Morning Coffee
My ritual. Every morning. The day does not truly begin until this happens -- even if it doesn't happen until 10 a.m. One just-so mug of the creamiest, sweetest, most delicious coffee. This moment gives shape to my morning and sets the tone for the day. This is my moment to pause.
Later, there will be laundry, and cleaning, and reading, and playing, and pee-potty emptying, bottom wiping, naptime nursing and dinner squabbling... but in this moment, in this one delicious sip... it is just me.
Later, there will be laundry, and cleaning, and reading, and playing, and pee-potty emptying, bottom wiping, naptime nursing and dinner squabbling... but in this moment, in this one delicious sip... it is just me.
Music
There is often music in our home. Honestly, I cannot imagine not having music around me.
I've been thinking about singing a great deal lately -- why we sing, how we sing, who we sing for. It's been so fun to hear Daughter singing all the songs I grew up with -- some I know that I have taught her... some she seems to have just pulled from our shared consciousness. From the mothers and grandmothers and mothers before them who sang with their children and passed down a love for music, simple or grand.
Often now I find myself humming a long-forgotten and recently remembered old tune while going about my day. "Sing your song again, Mom!" the first words out of Daughter's mouth when my lips go silent.
I hush that too-quick voice in my head telling me to tell her that it's not "my song" ... that's not important just now...and I sing again. Sometimes many, many agains, until the walls ring back with the sound of my own voice.
Until the point where Daughter stops me and says "Now, listen to MY song!" And shares the music in her own heart; wordless, free, joyful, confident and proud sounds.
I've been thinking about singing a great deal lately -- why we sing, how we sing, who we sing for. It's been so fun to hear Daughter singing all the songs I grew up with -- some I know that I have taught her... some she seems to have just pulled from our shared consciousness. From the mothers and grandmothers and mothers before them who sang with their children and passed down a love for music, simple or grand.
Often now I find myself humming a long-forgotten and recently remembered old tune while going about my day. "Sing your song again, Mom!" the first words out of Daughter's mouth when my lips go silent.
I hush that too-quick voice in my head telling me to tell her that it's not "my song" ... that's not important just now...and I sing again. Sometimes many, many agains, until the walls ring back with the sound of my own voice.
Until the point where Daughter stops me and says "Now, listen to MY song!" And shares the music in her own heart; wordless, free, joyful, confident and proud sounds.
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Love this! Caught myself singing A Bushel and a Peck to the baby yesterday, which my grandma sang to me. :)
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