Small Victories.

I love autumn.  Because I'm a New Englander, I think it's always been my favorite season, mostly in its ideal form: golden sunny days with a breeze that stirs and swirls the crisp leaves on the lawn and street.  I love it even more now that I'm a mom: it's the beginning of a new school year and therefore the setting for so many firsts and milestones, and my daughters count down the days until their birthdays and Halloween.  For about twenty years, to me, fall has also meant field hockey season.

All the commitment and ritual and celebration that cram this season keep me busy, but happy.  And so when everything slows down in November, I use the first few unscheduled days to catch my breath, and it's nice to be relaxed, but I'm sad because the rush of all the things that I love is over.  No more practices with the team and other coaches I look forward to seeing and playing with, no more birthday presents stashed away or birthday candles lighting a small, giddy face.  The walks to the bus stop and the preschool door are routine and rushed instead of anxious and eager, and the costumes that have been imagined and designed with happy anticipation are unceremoniously tossed in the dress-up bin.

My field hockey team this year was amazing, even better than last year.  They struggled and fought for every goal and playoff point, and they were positive, funny, and strong.  In our last game of the regular season, under the lights versus our rivals, we had to win to make it into the postseason, and in the last four minutes of a combative game, they scored the game's only goal and the level of adrenaline on the field and sidelines rose even higher.  In the first round of playoffs, they held off a higher-seeded team into a second seven-on-seven overtime and then scored the lone goal again to make it into the district quarter-finals.  I don't think our high school field hockey team has done that for at least twenty-five years.

We lost on Monday, and so my latest coaching season ended just four days ago.  But it feels like four weeks ago, because on Tuesday Rudy turned four, Obama was re-elected, and Elizabeth Warren triumphed in her senate race (Hooray!).  Then it snowed, and meanwhile, Daylight Savings rushes us into early darkness so that by November 8th, especially when walking outside means facing the icy wind, it feels like January 18th.  And of course, there are already Christmas decorations and products and sales all over the place.  One part of me resents the frenzied consumerism of the holidays, and then another part completely falls for it and loves browsing the twinkling, cheery aisles at Target.

Of course, November means Thanksgiving, which is supposed to mean gratitude, and it's our little family's third year of the Thankful Jar.  This year I've done it up right because I fancied up a tray by hot-gluing some fabric I loved but didn't know what to do with around an old piece of cardboard I cut to fit in the bottom.  I was so over-the-top pleased with myself for this project.  Basically, I decorated a rectangle, and I carried on like I had just wallpapered my own handcrafted breakfast nook.  But I love that it looks like fall, I love that I found a use for my newest cake stand and dome, and I love that because the whole display is on a tray, it's easy to move out of the way for meals or schoolwork or puzzles.

Just beyond the Thankful Jar is the message board handy Todd put together a few weeks ago with more fabric I bought in a haze of crafting optimism.  It turns out that a lot of important notices and newsletters come home with elementary school students, and Marley's and Rudy's gymnastics and dance instructors send home flyers, too.  When I just keep shoving these papers in a drawer, it makes me mental, and odds are, my kids miss out on something.  So hooray for Todd, who got it done again.  I am always thankful for him.  And the fall.  And field hockey, and therefore the Hawks.