The kids work up and started their morning bickering. They do it most mornings, just a bit of grumpies while they wake up. It's never about anything of consequence: what flavor smoothie they want, who's hogging the heater, etc.

Today I wanted peace. Based on yesterday's post, I pulled out a wild card.

Me: "Hey kids, did you know that today is a holiday? It's called The Nicest Day!"

Sage (skeptical): "I don't know..."

Me: "Really. It's a special day where you're nice as can be to everyone."

Sage: "I think you're telling tall tales, mama..."

Me: "Well what if it's real? How fun would that be?"

We'll see how this goes. Cross your fingers.

Edited five minutes later: it backfired for a minute, but now I think they're on board. Sage is helping Lupine get dressed and they're both being rather sun-shiney. We might have this holiday everyday...

Edited again, two minutes after that: I just got a shoulder rub. And Lupine is putting away her pajamas. Amazing...

Edited an hour later: Not sure this is going to work. Much bickering has resumed. We'll keep trying...

Edited 10 minutes later: Okay. Back on track. Rhyming about "underwear" together while folding laundry. Hope is still alive. Will it stick? We shall see.

Sometimes we all have "one of those days". You know, where everything is in a jumble and nothing is going right and all you want is to cry, yell, or go back to bed. (Or, perhaps, all three. At the same time.)

Yeah, I have those too. Like yesterday for example. (Our rhythm was fine, the day was just off for other reasons.)

I suspect we all have them from time to time. Sometimes the angst and drama around us is real and tangible, and sometimes we are suffering from our thoughts alone - the magical power of worry and "what if". (The latter is more frequent around here.) But still, it feels pretty lousy doesn't it?

And then I thought, hm. There are oodles of you visiting here everyday. And we all feel like that from time to time. So let's do an experiment. Together. (Yes, even you quiet ones. I know you're out there.)

Are you ready? Here goes.

Say something nice.

That's it. Pretty simple, right? But it'll be magical. I'd love you to leave it here in the comments on this post. Or you can say it to your partner when they come home tonight. Say it to the man who speaks kindly to your child. Or that mama struggling with a cranky toddler at the grocery. Type it, write it down, or say it outloud to yourself. Say it for you, for me, for your father, or for the world.

Becuase we all need to remember what is good in the world (or in our partner, or in ourselves, or in eachother) from time to time.

So bring it on.

Say something nice. I think it would do us all some good.

The bluest sky possible is overhead and every branch is cloaked in ice. In the wind the branches crackle and tiny icicles rain down around us. It is so magical. I look up, lost in the texture of the snow around me and see that my kids are doing the same. We're all just sitting there in silence, absorbing it all.

These days I feel such deep appreciation for homeschooling my kids. We get to learn together and play together out in the beauty and then come home and warm up with tea and cocoa around the table together. Everyday. Together. I am so grateful.

Yesterday I set the intention to restart our weekly and daily rhythm. And for me, the first day of a new rhythm is always the best. It was seamless. (Well, if I hadn't chosen the craft myself for the kids - which one loved and which brought the other one to tears - it would have been seamless, but that's another story.)

But the rhythm. The rhythm was perfect.

I think we all thrive with rhythm. Sage has stopped pushing against chores since they became just a normal part of our week. It's just what we do. And since shutting off the computer for 90% of my day I'm hitting my rhythm too. When to work, when to be with my family. I feel more rooted, more present, and more aware of the joy that is my everyday. Because really, my kids are awesome. But when my computer is on I sometimes forget that. But they are. Freaking awesome. And I get to hang out with them all the time. Seriously. How good can it get?

Our daily rhythm is broken into an early block, a morning block, an mid-day block, and an evening block. We made time to play outside together, to walk the puppy, to read, to clean, to do chores, to craft, and to restart our chapter and tea tradition. And at bedtime last night the house was clean. (This is one of the biggest shifts of honoring rhythm.)

In case you are curious, here is how our days will shake out. The times are loose and flexible, but those times are an accurate estimate of the times we transition from one phase to another.

Daily Rhythm

Early Block (6-9)

• Mama works until 8:30
• Breakfast and Clean-up with Papa
• Morning Checklist (brush hair, brush teeth, get dressed)
• Laundry (kids fold and put away)

Morning Block (9-12)

• Morning walk with dogs
• Outing (optional): library, park, sledding, etc.
• Lessons: Reading, writing, spelling, math, science, etc.

Mid-Day Block (12-4:30)

• Lunch and clean-up
• Mama's quiet writing time ~ 1 hour (kids play quietly inside or outside time)
• Afternoon chores
• Tea and chapter
• Crafts and handwork
• House clean-up

Evening Block (5-8)

• Dinner and clean-up
• Free time
• Books and evening checklist (brush hair, brush teeth, floss, tidy bedroom, pj's on)
• Lights out by 8

The "lessons" above are free-form. As unschoolers we don't follow a curriculum, but Sage has academic interests that I need to make time for and Lupine is obsessed with addition, numbers in general, and learning letters. It gives me time to stop washing dishes or folding laundry and ask them what they're curious about. While these "lessons" are a part of the flow of our whole day, I now have additional time to focus on them.

And now it's time for me to get back into our rhythm. Because life is calling.

Love,
Rachel

Last week I found my efforts at staying off the computer during the day thwarted by the breastmilk brigade efforts. Dozens of emails every day and constant checking on who-was-dropping-milk-by-when kept my eyes glued to the screen from dawn until dark. Though I felt wonderful for what we were working on, after crawling into bed at night I felt depleted by all that screen time.

And then the traffic that the blog has seen in light of the two posts on mothers milk/bottles has me sucked in too. I am uber sensitive and after airing my shadows about judgement I was fixed on the screen waiting for someone to scold me. You were all - without exception - kind and saw my words for what they were. Thank you for that. We've started an amazing conversation in the comments on that post.

It was a busy week, and there was little time for the things that usually sweeten my days, but I am satisfied. Baby is fed, mother is home, and life is beginning to come back to a new normal for my friend and her family. And the flow of milk (so to speak) is hitting a less manic tempo allowing me to put it out of my mind now that there is a stash in the freezer to get them through the slow days.

With all the distractions that last week brought our rhythm eroded to the point where I'm not sure how to restart it. I think a clean sheet of paper and good intentions are in order and I'll start from scratch. Sage has been asking to learn to spell and write in cursive and to do chemistry experiments. I need to pick up some curriculum and supplies and get back into homeschooling mode.

I stopped simplifying for the week, except that we had a house showing scheduled on Saturday in the midst of the milky drama. Pete stepped up and did the most amazing organization of our (formerly cluttered) basement. While he didn't purge (that seems to be my department: acquisitions and rejections) the layout is so open and orderly my work is cut in half for moving things out. Such gratitude for the two nights he spent working there.

In light of all the purging we've done in weeks past, I do wonder if less clutter is at the heart of our finding what we think is our farm and being ready to put our house up for sale. I told Pete that I thought we found our land because I cast off two stagnant knitting projects. I was only half joking. Because if everything has chi, we're cleaning up our energy in a big way and making space for what we want.

In other news, my company LuSa Organics was given with a nice award that I never shared with anyone. We were honored as "Champions" in body care safety and transparency by the Campaign for Safe Cosmetics. Only a few hundred companies world wide received this honor world-wide. We're pleased.

Wow. That post was all over the map. Thanks for sticking with me.

Wishing you a blessed day.

Love,
Rachel

 

This weekend was just what I needed. Long sleeps and long jaunts out into the quiet. Winter keeps calling us out to the woods. Oh, my. I love this place. (We'll know more soon about the offer we put in. I'll be sure to keep you posted.)

Unrelated, but quite central to my week and weekend is the circle of mothers I talked about in my last post. I've been reflecting a great deal on the tearful comments you all have left there. Such powerful words.

I've received a lot of thanks for organizing the "boob brigade" (as one of my more crass friends put it) of nursing mothers to pump and nurse this sweet baby. And I feel that gratitude is a bit misplaced. In truth I don't feel like I did that much that is of significance. I didn't have any milk to give and really that's the gift. But it has turned out to be something huge beyond description for the mother, the father, the grandmothers, and surely that sweet yummy baby. Because nothing compares to breastmilk, even if it can't be your own. I too am filled with gratitude - for all the mamas who have rallied to help, for grandmothers who don't bat an eye and someone else nursing their grandchild, and for community.

But all of this has turned into a bigger reflection in my own heart. It has me thinking honestly about the judgements that I carry despite my good intentions. Because this baby might not be able to nurse again. She might be bottle fed (because of the medications her mother requires) for the rest of her babyhood. And that has me thinking about the feelings that I must acknowledge that bubble up when I see a baby with a bottle. Not this baby, mind you, because I know her story. But what if I didn't?

I called my friend's home the other day and the big sibling answered the phone. When I asked to talk to their grandma I was told "She's nursing the baby." "I wish!" the grandma told me later. But to the sibling that bottle of breastmilk was nursing. It was nourishment, food, goodness, and love. There was no judgement in that child's heart for the symbolism carried by that bottle.

The raw honesty is that I'd like to believe that I am beyond judging. That I accept and allow others to live a different experience than I. And for the most part I do. But when I see someone mixing up formula for a fussing baby I cringe a little inside, despite myself. I assume things I should not assume. I am admitting this not because I think it is right, but becasue it is there and I need to pull it out into the light to acknowledge, understand and transform it. Because a baby with a bottle is not a natural, comfortable image for me. I struggle with it like others might struggle with the image of a baby latching on to her mother's breast, but for very different reasons. And that's my issue to sort through.

Does it come down to me subconsciously judging a mother for choosing not to nurse? Somewhat I suppose. I think know that I'm guilty of making assumptions at times. (And I'm working on that with all of my heart.) But I think what truly troubles me - what is at the core of my discomfort - is the lack of support that we provide new and expectant mothers and the breastfeeding sabotage that many experience on behalf of formula industry. Yes, for some bottle feeding is a safe and healthy way to keep a baby fed that otherwise could not be. But more often I fear it boils down to lack of support for mothers.

I did not grow up watching mothers breastfeed. My mom didn't know any other nursing mums in her own community. Yet she exclusively breastfed my sister and I, me until I was a walking-and-talking toddler. That was downright radical in the suburbs in 1973. (She also cloth diapered and fed us tofu. She was free-thinking. She was unafraid.)

Despite growning up without the normalcy of nursing, for me nursing my babies was a given. I nursed Sage for 3 1/2 years, he weaned when I was pregnant with Lupine, and I nursed her for 3 1/2 years. In those seven years I never once noticed a sideways stare for nourishing my child.

And today I can honestly say that every mother I know is or was a breastfeeding mother. But in many communities nursing is not normal. And that is a tragedy for both mother and child.

I do not know the details of anyone else's life. And it is surely not my place to judge the path that another family is on. I don't know why a mother weaned her baby or never nursed to begin with. Lack of community support, lack of partner support, medical challenges, postpartum depression, adoption, economic struggles, lack of employer support, or countless other issues may be at play. Frankly their reason is not my business at all. However the creation of communities that truly support mothers and babies is everyone's business.

The best that I can offer is the belief that we are learning and growing as individuals and as a community. I hold hope that we will empower the next generation of mothers and they will embrace the power they possess to nourish their baby - I think of that t-shirt that reads, "I make milk. What's your superpower?" - and also embrace the different ways that we each nurture and love our children.

And that as I move beyond my own quiet judgements, our societies are moving too - to a world where nursing is normal in every community, and where a bottle just means that there was a bump in the road through babyhood and a different way to lovingly deliver the nourishment that a baby needs has been employed. That's the vision that I'm holding in my heart.

Today I was looking for a photograph to illustrate a quick "have a wonderful weekend" sort of post. I'm wiped out and didn't think I had a proper blog post in me tonight. I found these photos and I pulled them into the page and was about to type my words.

And only after I set them into the post did I realize their significance.

The scene, made by Lupine last week, is a circle of mothers around a smiling baby. (It has a bit of a baby Jesus feel, but Lupine told me no, they were all the mamas and the baby was a tiny girl.)

Because sometimes it's like that. So many mamas surrounding one child with love.

The past few days have been both amazing and exhausting. I've seen an incredible community of women throughout our town and even our state rally together to love and support a family - a mama and baby - in need.

An emergency left a breastfed baby without access to her mama's milk. Formula (the first night), yes, but no nourishing mother's milk. As soon as we heard what was happening we reached out - do you need breastmilk? Yes. So we made phone calls, facebook pleas, and sent emails. And from that spark a fire spread through a beautiful community of women who reached out to other mothers and within hours that baby was in arms and nursing contentedly with another mama. Soon more milk arrived, pumped by local women and before long baby was contentedly sleeping with a belly full of love.

Three days later and dozens of mothers have joined in along with other members of the community - pumping milk, nursing baby, plowing snow, scheduling meals, hauling firewood, stoking woodstoves, and otherwise encircling this family with love. Others are coordinating to drop off loaner breast pumps, distribute homemade mother's milk tea, clean the family's home, and transport milk to the baby.

I think we're surrounded by angels. (Most of them lactating.)

The milk has continued to flow. Not a drop of formula has been seen since the call went out that help was needed. Local milk deliveries are happening a couple of times a day and even a few coolers of milk are en route from around the state to keep baby nourished until her mama can return home. I think it's fair to say that we've all been brought to tears over this incredible support. Oh, yes. The power of the mamas.

I'm tired. I'm ready to step away from my telephone and the computer for a while. But really, I feel full. I feel honored to be participating in such an incredible demonstration of love.

I'm grateful, exhausted, honored, and humbled. Somehow it all makes me feel small. But in a good way - in a "there is something much bigger than me happening" kind of way.

I feel blessed beyond words.

Thank you, amazing milk brigade mamas. You are my heroes.

(And mama, your baby is in the most loving hands. Heal well and come home soon. You are all so very loved. xo)

I've gone a bit further with this conversation over here, reflecting on the support of breastfeeding mothers in our society and our own judgement we might carry on breast or bottle.

The relaxing song of a stream winding through the winter woods. A hike up the creek bed to its source, springing from the hillside. The thick silence of a snow-filled valley. The crunch of snow beneath our boots. A flash and departing laugh as a pileated disappears into the forest. Trees. Tracks. Waterfalls. Icicles. Magic.

Hello, beautiful place.

I know. I've said this before. (Was that really a year and a half ago?) But I am ready to live in the country again. We're all ready. And I can feel the blockades we've inadvertently put in our path melting away without effort. It's coming. We're manifesting.

We were visiting friends last night on their farm. I took Lupine outside and she saw the stars like you can only see them in the country on a cold night. "They have more stars in the country, don't they baby?" I asked. "Yes. And we'll have more stars too," she replied. In the country. On our farm. "And chickens. We'll have chickens and I'll bring in the eggs by myself."

Yes indeed. We're all ready.

And then this morning I read my Abraham-Hicks quote of the day: "There's something so satisfying about asking and deliberately aligning your Energy and deliberately finding the familiar feeling of that, and then seeing it manifest."

I'm seeing it manifest. In my mind and in my heart.

I'm ready.

Oh, what a difference a day makes. Yesterday. 50F and sunny.

Today. 18F and snow!

I took yesterday's computer rules to heart and have tried my best to stay off-line except for intentional and brief  blocks of time. And it's working, sort of. But there was something for homeschooling that I wanted to look up and I found myself quickly checking email while I searched. What the?! How does that happen? But mostly I've done it. It's my first day and I'm 80% successful. Not too shabby.

By choosing to be more mindful of how I spend my free time I've cast off my new winter hat (this pattern), done some math with my kids, we've learned to convert F temperatures to C (F - 32/1.8 = C in case you were wondering). We've also played outside until our cheeks glowed and our ears ached, made hot cocoa with fresh whipped cream (dyed pink with beet juice), and now we're off to the sledding hill.

Not bad for being only partially successful at turning off the computer and turning on life. Thanks for your fabulous comments yesterday. I'll respond to the rest the next time I'm on-line. I've granted myself 1/2 hour to blog and check email in the afternoon. And my time is up. Oh yeah, and my kids - and the snow - are calling again.