Possibilities

"There was no possibility of taking a walk that day." Admittedly, these are not my words, but those of the author, Charlotte Bronte, from her work Jane Eyre. But since this is one of my favorite pieces of literature and since I believe it to be an adept first line of a book, I decided to start this week's post with it. Yesterday morning, as I descended the stairs at 7:10 a.m. (to be precise), two little babies clutched tightly in each arm, praying I would not trip and fall down the stairs, the sun literally illuminated my living room. It was simply lovely and its warmth provided me with that extra burst of initiative that I desperately need on a Monday morning. But today, here in Iowa, the clouds replaced the sun. (Thomas and I could not decide if the sun was playing hide and seek or was merely refusing to get out of bed.) It appeared to be a chilly, damp, gloomy day. When I considered bundling up the boys and exiting the indoors for some exercise and air, I noticed that a light but steady rain had begun to fall (or the clouds had begun to cry, depending on your perspective). And although Thomas has informed me on more than one occasion of his deep love of rainy days over sunny ones, since one can jump in the puddles (of course), our desire to venture beyond 2708 Scott Street did not materialize.

Consequently, the question of what to do in between the hours of Russell and Elliot waking up from morning nap until lunch promptly entered my mind. Yesterday, the four of us cut open a pumpkin purchased on Saturday at the farmer's market, pulled out the insides, which Thomas reluctantly touched (but only for an instant before declaring they were "slimy like a snail") and baked the flesh. (I later pureed the pumpkin and cooked the seeds, which will be ground up tomorrow and placed ever so discreetly in the children's pumpkin flavored oatmeal. I am so tired of pureeing.) Likewise looming in my thoughts was the roast that needed to start slow cooking by noon if it was to be done by dinner. "Well, why not cook the dinner together?" I pondered. But did I actually have the patience? Already this morning, while I attempted to cook our normal Tuesday morning breakfast consisting of bacon and some variation of whole wheat pancakes, Thomas had volunteered his services so that we could eat together as a family before Jared darted out the door. Inwardly I groaned. Sizzling bacon plus a hot skillet plus one little boy cracking eggs plus two toddlers roaming the floor, one (Elliot) banging wooden spoons on the other's head (poor Hustle Bustle) equaled disaster in my mind. Nonetheless, and without incident, the two of us managed to serve breakfast relatively on time. But could our good fortune be repeated in one day? Well, why not. And so we assembled our ingredients: potatoes, carrots, onions, and chuck roast. With warnings over the well-being of my fingers (he cut his once while peeling an apple), Thomas peeled the carrots, and the three boys (with supervision of course) then took turns cutting both the potatoes and carrots (no one wanted the job of cutting the onions), and depositing them into the crock pot. (I absolutley refused when Thomas expressed his wish to cut the meat.) We counted each piece that we cut, sang songs, hummed the "Imperial March" from Star Wars and created a meal together. By the time we were finished, it was nearly 12:30, and I was still in my pajamas nursing along my second cup of coffee.

I am a homebody at heart. Don't get me wrong, I certainly enjoy getting out of the house. In fact, I relish any occasion in which I can leisurely pace the aisles of a thrift store or experience a meal or even a cup of coffee uninhibited by my precious little ones. Likewise, I have been known to frantically open windows throughout the house on even the hottest and coldest days because I feel a pressure descending on my chest and fear I am suffocating. But I don't like to rush nor do I care to hurry my children. There will be enough of that in their lives. Why commence so much activity when they are so young and vulnerable? And frankly when the four of us are not scrambling, there is an overall feeling of contentment. Anxiety is superseded with peace, and I am able to quiet my thoughts, listen, and even pray, "brushing off the impacts of cares and all thoughts" (St. Neilos of Sinai).

So today, I was able to truly listen to Thomas as he related his evening plans (apparently, he "had to work. A concert at 9:20 o'clock" and I would "have to stay home with the boys") as he simultaneously scribbled "concert stuff" on one of his father's business cards. I could cherish the image of my three sons wrestling each other while also listening to their laughter. I could appreciate my four year-old son's transformation from a boy into a ruthless, tauntaun-eating, Wampa monster. (If you do not not know what either a tauntaun or a Wampa monster is, you need to do some serious brushing up on your Star Wars knowledge.) Thomas and I could complete his laundry (Tuesday is his scheduled day) while singing the hymn to St. Raphael of Brooklyn, the patron saint of our church. I could accept the board books handed to me by Russell and Elliot and sit down and read with them. And we all could partake in and savor this gift of tranquiltiy bestowed on us by this ordinary day.

By the way, our dinner was delicious. And though Thomas declined carrots before they were even offered to him, all the children ate well, and there was no food throwing from R and E, a habit which is increasingly driving me mad. It only takes one time of squishing scrambled eggs between your toes to recognize the true detestablity of this nasty habit. For dessert, remember that pumpkin puree? Homemade pumpkin pie, sort of. The crust was store bought. Unfortunately, I am yet to overcome my fear of even attempting a pie crust ever since my highly intelligent, highly domestic, German friend declared, after viewing one of my efforts, that she "had never seen anything like my crust." But, to my credit, there was homemade cinnamon whipped cream.

Since I launched this post with a Bronte quote, I decided to conclude it with a poem by another Bronte, Emily, which we have been reading throughout the last several weeks. Typically we read a couple poems or sing a couple songs at the conclusion of breakfast while the boys munch on their Shaklee vitamins. This (the poems, not the vitamins) is part of the learning approach developed by Rudolf Steiner, known as Waldorf, to which I have become pretty attached. Though it might seem a bit odd, I cannot deny it's effectiveness - last week, without prompting, Thomas began to recite one of the poems. In fact, he even corrected me when I spoke an erroneous word.

"Autumn Poem"

Fall, leaves, fall;
Die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day.
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the Autumn tree
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow
I shall sing when night's decay
Ushers in a drearier day.