This time of year is always good for smacking me around. Even on a sunny day like today, when the quince and camellia are blooming and you swear it can’t be January it’s so warm, winter is in my bones.

And my mom’s too.  Right around this time in 1995, while I was doing my student teaching, she fell in her kitchen and broke her leg so bad it popped through the skin. At the time, my father was on his always-dreamed-about trip to New Zealand. Travel was not an anomaly for him; he’s done plenty for business and plenty for pleasure, including a trip to Thailand after he fell in love with the cuisine. I’m told he went bird-watching in Arizona (I think) shortly after I (his fifth child) was born. To say that my mother does not share his love for travel is a grand understatement.

When I signed up to read the novel The Art of Hearing Heartbeats for the From Left to Write book club, I hoped I would be able to reward myself with the novel read after finishing a volunteer project I was working on. But then I got more work tutoring in the last week of the semester at the boarding school where I help a few kids. And my children here at home kept needing a mommy. And their mommy needed more sleep. So she didn’t finish the book, but its tale of travel in search of a lost father is certainly intriguing.

Last week, I was on a high after the successful fundraiser, and I was pleased with how well I was feeling. And yet, I’ve also been reflecting lately on just when it is that my health gave me clues that I would have a challenging road. My mom has been wondering the same for years. Maybe that leg break was as bad as it was because she was (like me) celiac and didn’t know it, or because of some other health condition that weakens bones. The skin issues and digestive issues I’m having now are not new; they’ve been cycling through my body in various permutations for years. And even my mom has admitted that her body was not the ideal place to start a life, belonging to a stressed out (and a smoking) mother of four (ages 8-12 and up when I came along).

I bet she and I share more health issues than we are aware, though I hope that my discovering things at and earlier age and the newer research around these days will contribute to an easier road for me eventually. But right now, it’s a little challenging. The heaviness I feel around the time of a drop in my thyroid is knocking at the door like a canvasser who won’t disappear. And, even if this mild winter continues, it’s always tough to go into the month of February, recalling the death of my brother in 1987.

The year before he took his life, my parents and I went to the Bahamas for my seventh grade mid-winter break, a week that Michigan schools take off so that everyone can keep a little sanity. Finding green helps. The year before that, sixth grade, we went to Hawaii. My mom probably hated every minute of both trips. I loved them but wanted to do more activities and wished I had siblings closer to my age to join. When Pat died, I was on a vacation with a friend and her family on a small island near Barbados where we went on the most spectacular hike to a waterfall. A few days later — a week shy of my fourteenth birthday — I had to fly back home alone to the dreary Midwest.

Today, I still have my father’s zeal for adventure and his propensity to get and stay busy, but my body isn’t exactly keeping up. I’d like to join my sister-in-law’s yoga retreat in Costa Rica in March, but seeing as my thyroid really crashed just after meeting her family in Vermont for the Anusara Grand Circle and Wanderlust last June, and seeing as I have to cook all my food from scratch or face a lot discomfort, travel will have to wait.

I’m not even sure how I’m going to make it to Baltimore for even one day of the three-day Fourfold Path to Healing Conference this weekend. Although I fantasize about staying overnight by myself without having to wake to nurse my 18-month-old back to sleep, my not coming home Saturday night wouldn’t magically disappear all my issues. I’d still need to bring a bunch of food with me, and I’d probably want to pump. In order to reap the benefits of something that would be therapeutic, I have to make some sacrifices that might otherwise jeopardize my health (not to mention that of my daughter, son and husband, who I’m guessing wouldn’t have the greatest night of sleep since we haven’t done a dry run on the night weaning).

And what would they do all day Sunday if I stayed at the conference until it ends at 5:30, or would I leave at noon? How would my daughter react once I got home, and then had to go out after dinner to tutor? How would my body react?

Tonight, when my husband was trying to use playful parenting to get my son out of whining mode during dinner, he took on the voice of a train conductor. E didn’t understand the “sh-clunk” sound of the pretend hole punch. We realized our little boy, almost six, has never been on a train other than the Metro. Maybe my husband could take the kids up to Baltimore on a train partway through Saturday, and we could all drive back home that night, I suggested. “With both of them?” my husband asked, his eyes practically reflecting the shine of headlights. After a few minutes, he said he’d look into it.

Maybe the promise of adventure can somehow give me the space to pursue some healing without a whole lot of guilt. But probably just for one day.

—

How do you balance physical and emotional needs?

What did you inherit from your parents?

What pushes and pulls?

—

When Julia travels to Burma to search for her missing lawyer father, she discovers much more than she expected. Join From Left to Write on February 1 as we discuss The Art of Hearing Heartbeats by Jan-Philipp Sendker. As a member of From Left to Write, I received a copy of the book. All opinions are my own.

The instant I read the words, I regretted picking up my BlackBerry that one last time before going to bed. A well-meaning relative of mine had read my recent post about my health and my leaky gut problem and told me: “This is not the time to volunteer for things.” She intended to point out that there would be plenty of time later in life for me to pursue my interests when I didn’t have as many health challenges to face and when I wasn’t in such a busy time of motherhood with a kindergartener and opinionated non-verbal toddler.

I get her point. Really, I do. The problem is that her note assumes that volunteering is something that detracts from my well-being. Sure, it might have seemed that way in the post she read. I’d rushed to finish it and get it up rather than wait until who knows when I’d get a free moment to sit down again. I did, I realize, sound a little overwhelmed. And yes, balance is something I’m working on.

But I don’t regret my choices, and I don’t want them restricted. That wouldn’t help. If I weren’t busy with something that felt meaningful, that contributed to my priorities, that gave me joy, or that fueled me with passion, I would be, simply put, depressed. Staying busy and engaged in something bigger than myself is a necessity for me to stay mentally healthy without medication.

And staying off medication is something I feel is a physical necessity as well; I simply don’t think my body can handle being on anti-depressants. They made an amazing difference for two years, and then again for a year while I sought treatment for hyperthyroidism (Graves’ Disease).

But they are drugs. Even if I weren’t a true believer in the healing power of nutrition and energy work, my system has shown me it simply cannot handle anything artificial. As much as SSRIs helped, I’m also pretty convinced that they contributed to the mess I’m in now — a much smaller role than 30 years of eating gluten, probably, but a role nonetheless.

No amount of saying no to volunteer work is going to undo all the damage that was caused by decades of eating food my body couldn’t handle, to say nothing of mild but young substance abuse. What will help me heal is continuing to eat real food, pursuing what makes me happy, and cultivating a mindfulness practice. It takes a lot more time and energy than popping a pill, but I really don’t see that I have a choice if I have my long-term health in mind.

Until I got this late-night email, I was, I admit, stewing a little about the lack of time to do everything I cared about. But rather than push me to step aside, as was its intention, the note inspired me to remember why I have chosen what I’ve chosen to do and to be grateful that I have the opportunity to do it.

The fundraiser I was working on was a great success, both in money raised and in positive momentum and a spirit of community, which was probably even more valuable to this project about which I care deeply. Even as I wished for more hours in the day to proofread the program and organize the volunteer schedule, I remembered that I proposed this event because I believe in the cause and that I offered to head it up because it’s something I knew I could do well. I knew it could be a great thing, and I wanted to create that.

So I carried that purpose with me into the event and sincerely enjoyed it. I lapped up the kudos with nary a self-critical remark or “if only we could have” lament. It was just good, plain and simple. We can debrief and learn from it, sure, but the thing I am most proud of is just enjoying it.

And then, when I came home after being gone at the school 11 a.m.-5 p.m. and launched right back into domestic goddess mode, I took on that role without resentment. Sure, there was a smidge of “really?” in my brain when my husband said he was super tired, but rather than go to a place of bitterness, I just chalked it up to a confirmation that the job I usually do of managing house and home is, indeed, a tiring one!

I wanted the laundry and dishes dealt with, so I did them.

I wanted celery and other veggies for the next day and to not cook that night or ask my tired husband to rally, so I went out to the grocery store after picking up take-out.

I wanted to do yoga before eating in peace and quiet, so I waited until after the family meal and bedtime to get on my mat and then eat my own safe food.

Somehow, that email sparked — or stoked — a fire. What started as angry turned cozy and glowing. The email inspired me, in part, to take the Mother’s Self-Renewal workshop to explore issues of balance and honoring our many selves. That first session then gave me the sense that I am both not alone in my dilemmas about time and also that my process is one to honor. It is part of my mothering to model not perfection but an embracing of personal growth and inquiry.

So thank you, dear relative, even if noting you wish you’d gotten advice from your elders still doesn’t convince me that you weren’t being more judgmental than supportive. Regardless of their intent, your words helped me see through the messiness of internal conflict and to look toward something varied and beautiful.

Baby girl has been a little under the weather, so we’ve been spending more time together — less babysitter, no outings. There were lots of things I intended to accomplish in the past two days, but many of them had to just go out the window. Or, rather, she sat on my desk in front of the window while I sorted files of papers in my overgrown office.

At 17 months, baby A is still not talking much, but she sure does have opinions. And she does nothing half-assed. Every act is intentional, whether it’s putting a random tea bag into a new box, taking my credit card out of my wallet and sliding it under her booster seat, or inspecting the tampons she finds in the non-baby-proofed bathroom cabinet. (When you have nothing toxic lying around, it’s easy to get complacent about latches. And then really easy to get embarrassed when little o.b.s from 1998 end up unwrapped in unexpected and cringingly public places).

This child has a lot more hair in the back than her brother did at this age. It’s coming in straighter but the same color (red!) and in the same location as her brother’s: party in the back. She doesn’t get dressed much in girly clothing, and I was just resigned to her having the same homely mullet her brother had until he was two and a half. It just occurred to me that I could consider actually doing something with that hair.

Even though I feel like I model busy more than bodhi, she actually came over to my yoga mat the other day intent on doing down-dogs with me. Looking at her increasingly long red locks, I said to myself, “You have a girl. A daughter.”

Someday she’s going to care how she looks, and she’s going to be embarrassed by my clothes, if she isn’t already. Her brother recently asked why I looked “fancy” when I put on jeans and a 10-year-old ribbed turtleneck that flared out at the bottom “like a ballet shirt,” he remarked. “I’m not fancy, honey, I’m just dressed.” My husband reminded me that he was the one to pick out that sweater back when it was in style, and from Bloomingdale’s no less.

Without my fashionisto boys, where would I be?

By the time the girl is in the mom-sucks years of middle school, I may have taken frumpy to a whole new level. Or maybe I’ll be in my midlife crisis-cum-renaissance, but I find that hard to believe.

At any rate, the cute barrettes my daughter’s brother insisted we buy her months before she was sporting anything like enough hair to stick them in, finally got a trial yesterday. Each attempt to put them in lasted almost long enough for my husband to take these photos.

I think pretty soon we’re going to have a Pippi Longstocking on our hands.

—

How did you handle hair differently with your daughters versus your sons? Or how did you manage not to?

I wouldn’t have even bothered to do the test if I didn’t think I had digestive problems. I know I do. But some of the information I got from my labs this week was information I didn’t even know could be found.

It’s been 11 months since I went on the GAPS diet, which has helped immensely with IBS symptoms. But I’ve had to stay on a modified version of the introduction diet: whenever I try to introduce too much raw vegetable, I pay for it. And fruit? I stayed off for a long time until peach season was in full bloom. I indulged some, really imagining that local, in-season produce could really be okay. But it wasn’t.

In August I met with a chiropractor and energy worker who helped me dramatically, and when I saw her later in the fall, she confirmed what I’d suspected: that I just had to eliminate all fruit. Me + any kind of sugar = problem.

To compensate for my lack of sweet indulgence of any kind, I sought out more and more fat. I was eating spoonfuls of nut butter after high-protein, filling meals. It seemed both a physical need to load up at meals in the darkening days of late fall and also an emotional need to indulge. For a while these were all soaked nuts, but that got so expensive to buy and time-consuming to make, I started buying regular nut butters, which I think have way too much phytic acid for me.

But compulsive eating wasn’t the only problem: I was also scratching the skin on my knees and elbows until they bled. This happened after several months after my first child was born and lasted until he was two and sleeping through the night; I don’t know if it was all the healing stuff I did that spring, or just the time elapsed, a decrease in nursing, or or an increase in interrupted sleep that made the difference. With my second child, the psoriasis came just a few months after she was born (at home, not a c-section), and now 17 months in and some decrease in nursing overall and night waking in particular, I see no signs of improvement.

Rather than take steroids or other topicals that are just going to push the problem further into my body as I did through my childhood and young adulthood, I’m determined to address the source of the problem. If only we could figure out what that is.

From the kitchen in the house we are renovating. I feel like MY insides must look just as bad.

The doctor recommended an expanded GI panel from DiagnosTechs. The test cost around $250 and would analyze my stool and saliva for parasites, bacteria, food sensitivities and some other stuff I didn’t even know it you could analyze.

The results just came in last week. I am free of any icky critters, my pH is fine, and Candida (yeast) showed up at only trace levels. Good news.

However, there were some bacteria, which we’re going to treat with Goldenseal and garlic, and the test confirmed dairy (casein) and gluten (gliadin) sensitivity through positive SIgA results.

No surprise there. The doctor I saw is generally not an absolutist on food or a believer in intolerances needing to last a lifetime, but she said it was clear I needed to stay gluten-free and dairy-free. The test panel explains:

“Predisposed individuals often experience intestinal inflammation after consumption of offending foods. Subsequently, the intestinal mucosa releases secretory IgA to neutralize the antigens. SIgA testing, unlike IgG, allows the detection of mild, subclinical and latent intolerance cases. Furthermore, the short SIgA half-life ensures earlier and more effective compliance and follow-up assessments.”

To have a positive gliadin AB, SIgA reading at the numerical level I showed after more than seven years on a gluten-free diet (and very little prepared food in my diet in the past year) means that I am super sensitive, the doc said.

Also of interest was the fact that I had “abnormally low” Chrymotrypsin levels, which is “suggestive of poor pancreatic output of all enzymes.” Perhaps this explains why I’m so darn sensitive to sugar! For this we are supplementing with an enzyme and hoping it will kick-start my body into remembering how to make it itself (and certainly help me until that happens).

But the most important thing, is, apparently, that I have just about no protective gut lining, or Intestinal Secretory IgA (SIgA). When people talk about a damaged gut “leaking” food into the bloodstream, it’s because there is no protective mucus to stop it. This test calls low <400 mg/100 g dry wt.

My number?

<1.

Seriously.

So even after a year of gentle eating, my gut is still this damaged. I think if I hadn’t gone on GAPS, I would probably be in the hospital on an IV!

If I understand it correctly, my epithelium is so compromised, my digestive system is letting food particles into my bloodstream, and then my body is lashing out at them as though they are foreign invaders. One of the results is the psoriasis. If you poke around online, you’ll also see a lot about low SIgA being linked to autism and ADHD. The doctor says my gut, pancreas and thyroid woes are all linked.

So what do we do? For one thing, I’m taking L-Glutamine to help heal my gut lining. I’ve taken this before and am not sure why I didn’t pick it back up months ago. The doctor is also ordering me some casein-free colostrom. Gosh, maybe it would even help to drink my own milk. I’m staying on the Green Pastures fermented cod liver oil and fish oil.

There was another Medi-Herb product the doctor wanted to put me on but isn’t since I’m still breastfeeding little A. I worry that at some point, I might need to switch the priority of gut health to hers over mine and wean. My son nursed until age 3, and I didn’t think I do anything shy of two years this time around. But something’s gotta give.

This doctor and other practitioners are not finding (through muscle-testing) that I need probiotics at this time, and since I didn’t have a huge overgrowth of yeast and since I feel like I have had negative reactions when I’ve taken the GAPS-recommended Bio-Kult, I will stay off. I’m eating some fermented foods (not a lot), but I’ve slacked on using lots of animal fats like lard, as I was some months back. Lately, I’ve stuck mostly to coconut oil for cooking and olive oil for extra (uncooked) flavor.

And I haven’t been eating much in the way of organ meats, as GAPS would recommend. It’s enough work to start the day with green juice, get some veggies cooked in broth, make eggs, veggies and some (non-processed) meat and then do it all over again for lunch and dinner, plus prepare meals for the kids and my husband. And did I mention we are renovating a house? And I’m organizing a school fundraiser for a wetlands learning lab?

So what else is supposed to help with gut lining? Less cortisol. Less stress. More relaxation. Riiiight.

My fear of depression scares me away from a life of quiet (or much meditation, or enough yoga over walks), but taking on too much clearly is doing me no favors. If I just weren’t interested in so many things…

The baby is waking up from the nap she miraculously went down for (just over an hour ago) with relative ease (a rarity!), and my son and husband are headed back from the farmers market. Maybe now that it’s past noon on Sunday, a full 24 hours after I started this post, I should just pull the trigger and get it up.

But I’m pretty sure there is a whole lot more to learn.

Campbell Elementary School in south Arlington is hoping to remedy a swampy (and sometimes icy) problem in its playground and turn the area into a wetlands learning lab.

The school is a county-wide program that utilizes a hands-on curriculum called Expeditionary Learning. The wetlands learning lab will give students lots of opportunities to observe wildlife and ecosystems in action and to do various experiments. The new spot, which has been designed by EarlySpace landscape designer Nancy Striniste, will also be a place of beauty and an opportunity for students to have daily interaction with nature and outlets for unstructured play.

Learn more about the project at WetlandsLearningLab.com or on Facebook. In order to raise the necessary funds for construction to begin this winter, when construction costs are low, the school is holding a benefit concert on January 21 with music, activities and a silent auction.

Here are the details:

Wetlands Benefit Concert

Saturday, January 21, 1:00-4:00 p.m. (snow date January 28)

Tickets $10 per family (at the door)

Campbell Elementary School, 737 S. Carlin Springs Rd., Arlington, VA 22204

Entertainment and activities include children’s performer Groovy Nate, roots/bluegrass band Forty Miles Home, Bolivian dance performances, sing-along, family yoga, storytelling and a silent auction. Proceeds will help construct a Wetlands Learning Lab on school grounds.

For more information, visit WetlandsLearningLab.com, email CampbellWetlands (at) gmail (dot) com, or call 571-451-8273

Yesterday there was no childcare or playdate. Just a lot of rain. I truly felt like a stay-at-home mom, like back in the day before I took on freelance work or started up a chapter of Holistic Moms.

Some of yesterday was full of giggles. Some had me wanting to rip out my hair.

I consider it a victory that: I did a few stretches at home, then made it to the grocery store and then to yoga. My daughter had a few fussy moments during Lil Omm’s yoga playtime (an adult class where kids can hang out), but for the most part, I got in a decent practice. Of course, I was going just on fresh juice (kale, carrot, lettuce, parsley, lemon, beet) and didn’t eat breakfast until 11:30 after I’d put the babe down for a nap.

It would have been nice if she’d slept more than an hour and if she hadn’t been so whiny during the time of just us girls. At least, after her insanely mammoth poop, she amused herself in the tub while I folded clothes. (Note to self: get replacement plug for tub since husband threw out the old one). And then, before we headed to the bus stop to pick up her brother, we both gorged on Artisana coconut butter.

The happy surprise was that after she rejected my attempt to nap her again while her brother, ravenous after a hard day at kindergarten, was eating a second lunch, she was in a great mood. The two of them played individually and together for a good long while, during which time I chopped vegetables, washed dishes, and read and wrote emails related to work, the house, school and weekend planning.

Last week, I caught a piece on NPR about a study in the American Sociological Review that talks about how much more multitasking working mothers do than working fathers — and how much more stressful the mothers’ multitasking is. It’s worth a listen. When your brain constantly is engaged in three projects, it can’t do any of them well. Our circuits get fried. It’s tiring and not rewarding for us. And for our kids who have only a small pie piece of our attention, it’s got to be annoying. I don’t advocate dropping everything to coddle your kid 24/7, but some more focus on words that start with h, c, f, and d might be nice, I’m sure.

So the time from 3:30 to 5:30 was more productive than it was glorious. I got to plug in while they played well, and I only had to wear the baby on my back for a small chunk of time. She perked up when I fed her pomegranate, and I actually bounced on the rebounder (a few different times, since she kept climbing up to join me) and did a little more yoga in the few minutes between dinner being ready and my husband getting home. The physical activity alone made this a banner day!

But, after my son came downstairs at 8 p.m. complaining that he couldn’t sleep, I felt a little guilty for not giving him more focused attention and for not getting us all outside despite the rain. Ironically, I was in the middle of writing about natural playgrounds and playtime at school when he toddled in his too-small red jammies into the dining room, blinking at the light.

After I led him back into his room and tucked him back into bed, I realized, “Oh, you probably didn’t go out today, did you? No wonder you’re not so tired.”

“Just for morning break,” he replied, acknowledging that lunch recess was indoors. “We always went out in the rain at my old school,” he said of his Waldorf school. “I don’t know why they don’t go out in the rain at my new school,” he mused, pointing a knife toward the heart of his mom who chose free public school with a full day over returning to the outdoor-enthusiastic but tres expensive half-day Waldorf school.

I asked if he ever missed his old school, and he said yes, a lot. When pressed on what he missed, he described in great detail the joyful experience of playing with the rain that dripped down from the gutters of the old church that housed his school.

And then he switched his gushing praise to the current state of affairs, where he can pick to ride a trike or scooter on the track at school (and where he’s previously said he loves the big playground, and the soccer games at lunch). The enthusiasm about the new place was heartening.

I came back downstairs, checked a few items off the to do list my daughter had scribbled on hours earlier, finished an email, and went back to pacing out the floorplan of the next door house we are going to renovate starting as soon as we can make our decisions and get drawings ready to submit for permits.

When the baby started crying at 10:10, I said goodbye to the day, knowing that in the morning — after I got juice, broth, veggies, egg and sausage made, lunches finished up and packed, newly washed (and dried in the dryer because they were still in the wash when I went to bed) diapers stuffed and a new one on my girl’s bum before she went to the sitter’s — I knew that I’d get to pretend for a few hours that I am my own person who can do one thing at a time.

Like write about being a mom.

For me, food is medicine. If health is a priority, take out foods that don’t work for your body — because of allergies, because they rev you up (like caffeine or sugar), because they draw you down (like alcohol) or because they add to inflammation (like sugar and a lot of the Standard American Diet) — and add in nutrient-dense foods that heal and build strength.

A mindful diet is the best way to feel good. After food comes sleep and a lack of “junk” in your life — electronic clutter, literal clutter, toxic people, stress of any negative variety.

But there are times when we all need a little bump of help, usually when one of those other needs above isn’t met, for whatever reason. When we get run down or out of balance, we can utilize supplements, herbs, homeopathy, and body work and energy work (like chiropractic, massage, osteopathy and craniosacral therapy, and acupuncture).

A while back, I went to a wonderful learning session with acupuncturist and mom Allison Kitchen. She gave an overview of some herbal remedies, some energetic principles, and some nutritional supplements that she finds useful for her family and with her clients.

Allison, who also spoke to my chapter of Holistic Moms last summer, was kind enough to donate a box of Emergen-C Kidz strawberry-banana flavor for a giveaway.

When your little one starts to sniffle, dose her up with one of these packets of fizzy vitamins and minerals. An extra dose of Vitamin C and everything else in these little sachets just might help her body fight that bug.And make sure she rests and sleeps! And eats homemade chicken broth!

Share your favorite cold season remedy below to enter to win this box. The giveaway will close at 5 p.m. on Friday, December 9. The winner will be chosen at random.

Visit Allison’s blog, What Zoe Eats, and learn more about Allison’s practice at DCMindBody.

Fall’s draperies have fallen and are mulching on the ground. The woods behind our house are quieter, the tall trees naked of leaves even as deer nibble the green undergrowth.

I am astounded by the light.

It pours in now, like sleepy eyes that have just awakened. It comes at funny times and at new angles, finding new crevices to creep into and casting tricks of shadows on the plainest of surfaces.

We are moving.

Moving into winter. Moving into a new season of emptiness ready for the filling. Moving out of babyhood toward opinionation. Moving out of little boyhood into large hands and strong muscles.

Moving, literally, next door.

Having accepted the rare gift of an opportunity to renovate a home at a cost we just might manage, my family is on the verge of beginning a renovation of the house next to ours, a nearly identical Cape in origin but one in need of much love and tenderness.

I intend to infuse it with beauty.

And intention.

As we embark on a new season of our family lives, we pore over design books and muse about forts and gardens in the bigger lot, I may heed the call to draw inward. While I remain committed to feeding myself and my family nourishing, real food, it may be time to break from following the news toward a time of looking at the light and seeing where we live within it.

If I am quiet, it is to think and imagine. To conjure home. This may take me toward other writing, toward writing about green in building more than the green in my morning juice.

Like everything else, it’s a work in progress.

But let the work be play.

Homebirth, school lunch, small farmers, Wise Traditions conference, Blogalicious, that bee sting I got the other day … there is so much to write about. But when you spend close to two hours trying to get a baby to nap for 30 minutes, well, it’s tough to get it all in.

My apologies for all the deadlines I have not met in the past few days (self-set, but still!) Maybe I just care about too many things. (The foot reminds me to care about it if I forget to take at least one dose of homeopathic Apis each day)

Here is some news to follow:

As I’ve written, the Wise Traditions 2011 conference was amazing. Until I have a solid chunk of time to clear my head to get more down in pixels, check out this great recap at Food Renegade.

A farmer in Maine is being sued for selling food without a license, even though his town ordinance allows him to: We Are All Farmer Brown on Facebook

In Congress wants to use spending bill to call pizza a vegetable

Congresswoman speaks on the House floor about the Home Birth Consensus Summit I wrote about recently at All Things Mothering

That panel I went to about balance at Blogalicious 2011 still hasn’t written itself into a recap piece. But here is a great one from Run Wifey Run

Oh, and my foot? I stepped on a bee. My son looked for all the appropriate remedies in our Wildcraft game and then wrote them all down. I mentioned this in a post about Green games at TheDCMoms, but it was so cute, I long to write up a heartwarming narrative of it or even an honest tale of how the closest I came to homeschooling on the day he stayed home from school (due to travel fatigue and fighting a cold) was tasking him with that activity while I gave his sister a bath. Cute and poignant or just the stuff of a mom looking to fill time, here is the result:

What else in the world of natural family living should I be paying attention to so I can then wish I had the time to write about it?

Today my son stayed home from school because he looked like hell after our weekend trip to Dallas for the Weston A. Price Foundation Wise Traditions conference. He was beat. Shortly before we got home last night at about 8:00, he had a series of sneezing fits. I knew the prognosis for a child-free Monday was not great.

So we had a home day that was mostly okay but didn’t end until 9:45 p.m. after we stuck firm to our refusal to give him apple cider. I don’t know what happened, if it was the zinc I gave him or the epsom salt bath or what. But he was insane. He came downstairs I don’t know how many times. We both tried everything we could think of in the mode of playful parenting, empathetic listening, and sticking to our guns.

Whatever is happening in his brain right now, though, we were no match for it.

All day, I’d been reluctant to indulge him in a ton of mommy time so as not to give the impression that you can just stay home whenever and do fun stuff. A homeschooler I am not, as much as sometimes I might like to be.

So he might have felt a little ignored, but he just needed to have some chill time, you know? Rationalizing, yes, but also true, I think.

Still, tonight, as he was being a total spaz, I was feeling kind of guilty for having been so scattered and all “play on your own” and “sure, you can watch that French opera from your grandpa.” Husband guilt for the trip (since I had attended the conference solo leaving him to fend for himself with two kids) didn’t help either.

And yet. When I look at the leaves my little boy found and marveled over today with absolute joy and delight for nothing other than their beauty, I feel grateful and lucky.

Like maybe I am kind of a decent mom.