Christmas 2012

documentation that all four of us truly are alive and well

Stihl Girl

...helping dad stack wood before the storm...

brown county state park

The Kendall family took a brief trip as soon as Wyatt was out of school to Brown County State Park.We did a little camping, a little swimming, a little bike riding, and very little sleeping. Vacation? Not so much. Fun shared experience with memories for the long haul? Definitely.

1912

This last weekend I traveled up to northern Indiana for the memorial service of my great uncle. It was a couple days spent in the company of family and friends remembering a fascinating man. On top of being a doctor and visionary in the medical field, Uncle Bob adored firetrucks. I can still remember sitting with my brother on his 1912 engine when we were kids. The 1912 was a treasure he restored and drove across the country as part of The Great Race in the 80's and remains the oldest operating fire truck in the world.  It was a joy to climb up into it one last time...

the 2011 Kendall family Christmas tree

Summertime

Up above the tree line the dirty haze of a summer swelter lingers into the late evening. Summertime it is out on the farm. Out on the eastern end of our property two round bales of hay are sitting in the late evening sun, and beyond those bales are acre upon acre of corn. Astoundingly, the corn is already far above our head, creating a natural labyrinth down in the valley. Everything is escaping its bounds.

It always amazes me: This season of uncontrollable abundance. Three months ago we were waiting for life to break forth from the ground. Now, we are overrun. The squash plants are up to two feet in the air; the sweet potato vines are spilling into the lawn. And soon our kitchen will be overrun with green beans and tomatoes. Anna generally looks upon the summer produce as obscene. She already carried away several squash and zucchini to a local food pantry knowing that there’s no way in Hendricks County that we’ll be eating all those “worthless” vegetables. That said: I’m sure we’ll be having our fair share of vegetable lasagna and grilled vegetables in the days to come.

Many evenings, Anna is in the garden weeding, mulching, picking, overturning, and preparing the land for its next production. I think she was getting desperate for help, since last night she let “the girls” and Thatcher out for an evening meal of parasites, Japanese beetles, and plump blackberries. We had not planned for the blackberries to be on the menu, but the chickens had other things in their pea-brained minds. And, apparently, their poorly endowed gray matter is not without some form of honing device that locks onto blackberries. As soon as they were out of the coop, they b-lined to the juiciest, darkest berries and appeared from underneath the canes with the shining gems in their beaks. Anna was none too pleased to see them stealing produce that would fetch a decent price at the farmer’s market (let alone go well in a cobbler, as I might point out), so she has decided to keep the birds in confinement through the berry season. Freedom is such an easily won and lost commodity.

We’ve been pining for some pool time all summer – especially with temperatures topping out in the mid-90’s several times already. We got our chance in the water on the 4^th of July. We went up to Denny and Granny Beck’s for the day. It was a blast to spend the day in the pool. Wyatt put to good use the swim lessons he received earlier this summer. Not to be outdone, Elise was mimicking every dive and jump. The girl is fearless, as you can tell from this picture:

I had such a blast catching her and Wyatt over and over again. Wyatt started the fun – walking up onto the diving board with the foam noodle pinned to his torso. This is when he introduced the “jump-dive,” which consisted of him going to the end of the board, jumping up one time; then jumping as far as he could into my out-stretched arms and crashing into the water. Then I’d do my best Hasselhoff, pulling Wyatt or Elise back to safety, wherein the other would be yelling from the diving board, “Catch me, Dad!”

We’ve also been blessed with several visits from good friends and family – including a surprise visit from the newly wedded Adam and Brittany Wishart. What an exceptionally fun and gifted couple they are, and Anna and I certainly wish them well in the fair city of Baltimore.

Before that, Andrew, Lisa and Ellison Smith stopped in for a picnic day. We heartily enjoyed a good meal from Chief’s, the shade under the chestnut tree, and watching our children frolic through the yard. Such frolicking is standard out here on the farm – including those fine family days when the sun isn’t nearly so hot. The kids bounce from place to place – riding their bikes, playing in the sandbox, looking for berries, or just “exploring.”

And, fortunately, we’re also a few days away from our first family vacation of the 2010 year. We’re headed up to northern Indiana for a week of boating, swimming and relaxation. I have a feeling I might be catching some more “jump-dives” off the dock.

~Wes

The Ins and Outs of Chickens

April 27 – We had a brush fire last Wednesday evening. I was riding my bike back from work when I rolled up our gravel drive at just after eight p.m., and as I headed towards the blue garage I noticed a trail of smoke billowing up behind the old barn. The thought crossed my mind that Joe might be back there – burning off some leaves or eliminating one of the many piles of trash on the property. But, then the adrenaline began to kick in, fueled by biology and the hidden memory that smoke of any form is not good for forests and humans … or old barns – for that matter. Old barns that seemed to be precariously close to where the smoke trail ascended.

I hurriedly dismounted from the road bike, switched over to the mountain bike and peddled through the yard. As I swerved to the east side of the barn and stared down into the creek bed and across the way I could see a ring of fire moving outward in all four directions. It looked like what happens when you put a lighter underneath a piece of paper and light it right in the middle: glowing orange at the very edges pushing ever-outwards leaving a black emptiness behind. Uh-oh.

Thankfully, my fears were larger than the present danger. And in the next hour, we managed to contain the fire – thanks mostly to Grandpa Joe deftly maneuvering the Bobcat in between trees and dumping piles of dirt on the source of the fire. I will not mention in this post just how many similar brush fires have been ignited on this land in the last three months.

Secondly only to the excitement of fire is the thrill of now having all eight of our chickens in our A-frame chicken coop. The movable coop is working fairly well, so far. Although, movable is really a relative term. The earth is movable, I suppose. And while the coop is a bit more manageable than that, it usually requires Anna and me together grunting and pushing and lifting. Although, just this morning, I found a new technique which makes the process potentially a solo person job: a combination of pushing the dolly down with the left hand while pushing against the boarded frame with my right. Farmers must exhibit the deftness, strength and flexibility of samurais.

I told our insurance agent about this chicken coop today, and she laughed when I said A-frame. “Why?” I wondered. But, I had forgotten that what is abnormal and bizarre to others is commonplace in our family. I swear that we have not purposefully set out to live the life that falls under the labels of “hippy,” “granola,” and “different.” It’s just what happens when you throw our two lives together: a mishmash of sustainable living, SoCal culture, Christianity, Putnam County, farmer’s markets and living off the land.

Anyhow, the “girls” are doing well – nestled away in the frame at night and pecking at dandelion weeds during the day. They seem to do a good job in mowing down the lawn, although it’s hard to tell given the extravagance of those weeds all over the place (again with the hippie-thing: we don’t spray the yard).

I was not too pleased, however, when I bent down to pick up a slug in the coop – thinking I had found a delicacy for the chickens. When my fingers went to pinch the slimy slug, they instead went through. It was then I realized that this nice, oozing mess was nothing less than – you guessed it – chicken s&%! I mumbled the very same thing as I stepped outside the door.

With still much to learn, this is Wes signing off for the Kendall family. Until next time … be well and live well.

celebrating 4 years

Wyatt recently turned four. We had lots of family out to the "farmette" for the celebration. When I asked him what kind of cake he wanted, he promptly replied, "A big brown cake with brown icing and fruit in it." Made to order.

The boys spent a bit of time in the baseball diamond...


We all enjoyed the glorious weather...

The kids had a hard time parting with the golf cart...

And the birthday boy talked for days about how fantastic the day turned out to be.

***Since posting this, I've had a request for the cake recipe I used. It's my own adaptation of the Magnolia Bakery cupcake recipe. I think I've managed to find a recipe the adults like and that I don't feel *as badly* about giving to my kids. Here goes:

Chocolate Layer Cake

2 c. whole wheat white flour

1 t. baking soda

3/4 c. good quality organic butter (or 1 and 1/2 sticks)

1 c. maple syrup

1 c. brown sugar

4 eggs, room temperature

6 oz. unsweetened chocolate, melted

1 c. buttermilk or sour milk (I actually used almond milk with a teaspoon or two of vinegar because that was what I had)

1 t. vanilla

Combine flour and baking soda. Cream brown sugar and butter. Add maple syrup. Add eggs, one at a time. Add melted chocolate.

Add dry alternately with milk and vanilla.

Pour into two 9 in cake pans and bake at 350 for 30 - 40 minutes or until cake tester is clean.

Icing:

1/2 c. good quality organic butter

powdered sugar (start with 4 c. and add from there if needed)

1/2 c. milk (again, I used almond)

2 t. vanilla

melted unsweeted chocolate or cocoa to desired chocolaty-ness

I iced the first layer, put on a layer of raspberries (reserving three for garnish), then squashed the top layer on and iced the whole thing. Garnish with a dusting of cocoa powder and the three left-over raspberries.

A Little Favor From Our Friends @ Wall Envy

Several weeks ago, Jeremy Black came out to the farm and did us the huge favor of taking a ton of pictures of our family. Jeremy and his wife have been developing a great photography business called Wall Envy. Check out their site. And check out some of the pictures from the photoshoot out near Kendall farm.

Bathroom

Where have we been in August? Why the long absence? Simply: we have been remodeling the only bathroom in the farmhouse, and by "we," I mean Grandpa Joe, Uncle Drew, Bob the Builder, myself, Anna, and Grandma Lis.

Ever since we moved in, we knew the bathroom was going to need to be replaced one day ... but the longer we were in the home, the more we knew the job needed to happen sooner than later. The plastic tiles on the floor were beginning to peel away from the floor revealing rotten wood and other un-pleasantries. Plus, we had done a quick fix on the original bathroom, putting up water-proof siding above blue tile ... then we tried to spraypaint the tile ... then, well, we knew we were beyond mere cosmetics.

So, about three weeks ago, the day after I returned from a wedding up in Michigan for two church families, we got into the bathroom and started demo work - taking the room down to the studs and tearing up about three layers of flooring that had been laid down through the years (when I was tearing up the final layer of wood-flooring I came across a newspaper from the late 1800's). Eventually, all that remained where four or five cross beams and a lot of space to fall into the basement.


I learned several things through this process: about subflooring, about denshield, about how absolutely nothing in an old home is to code and how nothing lines up as it should ... and eventually I learned how to cut, lay and grout a tile floor, which Drew pretty much did (you rock, Drew!). Meanwhile, Builder Bob and Grandpa Job did the majority of the plumbing. Thankfully, once the floor was completely removed, they had a tabula rosa to reroute all the pluming.


Then, late last week, Grandpa Joe put up the majority of the drywall, and I began to mud as I could. We also took a night to put in the new sink, the toilet, a vanity mirror, a lightbar and some additional storage for linens and things. While not completely finished, the job took just about two weeks ... and ...

Last night, we were able to give the kids their first bath in the new bathtub - making the whole process all the more worth it.

Speed Bump

I'm sorry if you've stopped by our blog recently only to see tumbleweed blowing across the screen or a "foreclosure" note appear. These past two months have seen too few posts. Not that there hasn't been a lot going on. In fact that's just the problem.

As you can tell from Anna's posts, we've got our hands and hearts and minds into all sorts of projects and problems - including the ongoing saga of fighting back nature and carving out a sustainable, enjoyable place to live. This struggle included the realization that the basement does in fact take on water - a realization made the evening I came back from a week long retreat in Malibu while Anna held the home (plus Wyatt's, Elise's and her own wellbeing) together by a thread that was bare across the whole length. But, we got that taken care of, and I have sensed realized that when you turn off the light for the basement you also turn off the sump pump. Anna: "Shouldn't we know all of this stuff by now?"

I've also recently taken the entire washing machine apart to see if I could correct a slight problem: the washing machine was just filling up with water and not doing anything. Hmm.

Well, I learned a lot about wachine machines ... and I also learned that it is far easier to take something apart than it is to be something back together. So it is that the washing machine now begins a spin cycle in harmony and peace but then quickly approaches seismic activity of a 4.0 earthquake.

Thank God God loves the foolish and mechanically challenged (well, I'm not sure about that last part).

Anyhow, Anna has also been coaching swim lessons in the afternoons for the last several weeks, which means we've been tag-teaming the parenting more. I spend a lot of my afternoons at Robe-Ann park here in Greencastle, holding Elise and watching Wyatt run wild over the castle of timber.

You would think it funny to see us make the exchange of kids at the school - like we're participating in some illegal exchange of nuclear warheads. Well, except it is not that secretive. But, trust me, it is dangerous. "Meltdowns" are very frequent, and I spend vast amounts of energy and many, many words trying to explain to Wyatt that mommy isn't actually going to be gone forever. This is how grey hairs are born.

Well, what else. Oh, yes: some potential good news ... well, maybe ... sorta. We have received an offer on our house in Owensboro. So, there is the chance - and I stress chance - that our house might actually sell.

I've told several people that I now understand the expression "getting out from under a house." I thought getting squashed by houses was just something that happened in Oz. Nope. It can even happen right here in America, even to me.

For the last five months, we've been paying a hefty amount to live in a home we don't even use in a part of the country we don't vacation in. And, as the weeks and months passed Anna and I had to move through all the stages of grief without actually having lost anything. If only that could have been as funny as it sounds!

Since there's no way we can keep paying to live in two exotic locations like Owensboro and Greencastle we began exploring every option. You should have seen the look on the banker's face when I asked him in complete seriousness what would be wrong with "foreclosure." I realized then that there are certain things you can say that immediately abolish any respect or dignity you might have.

So, anyhow, there's still the chance we'll have to go down the "foreclosure" road if this offer doesn't go through or if something falls through between now and closing (which there still is that chance). But, I will say this: I have learned a TON from this experience. I've learned how valuable it is to have people pray for you. I know that sounds trite, but - I'm telling you - as soon as I invited people to pray that our house would sell we got an offer. And , I've learned how good it is to pray when life seems heavy or crushing.

I've also learned what it is like to live with low-levels of ongoing stress that are somewhat beyond your control. I learned what you can do to eliminate some stress - to do what you can do. I've learned how I need to let go of the things I can't control. And, like so many Americans, I've been learning what its like to see a pleasent experience turn into a life-draining obligation: home-ownership. Or, to be even more exact: longing to get out of home-ownership.

If our house does sell, Anna and I will end up taking a significant hit, but at this point it is worth it. It is worth having the millstone cut away from our necks even if it takes a fair amount of our pride and money with it. Because more than anything it will mean that we can be fully planted where we want to be, which is right here.

Which brings me to the best news of all. There is growth! Our kids are growing and loving living out in th country. And I'm loving watching them grow out in the country. Wyatt just got a new bulldozzer and he's been using it to move small piles of dirt.

And Elise is now one year old. Wow: a year in her pocket with many, many more still before her ... and she is a delight. I'll try to post some new pictures - including some from her first birthday party. She got a new phone at that party, and I swear she is already texting.

Oh, and the other growth: we've got plants. I mean they've actually come up from the ground! I know that's what they are supposed to do, but you can never be sure with Anna and I - especially "I".

We've got some good rows of snap peas, spinach, edamame, and beans. And Anna said the corn just came up ... the self-pollinating corn.

We're also trying some hanging tomato plants this year, and despite one moment where I nearly destroyed a day's work in ten seconds (I tried to move a sturdy beam on the other beams positioned securely in the dirt. But, rather than moving the beam an inch, I moved it several inches, leaving all of the weight - including four 5-gallon buckets filled with dirt and the precious cargo of 5 infant tomato vines - in my outstretched hands - making me look like a wilting version of a Rodin scuplture. It was not long before I began yelling, "ANNA! ANNA!" And she came to my aid. My help-mate. The same help-mate who spoke peace to me after I became bound and determined to fix the washing machine even though it was beyond hope. As Paul Simon sings, "I was in a crazy motion 'til you calmed me down." She is so right for me.

[By the way, Anna really needs to comment on this as she was the one nursing Elise inside the house while watching me struggle to keep this beam aloft. She told me after we finally managed to set things right that she was wondering when I was going to call for help!]

So, yeah ... we've hit a few speed bumps. And there's still a chance that we will end up destitute and humbled on this land. But, we're living. And God is helping us along.

When I stop and look at the land and watch my kids taking delight in this place ... well, it is perfect in its own way. It is perfectly chaos because it is living and life, and that's somethng so right.

Wes

thorns and thistles

Wyatt is almost three, which means that he is still young enough to get away with wearing no pants or underway without facing serious jail time. Although, we have made a rule in our own home that Wyatt has to at least wear underwear if he is going to be galivanting around the place. Sometimes he honors this request. Other times, he revolts with the brazenness of a nudist.

Anyway, I mention his nude habit as an intro to a story Anna shared with me yesterday ...

Anna was attending to Elise when Wyatt showed up in the room with no pants on. Anna said half-heartedly that Wyatt needed to put on his underwear. And Wyatt did not respond except to turn around and begin crawling on his knees ... at which point Anna realized that he had a big red spot on his left posterior mound. Upon closer inspection, Anna discovered a sizable thorn embedded in Wyatt's rumpus. She incredulously asked Wyatt, "Wyatt, did you not realize you had a thorn sticking in your bum?" And Wyatt just looked at her bemused and unaware.

Kids.

Wes

New Beginnings

Here it is...the latest chapter in our story. This is the "temporary" house in which we will live. I use quotation marks because if we think about it realistically, our initial two to three year estimate begins to look more like 5 or 7...I dare not let my mind go beyond that.


It was originally built in 1885, and was perhaps a school house. The wooden handles on the doors indicate whoever built it was of a higher social class, and the music-themed woodwork in what will be our main bedroom leads us to believe that was some sort of parlor, entertaining space, or music room.

This house requires massive amounts of work. We are working to get it finished by the third of February...the day our furniture arrives from Owensboro. Who knows if we will succeed. I won't go into the details here, but plan to give before and after pictures of the rooms as they come to fruition.



Most recently, it was inhabited by a gentleman I knew and loved as I grew up in the farmhouse next door. He supplied our family with milk and honey and I carried over fresh baked pies...He was a cultivator, something to which I very much aspire.

The barn sits on perhaps my favorite part of the property -- just down a lane filled with mature fruit trees and berry bushes.


The inside is the best part and has me dreaming of the day we can afford to have it reworked into a modern home. It has a full basement, amazing loft, and although looks a bit shoddy from the outside, is quite structurally sound (from what we can tell). And who wouldn't want to reclaim that wood on the outside for a future ceiling?

All of this is a fantastic opportunity that would not be possible were it not for my parents' purchase of the property...and willingness to hold onto and rent it to us until we can afford to buy it from them. We are in a good situation here. In more ways than described here. We are so grateful.

~Anna

Places

Last night, we had a young man who has just moved to town come by to look at our house.  Our realtor came with him, and later on his father and mother showed up to look over the potential investment.  Since we were nearing Wyatt's and Elise's bedtime, we stayed at home while this cohort objectively labeled "potential buyer" moved its way through our home, or at least this place that we have called home for two plus years.  It is a strange thing to witness those who might replace you:  acknowledging that someone else will inhabit the space you've filled.

After the potential buyers had toured the home, and after we hoped that they were seeing potentials and not liabilities ... Anna called her family to discuss - largely - the hope of living into a new place.  There is the possibility now that Anna's family will procure another 27 acres of land to the east of their current property, and on those acres is a house that is not much too look at, but that may also be the beginning "place" of a family dream for her and I ... to live nearer the earth, to be bound and held more by the land.

Earlier in the day, I went to lunch with a friend I've been blessed with here in Owensboro, and I excitedly told him all about the prospects of this potential property.  He could sympathize with my excitement.  For the great majority of his adulthood, he has set himself the task of developing some land (not cruelly but carefully) away from his more urban space.  In fact, he now has a wonderful, rustic, yet modern cabin out on this land, and it could very well house he and his wife.  The question for him, though, is whether he is ready to be housed by this place.

Moving out of your current location to a new location always involves a type of dying, a conversion.  For this gentlemen that I had lunch with, the conversion involves not only a change of place, but also of pace - of learning to let go of the ability to access most things within minutes.  He would be moving to the country, and thereby would be learning how to live more in the rhythms of sunrise and sunset than minutes and hours.  He would be limited in his ability to hear from the outside world, which - while initially beautiful - is easier imagined than experienced.  No high-speed internet, no Target five minutes away, no coffee shops, no bumping into friends and strangers many times a day.  But, the possibilities are as advantageous as the losses are hard:  being held by a wide-embrace of tree and forest, creation at play in everyday, the ability to do some work that would never, ever change the land in dramatic ways, but would change my friend significantly.

As my friend drove me back to the church for the remainder of my "office" day, we got to talking about Wendell Berry.  My friend had the occasion to hear Mr. Berry speak once, and at the end of his lecture, someone asked him, "Mr. Berry, how do you actually begin living locally after you've lived in so many different places and in such contrast to the local lifestyle?"  My friend said that Wendell Berry minced no words, but said simply, "you just stop."

You stop.  You die.  You let yourself be consumed by a place.  Rather than trying to squeeze your own existence and happiness out of your community, you let yourself come to a place where you demand nothing of it and let it demand of you instead.

In the two plus years we've been in Owensboro, I have made the mistake of not "stopping" in this place.  I would like to say that I intended to be here long-term, but I know that is not true.  There has always been the subtle, but nonetheless imposing reality that this would not be my home.  No matter how much I try to deny that, it is like a bur in a saddle; it has kept me restless and never fully capable of being entirely in community.

So, in a few weeks, I will set out again.  This time for a new place, although it be something of an old home.  I hope - for once in my life - I can begin to let myself die somewhere.  I hope I can come to discover that I am housed in a place.  

Wes

p.s. - a few curiosities:  The land that you can see at the top of the blog ... that is land not too far away from the potential property we might get to live into.  And, irony of ironies, the potential buyer who walked through our home last night:  the very nephew of the friend I had lunch with that day.

Tugged

I am heightened in the recesses of my brain:  awakened, now.  Dizzy with explanation, every moment a puzzle to be worked, and I - the life - that is about to be rearranged and altered into a very new picture of profound similarity and difference.

As of November 30th, 2008, I have accepted the call to serve as the next pastor for the congregation of believers known as Greencastle Presbyterian Church (read the letter I wrote to the congregation here - click on "pastor's message").  On December 2nd, the opposite side of that "hello" was sent out to my current congregation.  Leave-taking and Home-making are now the realities that shape my mind and days.  We are in the process of disengagement and engagement.  It is not easy.  In fact, it is like the stringing out of my heart and mind - a tug of war of excitement and sadness.

For those of my friends that I have been scarce to, forgive my absence.  I - again - look forward to connecting with you as I move into yet another place of learning and life.

Wes

Listening

It's official. I have joined the ranks. I have adopted a paternal saying that falls deaf upon my son's ears. The saying: "Wyatt, listen to me."

I didn't even realize I was prone to this customary form of parenting until I said these exact words to Wyatt the other day, and before I could even get another word out Wyatt turned around and tried to ignore me. He knew what was coming: either correction or instruction. In this case, it was a correction - probably something about how he can't hit me with the zylophone mallet.

Seeing his indifference to my plea, I immediately played back a number of other times I had begun sentences, "Wyatt, listen to me." Usually, I try to turn him towards me, and I crouch down seeking to meet him eye to eye - hoping this will magically turn my son into Plato at Socrates' feet and will allow him to lap up my helpful counsel. To no avail. He is as persistent in his stubborness and sinful ways as a pre-exile Israelite. Or, at least that's how I choose to see it. The reality is much different.

When Wyatt misbehaves, it is usually because I have failed to listen to him, not the other way around. He usually hits me with the mallet after I have watched football for three hours and ignored him. So, when I sweep in and seek to put an end to his tirades, we are way past the point when Wyatt is ready to listen to me. Having listened to and watched me in my non-parenting, he is certainly not going to take my last-ditch attempts at parenting seriously.

This was all illustrated last night while I was watching the Colts play. Wyatt was sitting beside me on the couch, eating some popcorn (even sharing some with me). As I become more and more involved with the game, I became less and less aware of what Wyatt was doing. Anna - cooking dinner - looked over at one point and said I was staring straight at the television (Elise in my arms, mind you), while Wyatt was jostling the popcorn bowl to simulate a popcorn maker bouncing seeds all over the place. The result was popcorn seeds all over the couch, not popcorn. It also happened to produce one frustrated parent (me) and one "don't-you-ever-say-my-job-is-easy" parent (Anna).

That was a very long explanation to come to one conclusion: I am not that great of a listener sometimes. In fact, (when I'm watching sports) I am downright deaf - choosing to tune everything out except what I want to hear.

I've been reading through Walter Brueggemann's commentary on Jeremiah recently (thanks J for lending me your copy for now), and he is quick to point out that Jeremiah's strongest word is that the people of Israel have ceased to listen; the Israelites have gone their own way, theologically turning away from God as guiding-parent and choosing instead to see what life they may find on their own or with the other attractive gods (aka "idols").

Keep in mind: Listening is the central command given to the Israelites, the very action (nay, inaction) that is meant to guide them as a people (Deut. 6:4-6).

"... what is commanded and required is listening (shema', Jer. 7:23.) That is all ... Listening is readiness to be addressed and commanded, to have life ordered by Yahweh. Listening is to cede control rather than to retain control ..." (Brueggemann).

Reading this, I am once again aware of the need to listen ... not just to my son, but - just as importantly - to my God. Both are two people who could use more of my attention.

Wes

The Speedway

Wyatt has officially learned to steer and pedal a bicycle with training wheels.  Although mathematically his switch from the three-wheeled tricycle to the four-wheel bike seems a reversion, it is the only way he will eventually pedal on two, which may not be that far from now.  The dude can already cook.  

For the last two days, he's been tearing up a nice track in our backyard - a loop on the sidewalk/patio and through the yard with a pit-stop back to the grill area.  And, I've been tooling around with him on my own bike, practicing all sorts of neat tricks ... yes, that does mean I am once again setting a bad example for Wyatt to mimic.  Today, I was trying to launch over the basketball and somehow managed not to end-o.

Wyatt's bike happens to be a hand-me-down from a church member, and was a left-over after another child had her pickings.  The key word in the last sentence was "her."  As you can tell in the picture below, this bike is straight from the same people who designed LA Gear clothing and sneakers ... for females.  It is a sweet Barney-purple and hot pink with neon-sign lettering on the frame.  Radical.

One last thing about this picture:  Wyatt is looking more and more like boy and less and less like baby.  Seasons change.  Time moves in ways unimaginable.

Wes

PS by Anna: what Wes forgets to mention in this post is the fact that included in the speedway is a 6 inch ramp that Wyatt jumps.  Every time he passes me he says, "Bye Mom.  I love you, Mom!"  A good habit to get into, I suppose, if every trip runs the risk of being a "crash and burn."  :)

Chemistry

I never completed my minor in chemistry.  I completed four classes in two years.  I have no idea how I got that far.  I think I wanted to prove that I could master something difficult once in my life.  But, when I finally realized that I would not become an expert in four years of undergraduate work, I left off the journey, deciding to replace the study of microscopic collisions for the more enjoyable and visceral collision of ball and pins at Alex Alleys on Friday afternoons.  Can you blame me?

I'll say this, though:  I have not stopped in any way trying to figure out how things work, how this affects that.  In fact, I'm back to the slow, methodical work of hypothesis and experimentation, of arduous note taking and occasional exam.  I want to learn the system, the system of relationships.  And the system teaches me this:  the laws of chemistry are an excellent basis for building a theory about God and humanity.  

There are three laws of chemistry particularly worth noting:

1.  In any system, conservation of energy is always sought.  Systems demand homeostasis.  This  is not damnable in itself, but is so given the second law ...

2. ... that all life includes friction and the dissolution of energy, what we call entropy.  Entropy acknowledges that without some kind of outside, generating force, things run down.  Because of entropy (i.e. - stress), all things begin to lock themselves up, which leads to the third law ...

3.  ... that even if a system has no generating source, it will resist becoming entirely inflexible ... that is, becoming frozen.  I would call this grace, that only by God's involvement do we resist becoming entirely frozen in the friction of our sins.

But what is really attracting my attention is how the basic assumption of chemistry - that reality is determined by how individual components react and are affected by one another - also holds true for human relationships.  I have been rereading Edwin H. Friedman's work Generation to Generation again, and he emphasizes this "systems" approach to life.  Friedman's work is particularly interested in how family systems influence pastoral work and relationships.  If you're looking for a foundational work on family systems, though, your best bet is probably The Eight Concepts of Bowen Theory by Roberta Gilbert.  Or, you can go right to the source and read Murray Bowen's Family Therapy in Clinical Practice.  Good luck with that.

Wes

The Curious Case of Toddlerhood

I just came home after a great day, and Anna tells me we've had another first:  the first child to fall out of bed.  It was Wyatt.  Thank goodness it wasn't a bunk bed.  Anna's best guess is that Wyatt was reaching for a football that was on the floor and tumbled head-long towards the ground.  What made matters worse for Wyatt was the constriction of the three blankets wrapped mummy-style around his body.  That's his latest thing:  wanting us to tuck him in with not one blanket (keep in mind that it's like 150 degrees outside right now and a cool 95 in our house), but three blankets.  Usually, he looks like a Turk in a steam room after about five minutes.

Anna did manage to coax Wyatt to give up one of the blankets, he climbed his way back into bed to "sleep it off."  

This is on top of my trip with Wyatt to a baseball game yesterday.  It was Labor Day and all, and I know Wyatt loves to watch sports - especially live ones, so I figured, "hey, who cares if it feels like molten lava could easily descend from the sky at any moment and consume my fatiguing body, it's a great day for some baseball."  

Well, we get there, and I fork over a small fortune for a bratwurst and a regular RC Cola and head into the stadium.  Wyatt is so excited.  I'm feeling like super dad.  Things are good.  

Now, remember this:  since I'm holding brat and cola in respective hands, I can't hold onto Wyatt's hand.  So, I'm telling him to walk this way and that, to stop lingering, to stay close by.  And, he's doing fairly well, trailing me like a little puppy.  Next thing I know, though, he goes berserk, yelling "Da ... da ... da," while also seemingly hyperventilating.  He makes his way over behind my friend to take shelter while still crying out my name.  About then, I realize what is happening:  Evan the Otter - the local misfit mascot - has appeared at the top of the steps like some horrible golem from the Ohio River.  The poor guy in the suit absolutely froze, uncertain whether to come closer or to flee the scene.  I maneuvered my way over to Wyatt, knelt beside my friend and tried to explain to Wyatt that this was just some guy in a suit, which I now know is probably not the easiest concept to explain to a two and a half year old child.  

In the end, I don't think Wyatt saw more three at bats in the game.  That dang otter.  Every time Evan would come out to cheer up the crowd, Wyatt would scream bloody murder and bury his head into my chest.  

Anyhow, if you see this otter, please make all necessary precautions with your children:

Wes

By Popular Demand ... Well, if Ryan Were Popular

It's time to give the people what they want ...

Our first family venture out with the "dualie" Ironman.  This thing looks like a beast, and - so Anna tells me - it is.  I have yet to push the "45 pound carriage" for more than a few blocks.  Clearly, the kids don't know a good thing when they ride in it (see the picture).  But, seriously, Anna swears to me that they really do enjoy it.  Do you like the side-by-side sich-ee-a-tion?  We figured this would cut down on first child, second child stereotypes.
Elise laughed for the first time about a week ago (at me of course).  Here is a great picture of her in full facial stretch.  Love those dimples and the dress!
If only I were this happy in my own shoes all the time.  The picture I didn't post was of me in Wyatt's diaper throwing a tantrum.  "Yai-Yai" (as Wyatt refers to himself these days) just 's growin' like the proverbial weeds that are also running wild all over our yard.  Can't he do dad's chores when he wears dad's shoes? 

Wes