Clean.

10 simple ways to rock your parenting

When I wrote this post so many of you got it. You really got it. But most of you probably did before you read it too.

Blogs are so often like that. We are taking to the people who are already there. Because that's why so many of you come here. It's familiar. It's reinforces what you already believe.

But one mama wrote something about that post that I couldn't shake.

She said,

"It's beautiful. But just reminds me where I fail. We live in an apartment, in a bad neighborhood. I can't send them outside to explore, by themselves."

Oh. Right.

That.

That reality of so very many parents in the world. Where it is safer indoors than out. Where there is no backdoor to throw open; no grass to run barefoot through. And even if there were, you wouldn't. You couldn't.

That.

And if this mama assumed I was writing with a picture in my head of kids living in safe, green neighborhoods, well... she was right.

That was humbling.

I didn't picture a child living in the inner city or on the fifth floor of an apartment building.

I didn't picture a child at school all day and at after-school care until seven.

I didn't picture so many of the stories that are reality for so many families.

I pictured my family. Here. In the country.

And I pictured the countless backyards devoid of children in neighborhoods where it is perfectly safe to venture out and play.

 

The more I sat with her comment the more I felt that what I said might have missed the point for some of you, simply because of the context.

So today I'm giving it another go. This time written more for those of you without a yard or other safe place to run free.

Because giving your kids just what they need does not require special tools or a fancy environment.

It doesn't! You can rock this gig anywhere. Yes, even in an apartment in a bad neighborhood. Even without extra cash. Even with little spare time.

So thank you, mama, for reminding me to think outside of my small green box. This post is for you.

Here is another take on giving kids what they need - no matter where you call home.

Ten Ways to Rock Your Parenting - Wherever You Are

1. Put down your phone.

No matter where you live you can cultivate presence with your child. Choose your priority. Your time with your little one is fleeting. Facebook isn't going anywhere.

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Like any addiction it can be uncomfortable to make changes. But do it. It's so very worth it. (Tell you what. I'll do it too. There. Now you have a buddy. I won't check Facebook or Email except mindfully twice a day. I'll turn off my phone too. Are you in?)

.

Edited at 3:30 PM to say: Dang! This is hard. Really, truly hard. I honestly found myself sneaking online (not sure who I was hiding from) to check for comments on this post. Sneaking! Oh, the irony. Know that unplugging is as challenging for me as for you. Mercy. But I'm doing my best. And it ain't perfect.

2. Turn off the screens.

If you're going to go, go big. (See discomfort acknowledged in step 1. Ahem.)

Curb your own screen addiction and that of your child. I know. Media is easy. It's relaxing. (Sort of.) It's like a mini vacation.

But it's not the best way to spend your free time. Especially when you're a kid.

I've always taken a pretty radical stance on media for children. Turn off the screens and they will become more grounded, more imaginative, more present. And in that space life will bloom.

3. Embrace boredom.

You do not need to entertain your child.

.

Nope. You don't.

.

And while I'm not suggesting that you ignore them, I am suggesting that you let them get bored.

.

Boredom can be uncomfortable (for you and for your child) but it's a path that leads to creativity if you let it do its work.

.

When you move through boredom creativity will flourish and magic will happen. (But first it might get a little ugly.)

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The steps that follow can help mitigate some of the discomfort that comes with this change and turn your family on to a whole new presence of mind.

4. Find nature where you live.

Nature can be found in big expanses of green or in a clay pot on your windowsill. Heck, nature can be found in a crack in the sidewalk it you just take time to lay on your belly and look.

Do one of the items on the list below, or do them all. It's up to you.

*Watch clouds drifting across the sky and imagine aloud the magic pictures they contain. You can even make cloud art with your child, painting with a teased apart cotton ball instead of a brush.

*Watch and/or feed the birds. Hang a feeder from your window, or visit a park and sit quietly beneath the trees.

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*Keep a pet fish. Thrift stores often have old aquariums for a few bucks, and a goldfish can be had for less than $1 out of the "feeder" tank at the pet store. Super affordable, simple nature experience. Done.

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*Make a nature table. A nature table is a simple shelf or corner of your home where you arrange pinecones, sticks, leaves, flowers... anything that communicates the season to your family. Every month or so remove anything ratty looking and add some new items. Your kids will go crazy for this.

.

Prepare yourself for so. Many. Acorns.

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*Make a homemade terrarium in an old peanut butter jar.

*Plant flowers with your child. In your yard. In a chipped tea cup on your kitchen table. On your balcony. Or my favorite, in a vacant lot down the road. Anywhere. Read the book Miss Rumphius (the Lupine lady) for inspiration.

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*Find a safe, nearby natural area to visit often. It need not be big. Just green. Take your child there often. Make a ritual of visiting your "secret nature spot". 

*Look into the starry sky. No matter how much light pollution your neighborhood provides, you can surely see a star or two if you look deeply enough. Rooftops are often great for this if you have safe access!

5. Create rituals to celebrate the seasons.

Pagans celebrate the turning of the seasons at eight points in the calender. At the start of each season and at the mid-point. You don't have to be Pagan to celebrate the turning of the year!

These celebrations can be as simple as making a season painting together at your kitchen table, gathering with friends to celebrate, or taking a walk on the same path to take note of the turning of the year.

Put these on your calendar as you would an important birthday. Make time to celebrate the turning seasons.

6. Keep a phenology journal.

"Phenology journal" is a fancy way to say "seasonal nature book". Grab an old notebook and have your child decorate the cover.

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Then every time you notice something happening in nature - say, the maple leaves turning color in the fall or the last frost of the year - write it in your book.

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You'll begin to tune in and notice birds, insects, and weather patterns you never saw before.

7. Make art together.

We thrifted a big stack of old nature magazines recently. With some scissors and a little diluted white glue we could spend all day at our kitchen table, creating collages on old boards and pieces of cardboard.

Stock a drawer or shelf with some basic, affordable art supplies and let art replace screen-time. You'll all be glad you did.

Supplies to keep on hand: watercolor paint, tempra paint, thick paper (watercolor or other painting paper is nice), white paper (we use regular office paper), colored pencils or markers, and a few jars of random extras - buttons, glitter, acorn caps, etc.

You'll find lots more tips over here.

8. Grow food, prepare food, and eat together.

This is a powerful act.

You can grow food in a big garden outside or right on your kitchen counter.

Sprout seeds in a mason jar or grow edible herbs in pots. Re-grow celery from a cut off stalk.

Growing and eating food is a wonderful lesson to empower us in our lives!

9. Embrace unscheduled time.

We tend to over-engage, over-schedule, and over-plan. Childhood is no exception. Let your kids have free time. Lots of it.

They don't need more activities. They need more undirected free time. (Yes, even if it's happening inside the walls of your flat.)

10. Let them explore.

Give your kids a bucket of rocks to play with. Or their own bin of flour in the kitchen. Or some clay pots full of soil.

Fill the dishpan with soap bubbles and a pile of yogurt tubs and measuring cups. Stick them in the bathtub with a baking soda and vinegar.

Anything.

While my kids love playing mud kitchen, they also love what they call "potions". And this, friends, is like mud kitchen without the mud. And, um, indoors.

Potions involves vinegar, baking soda, beet juice, food coloring, stale spices, flour, water, cut grass, seeds, a mess of little jars and bowls... you get the idea.

Just let it flow and let it be and allow them to explore their world. Don't tell them what to do. Just let them go.

Clean-up can be epic, but it's worth the mess.

(We often do this in the tub.)

11. Love yourself and your life.

Okay, make it 11.

Know that life is imperfect. It's meant to be. There are lessons to be found in your less-than-ideal life, home, or schedule. Embrace the imperfection while you sift through for the magic within.

To live in a fifth story apartment means that when you do run barefoot through the grass it can be ecstasy. Even if it only happens once a year.

Love,
Rachel

 

Originally posted in 2013.

Two quick notes

Just popping in with two quick pieces of business!

First, a heartfelt thanks. Your words yesterday were so kind and understanding. Thank you for sharing your voices here. It means more than you know.

And second, the Spring Herbal Retreat is beginning to fill. Hooray! We have just seven beds left - and I'm saving one for you.

If you did not receive your invitation please let me know by email and I'll send it out again.

This retreat is shaping up to be as lovely as the last, and I can't wait to gather with you.

 

Love,
Rachel

 

Voluntary simplicity, the homestead edition

Keeping farm animals is a full-time job.

Even when it's only your hobby.

It's a day-and-night 24/7-365 gig. Like having a dog. Or more accurately (in our case) twenty-seven dogs. It's a tiny bit like parenting, except it's an opt-in/opt-out arrangement.

And we knew all of this going in. In theory anyway.

We knew that homesteading doesn't stop or lessen because you have the flu or because you want to go on vacation or because there's a flood or a blizzard a driving freezing rain. Often it just amps up under these conditions. There are no breaks, no vacations, no days off.

But four years ago this was the life that we wanted. We were all in.

And then ever so slowly, so subtly, life changed.

Sage was ten when we moved here; Lupine had just turned six. But today they're different people. And in a way, I suppose, so are we.

And what made sense four years ago started to make less and less sense today. 

 

I love these goats. I really do. 

And that made our decision that much more difficult. But we realize that we were trading family time for farm time. And childhood felt like something that was slipping through our fingers. How finite it is felt more and more clear.

And so last week we made the difficult decision to re-home our goats.

We still have too many sheep, a couple of cows, some rabbits, and an unreasonable number of chickens and quail. But the goats were more fragile and required a lot more attention than our other more hardy animals.

And honestly, they were the greatest source of worry for me. Births were harder, finding adequate pasture for them to stay healthy on was harder, keeping them alive and strong was harder. And my love for them was deeper so the stakes were that much higher.

Which meant deciding to let them go was that much harder, too.

If you've never made friends with a goat, know that they are hands-down the friendliest farm animal you'll ever meet. (There is a reason we could never bring ourselves to butcher a single one.) And because of this our goats became our pets, and a herd of pets on top of everything else - well, it proved to be just a little too much.

And so our decision was made. 

And then on Sunday, just like that, they were gone.

Before they were picked up I went to the barn to be with them one last time. To apologize. To have one last round of goat snuggles. To tell them I loved them and I was so glad for the years that we have shared.

Births, deaths, milking, mischief. So much love for these animals.

And then it was over. As quickly as it had begun.

 

Are we done with goats? No, I can't imagine we are. But we're putting family before farm at the moment, because that's what feels right right now. After Sage is grown I imagine that Lupine, Pete, and I may decide to raise goats again. Because this girl love her goats, and is the best goat midwife I've ever known. 

But even she was ready.

Ready to say goodbye to goats so that our family can have more time together. We're downsizing our flock of sheep as well, back to what we intended all along - a small fiber flock, with a few lambs to help feed our family each year.

It's voluntary simplicity, the homestead edition. Choosing family over farm.

I think it's the best decision we could have made. But it certainly wasn't the easiest.

Not by miles.

 

As it turns out this farming thing doesn't even get easy when you choose for it to end.  

  

Please be gentle and kind with your comments today, friends. This is very tender for me right now. Thank you for understanding.

Love,
Rachel

 

A spring retreat

The Spring 2017 Women's Herbal Retreat is officially scheduled! And I can hardly wait.

Like our first ever retreat last autumn, this gathering will be a small group of kindred spirits coming together to create community and learn about plants, remedies, and how to care for our family's health with the bounty of the earth. 

 

Though our primary focus will be on making medicines and discovering the power of herbs, there will be ample time to explore the Wisconsin woods, relax in the sauna, and visit with new friends over a cup of coffee or tea.

 

Each participant will learn about herbs as we work together making a variety of remedies - from teas and tinctures to salves and syrups. These remedies will go home with you, along with the knowledge (and written recipes and instructions) for making them again and again.

 

We will enjoy home-cooked nourishing meals, the beauty of springtime, and the magic that happens when women gather.

 

If you're interested in learning more please send me an email at [email protected] with the subject line of "women's herbal retreat" and I will send you a personal invitation with additional details today! If you already signed up, please check your inbox as invitations went out yesterday to those who had already requested information.

 

Looking forward to gathering with you!

 

Warmly,

Rachel

"This was, hands down, the BEST THING I EVER DID!! Spending 3+ days learning about herbal medicine; making tinctures and teas, balms and bitters, syrups and oils; meeting inspirational and like-minded wonderful women; eating incredible, healthy meals; all in an amazing setting[...]!" ~ D.Z.

"The retreat was a perfect get away to relax and learn!" ~ J.B.

 

Organic limoncello recipe (includes refined sugar-free honey variation)

I made a small batch of Limoncello for my sister this fall. Sadly (not sadly) it didn't all fit in the jar and I had to keep a 1/4 pint for myself. And oh. My. Goodness. I'm not sure when I've tasted something so divine!

Sweet but not overly so, lemony and smooth, it was dreamy. I wanted to try a batch without refined sugar (something my body doesn't love) and I thought honey would pair nicely with Meyers. And so I set to work on a second batch, tweaking my recipe until I found a method that worked for either honey or sugar.

And here it is.

Make a batch now and it will be ready to bottle up before Valentine's Day. 

You can share a few small jars with your friends, your neighbors, and your sweetie. (But take my advice and keep a jar for yourself, too, won't you? You'll be glad you did.)

Homemade Organic Limoncello Recipe

Ingredients

6-8 organic Meyer lemons (6 for slow infusion, 8 for quick) (If Meyer lemons are not available feel free to substitute regular lemons)

3 C organic vodka (I found this brand at our local grocery store.)

1 C organic sugar (or 1 scant C raw honey)

1 C water

Instructions

Making limoncello is deceptively simply. Honestly. And while this project takes two to six weeks to complete, the hands-on work takes just minutes. And the results are out of this world. 

First, decide how limoncello you want. 

Then make a little more. Because you can trust me when I say that you will want to keep some for yourself. One batch will yield approximately 1 1/2 pints (give or take), and the recipe easily doubles or triples. (To save you the math, a single batch will use up 2/3 of a 175 ml bottle, so if you buy two you can crank out a triple batch. Do it.)

Second, evaluate much time you have.

Is this a hurried project for a gift? Something you'd like jarred up in just two or three weeks? Get the extra lemons. It will yield a flavorful limoncello, despite the rush. Have a full month or more for your infusion? Six per batch is plenty.

Third, infuse your vodka.

Wash and dry Meyer lemons.

Remove zest using a vegetable peeler or paring knife, removing as little pith as possible. Reserve lemons for another use. (I shared a few ideas at the bottom of this post.)

Place lemon zest in a glass quart jar and cover with vodka, approximately 3 C. Be sure all zest are submerged, then cover and tuck away in a dark cupboard. 

Give it a stir every week or so, and allow to infuse for 2 to 6 weeks. When your limoncello is fragrant and the peels are beginning to lose their vibrancy it's time to strain. (For the rushed batch the peels will still be bright when you strain. That's normal.)

Compost the zest, or if you did the quick batch cover with a smaller amount of vodka for a second round. 

Fourth, make a simple syrup.

On the day that you strain your infusion, place 1 C water in small saucepan over medium heat. When warm add sugar or honey stir to dissolve. Allow to cool, then add to your limoncello to taste. (You'll probably add most if not all, but you never know, so add and taste, add and taste.)

Transfer to a pretty little mason jar or two, label and share.

Oh, and tuck one away for yourself too.

(You're welcome.)

 

What to do with those lemons?

I do not view a mountain of zestless Meyer lemons as a problem. Honestly, it's just an invitation to make more delicious things. Here are a few ideas for you.

Frozen lemon quarters for warm lemon water

When I find myself in this delicious predicament I usually just quarter and freeze the lemons for my morning lemon water habit. Then in the morning I drop a frozen lemon quarter in my mug and cover with warm water. After a few minutes I squeeze the lemon with the back of the spoon and enjoy.

Starting your day with warm lemon water is healthy habit to begin. It aids digestion, is a gentle detox, boosts the immune system, hydrates your body and your skin, and more. (Be further convinced here.)

Meyer lemon curd

You really can't go wrong with lemon curd. This recipe (like most) calls for lemon zest, but don't be dismayed. Just replace it with a touch of extra juice. It won't be exactly the same but it will still be divine.  

Grass-fed Meyer lemon gelatin

If you haven't made 'jello' with real, whole ingredients you're missing out! We love it over here. Use this recipe and your lemons, but know that you might need an extra drop or two of honey since even Meyer lemons are more sour than oranges.

Yum.

Frozen juice cubes

And while this is arguably the least exciting idea on my list, I love to juice my lemons, then freeze the fresh lemon juice in an ice cube tray. Pop the cubes into a jar and store in my kitchen freezer, they are lovely to have on hand for soups, pancakes, salad dressings... all the things that would benefit from a little lemony spunk.

 

Enjoy, friends! 

 

Just fifteen minutes

I reread this post before I shard it this morning. And though I wrote it just two years ago, so much has changed in that short time. It's been months since she has asked me to cook with her in her mud kitchen. She is growing up, little by little at an ever accelerating rate.

Life is shifting. Our kids are growing.

And though reading these words from just two years ago left a bittersweet pang in my heart, I'm grateful that I said yes. Then, certainly. And now as well. 

Today they want to walk to the creek. And while there might not be so much imaginative play, there will still be play.

And I'll be there to join in. 

Love,

Rachel

Lunch was finished, the dishes were done.

I had sent the kids outside to burn off their copious energy in the snow.

I poured myself some tea and settled in to a little undisturbed knitting time. A rare treat.

A few rows in the door opened.

"Mama, will you come outside and play with me?"

I sat, silent, mulling over her request.

Because I was relishing my "me time". My selfish time. My tea and my yarn.

A small part of me wanted to be there. For her.

For me.

While she still wanted to play with her mama in the snow.

That part of me that was content to put down my needles and go out to play with her.

Right now.

While she is still small, for one more day.

 

But then there was the selfish me that wanted to stay right where I was.

Cozy, inside, and alone.

I really wanted that.

Shamefully so.

And it was a dirty truth, like somehow taking care of me is less acceptable than caring for her.

The martyrdom of motherhood.

 

I was torn between two truths, two selfs.

The loving, giving, mother-self and the dark and greedy "me-first" self.

(The one who cooks their favorite meals and the one who hides the chocolate.)

But that's rubbish, I decided. Neither was bad; both were authentic.

Both were vital.

So first I would knit. Just a few more rows.

She could wait.

Then I'd give her fifteen minutes.

 

Because even if I wasn't feeling it I could play for fifteen minutes.

I would finish my tea and then go outside.

For just fifteen minutes.

After that I could come back in and knit.

If I wanted to. Which I was certain I would.

Just fifteen minutes. An easy commitment.

Surely I could muster that.

 

And so I savored my tea and when it was done I knitted up an extra row, stalling just a little.

The door opened.

"Are you coming, mama? Are you done with your tea?"

Her eyes were bright. She was waiting.

 

Just fifteen minutes.  I could do this.

Yes.

I was on my way.

 

Out, into the snow. The fresh air. The togetherness.

We cooked pine needles and bittersweet in her play kitchen.

I pushed her on the swing "all the way up to the sky".

We raced with the dog and then wandered down to the marsh and the creek.

We laughed. Held hands. Pushed each other down in the snow.

Connected.

At first I was going through the motions, thinking about my knitting and all the work that awaited me back inside. But soon I had lost track of time and lost myself in this pink sky and these blue eyes.

As I found joy in our play I never wondered if the fifteen minutes had passed so that I could go back inside.

Not once.

Immersed in the moment, I forgot completely about knitting, and tea, and time.

How long did we spend? An hour, maybe two. Even now I'm not sure.

We watched a coyote, an eagle pair, the sunset.

I watched her.

Growing taller before my eyes.

We crossed the creek at dusk, heading into the hills as the light faded.

And I marveled at how I had bought the best part of my day through a bargain with myself to give her fifteen minutes.

 

Do you have fifteen minutes to spare?

For a story, a walk, a game, a conversation - for connecting deeply with those you love.

What would you find in that sliver of time?

Presence.

Laughter.

Connection.

Peace.

Memories.

Time.

This child.

This day.

Just for choosing to be present, completely, with these precious ones we love.

Just fifteen minutes.

See where it takes you.

I'm certain you won't regret it.

And with that I'm off. I have a cup of tea and some knitting to attend to.

Because, yes. Caring for myself? That matters, too.

 

Originally posted in 2015.

 

 

Love,

Rachel

Lunch was finished, the dishes were done.

I had sent the kids outside to burn off their copious energy in the snow.

I poured myself some tea and settled in to a little undisturbed knitting time. A rare treat.

A few rows in the door opened.

"Mama, will you come outside and play with me?"

I sat, silent, mulling over her request.

Because I was relishing my "me time". My selfish time. My tea and my yarn.

A small part of me wanted to be there. For her.

For me.

While she still wanted to play with her mama in the snow.

That part of me that was content to put down my needles and go out to play with her.

Right now.

While she is still small, for one more day.

 

But then there was the selfish me that wanted to stay right where I was.

Cozy, inside, and alone.

I really wanted that.

Shamefully so.

And it was a dirty truth, like somehow taking care of me is less acceptable than caring for her.

The martyrdom of motherhood.

 

I was torn between two truths, two selfs.

The loving, giving, mother-self and the dark and greedy "me-first" self.

(The one who cooks their favorite meals and the one who hides the chocolate.)

But that's rubbish, I decided. Neither was bad; both were authentic.

Both were vital.

So first I would knit. Just a few more rows.

She could wait.

Then I'd give her fifteen minutes.

 

Because even if I wasn't feeling it I could play for fifteen minutes.

I would finish my tea and then go outside.

For just fifteen minutes.

After that I could come back in and knit.

If I wanted to. Which I was certain I would.

Just fifteen minutes. An easy commitment.

Surely I could muster that.

 

And so I savored my tea and when it was done I knitted up an extra row, stalling just a little.

The door opened.

"Are you coming, mama? Are you done with your tea?"

Her eyes were bright. She was waiting.

 

Just fifteen minutes.  I could do this.

Yes.

I was on my way.

 

Out, into the snow. The fresh air. The togetherness.

We cooked pine needles and bittersweet in her play kitchen.

I pushed her on the swing "all the way up to the sky".

We raced with the dog and then wandered down to the marsh and the creek.

We laughed. Held hands. Pushed each other down in the snow.

Connected.

At first I was going through the motions, thinking about my knitting and all the work that awaited me back inside. But soon I had lost track of time and lost myself in this pink sky and these blue eyes.

As I found joy in our play I never wondered if the fifteen minutes had passed so that I could go back inside.

Not once.

Immersed in the moment, I forgot completely about knitting, and tea, and time.

How long did we spend? An hour, maybe two. Even now I'm not sure.

We watched a coyote, an eagle pair, the sunset.

I watched her.

Growing taller before my eyes.

We crossed the creek at dusk, heading into the hills as the light faded.

And I marveled at how I had bought the best part of my day through a bargain with myself to give her fifteen minutes.

 

Do you have fifteen minutes to spare?

For a story, a walk, a game, a conversation - for connecting deeply with those you love.

What would you find in that sliver of time?

Presence.

Laughter.

Connection.

Peace.

Memories.

Time.

This child.

This day.

Just for choosing to be present, completely, with these precious ones we love.

Just fifteen minutes.

See where it takes you.

I'm certain you won't regret it.

And with that I'm off. I have a cup of tea and some knitting to attend to.

Because, yes. Caring for myself? That matters, too.

 

Originally posted in 2015.

Lunch was finished, the dishes were done.

I had sent the kids outside to burn off their copious energy in the snow.

I poured myself some tea and settled in to a little undisturbed knitting time. A rare treat.

A few rows in the door opened.

"Mama, will you come outside and play with me?"

I sat, silent, mulling over her request.

Because I was relishing my "me time". My selfish time. My tea and my yarn.

A small part of me wanted to be there. For her.

For me.

While she still wanted to play with her mama in the snow.

That part of me that was content to put down my needles and go out to play with her.

Right now.

While she is still small, for one more day.

 

But then there was the selfish me that wanted to stay right where I was.

Cozy, inside, and alone.

I really wanted that.

Shamefully so.

And it was a dirty truth, like somehow taking care of me is less acceptable than caring for her.

The martyrdom of motherhood.

 

I was torn between two truths, two selfs.

The loving, giving, mother-self and the dark and greedy "me-first" self.

(The one who cooks their favorite meals and the one who hides the chocolate.)

But that's rubbish, I decided. Neither was bad; both were authentic.

Both were vital.

So first I would knit. Just a few more rows.

She could wait.

Then I'd give her fifteen minutes.

 

Because even if I wasn't feeling it I could play for fifteen minutes.

I would finish my tea and then go outside.

For just fifteen minutes.

After that I could come back in and knit.

If I wanted to. Which I was certain I would.

Just fifteen minutes. An easy commitment.

Surely I could muster that.

 

And so I savored my tea and when it was done I knitted up an extra row, stalling just a little.

The door opened.

"Are you coming, mama? Are you done with your tea?"

Her eyes were bright. She was waiting.

 

Just fifteen minutes.  I could do this.

Yes.

I was on my way.

 

Out, into the snow. The fresh air. The togetherness.

We cooked pine needles and bittersweet in her play kitchen.

I pushed her on the swing "all the way up to the sky".

We raced with the dog and then wandered down to the marsh and the creek.

We laughed. Held hands. Pushed each other down in the snow.

Connected.

At first I was going through the motions, thinking about my knitting and all the work that awaited me back inside. But soon I had lost track of time and lost myself in this pink sky and these blue eyes.

As I found joy in our play I never wondered if the fifteen minutes had passed so that I could go back inside.

Not once.

Immersed in the moment, I forgot completely about knitting, and tea, and time.

How long did we spend? An hour, maybe two. Even now I'm not sure.

We watched a coyote, an eagle pair, the sunset.

I watched her.

Growing taller before my eyes.

We crossed the creek at dusk, heading into the hills as the light faded.

And I marveled at how I had bought the best part of my day through a bargain with myself to give her fifteen minutes.

 

Do you have fifteen minutes to spare?

For a story, a walk, a game, a conversation - for connecting deeply with those you love.

What would you find in that sliver of time?

Presence.

Laughter.

Connection.

Peace.

Memories.

Time.

This child.

This day.

Just for choosing to be present, completely, with these precious ones we love.

Just fifteen minutes.

See where it takes you.

I'm certain you won't regret it.

And with that I'm off. I have a cup of tea and some knitting to attend to.

Because, yes. Caring for myself? That matters, too.

 

Originally posted in 2015.