Little a Long Way

Over the weekend, most of it spent at home, a little snowshoe hike went a long way.  I was thankful for the day, the dog and kids old enough to make it beyond 20 feet.

Romance

I like to think of romance as a loose term.  A way of life.  Today, Jeff and I had our usual weekday with barely space for a conversation.  Still, there was romance in my Valentine's Day:

Will serenaded the family 24/7 with "Englishman in New York," accent and all.  Clara played the teenage romantic, constantly professing her love to Sadie the dog.  June played up the wedding theme.  She married a stary-eyed John many times throughout the day.  Will winced every time she pinned him to be her husband.  To the tune of Taylor Swift, I had a slow-motion spin with John at the Kindergarten "morning movement."  He was up close and in focus while the rest of the world blurred.

I also carried warm to luke-warm tea with me much of the day.  Romance in a cup.  I listened to mellow Elizabeth Mitchell, whom I love.  I watched geese land in a pond while walking Sadie.  And finally, a gentle, yet elusive yellow balloon seemed to follow me all day long.

With the right state of mind (and a strong ability to ignore), romance is everywhere.

Valentine Ritual

The dramatic event of Valentine's Day comes well before the actual day in our household.   All year long, the girls anticipate the Father-Daughter dance at the Rec. Center: the sweet food, the photograph with Dad, the spinning and running around, the pre-dance dinner.  

It is a very heightened event, and usually someone ends up with a panic attack or a broken heart.  (This year, the photo prompted the panic attack and the broken heart involved a stolen cookie.)  Still, they wouldn't miss it.

While the girls have all that fun, I go with the boys to paint pottery and to dinner.  Since John is a "bull in a china shop," Will and I did pottery alone.  Afterwards, the three of us went for an early dinner. 

The night for both Jeff and me has a romantic quality really.  We both rush through our evenings, with something akin to butterflies in our stomach.  The events tend to be a blur, with highs and lows and drama and sweet connection.  But looking back, our hearts are filled with affection, and a little bit of amnesia.

The American Consumer

On Monday mornings, I make a big grocery run with my very enthusiastic partner (see above) John.  Another day of the week, we usually make some other purchasing errand.  Buying for our family of six, during the mid-week workday hours, I always feel like a Big American Consumer.  After reading Radical Homemakers, (Why does that title make me uncomfortable?) by Shannon Hayes, I feel very aware of my dependencies.  

On the other hand, I do consider it special time with John.  I've actually always (almost always) loved the intimate trips to the store with babies of a certain age.  However, John is reaching beyond that certain age, and our trips tend to be a mad dash to beat his limit.

Good consumers that we are, we reward our consumption with... more consumption.  Nothing like vanilla milk, a Luna bar, drawing circles, and looking out the Target window to the parking lot.  

Far in the distance, if you look closely, there are.... mountains.

A Nature Table

We have a Nature Table, made by the kids' very talented preschool teacher Mikki.   I've seen ones, especially at their preschool, that seem to have a perfect flow of seasons and silk and homemade little beings.  Our table, however, is a bit of a hodgepodge.

It tends to be a magnet for "treasures" that have nowhere else to go, and for dust.  (Dust is nature, right?)  However, John has taken recent interest.  So here is what lies on our table at present:

• A fallen robin's nest
• Long pine needles
• Sawed off rings from our Christmas tree
• Shells from long-ago beach trips
• Rocks
• A stick
• A stump
• Acorns and chestnut shells
• Some stuff Will glue-gunned out of cardboard
• A felt flower

I may be the biggest Nature Table fan in the household.  Others make reference to it, even if they don't give it frequent visits.  On a hike, or a trip, or in the backyard, they'll say, "Lets put this on our Nature Table."  Then, they promptly move on.

But, it serves its purpose as yet another way to give attention to little earthy treasures.  And, as with so many things (tantrums, for example), I lean on the long-term approach.  Over time, something takes hold.  Why not let it be a rock.

Unconventional Snow Play

Despite all the recent snow in Boulder,  there were no smiling snow people in our yard, or homemade hills for sledding.  Instead, mysterious "balloon babies" scattered around.  (Don't they oddly look like sky and clouds?)  These water balloons spent time under shirts before resting in the snow to see how they fared.  One burst and made a beautiful belly bowl shape.  Others refused to freeze.  Others never quite made it outside...

Another favorite game was called "rearrange snow."  John shoveled snow into his baby wagon and carted it from one side of the yard to the other.  

Eventually, John recognized the futility of his efforts.  He redirected to a snow-fire truck game, which involved burying, tunneling, and loud sounds.  

Then everyone played abandon your toys in the snow.

Snow Day Reversal

The kids got a Snow Day on Friday.  We got a glorious amount of snow.

As the weekend arrived, I dreamed of sitting by the fire and reading all day, with the kids running around outside.  Instead, the kids stayed inside, while I shoveled tunnels and attempted to build a fort.  My original goal was to get the them out.  Shouldn't kids always play outside on snow days?  [Although, I should know that the "shouldn't" lies in clinging to ideas of how things should be, and imposing that on my kids.]

But my motivation quickly shifted anyway.  I soaked up the beauty, the peace and the quiet of being outside on my own.  At least for a bit.