A Cold March Cure

A cold spring:
the violet was flawed on the lawn.
For two weeks or more the trees hesitated;
the little leaves waited,
carefully indicating their characteristics. [...]
-- Elizabeth Bishop, from A Cold Spring


Today there was an abrupt change in the weather. Last week we were at the beach, and today, well, it was spitting snow. I lit a fire in the stove. It felt strange, as if we were thrust into a foreign country without traveling there. The wind was howling around the corners of the house. Poor Buttercup, cutting her third molar, had made for a long night for us all. I searched the house for strong tea or coffee and discovered I was out. The day was shaping up to be a failure. So Blueberry and I determined to search for an antidote to the cold and grumpy morning.


Here is what we found.

Picture of a rocket ship headed to space.


Red striped straws contrasting with the pretty cup.


Blueberry's birthday cards still gallantly standing on the sideboard. Babar and pirate and ballerina and fairies being conspiratorial.


Finished birthday thank you notes.


Buttercup's first bowl of porridge.


Buttercup's enjoyment of said porridge. Mmmm!


Dressing Buttercup in a new silk before her bath.


Freshly washed pretty baby in a cheerful outfit.


Amazing-smelling stock from Nonni.


Buttercup's bright baubles.


Making lists in Mama's lovely Christmas journal with a good pen.


Making the perfect cup of maple hot cocoa.


And drinking it out of a spring-y mug.


Dancing silly to Elizabeth Mitchell while making dinner.


Brainstorming for craft ideas.


Delving into new birthday books.


Pajama dancing before bed.

Five Years

My first girl. My sweet Blueberry. You were once so tiny, and now you are a long-legged, brilliant child. How sweet it is to think that you turned five years old last week. It would be easy to say it is bittersweet, thinking of how quickly the time has passed, but there is no bitterness to tinge the sweetness of the girl you are becoming. I relished every delightful and challenging phase with you, dear one. From the tiny hands to the to chubby hands to the nimble-fingered hands. You are five now. A whole hand.

First Birthday

I remember you were thinking about taking your first steps around this time. And you were sweet, lively, never tired, happy. You woke with a smile on sunshiny mornings, snuggled right next to me, and brought me more and more stories to read at night so you could delay sleep. You tenacious baby.

Second Birthday

I remember you beginning to explore your independence. By the end of the year, you weaned, you stopped wearing diapers, you became more excited by art and books. I remember everything, because I was there. I saw you.

Third Birthday

When you were three, you rode your first trike, became a princess, a ballerina, a mermaid, a fairy. Your imagination took off even further and you immersed yourself in stories, weaving fantasy into our everyday lives. I played dress up with you almost every day.

Fourth Birthday

Ah, my sweet fairy. You are creative, outgoing, eager to please. This year you began to do some lessons at home and are a bright and curious student. You are both energetic and thoughtful, spontaneous and intuitive. You began to have real nightmares this year, too, as you start to realize there are dark things in this beautiful world. I remember because I held you, walked the floor with you, read Peter Rabbit to you in the middle of the night and told you it was ok. Because it was. It was good.

Fifth Birthday

You, my Bluest Blueberry girl, are the sweetest, smartest, brightest five year old I know. You are a fantastic big sister, a big help to your mama, and keep us all full of life. You are learning to write letters, and love to help me cook. You are a pirate, a fairy, a butterfly, a mother. Every day is new and exciting. You have had your first big girl haircut, you have lost your first tooth, you have watched your little sister take part of your place with generosity and joy, realized that your parents are a bit human after all, you have started to find your voice. You are funny, witty, creative, silly, and empathetic. You are both a challenge and a delight. Some people have called you "a handful," but I know better. You are a whole hand.

Resolve

"Now is the winter of our discontent [...]"
from Richard III, Act 1, scene 1


I cannot tell you how many times we utter these words in our house, mostly in jest, often to refer to a grumpy teething baby or a whining four year old who wishes for more snow. But sometimes it's not in jest. Eleven days after New Year's Day, we are thick in what I call "the disgruntled season." This is the season when detox tea flies off the shelves of our local food co-op, when the gyms are unusually full of the flabby and depressed, when we find ourselves staring out of windows forlornly and throwing away anything with chocolate in the cupboard only to wonder if it's still edible a few hours later.

Everything conspires to close us inside. The weather has been dismal; the lack of snow here in Maine, particularly on the coast, has been unusual and depressing. Sickness abounds; we were sick from Christmas through New Year weekend with a combination of viruses that refused to allow us to enjoy The Man's week-long break. Everyone I know, it seems, has been touched wtih sickness since mid-December. The weather keeps thawing and freezing; wild fluctuations that seem to mess with our rhythms and internal regulation. In spite of this, my friends and neighbors determine to stick to their lists of semi-impossible New Year's resolutions.

This is the first year I can remember in a long time that I decided, purposefully, to not make a resolution. At all. None. This is the first January in a long time that I have not restricted what I ate (pretending that quinoa was waaaay better than apple fritters or chocolate cake), or suddenly started flossing like a mad dentist, or forced myself to sit in front of a blank page of paper until I wrote something every day. This is the first January that I haven't tried to take a "break" from social media or determined to write more letters or made an impossibly long list of books I determine to read. This is the first January I haven't tried some new craft- lacemaking, candlemaking, needlepoint. This is the first January I haven't had to force myself to stare blankly at The New York Times/Atlantic/New Yorker/Washington Post/The Guardian, etc, websites every day in an effort to better inform myself and sound clever in social gatherings.

It feels amazing.

But here's the funny thing. I find myself embarking on some of these things anyway. My teeth are woefully unflossed and I am just loving NOT being a diet so much I've decided, no resolved?, not to be on one, but I have set some new patterns for myself and our family that I am really enjoying. We have some new routines for Blueberry and Buttercup, enabling me to do some "school" with Blueberry. The Man and I are trying to work better together at coordinating dinners, baths, bedtimes... little changes that make a huge difference. And I've embarked on Project 365. It's an easy premise - take a picture every day for a year. It sounds daunting but as many parents can tell you, it's easy to do when you have adorable subjects. I've posted a few of my favorites below. I'm really curious and excited to see the outcome - a chance to observe what I most want to capture and preserve in a year. But since it's not a "resolution," I don't really care if I don't "succeed." This lack of resolve somehow translates into motivation for me.

Don't misunderstand. Things don't automatically get amazing when you let go of resolve. It's not like some magical reverse psychology. I still love chocolate and beer. And resolve isn't bad. It is, in actuality, an admirable quality. It's the discontent behind the resolve that I've tried to let go of this year. Instead of looking in the mirror, stepping on the scale, wishing things were "better," let's celebrate imperfection in the new year. Let's celebrate the comforting fact that things will not drastically change because we change calendars. Our cozy love handles won't be noticeable under wool sweaters and no one will fault us for ignoring the Republican primaries. Let's enjoy a wee bit of complacency, no, contentment.

1/365. Cheeks.

2/365. Color.

6/365. Growth.

8/365. Elation.

9/365. Treasure.