I’m so bad about starting fires. I know the procedure, I’ve been camping maybe a million times, we’ve roasted marshmallows in our back yard for several years, we’ve had wood-burning fireplaces for the past 14 years. I love it all. Love it. But I’m not great at starting fires. I burn out quickly. Just like my fires. I build the teepee. Or cabin. We’ve got oodles of kindling. At least the baby kind. My problem is I go right from the tiny bits of bark and paper to wanting to put a log on. And everyone knows that will never work. The house is cold from us being gone all day. And we need a little warmth. So I start by cleaning out the ashes from yesterday or the morning. Then the glass needs some attention too. At the same time that I’m on and off dealing with the fireplace I’m fielding snacks and homework questions, listening to school woes, organizing evening rides, starting dinner, and letting the dog in and out. I hope and cross my fingers that the paper and kindling will get along, that there’ll be sparks, and with the door ajar there will be just enough air to fuel the relationship that will burn bright through at least the afternoon and evening. Inevitably I’ll go back to cutting the vegetables. But as soon as I turn around, it’s dark and cold again in our fireplace. Where just before the flames were abundantly dancing. So discouraging. So I try again. And again. Until I give up. I need to use intermediate kindling—something between a log and a twig. I know it. Of course I know it. And I’ll use it if it’s around; I’m just too lazy to cut more. I try to take short cuts, I keep hoping it will work without it.
Todd has more patience. And it’s so nice when he builds a fire for us when he gets home. Because men are task-oriented, focused. Not as easily distracted. They like a purpose, a job with a beginning and end. A result. Fire building is perfect. And his fires are perfect. But they take some time, and he stays with it, paying attention to the various sizes of kindling needed. Even cutting some if we’re out. His fires always work. Always. And he sticks with them throughout the evening, knowing just when to add another log.
I loved it early last week. The first day back to school after Christmas vacation. I bowed out of everything and stayed home all day Monday and Tuesday. And took down Christmas. The roads were icy, the temps hovered near zero. I’d rekindled the fire that morning, which is easy when the coals from the previous night are still warm, glowing when I nudge them. And I stayed with it, replacing log after log throughout the day. You have to pay attention, noticing when it’s kind of winding down, making the effort—even a sacrifice—by going out to the porch even when the wind is howling. But it’s so worth it. The small investment. All it takes is tiny but consistent effort, noticing when it’s not burning as brightly as you know it can. When it’s getting a little cold.
We were huddled around it in the evening, reviewing the day. We somehow got to talking about the fire, how nice it was to have had it all day, what it takes, how you have to kind of stay on top of it.
And then we thought of all the other things in life that are like the fires we tend.
I remember back to my post c-section days, days in the hospital and at home afterward. I hate taking medication, even pain relievers. Even for headaches. I just figure my body needs me to go to bed; I’ll feel better after some sleep. But surgery isn’t just a headache, you really do need to stay on top of the pain. Much easier to keep the pain at bay than to wait until it’s miserable and try to catch up. I tried to remember that with my recent surgery. Once you have it under control it's worth staying with the pill schedule prescribed.
Same with resting. A wise friend we knew in Illinois told me it takes your body a good six weeks to recover after a baby. You can push it, but you’ll just have to take the time later. I tried to remember that after subsequent babies. To be honest, I wasn’t that great of a patient. I couldn’t figure out how to put my feet up much, and I figured if I could do it I should be able to it. But I’ve tried to take care of myself, especially when my body is compromised. Kids are awesome at this. I'm learning my limits, and I know I do better with a consistent sleep schedule, an occasional nap, an early bed time. Just like kids. Most people do better—and even sleep better—when they are well-rested. It’s worth investing in.
Same goes for studying and finals. We know as adults how much easier it could’ve been. We get it now. How a little studying every day—even though a test might be weeks in the future—would’ve been so helpful. Cramming never really worked that well, and it’s hard to see the kids repeating your mistakes. Now that we know better.
Easier to stay in touch—even occasionally—with friends who have moved away. A note or email every couple months keeps the relationship somewhat alive, whereas years and years without contact sometimes allows it to fade or even die. It’s awkward to try to get in touch again. How do you start? But when we make the effort to just send a text—better yet, call—just to check in and say hi, wow, what a difference that can make in our friendships and relationships.
Todd asked if I’d shovel the driveway since I’d be home. More snow was due later. So much easier to take the time while the snow is light and fluffy rather than iced down from being driven on. Heavy and difficult to move. Smart. Seems counter-intuitive. But staying on top of it really does make it easier.
Winter in Montana is pretty rough on the skin, and some of our kids’ knuckles get so dry they bleed. We try to remind them to put lotion or Vaseline or coconut oil on their hands before bed, but they are certainly old enough to handle it. When they were little and would forget I’d sneak in their rooms after they were asleep to rub lotion or Neosporin into their little hands. I hate seeing their little hands sore when it’s so easy to prevent it. Just takes a little lotion so it doesn’t get to that point.
In so many ways it’s the small and simple things that we do—consistently—that make big differences. I’ve written about this idea before, but I just can’t help but notice how it plays out in a million ways in life. In no place is it more true or important to stay on top of things than in our own homes and with our families. I’m not that great at this. I know I need to talk to my kids about the big things, for instance. It’s on my mind all the time. It’s just that it’s been so long since we have that I’m not sure how to make the leap. I wish I would’ve kept on it a little better. The fire’s still there, it just needs a log a little more frequently.
Maybe we all have little fires like this in our lives, parts we need to pay a little more attention to. The coals are usually still warm—even if they look cool. Most kids are forgiving, they’ll let you back in. You can still shovel even if there’s more snow now than there would’ve been. We can study better starting now and we can text an old friend. We can keep our lotion handy and spend time with our spouses starting tonight with a little pillow talk. It’s the small kindling that gets the fire burning again, easier when the coals are still warm, but not impossible even if you have to start all over. You just can’t make the same mistake I tend to and rush through, thinking a big log will surely keep a fire going from nothing. Like a store-bought present from an absentee mom. It doesn’t really do anything of consequence. But fan the smallest spark, use any residual warmth that's still there. And start small. Even if you're starting all over. Stay with it. Be patient. And once there’s warmth, keep adding fuel. It will last all day.
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