Hi, welcome!

I'm Ruth, a travel lover, reader, project-doer, casual runner, aspiring yogi, wife, and mom to a sweet little girl. Around here we look for adventure in the everyday mundane tasks and in the once in a lifetime events.

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Practices that are Saving my Sanity

Practices that are Saving my Sanity

I originally wrote this in mid-April, when the snow had been coming down for 36 hours and counting, 6 inches? a foot? The accumulation didn't even matter since the signs of spring were hidden. We tell ourselves we expect this in my part of the world, but still slap! when it happens.

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At the time, tempers were short, patience was limited, cabin fever is real. A March retreat to Arizona reminded us that summer exists, though travel handed us nasty rounds of illness - pinkeye once, twice, three times?, barking coughs, sinus congestion - that we tried to shake for three weeks and counting. And then, the mounds of snow. Summer does exist, right?

These are, of course, silly complaints. When the toddler naps I remind myself that the snow is good for the earth, that we're blessed with good health overall, that I directly influence how cozy my home is, that there are things I can do to restore my patience in only a few minutes. When she wakes and whines, I still catch myself in impatient sighs, snapping my tongue, setting things down with too much force in an effort to express my frustration. What am I? A two year old?

Now in late summer, we've just returned from an incredible child-free, other-side-of-the-world adventure. Reintroduction is always trickier than I expect. The relaxation and mental clarity of days and nights away slowly become memories, and these reminders feel just as necessary as they did when spring-time snow arrived.

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And so I am forever learning a practice in patience here, a deep breath there.

A stretch, a release, ten minutes of morning yoga;
Orange carrots, yellow chicks, Crayolas and old Easter coloring sheets,
reminders of spring;
Pencil scratches as I ambitiously calendar my week, then reconsider and erase,
start again;
Steamy shower, before the toddler wakes;
Breakfast, hearty and delicious so I don't wonder why I'm an emotional wreck at 9am;
Crisp sheets, pulled tight, a made bed;
Three pages of a current book, There's No Such Thing as Bad Weather, fitting, right?;
A plan to break the cabin fever: the pancakes I promised require milk but we're all out.

Maybe it doesn't look like it to the outside observer, or my husband at times, but I know I'm learning, growing; my toddler's antics, giggles, and kindness show me that I too can be kind. This new, snow-covered day, can be a good one, if I choose. I must choose.

When Toddler Travel Gets Good

When Toddler Travel Gets Good

Independence and Broken Bones

Independence and Broken Bones