Reason #173 for Homeschooling my Chickens.

In the other gardens,
and all up the vale
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail.

Pleasant summer over
and all the summer flowers.
The red fire blazes,
the grey smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons,
something bright in all.
Flowers in the summer,
fires in the fall.

Robert Louis Stevenson.

I have to constantly remind myself of the life I want to give my children.
A different life. 

A "free-range" life.
My "chickens".

And don't be threatened.  
I am not judging what you have chosen for your kids.
Really, I'm not.
God has given you and your husband wisdom for your children.
We must all humbly seek it.

It's sad that I have to write that.

I want freedom for my kids.
Before a life that weighs them down.

Responsibilities.  
Yes, they have a-lot.
A lot.
They keep living creatures alive for crying out loud.
And some think I am too hard on them.

I am.

And then, I am not. 

And sometimes (I am ashamed to say)
They strive to live up to my demands.

But this is a small example of what I want for them.

Freedom.

Freedom when an autumn day beckons to pack up the books and bring them to the firepit.

Freedom to gather leaves and just BE with nature while others sit at desks.

How many of us know how to "just be"?  
 
Freedom to interact with siblings instead of being apart all day long.
Freedom to smell the smoke. 
Freedom to feel the rain come in.
Freedom to learn about how not to get burned.
Freedom to play "games" with the owl in the tree.
Freedom to figure out where he has flown to by listening to his "whoo-whoo."
Freedom to sing out loud.  Bless the Lord oh my Soul, oh My Soul...
Freedom to pray together at random.  For Daddy, for Africa, for our friends who don't know Jesus...

I don't mean to say that others don't have these freedoms.
But this is how we roll.

And we love it. 

Kiss your babies.
It will all be gone so soon.

Angela
Parisienne Farmgirl

The Joy of Baking

Someone just said to me the other day, "I'm addicted to baking bread."

It is, as my sister says, an experience.

There is some thing simple, feminine, honest and old about baking bread.

And the smell...

I hope someday when my children are old and I am gone that they are filled with motherly comfort when the encounter the smell of bread in the oven.

Memories.

Homebread.

French Bread. 
Cinnamon Bread.

Scones.

Biscuits

Banana bread.

Zucchini bread.

Rosemary/Lemon artisan bread.

We eat bread a couple times a week.  And the six/seven of us can burn through five pounds of flour very quickly.

My daughters amaze me.  They are so thrilled to be in the kitchen with me.  

It's humbling.
It's precious.
It's teachable.
It's humbling.

I am beyond envious of these moments captured between "One Gram" (my Mom Joy) and my daughter Juliette.  No one is around to snap pics when the girls and I work together.  I'd love to have some photos just like these.  But even so, how absolutely precious to have them of a gramma and grand daughter baking scones together.

I too remember baking with my Gramma in her kitchen.  I remember her flour drawer.  I loved the idea of scooping flour out of a drawer!  And her red and white checkered cookbook.

It's raining today.  
No gardening.  
I'll stay clean for a nice change and perhaps the girls and I will fill the kitchen with memories and homey aromas.

Happy Baking.
-Angela
Parisienne Farmgirl

La Cherité - A Midwinter's Love

Ire Épitre aux Corinthiens 13:4-7

La charité est longanime; la charité est serviable; elle n'est pas enviuse; la charité ne fanfaronne pas, ne se rengorge pas; elle ne fait rien d'inconvenenant, ne cherche pas son interêt, ne s'irrite pas, ne tient pas compte de mal; elle ne se réjouit pas de l'injustice, mais elle met sa joie dan la vérité.  Elle excuse tout, croit tout, espere tout, supporte tout.

If I have a favorite thing about winter it's the annual two hours we spend as a family making Valentines for each other.   For two hours the chaos comes to a calm and there is some serious L-O-V-E flowing between us.  It is very endearing.  Even Big Daddy get's into it and customizes each of his Valentines.  It's his one surge of creativity, we don't know where it comes from but it won't appear again until next year.  

This year our love notes were placed on the kitchen Christmas 
garden tree.  We took off the ornaments after New Years and replaced them with miniature galvanized garden tools and dried hydrangea.   After we take down the Valentines Aidan had the idea to clothes-pin last year's seed packets the tree.  My little buddy.  I can't bare to take down the tree because of how much I love that blue concrete that it's in.  The lights are still a cozy touch on these horrid, gray days even though the holidays are thankfully well behind us.

I am humbled by what God's word says about love.  Though apparently never humbled enough.  Every other minute I fall pathetically short whether it's my horrid, selfish attitude or failing to love others the way they need to be loved at any given moment.  The description is telling us how we are to love each other but we mustn't forget that is is more importantly telling us how God in fact loves us.  

I fall short every day in loving the way he tells me to and yet because of his Son Jesus He loves me anyways.

THAT is Love.

C'est la Cherité.

Happy late Valentines Day.

I'd love to know how you and yours are passing the time until the grass begins to show.

1 Corinthians 13:4-7

New International Version (NIV)

⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Moms Be Encouraged

Allow me to prattle.

I keep saying how much I miss my blog and yet I can't seem to find this time to get my fingers on these keys.  It's been a long couple months.  Baby girl is putting me through the ringer.  Sleep?  What's sleep?  It seems to only occur if I am laying next to her.  Alas, by the time I FINALLY get her calmed down it's anywhere between 9 and 11pm.   By then I've lost my mojo or any blogs I had written in my head while rocking her.

I'm trying to hard to be what the kids need me to be.  I vacillate between doing fine and freaking out - like any Mom I am sure.  During the freak out moments the self doubt kicks in.  What am I doing wrong?  Are my kids getting a proper education with all the time I spend with the baby?  How long should I let her SCREAM?  Even now, after a 45 minute soothing, nursing, calming down session I've been at the computer (IE: away from her) for ten minutes and she is screaming.

Be right back:)

The days dishes are half done and the sink is still full.
I'm tired of being on my feet.

Champagne please.

It's easy to wonder if you are having an effect isn't it?
All your hard work and nothing is ever perfect?  

Confessions of a type-A who doesn't have the time or luxury anymore of being a type-A.

Sheer mental torture.

Fear not.
This too shall pass.
And yes, you are having an effect.

It's awkward for me to share this cause no matter what I say, some will fine me boastful but that is not my heart - my heart is for encouraging you.

It's come to my attention recently from a good handful of different people that our little family does in fact impact lives (by God's grace and for His glory).  See, I get to believing the lie that those that come into our home can't really be ministered to if my floors are dirty, if Joel's forgotten to take the garbage bag I put on the porch out to the dumpster?  How could anyone feel God's love if I didn't get to wash my hair after my workout? 

Little lies.

I've had the privilege and encouragement of being told lately: how comfortable people feel visiting in our living room, how I've encouraged them in their motherhood, how the kids are enjoyable because they can interact with adults, how the food I offer my guests makes them feel loved...

These gracious words at times were too much and I'm afraid I didn't know how to receive them but the allowed me to see that it's not all in vain.  That the ministry that I hope comes from our family, from this farm is actually happening.  

And I would wager it's happening on your end too.  Perhaps you just haven't been told.   So I am telling you.  You Mom's who are on your knees for your kids, who Mom's who are trying to change the world one patient moment at a time - it's working.  I have to believe that.  You have to believe that.  

What you do does matter.

When you take that extra moment to discipline in the middle of chaos - it matters.
When you come to your babies and apologize for being a witch (as I had to do today) - it matters.
When you make someone a hot meal or send someone out the door with a special treat from your kitchen - in this fast food, microwave world - it matters.
When you crack open the Bible and just go over ONE verse with a child - it matters.  
When you stop nagging and sincerely love on and praise hubby IN FRONT of the children - it matters.

I come from a family where perfection, or the appearance of it matters.  I'm not disparaging them/that but coming to terms that perfection is not something I can hold myself to in this chapter of my life is important for me - I have to do that at least a couple times a week.  Now I could do it, that's just the energy and drive that I have but it would be at my families expense.   Instead I have to take a deep breath and pray for patience and grace constantly and see that perfection is not a ministry.  It might keep ME sane but it's not a real ministry - unless I am worshiping at the alter of myself.  Which alas, is where I often find myself.

Be encouraged.  Thanks for listening reading.
Angela
Parisienne Farmgirl

Born on a Farm... Anaïs Madeleine's Birth Story

Well, it's been one week.

How is that possible?

Here she lies next to me, making those little sounds.  Those little sounds that you only get to enjoy for a few weeks out of your entire life as a mother.  

Deep breath- don't cry.

I never imagined a 5th baby could be late.

I read the stories of course but thought, Oh that's just ridiculous.

All my kids have been on their due date of a couple days before.
My last one was 11 days early so I just thought naturally of course...

At 39 weeks I was 3 cms just as I had thought, but hadn't really felt as much of that "grinding" as I should have.  You know, that feeling like they are doing a breakdancing head spin on your cervix???  And I hadn't had hardly any of those nerve shoots down the inner thigh... you know, the ones that make you jump in public, that you can't quite describe?  I call them zingers.  

So, I started to work for it.  Walking like CRAZY with the kids.  Dance parties EVERY night with them after dinner.  Then came 40 weeks and still no baby.  But oh!  The pressure!  I thought she was going to fall out if I moved wrong.  My walk began to look like I was riding a horse.  

It was not pretty.

Every day I thought - this is it.

I country danced with the kids.  I Lord-of-the-Danced with the kids (they are obsessed) I booty danced with... well, not with the kids.

HA!

Tues-day, I surprised the kids and took them to the theater to see Planes (don't bother).

 Earning BEST-MOM-EVER status.

Tuesday night.

Discomfort melt down.

Wednes-day.  Took them into town for new coloring markers at Target.
Earning Certifiably Crazy status.

Wednes-afternoon - got the house COMPLETELY picked up.  All my ducks in a row.

Wednesday night.

Discomfort melt down.

 And that was the straw that broke the camels back.

I was SO done. 

I wanted my baby.

Thursday morning I woke up at 5:05 and crept downstairs for my secret,

 I-can't-take-this-anymore weapon:

One mini bottle of vodka.

2-3 tablespoons of castor oil.

6-8 oz orange juice.

 Mix.

Slam.

Pray to not barf.

Hot shower.

Back to bed.

At 6:30 I woke up with that cramp.  

That contraction. 

 Not a braxton hicks, but the real one I had been waiting for!  Julien (still needy sometimes) nursed for about 5 minutes and I knew we were in business.  I sent him downstairs, rid myself of the effects of the castor oil (TMI - But come on, it's a birth story - the whole thing is TMI) 

and went back to sleep for an hour.

At 7:45 I woke up.

In pain.

SA-WEET!

Hollered for Joel to call my Mom and get her on her way (she watches the kids downstairs for us, but she lives an hour away).  Told him to call the midwife.

I got up, thru on a skirt and my favorite Minnie Mouse t-shirt and a little makeup just to feel human (cause that matters) and marched downstairs, announced to the family,

"I am going to walk the driveway!"

to the delight of my kids who began to celebrate the arrival of their baby!

Oh, and walk I did.

Back and forth.

Up and down.

Taking no mercy on myself.

For the first little bit I wasn't really contracting... 

and I just really pushed myself but then they kicked in.

Marching thru contractions with that awkward, there's-a-head-in-my-crotch gate.

I am Parisienne Farmgirl.

Hear me roar.

I had to rejoice.

It was beautiful out.

God had answered my prayers again - I always pray I will have my babies in daylight... pain is so much worse for me mentally at night.

There were no neighbors walking by with their dogs.

No one to wave to.

I was alone.

Well, not quite.

The chickens and the goats were cracking me up.

Everytime I would walk by they would run (in their run/pen) to follow me.

Then when I would walk back the other way they would follow in that direction.

Like an old Atari video game.

Soon children came out to run and play with kittens.

Soon I waved for Joel.

No more contractions on my own.

I needed him to hold on to.

Whoa.

Oh boy.

I think I walked out there the better part of an hour during which my Mom showed up - perfect timing.  Couldn't focus on anyone else now.  Then... there was that one contraction where I said to Joel that as much as I didn't want to, we had better head upstairs. 

Once we got upstairs things slowed down a bit.  

Just for a minute but I had two more contractions where I "heard myself" and I knew we were rockin.

With the one we were in the bathroom and I looked at Joel and said, "Where IS she?"
 Not REALLY wanting another bathroom delivery! 

Finally after what seemed like an eternity... I only later found out it was about 15 minutes from the time I came in from outside to the time the midwife and her two helpers arrived.  

I was back in the bathroom after walking up and down our little hallway and had another doozy.  She called from the hallway that she needed to "check me" after hearing those sounds, you know, that slight grunt at the end of the contraction, I don't blame her.

I told Joel, like I always do (especially after the blank-hole that attended my first birth -- I am still bitter.) that if it was "bad news" as far as my dilation, I didn't want to know.  Nothing is more defeating than going thru all that pain then to have someone tell you that you haven't progressed.  But, I was at SEVEN!!!
And she told me I wasn't quite ready to push but that
I could a bit if that would help me manage the pain.  

"So, I am not going to be doing this 'til 4 in the afternoon?"  I desperately asked.

"Oh, honey, You're gonna be holding this baby at lunch time."

"That's all I needed to know.  I am just going to sit here and cry now."

And wept I did.  Like I seem to always do in labor.

So emotional.

Then the transition.

Ugh.

One after another.

Me crying that I just wanted to sleep.

Me confused and walking back and forth from the bathroom to my bedside.

Walking, swaying.  Not knowing where to go... what to do.

Then this lady, who I had never met before hopped up on the bed across from me and told me "how great I was doing" and reminded me to breathe out and down to the baby... channel the air... use it.  Who the hell was she?

What the hell was she doing on my bed?

Her voice grated against me like sandpaper.

Didn't she know I've done this before... 

I almost slapped her.

But then I looked up, I knew she was right.

If you've ever helped a woman in labor before there gets that point for some where they need a little firm re-direction.  I obeyed.  In thru the nose, out thru the mouth, down toward the baby,
lowering my tones...

Then, that feeling,

That INCREDIBLE feeling that I will never feel again.

As crazy as  it sounds, despite what I was saying aloud my heart was saying,

"Remember this.  This is birth.  This is your baby coming down to meet you.  In however many years God blesses you with, remember this feeling of your baby... inches from your world."

It was an eternity.

It was a second.
 As I felt her finally break thru the cervix.

"Here she comes!"  I cried.

Two pushes and her head came out.

I was SO relieved I flopped forward on the bed and then realized she wasn't out.

 Everyone telling me to hold on.

I HATE THAT!

Screw you guys, I thought.

My contractions had stopped so I took a deep breath and pushed  

one-

more-

time.

That amazing feeling of the shoulder pop.

That second/eternity 'til you feel "the slither" - and you know it's over.

"Thank you Jesus" I must have said a hundred times.

"It's over."  a hundred more.

They untangled her (she was looped around her neck, shoulder, legs... no wonder they were telling me to hold on) and handed her to me.

And that was that.

The unexpected little one.

The one that rocked my world the morning after we moved to the farm.

I can still feel the world spinning, I'll never forget how I almost fainted.

I'll also never forget the tears I shed.

Thinking I was done having babies.

I struggled for so long with it.

I cried so many nights praying that God would take away the desire or else...

I guess He chose the "else".

****

Thank you Father for this new, "last time" I hold in my arms.

How in heavens name you see me... so fallen... fit to raise another child of Yours...

Music to My Ears

The two oldest children began their music lessons this year.

For me, with kids, piano lessons are non-negotiable.  Do you know an adult that doesn't wish they could sit down and play the piano?  

And Aidan took on violin too - "I want to learn how to play the violin like Mozart."  How darling.

His latest desire - to sing like Elvis.  Mozart and Elvis - a boy after my own heart.

Recital time came around and it was really profound to watch the children deal with nerves and a little healthy pressure.  They were so sweet, so proud, so brave and so determined to do a good job.

Proud Momma wants to share these with you... after all... they've only been taking for four months!

Half-Way in May