Seasonal transition motherhood

what I'm doing, how I'm doing.

Today’s school clothing included jackets worn over t-shirts and shorts, and sweaters over a uniform jumper. Waving at me from ditches as I make my way home from errands or to school drop off are the last of Queen Anne’s lace and warm hued Goldenrod. Pumpkins have emerged at farm stands, but the corn stalks that we decorate our porch with haven’t arrived quite yet. I’ll pick some up next week. We’re still experiencing hot afternoons and al fresco dinners, but are met with dwindling light and emerging darker mornings. Some days, if I’m up early enough, I’ll light a beeswax taper while the coffee machine works it magic. It is a seasonal transition, straddling both summer and autumn in daily motherhood, a pause before full peak foliage, leggings instead of bare legs, pulling out the wool knits, and Halloween movie marathons with Seth.

This time I’m both prepared and melancholy to bid summer farewell. Have we had enough beach days, pool afternoons? Did I clip and preserve the herbs from our raised beds? One afternoon in August Teddy jumped into the deep part of the pool and it took me a few minutes to notice. In perhaps one of the most primal experiences of my motherhood thus far, I jumped in, fully clothed and grabbed his body from the water. I knew immediately that something was wrong. Seth and I were terrified, but Teddy told us later that he’d had a great time swimming. May marked an official diagnosis for our youngest of low muscle tone (Hypotonia), thrusting us into a new world and vocabulary, and countless hours of physical therapy. It has been a summer remiss of pregnancy and early postpartum, a welcomed sabbatical after having four babies in five and a half years. We had two birthday parties, one midsummer and the other Frog and Toad themed. There’s surely been honey in the rock.

I began taking photography clients again, though slow going, moving from the highly curated and posed sessions of my past to a desire to capture more natural and connected moments. I had worried heavily if I could do this again, remarking to a photographer friend that I was fearful I’d lost my edge. I was grateful to find a renewed sense of joy behind the lens, and a less fussy style.

I find myself personally in an uncomfortable season, old wounds have resurfaced and are demanding reconning and reconciling. I’m haunted by past mistakes and the countless times I didn’t stand up for myself. I’m exhausted by the upcoming election, weary of the political discourse we’ve all been forced to consume for almost a decade now. I’m feeling more nuanced than ever, more certain that prayer possesses a power that transcends just about anything. I’m still grieved that this time has robbed us of so many connections and community that I believe are our right.

A few weeks ago, I joined a forest school coop with Teddy, and beginning next week LJ will join us. I’d initially put homeschool away, both literally and figuratively—placing the beautiful homeschool items I’d curated over the past four years in a box for a friend who is bravely homeschooling her children this fall. I had intended to homeschool, planned to purchase the CMEC Charlotte Mason based curriculum for Priscilla, but I spent about a year wrestling with it, never feeling at peace. When I signed her up for kindergarten instead I knew I’d made the correct decision. I didn’t feel a loss, though there certainly was one, but instead I felt relief. A month later we found ourselves preoccupied with Penny’s diagnosis. I always say that God is kind, and I think in His mercy he allowed me to conclude about not homeschooling in the way I did.

In the margins I’m getting more clarity around writing, working very early on a book outline. I have countless novels and written pieces started, but I’m determined that this year I’ll formulate an outline and work towards the story I want to tell. I’m putting this here in part to be accountable to you, dear reader.

I guess I’m feeling like nothing has been wasted, that the path is a little windy, and I’m holding so much hope for Autumn.