transitions

There's been a little hint of fall in the air this week. On our early morning walks, Quinn and I have opted for long pants and sweatshirts and I even dug some socks out of the drawer on a particularly cool morning this week.

The kids have noticed the change in light and (mercifully) have started sleeping a little later in the morning. They are also heading up to bed a little earlier in the evening.

And as of this week, they have started asking us to leave their room at bedtime so they can play quietly together. Lily has gathered a collection of board books (favorites that we have been enjoying together since she was an infant like Brown Bear, Each Peach Pear Plum, and Jamberry) and is now proudly "reading" them to her brother.

While on a morning walk this week, I noticed a seed pod on a milkweed plant. (We're checking the undersides of leaves daily in hopes of finding Monarch eggs.)

Part of me felt a bit of sadness. The seasons often feel very much like my experience of parenting -- just when I start to feel comfortable and find a rhythm that works where we are, things begin to shift.

But the milkweed pod also reminds me of the wonder and beauty that each season brings.

In just a few weeks, Lily will be returning to her beloved Waldorf-inspired nursery school, where stalks of milkweed will be used as beautiful wands to spray feathery seeds around the gardens.

And later in the fall, the dried milkweed pods will be become boats into which the children will place candles and wishes during the annual Lantern Walk (a magical evening designed to gently introduce the young children to darkness and night).

This fall will also include a transition into "playschool" (a.k.a. daycare) two days a week and a return to work for me.

The kids and I stopped by our "new school" this week to drop off paperwork and say hello. As I sat in a tiny chair at a tiny table getting to know the center's director, Lily and Quinn explored what will be Lily's classroom. Quinn dove right in (any place with a train table, Legos, blocks, and an assortment of construction vehicles has his clear approval). Lily hung back, staying close to me and taking it all in, but later noted that "it seems pretty fun there."

When we left the center, which we will visit several more times in the coming weeks, we stopped to visit a nearby farm. As we visited with the sheep, goats and pigs we talked about how much fun it will be to visit the farm on our way to or from playschool and how some days we might go early and stop for bagels at our favorite coffee shop.

We continue to read books about the first day of school and separation anxiety, and reminisce about last summer when Lily felt sick to her tummy every time we talked about her starting nursery school.

"That was before I knew how much fun school is, Mama," Lily always adds.

And I remind her (and myself) that change can often feel scary and uncomfortable--whether you are two, or four, or 34. But discomfort is not necessarily a bad thing. It can be a great opportunity for us to slow down and tune in and stretch a little bit out of our comfort zone.

And a wonderful opportunity to surrender and trust that the Life Force that creates and sustains the milkweed plants, and the butterflies who feast on them, is always there to nourish and support us.