The Moments of Slow

Sometimes, I think back to the time I instinctively knew how to eat slow - a time before grade school and thirty minute lunch breaks, fifteen of which were spent in line. I remember summer and how I whittled away the time - time being the true gift of summer. Occasionally, I would tuck myself behind the two-story dollhouse made by my father. It sat in the corner of our living room, centered between the light of two windows (one near each corner of the perpendicular angle of the house). During the day, the sun marked time on our living room floor, sunbeams heating the carpet were I would curl myself around a book and a bowl of apples. Those were afternoons of time for slice upon slice and page turn after page turn, afternoons where no one rushed you to "get on with it" because, somewhere, a bell was about to chime.

Here we are, decades later, during the season of chiming bells. While there is much to do, this year I am attempting to not get swept up in too much sound and fury, to remember that instinct for slow. So we're taking our cue from the blanket of snow outside our backdoor and remembering that the land lying fallow serves the purpose to nourish, enrich, and prepare for the year to come.

A few ways we've incorporated a bit of slow into our week:

Spending a snowed in morning trying out a new recipe - this week, the Buckwheat Crepes from Lisa Barnes' Cooking for Baby. Nathan thought these were fantastic with blackberry jam. Audrey was not so sold, but had I filled them with strawberries and whipped cream, I imagine the outcome would be different. I couldn't help but be taken back to summers and sleepovers of my youth, when after spending the night in sleeping bags in her outdoor clubhouse, my friend Lauren would whip up a batch of crepes (always from memory) that we stuffed with strawberries and whipped cream. Each time she served them with a side of cheesy scrambled eggs that she cooked in the microwave. Some foods, no matter how many times you eat them (or how young the chef) always feel special.



Changing up the routine. This December, when we run across a "slow" day with nowhere to be and a short to-do list, I move bath time to the afternoon and toss both babes in for some extended water play (I figure this is the one time of year I can do this without worrying that Audrey is going to run outside and cover herself in garden dirt as soon as we're finished). This serves several purposes. The kids, who normally have separate bath times, think it's a special treat. Since I'm not worried about making an eight 'o clock bedtime, they can play as long as they want. In the evening, when Jason is home, we have the gift of some extra family time, which is perfect for those nights we have a little decorating or game-playing or seasonal merry-making to do that shouldn't be rushed. And, for a few minutes, as splashing water and laughter fill the air, it feels just a bit like the days of summer.



Taking a few minutes to enjoy the best small pleasures of the season. Even at times when I should be wrapping gifts or baking cookies or shoveling the drive. There are always five minutes for a cup of hot chocolate. Besides, my kids don't care what the gifts are wrapped in, and one day, I won't remember, either.

When You Take a Box to Dinner...

Some actions are ordinary: you go shopping on a Monday; you select a gift and ask the store clerk if he can put it in a box; you wrap yourself in the coats or scarves of the season and go out for dinner, box in hand. You go about the daily routine of nourishing: feeding your body with food, your soul with company, your mind with shared ideas. You partake in the gifts of the ordinary day.

But some actions are not ordinary: you go shopping on a Monday, yet-to-be-seen ultrasound picture secured in an envelope in your purse; you pick out two gender-specific articles of clothing, hand them with the envelope to the store clerk (along with a small wad of cash), and ask if he would mind putting the outfit that corresponds with the ultrasound results in a box while you leave the store; you wrap yourself in the coats or scarves of the season and (with your spouse) take a box out to dinner. Before you've deliberated for even five minutes about when you should open the box (you've been known to hold out until dessert or at least until the pause between appetizer and main course), you pull off the ribbon and peer inside before any food has arrived. You go about the daily routine of nourishing yourself: feeding your body (and the body of a little one in the making) with food, your soul with thoughts of the company to come, your mind with shared ideas of dreams that have yet to be. You nourish your heart (and smile when you break open your fortune cookie to reveal the Chinese word for "family" printed on one side). You partake in the extraordinary gifts of an ordinary day. It's a boy!

For Posterity's Sake: Week in Review 99

This little space has been quiet for a few days. As much as it tends to feed me: as a holding space for the things I want to remember; as a connection point; and a place to ground myself in the facts of the day, this is December. December walks a bit differently than the other months of the year. It moves as a force of weather and spirit and anticipation. It covers, like snow, making these thirty-one days unrecognizable from the other 334 of the year. No matter how much one loves the season, sometimes it covers you. I'm trying to stay on top of the snow (and the season) this month by changing my perspective. I'm finding that sometimes the best way to make the season brighter (read: less stressful) is to change the way you wear the season. (You know, try that mix-matched pair of gloves on your feet.) It's not that we're doing much less this year, we're just trying a new approach. I'm attempting to make several of our gifts (mostly for the little loves in our lives). Most of these projects come out of hiding after the kids have gone to bed, created piece by piece while snuggled under blankets within the Christmas tree's glow, watching holiday movies. The majority of the gifts I'm not making have been purchased online, again while snuggled under a blanket on the couch or at the table with a cup of hot chocolate. Decorating has also been tackled piece by piece, making ornaments a few at a time, assembling the tree one week and the decorations for the staircase banister the next. I've taken help where I can and when it makes the most sense. Help's most frequent form is Audrey. So far, she's been enlisted to make Christmas tree decorations, cookie dough for a cookie exchange, and elements to go on the Christmas cards. I've spread those few precious hours of weekly free time around. The blog has taken a bit of a backseat some days as I focus on family and the events ahead, with my goal being to enjoy the season and the littlest moments that matter most. Moments like these:

Hide n' seek continues to play a frequent role in our house. As I began writing this post, Nate was playing peek-a-boo with me by darting out from behind the kitchen chair next to me, laughing at my surprised expression, then ducking for cover before repeating his performance. (This makes for very slow, but sweet, writing).

Sunday, Audrey was playing hide 'n seek with us. It was Jason's turn to hide. He had covered himself with couch cushions, accidentally leaving one knee exposed. Rather than "finding" him, when she ran across his bare knee, Audrey laughed and covered it with a pillow.

Wednesday morning I was making breakfast. Audrey asked if she could help. "Yes, but right now I'm doing the mama part." I said.
"What's the Audrey part?" she asked.

That afternoon, while en route to the library, she asked me playfully what color my eyes are.
"I don't know. Are they pink?" I asked.
"No."
"Purple?"
"No."
"Yellow?"
"You're getting close."

Later, she asked if I would be her Mamaw when she was older. I explained that I would be her kids' Mamaw.
"You know what I'm going to name my kids?" she asked.
"No. What are you naming them?"
"If God gives me two kids, I'm naming them Harriet and Treelee."

Jason recently introduced Audrey to a song about Christmas cookies. She asked to hear it Wednesday night. The song explains how a man's wife makes and decorates Christmas cookies each year that he can't resist. Audrey sang along with the lyrics, "Sometimes she waits till I'm asleep and puts those little sprinkly things on top."
"She's kinda sneaky," she said.

Thursday morning, we arrived at Audrey's preschool to find her classroom door still closed. We were hanging up her backpack and removing her hat as it opened. Audrey took off running toward the door.
"Wait a minute," I said. She ran back so I could grab her coat, gave me a hug and kiss and sprinted for the door.
"Have a fun day!" she said tossing her hand back in the air toward me, as the other parents (lined up against the wall with their kids still attached to their legs) laughed.

Thursday afternoon she looked up from a nativity coloring book her class had made at school. "Mom, whose the dad? I don't remember. Moses?"

Friday morning, while attempting to leave the neighborhood for a meeting, we slid on some ice and the car slipped sideways.
"Wee!" Audrey said. "That was like skating or sledding!" (Luckily, the roads in our neighborhood always seem to be in the worse shape snow-removal-wise and the rest of our drive was rather uneventful).

When playing hide 'n seek, we use one little tool to help the seeker find a really good hider. If the seeker yells "Marco," the hider has to respond, "Polo." On Friday, Jason discovered that if he looks at Nate and says, "Marco," Nate will respond with a nonsensical two-syllable word.

Today, the snow has been falling steadily. We've all enjoyed the comfort of a warm house in different ways: Jason relaxing in front of a football game, me working on projects here and there, Audrey rearranging the Christmas tree again, and Nate attempting to taste the snow by putting his tongue against the kitchen window. This is a time of small moments, simple gestures, and the little things that make us cozy - all adding up to one big bright season.

Some Christmas Clay

Last year, we made salt dough ornaments. After giving some away as gift tags on our presents and losing others to play (Audrey likes to run around the house, clanging ornaments together), a small sampling have survived for this year's tree. After running across this post, we decided to try our hand at clay this season.




We used Fimo Air clay (it dries overnight, no baking) and a few tools: a rolling pin, wooden skewer (to poke holes for ribbon), cookie cutters, a bowl of water, and a butter knife that Audrey insisted on using to chop up her clay.



And, of course, our hands.




A project like this always highlights each participant's individual creativity. I made a wreath and star before segueing into another clay project (more on that later). Audrey was a fervent believer in the decorative abilities of the wooden skewer (the snowflake below with all the poke marks is hers) and then turned her attention to more abstract designs. Jason used his imagination and no cookie cutters to make a couple characters he thought Audrey might like for the tree (the snowman and Santa - referred to as the Santa gnome on an occasion or two - pictured at the bottom are his).




Sadly, Santa gnome didn't last long on the tree. He was a little too beloved and broke early as Audrey tried to take a lap around the house with him. The snowman has been moved to a higher branch for safer keeping (his ribbon is threaded through the top buttonhole, for those wondering).



Six messy hands, one fun evening, and a trayful of creative characters to add to the tree. Christmas is coming together.

It's Beginning to Feel A Lot Like...

This weekend played precursor for the season: cold outside, but warm inside. A flurry of white so dense the only colors are those you make or string from the treetops. The weather, and your breath, hanging in the air. The glow and warmth of everyday utilities seen (even by the littlest among us) for the luxuries they are. A splash of red to light up the season (these roses a surprise addition to my list when I sent Jason for a grocery run). And, learning again and again that laughter, lights, and even snow are all made brighter when shared with someone else.

For Posterity's Sake: Week in Review 98

This weekend has been a bit about catching up, and (for the most part) staying in. Our week looked a bit more like a snow flurry: work meetings with new adventures on the horizon; busy nights; a little boy trying out his walking legs and fighting off a virus that left his eyes matted shut more mornings than not; two adults popping throat lozenges as if they were the peppermint candy of the season; one active girl who began each day by announcing that it was a "decorating day;" and one mama who has officially opened her Christmas gift sweatshop (employees: 1). It's one of those weeks that found me welcoming the weekend's first big snow and its tendency to draw everyone inside and underneath piles of blankets or the glow of the Christmas tree. And, welcoming a moment to reflect with a cup of hot cider and the moments of the week past:

On Sunday, I overheard Audrey tell Jason, "Daddy, I think I'm the greatest girl in the world. Because I'm so special."

Then, she came up to me. "Mom, I'm the greatest girl in the whole world."
"I've thought that for a while," I said.
"I still am," Audrey said.

During lunch, Audrey informed us that there are eleven little people living in her stomach (named the Donners) who get scared when she drinks juice and it falls down her stomach. They have a workshop where they make noodles, but they won't go into the room where they store their finished noodles because they are afraid of getting sauce on themselves. Apparently, when she dances, they dance. When she hangs upside down, they hang upside down.

On Monday, when I surprised her, she said, "You freak-ed me out!"

That night at dinner she took a drink of milk, followed by a dramatic pause. "Oh my! I hear the people in my stomach screaming." (We've had several reports since Sunday on how the people in her stomach are faring.)

Tuesday, she asked me to tell her a story about a banana bird going to visit his Mamaw and Papaw. "Okay, where does his Mamaw and Papaw live?
"Kentucky."

Wednesday, she said, "Mom, you're so smart because you know how to make things. You're so smart because you know how to make a scarf. And I'm smart anyways."

Audrey and Jason were playing hide 'n seek Saturday. It was Jason's turn to hide. He managed to squeeze between the couch and the wall. Audrey spent several minutes hunting, unsuccessfully. Meanwhile, Nate, crawling around the end table next to the couch, moved the window curtains to find his Dad hiding behind them. Shocked by the unexpected find, Nate began to laugh, so long and so loud that his sister finally had to come see what the big deal was.

We did manage to leave the house Saturday night to make a little excursion to see Santa and Mrs. Claus. I was relaying college football scores to Jason on the drive home. "Darn," he said, in response to some news about his alma mater.
"What'd you say, Dad?" Audrey asked. "I thought I heard you say something I'm not supposed to say."

I love waking up to the first big snow of the season and the sense of "hush" it creates across the neighborhood in those early moments before boots meet feet and sleds cut grooves through the smooth surface below. We needed just a bit of hush this weekend, just a bit of the magic of white lights reflected on whiter snow, and even a bit of a little blue sled carving its way through the backyard and the falling flakes. Just a bit.

Christmas in the Making

We've begun to trim the tree, a few ornaments at a time. With a little guy determined to walk before Christmas and a climber-extraordinaire eager to get her hands on anything we place in the tree's branches, we've decided to go simple with the ornaments this year. Think paper. Paper and other extremely light objects that won't shatter or knock anyone out on their way back to earth.



We got the idea for these ornaments from a picture in Pottery Barn Kids. Then, I found this craft tutorial, which taught us how to fold the paper. Several folds (and playful designs by the ornament artist) later, and we had a handful of ornaments to hang.

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A few notes: Ours came undone in several places and had to be retaped a bit. We used cardstock and double-stick tape to make the ornaments. I think they would have stayed a bit better with some paper that wasn't quite so stiff or some stronger tape. To fix ours, I'm just going to use a bit more tape tucked over the tops of the folds.