This morning, I successfully woke up before my son and enjoyed a peaceful moment. Despite the rainy day ahead, I embraced the softness of the fog. On top of that, I conquered my fear and wrote in my Hemingway journal while reflecting on the significance of spotting a fire salamander.
I did it.
I mean, I re-did it.
I used to be an everyday, get up an hour early just to take it slow kind of girl. When I was pregnant and bursting with creative energy, I did this even more so. As I’ve been writing about lately, I’ve been hoping to make en effort to restart the “rise before the tide” tradition, to wake myself up rather than be woken up by my son. And this morning, my body did it for me. I got up before my son started stirring and I laid in bed and read. I had about 15-30 minutes to myself, I didn’t check or count, and it was a really soothing way to wake up. I didn’t set my alarm, I just – quite literally – asked my soul team to wake me up when my body was ready so I could reimplement this practice. Soon, we will all be waking up even earlier as my husband returns to the office so if we can sneak down the squeaky stairs before my son wakes up and I can sit with my coffee and my books for a moment before I start to serve others, it would be wonderful.
Maybe I’ll get lucky.
Today’s routine will be shifted. We are headed to Annecy during R’s naptime so I obviously won’t have a chance to sit and write. After giving birth, I am not carsick if I look at my phone or books while driving. This was not an issue before I had R – it wasn’t even an issue when I was pregnant. Add this item to my ongoing list of: how weird my body has become since having a baby. Absolutely worth it, of course.
Anyway, as such, I will likely not post this blog until later in the day. We are headed there because one of my husband’s friends from Paris is in the region on vacation with his family. Unfortunately, after three weeks of endless sun and warmth, today is filled with endless rain and a cold chill that hits your bones. Annecy is a city meant to be enjoyed outdoors – for an hour and fifteen minute drive, to be likely stuck inside a mall, is a sad thing. R, who is invigorated and joyful when outdoors, will be very displeased with our decision to walk him through the centre commercial instead of on the lakeside path. He boycotts his plastic rain cover for the stroller so a rainy walk isn’t even an option, unless we want to all get sick as a result. While I’m not intentionally setting a bad energy for this little adventure out to Annecy, I am trying to be realistic about it in this space.
Tonight, my BIL arrives for a weekend visit. R hasn’t seen him since he was around two months old, and will not be awake when he arrives. I am quite curious about how that will settle for him, considering he can be rather introverted and sensitive in his safe spaces. When he wakes up to an extra human in his home that he doesn’t really recognize, how will he react?
Where yesterday brought a creative and inspired surge, today, the rain brought with it a puddle of softness and fog. As I write this, I’m having deja vu.
Do any of my readers know of the artist Cath Kidston? I am sure my UK readers do. There was a period in my life where I was heavily into a Shabby Chic obsessive stage. I decorated my house like a grandmother’s house, covered everything in quilts, and longed for Canada to have Cath Kidston products. I had tea trays around my kitchen, and collected beautiful teapots. I displayed my teacup collection on my shelves and they gathered dust (and were knocked down by the cat). I wore grandma sweaters and learned how to loom. It was a passion for the simplicity of old, for the slow living of a gently brewed tea near a (fake, at the time) fireplace with an Edwardian show on the television and yarn in my lap.
I don’t really know why I’m writing about Cath Kidston. Her art showed up in my email today and I guess I was reminded of the joyful playfulness of her work. It still really inspires me and makes me giddy, wanting to fill my house with flowers, watercolours, and old tea sets, all while planning a trip to London. I had my own house at the time, though, and I wouldn’t force my husband to live in a home that doesn’t feel like it belongs to him, as well.
My husband melted into the “hippie chic” of our home, once a proud atheist/agnostic and now finding me angel statues/icons and asking me to “ask my team for help” on xyz. He’s welcomed, with open arms, my walls of books in every room in the house and the ongoing collection that I am creating for our son – despite being in the moving industry and knowing the cost of moving books (lol). There are still pieces of my feminine goddess-self in little corners, but they are sacred and special to me. Maybe, if I have a girl, I will eventually share those little pockets of secrets with her. But for now, in a male-dominated space (two boys and a male dog!), I like to keep the balance quite neutral. Our home is sacred and filled with intention and hippie paraphernalia, without being suffocating to individual expression. This home is all of ours and, if I’m being honest, toys and children’s items are the primary theme, house-wide.
It was a very wet but lovely day in Annecy, catching up with old friends. It was actually the first time that R played with someone close to his age since he was a little boy (older children always seem to be drawn to him at play parks). He looked so very happy chasing and laughing with their little girl. But have you noticed that mothers are often pushed into the role of on-call babysitters at restaurants? I’m an introvert to begin with and I find social situations to be quite energetically draining (I am writing this at 18h and my eyes are burning and the exhaustion is suffocating), but when you add the fact that a mother never truly gets to enjoy an adult moment at a lunch out, it doesn’t make restaurant meet-ups very pleasant for me. I have no place in the adult conversation; I am either immersed in entertaining my son or chasing and crawling after him (in a dress, today, no less).
Today, I conquered yet another thing: I wrote in my Hemingway journal. I was always afraid of tainting the pages and then I went and wrote my very first entry as we were driving. Honestly: completely mad. What a mess, as we bounced around on country side roads, the worst of conditions for taking this journal-leap. But I did it. And I think because I’ve broken the seal, it will be a lot easier to turn to it henceforth.
I was drawn to write in it when I saw a sign in our town that talked about being aware of protected fire salamanders. When we first moved into this home, only a few weeks after moving in, Jordan spotted one on our deck. I took a photo and sent it to our landlord (who also became a friend very quickly) and he told me that he lived there for 20 years and never saw one. Meanwhile, he not only stayed on the terrace, but he let me get close and touch him (they’re toxic by the way, so I washed my hands afterwards). I touched him numerous times, he didn’t move.
If you know anything at all about fire salamanders, this is odd. They’re actually known for bolting as soon as they’re spotted, and they normally are found hiding in pieces of old wood, not just sitting on a deck in the open. In addition, they’re usually near water and while there is a stream around the corner, it’s a good trek for a little dude. I told Jordan right away that this was a spiritual sign for us and I think I nailed it. The more I reflect on what has happened over less than a year, the more I am certain that it was a spirit animal letting us know what we had in store for us.
Wildspeak says, “Salamander is a creature of the hidden. Salamander opens us up to secrets within ourselves, secrets within others, and secrets of the spirit.”
Spiritanimals.org speaks to transition, rebirth, vision, nature, and higher consciousness.
WhatIsMySpiritAnimal says, “Among the world’s many glorious animals, the Salamander ranks among the most mystical and magical, being aligned with the Fire Element. People believe the creature could walk through flames and come out without the least sign of damage. So it’s not surprising to discover the Salamander had symbolism similar to the Phoenix-rebirth, immortality, power, and passion. […] If the Salamander Spirit Animal has come to you, it is time for modifications. One might even call it an evolutionary leap in your awareness, thoughts, and consequential actions. Something in your life has been out of balance, and it’s time for restoring symmetry. Prepare to adapt and remain open to new possibilities presenting themselves to you. Another message from the Salamander Spirit Animal is maintaining wise perspectives. As your environment shifts and alters, you should do so as well. Your Salamander Spirit Animal may presage a time in your life when your psychic gifts and innate abilities deep within begin stirring. Salamander slides in with magic on its heels. There is a spark of arcane wisdom built into your soul, and Salamander is here to help you release it fully in your life.”
Between work shifts, feeling truly at home here which we haven’t felt since leaving Strasbourg, being comfortable and joyous and enjoying our solitude, connecting with nature, and the birth of this space, so much has happened in this home – internally and externally – for our family. Heck, R took his first steps in this home. So many starts.
I do not get attached to homes (I talked about this once already before), but it finally feels like we are setting roots down, and I think that fire salamander was letting us know that old lives and ties and struggles were burning away, and a calm serenity would be on the horizon.
When we were driving, I saw many trucks tearing down a piece of forest on the side of the road. Is deforestation applicable to standard logging? Or do we just call it logging? Anyway — I was thinking about how absolutely trendy wooden toys are, especially on social media motherhood accounts. They are practically pitched as being superior and, of course, more aesthetic. I love wooden toys, don’t get me wrong – but I don’t love or hate on plastic toys any less in the process of loving them.
Many wooden toys say, “sustainably sourced” but what does that really mean? Nowadays, many plastic kid’s toys are made with recycled plastic. In 2023, the wooden toy industry was worth 24 BILLION DOLLARS. BILLION! And it’s anticipated to reach 10 BILLION more, by 2031. Nothing that is generating that much money could be that sustainable. People need to suffer for that amount of wealth. The environment must suffer for that kind of wealth.
My argument here is not that wooden toys are less sustainable than plastic, that is obviously not true. I’m just trying to highlight how there is likely a dark underbelly to this trend – as with all trends. Discernment in parenting is key, but most importantly I support guilt-free motherhood. So whether it’s the aesthetic wooden toys or the regular plastic ones, you do you, awakened mama. You do you.
xx C
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Ignore this – only boring people get bored:
Awakened Little Souls 
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