{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you’re inspired to do the same, visit Soulemama to leave a link to your ‘moment’ in the comments for all to find and see.
From the moment my feet hit the floor, I am assaulted by words.
Often without purpose. Often without malice. Often without meaning. But often with hurt.
Sometimes it’s personal. A complaint about this or that. A snide remark, a passing comment. Sometimes it’s an insult tossed out toward mankind not directed at me per se, but it attaches itself to me regardless. Sometimes it’s a generalization, but a mean one that I take to heart.
These words. They enter my house through living people, through social media, through mainstream media, through print and mail. Lots of messages. Lots of comments. Lots of words.
So.many.words. Every day.
And in the midst of the onslaught of words, I wonder if we’ve forgotten.
We’ve become this people who think we must have an opinion about everything. That we must speak about everything. That everyone is seeking our advice and that we must offer it, in no uncertain terms.
We don’t know when to stop. Or maybe we don’t know how to stop.
But we must stop.
There will be times that we don’t stop, though. And for the times when we don’t stop, we must at least pause. And remember. Kindness matters.
Just keep repeating that to yourself. Kindness matters. Kindness matters. Kindness matters.
There’s an ugly root beneath all these words. I don’t know the root. Maybe it’s unacceptance. Or maybe it’s unjustified judgment. Maybe it’s the need to feel heard. To feel opinionated. To feel valid. To feel accepted. I don’t know.
What I do know is that words have power beyond our understanding. Words have the power to get into our psyches and guide our actions. Words have the power to build someone up and the power to tear someone down. Words can be amazing, uplifting, rejuvenating and words can be ugly, mean and humiliating.
At the end of the day, it matters. Because all the words we’ve heard have seeped into the inner recesses of our souls. And they matter.
We have the power to choose which words we use. And I implore you to remember…kindness matters.
I have this sweater that hangs in the back of my closet. To be honest it’s not very flattering these days. But before it was worn and stretched and washed and dried incorrectly only to be washed and stretched again, it was a delightful sweater.
I bought the sweater back during my junior year of college. I had been invited to spend a weekend with a friend in Boston. Dad and I went shopping a few weeks before my trip. I saw the sweater and fell instantly in love. Never having been one for style, I tended to gravitate toward comfort. And this sweater just breathed comfort. But unlike most of my fashion choices, this sweater was beautiful. It was charcoal gray with flecks of color splashed about. It zipped up and had a hood. I grabbed it from the rack and Dad agreed that it had a Boston look to it. Very New Englandy.
The sweater and I in Boston during my visit in October 2000.
The sweater traveled to Boston with me that fall. And then to New York in the winter. Philly the following winter. Alaska in the spring. Raleigh the following Christmas. The more I wore it, the more it stretched. The more it stretched, ironically, the more I loved it. It had character and despite its misshapen identity, it still breathed comfort. It lost a little of its beauty on the outside, but to me it remained beautiful. A treasure that withstood the passing of time.
I pulled it out this morning, this first morning that has had a taste of fall. The temperature is comfortable but the breeze is giving me shivers. I just needed a little added layer to take the chill off. Wrapping the worn and loved sweater around me and zipping it up, I relished its comfort, its history, its trek through life with me.
This sweater and me? We actually share more than just travel and cold days. You see, my body isn’t so perfect anymore either. Back before it was worn and stretched and tired, it was a delightful body. Time and babies have taken their toll. Bits of it have stretched beyond repair and bits of it sag thanks to the law of gravity. But this body? The one Daxson reaches for in the middle of the night? The one my babies snuggle up to when they’re scared? I’d like to think it’s still comfortable. It’s beautiful in a way it hasn’t always been. It has nurtured life within its womb and stretched and given way to miracles. Tiny little miracles. Four of them here on Earth. Three more securely tucked away in Heaven. It has nursed my babies into healthy toddlers. It has lifted those children and rocked them and held them close on the nights when their dreams weren’t so sweet. It has spoken of love and pleasure to a devoted husband. It has been pushed to its limits with my obsession of diets and working out. It carries on despite its lack of good sleep, a rest from stress and access to a perfect diet. It is faithful despite my nonacceptance, my constant criticism.
This morning, I snuggle a little deeper into my sweater and I look down at the stomach that is no longer flat. Instead of criticizing, I praise the stretch marks, the sagging skin, the abs that will never boast of themselves in a bikini and I accept it all for what it is. A vessel for love. And my sweater? I praise it, too. For teaching me the beauty of a body well used.
**This is pulled from the dusty archives (circa 2016)…kind of a second chance for old words…so if it looks familiar, it’s because it is. Here’s hoping that it inspires you to live a little richer, breathe a little deeper, and appreciate a little more fully.**
{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you’re inspired to do the same, visit Soulemama to leave a link to your ‘moment’ in the comments for all to find and see.
There are just some things you should be able to recognize in nature.
Even if you’re not an outdoorsy, naturey person.
Like rattlesnakes. And black widows. Brown recluses. Serial killers.
Just kidding about the serial killers. Sort of. Just making sure you’re taking note of what you should really know out there. And anyway, we all know that serial killers aren’t always easily identifiable. I mean, even the people closest to Ted Bundy didn’t recognize him as a serial killer (don’t believe me? Read Ann Rule’s book The Stranger Beside Me…that’ll give you nightmares to sufficiently last a lifetime). I’m not even sure I should count crazy people as part of nature anyway. But I digress.
Ooh, hemlock. And water moccasins. Rabid dogs. Adders, if you’re in Europe. And poison ivy. You should definitely be able to recognize that.
Sometimes you’re standing there looking at a mulberry tree thinking the berries will be good come spring and then you notice a weird leaf and suddenly you’re all, “Oh my gosh…that’s not a mulberry tree leaf…there’s something vining around this tree and is that…oh yep, that’s poison ivy. Forget those berries…they’re not worth tangling with the ivy.” Other times you’re unsuspecting of the tiny plant growing at your feet only to discover, yep, it’s poison ivy, too, and oh, great, your dog has just rolled through it. And then fall comes and the leaves change color and now you’re thrown off its trail once again. It’s a tricky one, that poison ivy (although personally, I think some of the other venomous and poisonous things are tricky, too…I’m pretty sure I once told my kids to steer clear of the hognose snake we ran across because I was sure it was a rattlesnake…they kindly reminded me that it was missing the triangle shaped head and the rattle, but still).
So…because knowing how to identify common poisonous plants can be life-saving, when I saw some poison ivy out at Pollywog Pond, I figured it warranted a visit and an object lesson.
{An object lesson, part of Charlotte Mason’s nature study philosophy, is a perfect opportunity to allow our children to become more observant. We call upon them to carefully observe and examine an object using their five senses. Object lessons should appear to be by-the-way, somewhat spontaneous discoveries where we are out and about and come across something fascinating. Considering the fact that I am not well-versed in nature study and I am learning alongside my children, I tend to keep an eye out when we’re on a nature walk for items that I can use in our next lesson and then I prepare my object lesson before we head out. I aim for one object lesson a week so my kids have time to absorb what they learned and to notice it in future nature walks. I do require them to make a drawing and write down a few notable facts in their nature journals to help cement the object in their minds. You can read more about object lessons here and here.}
Off we went (with plenty of warnings to stay on the trail and to not touch anything unless you are 100% sure you know what it is). We dressed in long pants, long sleeve shirts, closed toed shoes…we were, after all, entering a bit of a war zone.
*I may be exaggerating just a bit. Nature should never be seen as a war zone. It is, after all, a place where we should find peace and refuge. But it has its dangers…and we are its visitors. Be smart. Be educated. Be mindful. Tread lightly. Then find the peace and beauty that is waiting.*
Our walk started out harmless enough. About midway down the path, we started noticing little patches of poison ivy off to the side. Then it just got crazier the further we walked (a bit like following the drama of Ted Bundy from Washington to Colorado to Florida…he just got crazier and more unbelievable as he went…as did the poison ivy). One minute, it was easy to spot the poison ivy. Textbook perfect. Leaves of three. Little mitten thumbprints. Glossy, obvious. The next minute, it was all a tangle, mixed in with other plants we love.
Poison Ivy, Toxicodendron radicans, is a plant that strikes fear into the heart of most people. And with good reason. Its leaves (and every other part of it) contain a substance called urushiol and, with even the slightest contact, can adhere to the skin as well as to clothing (and to animal fur, too…animals aren’t affected by the poison, but if your dog rolls around in it, covering himself in the oil, and then you come along and pet him, well, consider yourself a candidate for its miserable rash). Reactions to the oil vary…some folks have no reaction at all while others require hospitalization.
So how do you identify poison ivy? “Leaves of three, let it be” is a good place to start, but you should know more otherwise you might miss out on some other incredible three leaved plants like wild strawberries, blackberries and wood sorrel. And, for the record, it’s not actually three-leaved. It is a leaf consisting of three leaflets attached to a single leaf stem.
The tricky part about identifying poison ivy is knowing all of its characteristics and how it changes because it does change through the seasons and as it grows (which is eerily similar to identifying serial killers apparently…that’s my last serial killer comparison, I promise. I also promise to never watch another Netflix movie based on a serial killer or read another true crime book). Poison ivy can be a shrub or it can be a vine. Its leaves can be glossy or dull, hairless or slightly hairy, smooth edged, lobed or toothed. The leaves change to a beautiful red in the fall. When the leaves fall off in late fall or winter, the stems, branches and roots still carry the oil. The vines are covered with rough, dark brown hairs….poison ivy is an amazing climber thanks to all the rootlets that attach themselves to anything as they grow. The plant produces small, insignificant flowers in the summer, followed by berries (also toxic) which go from a green to white. The berries are loved by some birds who then scatter the seeds so new plants can pop up where you least expect them. Lovely how nature protects itself.
Down here in South Texas, we really don’t see a whole lot of poison ivy on our trails or in our yards so controlling it isn’t really our issue, only identifying and knowing it (because it is still out there). Of course, if you travel to other parts of the country (even up into other parts of Texas like the Hill Country and the Piney Woods), you may find it much more prevalent, sometimes even growing along with the grass. When we visited California this past fall, we saw literal carpets of Poison Oak growing…vining and trailing right along the ground, covering everything, as if it were grass. While I realize Poison Oak is a completely different plant, poison ivy can do the same thing. Proceed with caution.
{Being intentional is so much easier done when we slow down and really look around us. Personally, we spend a lot of time in nature, partly because we follow a Charlotte Mason education, but mostly because it keeps us intentional in our thoughts and actions. I invite you, in these Nature Study posts, to join us in our intentional journey…to train your eye to be observant, to relish the intricacies of the amazing world we live in and to spend more time with the people you love stopping to smell the roses, so to speak. If you are in the South Texas area (Corpus Christi and the surrounding cities), then you’ll find these nature lessons tailored perfectly to you and your family…see if you can find what we’re finding! If you live somewhere beyond our beautiful little corner of the world then use these lessons as a springboard…see what we’re observing, allow yourself to be inspired and then just get out there and be intentional, observant, and grateful for all the little surprises right outside your back door.}
I don’t actually know what I’m doing.
Not in mothering. Not in marriage. Not in relationships, in general.
Not in educating. Not in domestic responsibilities. Not in business.
Certainly not in humaning.
I am not an expert. In anything. I hold multiple degrees. I am well trained in various areas from accounting to herbalism. I have taught myself how to cook and clean and do laundry. I have learned to make medicines and file taxes and follow an educational philosophy that respects children as born persons. I have studied and read and learned. I have traveled and I have loved and I have birthed babies. Yet I am not an expert at anything.
Sometimes I feel inadequate. Like I’m a perpetual student over here, never quite achieving competency. Other times, I’m just resigned to the idea that I am not an expert. I think of myself more as a jack-of-all trades.
Other days I try to convince myself that surely I must be an expert at something. I know so much about herbs and healing and alternative health care. Until I am humbly reminded that for all I know, there’s still so much I don’t know. I tell myself I’m an expert at educating my children. Until I see a hole in their learning or hear a criticism that makes me rethink our methods.
Most days I go to bed reminded that I’m really not an expert at anything.
Except being broken.
I’m good at that. Really good. Expert level good.
Being broken doesn’t require a degree. Or years of study. It doesn’t require a paycheck or a certain household income. It doesn’t matter my skin color or my weight or my religion. All it requires is a quick look in the mirror and the humility to admit that I’m a mess.
Being an expert at being broken might not be a bad thing. It certainly makes me more compassionate. Because I know how you’re feeling. My road might look different than yours, but it’s all still a rubbled mess. And I get how that mess distracts us and deters us and sometimes defines us.
Being broken leaves lots of room for growth and fixing. And that might just be the point of this long journey we call life…a chance to change and be the better person, the kinder person, the person I’d want in my life.
The best thing about being broken might just be that it keeps me humble. It helps me journey alongside those in my life (even my kids…no, especially, my kids). ‘Cause I don’t really know what I’m doing either. And sometimes having somebody that’s there in the trenches with you is way better than having someone preach from outside the arena.
So there it is. I’m a fraud at most everything I do. Except being broken. And I’m okay with that.
Dear friends,
As the darkest day of the year approaches, I find myself looking forward to a new year filled with light and love. It’s so exciting to face a blank slate of 365 days. 365 new chances. 365 blank pages for me to intentionally live and write. But I do wonder, how will I choose to live this next year?
I look back at the year that is coming to a close and I think about how I lived the past 365 days. I wonder if I used this year wisely. Did I make the most of each day? Was I helpful? Was I kind? Did I make a difference? Did I live the year with intention?
Because let’s face it…some days, some years, well they can just seem less intentional than others. Begun without a clear direction of where we’re headed. And when we head into the unknown without a thought of intention, we typically find ourselves lost somewhere down the road. For better or worse.
I’ve never been a huge fan of resolutions but I do love the idea of living with intention.
The root word of resolution is resolve, which, by definition, means to decide firmly on a course of action. On the other hand, intend, by definition, means to design something for a particular purpose.
When we choose to live with intention, we open up a whole new world to ourselves. No longer do we get to the end of our days wondering where those 24 hours went or look back at the month and rack our brains wondering what we did this month. When we live with intention, we live in this moment, with purpose. And living with intention, at its simplest, is being an active participant in our own lives.
It’s about this moment right now and how this moment will set the path for our future days. While the past tends to influence us, it doesn’t dictate a path for us, so we don’t waste time wallowing. We are only promised this moment right now and when we live it with intention, that intention helps us stay the path that we so desperately want our lives to follow. Living intentionally isn’t the same as carpe diem. Carpe diem is a Latin phrase meaning seize the day, but the meaning is meant to apply to the present only; to not be concerned about the future, whereas living with intention is living with a purpose. Living with a purpose implies that it isn’t just about the here and now, but it’s about purpose for all things yet to come. All 365 days yet unlived.
For us, 2019 was a year of intention. It was 365 days of living with purpose.
Joseph joined Katie in the world of dance. Dancing truly brings joy to their hearts and I delight in watching them share the experience together. Joseph spent a lot of time writing and drawing and dreaming of the day he will become President. William spent his days swinging his tennis racket and soaking up all the time he could get on the court, stopping only occasionally to create something delicious in the kitchen. Andrew spent the year still happily marching to the beat of his own drum, some days creating beauty out of clay, other days dreaming up a world of dragons inside his mind. Katie spent the year conquering her world one determined step at a time, mastering rollerblading, taking off in reading and delighting in finally being able to sing “All I Want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth” and actually meaning it.
The children and I continued to bask in our educational journey, relishing each book we read, joyfully greeting each bit of nature we met and basking in the various art forms that fed our souls. We spent many hours soaking up the richness and serenity of the Gulf and many more hours walking trails, discovering flora and fauna we had not yet met (this year we managed to encounter two rattlesnakes along our journeys). Dax continued to make this amazing life of ours possible through his dedication and hard work with Daxsells, his realty and management company. On my own journey, I finished my herbal studies through Sage Mountain Herbal Center, started a small herbal consulting business and enrolled myself in the East West School of Planetary Herbology.
In February, we camped beneath the stars where the Hill Country meets West Texas and marveled at the beauty that Texas holds. In March, we joined my parents in the woods (and again in October and again for Thanksgiving)…us in a tent, Mom and Dad in their 5th wheel. In June, Dax and I traveled, sans kids, to Fredericksburg and basked in the glory of being alone together and remembering why we fell in love so many years ago. In September, we traveled, with kids, to California to stand in awe at the base of the Redwoods, climb a volcano and peek into the tidepools of the Pacific Ocean. All of those journeys gave us a moment to press the reset button. To remember that this life is precious.
Soon it will be January 1st. I don’t want 2020 to be the year remembered for the shows I watched or the Facebook feed I scrolled through. I don’t want to wake up this time next year and wonder where my 365 opportunities disappeared to. I want this year to be remembered for the intentional moments. The moments I lived with purpose. So here’s my wish for you…may you set aside the New Year’s resolutions, may you look around you and delight in the present and may you choose to live these next 365 days with intention.
Blessings to you and yours from all of us,
Daxson, Stacie, Joey (12), William (10), Andrew (8) and Katie (6)
Outside my window…it’s cold. It’s a temporary coldness, though…by Friday, we’ll be back up to 80. One day we’re bundled up, the next we’re back in shorts and ready for the beach. Oh the joy of the constant flux in temperature in South Texas.
I am remembering…Christmas 3 years ago.
Mom had just returned from a long, unplanned stay at the hospital, we were dealing with water issues in our city (again) and my children were miniature versions of their current selves. I’m still incredibly grateful for Mom’s recovery. I’m in awe of how quickly my children have grown. And I’m still giggling over this note left for Santa…
I am thankful for…recitals and performances that allow these budding musicians to shine. In the past month, the children played for the local Music Club, performed in the hymn festival (and all earned gold stars) and joyfully performed Christmas carols (mostly) for family (and friends) at the Christmas recital.
I am watching…children grow. Nature unfold. Life through others’ eyes. I am learning to be still.
I am wondering…how some people seriously make it look so easy.
I am hoping…if you’re local, you’ll join me next week at the Oso Preserve where I will attempt to squeeze a million amazing facts about local medicinal herbs into a one hour presentation. 
I am pondering…the upcoming Winter Solstice.
I am laughing…at this ridiculously accurate depiction of how my kids felt about their gingerbread houses.
I am planting…nothing new right now. Just keeping the medicinal herbs I planted in the summer alive and reaping the benefits of having medicine at my fingertips in my own backyard.
I am reflecting…on this quote from Charlotte Mason…”We all have need to be trained to see, and to have our eyes opened before we can take in the joy that is meant for us in this beautiful life.”
Around the house…beautiful decorations, twinkling lights and Advent stories to fill our souls.
I am wearing…a fluffy robe. Because it’s actually cold enough today for one.
We are preparing for…a visit from Granny, a whole bunch of Nutcracker madness, and a Savior to be born on Christmas Day.
Someday I am going to miss…this.
I am reading…The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton for book club and a whole lot of books about Chinese medicine for my herbal studies.
One of my favorite things…the puppies over at The Puppy House.
A peek into my day…
Please visit The Simple Woman’s Daybook for more daybook entries.
**This is pulled from the dusty archives (circa 2017)…kind of a second chance for old words…so if it looks familiar, it’s because it is. Here’s hoping that it inspires you to live a little richer, breathe a little deeper, and appreciate a little more fully.**
You know that whole idea that little dogs that hang out with big dogs think they’re big dogs because they look at the other dogs and just assume they’re the same size? We call that the Chihuahua Syndrome over here. And Katie has it.
She hangs out with the boys all week long and while (luckily!) she doesn’t think she’s a boy, she does think she’s much bigger and much more capable than she is. Case in point: A few months ago the boys climbed up on top of the air conditioning unit and were jumping off with wild abandon. Katie followed, thinking she was quite capable of the same dangerous feat and ended up spraining her wrist in the process.
Sometimes it works to her benefit. She learned to swim at two, well and without fear, because her 4, 6 and 8 year old brothers were doing it. She “does” school and eagerly “writes” letters alongside the boys. She’s quite capable of self-care, never realizing that she’s got a two year gap between herself and the next brother. She demands equality, telling us that she can stay up as late as the boys, she can go on that ride at the fun park. Doggone it, she can DO whatever the boys can do. And it’s not about gender to her. It’s about a fuzzy view of self.
One day recently we were out bike riding and I was explaining to William about Katie and her chihuahua syndrome and, while the essence of the topic completely escaped Katie’s thoughts, it did manage to kick her imagination into gear and she said to me, “I’m the baby chihuahua and you’re the mama chihuahua.” After which she completely dissolved in a fit of giggles and “arfs.”
But her casual thought got me thinking. “…you’re the mama chihuahua.”
It’s true. So true.
I look at other moms and I treat them as a reflection of me and I begin to think that I must do what they do because, after all, I need to keep up with the big dogs. I click from Pinterest project to Pinterest project and scan beautiful blogs with beautiful stories and I actually allow myself to see me reflected in them. I meet a mom at playgroup and I see how calm and together she is and I think that’s what I should look like. I gather with friends and I am sure that their ideas are the answer to everything wrong in my life and I must do things just as they do. I allow myself to actually think that I must do whatever they do because, doggone it, even if it kills me, I must keep up with them.
I see the perfect cupcakes, the clean house, the adorably dressed children, the impeccable yard and I just keep trying to keep up.
But this is wrong. All wrong.
How can I possibly read that beautiful post that reflects the journey of that family and allow myself to think that perhaps my journey is meant to look just like that? How can I see those Pinterest projects and think that doing something like that defines me as a mom? How can I continue to fall into the comparison trap knowing that I’ll always find myself lacking? How can I keep trying my best to be a big dog when I’m really just a little dog with my own little puppies?
I can try and try all I want but I’m NOT that mom. I’m me.
See my little family over here. We’re completely different than that family over there. Our house looks different. Our schooling looks different. Our meals look different. Our conversations sound different. Our journey is different.
{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you’re inspired to do the same, visit Soulemama to leave a link to your ‘moment’ in the comments for all to find and see.
With Every Intention 