living arrows Blog

elsa beskow giveaway!

livingarrows — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 02:28:58 +0000

a lovely blogger, valarie, at http://valariebudayr.typepad.com/jump_into_a_book/ is offering a givaway of NINETEEN books by beloved author and illustrator elsa beskow. this is an amazing giveway from a fantastic blog, make your way over and enter, while i’ve got my fingers crossed!

six

livingarrows — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 14:06:58 +0000

when i was one,
I had just begun.
when I was two,
i was nearly new.
when i was three
i was hardly me.
when i was four,
i was not much more.
when i was five,
i was just alive.
but now i am six,
i’m as clever as clever,
so i think i’ll be six now for ever and ever.
~aa milne~

my favorite (not so)wee fella turned six-years-old last week. he is precious, wonder-ful , clever and sweet. he has the most beautiful, deep, soft speaking voice, and is the coziest snuggler in the world. he is tentative, artistic, quiet, gentle and funny. his laugh is infectious. he has been named “the best brother in the world” by both sisters, little and big, and he is a lovely and loving friend to all. i am so blessed to know him, to watch him grow, to share in his experience here on earth.

breathe.

livingarrows — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 22:50:23 +0000

we had quite a scare with my big girl last week. wednesday night, the wee one was wheezing and coughing, pulling breath and since she has a history of pneumonia, we took no chances and papa drove her over to urgent care where she received a couple nebulizer treatments, a chest xray and an inconclusive diagnosis. the ER doctors wanted to keep her overnight, but acquiesced to allow her to leave since she we have a nebulizer at home to give her treatment every four hours, and she had a 9:45 appointment with her primary care doctor. when she got home, she positively had to go up and give her big sister a kiss and hug, and when she did, sadie woke up and they exchanged giggles and kisses and middle of the night giddiness. sadie couldn’t go back to sleep, and needed her rescue inhaler, so i administered the medicine and she climbed into bed with me. in the morning, we woke up and the wee one seemed much better, but sadie needed her rescue inhaler at 7am, and again at 8am. i called the doctors to ask if they could see her as well, and they said there might be a wait, but sure! we headed out in what the news folks were calling a “snowicane” for our doctors office. five minutes into the drive, sadie needed her inhaler again, and once at the doctors office, was wheezing so hard, she vomited. i got her cleaned up, but she could barely talk. i pushed past the receptionist and back to the examination rooms and told the nurse to get her on a nebulizer immediately. they were a little annoyed with me for not waiting my turn until she began vomiting again, and gasping for breath. two more nebulizer treatments and an oral steriod later, and we were on our way to the emergency room at another hospital.

everything was a blur. i had double-o and gus struggling to keep up, running behind me in blustery winds as i raced sadie into the ER. everyone was scared. on the way to the ER, sadie vomited again, and was pale and weak, unable to talk. i ran into the ER and said, “oxygen!” and two nurses got a wheel chair and ushered us into the registration room, and put an oxygen mask on my girl. double-o and gus stood back holding hands, slack-jawed and silent. they took her stats, which weren’t good, but got her settled with an oxygen/inhaled steriod coctail which seemed to slow the urgency of everything and give me time to think. i held sadie’s hand and brushed her hair from her face, kissed her and reassured her. i told the little ones everything was going to be alright and took their coats and settled them in on a chair with a blanket, and they held hands and quietly took it all in. there was a television in the little ER “room” that the nurses insisted we watch, but no one wanted to, and we turned it off and softly sang songs to sadie to cheer her. dispite the oxygen and steriods, she vomited again and her numbers continued to get worse, so my sweet girl who has never had so much as a heel prick was given an IV and catheter and i swear i’ve never seen anyone so brave in my life. she was amazing. her system was flooded with steroids, terrible, toxic steriods, and i couldn’t have been happier, because she could breathe a little easier. i called papa and he was navigating his was through philadelphia mass transit in a snow storm to get to us. i called our dear friends and arranged for one of them to come pick up the littles so they could feel safe and not scared. papa stopped home and brought a few pieces of home–a pillow and blanket, her favorite doll, slippers. i massaged her feet chest and head with essential oils, gave her homeopathic pulsaitilla nigricans and spongia tosta, sang to her and tried to hold the space for her, practicing deep breathing and relaxation techniques that worked to benefit us all. after some time, a nurse came in with admission paperwork, and we were escorted to the pediatric intensive care unit (PICU), where she received round the clock care and attention for the next eight days. she had an IV of steroids for the first four or five days, and was on 24-hour oxygen during that time as well, and was unable to eat for the first four days. on day five, as they stepped down the urgency of her care and her IV was removed, she was permitted food by mouth, and requested that papa bring her some harirra(middle eastern chickpea and lentil soup), some sourdough bread and goat cheese for dinner. the entire time she was in the hospital, she was in such amazing spirits, only really feeling sad or sorry for herself on the days she had to miss ballet or farm school, and even then, it passed quickly, especially after a visit from papa, gus and double-o. we spent most of the time, the time that seemed to stand still, snuggling, reading, crafting and playing games. when she was permitted out of her room to walk the halls as part of her physical therapy, we’d wander down to the “playroom” which was outfitted with a terrific view of the helicopter pad, and watch the medical helicopters take off and land. we read aloud to each other, “sarah, plain and tall” “the lost flower children” and “heidi”. we watched mary poppins, and a little bit of the winter olympics on the television, but mostly, we were quiet. we blew bubbles at her brother and sister ass part of her physical therapy, and they shrieked loudly enough to be scolded by the nurses, but we were making the most of a challenging situation. i never left her side, except to use the bathroom. what a luxury, to spend all of that time together, but what terrible circumstance. she is brave, wise and strong. i hope that is what she takes away from this experience, i know i’ve got a few gray hairs thanks to the ordeal!

peace/light

livingarrows — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 21:08:14 +0000

the weeks have been long, difficult and cold. there has been death, illness and hopelessness and dispair. and yet. and yet…there is light. there is hope and peace and the promise of new birth, renewal, light. there will be smiles and laughter again, there will be restful sleep and quiet minds. what keeps us going is this promise, and the gratitude of knowing that that it keeps on turning, the wheel of the year, and with it growth and promise and opportunity. the rhythm of our days, the dailiness of warm meals and brisk walks and early bedtimes, the comfort of hand knits and hot soup, lavender baths and hands to hold, they keep us together, keep us holding on, the promise of peace.

magic of pretend

livingarrows — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 17:48:18 +0000

each year, their costumes become more and more a product of their individual visions and less my interpretation of their visions. this year, a medieval princess, a knight, a funny, happy apple. there were sketches, and fabric and yarn selections without my “guidance” or interference, and while i admit to wanting to tweak things, to take their requests less seriously and more as “suggestions”, i followed their designs as closely as i could, and alas, the finished products were better than i ever could have anticipated-i never considered that a medieval princess needs a higher hemline in order to skip rope and climb trees! the smiles, the pride that came with every compliment were theirs alone, i was merely their faithful servant, bringing forth their individual vision for make believe, for fantasy, for memories.

in an instant(coffee)

livingarrows — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 19:30:19 +0000

the littlest one turned three. there was a lovely afternoon spent playing with friends, sharing a meal, lighting candles and making wishes. tomorrow, i host a party for a dear friend who is preparing to welcome her second child soon. again, there will be playing, a meal, lighting candles and making wishes. i’ve always loved parties–loved going to them, throwing them, dressing up, decorating, finding the perfect gift. since becoming a mother, parties, celebrations have taken on a new meaning, one of honor and tribute. i suppose the sea change began when i got married–rather than throw a big, raucous party, we decided to elope, sneaking off by ourselves to celebrate ourselves and each other, to honor each others needs and feelings and interests, rather than subjugate ourselves to the social obligation of invitations, plus-ones and seating charts. our intention was to celebrate our marriage, not just our wedding day. and so it is now with birthdays, we celebrate our children and our family within the constructs of our family culture. our celebrations are small, intimate, joyous occasions. there is nourishing, wholesome food, nature, reverence, laughter and tribute. we have a tradition now of each of us lighting a candle and making a wish, tribute or offering to the person of honor and passing that light, one to another, until the light reaches the person of honor, who then makes a secret(or in the case of a three-year-old, not so secret) wish, we sing songs and each blow out our candle. it’s been remarkable to see how careful children are when trusted with something as serious and dangerous as fire, even the rowdiest of children has had focused energy and intention toward the birthday child, and out of the mouths of babes, indeed–the wishes and tributes these children have offered have been poetry. tomorrow we will make beeswax candles together, a room full of women with the intention of supporting our friend and sister, and we will light them when we learn she is in labor. we will be mindful of the light and focus our energies and intentions on the transition from one to two separate people. there will be poetry rd, a potluck meal, knowledge shared, focused attention and love on a glowing, beautiful mama-to-be. we will, in the immortal words of general foods, celebrate the moments of our lives…

seasons ’round

livingarrows — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 03:30:58 +0000

we worked together, sadie tying knots and carefully, mindfully needlefelting, gus and double-o choosing colors and teasing wool, each rolling tiny balls of beeswax into the pears and apples in the maiden’s harvest basket, little double-o rolling the candle with mama’s help and finally gus insisting on cutting a piece of birch bark for a candle holder. we mostly had fun, creating together, only a few moments where i caught my breath and bit my tongue in order to let it all unfold. our package ships out tomorrow morning, tonight we sleep in flannel sheets, crickets and cicadas outside our windows, no fans or air conditioners to disrupt this first night of autumn weather. we are grateful for it, see its beauty, and hope that our creations help usher in a gentle, mindful transition for it’s intended recipient.

rhythm

livingarrows — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 18:38:22 +0000

popovers. my sweet seven-year-old can make them by herself, while i lounge in bed and wait, thirty minutes of snuggles and stories with my kiddos, drifting in and out of sleep. the two minute warning “ding” of the timer gets me out of bed, hot coffee waiting complements of papa, who left for work after supervising the measuring, egg cracking and turning on of the oven. the four of us sit down to eat, popovers with butter and homemade, homegrown raspberry jam. the conversation is giggles and shrieks, and i know that this day is a gift. the easy pace, the taking our time, the unhurried way we lounge, eat, tidy, dress. stories, puzzles, painting, dancing, a walk. avocado and tomato sandwiches, more stories, some rest. a bowl of raspberries warm from the sun, bubbles, digging deep until the earth feels cool and moist. freckles and sunkissed shoulders. a lavender bath, some quiet time and phone calls for mama. papa comes home from work, kisses and tickles and play with the dog. dinner is noodles with pesto, green salad, corn on the cob, watermelon. dishes are washed, hair and teeth brushed, pajamas and nightgowns replace the dress up clothes of dragons, mermaids and fairies. a million kisses, still more stories, a drink of water, a secret message on each small back, darkness, songs, sleep. when it works, it’s brilliant, on days like today when each of us wake well rested, when there are no boring errands to run, no pesky mosquitoes, no rain, no asthma attacks, no mountains of laundry, no hurt feelings, no refused meals. today was a day to remember when things don’t go so smoothly. remember that it flows when we let it, when we don’t try to control it and instead just enjoy the unfolding.

learning to be gentle with myself

livingarrows — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 04:40:06 +0000

my fingers are flecked with sparkly pink nail polish applied by a seven-year-old, obscured only slightly by the drying bits of pizza dough under my nails, and streaked across my jeans. i’m stealing a few moments in front of the air conditioner while the kids are otherwise occupied to take a moment to breathe before the hurried evening routine of cook dinner-eat dinner-clean up after dinner-give baths-brush everyones hair-read stories-tuck in-sing songs-goodnight. hurried, because i do it alone, night after night and day after day, and if i don’t hurry at some point during the day, everything falls apart. after the kids are tucked in and sleeping, there’s laundry to wash-dry-iron-fold, a house to pick up, bills to be pay and work to be done and finally, sleep. in the morning, it’s more of the same. we’ve lost the beauty of our rhythm in the hurried routine. we rush through our verse before meals, hungry because preparing the meal took too long. the kids eat breakfast, and sometimes lunch, alone at the dining table, set with flowers and cloth napkins for what? the eating never stops. the food prep, the cleaning, it never stops. my well is dry. i find myself withdrawing from these kiddos, these beautiful, loving, sparkling souls. i have always been engaging, present, and now, i feel a disconnect. i miss my children, and i’m certain that they miss me, and yet here we are, under one roof. i know it is temporary–the distance, the exhaustion, the resentment, but it’s here now, and fight it as i try, it’s informing my parenting. this will pass, there will be laughter and leisure and palpable love again, but right now, in these moments, i miss the connection of parents and children, sitting down to meals, to shared experiences, to wonder and magic and kindness and joy. my partner, oh how i mourn for his time lost in pursuit of a better life for us, of long hours and meals behind a desk, but i know it too will come to an end, this project, just as much as i know there will be another one not long after. this is not the life we dreamed of–no livestock, no acreage, no swimming holes or lazing in hammocks, no occasional babysitter–but we are making this life as good as we can. our children are happy, sunkissed, giggling, mosquito-bitten, barefoot, innocent children. i know i’m doing good work, hard work, enough work, but it sometimes feels like too much. maybe this heat, the hot kitchen, the long, restless nights have invited this pity party. who turns the oven up to 500* on a day when the outside temperature is 1/5 that? what am i thinking? i think i’ll go throw the pizza dough in a freezer bag and instead sit down in the under the dining room table fort and serve smoothie pops and popcorn and call it a meal.

ninties

livingarrows — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 20:36:28 +0000

there is a stillness in the air that belies the impending storm. the leaves on the trees have turned to catch the drops that will come, they will come. we have been waiting all day for this storm to cool us off, quench us. postponing and postponing the watering of the garden in anticipation. the kids are tired from the heat, lazy. naked but for silk capes and raspberry stains, they sit before the fan playing games, eating popcorn, daydreaming. we have read our pile of library books that sit waiting for return, due today, and yet these naked children, the oppressive heat, the impending storm all provide excuse to take advantage of our librarians oft-awarded “grace period”. there will be cold peanut lime noodles, rice vinegar cucumbers and mango lassi pops for dinner. there will be cold showers and sleeping in front of the fan. there will be rain. there will.