Day off

Yesterday was just what I needed. P took over with Reuben and the house and I took the other three children to school and stayed out until it was time to collect them.  I went swimming. I drank Chai Latte. I wandered slowly along footpaths and looked in shop windows. I noticed crumbling walls tatooed with tiny flowers and the way all the rooftops were different. I sat on a bench and ate avocado and olives filled with feta, and watched people going about their lives.

I opened a book in a tiny museum shop and came across the poem I am sharing with you here. As I read it my eyes filled with tears. My shoulders relaxed as the words sank into my tired brain. I know they are true, I have said them to other mothers in my own way, and yet … and yet I forget. The mind second-guesses and the world outside my front door seems to sing to such a different tune. The poem is anonymous; maybe you’ve heard it before. Maybe this is the first time you have come across it. Maybe, like me, you need to hear it again. And again, and again, and again. It takes courage to be true to our convictions, but the rewards of the investment of time we make in the lives of our own children and the children we care for will be like echoes that sound over and over.  I hope you follow your heart today.

*     *     * 

Today I left some dishes dirty,

The bed got made around 3:30.

The nappies soaked a little longer,

The odour grew a little stronger.

The crumbs I spilled the day before

Are staring at me from the floor.

The fingerprints there on the wall

Will likely not get cleaned at all.

The dirty streaks on those window panes

Will still be there next time it rains.

Shame on you, you sit and say,

Just what did you do today?

 

I held a baby while she slept,

I held a toddler while he wept.

I played a game of hide and seek,

I squeezed a toy so it would squeak.

I pulled a wagon, sang a song,

Taught a child right from wrong.

What did I do this whole day through?

Not much that shows, I guess that’s true.

Unless you think that what I’ve done,

Might be important to someone

With perfect eyes and softest hair,

If that is true … I’ve done my share.

Thankful for …

~ flowers in my kitchen;  the little hand that thrust bluebells and blossoms with stems of wildly differing lengths into my hand yesterday; the way that gift reminded me why it had been worth making an extra effort to draw close to him as he struggled on the edge of troublesome all afternoon; the way he ran through the grass and looked for spiders along the church wall with his friends, wanted me to help him climb a tree. How true this article is, how hard to pull off sometimes, how much better for us both when I do.

*    *     *

~ the way this boy is feeding himself these days. The way I get to sit and have lunch with him. Choosing to slowly cook pea and parmesan risotto for the two of us instead of the quick sandwich and dash to the shops I had been planning. The soul needs feeding too.

*     *     *

~ gentle reminders everywhere. Of quiet changes underneath. Of hope and forgiveness and grace and beauty. Of the power of taking little steps and noticing details. Of the ways we grow up, and the ways we stay children.

 

*     *     *

Wishing you a gentle start to your week.

Jesse’s Keeping Bag

As I was attempting to restore some order to my boys’ room a couple of days ago, I pulled a scrunched up bundle from beneath the duvet at the end of Jesse’s bed. Inside it were treasures of many kinds: small cars, pipe cleaners, bits of marble run. It made me stop for a moment.

I remembered Jesse sitting in my sewing room on a low chair, more than two years ago, his head bent over a piece of sacking held in an embroidery frame, painstakingly pushing and pulling his needle and thread through the fabric. Only just three years old and utterly absorbed. Time ticked away, and still he kept at it. I went in and out of the room, offering assistance which was kindly but firmly rejected, until at last he announced emphatically: “It’s finished”.

“That is so beautiful”, I said, “We should do something with it. Perhaps it could go at the centre of a cushion? Or in a frame so that we can hang it on the wall?”

“No”. Jesse shook his head and then looked me straight in the eye. “It should be a keeping bag”.

So that’s what it became. I surrounded Jesse’s embroidery with patches of colourful fabric, backed it with some plain fabric and used another piece of the same for the back of the bag, and attached two handles. And because I never wanted to forget Jesse’s wonderful phrase, I stitched it across the top.

After all, who doesn’t need a keeping bag, really?!

 

 

The Big Book of Bugs

Sometimes, when a house with four children in it becomes suddenly silent, you have to worry. Not usually about the oldest, who is both sensible and in possession of an impressively outspoken conscience. But in the case of her two younger brothers, well, there have been moments in their joint history when silence has meant they are doing something very much other than sitting in a corner with a book or having a nap.

This past Saturday, shortly after breakfast, such a silence descended. After a while I went in search of the children, noticing as I stepped outside that not a stone in the garden appeared to be unturned.

And tucked away in a far corner of the garden, a quiet little group had gathered:

Jesse was wearing binoculars, Isaac and Eliana held tweezers, and between them they had collected a lot of insects.

Enough, it transpired, to write a book about. Isaac found paper which he cut into A4 sheets and folded in half. He then folded a piece of card in half for the cover and sewed the pages into it using my sewing machine (with very little help from me – his hand/eye co-ordination is really good).

The children tipped the contents of their pot into a tray and carefully examined it. They ran inside and found information books about insects, along with pens and pencils. Together they drew and wrote and analysed and hunted, until rain and hunger brought them inside.

And their parents? We kept out of the way. After all, what do we know about bugs?

Wisteria and Sunshine

Shall I make a confession? I judged this book by its cover. How could I not? Call me shallow, but those dandelions begged me to rescue it from where it hid on the library shelf and bring it home and into some natural light. Whoever decided to cover ‘The Enchanted April’ in Liberty print is my kind of publisher. That person has realised that actually, some of us do judge a book by its cover, because our motherhood-mulched brains have completely forgotton what we have already read and which authors we like, and we only have five minutes to look for a book between the shopping and the school run anyway …

If you have ever seen the film of the book (‘Enchanted April’, starring Josie Lawrence and Miranda Richardson, among other well known British actors), perhaps you love it as dearly as I do. I have watched it many times. If you want to understand the honest reality of English rain and its psychological impact, this is essential viewing; as it is if you want to completely escape into ‘wisteria and sunshine’ and remember that ‘the most important thing is to have lots of love about’. Reading the book on which the film is based I have been impressed to discover how closely the film adheres to it, and that all the wonderful lines from the film were taken directly from it. I think that if I had read the book first I would consider the film wonderfully faithful to the novel.

*     *     *

There are yellows and blues all around me here at the moment. Forget-me-nots and buttercups; irises and great fat tulips still hanging on. Reuben’s blanket is growing: the colours remind me of the way fields slope down to shingled beaches along the Dorset coast.

Perhaps the point at which the squares meet is the kind of hill where May dances happen. I can see Tess with flowers around her head and all the innocence that she represents at the beginning of Hardy’s novel. Spring evokes that for me: a fresh beginning, hope and anticipation – but I would rather escape into an Enchanted April without the shadow of eventual and inevitable ruin that hangs over Tess. I love Hardy’s descriptions, the richness of the world he depicts, but in the end it is the kindness of strangers rather than their cruelty that I want to focus on.

*     *     *

What did you manage to make time for today? I hope to - no, I will! – find a moment to sit on the patio or at least in view of the garden and knit. Yesterday I made time for some sewing. How about you?

Making and planning and taking a breath

This post is an ode to peace, after a pretty tiring coming-and-going, ducking in and out between showers, juggling needs kind of weekend. I have to confess to not being all that great at embracing the chaos. In fact, the more people and their respective accoutriments there are in this house, the more I need moments of calm. I love the thought of ramshackle Shirley Hughes-esque family craziness; I love a bit of it; but hour after hour of my little world being turned completely on its head brings out my inner OCD. Growing up I always thought I was disorganised. But actually, I don’t think I am particularly; I just needed to figure out where creative spills over into chaotic and learn how to keeps things just this side of that tipping point. I’m still doing that, by the way. Learning.

Do something you love every day. That’s my motto for this week. In fact, my whole family’s motto: children and spouses need reminding too, if you ask me. And underneath that sign, it should say “and don’t feel guilty about it”, because how many of us struggle with feeling guilty for attempting to nourish ourselves when there are so many other needs to be met? My hand’s up.

If you feel like it, every or any day this week, put a comment below the post sharing something you have done that day that you loved doing. It can be the tiniest, most seemingly insignificant thing, but if it made you feel better, it counts. Maybe you managed to get out for a walk. Or you cooked something from scratch. Maybe you picked up some knitting for two minutes, or read a page of a book or a magazine. Whatever. I’ll start things off with this:

Monday: I went for a walk into the village, pushing Reuben in the pushchair. I properly looked at the flowers and the houses as we passed them. When we got home I sat down and drank a cup of tea.

 

Wishing you a very happy Monday

Just lately

Please excuse my absence over the past few days. Life had its own plans, plans which conspired to keep me away from enough time at the keyboard to collect my thoughts together. Sometimes it takes more energy than you have to swim against the tide, don’t you think? And when the tide consists largely of little people, well, some things just have to wait until that wave has passed over.

Sun and an extra day off from school and work have taken us out of the house more than usual lately. There have been gardening and playing in the sand, and trips to the park and further afield.

When our normal routine resumed, I tried to get some tidying done around the house. I sometimes wonder, however, whether Reuben and I are working at cross-purposes. While I organised this corner yesterday …

… he was kindly re-organising books just behind me.

When I stood his toy animals up in a field for him he made it quite clear what he thought of that idea:

And I’m not entirely sure how much of this actually made it into his mouth.

In the end there was nothing for it but to go out for a bit. Even if just to the supermarket. Reuben loves watching the world go by from his seat in the trolley, and somehow it helps me too. A moment to gather my thoughts and connect with life outside my four walls. To watch him laughing and charming all the passers-by with his smiles. It reminds me what it’s all for, and what really matters.

And when we got home I got to rock him to sleep and tuck him in under the blanket I made for him before I even knew who he was. Back when I had more time to sit down and do things like that. When the corners of my house stayed tidy for a bit longer than they do now. When I longed for another little person to come into our family and turn it upside down all over again.

You know what?

I don’t miss those days one bit.

 

 

Pieces

When I’m feeling stretched too thin, unequal to the herculean task of keeping a family with all its various needs not just afloat but sailing with the wind at its back, I have to find some way to fit those needs – those pieces – together. I have to find a way to put myself back together when the breakers have splintered and scattered me.

I love that quilts are made up of pieces, perhaps gathered from different sources. The challenge is to arrange them in such a way that the effect is one of harmony and order. Easy to do when all the pieces are tonally compatible; less straightforward when their colours jar against each other. Reminds me a bit of parenthood.

At the beginning of the week P took R out for the morning so that I could get some work done on E’s birthday quilt. It is not adventurous sewing, which is quite deliberate given the demands on my time these days. Just a collection of  5″ wide rectangles of cotton lawn and other small scale prints, cut into random lengths and pieced together in strips the length (roughly) of a single duvet cover. As E kindly gives me a daily update on how many weeks, days, hours are left until the great event, I am having a hard time pretending I have forever to finish it (this has always been my preferred approach to a deadline: just ask any of my teachers.) But I’m daring to hope that this time I’ve given myself enough time to pull it off. Maybe I’ve learnt something since leaving school!

I did manage to procrastinate just long enough to make Reuben’s rabbit a duvet and matching pillow, however. So perhaps I’m still me after all.

I had found this old iron towel rail (at least I assume that’s what it is) in a bric-a-brac shop the day before. Undecided, I left it there, but I couldn’t stop seeing it in my mind, draped in layers of fabric. When P and R got home I went back and got it, cleaned it up, and put it to work with the quilt strips. I think this corner of my studio was waiting for it. It looks proud and peaceful. I love putting different fabrics together, and now I can waste spend hours of my life doing just that. For me it’s the equivalent of cattle watching, a la The No 1 Ladies Detective Agency. Mma Ramotswe is on to something there, and not just for the retired among us: sometimes stopping and staring is the best thing to do.

Out there

Housework could take up all day, every day, couldn’t it? Now that there are six of us in my family the volume of work is sizeable, and lately I’ve been feeling a bit submerged by it. It’s just the age-old thing of balancing needs. To me, balance means that one of those needs should not tip the scales so far that another falls off.

It occured to me today that the days when my littlest will fall happily to sleep in a pushchair, and be entertained by the world going by him when he sits in it awake as I push him along, will not last forever. And I think perhaps the laundry will. As I look at that basket which was empty only a few days before, it certainly seems to be reproducing itself secretly while the lid is closed! So I did what I could, in the tired state I was in, and then I closed the door.

Out there, the birds just live. Plants grow without thinking that they will die before too long. Sunlight and water dance together beside carpets of wild garlic. Shadows across the path are like the railway sleepers that once lined it. I met a man who told me that as a boy seventy years ago he would stand beside the railway that used to be where the walk is now, watching for the trains. “That gap beside the bridge over there: that was where the signal box was”, he said. I told him he should write it all down. I hope he will.

There are stories everywhere, waiting to be told. The moments when we connect with each other, with the place in which we live, with ourselves: these matter. They are the details of our lives. They are like pearls strung together.

Little Legs

Do you ever have far to many things in your head at once? It’s a bit like eating an entire bag of Jelly Babies, I think. That sugar keeps you reaching into the bag for another one, but in the back of your mind you know you’ll pay for it later, and you try to ignore the increasingly sick feeling in your stomach and the buzzing in your head. I think perhaps I have a bit of a problem with moderation, generally. Moderation of ideas and projects, moderation of Jelly Babies …. I just want to do it all, right now. This, friends, is in fact why I knit – or at least, why I began to knit. Because it makes me slow down. It reminds me that Rome wasn’t built in a day. Were there people working on building Rome who really wished it would be? Perhaps they took up knitting.

I could give you a list, but really, do you want to read it? No. Nor do I! So I’ll leave it floating around my head with its jelly-fish tendrils trailing and sit down here with a cup of tea for a minute to tell you about one of them.

I made these leggings (or longies, as they are also known – I do like that name better!) for Reuben when he was about six months old (Ravelry notes here) and they still fit him at sixteen months, but at the rate he’s growing I know it won’t be long before that is no longer the case.

Maybe it’s my fourth-time-around longing (see: longies is definitely the right word!) to keep my babe a baby for as long as possible, but I really want him to have a pair of these that fit him for as long as he is little enough to wear them. And, honestly, I’m totally sold on them. They are warm when the weather is cold and not too warm when it is not; they can go under dungerees or be worn on their own; there are no trouser bottoms being dragged around in mud or tripped over; and they stretch over those big washable nappies perfectly!

I used a Drops Design pattern for the first pair, but I have been reading and loving Elizabeth Zimmerman’s ‘Knitter’s Almanac’ with all its ‘pithy directions’ and wonderful slightly eccentric pronouncements on various knitting-related issues, and decided to follow her pattern for longies.

Gorgeous ‘Siblime’ merino is just right for these, because it has good stretch, is lovely and warm, and is so soft next to baby’s skin. It knits up beautifully and will still look good after multiple washings (another important consideration when knitting for a baby or toddler). The colour reminds me of tulips and tomatoes, strawberries and hearts, and precious kissable baby cheeks.

 

Wishing you a very happy Monday!