I spet last weekend alone. It was only the second such weekend I've had in almost twelve years, since becoming a mom.

Twelve years.

Always with someone.

I'm crazy about my people which obviously is a good thing considering this record. I guess I just don't pine away for a break very often now that my kids are past the up-all-night-nursing-and-or-crying/being-touched-all-day stage.

And when I do need a break an evening spent talking, knitting, and sharing a glass of wine with a friend normally does the trick.

But this. This was just me and the farm animals for three days. 

There have been a handful of weekends with Pete in that time time and one weekend with a friend at the cabin, but being alone is different. The space and the silence is deep.

I walked to the creek with the dogs, slept long, and ate well. I returned to the core of who I am, the things that bring me pleasure. Writing, making, baking, thinking.

I binged on podcasts.

And what I noticed was that as my family has grown up, despite our constant togetherness, the pang I'd experienced at parting before was absent this time. It was noteworthy. So my time was not squandered worrying about how everyone was, worrying if they needed me, worrying about worrying. Because they were fine. I knew it.

And so I wrote.

I dug deep into the project I'm currently engrossed in and was so thankful for a little space to begin working through the details.

And because everyone needs a break from writing for three days straight, I also organized my sewing room and finished painting my kitchen.

Yes, I suppose one blessings of not being a tv or movie person (or, I confess, a voracious reader) is productivity even when I "rest".

We haven't painted since we moved to our farm almost two years ago. Since we rented our farm for the first year painting was out and once we bought it there were other priorities.

But finally it was done. My almost-too-cheerful-to-bear yellow kitchen was transformed to serene grey over the past two weeks and the final touches were completed while my family was away.

Aqua door. Mod Podged outlets. Vintage travel plates. And of course my beloved globes.

And you know those "Amazing $2600 Kitchen Remodel!" posts you see now and then? I started doing the math while I was putting pottery back on the shelf:

Paint (used three gallons of white we had and paid the hardware store to tint it): $5

Aqua shelf (Goodwill plus a bit of the paint, above): $2

Two new tourist plates for the wall: $3

Old calender for switch plate covers: $0

The rest (Be clever. Use what you have.): $0

So in the end my "amazing kitchen remodel" ran me ten bucks and part of two weekends of my time.

Not too shabby for what feels like a completely new space.

The house was pretty spotless until my family returned and I lived in a twisted fantasy of clean dishes, swept floors, and no clutter for exactly three days. It was disorienting but nice.

And then yesterday they returned.

And now my serene grey and aqua kitchen is decorated with not only vintage globes and travel plates but also a Dungeons and Dragons board, two pairs of swimming goggles, one jar of mud, and eighteen thousand dirty pairs shoes.

I can live with that.

Because I'm so glad they're home.

Looking through my pictures from the past week I was amazed at how much has happened in so few days. 

I have a half-dozen possible posts here at least, but typing is still tragically slow so one short post will have to suffice.

The past week was ordinary, yet somehow also extraordinary.

Because somewhere between sunrise and sunset, honey bees and fish stories, fog and spring peepers, newborn lambs and newly pierced years, I celebrated my 41st birthday beside a campfire in the woods with my family.

It was a happy birthday indeed.

And I've made another trip around the sun.  For that I'm so thankful.

I just got one more year. To do this. 

Somebody pinch me.

Love,
Rachel

P.S. Thank you for your patience as my blog – and many others – was down and unpublishable for most of a week. I'm hoping my site stays up, but Typepad has had a really challenging few days. Down since Thursday after a pretty aggressive attack, I'm hoping this colossal virtual mess is sorted out for good!

And I'm so happy to be back.

I woke up this morning (as I have each morning for the past week or so) wedged between my two kids in bed. Pete's in there too, barely hanging on to his piece of real estate.

Four across in a king – with two of us around six feet tall – the other two gaining fast.

Hello, cozy.

Lupine refers to my position in this family squeeze chute as "Snuggle Jail".

With a kid on each side, snuggled in as close as can be.

My dad was that parent when I was small.

It was his side of the bed that my sister and I climbed in on when we woke scared in the darkness.

Where we knew open arms would greet us to chase away the shadows.

And now it's my turn.

When I wake up in Snuggle Jail I wake simultaneously grateful, sore, and cranky.

Grateful to have these people around me to hold so close. Grateful for the safety our family, our home, and our bed provides.

Sore because I haven't rolled over for hours and my back objects to this arrangement. Loudly.

And cranky because it's impossible to extract myself without waking everyone in the room and that means I don't have my quiet half-hour of writing and tea-drinking time in the morning.

Which I love.

And which I kind of need.

It's my anchor. My bookend. My start-up.

My one solo moment of the day.

And yet…

And yet.

I have three sweet people who love me, need me, and want to snuggle on me.

One of whom I've know since the tender pink-haired age of twenty-one; the others since they took in their first perfect breath of air and gazed up at me with their knowing eyes, right there in our living room.

Life could be so much worse and I'm hard-pressed to think of many ways to make it better.

So let's reach for gratitude and get on with the rest.

It's a busy time over here.

We're learning a new rhythm of farm chores with the arrival of the cold.

We're reluctantly abandoning some of the projects on our to-do-list until next year. (Because, no, I can't plan these iris bulbs in frozen ground, and no, Pete won't be climbing on the roof to fix the chimney so we can put in a wood stove.)

We're taking long walks, looking for tracks in the woods, and then coming home to gather and homeschool around this old kitchen table.

We're taking it day-by-day.

Because it's the only way we know.

And even if we're out of milk and the chickens have hidden all of the eggs, we've got soup we can eat for breakfast.

And even if it's cold and windy out there today, we just stood together in silence and watched in awe as a coyote hunted a mouse down by the creek.

And even if I woke up wedged in Snuggle Jail I can't think of three people I'd rather be in this lovey-lock down with than these.

Yes. I'm shaking off the last of the negative and diving into all that is good.

Because really, it's more than I could ever hold in my hands.

Join me.

Love,
Rachel

Mercy! Look at all those dishes.

For most of the last year I didn't even need a calendar.

No planner, no schedule – nothing.

We had a few lessons here and there and a good solid rhythm to guide us, and that was normally enough.

But the past few weeks – and looking ahead straight into the New Year – our schedule is borderline manic.

Birthday celebrations, holidays, LüSa events and shows, meetings, classes, lessons, work.

And all of that is overlaid onto an already full-to-bursting life of filling our pantry and freezer, caring for animals, and buttoning up this little old farmhouse for winter.

And sometimes I'm completely overwhelmed.

The other day I looked at Pete across the farmyard and yelled, "We forgot to put relaxing on the to-do list!"

The truth is, we love the kind of busy that results in a full freezer or a tidy wood pile.

And we love the lessons our kids take, our family work days at LüSa, and all the rest.

But sometimes it's all a bit too much.

Here is how I stay sane when the calendar is full and to-do list spills over onto a second (okay, or third) page.

1. Get organized

I always carry a small sketch book with me in my bag. For doodles and tangles and making art, wherever I am.

But now my sketch book has a practical side.

Inside of the back I drew a calendar for the next three months.

I always have it with me, and there I can jot down the time of lessons, meetings, and other events.

Having this calendar at my fingertips is keeping me up to speed on all that needs to be done. I'm not missing meetings or forgetting lessons because life is busy. All the information I need is accessible.

There is also a to-do list there where I can jot down anything I'm otherwise sure to forget.

2. Prioritize your tasks

What needs to be done today?

Put those tasks on their own list. Your "A" list. (Or in our case, the "before the snow comes" list.)

When it's time to dig in and get to work, go to this list first.

Then fill in with tasks from your "B" list.

Otherwise you'll find yourself doing the most enjoyable tasks first, not the most time-sensitive ones.

3. One day at a time

Try to focus on just today.

Today is full.

And tomorrow may be busy, this week may be crazy, and next month may be overwhelming.

But all you have to think about now it today.

4. Just say no

When life is busy it's time to pull back as best as we can.

It's
okay to say no now and then.

Anything you're doing because
you think you "should" is a candidate for cutting from your
calendar.

Simplify lessons, social gatherings, extra obligations.
You'll jump back in on most of it when time is more abundant. But for
now something has to give.

5. Start somewhere

If you're prioritized tasks are overwhelming, find something enjoyable that needs to get done and do it.

Prime the pump.

Starting somewhere will break the deer-in-headlights feeling we all get on occasion during a manic time. 

And then you're off.

6. Lower your standards

My house. Is. A mess. I mean really. It's insane.

Our halloween costumes are strewn about the living room, there is a huge bowl of chicken feet in my freezer (don't ask), and our mop hasn't been seen for weeks.

Something had to give. And this was it.

For you it might be something else – shortcut meals, a babysitter for a day, skipping a meeting – whatever it is, cut some corners now to keep yourself sane.

7. Accept help

When we needed to butcher our chickens we reached out for help. Ultimately the timing didn't work for the friends who wanted to pitch in, but we did get a chicken plucker to use which saved us countless hours.

Others offered to take care of our kids while we worked on this and other big projects.

At the same time a friend asked me to bring her a meal because she's having a hard time.

So ask. Whatever your reason.

We're here to support each other.

8. Focus on success

Sometimes I write things on my list just so that I can cross them off.

Because I need to see a measurable course of progress.

Don't forget to celebrate all you have gotten done.

Because if you wait to celebrate until you're done, well, you might be waiting forever. Because seriously. Who gets it all done? (If you're getting it all done you don't need this advice anyway.)

For me focusing on success includes gazing expectantly at the two or three days clusters I've managed to stake out on my calendar where nothing is written. It tells me, "If I can make it through this week I'll get a break!"

9. Whistle while you work

Okay. You don't have to actually whistle, but do your best to enjoy the journey.

Because you can take your work oh-so-seriously with a furrowed brow, or you can loosen up and have some fun while you dig in.

Pete and I tend to laugh often when we work on a project together.

The time passes more quickly and before you know if the job is done.

Whatever your task – you choose if you get to enjoy the journey or simply suffer through.

10. Take a break

Please, please, please. Remember to rest.

Last night after two of the busiest, hardest working days we've seen in a while, Pete and I sat down and took a break.

We stopped working for the evening.

We had a nightcap, I did some knitting, we laughed.

You'll get more done if rest is on your to-do list.

And one last thought: This too shall pass.

These busy days won't last forever.

Do what you can to keep it in perspective and enjoy the crazy journey.

Dig in, work hard, laugh often, and know that soon this busy chapter will be just a fuzzy memory.

Love,

Rachel

These October mornings have been cold.

The kind of cold that come spring might almost feel warm, but today has us pulling on our long johns and fuzzy hats.

The thick morning frosts have taken down the last of the tomatoes and peppers, basil and cilantro.

The goats and sheep are thickening up with fat and fiber for the coming days.

We've changed out the clothes in our drawers from shorts and t-shirts to sweaters and woolies.

And each day the meals I cook are heartier, richer, warmer.

And so the season turns.

We spent yesterday digging potatoes (a little late, but no one's keeping score) in the autumn sunshine, chasing the meat chickens into the garden to clean up the fallen produce, and cleaning out the barn.

Gathering.

Purging.

Clearing.

Releasing.

It has been good therapy. To dig up pound after pound of potatoes that I feared we'd lose to the cold, to empty box after box that has sat quietly gathering dust and sucking my chi since last November.

To be overwhelmed but to start just the same.

To decide that a little progress is worthwhile, even if we can't do it all.

And yes, I found the birthday bunting. The one I missed in August. There it was, in the barn, just waiting for me to unpack a few more boxes.

It was in a bag. On the floor. Under the hay.

All it took was a little cleaning up and letting go. And there it was. Bam.

Life is good.

Even though the to-do list never seems to grow shorter; even though it's almost November and we don't have firewood (or a chimney for our wood stove), we're getting there.

Bit by bit.

Day by day.

And that is enough.

Because I can't do it all.

Not today, not tomorrow. So rather that grieving what I haven't done, I'll celebrate what I have.

No, we can't do it all. But we can do some.

And that, my friend, is enough.

Love,
Rachel

Today I'm thankful for the small magical things that make life sweet.

1. The bird-catching ninja that is my girl.

2. A weekend spent with my mom and dad, here on the farm.

3. Homemade banana popsicles in the freezer. (Recipe from here, subbing coconut sugar. Plastic-free molds can be found here.)

4. A dozen tiny, precious jars of cherry-almond preserves. (I used my honey-sweetened strawberry jam recipe but subbed cherries and added a splash of almond extract just before jarring.)

Oh, my. These are like gold.

5. These hard to photograph but easy to love tomato cages that Pete and I made out of concrete reinforcing wire.

Strong, stable, tall, and no tying required. For the first time ever our tomatoes will be up off the ground before it's too late!

6. And best of all, honeybees in the garden! I've been waiting for years, and they are finally here.

Simple sweetness.

And so much gratitude.

What's on your list?

Love,

Rachel