Where Seedlings Grow

It’s Tuesday, dance day, grocery day, will the kids take a nap day.

What’s on the docket? I’m not entirely sure, I didn’t make a checklist for the day. My homeschool planner is up-to-date so I have a guideline.

What’s on the menu board? We didn’t get to making peanut butter balls yesterday. Okay! First things first, let’s get those made, the children need their easy-to-grab, make ’em self sufficient by three years’ old, snacks.

Let’s invite two of the children to come to the garage pantry to grab the jar of peanut butter. Melisa Nielsen at Waldorf Essentials just told me I should have them by my side as I do chores, getting them involved as much as possible. Yah! It’s a great idea! I’ll grab the marinara sauce for dinner while I’m at it. Yes, winning! I am so great at this present, holding-the-space Mom thing.

As the 2.5 year old and I descend the stairs to the garage, The Okee Dokee Brothers blasting from the stereo – a CD thankyou very much -, the power cuts out.

Huh. Well, I am sure it is just a blip, we continue with our quest for peanut butter.

I hand Rivka the jar of peanut butter. She sees me grabbing the marinara sauce, and wants to carry that as well. “Oh no,” I say, “just one glass jar. Use two hands, hold it close to your chest.” As she maneuvers the jar, the inevitable happens.

Inevitable? She has helped me before WITHOUT this happening.

The jar is smashed on the ground. The great thing about peanut butter smashing is that the gloop of the butter holds most of the glass together.

Okay, well, the power is out. I cannot turn on the light to see the mess properly, and I’m not going to drain the water attempting to clean an oily sludge puddle. I shrug my shoulders, say “too bad Rivka”, and walk away.

My life/marriage coach, Kayla Levin, of How to Glow, suggested in February that a great way to reach hygge (pronounced “hoo-ga”, Danish “coziness”) is to light a woodstove. Okay. I’ve got no electricity, it is lightly raining outside, let’s throw some wood in the stove and get a cozy day on the floor in the garage sitting room started.

So the thing about wood stoves? They are amazingly cozy. They can also be kind of ornery to get lit if you’re a poor excuse of a scullery maid who only learned at the age of 34 how to light one.

The ashes need to be cleared out. There are charred pieces of wood still there. Some nights ago I unsuccessfully tried to get the stove going after feeding the baby. The ash bucket is outside. Out I go, then return, shovel them out, take the bucket from whence it came. If I wore a step counter, I’d be racking them in.

I put in some pine which lights really easily, along with some almond which is more difficult to get lit as it burns hot and long. I tear up some carboard (diaper) boxes, shove them in. After tens of minutes, I’ve finally achieved my goal of creating hygge.

The kids are milling about, wondering when they get their reward for sweeping the kitchen floor. Usually we play on the linoleum with our cars and trucks – they go really fast! – and roll balls to the baby. Yes, I let us play in the kitchen. My four year old son thinks it is just the best thing since sliced bread. Not that I EVER serve him sliced bread, it’s always homemade. (Tongue in cheek).

This is when it starts to break down. I find the children listlessly waiting in the nursery where I have no intention of being as it is cold in there. I see the marble run is out. “Okay kids, this needs to get put away. The baby could choke.” No response. Of course there is no response, I haven’t connected with them yet this morning, and they have already done one chore. Do I check myself with this thought? Not a chance! I start ranting.

Rant, rant, rant. The rest of the morning is filled with little such outbursts. The rain passes, the sun comes out, the baby falls asleep, and we troop outside. The children and I play road hockey for a short while then they decide to play in the dirt. I am listless for a few moments, and then I remember something my former parent coach, Jenn Wert, told me in regards to my four year old son’s big emotions. She told me to give him an activity to move his energy. Ah! Could that work for me?

Jenn also gave me the mission to find a piece of the farm to focus on, a patch of earth to ground myself in. Spring is nearly here, I had thought just this morning while washing dishes, looking out at the kitchen garden. So what will I do to move that energy? I shovel manure! Wheel it to the new garden beds. Move some earth. My four year old joins me, saying “I love working with you Mom.” It is a beautiful thing. The physical labor feels great, even if my bra does get sweaty.

Does the rest of the day go wonderfully well? No, not really. These self regulation practices aren’t magic, and I’m still just one woman alone with four young children. I get mad about the milk being spilt, and the goofing off at the lunch table. I growl about not picking up our morning games. I go to bed knowing the next day is a new opportunity to try again.

There is always more manure to dig with a milk cow around.