Living naturally, most of the time.

Lukewarm on/in spring

Dear Spring, This is difficult to say, but I’m no longer sure that I love you. We’ve had some amazing times together, I know. And I have always loved your greeny-gold and that feeling of newness you bring with you. But lately things have just been too up and down. The temperature, for one. The older I get, the harder a time I have with so much inconsistency. There’s a lot of unpredictability in my life, and yours is getting a little hard to take. I need some reliability. This roller-coaster style of yours also encroaches into other areas that are also getting cluttered and tiring in a way they weren’t years ago. There are all the sports that are dependent on the weather such that I plan the entire weekend around them and then, bam, all bets are off and I can no longer do one of the three things I would have wanted to do instead if my son didn’t have to be at Little League and his dad wasn’t playing Ultimate Frisbee. It’s not even just the weather in the moment, either. It could be the soaking rain from the day before. Don’t try to tell me the past is in the past. Only if it’s artificial turf! (Well, the baseball fields are a little more forgiving than the soccer and Ultimate, but you still never really know just how much one patch of earth can hold.) Of course one of the things everyone loves about you is the growth you bring. People feed off of you, quite literally. It’s exciting. And delicious! But damn if it isn’t a lot of work. I’m overwhelmed just looking at the garden and the green things that came up practically overnight and wondering where I should focus my energy so I can eat what is good, ditch what is depleting, and ensure I don’t let too much go and then become overrun with more than I can handle. Ain’t that always the case? Also, you ask a lot. The fundraisers! The field trips! The amount of time I’m spending volunteering in some way or another with my children’s school seems to be outpacing the amount of time I spend with them. Yes, you give, but you take a lot too. And this may sound harsh, but you really are toxic. I mean all that green pollen dust coating cars and infiltrating noses. And the exhaust from construction vehicles (I know, winter hurt your roads something serious this year. But still.)...

Glimpses of fall

Today I was too busy noticing fall and being with my kids to write, and tonight I was too busy prepping for Tuesday’s blog carnival on humor in parenting. So here are a few images of a still November day in Northern Virginia.   Bookmark on DeliciousDigg this postRecommend on Facebookshare via RedditShare with StumblersTweet about itSubscribe to the comments on this...

Why didn’t I think of that? Grandma saves 1/72 of the day!

It might be said that I had a perfectly fine day, parenting the children alone from 9 to 5 on a Sunday. Except that I appear to have gained 5 pounds from stress-eating and might have let my children’s eyeballs get singed by TV and computer screens. At least it was from gorging on Mr. Rogers and from playing a game about a frog trying to jump to the right fraction. It was great and also hard, this day. Normal and extraordinary. Pretty and ugly. One highlight was that, after the Mr. Rogers marathon, we made it to the farmers market with about 12 minutes to spare before the closing bell and managed to score a dozen eggs, some bison sticks, veggies and apples. And then we made it to the Waldorf school alumni bonfire where I felt only slightly guilty for not shelling out five figures for each of my children to attend a school where they wouldn’t be exposed to things like jumping frogs teaching you fractions. But they did follow suit in eating marshmallows, the GF store-bought ones I brought with the replacement Kinnikinnick S’moreables crackers. Despite the wind, it was lovely catch up with a few old friends amid the gloriousness of yellow leaves falling under a clear blue sky. There is nothing like a day so full with sensations: the sounds of feet crunching through the woods, the smell of smoke and melting sugar, the delight of leaves tumbling into your cup and onto your arm. The park has a large, generous pine tree with boughs so wide, it feels to all of us like a special room. Just being in its presence makes me feel like there is a possibility of safety and of magic. And like I need to get my kids outside more. It was “a beautiful fall day,” my three-year-old announced on the way home. She happily said she’d wait to pee until we got tot he house, and did, another highlight. Come to think of it, she also happily assisted in unpacking our bags from the market and bonfire. She hung in there, and then some.   But let me tell you, even with nothing exactly wrong and plenty right, it still felt like a loooong day to me. I’m just not very good at this.  You know: parenting. Not without something coming out or going in sideways. I don’t even eat rice pasta, but I gorged on it today. I’d picked most of the remaining basil to make...

A change in the forecast

Closing in on December Even though you can’t see the fifteen degrees that tromped out of the woods yesterday with as many miles of winds each hour, their departure left today hunched over, knocked into a new category where shoulders that once opened to warmth and the smell of dry leaves baking turn heavy, and the cheeks that got warm from chasing a ball and the last minutes of sun turn a cooler shade of red, bracing as they must against scarier air — a day only minutes shorter than yesterday but one that warns instead of inviting, “Go in. Please. Leave me alone.” What was your weather like today? How did it affect your mood? ———— After casting aside my poetry hat for far too long, my NaBloPoMo plan is to write a poem — and to take and post a photo — every day in November, spending less than half an hour on both. The hope is to drill down, to focus, to look for and create beauty. Previous Posts: Day 1: Eleven One Day 2: Shoreline Day 3: Damage Day 4: On Parenting and Sunrises Day 5: When will we? Day 6: Voting Line Day 7: What I want my children to learn from me Day 8: Haiku Day 9: Reminders Day 10: Routine Day 11: Lux Esto, in moderation Day 12: Family Photo Shoot at (nearly) 4o Day 13: Siblings Day 14: Point of View Day 15: Background Day 15: Greener Grass Day 16: Journey Day 17: From two to twelve Day 18: Baggage Day 19: Mothering, now and later Day 20: Expectations Day 21: Blank canvas Bookmark on DeliciousDigg this postRecommend on Facebookshare via RedditShare with StumblersTweet about itSubscribe to the comments on this...

More on leaves

Background When a November sky is kind, a maple tree is brilliant, spreading its red royally, like a regal bird preening. But when that side smile of blue sky turns cold, a resentful shade of grey, the leaves mimic an angry stop light and remind you of old blood on a dishrag that you didn’t wash until the stain had set so you threw the cloth into the trash —— Another photo from Tuesday gave me this poem, which I just wrote after returning from a Holistic Moms meeting. Trust me, I did not want to write when I got home. I just wanted to go to sleep. So I’m thankful I had a photo — one I didn’t use yesterday — to prompt me as I drove home. And I’m glad I had a commitment to myself so that I’d actually write! 15 days down, 15 to go! ————— After casting aside my poetry hat for far too long, my NaBloPoMo plan is to write a poem — and to take and post a photo — every day in November, spending less than half an hour on both. The hope is to drill down, to focus, to look for and create beauty. Previous Posts: Day 1: Eleven One Day 2: Shoreline Day 3: Damage Day 4: On Parenting and Sunrises Day 5: When will we? Day 6: Voting Line Day 7: What I want my children to learn from me Day 8: Haiku Day 9: Reminders Day 10: Routine Day 11: Lux Esto, in moderation Day 12: Family Photo Shoot at (nearly) 4o Day 13: Siblings Day 14: Point of View When a November sky is kind, a maple tree is brilliant, spreading its red royally, like a regal bird preening. But when that side smile of blue sky turns cold, a resentful shade of grey, the leaves mimic an angry stop light and remind you of old blood on a dishrag that you didn’t wash until the stain had set so you threw the cloth into the trash Bookmark on DeliciousDigg this postRecommend on Facebookshare via RedditShare with StumblersTweet about itSubscribe to the comments on this...

« Previous Entries

©Copyright 2013 Crunchy-Chewy Mama All Rights Reserved. | Website design by J.A. Creative