Outwards

I never really mean to step away from this space for more than a day or two, but in these several years of blogging, I've noticed that sometimes little sabbaticals naturally form.  One of the lovely things about blogging simply for the pleasure of documenting our family life is that I can go with the flow without pressure or deadlines.  Sometimes it is a sickness in the family, or a particularly busy week with the kids, or giving birth to twins.  You know, the usual stuff.  :-)

The last few weeks I've found myself struggling with the seasonal shift.  Or more accurately, struggling with the anticipation of the seasonal shift.  The barren branches, the chill in the air, the darkening of the evenings.  I didn't feel ready.  Not quite yet.

But also, it was more than that.  I also found myself struggling with some larger picture seasonal shifts.  An unexpected health situation in the extended family.  Accepting the reality of the physical distance between us and people we love deeply.  Seeing our babies venturing out into the world with their own stumbling first steps and realizing that they are no longer the newborns we cradled so eagerly.  These are normal sorts of things that we all deal with every day, but somehow I allowed them to cast a dark cloud over my every day life.  The same every day life that I find to be blindingly beautiful from one moment to the next, which I receive with a grateful heart as a gift from our Creator.  But just like the approaching cold, it wasn't the winter itself that left me feeling down, but the anticipation of it.  Isn't it funny how that happens?

I cleared my schedule to allow for solitude and introspection, and attending to the urgent matters at hand.  That gave me space to process and gather my thoughts, but, truth be told, my spirit still felt gloomy.  Because the winter is still coming, whether I like it or not.  And it was somewhere in the middle of that gloominess that I felt a stirring inside of me propelling me outward.  Not the usual thing for a woman who is a homebody through and through.  It felt quite urgent, to tell you the truth, in a "Whew, I need to get out of this room because it is feeling hot!" sort of way.  Out of the room of my introspection into the world, where there are countless adventures, new faces, new experiences, along with immeasurable beauty.  I mean, I have six built in companions by my side, right?  And somehow, adventure has a way of making life so much more exciting, don't you think?

The trees are becoming increasingly bare, the evenings are longer and darker, and fall is quite certainly here.  It isn't nearly as bad as I had feared, to tell you the truth.  Quite nice, actually.  

Something For Me

The last few days have been a beautiful journey of sorts. For years now, I've been feeling a gentle calling. And even as it has tugged at my heart, I have always taken a deep breath and realized that the time has not been quite right-- yet. A nursing baby, another commitment, difficulty attending a training. And then the other week, the tug surfaced again, and this time, everything was just exactly right.

A training, which seems to be offered almost entirely overseas, a short drive from my house. The very next week. An incredible teacher who, upon hearing of how I stumbled upon the class, simply remarked, "Coincidences are miracles in which God chooses to remain anonymous." A patchwork of childcare that made me feel that at every moment, my little ones were being loved and nurtured. And then four days in which I got to know some beautiful women, all with remarkable stories, and all with this very similar calling. There were stories shared, tears shed, friendships formed. And, perhaps most importantly, the shared bond of following our purpose.

And now, on the other side of this wonderful experience, I am looking forward and realizing that I am standing at a new beginning. I will be doing something I am passionate about, helping women prepare for peaceful and gentle births, and my step into the unknown is also a journey into unseen beauty.

Present and Grounded

I've been slowing down a bit this past week, and somehow life around me has been keeping pace and even speeding up. A few days in, I realized that simple practices of self-care and cultivating joy were more important than ever. So, in the past few days I have:

• taken a nap every afternoon when Lily naps and Zosia takes her quiet time.
• accepted help to accomplish the basics, and then accepted some more help to take a long bath.
• tried to accomplish at least one task each day that will not immediately be un-done (laundry and dishes are more of a cycle than a chore around here, but something like taking a box of donated items to the thrift store, or cleaning out a drawer, feel more lasting).
  
• stopped absolutely everything I was doing when things started to feel crazy to just sit down and play with the kids.
  

Work is still busy, my pregnant body is still adjusting to new life it's creating, but I do feel joyful and present amid all of the life that's happening around me.

How are you staying present and grounded?

Fledglings

Zosia tucked two walnuts in a nest we found in the backyard. Ben found the nest, "eggs" and all, when he was tidying up the deck after the babies were asleep-- a little remnant of our eldest's creative play-- and I couldn't stop smiling at the discovery. It's just perfect, isn't it?

And here we find ourselves, each member of our little family, flying from our nest in our own different ways.

Ben, with his new job.

Zosia, running into her preschool class fearlessly with a smile on her face ("your daughter is very delightful to talk to," her teacher informed me. And I smiled, because I do know that to be true).

Me, standing in front of a room of forty elementary children who call me "teacher," struggling to remember the words of the creed and having to really think about what it means for the first time in my life (and realizing, for all of those "we believe"'s, there sure isn't a lot about the life of Jesus... why is that?).

And Lily, delighting in time with just her mama when she can cook and walk by herself on walks around the block, and do funny little things. She put a sock puppet on her hand this morning and ran at me making a unidentifiable animal noise, and just couldn't stop laughing. She was delighted at herself, and the idea, and her execution of it. It was this hilarious little play she put on. Oh, the two of us laughed for what was easily 15 minutes, it was that good.

And two months ago, I couldn't have imagined any of this-- the jobs, the independence, the play. So many journeys, transformations, flights.

I am only left wondering, what nests will we fly from in the future?

Joyfully Embodied

From today's Hours:

I shall establish my dwelling place among you
and shall not reject you;
-I shall walk among you;
I shall be your God and you shall be my people.

You are the temple of the living God,
as God himself has said.
- I shall walk among you;
I shall be your God and you shall be my people.

Leviticus 26:11-12; 2 Corinthians 6:16

Ah yes, even as I struggle to understand the glory of the body, I am surrounded by little beings who live that glory every day. There's nothing like cold fountains on a hot summer day to bring out the sheer joy of embodiment.

Conversation

It happened again. The same tense conversation. Me trying to smooth things over, overly sweet. Her firmly standing ground, making strong statements, burning my olive branches before my very eyes. Who is more at fault? We've had the conversation before, following the same pattern, going nowhere. And with time, it has meant that our friendship has drifted apart.

I left with a tight chest, my breaths shallow and my shoulders raised. I'm sure that my pulse was racing. Years of people-pleasing has left me with few coping mechanisms when people, quite simply, are not pleased. I talk it over with my sister, my best friend, who is a very good listener (yes, I suppose that might be why she is a therapist). Her advice is plain: sometimes these symptoms, the elevated pulse, the tight chest, they are your body's way of telling you something. Yes, of course. I have lived my whole life with this body, through this body, as this body, really, and yet spend most of my time silencing rather than interpreting it. I know that Paul's question is for me: "Don't you know that you yourselves are God's temple, and that God's spirit lives in you?" (1 Corinthians 3:16) No, honestly, I don't always know that. And what then is this temple, this body, telling me?

I know that in the short term, my body was asking me, quite urgently, to walk away from that conversation. Which I did. But in the long term? In the next conversation, the next relationship? I really don't know. And so I left one conversation to enter another, this one with my own body. I am left listening, calmly and quietly, as if for the softest whisper.

Gratitudes

The wonder of every day things like apple sauce cups.
New windows that let sunlight stream in our rooms.
One furry member of our family whose leg is on the mend, and whose spirits remain high.
Growing hair.
Little children whose health is improving and who are sleeping soundly at night.
A new pediatrician that makes my baby smile.
Floors that are swept and mopped... for now.
A trip to the library that yielded a good book for me.

Won't you join me?

Becoming Industrious

in·dus·tri·ous

–adjective

1.

working energetically and devotedly; hard-working; diligent: an industrious person.

2.

Obsolete. skillful.

Oh, how my admiration for the industrious has grown since becoming a mother. What I wouldn't give for this trait to come to me more naturally. It really is a virtue, isn't it? And something that takes so much practice.

I remember the first time I cut up a whole chicken into pieces (my favorite part is using kitchen shears to cut out the backbone). It was something that saved money, that was practical, and that I had never dreamed of doing myself. A bit gross, but truly rewarding. Ben always beams with pride whenever he comes into the kitchen and I am cutting up a chicken, that alone being incentive to do it as much as possible. :-)

Industriousness is rewarding, but you sort of have to be intentional about learning how to become industrious-- a story from a mother, an anecdote from a book. It's really not something that our society teaches very well. Did you know you can melt down the little nubs of soap that are too little to use and use them as spot-cleaner on really dirty laundry? I had no idea, until I watched some of these videos of Mrs. Meyers, the lady behind the cleaning supplies. Or that you should always save the picked over bones of a chicken in order to make chicken broth? Add some veggies, cook it for an hour, and then freeze the stock in ice cube trays. Each one is a quarter cup.

I love the sayings of the desert fathers. They are so thoughtful, and at times, very entertaining. Talk about an industrious bunch. Take this one: "There was in the Cells an old man called Apollo. If someone came to find him about doing a piece of work, he would set out joyfully, saying, 'I am going to work with Christ today, for the salvation of my soul, for that is the reward he gives.' " What a lovely thought, to think that our day-to day work, cleaning stains, cooking meals, tending to gardens, can bring such lofty spiritual rewards. That in becoming industrious, we are working with Christ towards our salvation. It certainly makes me want to do each task with a little more intentionality, a little more energy, a little more devotion.

What are some examples of industriousness in your own life? Who do you look to as a model of industriousness?

This blog a part of Steady Mom's 30-minute blog challenge.

Mothering

Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers out there. I hope your day was as lovely as mine-- breakfast in bed, a nice slow morning walk, a waterfront picnic with family and friends in the afternoon. I have so much to be thankful for, truly. And it was all a welcome respite from the last week, which has been, truth be told, a bit intense.

There are sometimes stretches of days, weeks, even months, when I feel like I can kick up my heels and enjoy the beauty of motherhood. I am surrounded by two lovely little souls whose curiosity and mischief are the spice of my days. I have a supportive and sweet husband who does everything in his power to keep my relaxed and comfortable.

But, life is life, and sometimes things have a way of getting a big crazy. Two sick children. A set of one-year molars that have been brutal. Some work on our house which I am so thankful for, but has left us a bit displaced in our own home. So the last week has been the intense part of motherhood. And yesterday, with all of its sweet gestures, was no exception. We had a baby who was only content when held, two runny noses, a mercilessly interrupted night of sleep to recover from.

Vicki over at Birds and Seashells has asked us to spend this month thinking about motherhood (please click on the beautiful button to the right to see more insights)-- what it means to us, what our experience of being a mother is, where our inspiration comes from. And yesterday, our fussy little sickies reminded me that motherhood is something that remains steady when life goes a bit crazy.

Two little girls look to me for their encouragement, their affirmation, their support. Especially when things are crazy. They come to me looking for an affirmation that they are okay, that they are beloved by me, and ultimately, that they are beloved by God. Many voices in the world can give them this affirmation, but I firmly believe with all of my being that a mother does it best. That is why I am doing this-- spending my day tending to their seemingly trivial needs, wiping noses, taking walks and playing games. Because I believe there's more to all of this day-do-day minutia than what first meets the eye. I have the sacred duty of reminding these little creatures that they are God's beloved, that they are beautiful, wonderful, and have a very special role on this earth. And I can do that in a way that no other person in the world can do, because I alone am their mother.

I am so lucky to be surrounded by mothers who model this beautiful principle, who encourage me when I am discouraged, who give such tender love to their children that it humbles me to my own shortcomings. Biological mothers, adoptive mothers, surrogate mothers, godmothers, grandmothers. Women whose steadfast love is a daily reminder of what this is all about. Thank you for belonging to that community of women, and may we never lose sight of the powerful work that we are doing.

The Meaning of Spiders

Do you ever feel like there's something that seems to be there, no matter where you turn? Perhaps it's an idea, an aspiration, a person? I have spent the last week surrounded by spiders. When we were driving back from the beach, a big, thick, scary spider crawled right across my windshield-- on the inside of my car. I got it, but it was one of those spiders that takes effort to kill. Then, yesterday, at my parents' house, I took my sunglasses off, and bam, another large spider landed on the floor. Was it there on my head? On my glasses?

It has become creepy-- the amount of spiders that have been flocking towards me by some sort of strange magnetism. Around the children, inside, outside. Why on earth are all of these spiders around? Have they always been here, and I've just failed to notice them?

I am definitely one to believe that the sacred is present in the mundane-- that God works through ordinary things like nature, food, people. Wasn't it a serpent that led humankind to sin? Wasn't it a burning bush that heralded God's presence to Moses? Wasn't it bread that Jesus chose to turn into his body? Ordinary, mundane, day-to-day sorts of things.

So why all of these spiders? A brief search on animal symbolism shows that spiders can symbolize the "Master Weaver, Weaver of the Web of Fate, Wisdom, Creativity, Divine Inspiration, Shapeshifting, Understanding the Patterns of Illusion, Female Energy for the Creative Force of Life, Creative, Connecting the Past with the Future, Creating Possibilities, Weaver of the Primordial Alphabet." Who knew that spiders were such potent symbolic beings? And what does all that mean? Does it mean anything?

Am I the only one out there who looks for meaning in these silly day-to-day things? Where are you finding meaning?

Relinquishing Control

This year I have been participating in a bit of a Lenten experiment. Instead of giving up chocolate, desert, or wine, I have given up something else entirely: control. Those who know me may be surprised. I'm not your typical "control freak." My house gets messy, my children get messy, I seem pretty relaxed. But the truth is, I cling to order and control. I think that as a mother, or as any other person who's involved in a high risk/ high energy occupation, order and control can be lifesavers. Routines are wonderful. Plans end up saving you time and energy in the long run, because who has the time to take two extra grocery runs mid-week?

But plans can also be obstacles: obstacles to listening to a unique idea presented by your child that doesn't fit into your schedule; obstacles to enabling your partner to do something that is meaningful and wonderful to him or her; and (and this has taken a while to sink in), ultimately obstacles to listening to the voice of God. During the first few weeks of this season, there were many times that I felt like the ground was pulled up from under me. Little things: a change in our dinner plans, a revamping of our children's schedule, just felt wrong at times. The control person in me wanted to fight for maintaining order, for clinging to that false sense of security that control can usher in. But instead, and this was a challenge, I just sort of went with it.

There have been times that things have fallen apart. Dinner has been an egg sandwich when it was supposed to be a roast. The children went to bed without a bath, the house wasn't clean. And there certainly is that little nagging voice in the back of my head that wants to say, "I told you so! I could have held this together better." But giving up control has given me the beautiful gift of being tuned in to the subtleties of the voice of God in the day to day. Like the serenity of a springtime walk, even if it happens to be four runny nosed humans taking that walk. Or welcoming unexpected help from neighbors with our older daughter which enabled me Ben and Lily to go for a run together (a rare treat!). And I think that it has also given the people in my family: my husband, my daughters (okay, mainly the older one... Lily's just a baby!) the gift of feeling my trust in their ability to make their own decisions. And ultimately, isn't that one of the goals of marriage, parenthood, friendship? Supporting the people you love to make their own decisions and mistakes and discoveries? And somehow, in that ambiguity, in that leap of faith that dangles in the chasm between certainty and uncertainty, I truly believe that we can feel the presence of God, the voice of God in our daily lives.

My mother recalls that one of the few observations my preschool teachers had to make was something to the tune of, "Adele? She's a boss." That is a gift. But learning to take a deep breath, readjust my expectations and go along with something totally unexpected is also a gift. And for once, I think that I have a Lenten resolution that will stick come Easter day.

This blog is a part of Steady Mom's 30-minute blog challenge.

Filling the Darkness

Every year I am presented with a similar challenge during the winter months: How can I make the long, dark evenings feel as full and vibrant as those of the summer months? Certainly there will be less activity-- more quiet, more introspection, more time huddling indoors. That is the gift of the season: stillness. But too often stillness morphs into emptiness, loneliness, despair. We even give names to this lack of substance: seasonal affective disorder, depression. Names to a very real experience of feeling that something is lacking, that our sunny full days have disappeared into darkness.

I am still trying to cultivate a love for this season, for the simplicity it ushers in, for the way that the cold sends us into our hearths to light a fire. We make more of a "to do" of dinner in these months, spending longer around the table, having an official dessert course. And I make sure to get outside with the girls for as long as possible during the daylight-- one or even two hours-- which makes spending an evening inside feel a little more "right."

I realized that there is a beautiful wisdom to the fact that here in Virginia, the most holiday-filled time of the year falls during the darkest months. We fill the cold emptiness with a silent hope, with quiet preparation and aromatic baking. Those of you who know me well may have noticed that I have been filling my own heart and mind with a craftiness that is uncharacteristic of me. And a certain joyful member of our family has filled her own time to mastering the art of crawling this past week-- certainly a change of seasons in our family life (can you say babyproofing?). We seem to take up more household projects during the winter than in the summer-- I know there is along "to do" list that I am already dreaming of completing. And we are much more likely to have guests over for supper during these months-- small and large alike. But no matter how busily we try to weave a little cocoon for ourselves this season, the facts remain the same; it is cold, it is dark, the trees are empty. Our activities do not change this. And maybe there is a certain beauty and wisdom in such scarcity.

How do you pass your winter months? How do you fill the darkness?

An Advent Wish

On this first day of Advent, there are many things I could write about. I could write about our morning trip to get a Christmas tree-- the excitement of a certain wee family member to decorate it, the delicious smell of pine in our home, the cheer of garlands in our window boxes. Or I could talk about some of the special things we have lined up for Advent: our traditional Sunday Advent celebration, complete with singing, cookies, and the lighting of Advent candles; a beautiful wooden Advent Calendar that was a gift from Ben's mother, which has magnets for each day of the month; a beautiful little nativity that is currently on its way from Israel; or my rediscovery of pregnancy artwork as symbols of Christ's coming. Our little attempts at materializing this great hope that we have. Our best efforts at making the coming of a baby from a distant time and place feel intimate and real. Feel exciting and joyful and even uncertain in that way that any real birth feels uncertain.

But no, not today. Because all these little preparations are just sweet little attempts at capturing something that is so much bigger than all of this. And my own scurrying to make a home for a God who became incarnated are really just cute. So today, I share the words of my own favorite spiritual writer, Henri Nouwen, whose words about the Christ I will be meditating on and savoring in these coming weeks.

I keep expecting loud and impressive events to convince me and others of God's saving power....Our temptation is to be distracted by them....When I have no eyes for the small signs of God's presence--the smile of a baby, the carefree play of children, the words of encouragement and gestures of love offered by friends-- I will always remain tempted to despair.

The small child of bethlehem, the unknown man of Nazareth, the rejected preacher, the naked man on the cross, he asks for my full attention.

May you all have eyes for the small signs of God's presence in these coming days; eyes for the subtle beacons that tell us that yes, God is among us... all of creation is full of anticipation because The Holy One is coming.

How did it go?

Us Collins girls were on our own last night-- with Papa Bear taking a quick business trip up north, we held down the fort, a first since Lily joined our family. And we did our best to make it a special evening, although there's no denying the home felt empty without our most beloved member arriving home for dinner. We had some friends over, had a real dinner with the table set, had a little forbidden candy for desert, took a long bath, and spent twice our usual allocated time having a "family snuggle" in Ben and my bed. But the truth is, all my efforts didn't fool our big girl, who had no doubt in her mind that something wasn't quite right. An hour later, after Lily was asleep, I was still in bed with Zosia, reading just about every poem in my own childhood copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends, which, I must admit, I still find amusing and wonderful twenty plus years later. Hoping that the words would make Zosia's eyelids heavy. And between nonsensical poems about mice and rain and pretending that all seemed to run together, I came upon this one, and paused. It gave me a moment of clarity.

Forgotten Language

Once I spoke the language of the flowers
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow.
Once I spoke the language of the flowers...
How did it go?
How did it go?

And I got goosebumps! Because sometimes something as simple as children's literature has the capacity to communicate deep unspoken truths. Here I am, straining to hear those forgotten languages, while I am surrounded by little babies that still speak them fluently: the languages of flowers and pinecones, and acorns, and sticks, and mice and bananas, and houseflies.

I snuggled up close to that little toddler of mine, realizing that for all the things I have to teach her, she holds some treasures that I could only dream of possessing. As she drifted to sleep (close to an hour after that, with me knitting in a rocking chair by her crib), I marveled to think of what her dreams would hold. Listening closely.

A Little Bit of Magic

One of the joys of motherhood has been the discovery that I am only one of the many people who inspires, loves, cares for my children. As Zosia has grown up it has been scary, and then exciting, to give her the space to develop relationships with some of these people-- friends, family members, other children. And as I have released her to build these relationships, I have realized that there are gifts and contributions that these people make that are special, unique, different than what I could offer on my own.

My aunt was probably my favorite person in the world while I was growing up. She always had something magical-- a story about that creatures that live under the earth, a beautiful bead, a little secret to share. Seeing her with Zosia brings me so much joy, because I know that they are now the possessors of that magical relationship, and I am only on the outside looking in. Often when Zosia comes home from an outing with my aunt, there are some remnants of their time together: a stick with an acorn stuck on top, a fan of leaves, a basket full of rocks. I know that each of these items is part of the magic, representing creatures and torches, and who knows what else.

Sometimes after their morning together, my aunt will send along a few pictures, like this one. It's only another clue, something that lets me imagine, remember. And when I see a glimmer in my sweetheart's eye, when I see her trying to fly in the backyard, I smile knowing that I was once in her shoes.

Shopping Free Advent

Once again, we are in that season of the year that seems to slip away all too quickly-- the leaves are magnificent and bold one day, and the next they are carelessly scattered on our lawns. The weather is a pleasant crispness that calls for a light sweater, and soon the cold winds of winter have moved in. We are putting up Halloween decorations, and then just as that hay bale is starting to look like a fixture, Advent is around the corner.

I am excited about having a prayerful and intentional Advent this year. One in which we can whittle down our engagements and commitments to the point that we have time for sacred leisure-- baking some cookies, sitting by a fire-- not out of a sense of commitment, but out of a sense of joy. And knowing myself, this just can't quite be done while shopping, running around and trying to get presents and craft supplies and baking ingredients.

So, once again, I am committing to a shopping-free Advent. Our Advent last year wasn't shopping-free. There were items left to be purchased, errands left to be run. But I think that our foresight (and the fact that we took care of a lot of things early) made Advent more intentional, more holy. We also did not end up purchasing all of our Christmas presents from thrift stores-- but we did purchase several from used book sales and thrift stores-- and spending a little less money was an act that left me feeling good about the holiday.

This year, I'm not really out to purchase all of our gifts from thriftstores, nor am I out to make all of our Christmas gifts by hand (and at this, I imagine several family members will sigh in relief). But I am spending this month meditating on the spirit of generosity, simpleness, and kindness. Trying to imagine what will bring those I love a meaningful joy. Trying to find ways to use my own creative spirit to celebrate those that I love. And trying to make space in my own home, my own spirit, for the Christ child to find a room.

Sick Days

We're still here, albeit tired and sluggish versions of ourselves after a week of illness. I have discovered a few things, including that it's very hard to care for two sick babies when you are sick, that I am surrounded by some of the most loving and selfless people out there, and that good health is truly a blessing. And that sleep is a wonderful thing... oh, wait. I have not quite yet been able to experience that wonderful thing.

We did a little bit of groggy trick or treating in the rain, but have mainly been inside these days, doing things like taking naps, playing with blocks, and occasionally sneaking a look at the beautiful autumn leaves. And friends and relatives have been rotating through to help give us adults a break, and as Ben has gotten his strength back he has been taking care of all of us. But it has been slow and quiet, and I have come to realize that even after two quick and easy natural childbirths, I am a weak person who can be brought down by a cold. So much for invincibility.

And somehow these two little blessings have given me so many lessons on strength, focus, and just being joyful in the moment-- not my forte when I'm imagining days of slogging through a sickness. But I am happy to report that we have rounded a corner-- my being here to write a few words being testament to that fact. I'm enjoying the new eyes that such sickness give-- eyes that see the beauty in the tiny little details all around.

Indoor Days

It is the third day of consecutive cold rain. It's been weeks-- possibly months-- since we've been inside for this duration of time, and it has resulted in a rediscovery of indoor time.

Some of my favorite activities these past few days have been building a lot of things from blocks, pretending to go to the grocery store, pretending to drive around in some chairs, reading a lot of books under a warm quilt, and taking baths. There's nothing quite like a warm bath to make you feel cozy on a cold rainy day.

We've been making soups, yummy baked goods (black bean brownies last night... yum ) and finishing our seasonal movement of clothes from the basement into our shelves.

And I've been devouring Gone With the Wind. I think Ben is relieved that I only have a chapter left-- he finally gets his wife back after two weeks of my mind being elsewhere.

It's been a lovely change of pace, although I must admit, I am itching for some good outdoor play time. Maybe a trip to the library is in order today.

How do you spend your indoor days?

How to Raise Strong Women

My family has some crazy strong women. There's my great-grandmother, the race car driver. My grandmother the artist who created beauty and wonder through the darkest years of Poland's communism. My mother, who, with a little elbow grease, can get anything done. My sister, the backpacker, who seems to become more and more like Macgyver with every passing year. And so I'm not surprised that my own sweet daughters both posses some strength.

With Zosia, her strength was immediately evident-- as in, even before she was born. I think that few more active in-utero babies have ever existed. She has lived up to her reputation, possessing strength of body, strength of will, strength of emotions. Some parents might groan at such a child. They might struggle with such a child. But I know that there is something amazing in strong children, because they produce strong adults. Adults that can stand up to difficult circumstances, that can remain strong in the face of adversity. Strength is an asset.

Lily's strength is more subtle-- she is calm, steady, collected. And while she appears to be a gentle little munchkin, I know that all of her characteristics require a great deal of strength. She holds steady when life is topsy turvy. She is an anchor. Even in her tiny 5-month body, there are times when she has been able to transform the mood of this house from upset to joyful, or from chaotic to focused. She is strong, oh so strong, but in a beautifully different way.

So here we are in a family of strong women. There have been many times that I have thrown my hands up and wondered, "How do I do this?" Raising strong women is a difficult task, a responsibility that 18 plus years of schooling never prepared me for.

Over the past several years I have been watchfully observing mothers around me, my own mother, older mothers, trying to glean some wisdom about how to go about this. And I am still struggling, wondering, looking for ways to help shape two strong women. I can see that it has something to do with nurturing their natural abilities and interests, giving them control over their surroundings, teaching them about empathy and concern for others. But where do I go from there? How do I lovingly parent two women who have the power to accomplish, love, experience so much?

(Above: three generations of strong women at Zosia's baptism: I'll probably be posting some older pictures while my camera is on sick leave)

A Fearful Land

We are working through some fears around here. As in, specifically, a fear of trucks. And sometimes rocks.

Let's face it, we all have some fears. For years I was terrified of being at home alone. For some women it's childbirth. And for children, there's just so much to be afraid of-- they're little, the world is big, and at times, scary. You all remember when Zosia was sacred of water because she thought she might pee in it. Well, thank goodness, that phase of childhood has come and gone. Baths are now a much beloved activity.

Well, this current bout of fear all started when Zosia, on a playdate at a playground, witnessed a big old truck dumping some rocks. Yes, there are children who would think this was the coolest thing in the world. But my little sweetpea was shocked, scared, and left wondering, "What happened?" Which she continued asking for several days after the incident. And now anything that resembles a truck has become very scary. And rocks too.

My own experience with fear has taught me that something beautiful, amazing, freeing happens when we let go of our fears. Our lives are transformed, our spirits lifted, our reality re-imagined. It's as if our mind is given permission to stop carrying the burden of worrying and is allowed to be more present in the moment. I think few words are more powerful than the simple three, "Be not afraid."

So how do I teach my little shadow to feel safe? How do I protect her while giving her independence? How do I do it with love and compassion and grace?

Whew, today's one of those days that I'm thumbing through the parenting books. Thank you, Penelope Leach. Any suggestions, stories, anecdotes?