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On Food and Community

by Cate on March 23, 2013 · 5 comments

Our Thanksgiving table, 2012

In high school, I dabbled in veganism. When people asked me why, I was often baffled; I couldn’t tell them that I thought veganism would be a good cover for my eating disorder. But it was. I said no, thank you to all the temptations that public high school had to offer: Krispy Kremes and candy bars on testing days, snacks smuggled into class, even the odd offered Altoid (gelatin). I carried raw oatmeal and cinnamon in snack baggies, eating it dry. I chewed 5-calorie gum for hours, my jaw aching. I grew smaller. I felt very alone.

When I began to inch toward recovery, I gave up veganism, and then vegetarianism, too. I ate with my family again, what they were eating, and we sat at the table talking long after the dishes were clear. Some friends and I had a habit of visiting new restaurants on a weekly basis, or we’d buy frozen pizzas and make cookies. I had missed the food itself, of course–being vegan is not for the unaccomplished cooks among us, which I certainly was at the time–but most of all, I had missed the companionship.

My best friend and her longtime boyfriend visited last weekend, and together, we ate. Joanna and I were once a sad pair, both of us starving, substituting books for sustenance. Now we are softer, happier. We ate tomato risotto, and salad, and bread. We ate pancakes and banana pudding, Indian food and mango lassis. Around the table, we smiled and committed what, at one point, would have been a radical act for the both of us: we ate until we became full.

I love to cook. I love transforming raw ingredients into something fragrant and delicious and often beautiful, if rustic. But what I cherish even more than the act of creating is the gathering which follows. The clinking of spoons, unfolding of napkins, warming of bellies.

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Snowy days

by Cate on February 3, 2013 · 13 comments

in Babywearing,Family,Home

Today Jason made his weekly pilgrimage to the Barnes & Noble cafe to work on his National Board certification in peace. A snowy day and an inspiring post by Jamie reminded me that intentional mothering might as well start with a day at home.

While the kids played in the kitchen, I made myself a cup of tea, kneaded a batch of whole wheat bread dough, and set it out to rise.

I wrapped James for his nap – he was asleep before I finished knotting.

When he woke up, I peeled sweet potatoes for a sweet potato casserole. I’ve created a healthier version of my mom’s classic recipe, and we like to eat it as a breakfast dish.

We played dominoes.

We read. Lots and lots.

And while Simone shared her Duplos with James, I wrote a letter to my best friend.

Sometimes, in the hustle and bustle of keeping a household running smoothly with children, I forget that the laundry and meals and mopped floors aren’t really the point. They’re necessary jobs, of course, but that doesn’t mean they should take first priority. There’s value in slowing down, in being there. This evening I wrapped James in a quick rebozo, and while usually I would stand at the counter checking my email while swaying him to sleep, I paced the dimming bedroom as his warm little cheek nodded against my chest. A difference of five minutes…but what a difference it made to me.

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Less is More

by Cate on November 9, 2012 · 3 comments

in Family,Home,Simplicity

I am sitting in my living room with James asleep on my back. Simone is playing on the rug with her Duplos, building a “bunny cage.” The coffee table plays host to a hardbound book of fairy tales, a hot cup of sweet milky tea, and a knitted gnome. The front windows are adorned with paper chain garlands, in fall colors. Outside, our maple tree blazes orange and red above the rustic wooden birdhouse Simone built with her grandfather.

These are the things and moments I want to hold onto.

Since I was a little girl I have kept a journal. (Jason loves to tease me about the page from one I kept when I was seven, which says simply “I LOVE CATS!!!!!!!!” amidst a flurry of kitten stickers). I use them as free therapy and as a record of my days and life. I write down sweet things my children say, what the weather’s like, that I cooked a particularly delicious stew, wise words from my Nana’s letters.

I don’t write down that we went to Target and bought a whosit and a whatsit and three items from the dollar bin. I don’t write down that I spent a couple hours getting into political arguments on Facebook.

Because those things aren’t what I cherish about my life.

I don’t sugarcoat. If I’m feeling tested by my children or angry with my husband (or myself), I’ll write it down, and examine how to move past it. But generally, the material things and wasted time simply aren’t worthy of remembrance. They’re not what pops into my mind when I remove the cap of my pen.

The sleeping baby, the playing child, the dappled autumn light on the hardwood floor, the dozing cats, the fairy tales, the tea, the cornflower blue sky, the quiet…those are the things I feel urged to record. Not the stuff.

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In the woods, on the sidewalks, and living our ideal life

by Cate on October 29, 2012 · 7 comments

in Family,Home

“And I dreamed your dream for you, and now your dream is real.”

-Dire Straits

My husband’s parents live in the country.

Their property is ringed with forest, limestone cliffs peeking through the foliage. On our last visit, Jason and I walked a craggy path through the trees. Our son napped on my back, and on the shore of the lake our daughter flew a rainbow kite with her grandmother. The woods held that precisely autumnal smell of decay, and all was quiet. My husband and I kissed among the flame-colored leaves.

Yesterday we took an afternoon jaunt to our old neighborhood. The wind was brisk and the sky was a pale shade of pewter. We stopped into the coffeeshop for a treat, ordered hot chocolate with whipped cream for our 3-year-old. She dropped her cup outside on the sidewalk, its contents spilling onto the concrete. I could have cried for her and the ruin of such a happy thing. Instead, we returned to the coffeeshop for another cup and Jason carried it while Simone danced along the sidewalks, flopping down into the fallen leaves like a cat. I found myself wishing that solving our children’s hardships could always be as easy as buying another cup of hot chocolate, and holding it out of harm’s way.

Jason and I chatted, and pointed out the rotund wandering felines, and peered surreptitiously at a pre-foreclosure we’d spotted online. We’d always wanted our children to grow up there, to play on the wide sidewalks. Home.

For a couple years now we have been holding out for something better. Instead of living our ideal life now, wherever we are, we’ve been waiting for our ideal circumstances. We preferred walking in our old neighborhood, so we don’t do it much here. We preferred browsing our old library, so we don’t do it much here. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.

We are finally admitting that we are ready for changes, that the location of our home is more important to our happiness than we thought. And so we are moving toward moving, looking at real estate listings, calculating our savings.

But for the time being I am going to bring my children to the library, and walk to the park, and bake cranberry nut bread in our not-quite-bright-enough kitchen.

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Long Days Ahead

by Cate on August 13, 2012 · 4 comments

in Family,Home,Motherhood

For someone as anal-retentive as I am, I have surprisingly little self-discipline. If there are five cookies in the jar, I’ll eat them all without hesitation. When we go shopping I’m always stopping to look at endcaps, and there are days where I spend basically the entire morning online (and not being productive, either…more like reading wrap geekery threads on The Babywearer and puttering around on Twitter).

Sadly for my undisciplined ways, Jason is going for his National Board Teaching Certification this year. By all accounts, that’s a long, difficult, and stressful process, so I’m already preparing myself for some long days. I know there will be afternoons (or weekends) when Jason comes home for a brief dinner and then heads back out to go somewhere quiet and work. (I’d tell him to go in the office and shut the door, but Simone has a habit of standing on the other side screaming “DADDY!” whenever he tries to get anything done.) We’ll see less of him for a while, but he’ll come out on the other side with better qualifications and a significantly larger salary.

Yesterday Jason left the house around 10 a.m. with his anvil of a backpack and didn’t return until 4:00. I was determined not to spend this time watching the clock or wasting time on the Internet, so I decided to follow my new routine in a sort of practice run.

I was reminded, once again, that my own behavior shapes my children’s. Simone has been nothing short of a terror lately, but she was an angel yesterday. Why? Because she had my attention. We played Candyland, we made rice krispies treats (and sampled a couple), we read a basket-full of books we played with her eeBoo story cards, we tickled her brother. And when it was time for me to clean the bathroom and fold laundry, she played with her LEGOs on the floor next to me or asked me to put on music so she could dance. (FYI, she picked the Concert for George, because she’s awesome). Not only was she super sweet, but being engaged with my kids and my house made me feel so much more fulfilled.

I’m hoping these long days ahead won’t be so long after all.

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