Four

Four is the smallest "big family" number. It's a whole human being over the idea of 2.5 children average. It feels like a crowd, a traveling party We've only all ventured out once so far- to Whole Foods to stock up on provisions. It was a bit of an ordeal which luckily ended with running into a friend as we checked out, a friend who generously helped me out to the car to unload (Thanks Christie!).  Sena expressed pride in our numbers, recognizing that we seem to stand out a little more than we did a few short weeks ago. And Sena is always happy to stand out.

Tom says four is our max, that he just can't handle the idea that there are any more people to be out in the world to be worried about, too many fragments of his heart living outside his body, in need of protection. And while I am not 100% ready to think that there are no more children destined to join our family, I do know what he means about worrying about all the pieces of you that are off living without you. Four such pieces does feel like a lot.

The days have mostly been remarkably peaceful and quiet, considering.  Some moments scattering the four kids across the house, other times finding them all in one place. We're trying to find our rhythm, balancing the needs to two homeschooled kids, a toddler and an infant. Sena and Gus have been quick to help. Sena frequently has Alamae filling her arms, and Gus has been taking Arlo outside to play when the little man requests it.

There have certainly been kinks and bumps, but we'll figure it out, establish a new normal or at least something as close to a normal as we are likely to ever experience.

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Character Development

In movies and books, character always trumps plot. I am far more concerned with who is doing something than I am with what is being done.

I grew up in a family of six children: one boy, five girls. From the outside, I am sure that we were frequently understood as a unit rather than a set of six individuals. But within our band, we knew who we were. We knew who was the firey one. The sweet one. We knew who was the quietest and who was the loudest. The bossy one. The most independent. Trying to explain each personality was a part of early friendships, the sort of thing you spend hours discussing with a boy you have a crush on while staring out at the dark water.

I felt like you couldn't know me without knowing them. And knowing about them collectively is not enough. You needed to know them as individuals.

As I write my children's story here, I hope that readers understand them as individuals too. It's easy for Sena to just be the girl. For Gus to be the boy. For Arlo to be the baby. But each of them is so much more. 

Sena is shy and bossy. Worried about breaking rules, but never worried about "fitting in."

On Sunday a girl at church, the same girl who teased Gus because of his long hair, made fun of the turban Sena was wearing. Sena just told her, "We have different styles. You're more a preppy style. I'm more of an artsy, weird style."

Gus is serious and charming. He is the sweetest of my children, the one most likely to offer a hug when he thinks someone needs it. He will tell me I look pretty out of nowhere, and suddenly, I feel pretty because Gus is above all things honest.

For the first year of Arlo's life we sang the praise to his mellowness. He adapted easily to situations, rarely complaining. As he has gotten older, he is more likely to let his displeasure be known, most often by furrowing his brow. He will sit quietly for long stretches playing with plastic dinosaurs or Sena's dolls. However, he would much rather be running after his older siblings around the center of the house, laughing and squealing, "Come on guys!"

Other attempts at explaining them: My Tribe  and Likes/ Dislikes. 

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Whittling and Weaving

There are times when it feels like I am doing it all wrong. I wonder when the last time Gus ate a vegetable was. I hope that I reminded them to brush their teeth that morning. I am loathe to really imagine how many hours they have spent staring at one screen or another. And then I start I wonder if I ever read to them enough or if I am to blame for the fact that they complain about boredom. Maybe I didn't foster their creativity. Maybe I stunted their intellectual development. Sure, they are smart, but maybe they could have been smarter. There are times when they pick at each other and the words coming out of their precious little mouths are just a little too snappy for my taste, and they don't sound very nice, or patient, or caring.

But there are other times when they find their way to the porch in the sunlight of autumn, and they talk to each other with kindness as one whittles and one weaves. They plan Christmas presents for their aunts and uncles. They encourage each other and let out little giggles, all of which I can hear from the open kitchen window.

Those are the times I like.

For any mother of a boy who has a hard time finding hobbies, I highly recoomend whittling. Gus likes his crafts to have an air of danger. 

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