birthday magic

Twelve years ago, he was born on national bundt cake day. I remember because in the days after his birth, the two of us spent many hours on the living room couch watching Martha Stewart while he nursed and I drank endless cups of Ocean Spray cranberry juices, and Martha Stewart did a whole show on bundt cakes, and I caught the replay. It was fitting because at that time I mostly baked bundt cakes.

Twelve years of mothering. Specifically, twelve years of being his mother. I could say all the cliches, how he's been a gift and a blessing and how he's changed our life. They'd all be true. 

But mostly, I want to write about the way he sees the world, with gratitude and joy. About how on his birthday he carefully tore at wrapping paper, and examined each gift, his face open with thanks and awe. I want to tell you about the toy store we visited after filing for passports (and how gracious he was to share his birthday with the tedious work of getting passport photos taken and the paperwork that goes with it), and how the woman behind the counter told us the entire store was 20% off, and the only thing Fynn wanted in the whole store? A five dollar mood ring. 

On the evening of his birthday, we headed into Boston to see Potted Potter. We knew a storm was coming, but the reports of how much snow we were likely to get varied, and the timeline was even more questionable. We parked the car and walked through Chinatown and into the Theater District, bundled up in coats and hats and mittens, Fynn clutching his Harry Potter wand that was a gift a few years back. The skies were cloudy, but there was no precipitation. The show was less than two hours, full of hilarity and inside jokes and pop culture tidbits. The magic came when we stepped out of the theater and into a snow globe. Snowflakes were coming down rapidly, sideways, and there was at least an inch of snow on the ground and on top of cars. Both of the kids eyes were wide, taking in the first snow of the year, but Fynn's face held all the wonder of birthday magic. He loves snow. I can't tell you how much. It'd be like asking someone to describe how much they love a child or a parent or their favorite food. 

The drive home was long, slow, and tense. Lucas's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. I'm not even sure we turned the radio on. When our kids get nervous, one gets very chatty, and the other becomes quiet. Fynn was quiet the whole ride home, only laughing when we joked about how driving through the snow looks like going at warp speed in star wars. I reached my hand back and held Fynn's. His hands are nearly as big as mine these days.

At home we had to park the car at the end of the driveway so we could shovel off snow and make it to the top. I sent the kids inside, but told Fynn he could play outside in the snow for a while. "It's late, and I'm so tired," he told me. I nodded. But once Lucas and I had cleaned off the driveway, pulled the car into it's spot, and were walking back towards the house, we noticed Fynn on our little hill, building a snowman. 

Paige watched from inside the warm house, and Lucas joined her. But I stayed outside, helped finish up the snowman, and then Fynn and I made snow angels and had a snowball fight. Just him and me. His laughter mixed with wonder, and his eyes twinkled in the dark. It reminded me of when he was little, all the times it was just me and him and I bundled him up for winter walks, all of the first snow of the season we've marveled at together. The house in Ipswich where the storm window wasn't shut properly, and we had snow inside the living room, how he played in it with a shovel and a pail. The hours he spent in his huge snowsuit sitting in snow, taking handfuls of it and eating it no matter how much I protested. Boots caked in snow and mud and how tiny they were in comparison to the big clunky ones he wears now. The blue of his eyes against cloudy grey skies, and how they come alive at the very mention of snow.

Twelve years of being his mama. On his birthday mother nature celebrated him with a nor'easter, and we partied late into the night with snowballs and cake, and joy. There was so much joy. May he always know the joy of birthday magic, a snowstorm, and a family who loves him dearly. 

November rambles

November is here, and it came with it's predictable moodiness. Overcast weather, drizzles for days, and a foreboding sense of winter. 

I love it. 

For those of us who love quiet, and a slower pace of life, November is something of a treat. Especially early November, where it's nearly too early to start focusing on the holidays, but they're still in sight as a balm for when the grey gets to be too much. And let's be real, there does come a time when it's too much. But to stave off the dreariness there's fairy lights and glowing candles and before long the next season of The Great British Bake Off drops in the US on Netflix (the 9th!). 

These early November days I'm thinking about what I'm interested in and want to write about in this space, aside from writing about writing. I keep coming back to the idea of slow living, and I want to expand on that. Slow, intentional, minimal... all buzz words, I know, but they resonate deeply for me. In slowing down, I always learn about myself, and notice more about the world around me, and how I want to exist in the world. 

At the same time, it's a choice that comes with privilege, to slow down. I find it increasingly painful to read about minimalism and anything remotely to do with self help and the wellness industry because of how glaringly obvious it is that there's misrepresentation happening, cultural appropriation right and left, and a lack of self awareness and privilege. 

I'm not sure where that leaves me, except to share my own experience, acknowledging the privileges I'm afforded. 

And my experience? It's about how my body does not do well in a hurried state. A rushed state. A loud and noisy and stressful state. And how I'm starting to think maybe it's our society and culture that is troubled, and not me. 

Or at least, maybe our society could do a better job of accepting people who are not in it for the money, who aren't in it for the glory, who aren't in it to keep up with the Jones's, but who want to exist in a way that keeps them content and doesn't hurt anyone else in the process. 

I want to talk about living in a way that isn't exactly mainstream. About motherhood, but more so, about how someone who is extremely introverted feels about mothering growing children. About becoming more eco-friendly... in our kitchen and with our wardrobes. 

This season, there may be a shift in this space, and at this very moment I want to extend a preemptive olive branch: by speaking about any of these topics, I am not condemning your way of living. I will be sharing what works for me, in hopes that maybe a bit will resonate with you, or perhaps you could learn something new, or spark some interest. As with everything I write here, I write for myself, but I also write with the thought that maybe someone needs to hear what I have to say.. and that person might feel less alone after reading my words. 

That's what happened last week, when I shared about my roller coaster of emotions that comes with rejection. I'll tell you something, it helps me to hear that others are in the same boat. So it often comes full circle, and a bit of vulnerability can go a long way. 

Thank you for reading my ramblings, I wasn't sure what I was going to share today when I opened up a new blog post, sometimes my favorite bits of writing come spilling out without a plan or an outline, they flow as they see fit.

My favorite pumpkin bread recipe

The other day we were making pumpkin bread and one of the kids asked me where I got the recipe from. I shook my head, "I don't remember," I told them. It's a recipe that's been printed off and taped into a notebook. The edges are a little torn, the paper a little splattered. I've been making this recipe since both kids were in diapers, maybe even since before Paige was born. There's no website listed, and it's not one my mom, or my mother in law, uses. But it's my favorite. It's moist, makes two loaves which only ever lasts two days, and when I turn the mixer on and smell the pumpkin I can picture Fynn as a chubby toddler sitting on the counter with a mixing bowl on his head like a helmet, licking a spoon full of orange batter, his striped pajama pant clad legs swinging wildly. 

It's the recipe I'll send my kids off into the world with, the one they'll make and think of home. 

And I wanted to share it with you all. So here it is, my favorite pumpkin bread recipe. Origin unknown, but I most certainly didn't create it myself. My endless gratitude for whoever did!

Pumpkin Bread

Ingredients: 

1 1/2 cup sugar

1 cup oil of choice (coconut, vegetable, whatever...)

3 eggs

1 16-oz can pumpkin

3 cups all purpose flour (I use Bob's Red Mill gluten free one to one)

1/4 tsp ground cloves

1 tsp ground cinnamon

1 tsp ground nutmeg

1 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp baking powser

1 bag chocolate chips (optional, but I always use them!)

Method: 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Butter and flour (or just use oil, like I do...) two 9x5x3 inch loaf pans. Beat sugar and oil in large bowl to blend. Mix in eggs and pumpkin. Sift flour, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking soda, salt and baking powder into another large bowl. Stir into pumpkin mixture in two additions. Mix in chocolate chips if desired. 

Divide batter equally between prepared pans. Bake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 1 hour (though I start checking at 50 minutes and sometimes that's all it takes). Transfer to racks and cool for 10 minutes. Cool. Slice. Enjoy!

Noticing awe

A huge part of being a writer is awareness. Not necessarily of self, though that helps, but of awe inspiring things that go unnoticed to most. We're so busy, as a people and a society, that we hurry through our days and errands and hours and meetings and gatherings that often we don't hear what people are saying - or aren't saying - and we miss the glory of what surrounds us. The silly shapes of the clouds, the perfect climbing tree, the way someone winces when they think no one is looking, or the tender moment when a young man gently touches his mother's arm in the checkout line at the grocery store, and the look they share before moving forward. 

For me, it's a win win. I need to slow down and notice things to write, but then it becomes a practice and noticing, slowing down my mind and feet, ends up enhancing my daily life in ways that remind me of childhood. 

Giving myself the freedom to spend moments in awe, to allow my heart to expand and swell with wonder, makes me think back to those moments on walks with my children when they were toddlers and we would gently encourage them to keep moving, otherwise we'd stay in the same place for hours watching ants or picking dandelions (which we often did).

Now, they're the ones racing ahead as I lollygag on walks, taking pictures and daydreaming. 

Some of the things my jaw drops in awe over make it into a notebook, or more likely an Instagram post, but often they sit somewhere around my rib cage in a warm glow, waiting to be tapped into when I need a bit of warmth when the world feels cold, callous, and foreign. These small moments remind me of our shared humanity, but also of the natural world which will continue on well after my time on earth is over. The details of earth humble me, ground me, and I'm regularly overcome with awe.

Do you stop and smell the roses? Do stop in your tracks and marvel at nature? Do you notice details as you move through the day? Do you feel awe regularly? If your answer is no to any of these questions, what's stopping you?

Life post screen free week

Screen Free week ended with a viewing of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on Saturday night. We huddled together on the couch and all sighed as the television glowed and the familiar theme song filled the living room. And just like that, screens were back in the daily rotation... 

To be fair, we'd all used devices on and off all week. Mostly for work and school, but also for communicating with friends via email and various messengers. This year, we were reminded of how often necessity dictates device usage, from paying bills to knowing the details of a homeschool get together, to simply finding out the weather. 

The weather cooperated and last week we were able to spend quite a bit of time outdoors. The kids each sanded, primed, and painted a piece of furniture. We hiked with friends twice. There was an afternoon at the beach that ended with the first faint sunburns of the year... 

We had a good week, though I found myself longing for Instagram. For Pinterest. For ways to zone out which didn't take much attention or concentration on my part. 

The funny thing is, those things I longed for, actually make me tired. I reintroduced all of the above starting Saturday night, and it's exhausted me. This week I've paid attention to my moods before and after I scroll through pictures and words, and I'm not pleased with my findings. I'm irritable. Tired. Worn down, emotionally. 

I've given this a good deal of thought. As an introvert I need to be cautious about how I spend my energy, and while I think social media is a good way for an introvert to find community, participate in conversations, etc... it's still energy, and I'm still expending it by using my phone to scroll, by being at the beck and call of texts and messengers.

Don't get me wrong, I love the connections made through blogging and Instagram. They are true and valid and worthy of attention and love and provide many positive things to my life. But... I think there's a valid case to be made about how social media and the internet can interrupt the flow of life, while at the same time providing connection. It's all about how we use it, and why. 

Attention, intention, and responsibility are all words that have been floating around in my head the past few days. 

As a family, we've declared Thursdays to be Screen Free Day each week. We're going to keep the conversation going about how we use our devices, and try to be more attentive to the people around us instead of our screens. It's a challenge, especially as technology keeps moving forward and is proving to be a bigger part of our lives than at least I had ever imagined it would be. 

And let's be honest, having the world at our fingertips is amazing... provided we don't let it stop us from getting ourselves out into the world. 

Growing

I haven't showed my face around here for a while, so... hello. This is me. The thirty something year old version of myself that is occasionally hard to recognize. Or rather, was hard to recognize. Not so much anymore. 

On our road trip I found myself squinting at the road signs on the highway, having headaches that weren't from dehydration or fatigue. Turns out, when you're driving around your own town and not really paying attention to signs - because you don't need to - you don't really realize when your glasses prescription changes... 

An eye exam showed that, low and behold my prescription changed enough to make a not so subtle difference... so I bought myself some new glasses. 

After wearing the same frames, give or take, for fifteen years, a change was in order. And a change it has been. 

My word of the year - I assume you've all heard about this concept by now - is grow. Meaning to grow into myself, to grow my writing, my yoga practice, my patience.... you get the idea. 

The most challenging of all of that, is growing into myself. 

Somehow, I've avoided it for the majority of my life, focusing instead on what I thought others would want me to be and do and dress and act.

So this growth thing, it's been kind of huge. 

And my new glasses are all part of it as I'm choosing to wear things, to adorn myself, with things that I like, instead of thinking about if other people would like how I look in them.  Like corduroy overalls, oversized glasses, flowy, shapeless dresses and clogs. All the clogs, please. I'm choosing to buy things and wear things that fit my body comfortably now, instead of someday. And to exercise because I love my body, not because I want it to change or become smaller. I'm a little softer around the edges than I used to be, but  no less strong. And frankly, I love how my curves play with my strength, how soft doesn't mean weak. 

I'm choosing to pause before saying yes, to honor when my gut tells me to say no, and to really look at what negative "obligations" I can eliminate and things I truly want to do because they add something positive to my life. 

The last few years I've known somewhere deep down what I wanted out of life, who I wanted to be and who I am. Sometimes I've had to squint to see that person, and the headache that caused... I'm done with. I don't want to squint to have to find myself. 

Growing into myself, and then staying close to my heart for the inevitable ebbs and flows of the inner journey, is the challenge. It's what life is all about. Growing into, and then loving, the self. It's only taken me thirty some odd years and a new pair of glasses to get here...

Editing, editing, and editing some more

These days are full of colored pens, typed pages, and a clip board. Each day I sit down with the clip board, the chapter at hand staring at me, and I dive into the hard copy and strike words, change sentences, or close my eyes and try to remember why I thought writing a novel was a good idea in the first place. Pen marks made, I move to the computer and fiddle with words, save the draft, stack the marked pages under my desk with the other edited pages, and then grab another chapter and put it on the clip board for the next days work. 

I'm about a third of the way through this - what I hope will be the last - working draft. At this point my family is invested heavily in my work: my husband has read the entire book and has given invaluable feedback, my children ask questions about the characters and plot, and they don't bat an eye if I sit down in the living room with my clip board while they're playing. It's part of our daily lives, our rhythms and routines. 

It has taken much work to get to this point. 

And so I sometimes sit and wonder what the next phase will look like. Honestly, I have no idea. With a self imposed deadline of the end of April for this draft, I should be in good shape to start querying agents this summer. 

With that comes patience, rejection, dedication, but also room to start writing another first draft of something else. The next novel. 

Can I tell you something? The idea of that creates all sorts of butterflies in my stomach. Because yes, it's work. Dreadful and tiring and painful work at times. But... writing books is what I've always wanted to do. 

And I'm doing it. 

So I'll edit on, knowing that this is all part of it. I'll edit on fully knowing that there's no guarantee that this particular book will ever see a bookstore shelf. I'll edit on with hope in my belly and all sorts of questions on my mind, forever thinking about the next book.

Because that's what writers do. We ask questions, and we have unfathomable amounts of hope.

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Rabbit holes and memory lane

Me and Paige, Florida 2017. By Lucas.

The other day I went down a rabbit hole on YouTube. Have you watched the Great British Bake Off? On one of the seasons (I can't remember which one...) there was a tall firefighter named Matt. Well, he and his wife now have a YouTube channel to share about their lives with two young children, called The Life of Riley. It's adorable, sweet, funny, and brutally honest about what life is like as parents of two children under the age of three.

I won't tell you how many of their videos I watched over the weekend, but it was a lot. The reason I so enjoy their videos is because they remind me of when my children were that age. Fynn and Paige are 21 months apart, and so juggling a toddler and an infant was so very familiar.

My children are now 11 and 9, and parenting them is much, much, much different them than parenting toddlers and babies.

Now, if you have small children, don't worry. I'm not about to tell you to enjoy every moment because you'll miss it all one day. It doesn't do any good to glamorize the sleepless nights, the temper tantrums, the cracked nipples from early days of breast feeding, or the utter exhaustion. I remember being told I'd miss every bit of it - and to be honest? I don't. Not at all. And at the time all those comments did was make me feel like a terrible mother for not enjoying a tantruming two year old in the middle of Target while onlookers told me, "you'll miss this one day..."

But, there is a simplicity of parenting infants and toddlers that I miss, desperately.

I remember needing to meet basic human needs: food, sleep, clean and dry bums. And now, the needs we are trying to meet are ever changing: mental health, physical health, education, braces, anxiety, social situations, friendship issues, making sure they are decent human beings as they grow up right before our very eyes. Parenting, at this stage, feels much more mental than physical, but at times every bit as exhausting... just in a different way.

I wouldn't go back to my children's infancy if given the option. Neither of our children slept at all (which, to be honest, is why we have only two children...), and I really, really, really love my sleep at this point in life. But, I do miss how easily most (not all, trust me, I know not all...) problems were fixed with a bath, nap, snuggle, or snack.

So no, parents of very young children, please don't cherish all of those parenting itty bitty children moments that make you want to cry from exhaustion or with frustration. But know that certain memories of your child's baby and toddler years will make you smile as you navigate the tween years, and (I'm guessing) the rest of their journey into adulthood. They'll keep you going when times are tough, remembering how sweet your babes were, how their belly laughs were contagious, how they smelled straight out of a bath and how heavy in they grew in your arms when they finally fell asleep...

And don't get me wrong, I have loved each age and every stage of the kids development. They are fun, hysterical, sweet, smart, amazing human beings who I love being around, and the older they get the more I'm aware of what an absolute privilege it is to watch these people grow up and blossom and simply live...

...but... if you need me anytime soon, I'll just be flipping through the photo albums instead of working on novel edits (more on that next week!).

Fynn & Paige, just about exactly nine years ago