Warm hearts and warm children.

Warm hearts. Warm meals, warm clothes, warm hugs, candles, warm cups of tea held in front of a warming fire, blankets, wool.

Playsilks to crawl through, brushing against cheeks as they tunnel. Candlelight flickering in the middle of a cloudy day. A warm voice reading books snuggled beneath blankets. A bath full of salts and bubbles, pyjamas laid to the side ready to be put on, after being held in a warm towel in a parent’s warm arms.

I’m often wondering why even in the midst of summer here, when we’re hot and sweaty lying beneath the fan, I’m still craving the warmth of a candle. Why is warmth something that’s become so important to us since having children?

I’m dearly missing having our own home, and as we edge closer to that final puzzle piece since moving (we hope!), it’s always the feeling of home that I’m reflecting on, rather than the physicality of it all. Even if I do look at furniture I’m more drawn to the overall aesthetic, the feeling that a piece is going to bring with it. And the aesthetic is always, always one of warmth.

Rudolf Steiner made a case for warmth in his writings and the education of children. He felt that when children are warm, then energy can be used instead in the brain, the heart, other organs. It was also included as one of the twelve senses and became integral to many of his thoughts on raising young children. And it’s why so often in Waldorf settings you’ll find these womb-like environments, pink-daubed walls and warm wooden surfaces on which rest warm wooden toys.

In some ways, I think it’s just an extension of love for my daughter. The way that I want her to feel held and safe, a physical amalgamation of my heart. But also the safety that home provides, a way to protect childhood innocence and imagination from outside influences, from the news and events that we ourselves so often want to hide from.

I came across an article last week, shared a long time ago by Amanda Watters, some thoughts from a Steiner-perspective on the need to protect our young children from things that they don’t necessarily need to know. And with the current climate crisis, the news and the bushfires from which we a thankfully far enough away from, I am inclined to agree. Our children are children for such a short amount of time, and it is our duty to protect them, to let them be little for as long as we can. If our homes, the outdoor places that which we explore, the family members and friends that we surround ourselves by can be a protection for them, then we may be able to foster their innocence for just a little longer.

In our home, unsurprisingly, candlelight often set the stage, more frequently in the colder months than the warm, and fairylights were for more than just Christmas. I’m also one for the older and the vintage, it might be the romantic in me, but I loved to imagine the stories held in my old, blue Formica kitchen table, the ones that we were in turn weaving into it at every mealtime we had there.

We infuse baths with magnesium salts and lavender, sometimes orange if it’s more of a midday affair. It’s uncalled for now with our current lack of heaters and all, but I have fond memories of pyjamas placed on a hot radiator as we splashed. The meals I naturally gravitate towards are ones slow-cooked and to share, a big pot of something to be placed into the middle. And the activities we head towards are slow and community-based, songs and stories shared, infused with the kindness and warmth of other people and their open-hearts.

I want these to form the basis of my daughter’s childhood, the things that she will recall in the future, and in some way I wonder if this warmth will set deep into her soul.

But ultimately, it’s a warmth that I hope will be hers to pass onto others.

If you enjoyed this, you may also want to read about fostering a kind community.