We began the festivities in birthday crowns and party dresses.

We migrated to a restaurant aptly named “Tenders” that served just that, fried chicken tenders. And French fries. And milkshakes. Essentially a 4-year old’s dream dinner. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SUNNY! She was gifted sparkly stickers which were immediately used to accessorize while waiting for our baskets of fried food to arrive.

Uncle Ted found the proceedings comical. Or sinister. Unclear.

Courtland pooped her pants. And the back of the car filled in as a changing table for the umpteenth time.

Then we frolicked around the Davidson campus and drank beer and blew Dandelion fluff.

We posed for some Mommy & Me shots. It was our birth day, after all.

We headed to bed relatively early so that we could rise and witness Ben’s moment in the spotlight. Uncle Ted and Courtland documented the occasion and reviewed the results.

We tried to figure out a better white balance on the camera for the hideous fluorescent lighting in the gym, but with little success. So we made funny faces to distract from the purple hues of our skin.

We wore our socks as gloves. And found ourselves hysterical for such brilliance.

We cheered and applauded Uncle Ben’s waltz across stage.

And then we ate cake to celebrate Uncle Ted’s birthday. Nom nom nom.

All in all, a whirlwind weekend of celebration. Whew. I need a nap.

I showed the new Merida to my eight-year-old and she assumed that it was Merida’s evil twin.  Which actually would make an awesome story, and personally I plan to tell stray children I see buying backpacks with the new Merida on them that the original Merida was eaten by the new Evil Merida because she was so hungry.  And they will probably believe it because seriously, look at her waist…the girl needs a damn sandwich.

“A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013.”

Sunny: Favorite activity of late? Blowing dandelion fluff. Here she dons a party dress on her fourth birthday.
Kaki: She merrily sits the filthy, slobbery dog bowl atop her head and declares, HAT!

More details about The 52 Project here. To view all the portraits in the series visit here.

Happy happy 4th birthday to you! I can’t even believe that I am saying those words. How on earth is it possible that you’ve been in our lives four whole years – and yet, how is it possible that it’s been so few? I feel like you and I have always been a pair – a bold, dancey, blonde duo that takes on the world with excessive layering and the wiggles.

You are one of my favorite people in the entire Universe. You are so kind and thoughtful and sensitive, even at just 48 months of life. You’re so very in tune with people’s emotions, empathetic to the core, expressing sorrow when I shed a tear, offering aid when your sister is frustrated, giggling righteously when your daddy cracks a smile. This trait is so very admirable and dear. You feel things deeply, and while that will at times feel debilitating and overwhelming, it will make you an amazing friend, partner, sister and daughter. You already are.

I missed your tree house birthday party in South Carolina due to some truly outrageous issues with the airline, and headed back home to the farm completely devastated that I would not be by your side as you blew out your fourth birthday candles. I awoke at 5am the next day, determined to be with you on your actual birthday, our BIRTH DAY, even if I’d missed the festivities. I needed to be with my eldest daughter, the person who truly made me a mother. I needed to be with you as you turned four, because no matter how many numbers are attached to your existence, you will always be my baby, and I will always need you more than you could ever possibly need me.

Loving you is effortless.

Happiest of birthdays, Sunny girl.

I love you to the moon and front.
143 Mama

Our home growing up had a wall of lilac that bloomed each spring along the edge of our driveway. Each season I looked forward to the perfumed air of those purple flowers, and the magic of pretending that their trunks were a part of some mystical forest. I would weave my body in and out of the branches of the lilac playing make believe, inventing a world filled with creatures who lived in the embrace of that living perfume. Through osmosis I came to associate lilac with my mother, she who tended our gardens and made them bloom each year greater than the next.

While on a run the other day, beaten down by the blinding sun and heat to which my body is not yet accustomed due to months of training in a New England winter, frustrated, tired, mentally undone, I ran by a lilac tree. And in that instant, bathed in the scent of her flower, I felt a sense of relief that I thought could only come from a cool glass of water.

The smell of lilac brings me comfort. Like my mother.

This evening I stepped outside armed with clippers and a basket, intent on filling our home with the scent of lilac, a gift for our friends who will watch our feathered and furry lot while we’re down south.  Ursa lay on the lawn before me, chin tipped slightly skyward, wind creating waves through her silky black coat, nose rippling as it processed all the news carried by that breeze. She’d spent the later afternoon in that very spot, content in absorbing the world around her, peaceful, elegant, soaking it all in as though she had an innate sense of the beauty around her.

An older women on the street stopped me today to inquire about Ursa, her missing leg a constant source of intrigue. When I explained her situation, she replied, “Well, lucky for dogs, they live every single moment to the fullest. No one needs to tell them to do it. They just do. We could all learn something from that kind of spirit.”

And so there was Ursa, doing just that on a gorgeous, late spring afternoon.

As I began clipping blooms of lilac from the tree that now lines the driveway of my own home, I let my mind wander to what life might be like when I am no longer greeted by Ursa lounging in the middle of our front lawn. I reflected that I had only ever known adult life with her by my side. That a certain innocence, a part of myself from a simpler time, would be lost in her passing. I thought about the naive girl who scooped up that wriggly black puppy nearly eight years ago, a girl who never once considered the weight her heart might carry by making that choice, and felt an ache for those years and that simplicity. Just a girl and her puppy and the whole world before them.

As I felt the panic begin to rise in my chest, drowned in the heavy scent of lilac and nostalgia, a heard the hop hop hop of the 3-legged emerging by my side. I must have left our gate ajar when I’d gone to the lilac tree, and so there Ursa stood, tail flapping, nose nuzzling.

I’m right here. Snap out of it. I’m right here.

While she couldn’t possibly have known that I was caught in my own head spiral of grief, she appeared by my side at the exact moment that I needed her, once again a reminder that often all we can do is live in the present and be grateful for what is before us.

The smell of lilac brings me comfort. Like my mother. Like my Ursa.

Stepping into Maja and Lars’ gorgeous Stockholm flat was like living in the pages of a Scandinavian design magazine. Minimalist. Clean. Modern. Monochromatic. They painted the floors white upon purchasing the apartment to maximize light. In a country that essentially lives in dark during the winter months, it’s no surprise that their wall of windows (and that insane view of the city and one of its many waterways) is the envy of all of their friends.

I call this Swedish Sunbathing.

Even their Swedish horse is black and white. Also, Maja freelances for Byredo (the perfume company that makes the candle pictured). While it’s insanely expensive, I splurged and bought myself (and my mama) this perfume and omg, I love smelling myself all day, everyday. Signature scent, what what?! And I was a lucky girl and received this candle from Maja as a birthday gift. It’s burning next to be as as I type. Much like Maja’s apartment, all the packaging is a sleek, simple black and white design. Complete with black wax for the candles. SWOON!

While my home couldn’t be decorated in a more contradictory fashion (Think so much color. So much pattern. So much stuff), I absolutely loved the tranquil calm that this space created. It was such a delight to stay in a place so emblematic of the city and country in which I was visiting. I can’t wait to bring my entire family back to experience it together.

Here’s a snapshot of a knitting project I’ve had in the works for a couple months. I created this one for Baby Brie’s 1st birthday, and just need to put the embellishments on Sunny’s (which Miss Kaki will one day inherit). The hope is to finish theirs before Addison’s birthday on Saturday. But I couldn’t resist sharing a peek at Brie’s version (modeled by Courtland).

I’ll talk more about the process once Sunny’s is finished. It was inspired by a sweater I saw in a local yarn shop. I adapted a cardigan pattern to create the sky/grass/soil effect, and then all the little bits and bobbles are an experiment. A taste of Cartwheel Farm in a sweater.

I must say, I have never been so proud of a knitting project. While it’s a bit arty and experimental, I just love it so. I can’t wait to see how Sunny’s takes shape. I’ll share more soon!

This evening, James and the girls flew south to visit his parents. I had planned to join them, but after Ursa’s diagnosis, we shuffled things around. Assuming Ursa’s spirit stays elevated, I’ll meet up with them on Friday morning, just in time for Sunny’s 4th birthday party in a tree house (FOUR?! WHAAA?!?!) and then we’ll drive to Davidson for James’ babiest brother’s graduation (he’s the oldest of four boys). Amazingly generous and nurturing friends will stay at the farm with Ursa and Hanna and tend to all the high maintenance cancer-care.

We seriously could stock a veterinary pharmacy with the spread we have lined up on our shelves. Ursa is having a Pavlovian response (in a not way) to peanut butter since we’ve been using it to give her the eight babillion pills required daily. She sees the jar and goes running. She’s extremely picky about what she’ll eat, so tonight I was in doggie chef mode, boiling chicken, cooking brown rice, and steaming vegetables (particularly sweet potato) to create a mushy mash of healthy stuff for our girl that will agree with her tummy. After another day of not eating (although plenty of spunk and interest in playing fetch and running around outside), she devoured two bowls full of the “stew” (as our vet calls it). I’d feed her caviar and fois gras if it meant she’d keep thumping that tail and perking up those silky ears whenever I enter the room.

I was feeling particularly anxious all day with James’ impending departure. It’s always a strange thing to be without my family, particularly in my own home, a space that is so typically filled with chaos and noise. While I expected that I’d lie around, inhaling the 80 lbs of Trader Joe’s snack food I picked up while I was in Albany for the airport drop, miserable and lonely, I’ve been consumed with cooking and laundry and picking up the tornado that blew through in our efforts to get those three out of the house. It would seem that I’ll have to save eating my feelings for another evening.

Thank goodness Ursa is doing so much better, as I think that that has been the root of so much of my anxiety. I don’t want to face any devastating decisions without James by my side. Here’s hoping for a smooth couple days until we’re all back safely on the farm.