Yesterday, we spent the day in the woods. Not our woods, but a destination nearby, on public land, where our family gathers regularly with other homeschooling families.
Getting all seven of us out the door at a designated morning time is a tricky thing. It's not necessarily a pretty thing. I needn't paint that picture for anyone who has shuffled a child (or themselves) out the door in the morning (and most of you do it far more often than I - hats off to you!). Inevitably, someone forgets one shoe (what?), the chickens all escape as we pull out of the driveway, and then someone has to pee. But .. this morning drive was made easier by night-before packing, and the much-loved treat of breakfast smoothies placed into each sleepy child's hand as I directed them right to the car. We made it out the door without any tears, high-fived ourselves, and counted it as a small victory.
Getting all seven of us engaged in the same activity, at the very same time, is a tricky thing, too. The two year olds among us get frustrated that they can't use the knife in the same way that the ten year olds do. The ten year olds get frustrated with the songs the two year olds love. And so on and so forth. But, there's something magic in those woods - or the mountain - or the shore - or our backyard. Everything is made easier by the freedom we find when we give ourselves over into the arms of the earth. When we aren't rushed, when we are given the time to just be there, I watch as everyone settles into their own rhythm. My oldest heads out of sight with his friends - close enough that I can still hear their giggles, but far enough so that they can be together 'alone'. My eight year old wanders barefoot along the bank of the stream, humming a song and tapping his fingers on a tree. My five year old is focused and deep in the stream and in the work of building a dam with her best friend, talking about their respective cats all the while. My two year old has found a patch of wild berries, where he quietly picks and watches the children all around him. My husband moves quietly around the youngest ones, making sure they're safe while looking around and dreaming himself (I imagine). And on my chest lies a sleeping baby, sighing heavily in her sleepy breaths and reminding me to do the same. To breathe this magic in deeply.
On this relative tiny piece of the earth - accessible by all - I have seen many seasons pass with my children, and watched as they have come to know it deep in their souls. The same can be said of other places in our lives, and I know in yours too. For there are pieces of earth to be explored no matter where you live, and subtle changes in it, no matter if the temperature is the same in February as it is in May. And most certainly, when we allow ourselves and our children to just be there, there is magic to be found, always.
In seven seemingly different directions, at seven seemingly different places in our lives, I see that in these moments, we are all in fact, connected to one another. Breathing the same fresh air, hearing the same bird songs, and walking the same green paths. We arrive to it slightly frazzled and full of everyday family dischord. We leave a lot quieter, full of peace, and with our hearts connected for having shared it all together.
These are the moments we thought a lot about in the writing of The Rhythm of Family. They're the kinds of moments that we now work even harder at experiencing and sharing as a family, as a result of writing The Rhythm of Family. And they are precisely the kind of moments I hope this book will inspire you to create more of in your own days. Sometimes we all need a little reminder to slow it down.
{Three of the lovely contributors to The Rhythm of Family currently have giveaway copies of the book available on their blogs right now - Maya of Maya*Made , Heather at Beauty that Moves, and Heather at Shivaya Naturals. (Thank you, ladies!)}
