I am 50 now. It's been nearly 10 years since I wrote here. And I deeply wish I'd never stopped writing. I feel like I have lost a huge part of myself and I am actively searching for her. I think coming back to this practice might help. Certainly reading some of these old posts has helped, or at least loosened the floodgates which is close to the same thing...
My eldest child is 18 now, my youngest 11.5. Ten years on, I am a different person again, and not entirely comfortable with the changes. It is the depths of winter and as always, I adore this time of year. It is quiet and still and peaceful and calm. Outside the colour palette is at most, 4 or 5 colours strong. The eyes rest easily and the breath slows to feast on the peace of it all. The trees are heavy laden with beautiful white snow, and the ground sings as we walk upon it. I love to walk in it -- hiking at any time of year but the hottest is my favourite activity. My girls come with me and Ernest the dandelion dog.
I feel a heaviness in my heart at this stage in my life and my children feel it too. I want to unearth it, whatever it is, and understand it a little better -- whether to embrace it more fully or to release it if it is not mine to hold onto. I remember my mum at 50. We were in Anchorage together that year, and I remember encouraging her to apply for a job at Nordstrom. We were both pretty sure she wouldn't get it -- she had no retail experience, and even more than that, she didn't dye her hair or wear a spot of make-up, and somehow that felt, to both of us, like it would be a deal breaker. It wasn't -- they saw her glow shining through her sparkling, black eyes and snapped her up on sight. And what an amazing shift happened for her through that experience -- a deep confidence that I hadn't seen before. It was so fun! We'd lived half way across the world from each other for four years prior, and so we spent most of our free time those next two years together. I'm so glad we did because I KNEW my mum at 50, and somehow I feel like that should help me know ME at 50. Perhaps if I let myself remember, it will...
Saturday, January 18, 2020
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Why I Blog...
Because I wish my mum had written down the inner workings of her heart...
Because my mum DID keep a journal but journals aren't the same -- they're where we empty our angst and that's hard for a daughter to read!!
Because I suck at keeping journals for my kids...
Because writing about stuff keeps me real and is a genuine need deep in my soul...
And because if I had 37 days, I wouldn't have time to write down all the things I'd want my kids to know...
When I took that long break in Autumn, I wasn't sure if I'd come back to writing my blog... I really wanted to spend more time being present in the moment and less time thinking about it... but this bit from Patty Digh has always stayed in my mind, and it's what keeps bringing me back here:
And with that, I encourage you to start your own blog (if you haven't already) and "write like hell"!!! love that!! Keep it real. Let us see you as a real person, the depths of your heart! The world needs more of that. Which reminds me of one of my favourite quotes ever (thanks Sal):
Because my mum DID keep a journal but journals aren't the same -- they're where we empty our angst and that's hard for a daughter to read!!
Because I suck at keeping journals for my kids...
Because writing about stuff keeps me real and is a genuine need deep in my soul...
And because if I had 37 days, I wouldn't have time to write down all the things I'd want my kids to know...
When I took that long break in Autumn, I wasn't sure if I'd come back to writing my blog... I really wanted to spend more time being present in the moment and less time thinking about it... but this bit from Patty Digh has always stayed in my mind, and it's what keeps bringing me back here:
What emerged was a renewed commitment to ask myself this question every morning: 'what would I be doing today if I only had 37 days to live?' It's a hard question some days. But here's how I answered it: Write like hell, leave as much of myself behind for my two daughters as I could, let them know me and see me as a real person, not just a mother, leave with them for safe-keeping my thoughts and memories, fears and dreams, the histories of what I am and who my people are. Leave behind my thoughts about living the life, that "one wild and precious life" that poet Mary Oliver speaks of. That's what I'd do with my 37 days." - Patty Digh
And with that, I encourage you to start your own blog (if you haven't already) and "write like hell"!!! love that!! Keep it real. Let us see you as a real person, the depths of your heart! The world needs more of that. Which reminds me of one of my favourite quotes ever (thanks Sal):
“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” - Howard Thurman
On My Mind...
Our general family policy is that when we're sick, we do our best to stay away from other people. Not that we've never shared germs, unfortunately, but we really do try to contain them. I believe there's enough misery, sickness, stress, difficulty in the world without us consciously spreading more. I think there are too many mothers (myself included all too often) who can only just manage what's on her plate -- adding something so simple as a cold, which translates to even less sleep, to the mix due to a child not being able to breathe through her nose adds stress that she doesn't need. How often I've experienced feeling like I'm managing quite well when someone gets sick and our level of peace/joy/serenity decreases in the household. I think eventually colds and flus and such will not seem like such a big deal (hoping?! ha!) but I also think that people with olders forget what it's like to have littles -- the lack of sleep, the constant giving every ounce of ourselves, that feeling that an illness could just be the last straw... And to be clear! I do not believe sickness is inherently a bad thing: to the contrary! I believe sickness can often be a gift to force us to slow down in a too-busy week, land us in bed together reading instead of running to yet another thing. I believe minor sicknesses in children primes their immune system and helps ensure health later in life. But I also believe that there are enough germs in the world that we will all get our share of minor colds and flus without consciously sharing ours with our friends and family. The most contagious time in an illness is that day or two before the symptoms manifest, when we're just not quite feeling ourselves, but often haven't given in to the need to rest. We all have to BE in the world, and so the germs from those contagious times are everywhere. And that's the argument of many people in my life -- if you're going to get sick, you're going to get sick, so why should I change my plans just to prevent you from getting MY germs???
Okay, but then why is it that we can usually trace an illness we get to a friend or relative who was symptomatic the last we saw them? Is it because our minds are conscious of the sickness and thus manifest the illness? I don't think so. I really don't. Biology degree talking now: my child sits in a grocery cart that no doubt has had a child or 5 in it that day with sniffles. But the cart has been sitting out, germs getting cold, dying by the thousands before my kid gets in and licks the handle. Viral load is pretty low, but still my child can (and does, occasionally) get sick if her immune system is focusing on something else or she was just run down that day we went out. Drastic difference from being in the same room with someone, sneezing, coughing, generating thousands of germs everytime they breathe. Viral load is VERY high, fresh, and persistent. It's like being in a grocery cart SURROUNDED with a fresh germ machine attached right to the handle.
I want to model respect and consideration to my children. It's way high on my list of who I want my children to be as adults. And not just for other mothers and other children... definitely not just my child or managing what I can handle that I'm thinking of. I'm thinking of the grandmothers and grandfathers who are battling cancer and undergoing chemotherapy and really really NEED TO NOT get sick. I take my snotty child to the grocery store, their grandchild gets in next, and now that grandparent can't see their own grandchild. All because I didn't stay home when my child was sick. I'm thinking of people recovering from heart surgery, same deal. I'm thinking of the parents we know who have multiple sclerosis and other immune-suppressing diseases, where a sickness is a real blow, not just an inconvenience, and does NOT ever feel like a gift.
And so...
We try our best not to go out, not to spread the germs we KNOW we have.
It feels like modeling this to my children is helping model respect and consideration. Am I successful at my goal 100% of the time? Nope. Sometimes, like just this last round, miss Heidi got a bad cold that lasted 3 weeks. The first week, we stayed away from everyone, thinking we were all going to get it. But none of us did. We assumed it was a cold that only small children get (must be a very common one) and did attend a few of our activities, but stayed away from gener l public or anyone who had small children. Perfect? nope. Doing our best? yep.
And SO!
Recently it's become apparent that I need to find a way to voice this family policy in a way that inspires others to show some consideration to my family in the same way. Do we have any immune-suppressing diseases? No. But in the words of my wise daughter, "should we have to be the only ones who cancel all our activities for a couple of weeks just because they {sick people} don't want to cancel theirs?"
Here's why this has come to a head...
Recently a mother knowingly sent her child to my house with headlice. Yep.
Whose head she combed out 3 dead lice (killed by the chemical treatment she'd just applied) that very morning. That wasn't the worst part, because she actually told me about it so I could at least manage the fall-out. That said, told me AFTER my children had already been exposed... The worst part was that our kids had played together 5 days earlier and she hadn't told me anything about it. Timeline: She discovered the headlice on Tuesday, our kids played together on Sunday (with nothing said of lice), we arranged that day for a playdate on following Friday, picked child up and was told then. When pressed, as to why she wouldn't have given me the option of exposing ourselves, she said she felt she was managing the risk for me. She was "treating" the child, so felt that was enough. (Biology: no way to tell when knits are going to hatch, no way to tell when lice are present as they are rarely seen alive, absolutely no way to manage risk of passing along the little buggers (!) until all knits are absent from said head, which usually takes 3 aggressive weeks of treatment) She felt no need to give me a heads-up, so to speak. Interesting enough, this same mother was absolutely FURIOUS that her school hadn't told her that lice was going around the school, even though it wasn't actually in her child's classroom (yet). When I voiced concern about wanting to manage my own risks for my children, she said she thought lice was something everyone had to go through anyway...
This is the same person who sent her boy with a bad cold out with us trick or treating the year we were leaving for Maui 3 days later. We didn't know he was sick and shared our water with him as he was very thirsty (and only 2 years old at the time!) And sure enough, Pedar ended up with a bad cold, a terrible ear infection (which always accompanied colds for wee P in those days) and had to stay in the condo for the first 3 days of our holiday. Since then, we've been "gifted" with probably 90% of our illnesses from said family.
"When people show you who they are, believe them," says Maya Angelou.
But when it's family, and you believe that cousins playing together is a beautiful thing, what to do? Do you think it's offensive to start each conversation about spending time together with "Do your kids have colds? Do they have flus? Do they have lice? Do they have anything contagious that I haven't asked about?" Because of swine flu swirling around our community this past Autumn, I did leave a voicemail to that effect on Halloween day. We have a tradition of meeting after trick-or-treating at grandparents house to watch the fireworks together (they can see 3 sets, Lavington, BX and Coldstream from their huge living room windows). I got a call back saying "that was a pretty ridiculous message that you left. I don't take my kids out when they're sick!!!" Um. Actually you do. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.
So how do you move, touch or inspire someone to act differently when they don't see how they really are?
And what is your family policy when it comes to sickness?
Okay, but then why is it that we can usually trace an illness we get to a friend or relative who was symptomatic the last we saw them? Is it because our minds are conscious of the sickness and thus manifest the illness? I don't think so. I really don't. Biology degree talking now: my child sits in a grocery cart that no doubt has had a child or 5 in it that day with sniffles. But the cart has been sitting out, germs getting cold, dying by the thousands before my kid gets in and licks the handle. Viral load is pretty low, but still my child can (and does, occasionally) get sick if her immune system is focusing on something else or she was just run down that day we went out. Drastic difference from being in the same room with someone, sneezing, coughing, generating thousands of germs everytime they breathe. Viral load is VERY high, fresh, and persistent. It's like being in a grocery cart SURROUNDED with a fresh germ machine attached right to the handle.
I want to model respect and consideration to my children. It's way high on my list of who I want my children to be as adults. And not just for other mothers and other children... definitely not just my child or managing what I can handle that I'm thinking of. I'm thinking of the grandmothers and grandfathers who are battling cancer and undergoing chemotherapy and really really NEED TO NOT get sick. I take my snotty child to the grocery store, their grandchild gets in next, and now that grandparent can't see their own grandchild. All because I didn't stay home when my child was sick. I'm thinking of people recovering from heart surgery, same deal. I'm thinking of the parents we know who have multiple sclerosis and other immune-suppressing diseases, where a sickness is a real blow, not just an inconvenience, and does NOT ever feel like a gift.
And so...
We try our best not to go out, not to spread the germs we KNOW we have.
It feels like modeling this to my children is helping model respect and consideration. Am I successful at my goal 100% of the time? Nope. Sometimes, like just this last round, miss Heidi got a bad cold that lasted 3 weeks. The first week, we stayed away from everyone, thinking we were all going to get it. But none of us did. We assumed it was a cold that only small children get (must be a very common one) and did attend a few of our activities, but stayed away from gener l public or anyone who had small children. Perfect? nope. Doing our best? yep.
And SO!
Recently it's become apparent that I need to find a way to voice this family policy in a way that inspires others to show some consideration to my family in the same way. Do we have any immune-suppressing diseases? No. But in the words of my wise daughter, "should we have to be the only ones who cancel all our activities for a couple of weeks just because they {sick people} don't want to cancel theirs?"
Here's why this has come to a head...
Recently a mother knowingly sent her child to my house with headlice. Yep.
Whose head she combed out 3 dead lice (killed by the chemical treatment she'd just applied) that very morning. That wasn't the worst part, because she actually told me about it so I could at least manage the fall-out. That said, told me AFTER my children had already been exposed... The worst part was that our kids had played together 5 days earlier and she hadn't told me anything about it. Timeline: She discovered the headlice on Tuesday, our kids played together on Sunday (with nothing said of lice), we arranged that day for a playdate on following Friday, picked child up and was told then. When pressed, as to why she wouldn't have given me the option of exposing ourselves, she said she felt she was managing the risk for me. She was "treating" the child, so felt that was enough. (Biology: no way to tell when knits are going to hatch, no way to tell when lice are present as they are rarely seen alive, absolutely no way to manage risk of passing along the little buggers (!) until all knits are absent from said head, which usually takes 3 aggressive weeks of treatment) She felt no need to give me a heads-up, so to speak. Interesting enough, this same mother was absolutely FURIOUS that her school hadn't told her that lice was going around the school, even though it wasn't actually in her child's classroom (yet). When I voiced concern about wanting to manage my own risks for my children, she said she thought lice was something everyone had to go through anyway...
This is the same person who sent her boy with a bad cold out with us trick or treating the year we were leaving for Maui 3 days later. We didn't know he was sick and shared our water with him as he was very thirsty (and only 2 years old at the time!) And sure enough, Pedar ended up with a bad cold, a terrible ear infection (which always accompanied colds for wee P in those days) and had to stay in the condo for the first 3 days of our holiday. Since then, we've been "gifted" with probably 90% of our illnesses from said family.
"When people show you who they are, believe them," says Maya Angelou.
But when it's family, and you believe that cousins playing together is a beautiful thing, what to do? Do you think it's offensive to start each conversation about spending time together with "Do your kids have colds? Do they have flus? Do they have lice? Do they have anything contagious that I haven't asked about?" Because of swine flu swirling around our community this past Autumn, I did leave a voicemail to that effect on Halloween day. We have a tradition of meeting after trick-or-treating at grandparents house to watch the fireworks together (they can see 3 sets, Lavington, BX and Coldstream from their huge living room windows). I got a call back saying "that was a pretty ridiculous message that you left. I don't take my kids out when they're sick!!!" Um. Actually you do. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.
So how do you move, touch or inspire someone to act differently when they don't see how they really are?
And what is your family policy when it comes to sickness?
Friday, May 07, 2010
I can see clearly now the rain is gone...
Hi mum. Hi dad.
It's been awhile.
Ten years.
Ten long years.
You haven't called. You haven't written. You haven't stopped by. Would love for you to just show up at my door one day. ding dong... and there'd you'd be. Big smiles, tears in your eyes, "We haven't got long," you'd say "but we just wanted to stop by and give you a hug." And I'd fly into your arms and sob.
So, where are you, anyway? My kids keep asking. I used to think I knew for sure, but I don't know anything for sure anymore. Are you with us always? resting with your FatherGod? Reborn? Are you waiting somewhere?
I wish I knew. It would be great comfort to know for sure.
I know you didn't just disappear, because there were those 5 white doves on the lawn that night... and there were those two times I woke up and saw you there watching me...
I'm doing good. Everything's changed since you left, though. Everything.
I chose Brent after you left. For real. To be my everything, just like you said. I learned what real love is, and also what it isn't. I thought I knew all those years. But to be honest, 10 years ago I had no idea. I've learned just how precious little I truly knew. and still know. about anything. But you knew that. You tried to tell me, but I couldn't hear it then. But really, thank you for all the things you tried to teach me. So many things you said have come to me in powerful ways over the last 10 years and grabbed on in my soul, somehow. I'm so grateful for everything you were, everything you shared, everything... Everything. I wish I knew then so I could've told you, shown you, but ... well, I'm telling you now.
I've learned how powerful fear is. 10 years ago I don't think I'd ever been truly afraid. That night I fell to the ground when I heard you'd gone... My first thought was that I would die too, that I couldn't possibly go on without you... Fear nearly swallowed me whole that night... But somehow those last words from my big brother "Tyler and Silka are gone too..." saved me. I learned that night the power of perspective -- it felt like I'd lost everything, but those last words put it all into perspective for me, and I knew that if he could go on with what he'd lost, I could surely find some strength too... and I did. But that dark fear definitely seeded in my soul that night and it feels like I'm only just now climbing out past the tipping point away from the side of always choosing fear first, closer closer to the side of love. Over the years every time I was challenged, my baby had a convulsion or had crooked legs or I had unexplained pains, I'd choose fear first. Fear would nearly swallow me all over again, just like that night so long ago... But somehow love would wiggle its way in, just like those white doves on the lawn that night, and the fear would disappear, and joy would return.
I do think fear is lessening its hold on me as time goes on.
It's all about balance, isn't it? I didn't know about balance then. I thought I just knew things. Now I know I didn't. and don't. Surely I've learned how precious and tenuous life is. And happiness too. I've learned how completely fear wrecks all of that and how completely gratitude fixes it. Each time I'd reach for fear, in that same instant I'd lose all of my joy. I could see myself doing it... but slowly slowly slowly I'm learning to take a deep breath, ground myself, and choose love instead. Slowly but surely. If nothing else I've learned how entwined love and fear are and how completely devoid of joy the side of fear is.
I'm learning what brings me joy, what fills my cup, what grounds me, what keeps me on the side of love. I'm learning how powerful connection is for me and how lonely disconnection is. I don't know much about that yet, but enough to know that I want and need to stay connected with myself, and Brent, and the children if I want to hold onto my authenticity. And I've learned the power of authenticity and that it's the only way I want to live. Looking good, being right, being admired... it all pales to the power of being authentic, being my word, keeping enough of my energy to nurture us first, being grounded in my own power... I'm learning.
It feels like I've lived my whole life in the ten years since I last heard your voices, since I last hugged and was hugged by you, since I last felt your hand around mine... The girl who travelled the world, sipped tea with the orangutans in Singapore, dove for conch shells and rode elephants in Malaysia, rode the trains and bartered for yards of silk in Thailand, hiked the Himilayas and rode camels in the Cholistan, studied giraffes in Africa, strode around buying cheese in Amsterdam, discovered her strength in Florida, fished the rivers in Alaska and all that... feels like someone else. I see photos of her, with you two usually close by, big grins on all your faces, and I think she still lives that life somewhere, with the both of you. I wonder what adventures you're all having now? Yes, that wild-hearted girl is forever young, forever daughter to the most amazing parents there ever was...
Meanwhile I am 41 years old!! The child of yours seems completely separate from this 40 something me that has emerged... The me that embraces my role as wife to an amazing man who adores me, is grateful for me, admires me for the me I truly am... while the me that is juggles three incredible children, learning, laughing, loving, living, growing up together... while I plant my garden and decorate my soul and build my soil, searching for ways to make more more more compost and cutting flowers to bring sunshine inside our hearts and home... while I struggle with finding time to keep my body healthy and moving and strong... while I search for ways to hang onto the woman that I am, nurturing her along with the mother and wife and friend that I'm more familiar with...
I don't know. Would you know me now? Would you still see the girl from then in the me that is now? I wonder...
Well, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I hope you know that I love you, that you are a big part of our lives, that my children know you and adore you and miss you too...
And hey, if you're ever in these parts, do drop by! We'd love to see you.
xoxoxo, your d.d.
It's been awhile.
Ten years.
Ten long years.
You haven't called. You haven't written. You haven't stopped by. Would love for you to just show up at my door one day. ding dong... and there'd you'd be. Big smiles, tears in your eyes, "We haven't got long," you'd say "but we just wanted to stop by and give you a hug." And I'd fly into your arms and sob.
So, where are you, anyway? My kids keep asking. I used to think I knew for sure, but I don't know anything for sure anymore. Are you with us always? resting with your FatherGod? Reborn? Are you waiting somewhere?
I wish I knew. It would be great comfort to know for sure.
I know you didn't just disappear, because there were those 5 white doves on the lawn that night... and there were those two times I woke up and saw you there watching me...
I'm doing good. Everything's changed since you left, though. Everything.
I chose Brent after you left. For real. To be my everything, just like you said. I learned what real love is, and also what it isn't. I thought I knew all those years. But to be honest, 10 years ago I had no idea. I've learned just how precious little I truly knew. and still know. about anything. But you knew that. You tried to tell me, but I couldn't hear it then. But really, thank you for all the things you tried to teach me. So many things you said have come to me in powerful ways over the last 10 years and grabbed on in my soul, somehow. I'm so grateful for everything you were, everything you shared, everything... Everything. I wish I knew then so I could've told you, shown you, but ... well, I'm telling you now.
I've learned how powerful fear is. 10 years ago I don't think I'd ever been truly afraid. That night I fell to the ground when I heard you'd gone... My first thought was that I would die too, that I couldn't possibly go on without you... Fear nearly swallowed me whole that night... But somehow those last words from my big brother "Tyler and Silka are gone too..." saved me. I learned that night the power of perspective -- it felt like I'd lost everything, but those last words put it all into perspective for me, and I knew that if he could go on with what he'd lost, I could surely find some strength too... and I did. But that dark fear definitely seeded in my soul that night and it feels like I'm only just now climbing out past the tipping point away from the side of always choosing fear first, closer closer to the side of love. Over the years every time I was challenged, my baby had a convulsion or had crooked legs or I had unexplained pains, I'd choose fear first. Fear would nearly swallow me all over again, just like that night so long ago... But somehow love would wiggle its way in, just like those white doves on the lawn that night, and the fear would disappear, and joy would return.
I do think fear is lessening its hold on me as time goes on.
It's all about balance, isn't it? I didn't know about balance then. I thought I just knew things. Now I know I didn't. and don't. Surely I've learned how precious and tenuous life is. And happiness too. I've learned how completely fear wrecks all of that and how completely gratitude fixes it. Each time I'd reach for fear, in that same instant I'd lose all of my joy. I could see myself doing it... but slowly slowly slowly I'm learning to take a deep breath, ground myself, and choose love instead. Slowly but surely. If nothing else I've learned how entwined love and fear are and how completely devoid of joy the side of fear is.
I'm learning what brings me joy, what fills my cup, what grounds me, what keeps me on the side of love. I'm learning how powerful connection is for me and how lonely disconnection is. I don't know much about that yet, but enough to know that I want and need to stay connected with myself, and Brent, and the children if I want to hold onto my authenticity. And I've learned the power of authenticity and that it's the only way I want to live. Looking good, being right, being admired... it all pales to the power of being authentic, being my word, keeping enough of my energy to nurture us first, being grounded in my own power... I'm learning.
It feels like I've lived my whole life in the ten years since I last heard your voices, since I last hugged and was hugged by you, since I last felt your hand around mine... The girl who travelled the world, sipped tea with the orangutans in Singapore, dove for conch shells and rode elephants in Malaysia, rode the trains and bartered for yards of silk in Thailand, hiked the Himilayas and rode camels in the Cholistan, studied giraffes in Africa, strode around buying cheese in Amsterdam, discovered her strength in Florida, fished the rivers in Alaska and all that... feels like someone else. I see photos of her, with you two usually close by, big grins on all your faces, and I think she still lives that life somewhere, with the both of you. I wonder what adventures you're all having now? Yes, that wild-hearted girl is forever young, forever daughter to the most amazing parents there ever was...
Meanwhile I am 41 years old!! The child of yours seems completely separate from this 40 something me that has emerged... The me that embraces my role as wife to an amazing man who adores me, is grateful for me, admires me for the me I truly am... while the me that is juggles three incredible children, learning, laughing, loving, living, growing up together... while I plant my garden and decorate my soul and build my soil, searching for ways to make more more more compost and cutting flowers to bring sunshine inside our hearts and home... while I struggle with finding time to keep my body healthy and moving and strong... while I search for ways to hang onto the woman that I am, nurturing her along with the mother and wife and friend that I'm more familiar with...
I don't know. Would you know me now? Would you still see the girl from then in the me that is now? I wonder...
Well, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I hope you know that I love you, that you are a big part of our lives, that my children know you and adore you and miss you too...
And hey, if you're ever in these parts, do drop by! We'd love to see you.
xoxoxo, your d.d.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Little Miss
The little one and I have been having our issues with sleep lately. She's getting her i-teeth, all 4 at once, and some nights she's awake more than she's asleep, more "on" the breast than not if she has her way... Last weekend I decided at 1 AM that I couldn't take it anymore and she wasn't going to be nursing all night long anymore. So I explained my new idea to her, she seemed to understand and back down we lay. Uh huh. She played and fussed and crawled all over me and patted my cheeks and gave me a face anatomy lesson ("eye", "nose", "mouth", etc.) until 6. Not what I had in mind... She doesn't want water at night, like my other 2 did, and so what to do? Something had to change.
That constant struggle, along with mr. P having recently decided that he doesn't need daddy sleeping in his room (something about the snoring keeping him awake and too many bad smells!?!?!) anymore gave us an idea...
How about move the single bed daddy's been sleeping on into mummy's room, make Heidi her OWN BED, and move daddy back into mummy's bed (hallelujah! i think? um, the bad smells???)??
And so the frenzy began, Heidi being kept occupied elsewhere (in order to keep the secret) whilst mummy prepared the surprise...
Heidi was duly impressed. It helped that her brother and sister were cheering their heads off...
Keen to climb right in and have her nap -- excellent progress! She slept soundly and we had SUCH HIGH HOPES for night time! 
That constant struggle, along with mr. P having recently decided that he doesn't need daddy sleeping in his room (something about the snoring keeping him awake and too many bad smells!?!?!) anymore gave us an idea...
How about move the single bed daddy's been sleeping on into mummy's room, make Heidi her OWN BED, and move daddy back into mummy's bed (hallelujah! i think? um, the bad smells???)??
And so the frenzy began, Heidi being kept occupied elsewhere (in order to keep the secret) whilst mummy prepared the surprise...
Heidi was duly impressed. It helped that her brother and sister were cheering their heads off...
Keen to climb right in and have her nap -- excellent progress! She slept soundly and we had SUCH HIGH HOPES for night time! And so of course we CELEBRATED big time.
Chocolate cake (recipe below -- best ever, truly!) ice-cream, raspberries, candles, songs (happy new bed to you for little miss and happy growing up to you for mr. P) and off to bed for a very sound, healing, deep sleep for allllllll. right? well.....
Alas... it was not a success. She didn't want to be in her own bed. That was fine. But she didn't want to be in my bed either. Not so fine. I spent most of the night sleeping on the crack between our mattresses with her on top of me, her little arms wrapped tightly around my neck! Sweet, I know! but seriously not so sweet around 4 AM with very little sleep in the last weeks... To be fair, she did sleep soundly a few hours until daddy came home from hockey and started snoring so loudly she sat bolt upright in bed and said "mammee? wazat?" And that was it. She was awake more than she was asleep the rest of the night.
So, now what? Patience, I suppose. Patience, albeit, is in much higher supply with a good nights' rest under one's belt!! Perhaps I'll check myself into the lodge at Predator and leave the night's worries to daddy... ? or ???
and yes, the recipe:
Deep, dark, moist, luscious non-dairy Chocolate Cake
1+3/4 cups unsifted all-purpose flour
2 cups sugar
3/4 cup cocoa
1+1/2 tsp baking soda
1+1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
Mix together
Add
2 eggs
1 cup milk (I use almond milk)
1/2 cup veg oil (I use grapeseed or olive oil)
2 tsp vanilla
Beat with mixer on medium speed for 2 minutes.
Stir (with spoon) in 1 cup of boiling water (don't forget this step -- it's still good without but not nearly as good! oh! and don't turn on the wrong burner when you have your food processor on the stovetop and melt that, will you? it doesn't smell nice and makes you awful mad!)
Pour into 2 greased 9" pans or one 13 x 9" pan. Bake at 350'F for 30 to 35 minutes for layers, 35 to 40 minutes for slab, or until toothpick inserted in middle comes out clean.
Cool 10 minutes and then remove from pans.
Non-Dairy Creamy Frosting:
6 Tbsp softened coconut oil or Earth balance spread
6 Tbsp softened coconut oil or Earth balance spread
2+2/3 cup icing sugar
1/2 cup cocoa
1/3 cup almond milk
1 tsp vanilla
Friday, April 09, 2010
Big Brown Dog turns 13
Kenai's 13th birthday -- cupcakes and sushi at the beach. Kal beach = no dogs allowed
but we take Kenai there every year for her big day... It was fun despite Kenai pooping and Heidi falling off the bench and cupcakes falling into the sand and Heidi pooping (into the same bag used to pick up Kenai's poo) and Heidi following Kenai into the water and getting soaked up to her waist... SUCH FUN! he he he Who ever said this mothering gig would
be easy?!?! I hope the kids remember the cupcakes part, the laughing at the poop part and not the "why wasn't anyone watching Heidi" yelling part...
be easy?!?! I hope the kids remember the cupcakes part, the laughing at the poop part and not the "why wasn't anyone watching Heidi" yelling part...Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Mushroom-fiend
Trying to get supper on the table tonight, some little miss was HUNGRY! The mushrooms and the stewed tomatoes were on, I'd gone back to get the quinoa, and this is what I came back to. She'd eaten half the mushrooms right out of the pan! Good thing she's such a cute little monkey!Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Spring!
Hello! I'm back. I've missed blogging, but I'm grateful for the time away, too. I hope to post on a regular basis starting now! I just had my birthday, and it's SPRING! perfect time for making fresh starts...
Friday, September 04, 2009
What I've Been Up To...
Loving my morning glories this year...
They're all around the yard because I grew them from seed and stuck them in every which where... This one is called "Grandpa Ott" and is the most striking purple.
This one's called Crimson Rambler. Isn't it lovely?! I also have hoards of "Heavenly Blue" but didn't seem to have a very good shot of them... 
This is not a rose! It's my favourite geranium given to me by a wonderful friend's mil, who got it from her grandmother, I believe. I've never seen one like it for sale in a store. Love it.
Look at the size of these cukes! My lovely friend shared her bounty with me so I made fridge bread&butter pickles. These are half gallon jars, to give you perspective on how big the cucumbers are!
Lovely sunshine preserved in glass for the depths of winter... I'm a peach girl. Every year when it's peach season I sing at the top of my lungs the "really love your peaches want to shake your tree" song. Great for the libido...highly recommended ;o)
But out of my OWN garden, tomatoes continue to be the love of my life. This isn't the greatest photo, but this tomato was nearly the size of my baby's HEAD! And yes, this is what miss H needs to be doing in order for me to be putting food by... well, not quite true, I do have the most amazing live-in babysitter!
There is just SO much gratification in saving my own seeds, starting these lovelies in the depths of snow and coldness in my windowsills, transplanting (always a little too early, I'm IMPatient) them out at the first sign of a warm night, and then harvesting the heritage, tastey, beautiful goodness. I LOVE the multitude of colours, tastes and textures I get! And cooking is SO easy, truly, with this as a base. Yum.
Another lovely one. I really did think I had lost my garden in a particularly bad storm we had this summer. SO many of my tomatoes were completely stripped of leaves, the tomatoes that had formed were all pocked by the hail, and the ground was littered with blossoms and tomatoes from the terrible winds. So, perhaps because of that sadness, I am enjoying each and every one of my tomatoes EVEN more than usual this year -- relishing every single one and AMAZED that there are SO many. I've slow-roasted 2 gallons, canned 20 quarts, and we've eaten tomatoes 3 times a day most of the summer... what a blessing tomatoes are!!!
hee! love this photo. canned tomatoes underneath a beefsteak monster. We love making a tomato sandwich with these ones and having ONE slice hang outside the edges of our slice of bread (and we make big loaves!)
And this year, totally inspired by my "let's just do it" friend, I'm saving my tomato skins just like my Grannie always did. My first batch I put on the deck to dry in the hot sun with my Grannie's net thing over it that she always used... and Kenai thought it was the most delicious tray of appies she'd had in a long time! urgh! So these ones stayed indoors in the dehydrator. They dry in minutes!Yes, tis the season for "putting by"!! It's something I love to do, and although it's so much less relaxing with a one-year-old grabbing onto my leg wailing to be "up", it's still well-worth the effort. She's gotten used to having baths in the kitchen sink while I get everything ready, and then big sister is called to the rescue while I do all the hot-dangerous-stuff... Pantry is filling up rapidly and I tell ya, you just don't dread winter when you have sunshine in jars put by!!
oh! and p.s.
i'm doing really well (if I do say so myself) with accepting what is and filling my life with joy. thanks for all the love on that front!
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Thank you... and then (of course) More...
Yes, so, first THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR OUTPOURING OF LOVE AND SUPPORT! I am continually amazed at the absolutely incredible tribe of women I have somehow lucked into! Seriously, your love and authenticity with me is the wind beneath my wings...
Secondly, I need to clarify one very key word in that last rant. Okay, here's what I said: "But what I truly need is for somebody to come and relieve me." The key word being "somebody". I didn't actually mean you, or anyother somebody... Here's where I was actually going with that...
The way I see families and our culture and our world as a whole really working in this new age (acknowledging that things worked a lot different back when we were tribes, living communally, never being separated by walls or lot-lines or doorbells...) is for each family unit to find a way to thrive together. So the somebody I was referring to was actually my husband, and truly only my husband. I've been told before that we can't rely on our husbands for everything. I agree. Stay with me here, I apologize for the discombobulation of this post, but really want to get clear on this and there are a lot of thoughts racing around in my head.
Here's the thing: I could absolutely do this on my own. On the days when I know from the beginning that Brent will not be coming home before bedtime, I am more than fine (the key is not to be angry about it -- if I'm upset with Brent, then absolutely nothing goes right in the entire day, so assuming I'm totally accepting that he is working til all hours of the night, I am fine). The kids and I get into a rhythm together, we conserve our energy and our patience, we get to the end of the day far earlier than if daddy was expected, we have our nighttime cuddles and the day seems quite easy. If this was the norm every day, and there were no daddy in the picture (how sad would that be?! I can hardly type the words, truly) it would be a completely different story. I would have completely different expectations of myself -- hell, the world would have different expectations of me! There would be no promise of relief coming at 6, no 6:30, no maybe 7, no for sure by 7:30, oh, hopefully by 8, oh crap, it's just not going to happen tonight, thing, you know? I am NOT saying that it would be easier or better in any way, no, just that it would be DIFFERENT. There would be no subconscious ideals in my head about evenings spent playing catch with daddy or riding bikes as a family or playing a game on the living room floor or popcorn and a movie, only to face the actuality of having time only to brush teeth and go to bed unfulfilled.
The story I am working on is thankfully not a single-parenting story. No, what I'm dealing with is the potential for all my ideals, but the disappointment that one key person somehow is absent from the picture tooooo much of the time. My disappointments come from knowing that he somehow chooses this. Our frequent talks about it reveal that he wishes things were different. He would like to be home every day by 5, with an evening with his family bright and shiney ahead of him. But he hasn't got things nailed in quite yet at work to make that happen... market downturn, staff issues, owner expectations, etc. etc. Relevant? absolutely. Helpful in the heat of things? not at all. Listen, Pedar, I know you are really angry right now and I know a cuddle would help tremendously, but everyone's hungry, the sauce has just exploded all over the kitchen (i seriously need one of those handheld in-pan blenderizer things because hot sauce + blender = explosion and i seem to have one about every week... urgh!), Heidi just woke up from her 20 minute nap and is yelling for me and there's a dog outside chasing the alpacas. Daddy would be home, but Mr. K (owner) wants some reports by day end, two of the accountants have just declared they're pregnant and a homeowner wants to know why blah blah blah. Do you feel better now, honey? No? Me either. Please let me wipe the sauce off your feet and go read a book and don't need anything else from me until I call you to dinner or I might need to go outside and scream on the deck again and you know how much the neighbours love that!!!
And I think the fact that he wishes things were different makes it harder for me! Because I don't believe in wanting things one way yet living things another (which is what I'm doing right now and why this is all causing so much angst...) I believe in living an empowered and powerful life, of making real what our desires are, of manifesting the best life we can imagine,,,, and all that.
So what's in the way? Well, that's one thing I'm trying to sort out. Not just on a surface level, but in a heal-the-planet kind of way. Our culture simply does not put family first. I keep telling my husband that he could be the trend-setter, the refreshing change at work, the one who has as much integrity with his family as he does with Mr. K. He could be as unwilling to be "late" to us as he would be for a managers meeting. Somehow he doesn't buy it. You know me, I am not a weak woman (I've actually never met a weak woman. I don't think it's evolutionarily possible, honestly). But truly, life is almost as good as life can get. I am continually amazed at how blessed my life is. But I am also not one to sit back and let things be almost anything.
My best life is chock-full of goodness, I admit that. My best life is not the easy-way-round. My best life is homegrown food, fabulous dishes made from scratch, clothes hung on the line washed in soap you could eat, house tidy, lovely and smelling of lavender and windows clean and sparkly, of disasters cleaned up quickly, gifts made with love by hand, gardens full of inspiration, air filled with birdsongs we can identify or fantastic music with a good groove, close nurtured-with-love relationships with family and neighbours, etc. etc. People keep telling me that if I'm tired, I need to give up something. Like what??? I keep saying NO WAY! Why should I have to start cutting out slices of my best life so that Mr. K can have not just the best bits of my husband but far more than his share of my husband? Why can't he have him 9 or 10 hours a day and let us have our share of him too!!! I keep imagining calling him up and having this very frank talk with him -- he's a reasonable man, I'm sure I could get him to see the light. But that's when I realize that he is a very reasonable man and he probably already does see the light and I realize that this is not about Mr. K or the homeowners or the staff or anyone but my husband, in the microcosm and about the pressures of our culture in the macro. He chooses to pour himself like this into every job he does. He somehow needs the approval and admiration of knowing he is working very hard, certainly not taking it easy and never ever slacking off. Cultural taboos, yes?
I remember my uncle having a very frank talk with Brent one day years ago, telling him that he was at the prime of his life and needed to "hit it hard" and sacrifice "everything" (meaning needs of family, spouse, self) in order to "get ahead" now so that he wouldn't find himself an old man still needing to work. He painted a picture of Brent building this empire in his youth, to be enjoyed in his latter years in the form of riding his motorcycle around the country, travelling anywhere his heart desired, buying anything his family/wife wanted, etc. I remember being repulsed and intensely angry by this conversation. I don't think of it often, but I do wonder if all this now is the fruit of those seeds planted years ago. THAT is what our culture preaches. You've really made it if you are "somebody" in the corporate world. You've succeeded if you have a large bank account and investments flung across the globe. Children? Family? Marriage? pshaw.
So. That's how I see it. That's what I'm up against. It is what it is. My husband is busy building his empire. The other men we know who are completely wrapped up in building their empires have wives who are either obsessed with their own careers or have made it their career to be very very fabulous in their physical space. Their children are heavily involved in extra-curricular-everything, are breathless when they tell us how many plays they're currently starring in, how many races they've recently won, etc. etc.
and then there's me.
weird.as.hell.
Known to toss phrases around like "boredom is the key to imagination which is the key to brilliance." Me, with the children who run to pee on their favourite tree when they feel the urge, knowing that urine is high in nitrogen and is our version of fertilizer. Kids whose trophies come from their own gardens in the form of cherry tomatoes and perfect crowns of broccoli. Me, the only one who wonders aloud how crazy our world is when husbands are more concerned about their investment portfolio than the wellbeing of their own offspring. And the thing is, I KNOW that I'm different. I'm fully aware that I am far more difficult to accept than they are for me. I am filled with wonder when talking to people from the other side of the culture -- at how they find fulfillment, how they connect with their teens and all that.
The clash of two cultures is what it is, isn't it?
And so, I guess it all boils down to this: I'm searching for a way to completely embrace what is instead of what could be...
Secondly, I need to clarify one very key word in that last rant. Okay, here's what I said: "But what I truly need is for somebody to come and relieve me." The key word being "somebody". I didn't actually mean you, or anyother somebody... Here's where I was actually going with that...
The way I see families and our culture and our world as a whole really working in this new age (acknowledging that things worked a lot different back when we were tribes, living communally, never being separated by walls or lot-lines or doorbells...) is for each family unit to find a way to thrive together. So the somebody I was referring to was actually my husband, and truly only my husband. I've been told before that we can't rely on our husbands for everything. I agree. Stay with me here, I apologize for the discombobulation of this post, but really want to get clear on this and there are a lot of thoughts racing around in my head.
Here's the thing: I could absolutely do this on my own. On the days when I know from the beginning that Brent will not be coming home before bedtime, I am more than fine (the key is not to be angry about it -- if I'm upset with Brent, then absolutely nothing goes right in the entire day, so assuming I'm totally accepting that he is working til all hours of the night, I am fine). The kids and I get into a rhythm together, we conserve our energy and our patience, we get to the end of the day far earlier than if daddy was expected, we have our nighttime cuddles and the day seems quite easy. If this was the norm every day, and there were no daddy in the picture (how sad would that be?! I can hardly type the words, truly) it would be a completely different story. I would have completely different expectations of myself -- hell, the world would have different expectations of me! There would be no promise of relief coming at 6, no 6:30, no maybe 7, no for sure by 7:30, oh, hopefully by 8, oh crap, it's just not going to happen tonight, thing, you know? I am NOT saying that it would be easier or better in any way, no, just that it would be DIFFERENT. There would be no subconscious ideals in my head about evenings spent playing catch with daddy or riding bikes as a family or playing a game on the living room floor or popcorn and a movie, only to face the actuality of having time only to brush teeth and go to bed unfulfilled.
The story I am working on is thankfully not a single-parenting story. No, what I'm dealing with is the potential for all my ideals, but the disappointment that one key person somehow is absent from the picture tooooo much of the time. My disappointments come from knowing that he somehow chooses this. Our frequent talks about it reveal that he wishes things were different. He would like to be home every day by 5, with an evening with his family bright and shiney ahead of him. But he hasn't got things nailed in quite yet at work to make that happen... market downturn, staff issues, owner expectations, etc. etc. Relevant? absolutely. Helpful in the heat of things? not at all. Listen, Pedar, I know you are really angry right now and I know a cuddle would help tremendously, but everyone's hungry, the sauce has just exploded all over the kitchen (i seriously need one of those handheld in-pan blenderizer things because hot sauce + blender = explosion and i seem to have one about every week... urgh!), Heidi just woke up from her 20 minute nap and is yelling for me and there's a dog outside chasing the alpacas. Daddy would be home, but Mr. K (owner) wants some reports by day end, two of the accountants have just declared they're pregnant and a homeowner wants to know why blah blah blah. Do you feel better now, honey? No? Me either. Please let me wipe the sauce off your feet and go read a book and don't need anything else from me until I call you to dinner or I might need to go outside and scream on the deck again and you know how much the neighbours love that!!!
And I think the fact that he wishes things were different makes it harder for me! Because I don't believe in wanting things one way yet living things another (which is what I'm doing right now and why this is all causing so much angst...) I believe in living an empowered and powerful life, of making real what our desires are, of manifesting the best life we can imagine,,,, and all that.
So what's in the way? Well, that's one thing I'm trying to sort out. Not just on a surface level, but in a heal-the-planet kind of way. Our culture simply does not put family first. I keep telling my husband that he could be the trend-setter, the refreshing change at work, the one who has as much integrity with his family as he does with Mr. K. He could be as unwilling to be "late" to us as he would be for a managers meeting. Somehow he doesn't buy it. You know me, I am not a weak woman (I've actually never met a weak woman. I don't think it's evolutionarily possible, honestly). But truly, life is almost as good as life can get. I am continually amazed at how blessed my life is. But I am also not one to sit back and let things be almost anything.
My best life is chock-full of goodness, I admit that. My best life is not the easy-way-round. My best life is homegrown food, fabulous dishes made from scratch, clothes hung on the line washed in soap you could eat, house tidy, lovely and smelling of lavender and windows clean and sparkly, of disasters cleaned up quickly, gifts made with love by hand, gardens full of inspiration, air filled with birdsongs we can identify or fantastic music with a good groove, close nurtured-with-love relationships with family and neighbours, etc. etc. People keep telling me that if I'm tired, I need to give up something. Like what??? I keep saying NO WAY! Why should I have to start cutting out slices of my best life so that Mr. K can have not just the best bits of my husband but far more than his share of my husband? Why can't he have him 9 or 10 hours a day and let us have our share of him too!!! I keep imagining calling him up and having this very frank talk with him -- he's a reasonable man, I'm sure I could get him to see the light. But that's when I realize that he is a very reasonable man and he probably already does see the light and I realize that this is not about Mr. K or the homeowners or the staff or anyone but my husband, in the microcosm and about the pressures of our culture in the macro. He chooses to pour himself like this into every job he does. He somehow needs the approval and admiration of knowing he is working very hard, certainly not taking it easy and never ever slacking off. Cultural taboos, yes?
I remember my uncle having a very frank talk with Brent one day years ago, telling him that he was at the prime of his life and needed to "hit it hard" and sacrifice "everything" (meaning needs of family, spouse, self) in order to "get ahead" now so that he wouldn't find himself an old man still needing to work. He painted a picture of Brent building this empire in his youth, to be enjoyed in his latter years in the form of riding his motorcycle around the country, travelling anywhere his heart desired, buying anything his family/wife wanted, etc. I remember being repulsed and intensely angry by this conversation. I don't think of it often, but I do wonder if all this now is the fruit of those seeds planted years ago. THAT is what our culture preaches. You've really made it if you are "somebody" in the corporate world. You've succeeded if you have a large bank account and investments flung across the globe. Children? Family? Marriage? pshaw.
So. That's how I see it. That's what I'm up against. It is what it is. My husband is busy building his empire. The other men we know who are completely wrapped up in building their empires have wives who are either obsessed with their own careers or have made it their career to be very very fabulous in their physical space. Their children are heavily involved in extra-curricular-everything, are breathless when they tell us how many plays they're currently starring in, how many races they've recently won, etc. etc.
and then there's me.
weird.as.hell.
Known to toss phrases around like "boredom is the key to imagination which is the key to brilliance." Me, with the children who run to pee on their favourite tree when they feel the urge, knowing that urine is high in nitrogen and is our version of fertilizer. Kids whose trophies come from their own gardens in the form of cherry tomatoes and perfect crowns of broccoli. Me, the only one who wonders aloud how crazy our world is when husbands are more concerned about their investment portfolio than the wellbeing of their own offspring. And the thing is, I KNOW that I'm different. I'm fully aware that I am far more difficult to accept than they are for me. I am filled with wonder when talking to people from the other side of the culture -- at how they find fulfillment, how they connect with their teens and all that.
The clash of two cultures is what it is, isn't it?
And so, I guess it all boils down to this: I'm searching for a way to completely embrace what is instead of what could be...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Down Side (Rant)
When they were asking
do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?
and all that...
why oh WHY didn't I have them add:
and do you solemnly swear that you will not give so much of yourself to your work that you have nothing left to give when you come home?
I DO
and do you solemnly swear that you will work no more than 8 hours a day, 5 days a week?
HUH?
okay, 9 hours?
UM.
last offer, 10 hours?
I DO
EXCELLENT! MARRIED!
oooh! what a deal that would've been! 10 hours a day would get him home by 3:30 every day, including commute time! But way back then, 10 hours would've seemed ridiculous. 8 hours seemed 'normal'. Why does 10 seem like such a deal now?
Or at the very least, why didn't I get a signed contract? I got him to sign one saying he wouldn't watch TV sports during dinner! (his dad does) It took some doing, but he did sign it! And I still have it.
But why would I have ever thought it necessary? His dad worked 7am until 3pm longest, and took every Friday off! And Brent always said he didn't want to be one of "those" men who lived for work and lived uninteresting lives because they were obsessed with work and money. We moved to Vernon because he was being fast-tracked into upper management by the developer he worked for in Calgary. Slower pace out here... wasn't expected that you'd work crazy hours... ski when the snow was good, and all that...
Somewhere along the line he's changed his mind and it's affected all of us. He is "one of those men" he once pitied. And I am a cranky-pants.
I think the biggest thing for me is that the kids will in the future remember that he was an amazing dad. Couldn't have been better. and all that...
Because he IS amazing. For 1.5 hours of their waking weekdays, on good days, and only for the weekends on the weeks when things are crazy. And at least he IS here on weekends. every weekend. And that's what I keep telling myself. It could be so much worse. He could work Saturdays too! Lots of men do. and all that...
And I keep telling myself it is what it is and every single night when I go to bed after having grouched the kids into bed I think starting right now, I CHOOSE this. tomorrow will be different. it has to be. tomorrow I will embrace motherhood with my wholebeing and NOTHING will pull me off track.
Oh, I'm not always grumpy. Most of the day I'm engaging and fun and full of patience and energy and loving and everything I want to be. But somewhere along the day,
I.simply.run.out.
of everything.
I hear myself lose my patience, being sharper than necessary...
I hear it, but I can't seem to stop it.
I am just empty.
The kids will likely remember me as that. Empty. Life as a grind rather than a groove. Cranky. Impatient. Yelling.
It's not what I ever wanted. It makes me cry to think of it. I've tried everything to stop living this regretful way... exercise...diet...deep breathing...reading...writing...calling a friend...locking myself in my bedroom... But what I truly need is for somebody to come and relieve me. And so as much as I can temper my frustration, the resentment shows and it's making for a regretful life... the one thing I always said I would NEVER do.
Not many people "get" this. Most have husbands who are home more, or have less demanding jobs at the very least. Some somehow worked through it way back when and either don't remember or somehow found a lot more strength doing it all on their own than I've managed to.
I want to know how. I want to know how to do this motherhood thing, for 12 hours a day after sleepless fever-filled nights, without regret. I want to fulfill my vision of myself as the soft-spot-to-fall, the never-ending-patient, calm, loving, never-snappy, never-grabbing-an-arm-too-hard, never gritting-my-teeth, never-wanting-to-truly-run-away MOTHER.
I've wondered if I need to let go of my 24/7, 365 day ideal?
Would school help? I can't imagine it -- getting empty kids back in exchange for 6 hours to myself?
Here's how my day started out:
8:10 doorbell rings. I pull myself out of sleep to find tree-cutter-men (2) at door to give me quote. My throat is so sore that I can't talk (laryngitis) plus the fact that I haven't spoken yet and had to wake up Heidi to answer door with me... I get outside and realize my shirt is on inside out and the zipper to my skirt is undone and I didn't take the time to pull on underwear. Lovely.
9:00 boy arrives to cut weeds. I still haven't changed or brushed my teeth and he looks a little scared to be dropped off HERE by his mother. I don't blame him.
10:00 racing off to doctor, praying all the way that Brent really does show up for this appointment. We're 5 minutes late. He's not there.
Neither is the usual receptionist who loves my children and knows us well. eeek!
I begin prepping Annika for watching Heidi (who's going through severe separation anxiety at the moment) for me in the waiting room.
This is only the second time I'm seeing this doctor (who took over for my long-term-doctor), who's just emigrated from England, and who is FAR too handsome to be performing the impending breast exam and pap smear!
I'm called into the exam room, and Heidi immediately throws herself on the floor and begins sobbing and calling "mama! mama!"
F#$@!
I decide she has to come with me so I pick her up and take her into the exam room. One look at the table full of shiny instruments and I change my mind. She'll have that tray tipped onto the floor tuit suit. No go.
double F@#$!
I call Annika and tell her, just take her, breathe deeply, relax your body and sing to her.
Right. Absolutely!
It's just exactly what I need to do, but isn't going to work on this one year old who has completely relaxed her body, become a dead screaming weight in her big sisters arms and is now screaming louder than any of us predicted possible.
I break the world record for undressing and putting on the lovely blue paper 'gown' (who the hell ever decided to call it a GOWN?) and call Annika back in, thinking maybe I can hold her during the exam. No. She screams louder. I think maybe Annika can hold her on the chair and I'll sing to her during the exam. Nobody can hear me over her screaming.
Doctor pokes his shocked-looking-not-nearly-so-handsome-face-now through the door asking if this is going to work.
???
NO! it's not going to WORK.
2.5 seconds later all is absolutely quiet.
Doctor says he asked receptionist to help with baby.
I think he's bloody brilliant.
Until his next statement.
So! This could be rather interesting as I haven't done one of these as yet in this office, and have never done one on my own! (no less terrifying said in his lovely English accent!)
Excellent.
Somehow I'd forgotten that they have their helper standing there handing them instruments, adjusting the light, wiping the sweat off their brow and holding their frigging hand through the laborous procedure! CRAP!
There I am, legs splayed, most vulnerable bits of me open to the world, English doctor flayling around trying to reach the swab, trying to reach the tray, reaching above his head for the light that's way too high for him to reach, muttering that he can't find my bloody cervix, switching speculums, flayling again above his head for the light (I finally pulled it down with my toes! okay, that bit does make me giggle even this early into the horrific memory of the entire experience), etc. etc. etc.
My face is brilliant red.
I'm actually amazed at how terribly embarrassed I am by all of this.
I pull my clothes on fast as I can whilst making sure skirt zipper is firmly UP, shirt is most definitely inside RIGHT and race out to see where this new receptionist I've never seen in my life has gone off to with my children. They're on the street! Pointing at cars as they drive by, pointing at helicopters in the air (fighting the local fires), everyone having a gay time.
We pack into the car. I take the 15 seconds to text my husband (not pretty), drive over to Midian to get frozen carmel lattes to deliver back to doctor and receptionist, take a deep breath and we're off to the next appointment.
THAT is a mother's life. Plain and simple.
Men don't get it.
How could they, really?
Not just the being alone with 3 children for a pap, or the strange embarassment even at 40 at having a pap done by a strange male doctor... But just the whole thing about being a mother. My husband does not understand why I'm empty or cranky. Ever. He knows I get precious little sleep at the best of times, he knows how full on it is having the dynamics of 3 kids around allllll the time. He knows that, but he doesn't get it. He's tried. He thinks he gets it. He doesn't get it.
And lest you (or I, in my darkest hour) think my husband is simply just not that into me or us, I assure you that he is. People who really know him, know that he is absolutely dedicated to us and completely in love with us.
So why does he pour himself into work like this?
Why does he choose to do what it takes to get the job done right at work? but not so much at home?
Is it because I am so bloodyhell capable? Does he know that somehow I CAN and WILL get through a pap on my own? Or dinner prep? Or a throwing up kid? Or all 3 throwing up kids? Wilst throwing up myself?
Does he have more confidence in me than he does in the idiots he employs at work?
Would it behoove me to be less capable?
But we can only be who we are.
And who I am is capable, absolutely, but not thriving being on my own with my 3 amazing kids this many hours a day, this many days in a row... Who I am is feeling a lot less capable after the annual exam saga today... Who I am is searching for answers just now...
do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?
and all that...
why oh WHY didn't I have them add:
and do you solemnly swear that you will not give so much of yourself to your work that you have nothing left to give when you come home?
I DO
and do you solemnly swear that you will work no more than 8 hours a day, 5 days a week?
HUH?
okay, 9 hours?
UM.
last offer, 10 hours?
I DO
EXCELLENT! MARRIED!
oooh! what a deal that would've been! 10 hours a day would get him home by 3:30 every day, including commute time! But way back then, 10 hours would've seemed ridiculous. 8 hours seemed 'normal'. Why does 10 seem like such a deal now?
Or at the very least, why didn't I get a signed contract? I got him to sign one saying he wouldn't watch TV sports during dinner! (his dad does) It took some doing, but he did sign it! And I still have it.
But why would I have ever thought it necessary? His dad worked 7am until 3pm longest, and took every Friday off! And Brent always said he didn't want to be one of "those" men who lived for work and lived uninteresting lives because they were obsessed with work and money. We moved to Vernon because he was being fast-tracked into upper management by the developer he worked for in Calgary. Slower pace out here... wasn't expected that you'd work crazy hours... ski when the snow was good, and all that...
Somewhere along the line he's changed his mind and it's affected all of us. He is "one of those men" he once pitied. And I am a cranky-pants.
I think the biggest thing for me is that the kids will in the future remember that he was an amazing dad. Couldn't have been better. and all that...
Because he IS amazing. For 1.5 hours of their waking weekdays, on good days, and only for the weekends on the weeks when things are crazy. And at least he IS here on weekends. every weekend. And that's what I keep telling myself. It could be so much worse. He could work Saturdays too! Lots of men do. and all that...
And I keep telling myself it is what it is and every single night when I go to bed after having grouched the kids into bed I think starting right now, I CHOOSE this. tomorrow will be different. it has to be. tomorrow I will embrace motherhood with my wholebeing and NOTHING will pull me off track.
Oh, I'm not always grumpy. Most of the day I'm engaging and fun and full of patience and energy and loving and everything I want to be. But somewhere along the day,
I.simply.run.out.
of everything.
I hear myself lose my patience, being sharper than necessary...
I hear it, but I can't seem to stop it.
I am just empty.
The kids will likely remember me as that. Empty. Life as a grind rather than a groove. Cranky. Impatient. Yelling.
It's not what I ever wanted. It makes me cry to think of it. I've tried everything to stop living this regretful way... exercise...diet...deep breathing...reading...writing...calling a friend...locking myself in my bedroom... But what I truly need is for somebody to come and relieve me. And so as much as I can temper my frustration, the resentment shows and it's making for a regretful life... the one thing I always said I would NEVER do.
Not many people "get" this. Most have husbands who are home more, or have less demanding jobs at the very least. Some somehow worked through it way back when and either don't remember or somehow found a lot more strength doing it all on their own than I've managed to.
I want to know how. I want to know how to do this motherhood thing, for 12 hours a day after sleepless fever-filled nights, without regret. I want to fulfill my vision of myself as the soft-spot-to-fall, the never-ending-patient, calm, loving, never-snappy, never-grabbing-an-arm-too-hard, never gritting-my-teeth, never-wanting-to-truly-run-away MOTHER.
I've wondered if I need to let go of my 24/7, 365 day ideal?
Would school help? I can't imagine it -- getting empty kids back in exchange for 6 hours to myself?
Here's how my day started out:
8:10 doorbell rings. I pull myself out of sleep to find tree-cutter-men (2) at door to give me quote. My throat is so sore that I can't talk (laryngitis) plus the fact that I haven't spoken yet and had to wake up Heidi to answer door with me... I get outside and realize my shirt is on inside out and the zipper to my skirt is undone and I didn't take the time to pull on underwear. Lovely.
9:00 boy arrives to cut weeds. I still haven't changed or brushed my teeth and he looks a little scared to be dropped off HERE by his mother. I don't blame him.
10:00 racing off to doctor, praying all the way that Brent really does show up for this appointment. We're 5 minutes late. He's not there.
Neither is the usual receptionist who loves my children and knows us well. eeek!
I begin prepping Annika for watching Heidi (who's going through severe separation anxiety at the moment) for me in the waiting room.
This is only the second time I'm seeing this doctor (who took over for my long-term-doctor), who's just emigrated from England, and who is FAR too handsome to be performing the impending breast exam and pap smear!
I'm called into the exam room, and Heidi immediately throws herself on the floor and begins sobbing and calling "mama! mama!"
F#$@!
I decide she has to come with me so I pick her up and take her into the exam room. One look at the table full of shiny instruments and I change my mind. She'll have that tray tipped onto the floor tuit suit. No go.
double F@#$!
I call Annika and tell her, just take her, breathe deeply, relax your body and sing to her.
Right. Absolutely!
It's just exactly what I need to do, but isn't going to work on this one year old who has completely relaxed her body, become a dead screaming weight in her big sisters arms and is now screaming louder than any of us predicted possible.
I break the world record for undressing and putting on the lovely blue paper 'gown' (who the hell ever decided to call it a GOWN?) and call Annika back in, thinking maybe I can hold her during the exam. No. She screams louder. I think maybe Annika can hold her on the chair and I'll sing to her during the exam. Nobody can hear me over her screaming.
Doctor pokes his shocked-looking-not-nearly-so-handsome-face-now through the door asking if this is going to work.
???
NO! it's not going to WORK.
2.5 seconds later all is absolutely quiet.
Doctor says he asked receptionist to help with baby.
I think he's bloody brilliant.
Until his next statement.
So! This could be rather interesting as I haven't done one of these as yet in this office, and have never done one on my own! (no less terrifying said in his lovely English accent!)
Excellent.
Somehow I'd forgotten that they have their helper standing there handing them instruments, adjusting the light, wiping the sweat off their brow and holding their frigging hand through the laborous procedure! CRAP!
There I am, legs splayed, most vulnerable bits of me open to the world, English doctor flayling around trying to reach the swab, trying to reach the tray, reaching above his head for the light that's way too high for him to reach, muttering that he can't find my bloody cervix, switching speculums, flayling again above his head for the light (I finally pulled it down with my toes! okay, that bit does make me giggle even this early into the horrific memory of the entire experience), etc. etc. etc.
My face is brilliant red.
I'm actually amazed at how terribly embarrassed I am by all of this.
I pull my clothes on fast as I can whilst making sure skirt zipper is firmly UP, shirt is most definitely inside RIGHT and race out to see where this new receptionist I've never seen in my life has gone off to with my children. They're on the street! Pointing at cars as they drive by, pointing at helicopters in the air (fighting the local fires), everyone having a gay time.
We pack into the car. I take the 15 seconds to text my husband (not pretty), drive over to Midian to get frozen carmel lattes to deliver back to doctor and receptionist, take a deep breath and we're off to the next appointment.
THAT is a mother's life. Plain and simple.
Men don't get it.
How could they, really?
Not just the being alone with 3 children for a pap, or the strange embarassment even at 40 at having a pap done by a strange male doctor... But just the whole thing about being a mother. My husband does not understand why I'm empty or cranky. Ever. He knows I get precious little sleep at the best of times, he knows how full on it is having the dynamics of 3 kids around allllll the time. He knows that, but he doesn't get it. He's tried. He thinks he gets it. He doesn't get it.
And lest you (or I, in my darkest hour) think my husband is simply just not that into me or us, I assure you that he is. People who really know him, know that he is absolutely dedicated to us and completely in love with us.
So why does he pour himself into work like this?
Why does he choose to do what it takes to get the job done right at work? but not so much at home?
Is it because I am so bloodyhell capable? Does he know that somehow I CAN and WILL get through a pap on my own? Or dinner prep? Or a throwing up kid? Or all 3 throwing up kids? Wilst throwing up myself?
Does he have more confidence in me than he does in the idiots he employs at work?
Would it behoove me to be less capable?
But we can only be who we are.
And who I am is capable, absolutely, but not thriving being on my own with my 3 amazing kids this many hours a day, this many days in a row... Who I am is feeling a lot less capable after the annual exam saga today... Who I am is searching for answers just now...
Friday, August 07, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Oh my, I love this!
Recently, in a large French city, a poster featuring a young, thin and tan woman appeared in the window of a gym. It said:
¨THIS SUMMER DO YOU WANT TO BE A MERMAID OR A WHALE?¨
A middle aged woman, whose physical characteristics did not match those of the woman on the poster, responded publicly to the question posed by the gym.
To Whom It May Concern:
Whales are always surrounded by friends (dolphins, sea lions, curious humans). They have an active sex life, they get pregnant and have adorable baby whales. They have a wonderful time with dolphins stuffing themselves with shrimp. They play and swim in the seas, seeing wonderful places like Patagonia, the Bering Sea and the coral reefs of Polynesia. Whales are wonderful singers and have even recorded CDs. They are incredible creatures and virtually have no predators other than humans. They are loved, protected and admired by almost everyone in the world.
Mermaids don't exist. If they did exist, they would be lining up outside the offices of Argentinean psychoanalysts due to identity crisis. Fish or human? They don't have a sex life because they kill men who get close to them not to mention how could they have sex? Therefore they do not have kids either. Not to mention who wants to get close to a girl who smells like a fish store? The choice is perfectly clear to me; I want to be a whale.
P.S. We are in an age when media puts into our heads the idea that only skinny people are beautiful, but I prefer to enjoy an ice cream, a good dinner with a man who makes me shiver and a coffee with my friends. With time we gain weight because we accumulate so much information and wisdom in our heads that when there is no more room it distributes out to the rest of our bodies. So we aren't heavy, we are enormously cultured, educated and happy. Beginning today, when I look at my butt in the mirror I will think, Good gosh, look how smart I am.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
10 Minute Delicious Soup!
For those of us with half a freezer full of pureed pumpkin from last Autumn, here's the perfect 10 minute soup!
Thai Pumpkin Curry Soup from "The Vegetarian Mother's Cookbook" by Cathe Olson
2 cups (15 oz) pureed, cooked pumpkin
1 (14 oz) can coconut milk
2 cups stock (veg or I use my own chicken stock)
1 tsp red curry paste (I use Thai Kitchen brand)
1/4 tsp sea salt
Boil together, remove from heat and add:
1 Tbsp miso
and sprinkle with Miner's Lettuce (looks like lilypads, tastes better than beansprouts and lettuce put together, and once you have them in your garden you'll never be without them! yum!)
(or cilantro if you're one of those people, wink! wink!)
We're eating it with crusty bread tonight out on the deck--it's the perfect summer soup,who'da thought?! SO good!
I'd say that's a rave review! Same from all 3 little ones!Sunday, June 28, 2009
A Dream Come True
Mr. P LOVES helicopters and has long talked of being a helicopter pilot when he grows up. WELL! Today he got a ride... SUCH FUN!
20 minutes of sheer excitement!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Happy Father's Day!
I'm glad there's a special day to slow down and make especially sure that you know how much you're honoured and appreciated and admired just inyour role of 'Dad'. Lately I've been keenly aware of what a great dad you are -- not just from my perspective but especially from your kids'. You're loving and tender and really "there" for them when you need to be. Yet you're fun and silly and sporty and adventurous with them too. You teach them cool stuff and you're patient and calm most of the time when they need you to be. You're solid and predictable enough for them to really depend on you yet you break any mold anybody's ever set out - racing in the Over The Hill Downhill and riding your bike down the road from Silver Star. You're exciting and funny and handsome and generous -- everything a kid wants their dad to be. Truly, our kids are, hands down, the luckiest kids I know because you are their dad. And if nothing else ever went right in their lives, that one thing would be enough to carry them along. You are such a great dad, Brent.
And theother side of that, of course, is that you love their mother and that's huge. You teach them, through your love for me to be honest, dependable, worthy and accepting of love. Our example of how to work things out, how to stick things out, how to love in spite of... will carry them the rest of the way. They'll know they're worthy of being deeply loved no matter what -- and they'll be willing to take the risk of loving deeply and putting themselves out there. I'm SO grateful for your love for them, and even more for your love for me. I love you! Happy Father's Day!
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