The Last of the Bounty

The last week has been a bit of an up and down, weather wise. Monday, when I brought E. to school, I had M. in a fleece hat and and snuggled in the carrier. Today? Baby and I sweat it out in the dance studio - and we weren't the ones dancing!

Rhythmically, this week has been a lot like the weather. We've had our pretty incredible share of car issues, I started my new job, E. started ballet and tap lessons, the mister was home an extra day, we're getting ready to go away for the weekend, and E. is still adjusting to going to school. I'm exhausted just thinking about all if it and whatever footing we gained last week completely went out the window.

But today we tried to bring back some of that soothing quiet back into our lives. Between nasty rain and thunder storms, M. and I got outside and picked what little was left of our blackberries.

At this point in the year, they're really not that tasty. The berries are a bit shrivelled and more bitter than sweet. Gone are those addictive bursts of juicy-sweet tartness. But now it's not so much about the berries themselves, but the act of harvesting - the soothing rocking back and forth with the occasional pause to kiss a baby's head.

The blackberries are just about gone (though I have loads waiting in the freezer for a Michaelmas feast), the leaves are just starting to let the color start at their tips, and I can imagine that after this week is done, the humid days of 90 degree weather are, for the most part (I hope!!) behind us. The last of the summer bounty, for my home at least, has come in, and I can feel that desperate need to slow down so our bones can settle in for the winter

Kindergarten Questions

Okay, so, first of all, here is the required, ADORABLE picture of E. on her first day of Kindergarten:

 

She's pretty darn cute, right?

School has been okay so far. The first couple of days, while drop off was difficult, had gone really well. E. was excited to go, pleased with her new classroom and friends and teacher. But as our week has gone on, the words, "But the day is so long!" have been heard more than once. Yesterday, as we got ready for school, there was a refusal to get dressed, E. hiding under the covers, unwilling to get out.

"I don't want to go! I want to stay home!"

Part of me very much wanted to say, "Okay!" but, of course, I did not. I coaxed her out with promises to visit the playground after school and a favorite supper that night. We got her to school and she went in without a problem for the first time all week.

I left the school building, torn. I knew she was going to be fine. But, I would then say, what about better than fine? I know I have brought this up before, but it's still eating me up inside. I'm not entirely sure I could provide better than fine, I'm not sure if I should try, because although I am at home now, I'm not entirely sure I will be next year. With things so up in the air, it's hard to make plans, and while I don't know for sure her school is the best place she can be, I know it wouldn't be ideal to be changing things around a lot in just a school year or two. Above all, I know she needs consistency.

I want to provide a childhood for my daughter that speaks to the very best parts of her world, and I don't know if that's happening right now (both at home and at school - I'm not going to lay this all at the feet of the public school system). So, for now, E. goes to school. I try to make a healing rhythm at home. We both make new friends and learn new things. And we wait and see and hope that it will be better than fine.

A Taste of Michaelmas

As I've been exploring Waldorf education and Rudolph Steiner's philosophy I couldn't help but stumble across the immense amount of holidays and festivals that are celebrated in Waldorf schools and home schools or by families who identify with Steiner's beliefs. While I was raised in a Christian household and am married to a Catholic (who seems to have all sorts of hidden holidays I didn't know about), a lot of these Christian oriented festivals and their corresponding stories were new to me. What's more, I was drawn into the effort as well as simplicity (if such a thing were possible) the parents put forth in making these somewhat obscure days special for their little ones. 

My own bit of fluff - trying my hand at making a Waldorf inspired hand kite

 Of course, as one learns about Waldorf education, you realize that it is about so much more than sweet little natural toys, making flower crowns, and celebrating the summer solstice (I love this bit from Waldorf Essentials about the "fluff" families are often drawn to in Waldorf). It truly embraces the belief of making childhood count for something (something good and beautiful), but I suppose one of those things that helps make childhood all it should be is celebrating. And celebrating different seasonal holidays is a wonderful way to create a feeling of rhythm throughout the year (and months and weeks and days), something strongly encouraged in Waldorf education and any mother who wants to stay sane. 

Michaelmas is the next upcoming festival (September 29) and as a family we've decided it's something we'd like to celebrate. Now, for those of you who aren't in the know, Michaelmas, as I understand it (if you are in the know and see something off in the explanation to come, let me know!) is a celebration of a couple of things: One, the battle of archangel Michael and his subsequent defeat of Lucifer, which is often shown as a knight defeating a dragon (St. George is wrapped up in this is as well since he is a noted dragon slayer apparently). Two, Michaelmas is also associated with harvest celebrations, where people partake in the bounty of the wood and field (geese and blackberries where two common food related themes I had noticed).

Below is a children's story that I told (and later wrote in very rough form) to my daughter. It is the story of St. Michael made a wee bit tamer for the five year old set as well as brining in the harvest festival elements so often associated with the festival. If you like you're more than welcome borrow the story to tell your own little ones, but I do recommend telling the story sans text. Little ones love to be told a story, and even if you think you're lousy at it (I know I am), it will be enjoyed nonetheless, trust me.

Mama's Michaelmas Story

Once upon a time, in a beautiful land filled with farms and fields, lakes and rivers, forests, hills and mountains. Many animals lived in this land: deer, boar, wolves, squirrels, and even frogs and toads! The people who lived in this land were good people, they worked hard, cared for their land and the animals that lived in it, and loved one another very much.

As good as things were most of the time, there was one big problem. In the mountains, not too far way, there was a dragon. He was as green as an emerald, with jet black eyes, and was as big as a house. This dragon would watch the people of the land in their villages, happily taking care of their homes, fields, and each other and it would make the dragon, who lived all alone in the cold mountains, very angry.

So, once a year, just as the people were finishing gathering the harvest, mending their woolen winter clothes, and readying their homes and animals for the long winter, the dragon would come and burn one of the villages down to the ground. The people of that village would lose everything – all their food, all their clothes, even some of their cows and sheep, which the dragon would eat right up! The people of the village the dragon had chosen to burn that year would be very sad and worry, because they had lost all they had prepared for the long hard winter and didn't know how they would survive.

In one of the other nearby villages, there was a young knight named Michael. He had seen the village that was burned down and had many friends there. It made him very upset to see people he cared so much about with nothing just before wintertime, especially when they had just worked so hard to prepare everything they would need. He helped his friends from the burned village find places to stay for the winter and new clothes, but he still felt angry. Every year this happened and it just wasn't fair!

No one wanted to fight the dragon. The people of this land were a peaceful people and not many kept things like swords and shields. Besides, the people were very afraid of the dragon – he was so big and fierce and they were so small! But Michael did have a sword, one he had made himself, and a shield as well, and he was just upset enough to finally say, “I will go to that dragon and I will defeat him!” The villagers were proud of Michael and as he left his village they gave him many supplies: a horse to make him fast, food to fill his belly and help keep up his strength, and a shining cloak of gold and red, as bright as any dragon's fire.

Michael road his horse across the land, towards the mountains. He galloped through open fields, trotted through narrow forest paths, and crossed over rough and gravelly hills. Finally, he came to the dragon's mountain.

He stood at the base of the mountain and summoned as much courage as he could. He called out, “Dragon, I dare you to come down and fight me!” He waited for a moment, but there was no answer.

He called again, louder, “Dragon, I DARE you to come down and fight me!” Again, there was no answer.

Michael was starting to not feel so brave. He thought about how big the dragon was and how he could breathe fire and eat huge cows in one swallow. He knew he had to call out to the dragon again, so he started to think of his friends and family back home, especially those who had no home this year, and the ones who didn't have a place to last winter last year, and how this happened every year. Finally, he was ready to call out again, and when he did, it felt as though everyone who wanted that dragon defeated was calling out with him. Do you want the dragon defeated? Call out with Michael if you do!

“Dragon, I DARE YOU TO COME DOWN AND FIGHT ME!”

From a high, high rocky ledge, the dragon leaped down, green wings spread wide, smoke coming from his nostrils, a sneer on the dragon's face.

“You think you can defeat me?” The dragon chuckled, getting ready to swallow Michael in one gulp.

“I will defeat you, dragon!” Michael yelled, getting ready to fight, even though he was pretty sure the dragon would just burn him to a crisp.

The dragon stopped and looked at the small night with his dragon-fire cloak. “Hmmm,” he said, “You know, no one has ever challenged me before. Everyone usually just runs and hides and isn't as brave as you. I'm impressed. I'll let you fight me. I could really just burn you to a crisp now, but instead I'll give you a go. Let's fight, little knight!”

And so the fight began. The dragon would blow his fire and Michael would leap aside. Michael would run to skewer the dragon with his sword, but the dragon would suddenly fly into the air. The knight and the dragon would go back and forth, blowing fire and parrying with the sword. Eventually, the two of them began to grow tired, and Michael would land a blow or the dragon would singe the knight a bit, but nothing to cause any serious damage. After a while, Michael and the dragon became so exhausted they had to stop fighting, unable to go on, but neither defeated.

The dragon, who was really a coward at heart, knew that if they continued to fight, no one would win, or worse, he would be defeated. As Michael struggled to get up and continue the fight, the dragon yelled, “Stop! I won't fight you any longer. I'll go away and never bother you or your family or your land's villages again.”

“But I don't want you to harm anyone ever again. I must defeat you!” The knight and the dragon looked at each other, waiting to see what the other would do next. Finally, Michael had an idea. He had looked around him, at the cold, dreary mountainside where the dragon lived. It was hard and colorless, devoid of life. It seemed it would be a lonely life, living here, lonely enough to make any creature bitter and angry, let alone a grumpy old dragon.

“Now I'll make a deal with you, dragon. Let me go free and promise to never hurt anyone, and I mean anyone ever again, and the villagers and I will make a feast for you. We'll do it every year, right at this time, and you can come and fill your belly for the long winter right along with us. At the end of the feast you can make a huge bonfire for us to warm ourselves by and celebrate the end of the harvest.”

The dragon thought for a moment, considering the knight's offer. “Yes, I will agree to this, but with one condition.”

“What's that?” Michael asked.

“You'll make a special treat just for me. Though, maybe I'll share it, if I feel like it.” Michael agreed.

The dragon brought Michael (and his horse) back home again and Michael told the villagers about his battle with the dragon and the deal he had made. That very night the villagers had their first feast, celebrating Michael's bravery right along with the end of their bountiful harvest. The dragon filled his belly, as did the villagers, and all went home happy and no longer worried about being left out in the cold.

For many years feast for Michael and the dragon were held, even long after Michael and the dragon where gone. Once the dragon was gone, people would still leave food out for the dragon, just in case. Or people would bring things to others in need, lonely and cold like the dragon before them.

Gratitude Sunday

Sunday's heartfelt tradition. A time to slow down, to reflect, to be grateful. A list of gratitudes. (Joining Taryn over at Wooly Moss Roots)

This week I've been grateful for:

* My husband and for all he's given me and my family. We spent two days together, just the two of us, for the first time in six months, this week. As hard as it was to be away from the littles, I think we both feel so refreshed in our marriage and blessed to have one another. (Check out this poem I posted in honor of our anniversary on Friday.)

I am not known for my ability to capture just how attractive people are in real life...and my husband always makes faces when he's being photographed.

* My parents and the crazy amount of "help" they've given our little family. This week they took both of the kids overnight while the hubs and I had our time away. They've done any number of other things for us (there isn't enough time or reader attention span to say it all), but I don't know if I would have made it as far as I have in life without their unconditional love and support. The joy they brought my kiddos this week has been just one small part of it.

My daddy (yes, I'm one of those adult women who still calls her father Daddy) and the kids. He and my mom are just so awesome with them.

* The little things. Like sushi. Really, really yummy sushi. And new fabric.

Delaney's in North Conway, New Hampshire

* Feeling smart and learning about awesome new things.

Poetry Friday (Which Was Poetry Sunday and Will Probably Become Poetry Saturday)

 'Ahidziskeii

It's not a grand thing after all,
just that warm comfort in murmuring "good night"
before I sink into that dark quiet
that exists when we're together.

Otherwise, when I'm traveling,
same same 'good night' on the phone,
and I listen intently (for wheat I'm not sure",
leave a light on for safety, drift off to sleep, half-listening;
a little noise and I'm sitting up in bed, surveying the room,
sometimes even the entire block from the hotel window. 
I rush to the phone and double check,
should  I dial o or 8-911?
I check the locks again, then lie back down 
afraid to sleep, yet wanting to sleep, knowing 
that fatigue will be obvious in the morning.
I've had so much practice. 

When we're together, checking locks doesn't occur to me,
local crime seems so far away (never mind
that we are in the heart of the city),
I insist upon complete darkness, and what I ams sure of 
is that if I turn over, your warm chest or arms will surround me.
That should I awaken, confused as to where I am (once again),
you will reach for me knowing exactly how to reassure me. 

And when we drink coffee together
in this bright California morning, 
mountains towering around us, I move closer to knowing
what the Creator means by "nizhonio 'ahidziskeii."
They are sitting beside each other in a house of beauty. 

Lucy Tapahonso

Five years ago today I married the man I love the most, who makes me smile the broadest, laugh the hardest, and can piss me off more than anyone possibly could (and still accepts my apologies and forgiveness). When I read the poem up above, I see my husband and I, together in our home, our own "house of beauty." It is his "warm chest and arms" that make me feel safe and protect our family. And when he isn't home, there is a hole in our world and things just don't seem quite right. 

Our marriage is quietly special and subtly sweet. There aren't any ostentatious gifts of affection or over the top gestures of love, just the little things bind our family together. Things like never going to bed without a kiss goodnight, or the phone calls to one another when we reach our destinations, or still holding hands as we walk into a store.

I want five years, twenty, fifty years and more with him, learning more about one another, raising our babies, and having our best adventures.

Back to School

I think I really need to start taking some grad courses. You know you have school deprivation when you easily pick up a textbook-grade paperback and flip through it like it's Us Weekly (you also know you've been out of school too long if you debate whether or not you ought to italicise the name of a magazine, both because you care and because you don't know the answer).

A few weeks ago I showed up at our library with a list of seven books. Seven books that did not contain characters that were married to sexy Scottish warriors, scheming dwarves (who also somehow manage to be sexy, in that smart guy kind of way), or have anything even remotely to do with Edwardian England (hello, Downton Abbey withdrawal). They were all books related to Waldorf education, either from a parenting or a curriculum/education perspective.

Over the next few days the books came in and I spent a lot of time at the library, schlepping small children, who both love books, but would have preferred to be outside (well, I suppose the baby didn't care, but E. most certainly did).

I don't know that E. would agree, but I'll say, so far, it's been worth it. I'm about halfway through the pile, having read three and a half of the books (I'm literally smack in the middle of my fourth) and I have learned so much. There is a sense of empowerment that comes with being presented with new tools in life, particularly in parenting. There have been so many areas where I have felt helpless and have known in the back of my mind that my way of doing things needed to be changed. Now I understand why I need to make changes, and I'm attempting to make those changes. It's not easy, but it feels so good to try and to see positive results.

I doubt all this sort of vague hinting about at what I've learned and am still discovering is terribly interesting, but I hope to eventually synthesize it into more bite sized (and interesting) bits here, if only for my own reference.

So, after I become an expert in Waldorf education, I fully intend to return to my "fun" books (including and not limited to presidents' killing vampires, more hot Scottish warriors, dragons, and maybe moving back in time to Victorian England, either with Austen or Dickens, not sure). Learning new things is undeniably good, but one does need a bit of variety, right?

What are you learning about?

Time Warp

What is your favorite age? If you could stay that age forever, would you? (Prompt courtesy of Mama Kat)


I have to think back pretty far to reach my favorite age. I have to bypass teenage pregnancy (which I'll never regret, but people DO look at you funny), my troubled years in high school, awkwardness in middle school, the misery of making friends after our move to Maine (I was the quintessential Mass-hole), and the death of my Grandma Ruth. 


Once you get through that mess, you hit about eight. That's not to say 9 through twenty-five stunk, it's just that eight was...well, eight was just about perfect.


We lived in Groveland, Massachusetts at the time, in a beautiful colonial on a quiet suburban street.

My dad and grandpa did a ton of work and an amazing job renovating this almost 300-year-old house, which you can read about here.

We lived in an actual neighborhood, something that is somewhat scarce in our current neck of the woods. There were lots of kids right around my age and we participated in the usual roving gang of kids activities, like flash light tag, secret clubs, and adopting a stray dog that spent a lot of time going through our trash cans.

Halloween! I'm the kiddo in the white turtleneck next to the scarecrow. All these kids grew up to be amazing and kinda gorgeous, by the way.

At eight, I was never bored. I spent crazy amounts of time outside. I had ambitions, ideas, stories, pictures, a voice. It's not to say that I don't have any of that now, because I do, but it was so pure and so uninhibited. There was no concept of, "What will they think," because "they" didn't exist. The only other people in my life were my family and my very best buds, and they all loved me unconditionally, so it didn't matter what I did - it would all be great.


At eight, you're all innocence still (or, at least if all is right in your world, you ought to be), but you are cognisant of the world enough to really be smart about stuff. It's a perfect balance of a willingness to see an unjaded and beautiful world as well as an understanding that maybe everything isn't perfect, but you can do something about it. Rudolph Steiner, who I'm reading an awful lot about lately, would say an eight year old is spending a lot of her time interacting with the world via feelings. Kids are discovering empathy at this age, and truly feeling the brunt of their emotions. They are understanding how emotions work and preparing to someday control them so they can be used to benefit others. It's an amazing time to experience the world. Maybe because I tend to feel so intensely is why I can connect so easily to eight-year-old me.


But would I want to be eight forever? No, of course not. I think most adults, when they think about it, wouldn't want to go back. There are wonderful things about childhood, but once you've tasted adulthood, you know there is no going back. Not necessarily because being a grown-up is so much better, but because what you've seen and done can't be unseen or undone. What we've experienced as children and young adults has helped us unfold into the full person we've become - and really, that's not such a bad person.

What I want to hang on to is some of that eight year old perspective. The world is a wonderful place. My family and friends love me (including some of those folks in the picture above). I am capable, smart, and beautiful. Flashlight tag is fun (heck, any kind of tag is fun). And you know what? If I want to be a ballerina, then, damnit, I can be.


How old are you, really?