Winter Table

Here's what my winter table is looking like.  Christmas colors, but not Christmas-y enough to need to remove with the reindeer, ornaments and nativity.

Collected bottles, a wrapping of burlap, tied with twine.  Mixture of daisies and mums.  Various fresh greenery laying on the burlap runner.

Simple, common, beautiful nature.  Just the way I like my table!

Peppermint Winter

I have a child who moves very slowly.  Life in this child's world is still in the horse and carriage stage . . . and make that a very slow horse, by the way.

Add in to this picture that this child is also very easily distracted.

There are two problems with this scenario.

#1 - My mind never stands still.

#2 - I teach math to this child.

Math sessions usually consist of me giving the child a scenario involving Bill, his desire to purchase lumber, and the necessity of determining how much lumber Bill should purchase.  And ten minutes later finding, not a tidy multiplication problem on the paper, but instead small detailed sketches of a rocket ship, a medieval dagger, and a quadruple dip ice cream cone . . .  chocolate chip on top.

This may sound charming, but if all you want is to get through a math lesson, it can be very trying to have this happen on all 27 problems of the chapter "Multiplication in the Real World."

::sigh::

So sometimes this mother/math teacher becomes impatient, irritable, and sharp-tongued . . . and that's only by  problem #7.

This week, as we inched through problem #23, with admonitions of, "Focus!  No drawing!  Look at your paper!" this child looked at me and said, "Mom, you seem stressed.  Just a minute."

With a click of the mouse, we moved off of "Multiplication in the Real World" to I-Tunes.  And then floating through my speakers came Owl City's "Peppermint Winter."

We completed problem #23 with "Peppermint Winter" soothing my nerves, starting at the base of my neck and unwrinkling each kink to the tips of my fingers and toes.

The beautiful thing is . . . "Peppermint Winter" had me so relaxed and unwound that by the time the song was over, I didn't care about the amount of lumber Bill purchased or even whether Bill purchased lumber . . . or perhaps changed his mind and decided to bake a yule log instead.

So . . . if you are feeling a little Christmas stress, 15 more things on your to do list than can feasibly be accomplished, the knowledge that guaranteed by Christmas shipping ends this week, etc., you must listen to "Peppermint Winter" (link below).

If it can get me through 1 hour and 48 minutes of "Multiplication in the Real World," there's no telling what it could do for you!

Listen to "Peppermint Winter"

Snow Means . . .

In our little corner of the sunny south . . .

where snow does not very often occur . . .

it changes our world . . .

it makes magical things happen that don't always happen.

Today, snow means:

 

An indulgent breakfast for me in a quiet house, since everyone is outside playing in the snow.  

(Brie cheese omelet with avocado slices and salsa . . . mmmmmmmmm!)

 

 Fire in the fireplace.

Cold little girl cuddled up by fire in the fireplace.

Chunks of snow all over the wood floors.

Teenage boys in the kitchen, making lunch "creations."

Lunch "Creations":  Beef hot dogs with melted mozzarella and baja chipotle sauce,
with a side of mandarin oranges.

 

Sister time together on the trampoline.

 

 Unique snow "shoes" crafted out of purple duct tape . . .

and happily modeled in the snow.  

(Yes, I know they're missing coats and pants.  I really do!)

A trudge through the snow with Youngest Daughter.

Today, snow meant unaccustomed quiet and peacefulness, opportunities to exercise patience, surprising bursts of creativity, and time spent together.

Because in our little corner of the sunny south . . .

where snow does not very often occur . . .

it changes our world . . .

and it makes magical things happen that don't always happen.

Happy Faces

One of the very sweet pleasures of living in a somewhat temperate climate is that here in the South pansies are planted in the fall.  No, not the spring.  Not wait until the ground isn't frozen anymore.  Not wait until Easter is around the corner.  None of that.  Pansies are planted in the fall.
So, this fall I planted the smaller version of the pansy, the johnny jump-up.  Just love these cheerful, happy little faces.  So, bright and full of the anticipation of getting their feet out of the claustrophobic flat and down into the rich, deep earth.

The sun shone, the rains came.  They were happy. 
And then, just when they were beginning to get comfortable, in blew snow and deeply cold weather.  Because that's part of planting the pansies in the fall.  They have to tough it out.  Things get really bad.  They're just not sure they can make it.
They have to put their heads down and struggle through the tough times.

They will.  They always do.
And then, before you know it, the sun will begin to shine.  And between the delicate, muddy feet of the courageous little johnny jump-ups some daffodils will begin to push their way up, up, up.  And the johnny jump-ups will lift their heads to the warm sun and the ruffly daffodils will spread their skirts.
And we'll know spring is here because we'll see rows of yellow daffodils standing up to their ankles in the happy faces of the johnny jump-ups.
I can't wait to show you. 

Until then, they wait, these little survivors. Waiting for spring.  Making it through the winter.
It will come.  It will.
It always does.