It starts with a sponge

Lately I’ve been needing to be reminded of my own teachings.  Needing someone to tell me the things I tell my students.  Someone to make me hear the truth of my own words.

 I preach self care. I deeply believe in the power, the necessity, the beauty of giving from a full well.  And I do try to practice what I preach.  Yoga, meditation, regular chiropractic care and massage.  My current non-negotiable (next to coffee) is a daily shower.  I arrange my day in such a way to make this happen.  I can generally ensure my daughter’s contentment along with safety while I am in the shower, but occasionally she squalls.  And that is the price of a sane and human-feeling mama. 

I understand how to find small moments of restoration though breath.  Through meditation.  But I’ve realized that I’m not attending to the foundation of wellness.  The Upanishads say “From food are produced all creatures which dwell on earth.  Then they live by food, and in the end they return to food.  For food is the oldest of all beings, and therefore called panacea.”  We are what we eat.  Food is medicine.  My daughter’s source of food – the breast – is also her place of deepest comfort and contentment.

I don’t think I’m eating enough.  I’m not one to count calories, but I’m noticing myself constantly hungry.  A low level low-bloodsugar crankiness pervades too much of my day.  I crash emotionally in what I recognize as a low bloodsugar crisis entirely too frequently.  It is not that I’m not eating.  But I’m eating the way I ate before I got pregnant.  And as an exclusively breastfeeding mom, that is just not cutting it. 

For health reasons, ethical reasons, financial reasons and pure preference my kitchen is one that is full of whole foods: garden veggies in the freezer, fresh veggies from the grocery, bulk grains and legumes, blocks of cheese, canned tomatoes, and so much frozen salmon.  (There’s also a basket of chocolate and I go through ketchup like nobody’s business, I’m not stepping up onto a high horse here!) And frankly?  It is more appealing to retreat to my studio to play with yarn and eat a few almonds, or curl up on the couch with a baby and a quart of water than it is to make the meal I know I need to eat.  It is a weird place for me to be in.  I have taken so much joy in cooking for so many years, and I don’t right now.  It is not that I dislike it.  I’m just not inspired. 

It simply means I need to become intentional about it.  I need to make it easy for me to eat.  Dedicated deliberate work can sometimes get you farther than inspiration ever will.  Inspiration cannot be forced.  But it can be courted, enticed, invited.  You do the work, the craft … and silently, suddenly inspiration may slip in.

And so it is 2 am, I am awake with a fussy baby wrapped on my chest and I am stirring flour into yeast and oats and water.  100 strokes.  A wooden spoon in a bowl of goodness.  Bread starts with a sponge.  An inviting habitat for yeast to flourish before the heavy lifting of leavening whole wheat flour begins.  I am making oat bread, a staple of childhood memories of deep comfort. Oats also happen to be good for milk production.  It’s a hearty, healthy, delightful bread that is best hot with butter. 

I am also taking this as license for daily hot cocoa with whole milk, and plenty of cream in my coffee!

Turn the tap

Fairbanks was hit by early-onset winter this week.  Just shy of 20 inches of wet snow after a week of rain left the roads a mess and felled countless trees.  Over 10,000 homes were without power and many still are.  It is times like these when I most appreciate the fact that our home's systems rely entirely on us.  That our powerline is a 20 foot cable from the connex to the house.  Grid failures don't affect us. Of course there are times when we pay our own dues.  We were without power from February through June of this year as we worked on the generator and got it back in shape.

Its a luxury, for sure and for certain, to be able to turn on light and heat and music at the flip of a switch or the press of a button.

But what has made this week THAT MUCH MORE amazing?  What luxury I am absolutely reveling in??  

We have running water.

We have HOT running water.

It has been over two years since I have been able to take a shower in my bathroom, wash a load of clothes in my washer, or turn the tap in the kitchen.  I can now do all of these things!  Seriously.  There's this metal tube that curves out over my kitchen sink.  And when I turn this metal handle next to it, water comes out.  If I turn this other metal handle and wait a few moments... HOT water comes out of it.  It is insanely amazing.

The Darlin'Man fixed what was wrong with the pipes connecting the well to the house, and then he fixed the hot water heater.  My father-in-law installed a small propane heater in the bathroom, which has meant that not only can this increasingly-pregnant and increasingly-sore mama shower after a long day...  she can also luxuriate in a hot bath in a warm room!

Folks, this is both magical and revolutionary to life-as-we-know-it.  Hot baths or even better, epsom salt baths or bubble baths have become my absolutely favorite go-to therapeutic tool.  As this last month of pregnancy begins to creep along, I cannot even tell you how essential soaking in hot water has become!  And now I can.  In my own home.  I'm so, so grateful.

Here's to tea lights, lavender oil, rose petals and a tub of hot water!  Pure bliss.

What is your favorite self care ritual?