We celebrated our first May Day today.  Being a cross-quarter day, marking the midpoint between the spring equinox and the summer solstice, it signifies the peak of spring, and the forthcoming summer.  We joined together for flower crafting, singing, dancing, playing and feasting.  Enjoying the sunshine and fresh air, as many many before us have.  Celebrating community and a shared belief that we are all connected to each other as well as the earth.

This was our first outing to meet some local homeschoolers and they were all very friendly and welcoming.  Through a stroke of pleasant irony, The Boy’s previous First Grade teacher just happened to bring her son to the playground while we were there.  It was nice to see her (pregnant!) and fill her in on how it’s going.  It somehow seemed like a nice closure to school.  One thing I was really concerned about when The Boy left school was the loss of community.  Once we were gone, it seemed barely noticeable, and now it seems like a non-issue.

The Girl was very excited about the maypole, having watched several maypole dances online.  As we gathered to watch the experienced maypole dancers show us how it was done, she began to cry because she wanted so badly to join. Her turn came soon enough and she was delighted.

For the feast, I brought gluten free pasta with pesto and a gluten free lemon cake (with mini maypole!). The feast was delicious and I have to say that there once was a time that I disliked the potluck and having now enjoyed so many great ones, now I love it!  Not only is it enjoyable to build community through food, but what a treat to enjoy so many new dishes!

It was a lovely, inspiring day all around.

This year I did manage to spread the festivities out over a few days, but not by much.  I’m still feeling overwhelmed with homeschool some days and Candlemas just snuck up on me. But one thing I have learned is that it is merely the recognition of these special days year after year, and holding a place of mindfulness, that makes these festivals extraordinary.

We planted wheatgrass, which always amazes the children with its rapid growth.

We made beeswax candles, and this year I let the kids participate.  They loved it, and no one was hurt.  Here’s The Boy, threading a wick through a wick clip.

Since Brigid is the goddess of healing and birth, she is commonly associated with cows and ewes.  In honor of that, we made butter by hand, using only a jar and some organic heavy cream.  I remember doing this as a child in elementary school and I remember that it took forever.  It did not take as long as I thought and it was fun for the three of us to keep passing the jar around.

Its so magical and fun to see something so practical happen in such a humble way.  Jar + cream + shaking = butter.  And this stuff is amazing.  It’s a good thing there’s only a small amount.  This could be really bad for my waistline.

In the afternoon, I made a new Brigit’s cross, while the kids played outside.  Last year’s is awaiting our next outdoor fire, to be burned.  (Many wet days in a row have prevented us from having the fire I had planned.)

We started our day with oatmeal pancakes made with soaked whole grains.  We make them using soymilk instead of the yogurt and water, and substituting millet for the buckwheat. (Sadly, no one in my house shares my love for buckwheat pancakes.)  If you have the time, do watch the video.

Since Brigid is also the goddess of poetry, we read Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends, always a hit with the kids. We also read last year’s favorites A Little Bit of Winter by Paul Stewart and The Happy Day by Ruth Krauss, and enjoyed “Saint Bridgit and The King’s Wolf” from The Book of Saints and Friendly Beasts by Abbie Farwell Brown.

I now understand a bit better what it means to celebrate these festivals, no matter how small they may seem.  Now that we have celebrated every festival for a year, I more closely feel a sense of the cyclical nature of time, the seasonality of the year and the comfort of ritual.  I have a better sense of the seasons, which can be hard to accomplish here in the South where it feels like summer eight months out of the year.  I hope I have passed this on to my children.  Even if they may not be able to articulate it, it is now a part of who they are.  A part of their childhood experience.

All of last week we talked about the story of St. Martin and how important it is to help those in need.  I gathered many bags of unused clothing and toys for a local group that allows mothers to get the items they need free of charge.  We also worked on our paper lanterns, each new day completing the next step. We used Grace’s tutorial, and they went together beautifully.

I don’t know how many times I have done wet-on-wet watercolor painting with The Boy, but this was the first time he really enjoyed the process, and he was so excited that he called out, “I made orange!”

As we did with Michaelmas, we kept the celebration simple, and once again it worked perfectly. Before we set out for our lantern walk, there was much grumbling from The Boy, who did not want to leave home.  But we pushed though and I’m so glad we did.

We went to a local park, and let the kids play on the playground for a bit.  After that, I gave them each a gift of a hand knitted hat.  (I really loved Grace’s idea of gifting hand knits on Martinmas, but I knew there was no way I would get sweaters done in time.  Will have to think ahead next year!)

After they donned their hats, we read a story called The Lantern, lit our lanterns and went for a walk through a beautiful wooded area.  Our timing was perfect, the sun was almost gone, and the woods were a bit dark but enchanting.  Seeing the glowing lanterns bobbing through the woods at sunset was a beautiful sight!

I was a bit concerned about giving the kids real candles, but after getting the opinions of a few moms, I listened to my heart and came to the conclusion that the flame is part of the experience.  We talked about how to respect fire, how to keep a flame safe, and why we needed to keep the flame contained.  I am so glad I did because The Boy was far more conscious of his movement than he usually is, and he was so proud of himself!  Not only was he not scared of the dark woods, he wanted to lead the way. He was really in his element, and I love to catch glimpses of my children when they are so perfectly doing what they seem to be meant to do.  I was so touched at how profound an experience it was for The Boy.

We returned home to a bubbling pot of simmering tomato sauce and we had a simple meal of cheese tortellini and sauce.  Before bed, we read the story of Martin and the Poor Man.

Another sweet and simple festival.

I had been wanting to celebrate Michaelmas with the kids since I first read about it, thinking it would be a great fit for The Boy, who has always had a passion for all things knightly.  Since I learned my lesson to not try to cram it all into one day like I did with Candlemas, I planned on a week’s worth of activities leading up to Michaelmas, but we were ill yet again, so all those plans went out the back door.  I ended up keeping it pretty simple.

In the afternoon, I helped the kids dye some old playsilks in a bath of boiling water and ground turmeric.  I was pleasantly surprised at how much they enjoyed it.

While the playsilks dried in the wind, we had a simple picnic dinner in our backyard, relishing the cooler weather at last.  After dinner, we laid on a blanket in the backyard and I read this delightful story of St. Michael by a Waldorf kindergarten teacher.  I then read Saint George and the Dragon, by Margaret Hodges and Trina Schart Hyman, which has been a favorite in our home for many years.  If you have never seen it, the text is an adaptation of The Faerie Queen by Edward Spencer, and it is just about as perfect as a children’s book can get.  We love it.

After we read our stories, I tied the silks into capes, and presented them to the children with the words from the St. Michael story, “I give to you a cape of light, to give you courage, strength and might.”

I never expected what came next, but the story and cape resonated so strongly with The Boy that he went and changed into a yellow shirt and donned a sword, scabbard, shield and gold helmet, and called himself The Gold Knight. The game went on for the rest of the evening and through the next day.

What I am starting to learn about with the Waldorf Festivals is that it’s not too important to explain why we celebrate, but to celebrate anyway, and let it resonate however it will.  As an adult, I suppose that the symbolism of “taming your dragons” before the long winter is important this time of year when the days get shorter and cooler, and we begin to feel the pull to withdraw inward.  I didn’t over-think it or over-explain it, I just kept it short and sweet, and age-appropriate and it worked.

This pretty paint box was about the highlight of my day.

Another sick day today.  This time it’s The Girl.  104 fever.  I hate the worry that comes with mothering.  Not knowing when to call the doctor and when to just let nature run its course.

So we painted today.  A lot.

The gingerbread house is done.

Cookie production is in full swing.

The last candle on our Advent wreath was lit tonight.

And the temperature is dropping, finally!

A wonderful, beautiful, cozy Sunday spent at home.

Every once in a while, I will be able to coax him into participation.  It’ll even be his idea on rare occasion.  “Let’s do art-ing,” he says.  It usually ends in frustration, because for him art is a full-contact sport, not an activity to be participated in quietly and calmly.  Usually these art-ing sessions end with him literally throwing paint around, my walls and floor becoming the latest canvases of his Jackson Pollack-esque dance.

I try so hard to stay in the moment.  To remember that for him, art is about the process, not the product.  I try not to instruct or lead him.  I try not to get upset when paint.  Gets.  Everywhere.

I was recently reminded of the artist Carl Larsson, by Alicia, who mentioned him at Posie Gets Cozy.  I was originally introduced to Larsson’s work by my very dear friend Peter, who is also the man who married The Daddy Monkey and I fourteen years ago.  Peter was from Denmark, and a very cosmopolitan man.  He was an older man, very stuck in his ways, and an incredible chef.  My first cooking encouragement came from him, as well as the recipe for his indulgent Cosmo’s Potatoes.  He died of lung cancer just before The Boy was born, and I miss him.

After being reminded of Larsson’s work, I visited (once again) the official website of Carl Larsson’s estate and his home Lilla Hyttnas, in Sundborn, Sweden.  Thank goodness I know someone who lives in Sweden so I can go there someday!  There on the homepage, was a photo of beautiful little Swedish children at their easels, painting en plein air.  And then it occurred to me like a flash of lightning.  If I want The Boy to make art, I have to show him how important it is to make art.  Of course he doesn’t do it because I never do it around him.  For me, art is a solitary affair.  So I decided to meet him halfway.  Spring is in the air, so let’s take it outside.

I taped unlined index cards all over our little easel, set up watercolors on the table, and he went for it!

The Girl even got in on the action.

Here’s my favorite one.  We all painted a little bit on it, and I love it.  This one is going into a frame.

This was so much fun, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.  It was so nice and warm outside, it was a glorious day.  I was relaxed because I had no fear of paint going everywhere.  I didn’t have to clean it up right away, so the kids went back and forth between playing and painting.  We painted standing up, we painted sitting, we painted standing still, and we painted moving.  They each took a turn in my lap, and it all worked.  Everyone was covered in paint when we were done, but I’m okay with that.  It was worth it.

It was so much for for everyone, and it gave me the chance to be the mother I want to be: happy, engaging, encouraging, relaxed and loving.