a day in the life of a latvian mom

The last week of October slipped quietly into November, bringing with it shorter days, colder mornings, and a house full of stories.

It began with the clock change — that small yearly ritual that somehow feels bigger than it is. Every autumn, when the hour shifts, I feel it not just on the clock but in myself — the mornings a little darker, the evenings arriving too soon.

To bring warmth back into the kitchen, I grated a few fresh carrots from the garden and made a simple salad with dill and a spoon of mayonnaise — a taste of summer in the middle of grey days. Outside, nature was still surprising me: a large oak moth rested calmly on the window, unbothered by the chill. Such small, quiet moments remind me that life continues even as everything slows down.

By the weekend, I decided to have no plans — to just let the days unfold. No lists, no rushing. The kind of weekend where time stretches softly, and you can notice sunlight moving across the wall or the sound of coffee being made.

And then, as if to balance the calm, the week turned chaotic — one by one, all three children fell ill. With high temperatures… above 39C (102F), Fevers, tea with blackcurrants and honey, blankets everywhere. Even through the tiredness, I tried to hold on to: we are warm, safe, together.

Still, the world outside didn’t stop. A fox visited our yard, walking across the grass as if to remind us that life in the countryside continues its rhythm, regardless of human plans. And we saw Colotois pennaria outside… It was cold!

October ended quietly — with sick days, home repairs, and a gallery of photos that now feel like snapshots of a long, colorful month.

And November arrived. It carries its own beauty — a little more somber, a little more reflective. It’s the month of Latvia’s independence, Mārtiņi, candles and light in the dark.

I already feel the pull toward Advent, toward slower evenings and soft songs in the kitchen.

But for now, we are still healing. The girls are on antibiotics, and I might need them too….

Helmi fell and now will need an Xray on Monday…

Even so, the sunrise this morning was breathtaking — as if nature whispered, “It will pass.”

So here we are, between the clock change and the need for X-ray — tired and waiting for light to return.

Ilze

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