rescuing a day

The day was going along well- we'd spent the morning snuggling and reading books and then playing in the bath. But the bath cut into my usual food prep time, and then the food prep felt hurried and I wasn't sure how we were going to fit our outside time into the mix. The boys were getting ramped up and needing my attention. Both of them were wanting to help and I was feeling crowded in our little kitchen with Ari's kitchen chair and Dori's (new, borrowed,) learning tower taking up most of the space at the counter.

I could feel my temper getting shorter, yet I was barreling ahead, trying to make space to grind flour for the bread I had planned to make to go with the soup. I needed to make that bread (yeasted corn bread,) to go with that soup (Portuguese fish stew) because this was what I had planned. The recipe book said they were delicious together and I was going to serve up this culinary masterpiece to my family tonight as planned. But the counter was covered in veggie scraps. The compost bucket was in the cupboard being blocked by the aforementioned learning tower. Ari was dissecting the seeds from the green pepper and broadcasting them upon the kitchen floor. Dori was dipping his sleeves into the dirty dishwater in the sink. I could feel my temper rising.

Thankfully, before I lost it, some little inner voice convinced me to step around the corner and take a deep breath. There, in the bathroom by myself for just a minute, breathing slowly, I was able to talk myself down. The bread could wait. Or we could do without it just fine. Being present was more important. Make a cup of tea. Sit down.

And so I did. I plunked myself down in a patch of sunlight and drank a scalding hot cup of black tea, listening to the sweet sounds of my babies- Ari making up a story (having moved over to the kitchen table with a blank notepad he'd pulled of the fridge as a prop,) involving just about every character from every book he's ever heard, and Dori exclaiming with excitement as he continued his archaeological dig of our cutlery drawer. I felt my tension slip away as I rejoined my children and the day, letting my expectations slip away. I finished my tea feeling grateful for that little piece of solace, and, singing our getting-ready-to-go-outside song, I led them towards the door like the pied piper.

Alright. It wasn't quite that smooth. There was still pottying to insist on and noses to wipe and snow suits to put on and there was still some amount of protests to go along with each, but we were not stressed. We were working together.

We headed out into the woods, making our way down a path we hadn't walked in a long time, exclaiming over the sights. We stopped to fill our pockets with rosehips and to watch the snow sift out of the trees in sparkling curtains. Dori dozed in the backpack. I pulled Ari for the last bit on the sled I'd brought along. We were happy and connected and at peace.

And for supper, we ate fish stew. Fish stew with toasted bread from the freezer and it was delicious.