Slowing down for sustainability

Photo of a crescent moon between the branches of a bare tree

I always want to look up in wonder when someone says “Look, the moon!” and teach my kids to do the same.

Even if you live in an area with a lot of light pollution, we almost all share the moon. Watching it shift through its waning and waxing cycles is a beautiful way to keep in tune with and respect the cycles of nature.

Taking time to notice and truly gaze at the “everyday” things in nature – from the moon to dandelions – is both something that kids are naturally good at and provides us adults joy in rough or busy times. Slowing down doesn’t mean coming to a halt – it can just mean finding time for small pauses. It means noticing the things we wouldn’t otherwise. It can teach us to be more sustainable to both ourselves and our wider world. The more we can look beyond our individual worries, the more we can care for and accept care from those around us.

On holding expectations loosely

Photo of a model train going past a model of a farm in Mali made of plant parts

Sometimes, plans don’t work the way they should the first time. But that doesn’t mean they will never work, just that you need to adjust. As someone who gets stuck on expectations, this can be really hard. But it’s almost always worth it to figure out how to make it work.

Every year, we do an activity Advent calendar. For the past several years, COVID has prevented us from doing many of the activities we’ve done in the past, including the train display at the U.S. Botanical Garden. I found out that they finally relaunched it this year, outdoors. But the one day we could do it overlapped with a really important meeting of one of my older son’s extracurricular activities. So that was a no-go. But we were able to go after Christmas – not ideal, but better than nothing. And so we went the week of Christmas break, which worked out beautifully.

This lesson *may* just apply to far more than planning activities. When we hold on our expectations too tightly – whether to who our children are or what we do with them – we miss out on what is possible. As hard as it is to come to terms with what is not, it’s so much better to embrace what is.

What a Swing Reminded Me About Growing Up

Text: What a Swing Reminded Me About Growing Up; Photo: Two white boys swinging on a swing set at a park, with trees and grass in front of them

As I pumped my legs and leaned back in the swing, I noticed my younger son swinging next to me, in parallel, our swings moving in time together.

A memory of swinging as a kid flashed across my mind – the idea that if you swing in sync with someone else, it meant you would get married. I smiled. That saying was nonsense of course, mere playground silliness. But to see this being, the child who I remember being so small, swinging on his own, next to me, reminded me of our deep connection to one another.

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A Reminder of What is Possible with Our Children

Photo of a small, white child in a t-shirt raising his arms jumping in a pile of leaves

Side-by-side, my kids working together – I paused for a moment and gazed in wonder.

That afternoon, we had been preparing the garden for winter. Each fall, after we’ve pulled out all of our plants, we pile up compost, straw, and leaves to build the soil, mimicking what happens in the forest. This year, we had an addition to the process. When we ordered our seeds in the spring, my younger son spotted a plant in the catalog named for his favorite animal – elephant garlic. As we were also ordering carrots because they’re associated with my older son’s favorite animal (rabbits), we just had to get it.

So while I shoveled compost, I gave my kids the task of planting the garlic. My older son was (justifiably) complaining about the smell of the compost and loves picking things apart, so peeling the garlic was a perfect task for him. Once that was done, they needed to work together to plant it. I pointed out that it might be best for my older son to measure out where to put the cloves – elephant garlic needs a ton of space – as he has experience from math class at measuring things. Then my younger son could dig the holes, drop in the cloves, and cover them up.

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What Biking with My Kids Has Taught Me About Communication

What Biking with my Kids Has Taught Me About Communication; photo of my kid (a white boy) on a blue bike waiting at a traffic signal on a sidewalk

Hearing a car approach behind me, I yell “Car back – stay to the right!” My older son shifts to the right on his bike. He’s close enough to the parked cars so that another car can pass safely, but not so close that he’d get hit if one of the parked car’s doors opened unexpectedly.

Every ride to school, my older son and I have many of these back and forths, mini-exchanges for our mutual safety. We also talk about other things – from what they did at school that day to their latest video game milestones – but these are necessary for the sake of transportation. In our daily commute this fall (paused for now due to the weather), I realized how biking was reinforcing so many of the communication skills for parenting I learned elsewhere. In other situations, they seemed nice but optional. While biking, their necessity appeared much more obvious and urgent.

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What a White Board Reminded Me of as a Mom

What a White Board Reminded Me of as a Mom - photo of a white board with the words Question? Imagine Wonder and Explore around it with Where the Wild Things Are and alphabet magnets on it

The white board hangs on our basement wall, rather disused. A few letter magnets – an A there, a D there – hang on it, along with a mess of adorable Where the Wild Things Are magnets. In bulletin board letters, the words “Question – Imagine – Wonder – Explore“ posted around it declare its purpose – to inspire questions and inquiry. But while it seems unused, its appearance belies its real impact.

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Just Take Care of Each Other

Just Take Care of Each Other; Photo: My kids (both white boys with dirty blonde hair) sitting on stone stairs leading to a stone pathway with grass on both sides, bouncing a small ball

As I watched my younger son walk through the school’s front doors, I could feel the words not leave my lips. I usually yell “Take care of each other!” to him and his brother as they walk into school together. But that morning, his brother had a doctor’s appointment and wasn’t with us. It felt strange telling him to take care of someone who wasn’t there. But it was strange not saying it as well.

While some of the strangeness came from breaking my habit, some of it was because the words I say to them each morning encompass so much of what I want to teach them in life: “I love you” and “Take care of each other.” While these are simple phrases, they hold so much meaning.

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Respecting the Seasons of Growing Up

Text: Respecting the Seasons of Growing Up; Photo of tomatoes entangled in a mesh fence with trees and plastic flamingos in the fence in the background;

Breaking off twigs heavy with red cherry tomatoes, my mouth twisted in dissatisfaction with the brown leaves around it. I should have watered it better, I should have cleared the yellowed leaves out more, I should have, I should have, I should have.

But no, I thought, pushing that criticism aside. I was deriding myself for not fighting the plant’s natural cycle. Trying to keep cherry tomatoes neat and pruned is a fool’s errand. It works against rather than with the plant. We’re still getting loads of tomatoes – so what if it’s messy?

So often we try to buck the natural cycle of things even when they fulfill their purpose, don’t we? So often we try to make things neat and fast when they are messy and take time – like childhood.

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Relying on the Village in Parenting

Relying on the Village in Parenting; photo of a white boy in a red kayak on a lake

I opened and closed my mouth trying not to say anything to my younger son. Finally, I just had to. “No, not like that!” I cried, as our kayak started moving backwards. I sighed and thought, “I thought he knew how to do this?!”

My younger son was sitting in front of me in a red double kayak. I was attempting to leave shore. He dipped one side of his paddle in the water, then dipped it on the same side again, and then dragged it backwards on the surface.

“Take your paddle out!” I yelled. I struggled to figure out how to explain the sixteen different things he needed to fix, all at the same time. I tried to start with something concrete.

“Ah, ah, your hands, your hands need to be spaced the same amount apart. Can you spread them out?” I stammered as I paddled, trying to keep us from running into another boat or going backwards. As he fixed his hands, I replied, “Yes, like that.” Then thought, “Or not,” as his hands shifted exactly back to where they were before. And then his paddle was going backwards again. “Ack, no, stop paddling!”

My husband, Chris, spotted our flailing. My older son was in his kayak and while his form wasn’t perfect, he had done it before and was remembering the rhythm. My husband was in a good place to provide a metaphorical hand.

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