We were at the little round table that is now where we sit and eat. It’s along the north side of the house, which faces out on to the garden.

We were eating toast and drinking tea, and Orlando said, “Mama, it’s like your tea has smoke coming out of it, but it’s not smoke. Your tea isn’t on fire. …But it’s hot…”

I sat a moment, watching the steam making a thin snake toward the sky, “Yeah. I see that.”

He scrunched up his face a moment, “Why is it doing that?”

Although this isn’t always what he wants, I said it anyway, “Hm. Why do you think it might be doing that?”

He was in his chair, but pressed his head in as his legs straightened beneath him so everything about him was leaning forward while being anchored, “Because of evaporation?”

Well, there you go. I said, “Yep, it’s evaporating.”

He said, “I wasn’t sure if that was it, but it came into my mind and I felt like saying it, so I did.”

We sat for a moment, and then I said, “Remember when we were talking about fire and how there is a chemical reaction to make it, how the elements of certain materials combine?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, this is kind of like that, but a bit different.” {We’ve already done some kitchen chemistry since then.}

And then Orlando said, as he watched a black crow poking about the garden, “I wonder if crows have a word for us in their language. Like what they call humans.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I wonder if they do. Maybe it’s caw-caw.”

The double entendre was intended for my own amusement, but we both laughed.

And then Orlando again, “I mean if aliens came to our planet they would think we were the aliens. We would be aliens to them!”

The roots of empathy

We watched the crow for a while. And then Orlando asked, “Do the plants talk to each other? … Though it’s winter so maybe they’re not talking to each other because they’re asleep.”

{He also recently asked about how fish communicate and we’ve written down some observations from the fish tank and hypotheses and I’ve googled it and now, apparently, we’re on to plants.}

Mica asked, “What is the crow doing?”

I said, “I’m not sure, but to me it looks like it is looking for food.”

“Yeah,” Mica sighed, “to bring back to its nestlings.”

And who knows what happened after that, but it went on, and on; the chaos that includes these quiet moments. These moments when things are born, when things are.

Those moments when we’re really together, making a circle at the table.

It can be very hard for me not to idealize this one-kid thing — how easy my days would be! I folded laundry. I cleaned the bathroom. I played baby dragons. I watched Mica making cakes and juice out of the big Magnatiles, using the coffee-table as an impromptu oven.

Sigh.

But that wasn’t what I was going to write about. I was going to write about how when we finally got outside — to go check the mail at the Common House — we stepped out into the now-gone drizzle and saw two women, one with a little dog, walking up the path toward our house.

I said a quiet “Hi,” as Mica turned toward the Common House, “It’s Stone and Maddy!”

Kenny, their dad, was up there too, playing on the path, and Mica was heading toward them when the first woman caught my eye and said, “Could we ask you a little bit about living here?”

“Sure,” I said, my gaze following Mica. He was safe amongst the neighbors, so I began talking to the women.

I told them, “We’re the newest members!” and they asked, “Are there any openings?” And I told them, sadly, “No.”

I mentioned that Vic, who’s retired and often around, gives the tours and that I could see if he was home. They were sheepish — they knew it would have been better to have made an appointment, but one of them was just visiting for a couple of days, etc. etc. — but just then Sheila, Vic’s wife, walked by.

I asked her if Vic was home and she said, “….Yes.”

I explained the situation and she went off to see while the women apologized, they didn’t want to intrude, etc. etc.

Turns out Vic was up for giving a tour, so I left them in his capable hands, and headed up the path to see Mica zooming around on trikes and bikes with Maddy and Stone.

Liz — the woman who helped us so much when we were buying the place, who loves to talk, who has two cute doggie-kids — was there, too, enjoying the “sun break.” (Seattle-speak meaning that it wasn’t raining at the moment, and that the sun could almost, honestly, actually be seen in the sky.)

Monica — one of the founding members and the instigator of singing us a welcome song — appeared, followed by a half-dozen AmeriCorps volunteers, to whom she was giving a tour. (She’s a teacher and has AmeriCorps volunteers at her school and offered to show them more about cohousing.)

Mica waited for them to move off the path, and then zoomed down the hill again. By this time, Maddy, Stone, and Kenny had gone off to have lunch.

Liz and I talked while Mica rode, then she popped off to see Jan, and then Marlene walked by and mentioned that she was off to have to lunch with the former owner of our house, who was back visiting from out of state.

Then the two women, who had been on the tour with Vic, came by and thanked me again. Their tour was over, and they were positively beaming.

The one with the little dog said, “Now we know why you were so persistent about living here!”

She gazed off in amazement, and laughed, “We’re going to do the same thing! The energy is so good here.”

Then it was just me and Mica… he was done riding, and we went to the play area, and he climbed and I walked a few yards to get towels from home to wipe off the slide, and he slid, and he dug, and he swung on the swing, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and I watched the greens and browns, taking in the richness of home.

The Goodies…

Ooooh, lots of deep and beauty this month.

:: Mama Anger, Mama Healing, Self and Daughter: She is my homeopathy.

:: The light that comes through us.

:: Some of what happens when “grace shows up quick enough to smother my egomaniacal urge to demand things go my way.”.

:: “They present ‘behavior problems’ — they ‘act out’, they scream, they wander, they are ‘combative’. They need to be ‘managed’. They are a ‘burden’.” She’s not describing children. She’s describing the power of the words we choose.

:: A poem to show what happens when you lean against this life.

:: She’s learning how to be a conduit for emotion to flow in and out of.

:: He’s hanging tough, and it turns out to be beautiful.

Top referring sites…

The Magic Onions
Where the magic of childhood and the wonder of nature collide to make each moment a precious gift.

Sensible Living
inspired by a more natural, non-coercive way of parenting and living

6512 and Growing
Rachel is an incredible writer, living at 6512 feet above sea level, raising her two kids, some chickens, and a big garden

Infinitely Learning
exploring the extraordinary relationship between personal & planetary well-being

And more from Holistic Mama, The Loving Path, Sewn Natural, and Plot 55.

Thank you!

We walk to friends’ houses to play.

We no longer walk to the ravine, or the lookout.

I drive on the freeway way more than I ever have the whole time I’ve lived in Seattle (since 1992!).

I think about the river. I see the ocean.

The park we play it is at the top of a big hill.

Our “Yard”

I do maintenance work with other people (who aren’t related to me by blood).

We have a vegetable garden.

The kids go outside, out of my sight, to the common house.

We have a pond.

There are no cars onsite. The kids ride their bikes down the cobblestone path.

Energy

I have a consciousness about where I spend time and why… This one might be a post in itself, but it has to do with a clearer sense of input/output… how what we do socially can be fulfilling or depleting and how to be aware of that and find ways to stay on the side of fulfilling.

Rom seems like the extrovert and I seem like the introvert. Totally unexpected, though it’s been a joy to enjoy Rom in his element in this way. Taking care of the kids and hanging with other parents. Taking the lead on a community project. Dancing all night at the New Year’s Party. Plunging in the ice-cold ocean on New Year’s Day for the “Polar Bear Swim.”

We got there late, and these neighbors went BACK IN, just so Rom didn’t have to go alone. Now that’s community!

Common House

We eat there, cook and clean. We spend less money on groceries. (I didn’t anticipate this, even though I knew we’d be eating common meals a few times a week.) I do my laundry there. I get my mail there. I attend meetings, meditate, watch the kids (not just my kids), have conversations, watch my husband play pool, deep clean the sofas, share joys and concerns, swap clothes, clean up toys, and play foosball with Orlando there. At the common house.

these plans are not for our common house, but our common house is similar

Our House

We get rid of things. I cannot believe that since we’ve moved here, we have made at least three trips to Goodwill, even after all we got rid of before the move.

I clean up the kitchen regularly (I guess because it’s right there in the middle of our living space).

Rom and I share an office, which feels cozy and good.

The kids have a bed in their room, which they sometimes sleep in.

When I’m inside my house, I know almost every person I see walking outside.

We have two bathrooms. Woo-hoo! We’re living the American Dream! (Well, sort of, except for the hippy-dippy living in community thing.)

What? Why?

{not a chicken leg but a wooden stick}

But still, What, why?

“Because I made a flag, Mama!”

He held the paper closer to my face, “See!”

Yes, I do see.

An alien, a flying dragon, a sword, and a gun. I guess he’s got all his bases covered.

I helped him glue it to a dowel and he carried it around looking fierce for a while.

And I couldn’t help but think of Eddie Izzard’s “do you have a flag?” sketch.

How about you? Do you have a flag?

Or, like me, are you surrendering?

{If you’ve read here for any length of time, you now how crazy it can make me, all this domination and fighting and violent play my kids do. Sometimes it is so shocking, as in hurt-my-heart shocking. And sometimes it is so shocking, as in completely-unbelievably-funny shocking. It feels good to laugh about it.}

This morning, Orlando said, “Let’s save energy and light a candle and put it here on the table and have the light from the windows and that will be enough.”

Last year, during the winter, we used candles in the morning instead of turning on our lights. He remembers.

So I lit a candle and put it on the table, and Mica could barely restrain himself, “I want to blow it! I want to blow it!” but Orlando wanted to blow it out, too. And as the many dozens of times a day when two boys want the same thing, we try to remember and stop and ask ourselves, “What can we do?”

Orlando’s idea was that Mica could blow it out and I could light it again, and then Orlando could blow it out. So that is what we did.

I don’t remember if that was before or after we ate the oatmeal, but in the midst of the candle-worshiping, I was cooking oatmeal for breakfast, and the kids wanted to help me, and we all tucked into the corner where the sink and stove meet and filled the pot and put it on the stove, and the click-click-clicking of the gas stove burst into flame, and breakfast was on its way.

And then Orlando was spinning around the living room/dining room (not far from the kitchen) wondering aloud, “I wonder why fire is different colors.”

He stopped, “I mean, the fire on the stove looked blue. But when I was looking at the candle, it wasn’t blue.”

I jumped up and got the question book. Already, he was following the scientific method — he had his question and he was making observations.

So, I started writing things down…

QUESTION:
Why is fire different colors?
Why is it sometimes purple and blue?

OBSERVATIONS:
Fire is usually red and orange and yellow.
Sometimes it is purple and blue.
I noticed it was blue on the stove, with a little orange and purple.
In candles, I noticed it was red and orange and yellow.

HYPOTHESES:
Maybe because the stove — a stove is different than a candle.
A stove uses gas, and a candle uses a wick. {Thanks, Mama.}
Maybe they are different kinds of fire — gas makes a different kind of fire.
Maybe it’s because they are different sizes. The candle flame is smaller.
Maybe it is hotter on the stove.
Maybe because one is wax.

We hadn’t gotten around to developing ways to test these hypotheses, yet. Who knows what happened (marble run, restaurant, baby dinosaurs, some drawing?) in the hours from then until I re-lit the candle to take a picture for the blog, but Mica noticed that there was blue in the flame of the candle. Aha! Another observation, which will help us come up with different hypotheses, which we can then find a way to test, or at least research.

Books are already on their way from the library. He’s ready to ask a few folks in the community for their theories, and we’ll see where we end up.

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with this, something Orlando said as he gazed into the candle flame this morning:

I just like that look, that standing-up look. It’s like a sword or a letter opener. I like that. I just like the way those things look. That kind of pointiness, like standing-up.

{Can you even believe it?!}

life up close

*  *  * This post is part of the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama. At the end of this post, you’ll find a list of links to all the other participants. *  *  *

It seems to be at this point in my life, particularly since I met Rom and became a mother, that I am learning more than ever. I was vaguely surprised that there was so much more to learn about being human, but I am profoundly grateful that I am learning at all, and that there remains ever more to discover.

Here are just a few of those things from that long list I scribbled in the night…

I knew from very early on that I didn’t want to focus on my child as the problem. I wasn’t looking for “behavior modification techniques” that were designed to get a child to stop doing or start doing something while ignoring issues of development and/or relationship.

I couldn’t quite articulate it at first, but it made sense to me that much of whatever was happening with my child had to do with what was happening with me, and I was more interested in trying to reframe the issue, finding what I could let go of, clarifying my expectations, supporting my child, and establishing ways of connecting with one another.

But lately, I’ve gotten a much clearer picture of this whole symbiotic phenomenon. I’ve been experiencing, really deep-down in my bones feeling-it, how my energy — whether rushed or calm, open or insistent, distracted or grounded — sets the tone for the entire house. Indeed, our entire lives.

I am the weather.

This phrase popped into my head, and with it came a deep realization of my responsibility (Again/Always) — to my children and to myself.

My responsibility to understand the weather patterns, to exert what influence I can over what comes, to prepare us for what’s in store, to do the best with what I’ve got when we’re caught unaware, and to live our days — sunny, somber, stormy or serene — to their fullest.

Another metaphor, which I read in the book In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts:

“Children swim in their parents’ unconscious like fish swim in the sea.”

Which is why I also knew, somehow, very early on, that the water could be clearer, that I wanted it to be clearer, that it could feel better that way.

Which why I am learning how…

When we had housemates for a short time (a mother and daughter, who was not quite one year older than four-year-old Orlando), bedtime and teeth-brushing were wild! Frenetic, ineffectual, and exhausting. Filled with desperation — the parents for an iota of normalcy, and the children for an eternity of playing, of being together, to never stop!

I felt powerless and clingy. I watched two naked children racing around the house. “You can’t catch us! You can’t catch us!” I listened to their cries to one another, “I’ll save you, Orlando! I’ll save you from your Mama!”

These were the thoughts that were racing through my mind and body:

I am the mom! This is MY house!

Negative panic galore!! Etc. Etc.

And then finally, I stood there in front of two naked kids hiding between the bookshelf and the wall, and I closed my eyes and breathed in and out a few times, and I saw the situation from a little farther out.

Two kids, excited, naked, laughing.

The energy was intense — downright maniacal! — but rather than being swept up into it or trying to clamp it down, for just that split second, I simply saw it.

Then I said, “Orlando, I’m going upstairs to bed. I expect you to come with me.” My voice was soft. My intention was clear. I realized he might not have followed me, but I wasn’t worried about that right then. I turned, gently, and walked away.

Orlando turned to his friend and told her excitedly, “I’m going to bed now! Goodnight.”

I was surprised, and really relieved, that whatever had just happened “worked.”

But — and this is the tricky part — I don’t share this story to show that I’ve found the key to get children to listen. I’ve realized I’m not interested in finding that key. I share this story because there is a certain magic and connection that can happen sometimes. And who knows why, really?

• I sometimes think of it as Right Action. I had stopped focusing on the goal (my child must have normalcy! my child must sleep, now!) and trusted that solutions would arise in due time.

• I sometimes think of it as non-coercion. I was not trying to control another person’s body, grasping for control by exerting my will over another person.

• I sometimes think of it as being in the present moment. I had stopped writhing around in my feelings of fear about the future and decided to focus on the simple fact at hand: I was going upstairs.

• I sometimes think of it as being authentic. I was doing what I needed to do to take care of my tiredness.

• I sometimes think of it as being a parent, inviting my son to follow.

But I always think of it as being clear on the inside. With that clarity, I see myself taking actions that are uncomplicated, whose motivations are pure, and whose energy is soft. If I am centered in my action, there is space for my child to make their own choice. (We are not caught up in the counterwill dynamic.)

When I am not clear inside — when I am trying to enact a boundary for the sake of appearances; whenever I fall out of the present moment and become fearful about what my child’s behavior means for the future; whenever I am attached to a certain outcome in a certain timeframe — I can sense my actions becoming coercive. (And I don’t like the way coercion feels.)

Or, to turn it around: Whenever I am struggling as a parent and hear myself resorting to coercion, it is a signal for me that I have not yet attained this inner clarity.

Oh, of all the times I’ve acted in ways I wish I hadn’t, I can see how this clarity is what has been missing. I am learning how to listen for it, to wait for it, to share it. I’ve written about finding it, here, here, and here.

And sometimes the right action is no action, which is why…

Yesterday I was standing at the stove, tilting the tea kettle so a stream of water sizzled into my mug. I heard Mica’s unmistakable shuffle down the stairs, and he headed straight for me, “Mama, I’m hungry.” He wanted mochi, and that sounded good to me.

I started cutting the rice into squares and placing the pieces on the tray.

“No, no! No! Not that way! I don’t want them mmmm dhhhhh mmammdhh dkdkdk! Waaaaahhh!!” I could barely understand what he was saying he was crying so hard, the tears spilling. His face the shape of a wail.

I was comforting him, talking to him, getting a new tray, rearranging things when Rom came downstairs. Trying to distract Mica, he offered to read him books, but I asked him to leave us be. My heart wasn’t wide open (yet) but something told me to stay — to just stay. I had already rearranged the pieces on the tray as Mica had wanted but that was hardly what mattered now, to either of us.

I came down in front of Mica as he stood facing outward, his back arched toward the cupboard, still crying. I softened my energy, and then reached out to touch him.

“No, Mama! No, I don’t want you!!”

I steadied myself in my squat, keeping my body as soft as I could, and thought, “Okay. I’m here if you need me.”

He cried and I murmured a few things.

I looked at him, softly taking him in — the curls around his ears, his earnestness, his tiny hand grasping at his pant leg.

And then maybe I reached out again, or he did, and then he was in my lap, and crying just a bit harder for a few minutes until the crying was done, and he settled in my lap — we fit together like one hand in another — before he lifted himself up, and away.

It has always been my intention to be there for my children during their “big” feelings, but to my very shameful surprise, years ago I found myself telling three-year-old Orlando to stop crying. Demanding it of him.

In my own personal motherhood mythology, things were profound and heart-opening with my first child… it may have been hard but it was beautiful hard, expansive. Then I had a three-year-old and a newborn, and the hard was no longer just hard, it was ugly-hard, overwhelming, too much, constricting.

But that hard, hard time was also the beginning of my becoming more present.

It’s been four years… four years!… since then, and I’ve gone from complete unconscious reactivity (telling my child what I was told as a child) to the niggling of consciousness about it (realizing what I’m saying and that I don’t want to say it) to caring for and transforming those old beliefs (thank you, Hakomi) to being able to take care of myself when another person is having an intense (and I mean intense!) emotional reaction to actually feeling deep, wide-open love in the midst of it all.

Sometimes.

Here are some of those times…
We Have Different Feelings
Sibling Apology
The Oak Tree
Connecting to Well-Being
The Good Place
Witness

I am sad to say there are many other times when I have not been fully present, which is why I am glad I can say that…

I’m always learning.
Years ago, during that particular hard time I was having, someone told me about the competence circle. It goes something like this:

• We are unconsciously incompetent (in the dark).
• We are consciously incompetent (aware of the difference between where we are and our full potential).
• We can move into conscious competence (practicing new ways of being, allowing our full potential).
• We experience moments of unconscious competence (our full presence comes alive without our effort).

It was like a drink of cool water.

I mean, really, has anyone ever told you something like this?

Finally, something to explain the excruciating experience of wanting to be different than I was but not yet capable of doing it! Finally, something to explain those magical, effortless moments of full connection.

And finally, a circle instead of a line, something that explained how I could be in more than one place at once, of how I am in a continual process of growth but not in a race to the “end.”

An ever-expanding spiral, for which I am grateful.

Visit Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Natural Parenting!

Visit and read other voices of lessons learned:

• Affection — Alicia at I Found My Feet has finally become a hugger and kisser, now she has someone sweet and small to snuggle with. (@aliciafagan)
• Learning from Daniel — Amy at Anktangle hopes that she and her husband will always be open to learning from their son. (@anktangle)
• Kids Cultivate Awareness of Universal Truths — From forgiveness to joy, Amy Phoenix at Innate Wholeness has become aware of deep truths that come naturally to children. (@InnateWholeness)
• What the Apple Teaches the Tree — Becky at Future Legacy has learned about imagination, forgiveness, and strength.
• A Lesson in Slowing Time — Bethy at Bounce Me To the Moon revels in the chance to just be with her baby.
• Learning From My Children: I Am So Honored — WAHM Chante at My Natural Motherhood Journey is learning to choose tea parties over work. (@MyMotheringPath)
• P-A-T-I-E-N-C-E — Now that she’s a mother, Danielle at born.in.japan is finally learning about a personality trait she lacked. (@borninjp)
• Top 5 Homeschool Lessons My Children Taught Me — Deb Chitwood at Living Montessori Now shares what she learned from homeschooling her (now grown) children. (@DebChitwood)
• Learning to Live in the Present By Looking to the Future — Dionna at Code Name: Mama finds the patience to be a gentle parent, because she knows how fleeting childhood really is. (@CodeNameMama)
• The watchful Buddha boy — At Dreaming Aloud, they are learning to cherish their thoughtful, sensitive child in a action-driven, noisy world. (@DreamingAloudNt)
• What My Children Taught Me — Dulce de Leche‘s children have taught her to value herself for the wonderful person and mother she is.
• Lessons from the First Year — Having a child made Emily at Crunchy(ish) Mama realize that her decisions affect more than just herself. (@CrunchyishMama)
• Lessons from Loss — Erica at ChildOrganics learned so much from the love — and loss — of her sweet Bella, five years ago. (@ChildOrganics)
• The Socratic Baby — Erin at Multiple Musings has so-called “identical” twins to serve as a daily lesson in nature vs. nurture. (@ErinLittle)
• Learning to be a Mother — Farmer’s Daughter learned the type of patience that enabled her to calmly eat one-handed for months and change clothes seven times a day, before noon. (@FarmDaughter)
• A Few Things Being a Mom Has Taught Me — Heather at Musing Mommy shares the curious, hilarious, and sometimes Murphy’s Law-like tidbits we learn from our children. (@xakana)
• I Feel You — Motherhood has taught Jamey from At the Bee Hive empathy, and it extends beyond just her child. (@JameyBly)
• Lessons From My Child… — Jenny at I’m a full-time mummy shares the inspiring ways she’s learned to expect the unexpected — and have a camera ready! (@imaftmummy)
• My child is my mirror — Jessica Claire at Crunchy-Chewy Mama has seen herself in her children – and it’s not bad. (@crunchychewy)
• There is enough to go around… — Kellie at Our Mindful Life learned that love doesn’t diminish when it’s shared.
• Learning From Our Children, Every Day — Kimberly at Homeschooling in Nova Scotia, Canada is continually inspired by her children. (@UsborneBooksCB)
• Life Lessons From My Children — Kristen at Adventures in Mommyhood has learned that every slug is fascinating, doing the dishes is fun, and sharing a banana is a delight. (@crunchymamato2)
• Things I’ve Learned From My Children — Kristin at Intrepid Murmurings uses pictures to share what she has learned from her children. (@sunfrog)

• Beyond the questions lies the answer — Lauren at Hobo Mama stopped wondering and started knowing — loving and liking our children comes naturally. (@Hobo_Mama)
• Learning from Children — Lily, aka Witch Mom, finds out just how enchanting balloons can be. (@LilyShahar)
• Lifelong Learning — Lindsay at Living in Harmony has learned that what works for one kid might not work for another. (@AttachedMama)
• Walking alongside my daughter — Lindsey at Mama Cum Laude is learning to give the clock less power over her family’s life.
• Things my baby taught me about me — Luschka at Diary of a First Child is proud of how she has grown as a mother. (@lvano)
• From my children, I have learned — Mama Mo at Attached at the Nip has a litany of beautiful lessons, from selflessness to sleeplessness.
• The Little Things in Life — In a simple and lovely prose poem, Mandy at Living Peacefully with Children shows how adults worry about the wrong things and forget the little, important ones: watching ladybugs, jumping in leaves, cherishing each moment as it comes.
• The Virtues of Motherhood — Melissa at The New Mommy Files has had opportunities to learn from children as both a teacher and a mother. (@NewMommyFiles)
• My Kids Have Taught Me That It’s Time To Stop Blogging — Melodie at Breastfeeding Moms Unite! has learned that childhoods fly by too fast to blog. We’ll miss your wonderful online presence, Melodie, and we wish you much peace and happiness. (@bfmom)
• Having Kids Has Taught me a Thing or Two — Michelle at The Parent Vortex learns all day long — from fun facts about hedgehogs to tying a complicated wrap with a screaming child and an audience. (@TheParentVortex)
• We Could All Learn from the Children — Momma Jorje takes time to get on the floor and play so that she can see the world through her child’s eyes.
• Teaching Forgiveness — Mrs Green at Little Green Blog has a daughter who’s taught her unconditional love — even when she feels like she does’t deserve it. (@littlegreenblog)
• Parenting as a joint venture — Olivia at Write About Birth appreciates watching the astonishing way her children learn. (@writeaboutbirth)
• Beginner’s Mind — Rachael at The Variegated Life learns from a child who builds bridges to nowhere, calls letter magnets his numbers, and insists dinnertime is truck time. (@RachaelNevins)
• A baby’s present — RS at A Haircut and a Shave presents a short poem on the differences between a baby’s mindfulness and ours.
• Self-Confidence Was Born With My Daughter — Sara at Halfway Crunchy learned to trust her instincts by responding to her child’s needs — and saw her self-confidence bloom.
• The Importance of Being Less Earnest — Seonaid at The Practical Dilettante has one list of earnest and one list of silly things she has learned as a parent. (@seonaid_lee)
• Lessons my children have taught me — Sheryl at Little Snowflakes learned that attachment parenting was the best way to meet the needs of her child and herself. (@Sheryljesin)
• Till the water is clear — Stacy at Mama-Om learns that being present is the best present. (@mama_om)
• I Hold It — Stefanie at Very, Very Fine has learned that the ability to communicate is much more important than the number of words a child knows.
• What My Children Taught Me About Letting Go — Summer at Finding Summer is learning from her kids to laugh in the face of heartache. (@summerminor)
• Finding My Tools — The Artsymama has applied some of what she’s learned as a mama in the classroom, with great results!

life up close

Here are the kids, making pizza dough on Baking Day.

And by Baking Day I mean the day of the week we bake…

and by the day of the week we bake I mean those three times in the last two months.

We’re baking again tomorrow.

Yum.

The Goodies…

:: Taking a step back, letting the stress fall away. Earth Mama tells it how it is.

:: Is breastfeeding really responsible for rickets? Perhaps you need to widen your view.

:: Last year, I got a handful of turnips.

:: I grew up in a town that turned into a major tourist destination during my lifetime. Last year, I traveled to Hawaii for the first time. An interview with Diana McCaulay, about how to understand and change our relationship to tourism.

:: What’s your vision of family? Her husband’s is Buddha on a pirate ship. 

:: Not teaching children to meditate (and its precursor, How to raise a Buddhist child).

Top referring sites…

The Magic Onions
Where the magic of childhood and the wonder of nature collide to make each moment a precious gift.

Infinitely Learning
exploring the extraordinary relationship between personal & planetary well-being

Sensible Living
inspired by a more natural, non-coercive way of parenting and living

6512 and Growing
Rachel is an incredible writer, living at 6512 feet above sea level, raising her two kids, some chickens, and a big garden

And more from Twig and Toadstool, Small Wonders, Sewn Natural, and Holistic Mama.

Thank you!

We’re home! Just in time to walk the labyrinth, our New Year’s Eve tradition.

Last year, I walked with the question “Will I be Love?” while Mica ran around in circles and Orlando walked with reverence beside me while Rom lingered in the background. I wonder what this year will look like.

Afterward, we’re planning to return home for dinner, games, dancing, and celebrating with our new neighbors-friends in the common house.

Whether you celebrate simply, extravagantly, privately or among many revelers, I am wishing you a wonderful new year!