Want deeper happiness? What more ease and joy in your partnership and parenting?

I think we all do.

This morning I jotted down ten tips that will get you there. Practicing these every day will transform you.

I promise.

I picked these ten because they came easily for me, but there are hundreds more that will work as well.

Each tip contains a link to another blog post for those who want to dig even deeper.

So today, listen to your heart.

Choose joy.

Seek peace.

Be kind.

And watch your life transform.

Love,

Rachel

Ten Tips for a Happy Life

1. Slow Down

"Hurry up!" "Let's go!" "Not today – there's no time."

But there is. There are as many hours in the day now as ever – it's just a matter of how we fill them.

Pare back your schedule. Cut something from your calendar that you are doing because you think you should. Because this is your life. You get to call this shots. Set a pace you can not only live with, but thrive in. Slowing down just a bit lets us breathe deeper and live with more meaning.

Slowing down as a parent means putting down your to-do list and picking up your baby. It means letting your child linger on the walk home, lost in a world of spiderwebs and moss. It means letting them wander, explore, and imagine. It means making space to just be with your older child, sharing their passions and dreams.

2. Be Authentic

Pretending to be something or someone you are not guarantees less joy in your life. Don't push your true self under the surface. Parent, teach, live, and work from your heart. It can change everything.

Being authentic as a parent means parenting from your heart, not from the advice of an "expert". It means remembering that you are the expert on your child. It means honoring your inner voice and parenting with your heart wide open.

3. Release Judgement

The greatest gift I ever gave myself was moving beyond judgement. I see others (and even myself) more clearly now. When you see someone parenting differently, loving differently, or worshiping differently instead of judgement reach for love. Everyone will feel uplifted.

Releasing judgement as a parent means letting your child be who they truly are. It also means allowing others to follow a different path than you. There are as many different ways to be as there are people on earth. Allow. And find beauty in our differences.

4. Enjoy Simple Pleasures

Life if full of simple, quiet riches. A soft pillow and a warm bed, the sunrise and a cup of tea, a meal prepared at home and a loved one to share it with.

Our lives are full and we are blessed.

Enjoying simple pleasures as a parent means slowing down and truly enjoying our children. It means holding hands and taking walks together. It means laughing, coloring, and cooking – side by side. It means letting your teen teach you how to play their favorite game, and laughing at yourself with them. Nothing fancy, nothing expensive. Just time. Together.

5. Relax Control

Letting go of control means allowing others to choose a different path. It means taking control of yourself and releasing your need to control others. It's big. It's challenging. And it's a game-changer.

Relaxing control as a parent means choosing your "battles." It means asking yourself what really matters and reacting wisely. We don't need to always be in charge. And when we let go of that need everyone opens more to joy.

6. Count Your Blessings

When you look at your life do you see the messes or the magic? When your kids come home do you notice they are loud and dirty or do you notice the way their eyes shine and their voices sing after a fulfilling day? When your partner comes home from work do you notice that they are late or that they are helping pay the bills?

There are blessings at every turn. Make it a habit to notice. And let the rest go.

Counting your blessings as a parent means remembering every day that this time is brief and magical and will never come again. Savor the sweet spots in every day.

7. Practice Kindness

There are countless ways to practice kindness. Let's start with being mindful of the power of our words. When you have something harsh to say, breathe. Breathe in peace, breathe out frustration. Speak your truth, but speak it gently.

Speaking kindly as a parent means practicing peaceful parenting. It means pausing before you react. It means apologizing when you loose your cool. It means finding a way to be heard when you use the softest voice.

8. Be More Present

We live distracted lives. Choose presence just a little more today. Be aware of the feel of the wind in your hair or the sun on your skin. Look into the eyes of your loved ones. Notice the colors, scents, and textures of your life.

Look up. There is beauty all around.

Being present as a parent means making time to just be with your child. To play their games. To look into their eyes. To hear their dreams. It means being nowhere else but here. If only for a moment.

9. Seek Connection

Connection is possible. In fact, it's vital to our emotional well being. Connection with family, with friends, with strangers. Seek it. Cultivate it.

Connection means recognizing that we are not alone. It means there are people there to catch you when you fall.

Seeking connection as a parent means sharing a word of empathy with another parent in the thick of a hard day. It means finding your people (in person or even on-line). Find your community. It can change everything.

10. Embrace Imperfection

Everyone is a mess and perfection is a lie. Trying to live in a perfect world will do nothing more than make you crazy. Let it go. Breathe.

Embracing imperfection as a parent means having friends over depsite the piles of laundry, dishes, and dirt. It means accepting your own flaws and those of your partner and your child. It means remembering that everyone has rough days and tomorrow is a chance to start again.

I'd love to hear from you. What would you add to the list?

What is one of your keys to happiness?

(Originally published in 2014)

I slipped away at the end of last week for a few days at the cabin with my sister and two life-long friends. And I had a long blog post planned for today, reflecting on friendship, connection, and the act of creating the space for self-care.

But then I had a chance to lay in bed late this morning, talking with Pete until long after we should have headed downstairs for coffee and chores. 

And in that moment I decided, that that would be my priority instead: what I could do instead of what I thought I should do.

I could connect with him instead of coming here to write. And indeed that was what I truly desired. I could stay in bed a little late to make space for that connection. I could put my relationship first, and my art and work second.

I could.

And so I did.

Later, I reflected that I was not only desiring connection with my husband today, but with our kids as well. And so Pete offered a schedule re-arrange that allowed me to carve out that space as well. Because we could.

And my heart is so grateful.

Today I invite you, too, to carve out a bit of space for the things that your heart desires. The things you would do if you could, but you can never seem to find the time. The things that truly matter but are always made to wait.

Because those things – that are the foundation and substance of our life – often get pushed aside as we race past in our pursuit of "should".

What might unfold if you put down the "should" today and picked up the "could"? 

Magic, I'd wager.  

And it's within your power to let that delicious magic unfold.

What would you do if only you believed you could? 

Love,

Rachel

I found the post below in my drafts folder, written a couple of months ago.

How timely it is right now.

Just last night Pete, Sage, and I were talking about how hard times often come with great gifts. We recalled Sage's seizures, and how the first (life-threatening one) led us down a path that healed much more than his nervous system.

We talked over the many times when something that felt "bad" occurred and how - with proper hindsight and the softening of time – we were able to see the gifts that came along with it.

Like a personal struggle that led me to launch what was to become our most popular product line. Or the financial squeeze gave birth to our Treasure Box subscription, now one of the most popular offerings from our little company. Or the community land project that fell apart, that we had worked so hard to build with our friends. My heart broke when that project died. I didn't know we'd land here instead – a forever home that I wouldn't trade for anything.

Heck, motherhood in itself is one big struggle that is rich with gifts, isn't it? I wrote here about how the challenges of motherhood have forever changed me (spoiler alert: I was changed for the better).

From hardships so often come blessings. I do believe that.

And so with Pete's broken arm and the emotional, physical, and financial strife that has resulted we have to wonder: what's the blessings? What will come of this? Something big, I suspect.

I don't yet know what that will be, but I look forward to watching it all unfold.

The post I found that I wrote last month follows.

Unlikely Blessings

When Sage was two he had a life-threatening seizure that rocked our world and left us terrified to our core. What would the future would hold for him; for all of us?

Just a few months later, Pete was laid off with a chuckle and a smile (by foreman who was not Pete's biggest fan).

It was devastating. What would we do if Sage got sick again? What if Pete lost his health insurance? What if Pete was never called back to work? What if we lost our house? What if (insert valid worries here)?

After a few days of fretting about it together I told Pete, "If you can't go to work I will." 

And that was how it happened that as a stay-at-home mom of a toddler I managed to spend 12 weeks of work days focused on recipes, sales, and all things "Queen Bee's Earthly Delights" (LüSa's original name). I had begun the work of transforming my oversized hobby into something of a business.

Three months later Pete was called back to work.

For the next nine months he worked as he had for so many years, in a city more than an hour from home. Back to normal. Back to "real life". Back to Pete-goes-one-way-and-I-go-another every day. It wasn't our life's dreams come true, but it was safe and predictable. We were relieved and slipped back into the groove of being apart once more.

And then exactly a year after his first layoff, Pete was laid off again. (At least this time his foreman wasn't smiling.)

We knew the drill.

I handed Pete our then three year old (seizure free for more than a year, thank goodness) and headed to my soap studio.

I worked hard those weeks to build my business just a little more, and when Pete was finally called back to work (three months later) I found I couldn't keep up.

I hired my first two employees later that season to help with production, bookkeeping, and order fulfillment.

We were off and running.

I had no idea that just two years after receiving his first pink slip, Pete would turn in his tool belt and come home full time to work side-by-side with me in our business, ending his unreasonable commute once and for all.

I didn't know what gifts would come from that layoff that we never ever wanted. 

We never would have wished for that first terrifying layoff. (Nor the colic or the seizures or the rest.) Not for anything. But now, looking back, it's clear that that pink slip was the greatest gift we could have been handed at the time.

All of those struggles were. Even as they brought us to our knees. 

That pink slip was our freedom and written on it was a formula for how to build a life on our own terms; how to be together; how to craft the existence that we truly wanted.

What an unlikely blessing that was.

And today I can truly say: I am grateful for it all. 

As the news streaming into my world becomes more and more politically charged, I am feeling a deeper need to be mindful of how much time I spend on the computer. It's easy for me to get sucked in, to spend my free time obsessed and absorbed in current events.

I need a break from screens, from news, from the chatter. I need to breathe.

And so a couple of days ago when Lupine asked me if we could go on a walk, I was so glad. It's been an unseasonably warm January that doesn't call me out to play. It's gray. It's mud. It's ice. I've been sitting inside for days.

And I was glad to say yes and tie on my boots.

And as we walked our road, weaving through this valley we found so much to be grateful for. For me, mostly, it was time with her. Time to just be together, just the two of us. To talk and connect.

No politics to read, no chore list to attend to, just fresh air and motion. 

As we walked and visited, she decided that it would be fun to about bake some cookies before dinner. So we headed home.

She baked the cookies without assistance, and as she pulled the last tray from the over she counted them, quietly whispering names to herself. "Perfect! We have just enough," she announced.

"Enough for what?" I asked.

"For all of our neighbors," she replied.

Her hour-long before bed project wasn't for our family at all – it was for our neighbors (including one we have yet to meet.)

Because the joy of making something to give away is greater than the joy of keeping that sweetness for yourself.

What a beautiful reminder that is.

Yesterday I came from work 1/2 hour early to help her with deliveries. She wrapped and labeled and bagged up her secret treats, then we headed out on another walk together. (This one with a covert mission.)

We were joined by one of her neighbor friends who helped us deliver the sweet little bundles, all up and down this little road, and we even managed to slip one into her mailbox without being seen. (Extra stealth points!) 

And then we headed home with full hearts, neither of us wishing that there were extra cookies for us at home. Because giving them away was more sweetness than eating them could have ever been. 

These kids have so much to teach us, don't they? I can only hope that I am as giving as this for the rest of my days.

Keep your hearts open, my friends. Let's all take care of each other.

.

I'm never quite ready for winter when it arrives.

Still mired in Autumn, I spend the days leading up to the first real snow convincing myself that there's plenty of time to mulch garlic or put away the bicycles or close the storm windows or turn the jack-o-lanterns out into the compost pile.

And then it snows.

Sometimes a wet, slushy, freeze the car doors shut kind of snow; sometimes a magical, fluffy, fairyland snow that paints the valley with white. When it does come we scurry around for a morning or an afternoon with cold hands, looking skyward. We mentally scan our unfinished to-do list and shake our heads, wondering when we'll find time to split the firewood now that it's snowing. We kick at a pumpkin frozen fast to the front steps. 

But then we remember: cold firewood splits more easily. And frozen pumpkins are easier to move than mushy ones.

And we decide it's a metaphor. (Or at the very least nothing to fret about.)

We shrug off the list and search for mittens, snow pants, hats, and sleds. We take down some fences and climb to the top of the hayfield. Some grown-ups have a lack of steering skill on a sled (ahem) which is a source of great amusement for the others. We have a snowball fight in the darkness, and we laugh until our bellies hurt.

Because we are human we also bicker a bit and navigate normal sibling- and family-dynamics along the way. One after another the dog steals our hats and runs off into the darkness. We chase him – half scolding, half laughing. We head back to the house with red winter cheeks and big smiles. We eat popcorn and hot tea for dinner.

Because who had time to cook when fresh snow was waiting? 

Yes, there are still a couple of pumpkins frozen to the porch steps. And sure, while I managed to thrift new cross country skis for the kids I didn't find any boots. But we have sleds and the hill is waiting. The first snow fort is already build, and – like every winter – the fire pit in the winter woods is waiting. 

Was I ready for winter? Of course not. But I'm so grateful that it is finally here. 

It started with a simple question on a beautiful fall day.

"Do you want to go for a hike in the woods?"

I did, of course.

But as a mom (or perhaps it's just me?) the question was met with a barrage of internal dialogue that went something like this:

"Will it be a date – just the two of us? And if so, how are we convincing the kids to stay home? Or will it be a family walk, and if so, how will we convince the kids to come along? Also, what about dinner? I need to start cooking around 4:30 and I still haven't thawed meat. Will we be home by 4:30 or does our walk in the woods involve researching Instant Pot recipes for two hours before we go?"

You get me, so I suspect you understand my dialogue. (Perhaps you even have your own on occasion.)

Rather than speak my quiet madness aloud I simply said, "Yeah, okay. Yeah! That sounds really nice." 

And – as it turns out – it wasn't a date. The kids were willing to come along. (With varying degrees of enthusiasm from wildly positive to cautiously reserved.) 

To quiet my noisy self-talk about dinner I hastily tossed some vegetables, four hot dogs and two andouille sausages, a box of matches, a bundle of newspaper, and drinks for everyone into a backpack and we were off.

To the creek. To the woods. To the quiet. 

We hiked to our campfire ring in the hills and struck a fire. ("Without any newspaper!" I proudly reported. Because we found birch bark. "And without any matches!" added Sage humorously, as though we'd brought – and had success – with flint and steel. In reality it was because the boys brought lighters.)

And there we were… in the forest. Roasting our dinner over the fire on whittled sticks, begin scolded by red squirrels and watching the leaves swirl around us as the sun slipped below the trees.

We stayed until long after dark, then fumbled our way home through the woods and across the creek in darkness. Back in the kitchen we made popcorn for a snack and chatted until bedtime, then fell asleep smiling, our hair scented like woodsmoke.

Do you want to go for a hike in the woods?

My questions and chatter have been silenced by the woods. Now my answer is simply "yes".

And, indeed, I am so happy that you asked. 

We've never been very good at recreation.

Work? We're good at work. Overcommitment? Down pat. "Messy house" – mastered.

But play? We forget about play most days.

And so when I whispered to Pete on Sunday that I had a pair of loaner kayaks lined up and was hoping we could put down our to-do list and slip away for the afternoon to the Kickapoo River, he was surprised but willing to give it a try. I packed a cooler while Pete crafted a roof rack for our car out of 2x4s, and we headed out.

A one hour drive, some finagling on how to get from the put-in to the take-out with cars and boats, and then we were off. 

And it was glorious.

By the time we hauled the kayaks out of the water my face hurt from smiling, my stomach hurt from laughing, and most of my crew was soaked head to toe, sun-kissed, and exhausted from so much kayaking, swimming, mischief, and play.

It was a wonderful day.

Most of all I was taken by the joy I saw on my kids faces and they paddled and played. (Especially one who happens to be turning fourteen any day now.) So much joy in their eyes! My heart nearly burst.

And for that I am so grateful.

So to you other all-work-no-play families out there, put down the list. Do it now. Because childhood will only last about twelve seconds longer.

Borrow a boat or an inner tube or a picnic basket; put on your swimming suit or your hiking boots; grab your bikes or your canoe paddles and get out there.

Live, play, and relish these amazing people you are honored to call family.

You'll be so glad you did.