In one section of the Monterey Bay Aquarium, sardines swim above your head in a perfect circle. It’s almost dizzying to watch. They move laterally among one another, but always in the same direction and with such intensity– as if they might swim their way out of the circular glass enclosure. I sometimes think of them as we flit about our days at home, swimming through our daily routines that somehow always manage to end where they’ve begun. On certain days, I almost feel carried away by the whirlpool of activity we create around here, grounded only by the tips of my toes. We’re nearing the end of our school year, and I find myself moving harder for it, ready to find a nice place to rest–a sandy shore or a field of grass–a place for my soul to be grounded again, heals to the earth.
Early last week, the girls and I baked cookies together before bedtime. It was a necessary therapy following several days of harrowed conflict and petty arguments between them, not to mention my own exhaustion having managed it. Although making quality time for them in any way always helps navigate us to calmer relationships, the kitchen always has a way of healing these broken connections, of becoming a salve for the rifts caused by careless or hurried days. Honestly, my motherly reminders tire all of us some days–Use kind words. Be generous with your touch. Share with one another.–but a warm cookie that we’ve made together just before bedtime might be the precise tending our tired souls need. (And just in case you’re interested, we made the grain and dairy-free Snickerdoodle found in this tremendous recipe book.)
These moments in our home are often small and spontaneous. We largely rely on whatever I have in the fridge or shelf (or that of my neighbor’s). They tend to be messy because my children love making messes, and cooking with them is not a time to be clean or perfect or style the ideal plate. Cooking with my children is about mixing and measuring, about tasting and inhaling, about sharing in a small and concrete process together, and above all, savoring. Literally. Figuratively.
This post is in partnership with Odette Williams, a small business owner and inspiring mother who designs and manufactures simple and playful children’s apron sets in Brooklyn, NY.My girls adore these sets and use them daily. Thank you, Odette! All images and thoughts are my own. For a chance to win a free OW apron set of your choice, hop over to my Instagram page.
A large farm table sits at the center of our home between windows and books and doorways to other rooms. It is the place where we eat and work together as a family, where we naturally gather with one another and friends for food or craft or talk. Yet in a more abstract way, the table is also a telling of the soul, a litmus test of our family’s connection and availability. As our little everyday things–mail, school and art work, groceries–accumulate and sprawl the surface, the table always asks us honestly, have you made time for one another today? Have you cleared the lingering clutter of your life to sit with food and story? . . .
READ MORE of what I wrote about our family table life for The Common Table today.
When we bought our first home so many years ago, I thought of home and garden design in terms of magazine spreads–things and furniture and plant life neatly arranged in exactly the right place, constant, tidy, and perfect. It was a finite process in my mind, one with clear beginnings and endings and words like finished and unfinished. Although I do love renovating homes, arranging furniture, and finding the perfect spot for our favorite little things, I’ve realized over the years that design, both indoor and outdoor, is a far more organic process, one that longs to breathe and evolve along with its inhabitants. Regardless of the completeness of your space when you move in to it, the concept of home is something that develops and grows with time. All good things truly do take time.
For all the time interiors require, gardens have taken me longer to learn. My journey with growing and nurturing plants has been one characterized more by error than anything else–I hope this brings some of you comfort. In our first home, an apartment, I created a flower garden on our patio–a tiny nook where we could sit and enjoy natural beauty instead of the concrete parking lot below. In spite of my best effort, I watched, frustrated, as plant after plant died that season. Year after year, with each new beginning, my husband would sort of raise his brow as if to say, “are you sure?” I’ve never been one to back off learning too easily, but it’s not a surprise that my love and patience for plant life has burgeoned alongside my mothering years. They are independent but parallel journeys, one always whispering secrets and skills to me about the other. In spite of failure, each planting has taught me something new and given me more resolve to try again, to learn.
When we moved into our current home, the plant-life had overgrown everything outdoors. Vines crept up and around trees. Dead branches scattered about the yard and dangled from branches. Pieces of trash–tires and old pipes and bottles–lay intertwined beneath heaps of enmeshed stems and leaves. Our yard, although living, had been forgotten and abandoned. During our first spring and summer last year, we began cutting back and cleaning out some of the rubbish. Sometimes nurturing means tearing down and clearing out. We filled bag upon bag of leaves and decayed brush, and often, it appeared as if we had done nothing. Life can be like this, yes? In one instance, progress might occur overnight, while in another, it evolves more slowly through a series of minutia. Don’t discount the minutia.
In early spring this year, my husband, children, and I cleared and cut out the entire back part of our yard–all of the brush and dead bits–down to the soil. We tilled and leveled the earth a bit and then replanted sod. We purchased old railway ties to create vegetable garden beds and planted 18 tree saplings. Everywhere we live, we plant trees. Although all of our plantings are small, just a bit more than seeds, they are simple reminders to me that everything–the mightiest oaks to the most pivotal human lives–begins small.
Whether you’re gardening or decorating or parenting, beginning a business or a new relationship, be patient with the growing process and don’t forsake small beginnings.
14 | What does courage mean?Can you think of a time when you had to be really courageous?
olive | It was brave when I slept without my blanket and when I stopped sucking my thumb. | This week you helped Dad plant and water new tree sprigs in the yard. You’re happiest when your hands have something to do–also when no one wakes you up in the morning.
blythe | Courage means being really brave. Sometimes I’ve had to be brave to tell the truth. I also had to be brave to go on the zip-line the first time. | You innately want to take care of things and others around you–something I love about you– but sometimes I have to remind you not to parent your siblings. Perhaps this causes the most tension between you and Olive–your longing for order and care-taking, and Olive’s independence and contentment with chaos. Although some days are really difficult, I’m so grateful that you’re learning now how to be merciful and gentle with your gifts.
burke | Courage is sacrifice. It means you’re willing to do something no one else will do, like when I have enough money to buy something for myself, but choose to share it with someone else or buy something to share. | You know how to work and rest well. In one moment, you might be steadily swinging a sledge hammer to help take down our mini-brick wall and another moment lying on the sidewalk like a cat in the sun, motionless for several minutes at a time.
liam | It means you stand tall when you lose hope. I had to have courage when I got stitches and when I crushed my finger in the door a couple of years ago. I don’t like when painful things happen to me. | You had to get stitches in your knee this week after you fell while climbing a fence. The doctor had to remove a large splinter of wood from your leg, but you cringed the most about the shot they had to give you for numbing. Like your father, you despise needles.
As the dreary (and rather long) winter weather draws to an end, something shifts in us too, doesn’t it? The spring sunlight has a way of imparting new and necessary energy to our souls as well as our environments. It becomes what Leo Tolstoy called “a time for plans and projects.” Although we’ve spent much of our recent days working outdoors clearing and planting (more on that later), indoors we’ve been welcoming the new season in a few simple and specific ways, too. The flannel sheets and heavier linens have been tucked away and exchanged for crisp white linens and lighter coverlets. Oil diffusers replace most of the warmer candles and small hand-picked flowers gather in glass jars along our surfaces and shelves again.
There’s a reason so many people talk about cleaning in the springtime. The bright air and soft light draw attention to all the collected dust of winter, the closed window crevices and unused shelves. For years, our family has aimed to practice more natural cleaning, making or purchasing products that rely on naturally occurring ingredients rather than harmful chemicals. Since we’ve always lived in old homes, I’m also always looking for natural ways to brighten the scents that linger in older spaces.
Over the years, I’ve skeptically dabbled with essential oils, trying to distinguish truth from trend, and while we haven’t subscribed to any one organization or product, I can testify essential oils are wonderful for a variety of purposes from personal health to home. If not used medicinally–although we’ve dabbled a bit with that too–they are incredible for bringing new life into spaces through natural aromatherapy. A few of the oils, including tea tree oil, eucalyptus, rosemary and peppermint have also been known to contain antibacterial properties, too–making them an ideal choice for safe, non-toxic cleaning around the home. Like most concentrated substances, it’s best to leave the blending of oils and carriers to adults.
After a discussion about the benefits of oils, Nicole recently sent me a bottle of Young Living‘s Thieves (a blend of clove, lemon, rosemary, cinnamon, and eucalyptus) to try at home. I’ve included it in a few cleaning recipes below, and it smells divine. Beyond house cleaning, I’ve added a few drops to my own and my girls’ baths, to our diffuser, and even tried using it a bit topically. Although in several ways, I’m a novice to the world of essential oils, I jotted down a few ways our family is currently using oils to create natural cleaners for our home. I purchased amber glass spray bottles to use since oils tend to encourage the leaching in plastics. Happy spring!
| multi-purpose spray |
16 oz. glass spray bottle
2 cups filtered water
4 tsp. castile soap (I use Dr. Bronner’s Eucaplyptus soap)
40 drops of Thieves (or another anti-bacterial oil)
Shake and spray on any surface. We use this on most any hard surface in our home, including kitchen counters and tabletops, cabinet doors and knobs, bathroom counters and sinks.
| linen spray |
16 oz. spray bottle
1 cup filtered water
4 tbsp witch hazel, rubbing alcohol or vodka
20 drops lemon oil
20 drops eucalyptus oil
20 drops lavender oil
Shake and lightly spray on any linens, including bedding, fabric pillows, sofas, or rugs. As always, if you’re nervous about the material’s reaction, test a small spot first. Thank you, Kaylan, for the recipe.
Time always moves faster than we expect. Like fishing with bare hands, I often grasp at it, trying to hold still all that is so slippery and wild. More pictures. More words. More to remember today and all that makes up right now. This week, in the midst of our flurrying about with spring projects, I was comforted by these words, “but Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” Some moments in parenthood can be snatched in film and words, and others are simply folded away within us.
olive | you create a meal for me everyday, at times in the real kitchen and others right in your pretend one. I can’t wait to see this art form grow more in you.
blythe | “I think God is doing something really good with our family.” I think I agree entirely.
burke | a few friends, hot dogs, and smores–a small but proper celebration of your 10th year.
liam| planting sod together, our hands muddied and tired.