This morning, I was thinking about rituals. Morning is full of them for us. James wakes us, I go to feed him, while Dan lingers in bed for a few more minutes and then gets up to make coffee. I change James, Dan fills a bowl with berries for J, mugs of coffee for us.
Dan used to feed James fruit because it was the only way to keep him still for a few morning snuggles. Now the two of them love their moment. So they sit in the lazy boy with their berries and I drink my coffee on the couch.
We play. We eat breakfast.
Our morning walk ritual began in Florida. Every morning, before his first nap, I’d load James into the Ergo Baby and we would walk along the ocean. I realized it was exactly what we both needed. James, not quite ready for sleep, but not bursting with energy either. Me, tired from playing/mothering for those first few hours. The walk served as quiet time for us to be together and look around the world.
I vowed to keep it upon our return home. Winter be damned.
And we have. We get James into his fleece bear suit. Load him into the backpack. We walk Dan to the train station, kiss him goodbye and have a quiet walk around the neighborhood.
I’m busy thinking about all the things I’ll miss when I’m back at work. The morning walk is one of them.
I’m thinking about what I want to get done in these two weeks. I’m never going to finish 100 posts, but I’d like to get to 50. That feels like a solid number to me.
For his first birthday, I want to publish the birth story I wrote down way way back when but never finished. I have a writing assignment for the first print issue of Crowfoot Media (!)
I want to enjoy the pre-nap snuggles because I’m going to miss them like crazy.
I feel this clarity that I can’t quite explain. Maybe it’s more of an energy. I think sometimes we feel this way when change is imminent. When you know you MUST be where you are because soon life is going to sweep you right along – you’re circling an eddy in the river.
When I was on those morning walks in Florida along the ocean I would think: I could do this every day. Pulling off my shoes. Walking on the sand. Looking out out out at the wide ocean. The salty sea air. My son breathing at my back. My heart beating, my blood moving. The young morning sun.
Maybe that’s what rituals are for. To clear the noise. To make space for ourselves. To find the center.
That feeling – when the past, present and future – who you are, your ideas, what you really want- the whole world – gather close – like a pulse. It’s when you could burst into tears at any moment, because: Life. You know? It’s what I wish I could write down here in words, but can’t.
It’s here now. I want to press it like a shell to my ear and listen.