to do or how to do it. I worry we will lock horns. I worry you will be Daddy's Girl and I will not feel as close to you as I did with the boys. I worry you will be a teenager like I was, and my own history will not come to my rescue in knowing what to do to guide you.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. For each of those worries, there are dozens of hopes and ideas and plans and wishes. I think you will change the dynamic of our family for the better, and I am eager to see how. I think having a sister will enrich Jonas' and Silas' lives, as I feel that having older brothers will enrich yours. I hope you'll bake cookies with me at Christmas. I hope you'll let me read Anne of Green Gables to you, at least once. I hope I am able to mother you well, no matter what kind of girl you end up being. I can't wait to meet you.

Welcome.

Why three?

Having multiple young children is so. much. work. Things rarely fall together as you envisioned them, and you spend so much of your time tamping down expectations, feeling frustrated, trying not to feel frustrated, trying to live in the moment, living in the moment, having to intervene to stop whatever is happening in the moment, getting frustrated with the moment, wishing to escape the moment, feeling guilty for that emotion and repeating the cycle all over again.

But then, the following occurs : Silas has asked for the big Maglite flashlight off the top of the fridge. Jonas decides, rather than try to take it away from Silas, they can play a game together. Jonas walks around the house as an explorer, "discovering" whatever is in his path -- a plastic dinosaur, a wooden block, a Lego figurine -- and has Silas shine the flashlight on that object. This goes on a long time.

"Come on, Explorer Silas!"

"I tumming! Here I tum!"

This. This sibling bond that is so unique in its facets of friendship, competition, love, animosity, understanding and frustration, but constant. Constant. They will form this bond with their sister as well. Each of them will have a unique relationship with one another, and I will be the fortunate person who gets to watch it all develop from the vantage point of adulthood.

This is why we've decided to have multiple children. This is why we're having them close together. This is what it is about and what I must remind myself when the exchanges aren't kind or amazing; when we're slogging through the grit and exhaustion of family life. There is so much grit. But so much glorious light as well.

Time flies!

Jonas, who apparently now grasps the phrase "Time flies" enough to make it his own, piped up from the back seat of the car this evening with the following announcements, produced in one long burst:

"Time flies when you're mad!

"Time flies when you're watching movies in the car!

"Time flies when you're going to sleep with mommy and daddy and Baby Silas!

"Time flies when you're drinking milk!"

There you have it folks. Things to try next time you need some time acceleration.

Kraut!

I managed my first foray into sauerkraut today, after attending an inspiring discussion by Wild Fermentation author Sandor Katz during the Heritage Harvest Festival at Monticello in September.

And, as with so many made-from-scratch things to which I take a shine, I quickly realized Egidijus already knew all about how to make sauerkraut.

So with confidence from Mr Katz, who was quite convincing in his seriously- this-is-easy, no-really-you-can't- screw-this-up message, and some recipe guidance (and elbow grease) from E, I made me some kraut.

To do this, I chopped up about half a cabbage head (3 or 4 cups max), then crumpled it manually for a few minutes until the cabbage got a bit wilty.

I added a scant teaspoon of kosher salt and then used a potato masher to finish pulverizing it, mashing until I had a fair bit of liquid leached out of the cabbage.

I grated and added two small carrots (ours - yay!), plus a scant teaspoon of sugar and about a half teaspoon of caraway seeds.

A bit more mashing, until I had enough liquid to cover the mixture if I pressed down on it. Transferred this to a jar, tamped it down so the liquid covered the solids, put on a lid and left it on the stove top so it would be exposed to a little warmth in the coming days.

The result:

Brothers

In the past three months or so, I have watched a transformation beginning to take place: Jonas and Silas are changing from siblings to brothers. Sharing activities, making up games, learning from each other.

This kitchen table has been as witness to this change as anything in this house. Not bad for a $50 special from Ikea.

Home.

I love staying home on Mondays and the boys seem to agree. Silas is enjoying a long nap on his big brother's bed and Jonas is basking in the late-autumn sun on the kitchen table, piecing together his current favorite puzzle.

Learning at home. Resting at home. Being together at home. Pretty much what this family thing is all about.

First Ameraucana egg!

We found our first egg on Aug. 22 -- Jonas' third birthday. There's been one a day since then, until today, when there were three (!) including the first blue-green beauty from one of our Ameraucana chickens. 

September 1st

Summertime late afternoon rainstorm approaching from the west, lacking the thunder and theatrics of earlier summer efforts.

First fall leaves flying. Got the stroller in just in time.

Soon, a return to hot tea and baking. Soon, a return to sweaters and socks.

Right now, plans and anticipation.  The promise of autumn without the threat of winter.

Hot

Wake up, stale air, consider opening windows, step outside, hot and humid and 80 degrees already, leave house closed, air running, try to entertain kids inside yet again, try to go somewhere, hot car, air running, hot parking lot, everyone thirsty and sweaty, back home, air running, make something for dinner that won't heat up the house, dance in the livingroom to tire out children, air running, lukewarm bath, kid bedtime, work, run outside at dusk to water and patrol for bugs, eaten by mosquitos, soaked in sweat, work, air running, Netflix, time for bed, read, air running, asleep. Repeat.

I've been trying to remember lately what my impression of summer in Charlottesville was before we had kids. I remember thinking it was 95 degrees for the second half of July and the first half of August, that other than that it was pretty bearable. But then again, I work up, went to work, came home in the evening, walked the dog and hung out all night. I didn't have the mirror of children to show me the kind of deprivation borne out of being inside all day, every day.

Last summer was horrid; it was 90 degrees and hotter all of May, June, July and August. This year has certainly been better. We had a couple heat waves lasting a few days, but the current HOT didn't set in until mid-July. We're in the third week of it now. If it wraps up in mid-August, I guess we'll be back to what I remember thinking was the norm.

That's my only beef with Charlottesville: a bit too hot for too long in the summer, and not quite enough snow in the winter. Yet, I need only think for a moment to remember to drudgery of the six-month winters in New England, which drug me down far lower than a month of hot summer.

It seems that's the way it is. You get long winters, long summers, no winter, no summer, constant grey, no rain - it's always something. No place is perfect.

Right?

Intention

"We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children." 

- Native American proverb

A metamorphosis of sorts is happening around here. In the course of a few weeks this spring, two long-term projects began to blossom: The Homestead and The Business.

First, the business: After years of dreaming, talking and planning, we set up our own company, Borrowed Earth LLC. Initially, it will be the vehicle through which we'll run the writing & editing business, Fine Lines Editing. I've been fortunate to have quite a bit of editing work come my way this year, especially given that I have done no advertising or promotion as yet. It became obvious early in the year that we'd need to get some kind of structure set up to handle the income from this venture, and thus Borrowed Earth was finally born.

Years ago now, we settled upon Borrowed Earth as the phrase that encapsulates our life view in its current incarnation: Living simply, teaching our children about love and kindness and hard work, being connected to as much of the physical world as we can, and maximizing the time we spend together. It is that last reason that inspired us to name our company Borrowed Earth LLC. Perhaps someday it can be our sustaining financial force, allowing us to have a home-based life.

Speaking of, our little homestead has really started to manifest itself. It took a lot of set-up work over many years, but with the addition of a boundary-line fence on the south side of our backyard, garden fencing, some new garden beds and the chickens, we have the early stages of the homestead we ultimately envision. More on all of that, as well as pictures, coming soon.

A couple close friends have urged me recently to do more with this blog, in response to my own self-chiding about the lack of personal writing in my life. I thought perhaps if I made a written commitment of sorts, it would help compel me to visiting this space more often and share the life of our family in our little corner of the world. So here I am. And there you are. Welcome, welcome. I intend to be back soon.

Unearthed

Every time we spend the morning in the backyard, we discover some new artifact. Today's find was a blue '55 T-bird matchbox car. Which, in Jonas' opinion, was a much better score than the 1970s-era sports sock and Pepsi can unearthed last week.