I was so moved by your comments yesterday about what makes your child sparkle. Many of you know your kids so well. You see their soul – and their gifts – shining out.

But sometimes I know it isn't so easy. Plenty of you didn't comment (some because you don't comment as a rule, but others I suspect because that question was really hard.) Sometimes it's hard to see their gifts.

I acknowledge this to give you clearance to say "I don't really know what my child's sparkle is. Right now it's just hard." Because sometimes it's like that. I've been there. Really. I remember the first time I asked myself that question and I drew nothing but a blank.

But now? I get them. I see them. I feel them. You will too. With time. Find patience for yourself and your child. It will come.

For those of you who struggled with seeing your child's gifts, start watching. Be aware of the moments that make you smile more than the ones that make your grimace. Ask your partner. Your parents. Their friends. And soon a lovely picture of your child will start to emerge.

And sometimes seeing them from this new, appreciative vantage point will change the course of your day. Maybe even your relationship. It wouldn't hurt to do the same thing for yourself too. Becuase seeing yourself from a place of love and appreciation tends to spill over into how you see those around you.

I realized that I didn't participate in yesterday's kid-love-fest. So here I am with my contribution. Because I do so want to participate. In so many ways I think motherhood changed everything, and these two are where that transformation happened for me. 

Mister Sage. You are funny. Sharp. Wise beyond your years. You are my Sage in so many ways. You are also a study in contrast – quiet and rowdy, sensitive and oblivious, innocence and mischief. You are aware of the subtle energy around us, imperceptible by most. You feel. So much. And I honor that.

You taught me how to mother. You transformed me.

And Lupine, I am crazy about you in so many ways. Determined and strong, you know where you are going. I have no doubts you will get exactly where you choose to be. You are sweet and kind and nurturing, aware of the feelings of all who surround you. You are drawn to beauty and distracted  by faeries and magic and light. You are stardust. I can see your magic as you move through the room. I think we all can.

You sparkle. Constantly. 

Thank you both for choosing me. For choosing us. To be your family. We came together to learn and grow, challenge and be challenged, to transform and evolve. I'm up for that challenge. I embrace it.

I respect you. I like you. I love you. I trust you. I am your mama, and you will always occupy most of the space in my heart.

When Sage was small it was the two of us. Everyday. From wake-up until dinner time it was the Mama-Sagie show. For more than 4 years. Reading, cooking, cleaning, sledding, swimming, playing, working. We got quite accustom to each other's company. The past five years (since Lupine was born and Pete quit his job to join me in LuSa Organics) it's been the four of us most days. What a dramatic shift. It's been nothing short of amazing to have so much time for our whole family to be together. I count that blessing everyday.

And yet, sometimes one-on-one is perfect. Sometimes I miss it.

I got three sweet Valentines from Sage. Inside of one was a coupon for "one day of Mama-Sagie time". I'm cashing it in today.

There have been days (months?) when mothering felt like so much work. And when you're mired in struggle or worry or suffering it can be difficult to see the gifts that our children bring to our lives. I've been there. But these days I can see Sage's (and Lupine's) gifts so clearly, I wonder how I could have missed their magic in the past.

As we set out on our Mama-Sagie outing today I appreciate Sage's sensitivity, his humor, his intuition, his mind, his imagination, and his softness. And I appreciate the gift of a whole day with him alone. Just like old times.

Love,
Rachel

This weekend was just what I needed. Long sleeps and long jaunts out into the quiet. Winter keeps calling us out to the woods. Oh, my. I love this place. (We'll know more soon about the offer we put in. I'll be sure to keep you posted.)

Unrelated, but quite central to my week and weekend is the circle of mothers I talked about in my last post. I've been reflecting a great deal on the tearful comments you all have left there. Such powerful words.

I've received a lot of thanks for organizing the "boob brigade" (as one of my more crass friends put it) of nursing mothers to pump and nurse this sweet baby. And I feel that gratitude is a bit misplaced. In truth I don't feel like I did that much that is of significance. I didn't have any milk to give and really that's the gift. But it has turned out to be something huge beyond description for the mother, the father, the grandmothers, and surely that sweet yummy baby. Because nothing compares to breastmilk, even if it can't be your own. I too am filled with gratitude – for all the mamas who have rallied to help, for grandmothers who don't bat an eye and someone else nursing their grandchild, and for community.

But all of this has turned into a bigger reflection in my own heart. It has me thinking honestly about the judgements that I carry despite my good intentions. Because this baby might not be able to nurse again. She might be bottle fed (because of the medications her mother requires) for the rest of her babyhood. And that has me thinking about the feelings that I must acknowledge that bubble up when I see a baby with a bottle. Not this baby, mind you, because I know her story. But what if I didn't?

I called my friend's home the other day and the big sibling answered the phone. When I asked to talk to their grandma I was told "She's nursing the baby." "I wish!" the grandma told me later. But to the sibling that bottle of breastmilk was nursing. It was nourishment, food, goodness, and love. There was no judgement in that child's heart for the symbolism carried by that bottle.

The raw honesty is that I'd like to believe that I am beyond judging. That I accept and allow others to live a different experience than I. And for the most part I do. But when I see someone mixing up formula for a fussing baby I cringe a little inside, despite myself. I assume things I should not assume. I am admitting this not because I think it is right, but becasue it is there and I need to pull it out into the light to acknowledge, understand and transform it. Because a baby with a bottle is not a natural, comfortable image for me. I struggle with it like others might struggle with the image of a baby latching on to her mother's breast, but for very different reasons. And that's my issue to sort through.

Does it come down to me subconsciously judging a mother for choosing not to nurse? Somewhat I suppose. I think know that I'm guilty of making assumptions at times. (And I'm working on that with all of my heart.) But I think what truly troubles me – what is at the core of my discomfort – is the lack of support that we provide new and expectant mothers and the breastfeeding sabotage that many experience on behalf of formula industry. Yes, for some bottle feeding is a safe and healthy way to keep a baby fed that otherwise could not be. But more often I fear it boils down to lack of support for mothers.

I did not grow up watching mothers breastfeed. My mom didn't know any other nursing mums in her own community. Yet she exclusively breastfed my sister and I, me until I was a walking-and-talking toddler. That was downright radical in the suburbs in 1973. (She also cloth diapered and fed us tofu. She was free-thinking. She was unafraid.)

Despite growning up without the normalcy of nursing, for me nursing my babies was a given. I nursed Sage for 3 1/2 years, he weaned when I was pregnant with Lupine, and I nursed her for 3 1/2 years. In those seven years I never once noticed a sideways stare for nourishing my child.

And today I can honestly say that every mother I know is or was a breastfeeding mother. But in many communities nursing is not normal. And that is a tragedy for both mother and child.

I do not know the details of anyone else's life. And it is surely not my place to judge the path that another family is on. I don't know why a mother weaned her baby or never nursed to begin with. Lack of community support, lack of partner support, medical challenges, postpartum depression, adoption, economic struggles, lack of employer support, or countless other issues may be at play. Frankly their reason is not my business at all. However the creation of communities that truly support mothers and babies is everyone's business.

The best that I can offer is the belief that we are learning and growing as individuals and as a community. I hold hope that we will empower the next generation of mothers and they will embrace the power they possess to nourish their baby – I think of that t-shirt that reads, "I make milk. What's your superpower?" – and also embrace the different ways that we each nurture and love our children.

And that as I move beyond my own quiet judgements, our societies are moving too – to a world where nursing is normal in every community, and where a bottle just means that there was a bump in the road through babyhood and a different way to lovingly deliver the nourishment that a baby needs has been employed. That's the vision that I'm holding in my heart.

Today I was looking for a photograph to illustrate a quick "have a wonderful weekend" sort of post. I'm wiped out and didn't think I had a proper blog post in me tonight. I found these photos and I pulled them into the page and was about to type my words.

And only after I set them into the post did I realize their significance.

The scene, made by Lupine last week, is a circle of mothers around a smiling baby. (It has a bit of a baby Jesus feel, but Lupine told me no, they were all the mamas and the baby was a tiny girl.)

Because sometimes it's like that. So many mamas surrounding one child with love.

The past few days have been both amazing and exhausting. I've seen an incredible community of women throughout our town and even our state rally together to love and support a family – a mama and baby – in need.

An emergency left a breastfed baby without access to her mama's milk. Formula (the first night), yes, but no nourishing mother's milk. As soon as we heard what was happening we reached out – do you need breastmilk? Yes. So we made phone calls, facebook pleas, and sent emails. And from that spark a fire spread through a beautiful community of women who reached out to other mothers and within hours that baby was in arms and nursing contentedly with another mama. Soon more milk arrived, pumped by local women and before long baby was contentedly sleeping with a belly full of love.

Three days later and dozens of mothers have joined in along with other members of the community – pumping milk, nursing baby, plowing snow, scheduling meals, hauling firewood, stoking woodstoves, and otherwise encircling this family with love. Others are coordinating to drop off loaner breast pumps, distribute homemade mother's milk tea, clean the family's home, and transport milk to the baby.

I think we're surrounded by angels. (Most of them lactating.)

The milk has continued to flow. Not a drop of formula has been seen since the call went out that help was needed. Local milk deliveries are happening a couple of times a day and even a few coolers of milk are en route from around the state to keep baby nourished until her mama can return home. I think it's fair to say that we've all been brought to tears over this incredible support. Oh, yes. The power of the mamas.

I'm tired. I'm ready to step away from my telephone and the computer for a while. But really, I feel full. I feel honored to be participating in such an incredible demonstration of love.

I'm grateful, exhausted, honored, and humbled. Somehow it all makes me feel small. But in a good way – in a "there is something much bigger than me happening" kind of way.

I feel blessed beyond words.

Thank you, amazing milk brigade mamas. You are my heroes.

(And mama, your baby is in the most loving hands. Heal well and come home soon. You are all so very loved. xo)

P.S. (Posted a couple of weeks later: See the father's musical tribute to these amazing mamas at the bottom of this post. You will cry. Then laugh. Then cry some more.)

I've gone a bit further with this conversation over here, reflecting on the support of breastfeeding mothers in our society and our own judgement we might carry on breast or bottle.

This is a re-post from two years ago. I think it is worth a read, especially if the concept of a "Meal Wheel" is new-to-you.

I'm a huge proponent or real, honest-to-goodness community. In the real sense of taking care of one another. Because we need each other. And sure, you can do it alone. But you aren't supposed to. Let's take care of each other. In the most basic of ways – with nourishment.

Have a great weekend, all.

Love,
Rachel

~ : : ~ : : ~ : : ~ : : ~ : : ~ : : ~ : : ~ : : ~

When Lupine was born three years ago we were strangers to nearly everyone in this town. We had lived here for just six weeks, and knew only a handful of people. And then the phone rang. It was an acquaintance/friend from before our move. A woman who had moved here less than a year before us. "Is anyone doing your meal wheel yet?" she asked.

Our what?

"Your meal wheel. I'll organize it for you," she offered. 

While we didn't really know what it was all about, we got the gist: people would be bringing us dinner every evening after our baby arrived. Never mind the fact that we really didn't know anyone here yet. That didn't seem to matter.

And it didn't.

Night after night strangers arrived at our door, carrying meals. Not just main-dish entrees. Meals. Amazing. Magical. Delicious. Meals. Baked salmon. Salads. Pasta with bacon, spinach, and cream sauce (Anne, we need that recipe!). Wine and beer. Dessert. And notes with phone numbers and welcome notes bringing us into this new community.

Seriously. We hit the jackpot with this town. They just kept coming, night after night. More than three weeks later we were ready to start cooking for ourselves and our meal wheel had run its course. It was the most amazing welcome I have ever experienced.

If we were having a baby today, most of those same people would be on our meal wheel again. Next week we are bringing a meal to a neighbor who just welcomed their new little one into their arms. And recently a meal wheel organized for an older woman in town who was navigating some health issues.

Just today I received an email from a friend-of-a-friend who participated in a meal wheel I organized a month ago and now has started one of her own to help an injured loved one.

Below is an email I recently sent out as I organized a Meal Wheel in a community where it is not a familiar concept. I made a few edits to make it more universal. Feel free to copy and paste this into your own email:

What is a Meal Wheel?
A meal wheel is a rotation of friends and family delivering a complete dinner, hot and ready to eat to a family who needs a little extra help. When a new baby comes, the Meal Wheel really allows the family to focus on the important work of getting to know their new little one, get into the nursing and napping groove, and relax. As a longtime friend of <my friend's name> I wanted to share this priceless gift with her and her growing family. It was the most valuable gift we received when or last child was born.

How it Works
Participants sign up for a specific night. You arrive with a complete, hot meal (dessert and all if you can pull it off!) at their door around 5:30, stealth into their kitchen, and leave it on the table. <This is one way to do it. Other families will not be comfortable with this and will prefer a traditional ring-the-doorbell approach.>This is not your "meet the baby" visit unless the new parents are inspired. It is really just a quick, quiet delivery and fast exit. This is their time to snuggle in and meet their new little one rather than socialize. That will come later!

Who Can Do It
Friends, neighbors, family, coworkers, colleagues, acquaintances, friends-of-friends… anyone. You get the idea (tell everyone!). Please pass this email onto others who you think would consider participating. We'd love to fill up three to four weeks of dinners for them.

Sign Up!
Please email your date preferences to me at <your email address>. I am scheduling from <enter dates here>. Please send me three date options, beginning on the early end of the schedule (IE: this week). You can also call me at <phone number>.

The Meal
Deliver your dinner between <family's preference times, ex: 5:15 and 5:30 pm> ready to eat at <address here>. Enter the house quietly and leave the meal on the kitchen table. Especially in the first few days, Mama and baby will likely be resting. Label your dishes with your name and phone number to make returns easier.

That's it! Many thanks for participating and passing this invitation along. Thanks so much!
<Your Name>

There. That's a bit better. We're still under the weather over here, but the mindfulness of taking a day off from the computer and from the many "shoulds" of our day-to-day was good for us all. We cancelled plans. We skipped washing that load of laundry. We took a hot bath. And there were many books, cups of tea, and plenty of time together on the floor playing.

One of our favorite cough remedies is a home made decoction made of elecampagne, wild cherry bark, licorice root, cinnamon, and pine needles. We also have some homemade lozenges we love, made without refined sugar. While the cough remedy is our own creation, I draw frequently from this book and urge anyone interested in learning how to make tinctures, salves, and other herbal medicine to pick a copy up. SO good. I love Rosemary Gladstar. Trusting yourself to care for your family in this way is both empowering and effective. And gentle in every way. We use homemade herbal preparations almost every day.

~ * ~ * ~

Lupine being under-the-weather has brought up an interesting thread for me: that of making time for myself. As I mentioned here, it is something I rarely do. That usually works for me. Most days I can pour myself enthusiastically into this life of mothering-and-homeschooling- full time. But sometimes it doesn't work so well. Sometimes I'd just like some time for myself, as I mentioned a couple of days ago.

I posed the question of making time for yourself to the people (mostly mamas) on my blog's Facebook page and I was quite surprised by the responses. You don't do any better at this than I. (Expecially the homeschoolers.) You are stealing time if you make time at all. You are likely running on empty sometimes. And I wonder what we teach our children when that is what we model.

It is a conversation that I'd love to participate in with you – how do we keep balance? How do we teach our children that they matter but that we also matter without pushing their needs aside? How do we make time in each day for the many facets of our family's needs, including our own?

It's a conversation that I'm looking forward to having with you. Share your thoughts, won't you? On how you do it, or how you don't.

Love,
Rachel

She was on the other side of our back fence, reaching up on tippy-toes to pick some viburnum berries from the neighbor's bushes. "Can you pick me up so I can reach, mama?" I lifted her as high as I could but we still couldn't reach the biggest clumps. Finally I found myself teetering on top of our old picket fence, picking clusters of juicy red berries for her mud kitchen.

And then I saw the grapes. Dozens of fat bunches of wild grapes, already past their prime. And to think I'd driven 15 minutes each way to forage grapes and elder a few weeks ago, only to find these literally hanging over my back yard, and elder, blackberry, and wild pear just a block away waiting to be picked too. It seemed like a metaphor for truly seeing the blessings in your own backyard versus looking elsewhere for your happiness.

We picked some grapes to add to the mix, and then we spied a gray catbird feather lying on the deck. "Mama, let's make ink! The feather can be our pen!" And so we did. We mashed berries and got dirty and painted with the juices of viburnum, grape, and also black walnut "crayons" as Lupine called them. We colored. We mixed. We marveled. I noticed how the colors changed on the paper as they dried and how lovely the late afternoon light was coming across the yard. I was present. It felt good.

In truth, I wasn't really up for making ink or anything else that afternoon. It had been a full few days and I wanted a break. I wanted to curl up on the couch with my knitting and let everyone take care of themselves. I didn't want to play or read or cook or nurture. I had carved out a few minutes to do just that shortly before her call from the yard.

I rarely have a break from mothering – which is usually fine – but when I am feeling depleted it's hard sometimes to stay present and match the enthusiasm of my kids. And yet, as a homeschooler that is part of my job – to be present, everyday.

Today I told Lupine, "I will play with you today. I promise. And today you will also play alone. Papa and I have you to be with and other things we need and want to do as well." It is a message I never really gave to Sage when he was small, but on days I feel spread thin it is a message we all need to be reminded of. You matter, our family matters, but I matter too.

And when I make time for me I find I can be truly present to the magic that surrounds me every day.