Winter was especially slow for us. We lived in our pjs at least half the time. With the cold, small children and rounds of sickness that seemed to keep hitting us each in turn, one after the other, we spent a lot of time at home.
We enjoyed our bit of snow of course.
And we haven’t been entirely secluded, but we haven’t been out so much, haven’t seen friends as much. I haven’t been baby-wearing Elly so much as we haven’t been walking long distances so often. We have woken up late with no hurry to go anywhere so we have read all the books between breakfast and brushing our teeth instead of just one or two. We have made tents under the blankets and sheets and read more books and imagined wild adventures. We have sung songs and learned sign words. We have cooked and baked and made and created.
On one hand I have felt very lazy, but that’s kind of what winter is about isn’t it?
Real rest. Stillness that comes from rest. Being, rather than the need to do or become.
So I’ll take our slow winter. But now we are ready for spring. Slow too, I expect, but maybe not quite so much. Maybe we can even get ourselves together and ready to leave the house before midday on occasion.