12-15

* I posted this originally over on IG. Landing it here as well as I keep in mind the sane folks who abstaining from the socials. There are a ton of great comments on the post over on the gram though… so do check it out if you like.

I am not anti-vax. I am, however, pro thinking things through, doing good and diverse and credible research, and checking the status quo. All 3 of my kids are, or have been, on a delayed vaccination schedule. It is what has felt right to me as their parent. 

In fact, I am in general a ‘you do you’ sort of a person. 

But not right now. Not in this instance. 

Never in my life has there been such a clear moment where prioritizing the whole and choosing public health over personal preferences has been such a clear solution toward managing an unmitigated risk. 

It is not time for “wait and see”. It is not time for “alternative treatments”. Maybe later- in fact, I am all for a diverse way of managing COVID once we are no longer in crisis as a global community. 

But frankly, if you are in the camp of wait and see or some alternative, I will judge you. I will most likely feel a mix of anger and frustration and grief and loss at what I perceive to be your lack of intelligence, compassion, and/or basic care for the human community of which you are apart. I will not want to hang out with you or connect much in general. You do you, sure, but that will be me doing me. That is not to say that I think the choice is easy or straightforward, but it is obvious. Even when it stirs up some big feelings. Those feelings are no reason for you to center yourself above another. Not at this moment. Maybe not ever. 

So, Maple and Eider are scheduled for their first dose of the Pfizer vaccine next Wednesday. I am so happy for them. And I am so happy to think of all of the ways that we can each take comfort in knowing that we are doing our part to end the pandemic and continue to honor human life. And I am so so so very happy to visit with all of our vaccinated friends and family in the now oh-so-near future.

BLOOD

Six years ago I miscarried my 4th pregnancy. It was equal parts mercy and gore and only 10 months on the heels of deciding not to continue with my 3rd for fear that it would sever my already tender connection to my family. But whether loss comes by choice or chance, losing is still losing, and what you are left with in both instances is everything that you had before, just no baby, which was perhaps the only pure and easy part to begin with. 

What my 4th pregnancy was teaching me was that I could follow my heart even when it clashed with its surroundings. I learned that my trust in love was bigger than my fear of rejection. I learned everything that I wasn’t strong enough to hold during my third when I was so scared of not being trusted by others that I forgot how to trust myself. 

Miscarriage is different for everyone, so I have heard once I began to ask. Before asking there was really only silence. If you have lost a baby this way, you know. No one talks about the secret pain of a lonely mini labor that leads to a mini birth that is really a mini death. Small in stature alone. I had heard that sometimes it was just a blip, something that happened on the toilet before even being sure that there was something to lose. And that other times it was a bloody emergency that left unsupported was full of peril and risk. How odd in a way, because unsupported nonetheless. 

I was the latter. So relieved to finally be moving through the motions of releasing what I already knew had stopped its living. I was ready to not hold on and also to find out what letting go could mean to me now. It was slow. So slow. Spotting for days. Followed by cramps on a crescendo of intensity over the course of a day and into the night until it was gone. Pushed from me in one big heave of rough and rugged longing. Except that it wasn’t gone. Not the blood anyway. My blood grew and grew and grew until I was dropping big grapefruit-sized blobs on the bathroom floor and my head was swimming and spinning and I was shaking Chris awake to tell him that I think we needed to go. 

The kids were at gran’s which was a gift we hadn’t understood the magnitude of when we had asked for a few days at home alone, but the hospital was still almost an hour away and Chris was so scared the whole drive squeezing my leg and asking me to stay awake. I sat still as stone, slightly reclined and trying to keep all of the blood inside of me that for hours I had been trying to press loose. 

The hospital was fine. Cold, so cold, yet with the care and comfort that we both needed. When it was all over and the d+c had cleared out the little tiny pieces of placenta that my uterus was so tired of squeezing and the anesthesiologist had treated me just right, we lay in a hospital bed trading off the calf massagers squeeze of our legs and feeling peace and peace and peace and so very empty.

It was a bright sunny spring morning, Cinco De Mayo. We left and I sat in the car parked next to the lake while Chris ran to get us creamy coffees and I called my mom to ask her to bring the kids home. They were 9 and 6. Little and not little. And once they were home, we got on with it I suppose. Imperfectly. Whole in a way that carries its own scars.

I worked on those scars for years in the care of a friend and acupuncturist who shared her plant wisdom to help me rid my tissues of the issues. It was hard. And it was also so regular. I flip-flopped over the years to every extreme and all points in between always considering and reconsidering what the marriage of satisfaction and gratitude and loss and longing could be inside of me. And obviously, there is never a fixed point for feelings like this to land and I am learning that that may be the function of forgiveness. 

My blood came back quick on the heels of both of my losses. Within 3 weeks, I was bleeding again and trying to understand how I could have possibly ovulated between then and now. How could that even be a possibility? But my blood came back, as if to say: keep going. life keeps going and you are so much stronger than you know. and there is more in store for you yet.

I am lucky because my baby arrived in spite of my regret and my betrayal and my grief. After years of full-court negotiations between my ears, but still, eventually he came. Which is an easy and obvious resolution that lessens the grip of so much of what came before. Sometimes I try to superimpose Wilfred’s face and being in my mind’s eye memory of the feeling of my other two. Initially, it works and everything is abated but if I loosen my hold in any way the image slips and he is not them at all and they are not him. Never were and never could be which is its own kind of rightness now. 

So every Spring now is marked by this memory of a long Season of Loss and Longing. And each spring I am remembering to make space in my heart for that which I cannot hold in my arms and reminding myself that I have never been and will never be any One Way. Never clean, never neat, never easily understandable. And yet something that I can love. And forgive again.

every weekend

Every weekend for most of this year so far I have been practicing once or twice with Christina and some other long-time practitioners. It is a high point in my week no doubt. It is all of the connection and enjoyment of the long and drawn-out small group practices without any of the driving or negotiating of time or duty. In fact, I have a good napper for the time being - touch wood - and the whole long stretch of it falls neatly into that window. Such a nice fit. 

Anyhoo, there is chatting, as ever. And on this day Christina was reflecting on something that she had read or heard regarding the projection of online activity having blasted into it’s 10-year forecast during Covid. When pressed for reconfiguring our regular activities, we went online. But not as we had before. Before it was per our convenience and on-demand. During Covid, it became Live and Face to Face, in real Time as a way of making Connections through Space. And it shifted how we do things. From school, to meetings, to teaching,  to telemedicine, to grocery shopping, to practicing with friends. In real-time and with (mostly) minimal delays. And we realized that we could have been doing this all along but we weren’t. We are now. And while this has some very real drawbacks which I do not want to underplay and which I very much think should and can be well addressed, I think that it is mostly full of advantage and opportunity. As coverage and access improve in the coming years I think we will continue to see all sorts of growth and possibility in socially and ecologically healthy and conscious ways. 

A week or so ago I was chatting with the local middle school’s principal and he shared with me how much they learned this past year about how big and sweeping changes are actually possible because they were pressed into making them this past year, in many instances before being ‘ready’. One thing that he said was that while he understands that the administrators need to be in the building 5 days a week and some kids need to be there 5 days a week as well, many however do not. That thriving academically and socially has a much more varied appearance for children and when given the opportunity to work in a customized hybrid, and he was seeing the potential of that thrive.

And not just that. A varied schedule with broad stretches of academically unscheduled space, gives kids not only a chance to pursue in greater detail their personal interests, it also affords them a chance to REST. In the last two years, I have watched Maple through every iteration of schooling. From home education, to full-time middle schooler, to virtual high school (which, btw, was a complete flop for her. Why? Because it was not in real-time. The Vermont Virtual Academy for the most part hasn’t caught up with the future of online learning which is NOW and is Live and in Real-Time. No longer per your convenience and on-demand. But I digress…), to a hybrid model of high school where the kids are in 2 cohorts that meet in person 2 days per week and all together virtually for several meetings on a third day. It is in this last expression that Maple is doing her best. And I could see it working for Eider too. Shit, I could see it working for me as a tween or teen. I can certainly see it working for me now. There is so much more I can say on this and I imagine that it may be a slow drip of consideration into this space over time. 

It really feels good to hopefully be moving in a direction where we can conceive of a very real reality in which we meet the needs of the individual as well as the collective. Where we teach our children as well as ourselves that we have the power and the agency to craft our lives in ways that work for us from the very beginning. And create a world in which we can curate our time from the get-go and maybe bypass or grow beyond the standardized and the fixation of average. Seems like if there was ever a time in which we were primed to make some broad and sweeping changes, now is it. 

Anyhow. Thoughts from the mat on a Sunday. And so it goes.

phonezies...

I think that I have shared here before that one of the reasons that I often record my practice is so that I can’t fuck around with my phone. Sure, sometimes I will post a clip, but more often than not once I have reviewed it I’ll delete it. But it has been for me a mostly effective way of managing the chasm of distraction that my phone provides. Especially considering that the primary time that I am on my mat is while Wilfred is sleeping, so I am already feeling like are so many things that I should be tending: ie laundry, dishes, some semblance of cleaning my house, garden prep, working one of 3 businesses, or, oh yeah, hanging out with one of my big kids. 

It is typical for me to arrive on my mat to find myself a murky soup of distraction, obligation, and guilt and my propensity to multi-task gets way too easily sucked into the shit storm of my phone. This is even more pronounced on the days in which my practice does not capture my attention, which, I am just going to be honest, is somewhere between 75-95% of the time. Making a recording is my strategy for psychically handcuffing myself to my mat while I tap into the faith that the poses will work on me as much as I work on them. Which, to be super clear, is a faith that has been grown and was never given. As Christina Sell said sometime recently: asana practice “is an exploration and an experiment, not a guarantee”. Sometimes it captivates my interest, sometimes it really doesn’t, and yet I find that the repetition of simply putting myself in the way of the opportunity of experiencing something deeply, already greatly improves the odds of it happening at all.

This still/clip is from Monday’s BBB in which I was completely distracted and full of half-ass interest through and through and thought about closing it up and walking away more than a dozen times. And even though my mind was mostly offline still my body and the actions in my body were able to find me well enough in time and space to elicit a response and an opening, and after a while even reach into some new to me sensation so that by the end the whole thing could perhaps be summed up as 95% disinterest for 5% revelation. Which actually seems to me like a profound story of success.

Anything can be a tool, until it is not. And my phone is no exception. Oddly enough I can just as easily use it to presence myself as I can to skyrocket my attention into the ethers. And so it goes. The choice is still mine, if I am willing to see it.

dream

I am pretty much living my early childhood dreams these days. Not to mention my wooly baby knits dreams… I really do think that all of the ages are great, throughout childhood - and perhaps beyond (save 18-26). In many ways, it really does get better and better as personality and idiosyncrasy and intimacy unfold and deepen. Sure, some ages and stages are significantly harder and wildly more frustrating than others, but on the whole, I believe that we mostly all get better with age. And yet, zero to three is still my total wheelhouse, forever and for always.

I just love littles. I love newborns, I love babies, I love toddlers, I love little kids. Zero to three is all about wonder and discovery and curiosity. To me, there is no more clear expression of the magic of embodiment than these early years. And yes of course it is a lot. And in moments more exhausting than it feels like I can possibly bear. (however, I gotta say way less on this second go-round than it was when I was younger, which maybe just goes to show that, YES, we get better with age!) But there is nothing, in my experience that has offered me the lived and direct experience of embodied presence that hanging out with a small new person does. They have no other way. They are Here, Now. And this is it. And in those long and unending moments, I get to choose to be bored and impatient and daydream about everything I want my life to be. OR, I get to receive the lesson from my little charge and learn how to be here, and see with fresh eyes the splendor of the light or of the texture of the grasses, or feel for the first time the breeze on my big cheeks, and listen with new ears to the birdsong from up the hill. Every moment and every day I get to choose.

And I think perhaps because by some grace I have managed to center presence in our daily lives, it is accessible to my older kids too, and they choose to learn this great teaching from our little one as well. Not always, but often. In fact, I’d probably say, daily. They look on their baby brother with as much awe and wonder and joy as he looks on them and it is such an affirmation of the certainty that I felt that the age difference didn’t matter and if anything was this immense gift to all of us. The seeming distance between our kids gives Maple and Eider the opportunity to live in the light of fresh perspective, in the magic of new and raw discovery. And for two kids in the thick of the complexity and disillusionment of growing into young adulthood where everything is either all about the future or overly hung up on the past, I cannot imagine a greater gift. As much as I really try to keep the preaching over here super casual and somewhat open-ended, I gotta say… if you are feeding yourself a story about how you missed your window, or you’re too old, or the age gap is too big, or whatever your particular flavor of bullshit may be… set that story aside and follow your heart and tell that logically minded shit to shut the f up. Stay in the wonder a little while longer and keep the door open for that fresh new person to join you. If you know that’s what you want, stop second-guessing yourself and reshaping the narrative to make more sense and to please more people. That’s never going to really work.

Yeah ok, soapbox stint complete. Cuz I also need to remember the dream right now too. I have been thinking lately that I need to be wearing all of my hats all of the time and that is often leaving me only half here and that is exactly how I do not want to be. So I am reorienting myself to the dream that I am living that I longed for and that I crafted for myself. I do not want to miss a moment of it. And that is a hard ask when I feel worried that I am not getting the shit I need to be getting done, done. Nope nope nope. And while I am not interested in giving up any of the hats, I am way keener on letting them ebb and flow. I want to honor where I am at with a little more accuracy and be ok with setting something aside when it’s time. I want to be more like the moon. More like the tides. More like my own natural rhythms.

A few months ago one of my mentors presented me with the idea of designing my life to be in rhythm with my menses, and it has been slowly taking root in my awareness since. I have always been sensitive to my cycle, but this feels like taking it to a whole new level. Supporting me in honoring my own energy in a way that allows me to place my values and priorities and dreams at the very center. Giving when it is time to give but also taking when it is time for that. Doing and dreaming when my own energy dictates as opposed to overriding my system for the sake of “getting it done”. Maybe that is the very thing that is getting better with age. My ability to perceive the way in which my care for self is also an evolution, and again, I get to choose.

I am making these shifts. I have really been digging this podcast thanks to Rachel and may even enroll in a menstruation course to deepen my relationship even further. Who knows? If that feels spacious and supportive and like something that helps me continue to center my presence for and with me and my people, then, yes. If it is another tool in my kit for staying embodied and saying yes when my wooly little adventurer insists that the entire day be spent out of doors, then, well, of course.

reclaimation

Days are mostly the same as they have been for seemingly forever around here. Getting longer, yes, but the content is still in its day in day out interminability. On clear days the sunrise still shines pink on the mountain and reminds me of both the sweet simplicity and closeness of these days, but also of the long loneliness of a long and lonely year. The kids’ activities have been tentatively taking a few steps forward, often to be quickly followed by a few steps back as new cases pop up here and there. We were planning on being off to a swim meet today in White River Junction, but Stowe High School had to go remote again last week and so, we are home instead of sitting in a car all day and cheering our girl on via some hopeful Livestream. Chris just had a nice cry about it all over our waffles this morning. Good and tender papa.

I told my family this week that they better brace themselves for all of the storytimes/ kinder music/ and toddler tumbling that Wilfred and I are going to be hitting up once we get the green light. Maybe it is sooner than it feels, I think that Chris and I can register for vaccines on April 5… so, not long. And still forever. It’s so immense y’all. I know I don’t need to mention any of that to you. In it. All of us.

Here or there, now or then, I will probably remain in consideration of the same old tropes as ever: Time and Identity. There continues to be fuel- infinite it would seem- for the fires of contemplation in both regards. I have said forever it would seem that time is a tricky bitch and it remains the same. Identity perhaps a little more ephemeral as different aspects ebb and flow, but I have been feeling this low and steady song of a parts return these past months and it has most of me in its grasp, like a reclamation. Me of it or it of me or some combination of the two. But I am had. And as I had for a long time perhaps supposed that this particular part of me had atrophied and died, I am taking it slow and noticing what I notice and doing my best to keep the whole of things alive in mind and heart.

Shortly after our 2012 move from the Coules of SW Wisconsin to another hilly but completely suburban pocket of the state, I remember driving on the beltline bypass around the capital with Chris and saying something along the lines of: it’s like we hover up above the earth here. Where we used to live nestled deeply in her rhythms and pulses, we are now rootless and separate in a new and unfamiliar way. When one of my closest friends from our Viroqua years visited for the first time, she said something along the lines of: eep! wrong habitat meg! She was not wrong. It was such a hard move for me, on so many levels. I could have never really anticipated the parts of myself that I was leaving behind and it took me so long to identify the parts of me that I was moving toward. I think compounded in some ways by the particular ages of Maple and Eider, more independent of me suddenly than they had been in our early childhood home. I was lost. And a central part of me felt, and in many ways was, profoundly severed.

I lost that farm mama part of myself. The one that tended more than a couple of kids and a funny Basset Hound. The part of me that was a part of a piece of land as well as a region and culture unified by a similar ethic to love the world slow enough to see its new growth as well as its timely decay. To make songs and art and food during her long and restful winters, and to work and play and work hard some more when the land is warm and green and the sun shines and the rain pours into all of her possibility.

As much as my intentions were good, and I set out to tend our family and our own personal postage stamp of a property, I was young and naive and didn’t yet understand the way in which the parts that live inside of us need their own tending in order to maintain their purchase within our psyche. So as I set out to care for everyone else, I lost her. I couldn’t bridge the space that had severed her from within me then to where I was now.

And of course, it wasn’t any one way and not another. It was an incredibly difficult and painful first two years in our new home. I lost a lot. We all did. Yet slowly but surely, I found my footing and reclaimed my agency as the author of my life and began to build up an aspect of myself that as of yet had gone mostly undetected. I began to teach in earnest. I had for years already at that point but not in any way that found me much identified. First in the yoga room, and then in my own home to my own kids. I taught in small and obvious ways to begin with and then bigger and wider ways as time moved on. In my own work to reclaim myself and nurture my own wholeness, I began to see the ways in which I could hold space for others called to do the same. I built up a part of myself that has become essential and in many ways central to the whole. And I am so grateful now for what was born out of what had been laid bare by that move.

When Chris and I were discussing another, even bigger, move to our new place in Vermont, he was scared that it would be hard on me in all of the familiar and painful ways of that first relocation. I assured him that it would not. Hard, yes. But in different ways that were less dangerous and threatening. And ones made much more manageable by the inner work of the past near-decade. Plus, I knew that I was moving toward something that had been, for the most part, asleep in me those many years.

It has been slow. So many changes all at once from the moment we decided to make the move, after years of deliberating, to the arrival of Wilfred, and then all of the other new place pieces and, of course, on top of it all, COVID. The pieces that once felt so tenuously placed inside me are now rooted and alive and even when they are not at the forefront of my attention and care, are nonetheless accounted for. As we settle more on this beautiful piece of land in Northern Vermont, I can feel that long slumbering farm mama - yet now maybe more accurately ‘farm and woods mama’ - standing up inside of me. I am taking deep and steady breaths of the mountain air and the confiners and the northern hardwoods that make up much of my new home. Behaviors and perspectives and rhythms long resting in me are blinking open into fresh hope and reclaimed purpose. Once again Chris and I are unified not just in a shared vision for our children, but also for the whole of us, as we live in a place that requires our shared tending.

And even as I write this, I see that it is time for me to get to it. The day is warm and bright and the sap is running and we have brand new to us evaporators to put to use today. We will clear some dead stand from the woods to build some long-burning fires and see what we can do with it all. The chickens are laying like crazy and ready for a bigger and more robust coop. The seeds for this summer’s garden have arrived and will soon be ready to set to start indoors with the help of some lights- so much later than I am used to even in the upper midwest.

We all take tending. Some parts and sometimes more than others but each in turn and often together. We are this beautiful and complex intricate weaving of trial and error, self-study and adjustment, attunement and forgiveness. It is never perfect. But may we each strive to tend it into as much wholeness and heart as we can muster. Through all of the ebbs and flows and long springs of becoming.

fifteen minutes

When Mapes was wee, and we lived in our first home in Viroqua Wisconsin, she attended, for several years, a Waldorf Kinderhaus. It was magical. In all the ways. I was wide-eyed and naive, just like my then toddler, and was easily influenced. The children’s teacher, Ms Sarah, was incredible. She was kind yet firm, patient while keeping to the rhythm, and exuded love and peace. Basically, it was the perfect place and she was the perfect person for whom the 2-4-year-old crowd could safely and freely explore the world with wonder and imagination.

At our first parent-teacher tea, I remember being struck by something Sarah shared about her own parenting. She was a single mom, her kids 7 and 9- which seemed so big to me at the time- and the kid’s dad lived in another country. That lens was important for what she shared, perhaps much more so than I gave it credit for at the time. But I was so little myself, and she seemed like everything she was doing with the children, hers included, was so right.

What she said, that has stuck with me since, is that after 8 pm, mom is gone. It is Sarah after 8. And I took it to mean, I think, exactly what she intended, which is that after that time in the evening the kids need to be asleep or at least in bed and on their way. She needed time on her own at the end of the day for herself. Of course, she did! Just as so many parents do. Just as I did.

Now, this is not a post about the wild ride of parenting Maple from 0-6 years old. I will save that for another day. It is more to say that I worked to cultivate a family rhythm in which I found ‘me time’ independent of my children in the evening. I wanted to just be Meg by the end of the day. To shut the rest of it down and do my own thing in my home. And for the most part, save the occasional illness or bad dream, I’d say I got there. For a good many years.

I don’t know how things changed for Ms Sarah when her own kids reached adolescence. It would be cool to know. But for us, everything changed as our kids, especially Maple, got older. She has always been a bit of a night owl, but once she began going through puberty she was sleeping later and spending much of the time in the day during which we were all home together, doing her own thing. I didn’t see her much during the day. Not like I had when she was little, and I wasn’t connecting with her like I used to. I began to understand why so many parents had shared with me that they loved driving their kids to activities or sporting events or whatever because they were forced to hang out. And talk.

I also began to notice that she was trying to engage me in the later evenings. Well past the time that “mom” had gone offline. It was in these late hours that she started reaching out to me in real and big ways, baring bits of her growing heart and mind to me in ways that she wasn’t ready to share during the day. I was well beyond my own best time of day, far from my cleverest and most attentive self. More selfish and tired and ready to wind it all the way down. Maybe knit a few rows, or read of few pages, and then turn out the light.

So I resisted. I pushed back. Mom is gone after 8! Remember?!

And yet, there are no hard and fast rules to live by, especially when it comes to parenting, and I quickly began to see that this was most likely a now or never opportunity for me with my daughter. And I could either shut her down or open myself up. So that is what I did. I pushed through my own fatigue and learned about everything that I could that was alive in Maple. Truth be told, it wasn’t really that big of a deal. Both she and Eider were sleeping later and later in the morning and I found easy time to myself on the front end of the day.

That is, of course, until Wilfie. Now, and for the last year and a half, it is more like we have two different family realities that overlap in the middle portion of the day. The baby is up a good hour and a half to as many as 4 hours before the bigs, and it is essentially the reverse on the other end of the day. And I am more tired than ever. More worn by 8 pm, let alone 9 or 10 than I can even express.

But Maple comes online, like really ready to engage and share with me, after 9 pm. Oh. My. God. And I want what she has to share. So bad I want it in the face of all of my awareness of the clock that is ticking on my time with my girl left in my home.

She corners me in the bathroom when I am washing my face and brushing my teeth. Earbuds OUT for a change and eyes wide and words spilling forward from everything that has grown inside of her over the course of the day. And as much as it feels like my face is literally melting off I am so tired, I rally. I am communicative with her. She knows that I have essentially powered down and there isn’t much left of me. She takes what I can give and I try to give it all. Just 15 minutes. Sometimes more if I am amazing- or I had some afternoon tea. Sometimes less if I am barely hanging on. She’s even said to me before things like: mom, what is happening to your face? or: mom, your eyes really aren’t looking good. She sees what it takes for me to stay up for her. And I see her.

Now I know that Ms Sarah was wrong. Not about much but definitely about mom being gone after 8. Cuz now I know that mom is never gone. From the moment my first kid tore into the world and until my final breath, mom is most certainly not gone. So, I will do what it takes. Even if it’s a little bonkers right now and I am burning a candle down to the nub on both ends. Even if it means fantasizing about caffeinated eye drops and long afternoon naps in a breezy beach cabana. I’ll do it. Cuz babies don’t keep but neither does any of the rest of it.

in the breaking

On Monday, Chris and Maple were run off the road by a school bus on their way to swim team practice in Stowe. They were on the Mountain Road where the speeds are slow and the hills and curves are many and when the bus overcompensated after driving over a snowbank and culvert pipe, Chris had to choose between getting hit and driving off into the opposite snow banked ditch. Many things about this incident are incredibly fortunate including degrees and angles as well as Chris’ competence and responsiveness. They are both rattled, but whole, as are all of the kids who were on the bus. They were close to flipping and landing on my people and well, thank god for seatbelts and snow.

Our old Honda Pilot, however, is a bit worse for the wear and as a vehicle that is completely paid off and has over 200K miles on it, chances are that it will come back as totaled. Such a bummer, and yet, of course, just a car. We have been taking such great care of and pride in that car these past years; replacing the timing belt this summer and feeling confident that we can get another 150k miles out of it before putting it to rest. Just goes to show I suppose.

Chris said to me on Monday night as we were licking our wounds and holding each other close that yeah turns out attachment really is suffering to which we both gave a little snicker and blink. But the message is not in resisting attachment as far as I can tell, but rather see it for what it is. It has taken me a long time to wrap my head around this understanding. That the suffering isn't necessarily something to be avoided but rather allowed in its own way. In fact, it is quite possibly in many cases a sign of having done right in having let something deep into our care and tender regard.

And I am not really talking about my car here am I? Cuz as much as that stings, it is truly nothing in the face of the wholeness and health of my people and people in general. That’s not it. I am thinking much more right now, and often, in terms of loving and letting go and growing and changing and all of it so real and so big in the face of the unpredictability of the moment-to-moment inherent risks in being alive. It’s a lot and my feelings are right up there at the surface. I keep replaying in my imagination the moment when Chris had to choose to steer off the road with our girl in the front seat and on the side that was going to take the impact. He stretched his arm out in front of her as you do when your heart is sitting in the seat next to you and you have everything to lose.

This is alive for me in my asana practice these days as well and part of why I think I get so much pleasure out of making my own self so sore on my mat. I am keeping myself right up close and often even inside of my own physical and mental discomfort working on postures and shapes and actions that are quite difficult and oftentimes provocative for me. Places where I have fear and a lot of mental chatter and that require everything of me in the moment. And it makes my muscles sore in this way that is pleasurable because it reminds me that I brought myself up to that place inside myself where I tested and grew my limits, where I loved myself even in the face of my fear, and where I learned when to wait and when to leap, and where I didn’t abandon my wholeness.

One of the ways that Christina and Sam and I first began really reconnecting this past year was in the hours after practicing together texting something like: so fucking sore. And then followed by long threads of exactly how sore and where and maybe a little bit of what. And that is fun and special but really just in that, it is mostly us saying something else entirely which is more along the lines of: we did that. I did and you did and I see you in that and I want to be seen in that too. I did something that brought me right up to my edge and that asked me to stay awake and feel my feelings. I have some skin in the game and while it surely isn’t all or nothing, there is something to lose and that is the point. It isn’t that attachment is suffering so I better keep attachment at a distance. It is instead that attachment is suffering and the suffering of having given my whole heart to it and then having one way or another lost it all, in the end, is proof of something so much bigger and grander than my small individual fears and heartache.

And that is what I mean when I consider the space inside the breaking. It is not the breaking down, even though maybe it is… if that is what it is going to take to break open. Break open to love and to connection and to the suffering that comes with whole-heartedness. I want to feel that as much as I want to feel all of my muscles fatigued from their good and honest efforts. I want to wrap it up at the end of the day knowing that I didn’t leave anything on the table. I loved and maybe I lost but I also gained and holy fuck am I sore.

a little bit witchy

I have been intending to sit down and spit some word out for days but I am full of distraction and if it’s not one thing then it’s another and yes for sure even though I love winter it really would be great to skip town to a warm and sunny beach there has to be one I can drive to from here, right?? According to the last hour of my life that I just spent looking… not so much.

Ugh. So, whatever. On and off deep Covid-Times malaise over here. A little bit of the ‘ol in and out of the doldrums. I know I’m not alone and I’ve got several text chains worth of memes to prove it.

One of the only regular outings that we have these days is to a local acupuncturist’s clinic. She is great and it does the trick in terms of a nice moment of reprieve and relax along with an all systems tune-up. I am into it. And she is cool. Classic New England. Super cerebral and matter of fact and of course has a Ph.D. duh. She’s smart and down to earth which I love and does a bang-up job of reading pulses which I find fascinating and in the words of my friend Whitney Lawless, she doesn’t have a metaphysical bone in her body. (Words referring to another body systems based practitioner and ultra apt here too.) Not that she needs to, ahem, she does a great job at what she is doing and, ahem, she has a P H D.

She just isn’t my witch doctor.

Chris and I often joke, tongue in cheek a bit but not quite, that wherever we live, after a spell we always manage to find our just right for us witch doctor, or sometimes even a cadre of witch doctors. Now, I am often- if not entirely or anywhere near always- a practical woman, and I like reason and rational and above all else SKILL when it comes to my wellness providers. If they are a skilled smarty pants with a certain hankering toward the occult then chances are they may well be for me.

And I haven’t found them here yet. I almost did, right when we first arrived, but then their receptionist stole my credit card info and they didn’t do a single thing about it other than to make sure I wasn’t nasty yelping them- which in hindsight I probably should have done. They took that root word of CULT and just ran with it in my opinion and as much as I am better off not having my raw bits in spaces with questionable integrity it was still a bummer and I am still on the hunt.

There is lots of the mystical lining the path of my family through time and straight up into the present. I can forget it sometimes in the day to day drudgery that the magic and the presence I so strive to pay attention to in each moment and in each mood is actually a hint at something maybe even more strongly woven into the tale of who we are.

I think that habits and perspectives shape all sorts of things, certainly who we become, but also perhaps who we call in and I know I have said it a thousand times throughout the years on this very same blog, but Maple is that. I think by the time she arrived on the scene I was about 8 or so years deep into looking through lenses that lived outside the mainstream so my cells had certainly turned over and she was born of that. I had her first-star chart mapped and read before she was even two and would watch her move through the world as the keen observer who stood on the edges taking it all in while the other toddlers reached in and joined and she watched.

From a time well before she was even a glimmer up until quite recently she and our whole family would visit a type of care practitioner that would, as Chris likes to say: tie and untie invisible knots of energy around us. For a while when she was 5 or so I would leave little fairy friend notes for her all over our house. I encouraged her no doubt. But regardless, she was (is!) magic.

No surprise that when she told me that she was talking to spirits with a pendulum and then she showed me and I saw some business with that pendulum that people get paid to say is happening but coulda fooled me… I started to maybe feel a little bit concerned. Something along the lines of holy shit this kid is really open and when she asks a question she is getting answers but from whom exactly and do I want just any ‘ol spirit reaching out to my kid??

So I did the most rational thing someone like me would do in such an instance… I sought out a professional psychic to help me guide and safeguard my daughter without squashing her magnificence.

This is when we began learning about shields. About how Maple could craft them in different ways, physically and energetically. Great news for someone superstitious who also enjoys crafting, to begin with. This is also when we learned that there was a coven of witches who had our house on an energetic lockdown that couldn’t be cleared and couldn’t be cured and was best dealt with by getting on out. We had been rolling around the idea with some earnestness for years but this was certainly the kick in the pants that we needed and low and behold we were out of one home and onto our next within the year. (A dark blue house, not new built, on a hillside surrounded by large rocks, just like she said we’d find.)

Then when I finally got pregnant with Wilfie, which the psychic told us would happen (but ha jokes on her cuz she said twins! or is it…. tuti???) and maple told us he was coming too because that is what the pendulum told her before we had said hey maybe no more talking to spirits with your string anymore sweetie, k? It was time to turn her sensibilities toward something else. While I was busy accelerating our departure before the advent of bebe, she was busy basically turning herself into a human energy shield for me and her unborn brother.

The first thing Maple did, was to surround the perimeter of our property with grains of rice that she had like blessed or enchanted or some such business. Then, in addition to monitoring every single one of my behaviors - I feel like maybe I shared that we called her “Bad Doula” for the duration of my pregnancy, if not, you’re welcome- she also made up all of these rituals for herself based on made-up superstitions of one kind or another. There was not a night of my pregnancy that she didn’t come and tuck me in with some kind words and a kiss followed by rubbing the belly of a small Ganesh murti that lives on my dresser. Literally. Every. Night. I don’t think I have seen that girl at my bedside once since August 2019.

She also made other behavioral patterns for herself that she would follow, some she still does. Like, she tries to mostly walk-in only one direction inside of our house. It is ridiculous. But she is amazing and I like her as-is. And, like I said, in many regards I brought this all upon myself and despite endless nonsense over the years, I don’t think I would have it any other way. Besides, who am I to say what is real and what is not. She very well may be holding something of the unseen infrastructure of our lives in the balance. Who knows?

I would be amiss to close this out without making mentions of a few key character details. First, Chris says this propensity to seek out the magic makers is not him and all me, to which I say, perhaps, but he has certainly gone along with relative gusto from the very beginning which I think makes me pretty lucky indeed. And possibly even more bold in my pursuits.

Secondly, there is no Wilfred without Maple. I have always known that. I could shake off my longing for him but never when I was with her. When she was 10 or so I had a Tarot reading in which he was everywhere, but he was all tied up with her. Like he’s coming for sure but maybe it’s your daughter that he is coming to. So, like that. She called him into being, able to feel his substance long before the rest of us. They have always been together for me.

And lastly, Maple is magic. But she is also whip-smart and rational and practical and ready to fact check my ass. She is both. And what kinda brilliance is that?

All this to say, we haven’t found our witch doctor in VT yet. We have found some truly excellent care in other regards to be sure, but I am still on the lookout for someone who is working with the whole person, including the psyche and all that is possible in time and space. Rooted in actual knowledge and experience with an inquisitive and adaptable mind. Just that. Should be any day now.

how bout a nap

Y’all, I am nothing if not ambitious and inspired. Which quite ironically, I never really accessed in myself until I became a mama which, of course, is right around when I lost most, if not all, of my creative time. Hahaha, joke’s on me. Like, on repeat. But it appears I cannot have one without the other, procreating jump-started my creative drive and I would never trade any of that for anything. Yes, it would have been cool if I could have been more like Maple, finding so much time and space to create for my whole life leading up to 28, but I did not. Instead, I often napped. In a state of emotional overwhelm and anxiety for much of my 20s, I opted for a nap on the couch for vast expanses of time that retrospect has a real bone to pick about.

Now, I could use about 3 extra hours that somehow invert and unfold from the center of each day during which I can, as I so desire, get it all done and then some. But, alas. Instead of some incredible inversion phenomenon, I pick and choose and do my best which quite frankly often doesn’t feel good enough. Turns out that having a toddler and homeschooling a sixth-grader and trying to keep a household along with multiple self-employment channels is a whole lot to juggle. Thank god that Chris does the cooking. I am often feeling like any of these things is getting short-changed at any given time and often several at once.

There are some places that I could nab some extra time from, but those are less negotiable than one might think. For instance, I am enjoying getting to do a fuck ton of yoga right now and who knows how long that will last so I am taking advantage. To say the least. I also might be well served and not so often need an emergency nap if I wasn’t waking up 2+ times a night to nurse Wilfie. But I also know that night weaning leads to full-on weaning and well, he is my long-awaited and final baby and I am willing to give up the sleep to get the time with him in my arms. It’s not for everyone, but when I weigh it all out in my head I rather try to catch a nap during the day than prematurely end this chapter in our journey together.

So today, by 10:30 am, when we had already eaten- more than once- helped pops haul wood, walked up the hill with the dogs, read a bunch of our favorite books, and dressed each other up as skunks, it became clear that instead of getting some of my work done or diving into some home education pursuit with Eider or investing some time with my writing, that I too was going to lay down and close my eyes. Maybe for 20 minutes, but chances are for an hour and 20 and yeah, it was the latter for sure today. And it helped. I am still exhausted and honestly a little defeated. I keep feeling like I am falling short on everything I have set off to do and I don’t see there being any big shift in what that looks like any time soon.

And yet. And yet… my choice. When we walked up the hill this morning I saw a snowshoe hare, white all over with black-tipped ears. And the chickadees were singing. And tonight the moon is full and shining. And we are well and together and I really do mostly believe that I can do it all, but just not every day or maybe just not these days.

xxx,m

Big sis made this cutie play dough today while I was practicing and HE LOVES IT.

being seen

We have these little fiddlesticks that Chris got ages ago for the kids to have some indoor lacrosse play- oh yay- and lately, Wilfred has been quite engaged with cradling his little stick and scooping up a ball and just generally being the cutest little lacrosse player. This makes me smile because the very first thing that Chris and Eider did when I opened the email from our care provider back in Wisconsin at 12 weeks pregnant which informed us that he was a healthy baby boy, was to run into the other room and pick up the fiddlesticks and mess about with one another and chit chat about how tiny the baby’s first stick would be and how cute it would look in his crib with him. Of course, I imagine they would have been in the very same mind had we found out that he was a girl. I loved playing lacrosse as a kid and I still do and fingers crossed that Maple, who also enjoys flinging and catching lacrosse balls, will go out for the high school girls team this spring. I miss watching my kids in their sports so much. Have I mentioned?

This morning, I am significantly more sore than usual from my sport. Christina organized a few of former Yoga Champions- that’s a whole long post in and of itself and I am sure that there is plenty on this in the archives of this very blog- for a backbend practice yesterday. She used to attend classes with them in Austin and befriended them through good studentship and love of the practice. I have occasionally taken classes with them as well over the last 6 years or so, especially during my Bikram Yoga deep dive. Anyway, it was super fun to move in different ways and even when I run up against my own limitations I am so thankful to receive gentle support and guidance from “pros”. I have a good sense of what I want to work on and what I want to let work on me and that feels good. I have talked a lot about this, especially with Rachel and Sam and the PWC folks, but the importance and necessity of seeing and being seen is really not lost on me. I need a witness as much I need to witness. And I believe that the remoteness of everything has made everyone a little bit more themselves when sharing time together. Like any facade, perceived or not, is just dropped more quickly. I can see this even in the way that more folks are keeping their cameras on in the Zoom. A way of saying “I am here. This is what it is and I am here regardless. And I want to be seen.”

I have been feeling this sense of longing to be seen in particular lately in regards to my family of five. As Wilfred grows more and more into himself, both a part of us and entirely his own, I have been feeling such grief around not being seen as such by our family and friends. Not that they don’t see us. That is not what I mean so much but rather that they do not exactly know us as 5. Only a few folks have experienced us as who we are now that our littlest is here with us. And well, I guess it is really just more of my desire to be known as a means for knowing myself more deeply. And for people to really see and know this amazing little person that we share our days with and who is such a massive influence in our lives. I have a deep longing for the intimacy that comes from really being witnessed and known as we are now, in all of our mess, and complication, and joy, and wonder. In many ways I am nothing if not incredibly sentimental and I do a great deal of looking back as a way of looking forward and I guess I just really want that context for all of my people. Not just us 5. Even what I shared earlier in this post regarding lacrosse and yoga (forever) are an expression of that desire. The greater context of each of us through time and space. I want to know and be known. And, I miss you all so much. Even in the midst of a really surprising and lovely amount of present day enjoyment.

That’s it for now. In whatever way that is right and meaningful for you, let yourself be seen.

proximal

It wasn’t especially intentional, just the way things unfolded, but I stopped practicing asana around Wilfred right around the time he became mobile. I think it was more due to COVID and the sudden online access I had to my teachers on the regular and my need to not have my baby smash my laptop/lifeline to the world beyond Overlook Hill. But, out of my brightly lit bedroom and down into the basement I went. Practicing during a nap or with the support of Chris or one of the kids.

It has been marvelous. It has been the biggest boon to my physical practice to have all of this Live content in easy reach. Makes longer and more detailed practices more accessible than they would ever be otherwise with 3 kids and 3 dogs and all of the stuff of a full and active life. Ah yes, those silver linings. I am taking advantage of mine and trying to remain cognizant of it being a gift and a luxury and not a right.

However, in the past couple of weeks, I have been practicing rolling out my mat with WIlfie so that he can begin to learn to be comfortable and fluid with that time. I have been using Darren’s current offering, Yoga Trove, as the framework for our time together. It is just the right length, perfectly casual, with a little bit of seated practice and an opportunity to gently interact with the laptop now that he is no longer so much the smash.

It is really important to me that Wilfred get a sense of mom on her mat as a natural part of the day. One in which I am present and available but also engaged otherwise. I am not a fan of being a jungle gym for my kids while on my mat- at other times, absolutely- but practice time is distinct and requires a different sort of engagement. I really like the concept of proximal play zones when it comes to home practice with small children. We are together but also doing our own things, neither disrupting nor ignoring the other. It takes practice to get to this point and that is what Wilfs and I are working on now. I am being less precious about my practice- which I believe is really key when it comes to home practice in general and practicing around family in particular. And Wilfred gets to become comfortable with the time as something that happens regularly and in which he gets to do his own thing and let mama do hers.

After several days throughout the last week of this sort of practice, yesterday was our very best day yet. He let me do my thing, toddling over now and then for a kiss - a poochie pose as Eider used to call it- and only asking to nurse briefly on two occasions. Previously it had been devolving into nursing about midway to 2/3 the way through which is fine and to be expected. We have been practicing this way in the hour before his nap, and it is also hard sometimes to not want to plop down to nurse and snuggle when your mom appears to be laying on the floor. But yesterday he just needed to check-in and then went back to his play. During the brief pranayama and seated practice, he spent about half of that time quietly sitting on my lap which is more than I could ever hope for and feels like a continued affirmation of my belief that our children entrain to our energy and we are wise to make our energy worthy of that.

This feels so good, even if they are not my best efforts on my mat they really are serving something so much bigger than that. In a very similar way, that is how I feel about the times during the week that Maple or Eider are responsible for watching their brother while I practice. Sure it is absolutely wonderful for me to get a nice long and uninterrupted stretch in, it is marvelous, as I said above. But if that were the only gain to be had I would be far less likely to put the effort into making it so than I am with the added benefit that it is for my kids to have to show up for me and for each other. It is a gift that they have to care for our littlest while I care for myself. For me, sure. For them, especially.

These are my thoughts on home practice with littles right now. Different, but not separate. Like so many things. For some more of my thoughts on the subject check out this much older post.

As ever, thank you for reading.

xxx,m

a squee update...

Why not?

So if I manage not to accidentally delete this AND also post it today - that is a great big if right there - then that means that 15 years ago yesterday was Maple’s due date, which means of course that on Saturday she herself turns 15. Which, in the spirit of making the obvious obvious, means Chris and I have been somehow managing to do this parenting schtick for a good long while now. AND our very first baby, the baby of our 20s, is almost grown. Not quite, and there is still a good deal left to go and grow, but I think that we can all see it so readily now, in a way that you just can’t, not really, when they are small.

Anyway, Maple. After a treacherous semester at the Vermont Virtual Learning Center, after fighting like hell to complete an absurd amount of coursework and somehow pull off stellar grades, Maple has opted to go back to hybrid in-person learning at our local school. 9th grade y’all. It is actually kinda perfect. They are broken up into two different cohorts that both go to school 2 days in person. On Wednesdays, everyone is home and virtual so the school can be deep cleaned and they can see all of the kids that are in their class and not just their cohorts. Honestly, doesn’t that sound perfect? A three day school week? It is kind of what I have always wished for. And listen, I know that that seriously doesn’t work for all people, but for older middle and high school students sweet lord wouldn’t that be an incredible rhythm?

I think it is going to be great. If I don’t think about the COVID bit. (more about that maybe in a moment) I would be so thrilled if there were some massive educational overhaul and the school week wasn’t set up to reflect a workweek that may very well be irrelevant for our children. It certainly is for me and my family. And as far as I can tell, the 9-5 is evolving or devolving and has certainly never been something that we have had our sights set on, quite the contrary, and anyhow, I would love for there to be a public education option that was not 5 or even 4 days a week.

In fact, if this hybrid model is still happening in the fall, we will think long and hard about sending Eider to seventh grade at Peoples Academy. It could be ideal honestly. Especially if Earth Walk Village School is up and running again and he was able to attend both. That kid is such a champ but good grief this year has been shit for him. Like, nothing going for real. Mountain Biking was excellent and the long season was a gift but that feels forever ago now. Nordic skiing is only just now getting up and running after being waylaid for 5 weeks because of state mandates. He needs to go be around other kids. Ugh, and if I am honest I cannot even tell you how much I miss his activities. Especially violin. I have been fantasizing hard about when group classes can get up and running again. Even though it would mean going to Burlington for Suzuki or Montpelier for Orchestra. BUT I HAVE ANOTHER LITTLE STRING PLAYER COMING UP HERE SOON AND SO MAYBE IT IS TIME TO FOUND A NORTHERN VERMONT SUZUKI STRINGS PROGRAM I’M LOOKING AT YOU JESS ZEHNGUT. Yeah I know I have almost zero musical education and maybe this is a pipe dream but…

Mkay. Let’s see. What else? Wilfred is awesome. Duh. We are still navigating the 2 to 1 nap transition, yes it has taken like 4 months or forever but I think we might just be through and good grief thank god. Not an easy one. We are still nursing a ton and probably no end in sight because he is my last and babies and kids grow fast and I have enough time under my belt to know that it is odd hours of nursing and snuggling one moment to “mom you have ruined my life” the next. I think it is called perspective and our family constellation has gifted us loads of it and it is multi-directional and non-linear and bonkers awesome.

That is my people update. My work update is primarily just a massive wonder-struck gratitude love bomb. Practice Wellness Community is growing into itself in ways that are far bigger and deeper than even I could have hoped for. Co-creating with Rachel and Sam is one of the incredible boons of my life right now, and I hope, for a good long while to come. How magnificent to be cultivating a community rooted in truth and integrity and authenticity. It really feels like pushing into the very central territory of the next chapter of my life’s big work. And I am here for it. Big time. Beautycounter has been a big influence on where I stand in this other regard because in so many ways over the course of this last year, the clean beauty community supported me, and continues to support me as I find my voice as a leader.

And then one last thing and then I gotta cruise. COVID. Please y’all. Don’t let up. I think we each know a number of folks at this point - or maybe even you are one of them - that have gotten sick. As far as I can tell there have been huge spikes in cases after the Holidays, and even if it was forecast it doesn’t change the fact that people are dying and others are losing loved ones and it could really be, maybe even is, any of us. It is so hard to know what is what and we all want to trust one another and we should. But I think the best way to really do that, is by continuing to be cautious, stay home, stay distant in body but never in heart. It is more important than ever to keep our hearts open and as close as can be with one another. We have to feel it. We have to feel it. What an unimaginable tragedy it would be if not only did almost 2 million people die worldwide but if this moment in history were also the moment in which we finally and irrevocably severed our cultural capacity for empathy and compassion. So, please. Stay open. Stay safe. Both.

more soon. xxx

the mood

I just spent a nice chunk of the morning writing about what I learned in 2020 and what I have my sights and heart set on in 2021. But then, whoops, I deleted it. And instead of going back - THERE IS NO GOING BACK! - and efforting to recreate it, I am just going to drop a list of what more or less sums it up.

Cheers to you and yours. We made it. Here is to another cycle.

WORD: Pause

INTENTION: Nothing New Til 2022

CORE VALUES: Generosity, Kindness, Compassion

QUOTE: “No one can do the work for you, but you can’t do it alone.” Christina Sell

POEM:

do not be misled

into thinking

you should be doing more.

rest.

feed.

heal.

hold.

feel.

these are the seeds.

the beginning.

be gentle with it all.

- holy days from brave new mama

sex and cookies.

*the cookies bit is at the end of this post so no hard feelings if you need to skip the sex stuff to get right to the cookies. However, in the words of Dan Savage: Fuck First. Never really a bad idea. Especially for a tired and often over-extended middle-aged mama.

The last stretch of days around here has been mellow. Strikingly so considering that I generally consider most days around here to be pretty chill. And yet, there is even more to be had in that department it appears. As I shared in the last post, we have successfully taken much, if not all, of the pressure off of the Holiday stretch of days in this house by celebrating the Solstice and de-emphasizing everything else. Chris took Monday, and then Thursday and Friday off of work and now is entirely off until the 4th, and I have been mostly not working at all with just a few hours scheduled for myself to get some work-related tasks in here and there in the coming days. That is a big focus of mine for 2021: to just really hold to some more stable and meaningful boundaries between my work life and my home life. This takes discipline in general and it seems even more so when you work from home and even more still when you are driven and inspired by that work. Both Chris and I struggle with this on the regular.

My friend Liz, and also one of my longtime students Stephanie, both recently turned me on to Bullet Journal, and after my initial scoffing- which is my standard first response forever, sorry about it- I am diving headfirst into exploring all that this approach to scheduling and organizing and streamlining and tracking has to offer me in 2021. I have spent the last few days setting that up for myself and it has been surprisingly inspiring and motivating. As it turns out when you don’t get a new sister for Christmas- thanks 23&me- this stretch of days is a lot less overwhelming and can be incredibly grounding and relaxing and productive for sure.

Other than playing with the bujo, I have been doing much of the regular things. Knitting and reading and making shapes and getting outside in the freshly fallen- thank goodness!- snow. Oh yes, and I have been making copious amounts of cookies for the resident cookie monsters, which is all of them, and having more delicious sex with my husband than I have since before we got pregnant with Wilfs.

Listen, I am going to be one of the first to say that 2020 was really fucking hard on relationships. I have watched quite a few friends struggle in their partnerships in big and incredibly challenging ways. And in many ways, I have felt the mirror of that struggle played out in my own home. I came into the pandemic 6 months postpartum with flattened hormones that impact the dynamic of relationship as it is. Then to add a ton of stress and anxiety and fear into our own particular mix, was, well, a lot. Plus, let’s just be honest, the reality of longtime romantic relationship is its whole own thing. Without a global pandemic raging. There are so many layers to the relationship. So many different ways of relatating. So many roles we each play. So many responsibilities we both take on and dish out to one another. So many disappointments we are both responsible for. And so very many different chapters.

Nobody on this green earth rubs me wrong or drives me crazy the way that Chris Newlin does. He is the absolute worst. We have spent days, weeks, and sometimes even months, barely tolerating each other, and at times of heightened stress have often lacked the bandwidth to even begin to dig in to what our issues are. And we need therapy just like everyone else. Fortunately, we have also been through enough of the muck and have come up against enough shadow to know that there is something on the other side and that when we say we are in it for the long haul that it really and truly means something much more difficult and far less glamorous than baby meg or baby chris could even possibly begin to fathom.

But let’s get on with it and talk about sex. K? A little what’s what. Because that shit ebbs and flows and certainly evolves over time. And as much as I enjoy sex and am a big believer in the importance of a healthy sex life within an overall healthy lifestyle, I also know that it is most likely the least straightforward thing that we could possibly begin to wrap our heads around. It is super challenging to drop the hat of co-parent or roommate or business partner or helpmate and don the hat of lover. Plus, some of us crave sex to make connection while others of us want sex as a way of expressing our connection, and at other times that is all flipped around too. This is how it is in our house for sure. It is a real chicken or the egg situation and you better believe that when all I can see is my partner’s shortcomings, the last thing I want to do is get naked and close. And yet, I actually really believe in the power of a great orgasm and the wonder that a little casual sex can bestow on a mood or a perspective. However, I find that it becomes far more difficult to have casual, for-the-health-of-it, sex with the person that knows me best, sees me most clearly, and with whom I am most enmeshed. It is more than a little paradoxical for sure.

Because our lovemaking is incredibly casual. I feel (almost always) only loved and only seen and only free when Chris and I are alone together. (the times that I do not, I can guarantee that it has everything to do with something going on between my own ears and nothing at all to do with Chris.) Which is most certainly not how it has always been. When I was younger I thought of sex not so much as a healthy biological imperative, but more as a currency. For love, or for validation, or, in the early years of our marriage, for housework. It was something with which I had bargaining power. It took me a long time and a lot of growing up to see sex as first and foremost something that I do for myself. I needed to put aside everything that I had been raised to believe was true, by family and by culture, about relationships, and gender roles, and expectations. It has been a long road. But it is one that I have been walking - and processing at length - with the same one person, and well, that has landed me where I am today.

Which is a pretty lucky place I think. Not perfect by any stretch but really functional which is maybe even better. How incredible that after a year of mostly just spending time entirely proximal to one another, when we are afforded some real downtime, all we want to do is spend time together. I love love love stretches of unbroken time with Chris. I could do everything with him for whole chunks of days if life were built that way. After all of this time, he still continues to be my most favorite person and I will continue to put up with all of the ways he makes me absolutely bonkers and frustrated at his obvious ridiculousness. He is a work in progress. For sure. But so am I and that is what makes it work I think. Being seated in that. There is definite progress to be made and we are here for it. Alone and together both.

Case in point, this is so absurd, over the last couple of years, my foreplay with Chris is often to pick a fight. Just harass him about something or criticize something else. I am the worst. And he knows it. But it is as though there is this way that in order for us to come together I need to first see our differences and create a bit of a wedge. I push him away so that I can reach out and draw him near. And wonder of wonders, he just takes it cuz as much as he is the absolute worst, he is also the very very best. The more we cycle through life together the more I love him and I am so full of thanks that we continue to choose this life together. It has not been easy. It is not supposed to be. But good god is it ever beautiful.

This morning, while we were snuggling and reading to Wilfred together, I asked him- the little girl in me and for the hundred-thousandth time- if he loved me, and he said, so perfectly: yes, it is unfathomable. And that is it exactly. Unfathomable.

(And can I just say what a big difference days off and more rest makes? For like all the things? I love sex but I really love sleep and what it means for literally everything else in my life so I am just thankful for all of the ways Chris helps me get the sleep I need to and also how he always makes me the coffee and puts it right in my hand. Like I said, he is the best.)

Okay! Hurrah! How about those cookies? First, to say, I made 6 dozen cookies the day before Solstice and they were gone the day after. What??? So I made over 4 dozen more on Christmas Eve and I think there are 4 or 5 left today. Not for long, I imagine. Anyhow, I thought I’d share what I like and what we make every year without exception. I do like to try something new each year as well, but these are the ones that we always have.

First, is this Hamantaschen. Holy cow these are good. I got the recipe mixed up to begin with and made a different one but then happily circled back around to this one which is by far the very best. Worth the effort of the extra steps for sure. Who doesn’t love browned butter? And roasted hazelnuts? They are by no means a Christmas cookie and are rather something you find traditionally eaten during the Jewish festival of Purim, and that makes me like them even more. I make all of our cookies gluten-free and have found success with most cup for cup flours. These were, by far, my best ever effort with these particular cookies and it showed. They were great and I am tempted to make more before the week is up.

I also make this peppermint bark each year, usually to give as gifts. Based on the date of this recipe, it looks like I have been doing so for quite a while. Incredible. I haven’t actually gotten to it yet this year, but plan to this week with Eider. It is his favorite and often requested again in February for his birthday. I don’t know how many times I’ve made it but I continue to forget every single year that white chocolate chips never work and you have to really splurge for the finest white chocolate bars you can find. All of it is worth the trouble though. And candy canes work great in place of the wrapped circle mints I find.

Lastly, we always make my older sister’s Korova Chocolate cookies. She is an exceptional baker and indeed she gave me my very first real instruction in cooking in general and baking in particular. I have made them twice already in the last week and I wouldn’t be surprised if I pop another batch in the oven in the next couple of days. Such an easy and simple delight.

(Transcribed from a 15+-year-old index card. As it should be.)

Liz’s Korova Chocolate Cookies:

1 1/4 C flour. 1/4 C sugar. 1/3 C Cocoa. 1 stick plus 3 Tbs butter. 2/3 C brown sugar. 1/2 tsp sea salt. 1/2 tsp baking soda. 1 tsp vanilla. 5 oz bittersweet chocolate chunks.

Sift dry ingredients. Beat butter until soft. Add sugars and salt and vanilla. Beat. Slowly add flour. Just mix in chocolate chunks.

Turn dough onto floured surface. Divide in half. Roll into 1 1/2 inch logs. Wrap and chill.

preheat to 350*. Slice dough 1/2 inch thick. Bake for 12 minutes. Cool on cookie sheet.

longest night

A good number of years ago, my small family decided together that we are much more suited toward a celebration of Solstice than we are a celebration of Christmas, so we made the shift and re-shaped these stretch of days in ways that feel much more authentic to us and our particular values and beliefs. It was a relatively simple shift to make. As a kid, my family was hardly religious and the holidays felt a lot like anxiety, expectation, guilt, and disappointment and I definitely wanted to steer clear of that. Chris and I thought for a minute that we would celebrate Christmas with my family, but when we observed all of that pressure come down on our first toddler- whether we were the arbiters of that or if it was simply the residue of our own childhood discomfort- we decided to scrap what had been and make something new.

So, that is what we have done. I have gotten a few questions over the years regarding what that looks like for us and I figured I would share that here, as it is now. It has definitely taken a number of years to take shape in a way that feels both simple and true, but other than that brief moment yesterday when the vibe was derailed by the worry that Maple might flunk her freshman year of high school, the day was our best Solstice yet.

First, I want to share what the story is for us with gifts, as this is so often the preoccupation for many of us around this time of year, as much as we might wish it were otherwise. For me, I kind of look at it as a build-out and the gifts that we choose for one another are like the ground of our design. They sort of stir up our creative juices, but are by no means the central piece. For the most part, we each give one gift to each other, unless there was a big ask in which case we will gift it together. I try to make sure that I am making gifts myself as well as shopping small and local and handmade as much as possible. It is warm and cozy that way. We exchange and open gifts on the Solstice, sometimes we need to shift it by a day or two as work and school dictate, but this year we were on the proper day which in my opinion is always best. I want to note though, and be very clear, that on the 25th we open stockings. We make that day about the magic of the season, the wonder of elves, and tomtens, and the inexplicable, and that seems to work just fine for us. We all love story and myth and metaphor and if there is a magical and benevolent bearded gift giver to believe in, well then I am on board. Same with a bunny. Same with whatever fairy you want to throw at me. I am in. Even if it is completely irreligious and secular and especially if its origins are the pulse and shift of the earth and her seasons.

Ok. So that is that. What we do otherwise is just try to keep it simple. I enjoy making cookies and cakes and peppermint bark and we all love food and the special associations of some foods with some days and so we definitely emphasize food. But it is in no way rigid or dogmatic. Yesterday we ate nachos, lol. But I imagine over the next stretch of days we will see an upside-down cake and some ham and scalloped potatoes and salads with citrus and pomegranates and candied nuts and hard cheeses. We will make a fruit yogurt that we have been enjoying for years. I did suggest that we make chilaquiles for breakfast on the 25th this year and I am feeling particularly excited about that. Years ago, my friend Rachel Wolf who is also a long-time Solstice celebrator, shared with us the concept of “cookie plate” and we definitely live into that. It doesn’t work quite as well now as when the kids were all small and the idea of an unlimited amount of cookies to eat held real sway, but it still fun and special.

During the day we emphasize games and stories with one another. We are really into phase 10 right now and can’t stop, so that is fun. Other than the fact that they won’t let me knit while I play which is bullshit if you ask me. They say I am too slow with a project in my hands. Boo to that. In the evenings we try to make sure the kids are exposed to all of the right, and some of the wrong, holiday movies. That is a task, for sure. And on pause for a moment until Maple’s course work is complete… I am always on the lookout for seasonal books and stories to lean into during this season. We have quite a collection and I am happy to share more details but for the moment I am just going to mention a new book for us this year, A Return of the Light: Twelve Tales from Around the World for Winter Solstice by Carolyn McVickar Edwards. This is great for where we are as a family right now and is a wonderful addition to all the beloved books geared toward the younger crowd. Which by the way, I absolutely live for, but have a much harder time getting everyone to snuggle up with me for these days. Wilfred though! He is just getting started with all of these beautiful picture books and I am over the moon about that.

Other than all of this- not much! -the big thing is fire. Obviously.

We try to emphasize the flame in the dark as much as possible. In years past, we have gathered with our friends and community for a big potluck and village-wide Blazing Solstice Pyre. That is basically perfect for me. This year, we had to make our own, and Chris, who tends our forest with aplomb, seriously made that happen yesterday. I love a good, huge, fire and if not on Solstice, when??? I would love to see The Fire become something that we can host here for our future local community when gathering returns. Like the light. Returns.

I love to have lots of candles in the house during this time of year as well. In the past, we have gathered with another old Viroqua friend to make hand-dipped beeswax candles and that was the best. I think it probably began as something we did at the Holiday Faire at the local Waldorf School and then morphed into something we did at home. I love making candles. For a number of years I would make soy-based candles in thrifted teacups and that was super fun and I will probably do it again but beeswax is really my favorite for sure. This year, my friend Liz turned me on to The Foundry and that has been amazing. And horrible. Everything they have is perfect. Our family’s Solstice gift was a big beeswax pillar and beautiful hexagonal tapers and stands. Love love love. Big and exciting news is that Maple is interested in starting an apiary in 2021 from local bees here in Morrisville- once we get her tested for bee allergy, fingers freaking crossed on that. I would love to have our own beeswax. And honey. One of her gifts from the elf is The Beekeeper’s Bible which I look forward to diving into as well.

Alright well, I think that is the most of it. Hopefully, I will get my act together to get cards in the mail this week or next, and then it is on to the joys of January and some fresh yoga programming and other small business pursuits, new knits on needles, Maple’s 15th birthday omg omg omg, and some real hunkering down for the heart of winter in the north.

feeling it.

Often I hold the time to write out in front of myself like a present for the successful completion of any number of other tasks. It is my reward. As of late, there have been far too many of the other things to work through and I haven’t been finding myself here anywhere near this space as much as I’d like. It’s not a bad or a sad thing. All of the stuff standing in the way is, for the most part, by my design and choice and the result of my general enthusiasm and fire for being alive. I want to get it all in and then some.

For the last month or so all of the spaces in my days have been occupied by seasonal pursuits such as knitting hats and vests and gluing paper bag decorations and reading all of our favorite tomten and solstice books and getting out and into the snow when there is some. Today I have been baking all the dozens of cookies that I think will add the final pinch of winter cheer that we need for the longest night. Yesterday, we cut down a little tree and decorated the house and for the most part, I think that gifts are wrapped and everyone feels mostly satisfied. At least I do which probably counts for a lot.

One of the biggest ways that I spend my time is in reading aloud. Between reading books to Eider and now to Wilfred and sometimes to the whole crew, it is a giant piece of the pie in terms of how I spend my days. I probably read from anywhere to an hour to three hours a day out loud to my people. I am Reader. It should be in my bio. Anyhow, that is a lot and kind of a fantastic realization especially considering how the reading that I would love to do for just myself is, like writing, another thing that I dangle out in front of myself like a prize. And as much as I wish I read more for myself, I am so pleased to read all of what I do read and happy to share in the stories and the myths and the histories that are so very central to our family culture.

This consideration, of how I spend my time versus how I maybe wish I spent my time, has been a long and winding one for me for sure. I am working on shifting my perspective, with the help of Rachel Peters and all her wisdom, toward investing time instead of spending time. But it is a hard shift, most likely because presence is once again the task at hand.

It is such a game, you know? Wanting to be present with what is and also longing for something leagues and worlds and lifetimes away. Such inner conflict in that. I remember when Maple and Eider were small, and my uncle Slava shared his lament over his own relationship to the pull from when my cousins were little. He is an artist and my aunt was a pediatrician, now retired, and he stayed home with the kids while she worked. It was hard for him. And also wonderful. But he wanted to make art. And I imagine he wanted to do that uninterrupted and without taking all of the copious snack, activity, rest, and infinite other breaks that life with kids demands. But then, when he was reflecting back on that time, all he felt was the grief at having wished that time away- when their needs were so big and present and consuming- so that he could pursue his art. It’s so complicated. Even when you know how fleeting the time is, to not long for all of the other shit, besides parenting, that defines who you are and feeds your soul. I think for the most part I have been present with my kids. And yet I still feel the sting of the different times throughout their childhoods that I have longed for something that was truly neither here nor there.

Today, when I was getting Wilfred from his nap, he was so sweet and gentle and silly and imaginative as only a child under a certain age can be, and the moment was just so big and fleeting all at once and it just gets me, you know? All the way. I am just all sentimentality all the time complete with big crocodile tears and gulping laughter sobs. That is just how it is. Big big heart around here and an early indoctrination around the wellspring of pleasure to be found in the everyday moments with one another. I am not sure I know anything in the world that does that to me the way the temporal reality of raising babies and children does. It is painful and joyful and brutal and transcendent all mixed up together.

I heard Sam Harris say this at one of the end of his daily meditation recently: The goal of the practice is wisdom. The wisdom to recognize how things actually are in each moment. And stepping out of the fantasy life born of having a mind that is perpetually distracted.

This is the work, as far as I can tell. But I also think that it is of value to hold the tension of what is and what was and what could be with a measure of compassion and empathy and desire and heartbreak. I think that it cultures our humanity and also is where art is born. The art that comes alive in writing, in music, in sculpture, and in all manner of craft. It is, I have found, Yes, and.

This year has, of course, been a huge teacher of these dual truths. Two very large pieces of my personal identity and sources of immense joy in my life- that have historically been sometimes at odds with each other- have been full and alive. My children have all been with me and I have been with them. They are well and often content even without so much of what has occupied their lives up until the pandemic. Having a happy and funny toddler seems to help in this regard. A lot. He is presence personified. I have also been able to do more yoga as a student this year than I have in years and I have been able to do so without traveling away from my family and putting any additional strain onto their rhythms and schedules, which in the past was always the price. I have also felt a deeper and more consistent connection to longtime friends than I have in quite some time as we all convert the venue for our togetherness online. I have been in classes and practices with many people this year that I first practiced with over 20 years ago- what a wonder.

In many regards, I really do have a sense of having it all right now. Which I realize is somewhat off and makes me feel a little awkward to even say out loud. But I am a homebody. I am a social introvert. I love mothering. I love making. I love cultivating deep and tender sense of place. And I love practicing. I love connecting with folks around what is real and true for them. And all of this feels alive and well in my world right now. I guess what I am trying to say is that I am filled up with gratitude for what has been indeed the silver lining of this year for me. I feel grounded and relatively clear, even as I navigate what I know is the pervasive COVID cloud. And yet, I feel connected to my values, my passions, my curiosity, and also my joy. I have a good sense of how I want to refine and clarify some things moving into the New Year- but it doesn’t feel in any way like a course correction. And that feels very, very, good.

more soon.

xxx,m

new v not new

When I was a kid, I used to hate that my birthday was this time of year. I was bought into so sort of myth that my total take Birthday/Christmas wasn’t as good as someone whose birthday was in a far better month, such as July or August. As I have grown and detoxed some ideas around a Christian Holiday that doesn’t hold particular significance in my own world and having processed some of my own discomfort around receiving, I have grown to really love this time of year and my birthday’s place within it.

Not only do I really enjoy the festive feel between Thanksgiving and New Years and the way as a family we have reoriented to the celebration of Winter Solstice and the Return of the Light, but I also love the way in which my personal New Year and that of the calendar are lined up. I like having some time to really slow down and consider the last year in relation to my values as well as my aspirations and then allow that consideration to inform how I intend to step into the next year.

As I have said a whole bunch throughout this immense year, one of my personal silver linings has been the ability to access regular contact with my longtime teachers Christina Sell and Darren Rhodes. It has been such a gift to be in the current of their teaching again. And as much as they both continue to evolve in their understanding and approach to teaching asana and yoga philosophy, there is a way that it is indeed much the same as it has ever been. Which, in my opinion, is solid gold. It centers that which stays steady, consistent, and abiding, over that which is new and flashy and is also, quite often, disposable.

So, I have been considering this for the past several months. What lasts versus what fades. The things that stand the test of time versus the flash in the pan. Like, what are the things in my life that really sustain me and aren’t simply a moment of immediate gratification in the form of a temporary and unsustainable serotonin spike? This is in no way a new consideration for me, just one that I periodically circle back around to with renewed clarity or fresh depth. I think there may even be a post here titled: what stays the same.

It has led me to land on this project/endeavor/idea that has really been rolling around upstairs for a while now:

Nothing New til 2022.

I have definitely been building up to this for some time and I think I am finally ready to take a deep breath and commit to this effort for a full cycle. Nothing new. A whole lot of reuse and recycle, mending when I am able. I certainly need for nothing. But what I want for… well that is a whole other story. And while I have, for quite a few years, focused my purchasing power on small independent makers, I have also justified quite a few purchases simply because I wanted to justify them. I am ready to press pause on this habit and see where I end up.

I am not yet sure how far-reaching this will be in my life. I am, after all, not just a shopper for 1 but a shopper for 5, so we will have to see. But my sense is that once I turn up the dial on my awareness of my own unnecessary consumption, it will shine some new light on my consumer tendencies across the board. I sense that things are going to change y’all. And I have to admit that I feel more than a stiff mix of nerves and thrill when I think about this- which feels like a sure sign that I am on to something good.

I will be doing this independently. And I will endeavor to be as transparent about my process as possible. I don’t think it will be particularly easy. But I think it is the just-right gift to give myself for my 44th year. Old is the new NEW.

eyes

For the last few weeks- months?- or so, I keep on having these wild and fluid dreams, or memories maybe. Like a flash of a picture of a place I may or may not have ever been, long ago or quite recently, all in a non-linear jumble. It is like the sameness of all of the days strung together is spurring on some daydream space-time travel, all of it equally real/unreal, so much so that I am left wondering what is reworked memory and what is simply fantasy. It is a bit disorienting. Like, I have been there before. Right? But was she alive yet then? That doesn’t seem quite right… but… which is it?

Is this happening to anyone else?

If I am actually dreaming, and traveling through worlds that way, the moment my lucid self tries to peer into the scene and figure what’s what, something all together different and yet, I am discovering, completely consistent happens. I remember Covid. And then in an instant, everything is wrong. Out of place. Too closed in, too close. In all of my dreams, Covid has leaked in so their meaning gets strewn and tangled. Lost. Chris says the same is happening for him. And then we lay in bed in the dark, trying to whisper over the baby’s sound machine, and I tell him my most opaque secret: I cannot have one single more person anywhere in the entire world die from Covid-19. I just fucking can’t. How can I? How can we??? And then I know it must all be a dream and I am back in that familiar space of all of these beaded days where the magic in my thinking is full of flaws, full of holes.

I practiced in my freezing basement this morning with Sam over the Zoom. Cruising through some of Christina’s backbend sequences. Feeling happy and lucky and playful. I showed her the giant wall hanging that Maple recently made for me. Not yet installed, but perched on a hook. Covered in glitter. The glitter is everywhere. Everywhere. The basement is glitter. And Sam said that she heard someone say that Covid is like glitter, once you open the bottle it just gets everywhere. Like glitter.

I am not sure why she made this big piece for me. She gets on a jag and she just goes. For hours really, leaning into some technique or texture until she unfolds that part of her mind into form . She has always been like this. It ebbs and flows and I have learned to look at is as the very best thing. A sign that we are on the right track. Even if it comes with fallout in the form of modge podge in my best dish. I need those signs right now. Especially because I can see how tired she is of all of these days strung together. How tired she is of us. Good grief, I love being with my people and I am sick of them sometimes. But she is about to be 15 and she is certainly supposed to be spending time with peers far more than she is with us. She needs space. Autonomy. Differentiation in new and uncomfortable ways. I get it. And it is still sad because I am certain that as interminable as this time is, day into day into day into day, it is also without a doubt, the last time that we will all be together in this concentrated of a way. I am not sure how else I feel about that.

She came downstairs to check in with me while I was finishing my practice the other day and she took a few pictures of me on my mat. From her perspective. Something that she used to do so regularly when I practiced and now I think it might be years since she has. That is how it goes. I am learning. Her view of me on my mat is always so unique. So distinct. I love it. She said she thinks that some of them really capture the time that we are in right now. They way my practice looks today. Often with a book of sequences and my laptop near. Layers of clothing. Both somber and cheerful at once.

I just love her so much and I am not sure what this rambling bit of writing is pointing toward except perhaps the only constant that I can always connect to, which if you don’t know yet, I’ll just tell you: it’s time. It is joy and sorrow in the same breath. Loss and longing and gratitude and wonder all mixed up with one another in this beautiful, heart breaking mess.

Stay well please friends. Life is so beautiful and fleeting and imperfect. I don’t want to miss anything and I really don’t want you to either. Be kind and stay awake for it. I think that is everything.

nov news

I sent this to my email list last night, and then sort of realized that it might live here as well…

Hey there friends.

As much as I am ready to race to the finish of 2020- you too?- I also want to wrap this year up with as much integrity and goodness as I can muster. So here it is.

If you are on this super casual newsletter list, it is because you have supported me in at least 1 of 3 of my small but mighty endeavors. So, before I even dive into the heart of this communication, let me just say THANK YOU. Every day I am in awe of the support I receive from all the folks - YOU - that make so much possible in my life. Wow, y'all. It's a lot.

So this is what is up in my self-employed, entrepreneurial world:

1. Practice Wellness Community

Rachel Peters, Sam Rice, and I have been fortunate enough to design, and create, and offer 4 programs this last year. We have learned a ton and connected with so many folks. Some new to us and some quite familiar and all now a part of a collective movement to engage practice and awareness and self-care in conscious community. It is so cool and I am so into it. Learning and growing with Sam and Rachel is probably the biggest boon on my own evolving practitioner path. Thank goodness they are into it too and we can look forward to continued collaboration.

Our first program begins right away in January and is open for registration now. It is an updated- and awesome IMO- Rooted In Rhythm. Daily practices to help us establish an intentional rhythm right out of the New Year Gate. Registration is open now.

AND, we are dipping our feet into the seasonal promos happening all over the interwebs by offering a 4-day event, Black Friday through Cyber Monday, that will give you last year's RIR ebook for free when you register. Pretty sweet. And small business all the way. We also have a closeout happening on all of our available merch, so, get it!

2. Meg Abene Newlin Yoga/ MANY

Not too much has been going on over in this little nook of the internet. In October I was able to finally bring together a program for pregnant yogis that has been in my heart for years. I am happy to report that Mama's Life of Practice now lives in the offerings on the site. These are practices I did while I was pregnant and I hope that they will serve other yogis as they navigate their own transition toward childbirth.

I have been focusing my LIVE teaching over in the PWC space for the last several months, but while we take a break until the New Year I am excited to offer a once-weekly live practice. The December Asana Series will be a weekly 60-minute yoga practice on Tuesday evenings at 7 pm EST. Practice will be LIVE as well as recorded and delivered to your inbox within 24 hours. Registration for that will be open until next Monday. I am really looking forward to this and I hope you are too!

Other than that, not much is happening on my site for the time being. I am still writing on the blog with some regularity which feels so good. One of my primary aims for 2021 is to invest more time in my writing practice in general and that space is a little bit of a measure of that for me.

3. Beautycounter

Our biggest sale of the year, 15% off and free shipping over $50, is still going strong and will be through the 29th. Then I am sure that we will have something for Cyber Monday but we have no idea what that will be at this point. I plan on doing a 7-day stretch of Giveaways in December during my Birthday Week. If you want to get in on that little party, I'd love to have you. It will be taking place primarily in my group One Small Act.

Y'all, it has been such a huge year for me with this work. It has encouraged growth for me in so many areas that seem to be informing just about every aspect of my life. Not to mention, I continue to get wildly lit up when I can support someone in making cleaner/safer choices for themselves and their families, while simultaneously encouraging increased positive self regard and unapologetic acts of self love. It feels nothing short of a reclaimation of agency over our own bodies and the skin we live in. And I am Here. For. It.

OK. I think that is it.

Thank you so much, truly, from the bottom of my heart, for supporting my small business(es) this year. It has meant so much to me and my fam.

Specifically, your support helped us cover the cost of an unforeseen and uncovered surgery that Chris had late last winter. It helped pay for Wilfred's nephrology appointments back in January and March- also uncovered by insurance. Your support helped Eider participate in the Stowe Mountain Bike Academy this fall, right as we were thinking he would have zero engagement outside of our home for the entire season. Your support helped us order that extra cord of firewood for the winter. Your support also made it possible for me to make small donations throughout the year to organizations including Together Rising, The Bail Project, Reclaim the Block, Campaign Zero, and Black Visions Collective.

So thank you each. I know sometimes it seems small, but the truth is that it is so huge and honestly, I couldn't do any of it without you.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for supporting. I hope to see you soon on your mat or on your cushion or in my inbox. So much love and regard to each of you.
xxx,m