The problem with reading all of my inspired unschooly/creative mama blogs on a regular basis is that the majority of my favorite bloggers live in the States. It is already getting warm there, and for some, spring is arriving…poking it’s hopeful head out of the earth in sprouting green, washing away snow and inertia with the warmth of longer days and sunshine.
Here, we still have an igloo in the back yard. The kids can’t play in it anymore because we have had days where the snow has begun to shift a bit, and the entrance hole is looking smaller and smaller, so we are afraid of it collapsing in on itself. The cat likes to go in it though. Maybe we’ll get lucky and when it falls she’ll be…… um…. never mind about that.
In any case, we are all feeling restless. I would say that is in fact the dominant sentiment around here as of late. Restless for the green of spring, for days when we can go outside without having to bundle into layer upon layer of insulation. Sean colloquizes from Seminary this week (which means he meets with a panel of folks who decide that when he graduates, he will in fact be a good candidate for ordained ministry). After this meeting, we might begin to get hints about where our family will end up moving to after he graduates in May. I, more than anyone else in the family, find the waiting difficult…to know that there is a huge change coming (maybe) and that it will be soon (probably) and that we will go far away (most likely) and that we will have to begin again to build support and relationships (definately). And so we wait, restless and a bit anxious, for more information…for a new home to dream about, a new community to hope for.
And even in the restlessness, we have moments of wonder. Today we took the littles out to Beaver Creek Conservation Area and hiked (and it was sunny and warm). Soooo good to get fresh air. There is an interpretive center there too, and we played with masks and costumes, crawled around in a model beaver lodge, and watched tiger salamanders get their live crickets to eat. We searched for animal tracks in the snow (we found lots, but had a hard time identifying them). India and I made coyote sounds to scare away the coyotes so they couldn’t scare us. We watched chickadees eat, and India made birthday cakes for the chickadees (mounds of snow with black oil seed sprinkles.) We played, and ran, and warmed our faces in the sun. We gloried in the silence of being away from the city.
I am wanting to be more intentional about getting outside with the littles. They are happiest when we are outside. I am happiest when we are outside. Seems like a simple equation for everyone.
In other news….Aimee asked for an update on the skirt. For those of you who don’t know, I am wearing one skirt this year. It is my primary garment, I take it off only for sleeping and washing. I love it. When I first got it (at the end of September), someone commented that I looked at home in it. It was an apt description. I feel at home in it. It is comfortable, practical, and I have WAY less laundry to do.
It has served me well, accompanying me to a baptism, a funeral, a wedding, birthday parties, trick-or-treating, and cooking countless meals. It has been worn hiking in the mountains, playing in the snow, sewing a quilt out of scraps of fabric from Africa, and baking much wonderful bread. It has been to Christmas services and parties, sleepovers, and it has kept me warm through many -30 days. I have been egged (wow….feels like frosh week in high school) while wearing the skirt. I have met friends for breakfast in the early morning, and laughed with others late into the night. I have painted, made playdough, played with food coloring and water, and walked to the farmer’s market for real carrots.
Almost everytime I wear it out in public (which is every day), someone comments on it. They see its beauty. They see its workmanship. They see that it doesn’t come from the factory of sameness. They ask me where its from. They recognize it, remember seeing me at the market or walking down the street. And I tell them, the people that ask, about it. That the skirt is made locally, and by hand, and that I will wear it everyday for a year. Some smile and feel inspired, some look at me like I’m certifiable. One man told me my skirt reminded him of a blanket on his couch, earning him a kick in the shin courtesy of his embarassed wife. Ultimately, the skirt has become like that blanket. My littles snuggle into it as we read stories before bed. They play hide and seek in it during the day. Mattea sits on it and plays on the floor between my knees. It is familiar and filled with memories (and I’m only four and a half months into the year.)
And also…on another note entirely…today I heard this phrase coming from my kitchen. “Quick, come help me India. There is an emergency in Vagina City.” Where do they come up with this stuff? This, in my opinion, is taking the superhero game entirely too far.