13 December 2018

november, here




writing, i hear the soft rise-crash rumble of thunder purling from the sound machine where baby sleeps. soon, i will be breath-close beside him. and he will do as he does every night: with one hand bring my face nose-close, tender-close, sharing-air-close, to his and keep it there in the dark, night-long. and with the other hand, find mine. this is how we dream in these precious hours. he wakes every so often, rolling nearer in search of milk and cuddles, a back rub. he smells like clean cotton and milk and baby shampoo. i whisper-croon...he is so dear, what and where does he dream, i tell him of stars, and falling in love, and so on. this is what i need for him. is for him to know how truly, how deeply, how ever, i will always be there. these nights move like waves, rising and falling, indigo, and they are the most holy ones i have known...

a soft ache to set baby down to sleep, even as i sleep beside him, knowing i can't know what changes in the night. what sounds and shapes i have become used to in the landscape of my day...what things may exit just as quietly as they arrived. and what arrives. beautiful, hard, both. 

papa works the overnight all week and then we have him six long, to-do-just-as-we-wish days. baby boy rises just as the sky turns softest blue. i can time it almost to the minute if i find myself awakened first by some funny chance. most mornings we hear the twist of the front door -- which will ever feel like peace -- just as we are bounding down the stairs, boy sweater-warm and tucked in my elbow crook, for mama's first coffee. we kiss. fire's on. double-layered socks. unfurl a quilt. then the books, baby-sweet for him, and poetry for me ~ though this is, of course, for him; i read him the words in my mouse-quiet way as barely-dawn breaks into morning into day. 

i want to write this better. and i want to write more. and to be better about tending this precious corner on more days. but for now, a boy chirps for me. i go to him. here are some photos from our november...



boy's rabbit, his choice from the toy shop in our little town. i'm a mushy mum and doooo tote him round, cuddle him while roo rests. we have been calling him "vincent."


your elfin bonnets and cherry red bum-flap union suit have been beloved pajamas of late. you, my jolly bubs! the half-kicked-off socks will forever slay me. 




on thanksgiving, ruffle-collar-clad and under the charms of your beloved xylophone, sweetly sharing blocks and a skwish with cousin gideon. (ulysses, sweetheart, you were so handsome on this, your first thanksgiving ~ and so missed at the table as you fell to slumber in my arms just as the dinner bell sounded...) 


family wash drying on the rack  ~ forever a love song...





wintry blues slowly replacing autumn ambers...


and this.


be back soon. 

20 September 2018

a boy, his blocks




generous of noggin, starshine boy will tumble if not gingerly propped. each time he has been caught by loving hands or otherwise landed in a mother-made mountain range of pillows -- white and frothed, like whipped cream peaks, swan-soft.

and then boy met blocks. joyfully, he will pick one upon which to lay his morning drool and baby sighs of great satisfaction, rubbing lower gums where teeth emerge -- also like whipped cream peaks. swan wings. etcetera etcetera. if it is "s" the boy chooses, softly we turn the pages of the almost-wordless swan book kept by his mother's bedside in childhood years. how swan was a would-be middle name, maybe still for another. we need another block set for "ulysses" but there's enough for a second name, "louis." s for: saxifrage, and stars, sage, sicily, sea salt, silent s's, sun beams, sommeliers, sparrows, and so on...

05 September 2018

four seasons: a journal



last year i started a quiet homesteading project; a seasonal journal. i wanted a humble (pocket-tote-able) space to keep only notes pertaining to the four seasons (so easy for them to get loosely tethered to everything else). my vision for this was several-fold: to catalog practicalities like activity ideas, crafts, in-season food charts, recipes, and so on for each season; to catalog poetics like word lists or quotes about each of the seasons; and finally, to make an heirloom piece to pass on to my children. something i hope they will remember us handling often, a tradition i hope they'll carry. 

this autumn, i'm going to transcribe the notes into this beautiful journal made by my sister-in-law (right now they are in a paper moleskin, the last fresh notebook i'd had on hand). as you can see, there are five separate sections, so i thought: one per each season: spring, summer, autumn, winter. and a fifth yet to decide. perhaps for once-each-season to-do's like a home deep-cleaning checklist, for at-a-glance charts ~ "what's in season" and "seasonal diffuser recipes" and so on.  

if you're reading this, i hope this humble project touches the part of you that holds this same deep, primal need to live whisper-close to nature's rhythms. i've long-felt it but the need has been so intense lately, a feeling i can touch, can point to in my body, but can't quite name. i think i'm not meant to. what i know is ~ it's so much of what i want for my son. 

***** 

just a few pages you might put in your own four seasons journal 

...

seasonal at-home activities 
seasonal out-of-home activities
crafts
recipes 
seasonal market lists
daytrips
quotes for each season
word association lists
a seasonal reading list for the family
by-season homemaking tasks
birthday & occasions list
gift ideas per season
a thrift list per season 
sewing project ideas

(it's endless, really.)