this blessed life

february faces

2012-02-17T21:52:00.000-05:00

'me' time

2012-02-16T16:41:00.002-05:00

The people - well-meaning though they may in fact be - who tout the importance of "taking some 'me' time" for the benefit of a mother's mental health, particularly in battling and surviving post-partum depression and anxiety, can take their advice and shove it.

Seriously. Not only is a little mommy time-out not going to cut it, here's a rare insight: the mommy time-out doesn't exist.

Does. not. exist.

Not every day.

Not when you're home alone with multiple children.

And the rare occasion on which Mommy does get some time to herself, maybe an hour or two on a weekend or evening? It's prefaced by various preparatory exercises and all too frequently follows up with kiddie drama upon her return.

Oh, yes. Very restoring, indeed.

I am sick to freaking death of being told I need a break. Ya think?! Hells yes, I need a break. Of course I need a damn break.

But here's the gigantic problem with this little kernel of advice:

it ends up blaming mothers.

Oh, you would feel so much better if you just learned to take a break once in a while.

And in the midst of blaming those mothers, those mothers who are struggling, who are fighting, who are frantically trying to keep their head above water, gasping for air,

it makes light of the problem. It makes light of a serious, debilitating mental health concern.

But yeah, I'll just go run a bath, nibble some bon bons, listen to my iPod, and totally relax. I'm sure I'll feel entirely restored after listening to my two children screeching for me for the half-hour* I'm in there.

I can't imagine why that wouldn't work...can you?

*During the twenty minutes it took me to write this, I had to stop Peanut from drawing on the coffee table, stop Bubby from breaking her teeth off on said coffee table, stop Peanut from tormenting her sister, stop Peanut from crumbling up a crayon in the living room, stop Bubby from ripping the power cord out of the laptop, replace text she deleted when she smacked the keyboard, and eventually unplug the whole thing and move to the dining room in order to get it finished.

for one good breath

2012-01-17T23:51:00.003-05:00

Every summer of my youth, I worked up at a church camp. I met too many people to count. Counsellors, staff, clergy, families and campers. So many campers. Not only is it a residential - sleep-away - camp, entire families visit, staying in tents or trailers. Some families would come every summer. And some of those families were ones that we staff not only got to know, we got to love them. When we knew they were coming, we were very, very excited.

Because they were awesome. Because they exuded love. Because they were joyful.

And because we adored their kids.

Hélène was one such kid. A kid no longer, she is fighting the fight of her life, the fight for her life. Now 20 years old, she's been diagnosed with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis.

Her lungs are broken. They don't work anymore.

She needs new ones.

But new lungs are tricky to get, particularly when so many perfectly usable lungs - along with kidneys, livers, hearts, corneas... - are simply not being used because people aren't signing their organ donor card and are failing to tell their loved ones that they want to donate.

Hear me now, world: I WANT TO BE A DONOR. Don't waste anything: if it's usable, take it, because I won't need it anymore.

After we lost Laura, I know I, and likely many of my fellow dancers, felt a great sense of solace in knowing how many lives she touched, how many lives she saved, because her organs were not wasted.

But people need to think ahead. We need to think about and talk about organ donation before it becomes an issue. People need to talk about it now. And maybe, just maybe, people like Hélène won't have to wait for so long.

Please: join me in tweeting @JustinBieber on Thursday, January 19. We're tweeting to urge everyone to #BeAnOrganDonor. To raise hope for Hélène.

To learn more about Hélène, you can read her story on alungstory.ca.

self | 52 :: week 2

2012-01-15T11:29:00.004-05:00

Self-portrait while helping Bubby with her nap.

self | 52 :: week 1

2012-01-03T20:30:00.003-05:00

My first self-portrait for this year's photo project after my little urban date with myself yesterday.

little reminders | popularity

2012-01-03T09:30:00.000-05:00

This is a new series I'm starting. From time to time I'll be posting words and images to keep me focussed and remind myself of important truths.

selfless

2012-01-02T15:25:00.002-05:00

In yesterday's post, I had a short list of ways I'm going to allow myself to blossom this coming year. The last point, ongrowing in community, is a sticking point for me. My introverted, occasionallyshy nature doesn't easily translate to community- and friendship-building. I amfar too comfortable at home alone with my kids.

It's destroying me.

I know it. And I'madmitting it here because I need to make myself accountable.

I believe strongly that we are meant to live in community with one another. It isn't only that we are social animals: I believe that Jesus Christ calls us to live in community. But that's easier said than done in an age of nuclear families and single-family dwellings. The fact is that if I am going to exist in community - if my family is going to live in community with other families - we will need to be inventive. Or, perhaps not inventive, but retrospective. Community is hardly a new idea. We don't need to invent ways of living in community, only re-imagine the manner of its expression and the form of its experience.

I read this last week and I'll be re-reading it for thenext few months. It is time to embrace community, to allow myself to grow withothers, to express and experience greater love and encouragement. It is time tomake - and be - friends, not just occasionally but with regularity and incommonplace and reliable ways.

My photo project for this year, self|52 is part photographic exercise, part impetus to become more in tune with my identity. The upshot is, I need to become more comfortable with others and more comfortable with myself. And I'm already finding myself occasionally struggling with my role and function in our family...

It sort of begs the question: who am I comfortable around? Is there anyone?

It's two sides of the same coin. How can I be comfortable in community, in authentic, genuine, sincere, open-hearted, loving relationship with others if I'm not sure of who I am, or at least, confident that I am expressing myself honestly?

****

I think about the term "selfless". We - particularly we in the church - use this word as though it is a good thing. It's good to be totally without self.

No way. I cannot buy that. Giving of self: yes. Willing and able to pour ourselves into serving others: absolutely. Accepting of the will of God to direct our lives, to inform ourselves: without question. But selfless? No.

Who am I, if not a child of God? Am I really so presumptuous as to say that the person, the individual, unique and blessed, that She created in crafting this soul is so worthless that I can cast it aside and be 'selfless'? No.

Luke 10:27(b) reads: ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’ Until earlier this year, I had always interpreted these words only as an exhortation to treat others well. But in February I realized that such a reading is unnecessarily limited.

If Jesus loves me, shouldn't I love me, too?

And if I'm lovable, shouldn't I share myself with others? Shouldn't I share my life and my thoughts and my love and my passion and my realness with other living, thinking, loving, passionate, real people? Shouldn't I welcome them and welcome the opportunity to be with them, to grow with them?

****

Isn't it deliciously ironic that I am best able to realize and express the need for community when I'm given time to myself?

Balance.

****

I need to exist in relationship with others. Too often I've heard truths about myself - about what and who I am, from the people who surround me, who love me, who see my own realness - which I had not seen before. My first step on this existential journey is to acknowledge that I cannot do this alone. I cannot merely reflect on myself: I need to see myself reflected in the people around me.

It's probably going to be uncomfortable. I'm not just a homebody, I'm actually prone to agoraphobia and anxiety issues. So it's going to be seriously uncomfortable at times. But it needs doing, and I know - without question - that I'll be happier for it.

self|52

2012-01-01T22:20:00.001-05:00

In December, I participated in the December Photo Project where we were challenged to post a daily photo from December 1st to 24th. As a new year begins, many people are participating in another year of Project 365, where a photo is posted daily for the entire year.

I like the challenge of these projects but I also know from my experience with the DPP that getting a good shot, downloading it, editing it, uploading and posting it is simply not going to happen every day. Once a week, though: that I can do.

As I undergo a year of existential change and growth, reflecting on identity and the notion of self will be an ongoing practice. With that in mind, I'm embarking on my own photo project: self|52. Every week during 2012 I will post a self-portrait I've taken. My aim is to challenge myself both as a burgeoning photographer and philosopher. How will I use this medium to reflect my identity? What is the state of my concept of self and how can I depict that?

Want to join? I've created a Flickr group here and I also encourage you to comment and link to your self-portraits, wherever you may be posting them. I'd love to see your reflections on yourself.

blossom

2012-01-01T14:15:00.000-05:00

My word for 2011 is blossom.

For months now, I've known that I am in a season of change. In retrospect, it began over a year ago with dreading my hair, though I didn't realize it at the time. It is proving to be a season of spiritual change as I reflect and re-evaluate my faith and my vision of the church, of what the church is meant to be and how I fit into it and how that affects and effects my relationship with God. It's a season of emotional and existential change as I reflect on my identity, my role in our family, my role in society at large. I have been meditating on what and how I contribute, on the value of what I do, on balancing my desires for my children, my family, and myself. I have been struggling with how to balance what I do with what I think, my full-time mothering with my feminism.

It's complicated. It's challenging. At times it's a little heartbreaking, when my ideals appear to exist in conflict with one another and I need to reconcile them. And finding space in which to delve into these matters, giving myself the mental space to deal with it all is incredibly difficult. Small-space living as a family of four is snug and cozy, but it does come with a few drawbacks, and the premium placed on solitude is one of them.

****

I've staked out some space at a Starbucks a few blocks from our apartment - my beloved Bridgehead is closed today, and I need space, tea, and free wi-fi. Jon is home with the girls. They are fine without me there (I am very grateful, for a whole host of reasons, that at very-nearly 8 months old, I am no longer Bubby's sole food-source). I have time and the ability to think.

****

Why 'blossom'? I considered other words. I considered 'bloom', 'bud', 'sprout'... But I settled on blossom.

blos·som [blos-uhm]noun Botany .
1.the flower of a plant, especially of one producing an ediblefruit.
1.the flower of a plant, especially of one producing an ediblefruit.
2.the state of flowering: The apple tree is in blossomverb (used without object)3.Botany . to produce or yield blossoms.
4.to flourish; develop (often followed by into or out ): a writerof commercial jingles who blossomed out into an importantcomposer.
5.(of a parachute) to open.
andfrom the World English Dictionary:

3.

(of plants) to come into flower

4.

to develop or come to a promising stage: youth had blossomed
into maturity

I have been resisting the change I feel happening. I have been holding onto fear and turning away from the bravery and vulnerability I need to face in order to allow that change to happen. But I can't resist any longer. For that reason, I briefly considered claiming the word 'brave' but decided against it. I know that I need to be brave, but simply saying that I'm going to be brave without pointing to why I will be brave, without looking toward what will come of that bravery will not help me. I need to accept the challenge and move forward into change. Bravery is merely one of the tools I need to take me there. The mark on which my eye is laid is to blossom.

In blossoming, what will be comes out of what is. What is - the beginning, the genesis, the bud - is good, and it is beautiful and sweet and dear, but what will be - the blossom - is its destiny. It is what is meant to be. It is what must be. It is, literally, necessary for fruition.

I have been tucked inside for too long. I have been curled unto myself, holding within the potential for beauty, for the bearing of fruit. I've resisted the blooming, afraid. Afraid of failure. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of not succeeding the way I presume that I should. Afraid of disappointing myself, my family. Afraid of over-extending myself. Afraid of being challenged. Afraid of changing into someone I don't recognize, not because who I might become would be so terrible but because I think that I am comfortable.

But I'm not. I'm not comfortable. I am frustrated. I'm not frustrated in my life - my family, my husband, my children, our life together, is life-giving and sustaining - but frustrated in my production. I have been soaking up goodness, wisdom, thought, reflection, ideas, beauty for ages: the time has come to contribute. It's time to own my voice.

Some of the ways I am going to blossom are:

*voicing my needs

*allowing and forcing myself to embrace discomfort

*accepting that things which have been may be coming to an end in order make space for what will be

*acknowledging and embracing that my faith and my past expressions of it are changing and I have to allow that change to happen

*using my innate and developing creativity to contribute to the global conversation as well as contribute to the family purse

*growing in community

I hope you'll come with me on this journey to blossoming.

And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to Blossom.
Risk - Anaïs Nin

new

2011-12-31T21:29:00.000-05:00

I remember one year when I was about 12 or 13 years old I wrote up a list of New Year's resolutions on a piece of decorative paper, rolled it up in a scroll and tied it with a ribbon. Knowing myself, I imagine that list contained resolutions like, "Study even harder; be more organized; clean my room" and, assuredly, "Stop biting my fingernails". Every day, for about a week, I opened up the scroll and regarded the list and steeled myself to better adhere to those resolutions. After a week, maybe ten days, I'd stopped looking at it. A few months later I found it amongst the random crap that had accumulated in piles around my room (so much for cleaning my room, eh?) and, grudgingly, admitted to myself that I just wasn't a resolution sort of person and chucked the list out.

In my pre-and early teen years, New Year's Eve was a big deal. There was a trio of families - our family with two girls, our friends down the street with two girls and a family in the next neighbourhood with two boys - who spent a lot of time together. The parents were all friends and the kids - to one extent or another as the years went on - were friends and of an age, too. Every year the parents all went to the same New Year's Eve party, and once about half of the kids had passed about 12 years old, we six kids all spent the evening together in one of the family homes.

It was fun. I remember the year we turned our basement into a giant fort, with walls and blanket-roofs and doors and spent the entire night down there. I remember the year the youngest child, a girl 5 years my junior, got sick and we pulled out the convertible couch and all lay together on it after she'd finished being sick in the powder room. I remember watching old musicals - The Sound of Music was in heavy rotation - and rollerblading around and around the unfinished basement of the boys' home. New Year's Eve, in those years, was a night of possibility and freedom. We were giddy with it.

As the years passed, though, NYE lost its shine. To me it became just an arbitrary date, a day when, culturally, the expectation was for something momentous and exciting to happen, a night of glamour and fun and parties and kisses at midnight but none of which ever happened for me. December 31 was just another very cold night in Ottawa. Another night when I had nowhere to go and nothing special to do. For the most part I was perfectly happy to stay home on my own or with my family - I'm naturally a homebody - but I felt the pull of filling the cultural expectation of something BIG.

Now, with not only marriage but also two children under my belt, I'm not looking to go out on NYE for a night of big excitement and partying, and I'm certainly not looking to find some stranger to kiss at midnight (though I never actually did, sitcoms and movies had me convinced that I was supposed to want to do so). In the past few years, New Year's Eve has been a bit of a non-starter in our home. This year, however, I find myself feeling very differently about this night.

The fact is that tonight is an entirely arbitrary date. The changing of the year could just as easily happen in March or July or any other day. In the church liturgical year, the changing of the year begins in November at the commencement of Advent. Tonight is no different than any other night.

Except...

Except that we choose it to be so. Except that we, in deciding that tomorrow begins a new year, imbue tonight with greater purpose and significance than last night or tomorrow night. Tonight we begin anew.

We don't, of course. We don't begin entirely fresh and new. The laundry that is half-finished will still need to be folded and put away, the bills that are unpaid will still need reckoning, the projects on needles will still await their stitches. We do not leave behind that which is unfinished simply because we have begun a new year. But we can choose to leave behind the things which are completed, the things which have transpired in our past days. We can choose - or at least try - to detach ourselves from what has been, and move forward into what will be with a clear mind and with intention.

What is special about tonight is not that I or any other person may choose to start fresh tomorrow morning. No, what is special about tonight is that so many of the people on this blue world of ourselves will do so. There is a common purpose in New Year's Eve. Every person with a Gregorian calendar is, tonight, aware that tomorrow we begin a new year of days.

So I am making resolutions this year. I am setting goals. I am claiming a word for myself to mark my year and use as a metre for my growth. I have chosen that tonight is special, arbitrary though that may be. Tonight is the last day of this year. A year of good and ill, a year of stress and joy, a year of death and birth. Like the leaves of the trees in this season, the year has served its purpose, fostering growth and change and newness, and now the year is spent, dry and brittle in its age. Tomorrow this year will fall to earth, be buried in the snow and decay, nourishing the new year as it buds.

“Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?”
― L.M. Montgomery

a happy Christmas

2011-12-25T22:54:00.001-05:00

That you may know today, more strongly than yesterday, that you are loved.
You are deeply, deeply loved
A merry and blessed Christmas to you and yours.

dpp 2011 | askew

2011-12-23T16:34:00.000-05:00

I was making bias binding at 12am last night.

I may have descended to a new level of sickness. :)

tear it up

2011-12-22T10:26:00.002-05:00

We rarely get Christmas cards. I think it's a generational thing: with the exception of two letters, all of my correspondence in the past year has been online. Last night, though, we had a card in the mail from Jon's aunt and uncle. And for some reason, Peanut really, really wanted to rip it to pieces. I have no idea why, since it was pretty out of character. Still, she really wanted to tear it up, but letting her do so seemed disrespectful and wrong and besides, we so rarely get Christmas cards it would be a shame to destroy the one we have.

But we also had about 6 multiple-page flyers and ads. And we were just going to recycle them anyway...

The mess was impressive, and it greeted me this morning, too. But why not, right? I could use the homeschool-y jargon and tell you we engaged in sensory play - which it was, of course - but mostly I just wanted the girls to have fun, and fun they certainly had.

They're young once. And the mess took all of 3 minutes to clean up, even with Bubby creeping around in the middle of it and Peanut "helping". As they grow and learn I find myself learning to let go and roll with things. The better I am able to do so, the happier we all are, and the most unexpected and blessed moments we have together.

dpp 2011 | by the chimney with care

2011-12-21T23:06:00.001-05:00

A handcrafted stocking, completed and waiting to go home to a little boy, E. 100% cotton, manually machine quilted in spirals and waves, with a contrasting applique and trim. I hope E. likes it!

dpp 2011 | tension

2011-12-21T22:35:00.001-05:00

Dec 20::

I live at my sewing machine now. If you need me, I'll be winding bobbins with a mouthful of pins.

dpp 2011 | a girl and her dog

2011-12-21T22:29:00.000-05:00

Dec 19::

I will protect the blanket.

dpp 2011 | conduction

2011-12-17T21:03:00.001-05:00

I sing soprano in our church choir. Our annual Christmas concert is tomorrow afternoon, and this morning we had our rehearsal with the chamber orchestra. I so adore listening to and singing Bach, and I do so love seeing our Director of Music's enthusiasm for Bach, as well. We are very blessed to work with such a passionate artist.

dpp 2011 | dough

2011-12-16T21:53:00.002-05:00

We made salt dough ornaments today.

I recently read this post and knew that I wanted to do this with Peanut. So yesterday we trundled off, the three of us, through the rain and the wind and the rush hour crowds, to the dollar store. We did some Christmas shopping (yes, at the dollar store because Christmas shopping with a 3yo at a dollar store filled with entirely random stuff is, frankly, hilarious) and got some supplies for salt dough ornaments as well as my funky gift wrapping plan for this year (which you'll probably see in a post in the next day or two). Today we played with dough.

A lovely little memory with my girls.

dpp 2011 | blue christmas

2011-12-15T22:31:00.001-05:00

It was 10C today. 10! On the fifteenth of December. I'm not holding my breath for a white Christmas this year. Bare can be pretty, too...

dpp 2011 | sweet

2011-12-15T07:57:00.004-05:00

Lunch with my sweeties. I'm very blessed to have cool people in my life, either locally or online. A friend of mine from university has an awesome foodie blog that I love and several months ago shared a recipe for baked sweet potato fries that really turn out beautifully. Since sweet potatoes are a nutrient-rich food, they make a great food for early eaters so I've been trying to get Bubby to enjoy them. My first attempt at simple sweet potato wedges didn't go over too well, but these were a hit yesterday. I made some cashew cream for myself for dipping. Yum!

dpp 2011 | baby-led

2011-12-13T17:49:00.001-05:00

We are big, big fans of the baby-led weaning approach to infant solids. Rather than feeding pureed foods we offer our babies appropriate finger foods and allow them to self-feed. It's messy, true, but it's wonderful to watch the learning and developing happen. It's also very reassuring to know that they will never eat solids before their body is physically prepared to do so and we'll never inadvertently over-feed or feed them something they dislike.

With Peanut we discovered that she had some sort of sensory issue with food. It took months of work and patience, all while watching her lose more and more weight, but by the time she hit her second birthday she was - finally! - eating solid foods and was starting to transition away from nursing 8 times a day. Bubby, though, is a very enthusiastic eater! Carrots, potatoes, clementines, apples, rice pasta...and all without teeth. One of her big favourites is the potatoes from my Gaeng Garee Gai. You should hear her slurp the curry off the potato!

dpp 2011 | lights

2011-12-13T17:37:00.001-05:00

Dec 11::

We like Christmas lights. A lot. Since we put up the tree we have lit the living room almost exclusively with the lights on the tree and those draped around the room. Sunday Jon was putting up even more lights over the kitchen counter and Peanut was helping while Wembley and Bubby supervised.

dpp 2011 | cousins

2011-12-13T17:34:00.001-05:00

Dec 10 ::

Peanut and her cousin are only 7 months apart in age. Growing up in the same city and going to the same church they see a lot of each other and get to spend birthdays and holidays together. They had a good time at Cousin's birthday party this weekend.

so what am I eating these days?

2011-12-09T09:30:00.001-05:00

Remember this? And this? Well the good news is that I've been able to reintroduce goat's milk and eggs (hooray!). The bad news is that I don't think goat's butter is readily available. The neutral news is that the jury's still out on wheat/gluten.

So what am I eating? Oats! And interestingly, a lot of curry recently. Here are some of my stand-bys in recent days:

This is one of my very favourite quick and easy, slap it together in moments, breakfasts. Years ago, when I was working up at summer camp, a co-worker introduced me to fried granola. Simply put, it's a way of cooking oats quickly and easily in a frying pan that gives you a dish that is not soft like a porridge but is chewier or even crunchier, akin to granola baked in an oven. Here's how I prepare the oats:

Into a hot frying pan, add a tbsp or two of fat. I use coconut oil or a light olive oil, but butter works beautifully. When the oil is hot pour in 1/4 cup of maple syrup and then quickly add at least 1/2 cup of quick oats (I use 3/4 cup of Only Oats certified GF Quick Oats - in Canada you can find them at Loblaws, YIG or RCSuperstore) and toss well. Keep stirring and tossing the oats in the pan on medium-high heat. Sprinkle in some cinnamon and/or nutmeg and toss. Add enough water to loosen and soften the oats, about 1/2 cup. Add at least a 1/2 cup fresh or frozen blueberries and incorporate well. When the blueberries appear cooked (it takes about 2 minutes) it's ready to eat.

I've often made it with apples, too. When using apples, I peel, core and slice one apple and then saute the apple pieces in the oil until they begin to soften, then add the cinnamon, maple syrup, oats and water in that order.

I'm also eating a lot of curry. We thought for a while that Bubby was reacting to curry spices in my milk because she seemed to get rather pukey after I'd eat curry. After eliminating soy, I noticed that the curry paste I was buying contained soy oil. I switched curry pastes, discovered that I actually prefer the new red curry paste to the old yellow paste, and she isn't bothered by the spices at all. Everyone wins. Plus, the red paste makes a better Gaeng Garee Gai.

What's Gaeng Garee Gai, you ask? Why, it's only the bestest Thai food in the whole universe! It's my comfort food from the Asia Pacific Rim (actually, that's not entirely true: pa jhon or bibimbap would probably be my faves, but with soy out of the picture...). Best of all, GGG is dead simple to make and the ingredients are inexpensive and easy to come by.

Gaeng Garee Gai

1-2 medium onions, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2-3 chicken breasts, cubed (or 4-6 chicken thighs, though white meat cooks up a little nicer in this one)
2tbsp rice flour
4-5 medium potatoes, peeled and cubed
2 cans pure coconut milk (beware if you're avoiding corn additives: some contain glucose syrup)
1tbsp Thai red curry paste
3tbsp Thai fish sauce
sea salt to taste

In a large pot or Dutch oven, heat oil over medium-high heat and saute onions and garlic until softened. Add chicken to pot and saute for 2-5 minutes until the outside of the the cubes is largely cooked, even slightly browned. Sprinkle rice flour over the contents of the pot and toss well. Add coconut milk and stir well. Add potatoes. Add curry paste and incorporate well. Add fish sauce and salt and stir.
Reduce heat to medium and continue cooking until the chicken is fully cooked and the potatoes are tender. Serve over jasmine rice, or brown rice if you're feeling healthy and less indulgent. Makes enough for 2-4 people, depending on how able you are to withstand just how amazing this stuff is. It also reheats superbly: just toss it in a small pot on the stove and about five minutes later it's ready to eat. Yum!

dpp 2011 | toddler salute

2011-12-08T23:49:00.001-05:00

The toddler salute. It doesn't get more quintessential than this.

dpp 2011 | how lovely are your branches

2011-12-08T23:42:00.001-05:00

Peanut adores a Christmas tree: it's what she talks about most when Christmas is discussed at other times of the year. She remembers the tree, the decorations...gifts have never been a focus for her. It's the celebration that matters. I feel the same way. I am beside-myself-happy that we have instilled that in her. Now it's Bubby's turn.
I missed getting this photo up yesterday, which is when the photo was taken. It must have been an exhausting day for all of us since we all fell asleep far earlier than usual. In keeping with the theme of this post, this evening Bubby, while refusing to settle to sleep for a time, simply gazed at the tree, alight in the room. Magical.

dpp 2011 | life stilled

2011-12-06T22:02:00.001-05:00

This project is really making me notice the light in this apartment at different times of day. The conclusion I've come to is that I need to repaint in a warmer colour: the light in here during the day is just so cool it reads positively cold in photos. At night, though, with the lights of the tree and lights draped around the living space it is warm and cozy feeling. Definitely the sort of light I like photographing. As a result, most of my photos are happening in the evening. It makes for some late editing and posting, but it's worth it. I couldn't limit myself to one photo, so I've included the two runners up as well.

An evening coffee and some blogging while the family sleeps. Normally I would drink tea, but today I wanted something rich. A big Christmas mug of a fair-trade roast - an Ethiopian bean, my favourite! - was in order. The mug was a gift in a Christmas stocking years ago. If you look closely at the base of the mug, the reindeer depicted is Dancer. My mom knows what she's doing when she's picking out gifts. :)

I've often admired pictures in magazines or on blogs of living rooms that are beautifully put together, particularly at Christmas, where the tree is well-styled and the space seems entirely changed and devoted to the season. Our living room doesn't look like that, I suspect never will look like that and, ultimately, really shouldn't look like that. That's just not who we are. What we do have, however, is a room where Christmas has filled our space and co-exists with the business of living. And I like that. I like that we don't have "Christmas space" and "normal space". It's all just one space, and it is where celebrating and train track building and colouring and laundry folding and diaper changing all happen. This is where we live, including where we live our Advent.

Jon remarked this evening, "Some parents insist that Hallowe'en costumes are only worn on Hallowe'en. But every day I try to convince her to put hers on!" Peanut was a puppy for Hallowe'en this year and I think Jon loves the puppy suit even more than Peanut does, which is really saying something. Often when he asks if she wants to wear it, she responds, "No!" in a tone that suggests that the idea is utterly ridiculous. This evening, though, she was game. She also insisted that she sit next to our other puppy while they each had a cookie.

dpp 2011 | auntie ess

2011-12-05T22:06:00.001-05:00

We spent the day with my Auntie Ess today. She did me the very great favour of giving me and Bubby a ride to an appointment since we're currently having some car trouble and then spent the rest of the afternoon with us! Lots of cuddle and story time with the littles. What a great day!

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advent 2011: Monday of Peace

2011-12-05T19:25:00.001-05:00

We return to Isaiah, to the prophecies of old that would set the stage for Jesus' birth and ministry. This is one of my favourite passages, at any time of the year. From Isaiah 60:

Arise, Jerusalem, and shine like the sun;
   The glory of the Lord is shining on you!
² Other nations will be covered by darkness,
   But on you the light of the Lord will shine;
   The brightness of his presence will be with you.
³ Nations will be drawn to your light,
   And kings to the dawning of your new day.

Waiting in Peace...for the Light.

advent 2011: Sunday of Peace

2011-12-05T19:18:00.001-05:00

This is a day late, but here is what we read yesterday. The second half of the annunciation: Gabriel's visit to Joseph. From Matthew 1:

¹⁸ This was how the birth of Jesus Christ took place. His mother Mary was engaged to Joseph, but before they were married, she found out that she was going to have a baby by the Holy Spirit.¹⁹ Joseph was a man who always did what was right, but he did not want to disgrace Mary publicly; so he made plans to break the engagement privately.²⁰ While he was thinking about this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said,
         Joseph, descendant of David, do not be afraid to take Mary to be your wife. For it is by the Holy Spirit that she has conceived.²¹ She will have a son, and you will name him Jesus—because he will save his people from their sins.

²² Now all this happened in order to make come true what the Lord had said through the prophet,²³
         A virgin will become pregnant and have a son, and he will be called Immanuel (which means,
         God is with us).
²⁴ So when Joseph woke up, he married Mary, as the angel of the Lord had told him to.²⁵ But he had no sexual relations with her before she gave birth to her son. And Joseph named him Jesus.

Waiting in Peace...for an unexpected son.

DPP 2011 | while the cat's away

2011-12-04T21:45:00.001-05:00

Observe Bubby. Observe Bubby's toy (foreground). Observe Bubby ignoring her toy and playing with the box of little, choking-hazard Smurfs.

The Smurfs were Jon's when he was a boy and now the girls have them. But Peanut, being the older child, thinks of them as hers and hers alone and does not intend on sharing them with Bubby. She is, after all, three years old. So we're working on sharing. And when she's off to bed, Bubby takes advantage of Peanut's absence and goes straight for the Smurfs. Clever girl.

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advent 2011: Saturday of Hope

2011-12-03T22:22:00.001-05:00

The final day of the week of Hope, and we conclude Gabriel's annunciation to Mary. I've been using the Good News Version for all these readings (it's very accessible language for children) but in this passage I've replaced the word "servant" with the word "doula".

34 Mary said to the angel,
I am a virgin. How, then, can this be?

35 The angel answered,
The Holy Spirit will come on you, and God's power will rest upon you. For this reason the holy child will be called the Son of God. 36 Remember your relative Elizabeth. It is said that she cannot have children, but she herslef is now six months pregnant, even though she is very old. 37 For there is nothing that God cannot do.

38 I am the Lord's doula, said Mary;
may it happen to me as you have said. And the angel left her.

Waiting in hope...for a Son.

DPP 2011 | pat-a-cake

2011-12-03T21:31:00.000-05:00

We spent the day with Gran and my sister, brother-in-law and niece. Before dinner, the littlest two were napping (click through to see today's runner-up image, a lovely - though slightly underexposed - shot of my glowing sister and her little darling) or nursing and Peanut had a little playtime with Gran to herself. It is sometimes so incredible to see either of my parents with my children: to think that they have three grandchildren, already! We are so blessed.

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DPP 2011 | play time

2011-12-02T22:18:00.001-05:00

We finally built that fort in our living room. We all sat in our fort and had a nice cuddle, including Wembley and you can see here that Bubby enjoyed the change of scenery. It made for a fun afternoon after a great morning. We woke up to snow - yes! - and ended up at the park because Peanut has been declaring for days that she wanted to "throw snow" (that link takes you to today's runner up photo). We even met another mom with her two children and, best of all, they're homeschoolers! We exchanged emails: playdates are in our future.

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advent 2011: Friday of Hope

2011-12-02T17:42:00.001-05:00

Back to the Gospel of Luke and we arrive at the Annunciation to Mary. I like to travel slowly through this scene, drinking in all the hidden elements to the story. From Luke 1:

²⁶ In the sixth month of Elizabeth's pregnancy God sent the angel Gabriel to a town in Galilee named Nazareth.²⁷ He had a message for a young woman promised in marriage to a man named Joseph, who was a descendant of King David. Her name was Mary.²⁸ The angel came to her and said,

Peace be with you! The Lord is with you and has greatly blessed you!

²⁹ Mary was deeply troubled by the angel's message, and she wondered what his words meant.³⁰ The angel said to her,

Don't be afraid, Mary; God has been gracious to you.³¹ You will become pregnant and give birth to a son, and you will name him Jesus.³² He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High God. The Lord God will make him a king, as his ancestor David was,³³ and he will be the king of the descendants of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end!

Last year I shared my reflections on the Annunciation on our church blog, Sunday Lunch. I also highly recommend Denise Levertov's poem of the same name; her fresh perspective is inspiring and eye-opening.

Waiting in Hope...to understand.

DPP 2011 | liturgy

2011-12-01T22:23:00.001-05:00

Every evening we sit at our table, light candles, read scripture and share the story of the coming King. It's become an important part of how we mark the season as a family, another part of our celebration.

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advent 2011: Thursday of Hope

2011-12-01T16:47:00.001-05:00

More prophecy today. More good news, more promises of coming freedom and joy. They waited in hope for it to come to pass. From Isaiah 61:

The Sovereign Lord has filled me with his Spirit. He has chosen me and sent me To bring good news to the poor, To heal the broken-hearted, To announce release to captives And freedom to those in prison. ² He has sent me to proclaim That the time has come When the Lord will save his people...

Waiting in hope...for freedom.

December Photo Project 2011

2011-12-01T14:36:00.001-05:00

Look at the left sidebar. Yeah, aaaaall the way up at the top. See that? I'm participating in the December Photo Project of 2011. I've got a new camera, I'm still mostly clueless as to how best to use it, so the challenge won't just be to get a photo and post it every day but to get a half-way decent photo. And to hopefully have it reflect this season, this family, this life of ours. We shall see.

If you're interested in participating just click the badge and sign up. There's also a Facebook page and we have a hashtag: #DPP2011. I'll be posting one photo a day until Christmas Day, which means that now I'm committed to posting two daily posts for the duration of Advent. Plus whatever else I feel like talking about. My, my.

serendipity is santa's friend

2011-11-30T14:47:00.001-05:00

For my birthday in 2007, Jon gave me a camera. Until then I'd just been using my cellphone (which, for 2006/2007 wasn't too bad, but now would be pretty horrible) and I had an upcoming dancing trip to Russia. It was a good little point-and-shoot, served me well in Russia*, took pictures of Wembley, took pictures of my knitting, pictures of the bump that would turn out to be Peanut, pictures of Peanut, pictures of bump 2.0 which turned out to be Bubby, pictures of Bubby...

The little door that holds the batteries in broke. It wouldn't latch shut. I taped it together with electrical tape. After a while that didn't work well enough, so I had to hold it oddly in order to press the heal of my hand against the door to keep the camera from losing power. The end was near.

Ten days ago I realized I hadn't taken pictures of the girls in a few days and my immediate reaction was: ugh. "That's not right," I thought: "I should want to take pictures of my kids. Maybe I should check Kijiji, just in case there's an affordable camera body listed..."

And there was.

With Christmas nearly here, I was also lucky enough that my father wanted to get me a lens to go with the body. Monday the lens was in my hands.

I'm still figuring it out, since graduating from a point-and-shoot to a DSLR is pretty significant, but it's getting lots of love. You've already seen two shots taken with it on Monday and Tuesday's Advent posts.

Peanut's decided that she doesn't want her picture taken. Ever. I'll have to get some on the sly...

So now everyone is very happy: I'm happy to have such a fabulous new toy, Jon and my father are happy because I took the guesswork out of gift-buying this year, and we're all happy that pictures of the girls, or at least one of them, are being taken again.

advent 2011: Wednesday of Hope

2011-11-30T14:43:00.000-05:00

Today we’re reading from the prophet Isaiah, continuing the look back at why the people were waiting and who they were hoping would come. Having read about Zechariah and Elizabeth and the foretelling of the birth of John the Baptist, we’ll look at the role he would play. From Isaiah 40:

³ A voice cries out,

         Prepare in the wilderness a road for the Lord!
      Clear the way in the desert for our God!
⁴ Fill every valley;
      level every mountain.
   The hills will become a plain,
      and the rough country will be made smooth.
⁵ Then the glory of the Lord will be revealed,
      and all people will see it.
   The Lord himself has promised this.

Waiting in hope...for a Path Maker.

rainy errands

2011-11-29T21:45:00.001-05:00

I had a strange evening.

We were out of toilet paper, of all things, so a walk to the drug store to restock was in order. Weather in Ottawa in November is often one of extremes: either beautiful and picturesque with fluffy, crystalline snow in mounds, or dismal, grey and perpetually rainy. The past week it's been the latter and today was the worst yet. It has been pouring rain all day today, cold and wet and leaving enormous puddles all over the city. A good day to be inside with friends as we were midday. A good evening to stay inside, warm and safe, not ideal for blocks of walking.

I don't mind the rain. I quite like it, provided I'm prepared for and expecting it and I don't have to sit in wet clothes for too long afterward. I can't imagine, however, sitting outside on the sidewalk in this weather. Dreadful and utterly depressing seems an apt description. So I felt a great deal of sympathy for the man sitting at a corner, hat on the ground in front of him, asking for change.

"I'm sorry," I answered.

I rarely have change. I rarely have cash. I am entirely too reliant on debit, a trait which Jon finds particularly bothersome. So I apologized to the man in the wet, in the cold, in the dark, in the street, in the night, while everyone was rushing around, running errands, running to a bus, running home to a hot meal.

"Fuck off," he responded.

And I walked on, waiting for the light to change as the man on the sidewalk behind me muttered curses at the people passing him by, continuing down the street in the wet, in the cold, in the dark, just as before. But it seemed wetter, colder, darker. Angrier.

My encounter has been weighing on me since then. I couldn't stop thinking about it as I walked to the store, bought my few items (with debit, of course) and then started home again. I was thinking about it right until I was crossing a street and one of the on-coming cars suddenly turned and accelerated directly toward me. The woman driving the car had a cell phone pressed against her ear and she seemed distracted by the rain, by the dense traffic, by the darkness of the evening. I yelled to get her attention, to get her to stop. She narrowly avoided me as I ran across the street. I turned and waved my arms at her, hollering, "Get off your phone!" Other pedestrians turned and looked at me, curious. Now I can't stop thinking about that encounter, either.

I felt justified in yelling at the driver of that car. Driving with a cell phone in rush hour traffic, in the core of the city, in the dark, in the pouring rain is a recipe for disaster, a disaster she and I narrowly avoided together. Next time she might not be so lucky. Some other pedestrian might not be so lucky. Put the phone down, I thought: drive safely. I felt justified. I don't want anyone to be hurt.

I can count on one hand the number of times someone has told me, sincerely, to 'fuck off'. Even fewer are the times that I have said it to someone. Those incredibly rare times that I did, though? I meant it. I felt justified. The man on the street corner felt justified. Justified by poverty, by discomfort, by rain, by cold, by anger, by sadness. Perhaps by loneliness. By desperation. And I find myself hurting, knowing that there is a man out there who feels that much anger, that much sadness or desperation or loneliness or coldness, a coldness that goes deeper than flesh, a coldness that aches into his spirit so that he mutters curses at strangers - at me - while huddled on the sidewalk.

In the rain. In the dark.

advent 2011: Tuesday of Hope

2011-11-29T21:14:00.001-05:00

Today we went back, back to the prophet Micah, to read about why the people of Israel had been waiting for Jesus. Who were they expecting? What were they hoping for? A peacemaker. From Micah 4: 3-4:

He will settle disputes among the nations, among the great powers near and far. They will hammer their swords into plows and their spears into pruning knives. Nations will never again go to war, never prepare for battle again. Everyone will live in peace among their own vineyards and fig trees, and no one will make them afraid. The Lord Almighty has promised this.

We wait in hope.

Advent 2011: Monday of Hope

2011-11-28T18:37:00.002-05:00

This evening we'll be talking about when waiting can be difficult, when waiting is even unpleasant for us and how, by holding on to HOPE the waiting is easier. We'll be reading from Luke 1:

Zechariah said to the angel, "How can this be so? I am an old man and my wife is old also." I am Gabriel," the angel answered. :I stand in the presence of God who sent me to speak to you and tell you this good news. But you have not believed my message which will come true at the right time. Because you have not believed, you will be unable to speak; you will remain silent until the day my promise to you comes true." Zechariah went home. Some time later his wife Elizabeth became pregnant.

Have a blessed evening!

Advent 2011: Sunday of Hope

2011-11-27T20:55:00.001-05:00

Today was the first day of Advent. After dinner, we began our Advent family activity. We read verses from Luke 1:

There was a priest named Zechariah. His wife's name was Elizabeth. They both lived good lives in God's sight and obeyed fully all the Lord's laws and commands. They had no children because Elizabeth could not have any, and she and Zechariah were both very old. One day Zechariah was doing his work as a priest in the Temple. An angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right side of the altar where the incense was burned. When Zechariah saw him, he was alarmed and felt afraid. But the angel said to him, "Don't be afraid, Zechariah! God has heard your prayer, and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son. You are to name him John. How glad and happy you will be, and how happy many others will be when he is born!"

We talked about waiting, about how challenging it can be to wait for something we really want, like a baby, but that the good things that come after waiting are worth it. Peanut said it was just like having to wait for a chocolate cookie.

advent 2011

2011-11-25T18:34:00.001-05:00

Last year I planned to do a daily Advent reading with Peanut. But then our apartment filled with mold, we temporarily evicted ourselves to a hotel and then my mother's house, and I had some pretty horrendous nausea and fatigue on top off all that stress. We tried to stay focused on joy, but..well, it was hard. This year, though, I'm feeling extremely determined.

It took me a while to figure out precisely what I wanted to do to mark the progress of the Advent season every day, but after reading this and having a conversation over Facebook with Katie Munnik, I found my direction.

We start with the theme of Waiting. Advent is a season of waiting, of expectation and anticipation as well as preparation. We prepare ourselves for The Gift but we also acknowledge The Wait. The long wait for the sun. The long wait for a son. The long wait for a Saviour. Reading through Luke, there are scores of players in the story who are waiting. Zechariah and Elizabeth wait for a child. Zechariah waits to speak. Mary and Joseph wait to be married. Mary waits for her child to be born. Israel waits for the Messiah. The shepherds wait for the nightwatch to end. The Magi wait for the star to show them where to find Him. And of course there's Herod, futilely, malevolently waiting for the Magi to return.

And we: we wait to celebrate again. We wait for the days to lengthen once again, for our Northern world to begin its turn back toward the sun. We wait to sing out joy to the world, the LORD is come! I can understand waiting. Moreover, a 3 year old can understand waiting. She can understand anticipation: she is, in fact, a master.

Here's what we'll be doing: we start with a branch and some yarn. I happened to have a branch painted gold from a long-ago dance recital, so I used that. I have suspended the branch over our dining table from a shelf on the wall using some twill tape. Onto the branch I've draped several random loops of yarn to create a sort of web hanging over the table. Before dinner tomorrow I'll clip 29 very small clothespins or paper clips onto the yarn. I'll also have 29 squares of coloured paper, as well as a few slips of plain white paper, sitting on the shelf above the table. On the table we'll have a candle.

So that's the display we'll have set up for the season. Every evening we'll light the candle and we'll read a short passage, talk about what it means, what part of the story it represents, and about the waiting within that passage. Then we'll take a square of paper, decide as a family what shape might represent that passage (or just what we feel like seeing that day) and we'll cut it out. Stars, hearts, people, doves, snowflakes...We'll cut out the shape and then clip it to the yarn. Every day more and more of the clothespins will be filled up. Some days we'll add some written words as well. By the end we should have a colourful, joyful little array above our table.

I'll be posting the reading for that evening here every day, so feel free to follow along with your family. And I'd love to hear how you are marking this season of anticipation.

Friday Follow

2011-11-25T08:13:00.001-05:00

I was planning to do a different theme this time around, but I'll save it. This week we're looking at some of my favourite feminist blogs.
In days gone by, I followed blogs like Feministing religiously. But then I married and had children and, frankly, my tastes changed. Feminist mothers who blog aren't few and far between (there are LOTS of us, in point of fact) but finding them can be somewhat challenging. So here are some that I follow:

1. Bluemilk - I love this woman. I mean, I absolutely adore every post she writes. She is made of awesome. Her post, Don't Get Raped is the sort of anger-driven brilliance to which I aspire. Check out her extensive list of feminist blogs in the right sidebar if you are looking for even more to read.

2. The Mamafesto - Another golden one. Her series This Is What a Feminist Looks Like is a study in the breadth of identity and definition of feminism. Check out her post But What About the Rest of Us? to see a short round-up of some notable feminist parenting blogs, as well as the comments.

3. PhD in Parenting - Annie Urban is local and prolific. Her blog is primarily focussed on parenting, but within a feminist frame. So much to read here: go check it out.

4. Raising My Boychick - Gender norms, parenting, feminism...it's all in here and it's brilliant. Check out this post on facilitating the co-existence of work and parenting, particularly in light of my post from yesterday.

5. The Unnecesarean - The intersection of informed consent, with regard to pregnancy and birth, and feminism is about a mile wide. Jill Arnold does a fan-freaking-tastic job of illuminating both, all while maintaining her sense of humour.

6. Hugo Shwyzer - He's a guy. He's a dad. He's a professor. He's an author. He's a youth minister. He's a feminist. Who's a big fan? This woman!

So there you have it: six feminist blogs that are full of awesome, heavy on the meditation, free of man-hating, and food for much thought. Did I miss anyone? Did I miss you?? Leave a comment if you have a blog - or know of a blog - I should be reading.

Happy Friday, lovelies!

early years at home with mommy

2011-11-24T13:08:00.001-05:00

Canadian news media have been picking up on a recently published paper which, ostensibly, addresses changing and ever-pressing childcare needs. The Early Years Study 3 of 2011 promises to address "the social, economic and scientific rationale for increased investments in early childhood education."

But make no mistake: this paper is not entirely focussed on early childhood development. This paper has an agenda, one cleverly couched in language of parental and feminist guilt.

The gist of the proposal found here is this: formalized education can and should start as early as age two. Toddlers should be in a classroom setting. One of the co-authors of the paper, Dr. Fraser Mustard told the Toronto Star, ""I would come down to three-year-olds, then two-year-olds and one-year-olds."

Yes. 12 month old babies in a classroom.

Studies of this sort make my brain hurt. They make my very heart and soul hurt. Because while some have responded to this, saying, "Good: something for those of us unfortunate enough not to be able to stay home with our kids," that is not what this paper is about. To those who say, "This will support a woman's choice to return to the workforce after maternity leave!" I say, "Bullshit." This paper is not about supporting choice: this paper is about making choices for parents. This paper doesn't have a feminist objective: this paper is the very antithesis of feminism.

This paper is anti-family.

The authors go so far as to say that families with only one working parent are bad for the economy. This is hard enough to hear at the best of times but in the midst of a global recession it is positively dripping with guilt. The authors even condescend, stating, "Most women want to work." They repeatedly talk about growing children to be "contributing members of society" while positing that opposite the elderly (who are a terrible financial drain, they note) and at-home parents, particularly mothers, who do not earn, therefore do not work, therefore do not contribute.

The authors of this paper note the prevalence of maternal depression but then argue that a key to reducing the rate of maternal depression is social time with others and a comfy chair. Seriously. So thank you, dear researchers, thank you. The cure to my PPD is not vitamins and minerals or prescription medication: the cure is a comfy chair a good chat with some 'gals' at my local school. And I should get right on that since, as they make a point of noting several times, stress "drips down" onto my children, and a stressed or depressed mother isn't good for her children. If my PPD hadn't already made me worry about the quality of my parenting this paper certainly cleared things up for me: now I feel like a downright failure.

But what about the children, you ask? Yes: what about the children. The authors use anecdotes to describe two year old children who haven't yet learned to regulate their emotional responses to stimuli as an example of...well,they never come right and state the purpose of that particular little story, exactly, but when viewed within the context of the paper as a whole the implication is clear: our children might just grow up 'wrong' if a trained professional isn't there to manage their development.

The phrase "levelling the playing field" has been tossed about in describing the objective of this paper, but such a claim holds no water. The authors make it very clear in the first chapter of the paper that the children about whom they are most concerned are not the very poor or otherwise typically disadvantaged: the ~~children~~ families they are primarily targeting are middle and upper-class households.

So what is the purpose, then, if it isn't to assist already-struggling families? It's to get parents - fathers, but if we face facts, mostly mothers - like myself out of the home and into the workforce. The only reason I'm home with them is because I don't have access to a viable and reliable option for childcare, yes? The only reason I'm not contributing is because I'm stuck at home with the kids.

No.

My children are home with me because they belong here. I am home with them because I choose to be, because my partner and I know that it is the right choice for our family. It may not be the right choice for every family, but it is for ours. I do not begrudge the women who dedicate years of their life and enormous effort to achieving the career for which they feel destined who then feel compelled to return to work after a few months or at the end of their year of paid maternity leave (as we have federally legislated in Canada). Not at all. Had I had a career to which I was dedicated, to which I felt drawn, which was vocational, my choice may have been an entirely different one.

This is what so thoroughly enrages me about this paper. Though they couch it in feminist language ("if [women] did not work, the economy wouldn't function'), the assertions are most definitely anti-feminist. My feminist foresisters worked long and hard to have the value of women recognized. Before women were routinely employed outside the home, that was the goal: for women to be valued as contributing members of society, not because they generated income but because we are people and people are always valuable.

While it may seem commendable that the authors of this study show such concern about the development and care of the children in this nation, they do so at the expense of mothers, of women, and indeed of the children themselves. In discouraging at-home full-time parenting they are demonstrating the lack of value they place on such a role. And who typically fills that role? Women. There are lots of stay-at-home-dads out there (I know a few myself) and I applaud them uproariously for turning those hetero-normative gender roles on their ear and caring for their children. But the fact is that there are more SAHMoms than SAHDads. As far as we have come in attempting to equalize the genders, the fact is that biology has a leg up in this situation. I lactate: my husband does not. While that doesn't entirely preclude him from being the full-time parent, it certainly simplifies the question for our family. In their dismissal of the importance and value of at-home parenting, in their argument children as young as two years old should be in school lest they be "disadvantaged" for life, in their implication that children who are at home with a parent before attending kindergarten are less likely to graduate high school, they are demonstrating the sheer lack of regard they have for a role typically filled by women.

How dare they? How dare they shame women and families? How dare they fear-monger, all while backhandedly saying that at-home parents "perform quiet acts of heroism, day in and day out"?

A woman's place is wherever she damn-well feels like being, including in the home caring for her children if that's her choice.

And it sure as hell is mine.

“The homemaker has the ultimate career. All other careers exist for one purpose only - and that is to support the ultimate career. ”

― C.S. Lewis

plans

2011-11-22T08:13:00.002-05:00

It's a bright and cold Tuesday. Let's take another look at that list, shall we?

1. Plan a daily advent activity for our family. Something nifty but reflective to help us focus on the season.
I've got ideas percolating. My wonderful and dear friend Katie Munnik shared with me her plan for her family's advent activity (which involves craft foam and fishing line! How awesome is that!!) and I've been thinking about what we'll be doing. We're going to focus on expectancy, the wait. Once it's all figured out I'll be sure to share.2. Get out of the apartment. We've been cooped up in here for days and, to be quite honest, Peanut is starting to get a little wrangy (this is a word I use. I think it's a real word. Just go with me on this one) as a result. Kid needs some air!
We picked up Jon at work last night. We have a scheduled errand this afternoon so we might head to the park then, too.3. Build a fort. We've never built a fort in the living room and I think this might be the week for it.
We're expecting snow tomorrow. I think that fort building is on tap for the snowy day.4. Decorate. Ooh, baby, I love Christmas festoonation (again with the non-real words. Consider it a theme).
Ibid.
5. Dig out the sewing room. Remember how it looked back at Easter? Well, I bought some shelves, put all sorts of stuff on them...and the room still looks no better. Where does all the stuff come from?! Maybe I should also...
Oh who knows. :) Maybe tonight?
6. Get rid of some stuff. Or not. Whatever.
Ibid.
7. Christmas sewing! I'm very excited about this. I have fabric for a new dress for Peanut and fabric for a Christmas stocking for Bubby.
If this happens this week I'll be extremely surprised.
8. Find the final piece to my new toy (I'm saving this for a whole separate post: it's also very exciting). Then commence playing with new toy (you'll actually benefit from this one: just wait for it).
This! This I've halfway done. This afternoon's errand will finish this. And then I'll share an elated post about my new toy.

So, what are you up to today?

Looking ahead

2011-11-20T20:59:00.001-05:00

Now that Peanut and I are solidly mended I am able to look ahead at the coming week. Things to do in this next week (in no particular order, and with no room for self-shaming if I don't accomplish everything):

1. Plan a daily advent activity for our family. Something nifty but reflective to help us focus on the season.
2. Get out of the apartment. We've been cooped up in here for days and, to be quite honest, Peanut is starting to get a little wrangy (this is a word I use. I think it's a real word. Just go with me on this one) as a result. Kid needs some air!
3. Build a fort. We've never built a fort in the living room and I think this might be the week for it.
4. Decorate. Ooh, baby, I love Christmas festoonation (again with the non-real words. Consider it a theme).
5. Dig out the sewing room. Remember how it looked back at Easter? Well, I bought some shelves, put all sorts of stuff on them...and the room still looks no better. Where does all the stuff come from?! Maybe I should also...
6. Get rid of some stuff. Or not. Whatever.
7. Christmas sewing! I'm very excited about this. I have fabric for a new dress for Peanut and fabric for a Christmas stocking for Bubby.
8. Find the final piece to my new toy (I'm saving this for a whole separate post: it's also very exciting). Then commence playing with new toy (you'll actually benefit from this one: just wait for it).

Hrm. My list is looking kind of big. Well, maybe the sewing room stuff won't happen this week. That's fine, there's plenty of time. But getting outside and building a fort will have to happen. Priorities, you know.

Baby, in lieu of thinking

2011-11-18T20:53:00.001-05:00

We're currently enjoying the company of a cold. Common it may be but it still sucks the life right out of a person. So far only Peanut and I have it and I'm crossing my fingers that neither Jon nor Bubby come down with it (I'm also engaging in a lot of handwashing and calling out "Don't touch your sister's hands! Keep your hands off her face!" in an effort to keep our germs to ourselves). In lieu of a proper post with, you know, coherent words and thoughts and reflections and stuff, I'll ply you with pictures.

Bubby's been lunging at food and staring - particularly at Peanut - while we eat while making chewing motions. Oo-kay, time to give baby some food! Roasted sweet potato wedges it was, since the samosa of Peanut's she was attempting to snag seemed sort of unwise, especially since it's covered in nice, gluten-y dough.

I think she enjoyed it. She seemed perplexed, but not unhappy. But hey! I'm just happy she's willing to taste stuff before her second birthday, unlike some older sisters of hers who we won't name (*cough*Peanut*cough*).

And I made Bubby a hat. I think it may have been a mistake. I may have inadvertently made our baby too cute. Whatever will we do?

Friday Night Follow

2011-11-11T21:15:00.001-05:00

I was recently asked by a family friend for a list of a few blogs that might appeal to a fellow stay-at-home-mum. As I was compiling the list, I realized just how many of the blogs I follow are maintained by fellow dreadie moms. I thought a little Friday Night Follow post was in order and that it might be fun to profile the sites of dreadheaded women.

1. *e* - This transplanted Australian dreadie-momma is earthy and fun. She has three gorgeous kids, a jubilant spirit and a kicking Etsy shop full of upcycled goodies.

2. Bohogirl - I really adore this woman's words and images. Lots of beauty. Their adoption story will absolutely warm your heart. And she lives in a home where deer wander up to the front door. Magical.

3.::life inspired:: - I had the good fortune to "meet" this momma on TheBabyWearer.com some years ago when Peanut was just a wee peanut. In fact, I knew her on TBW long before she and I had dreads! She and her husband live with their four beautiful children in Utah and her photos make me want to move there. Seriously. To Utah.

4. MilagroGirl - This lovely woman may not currently have dreads, but up until very recently she did, so I'm counting her. Her blog is a great, great read. Reflecting on the beauty and truth in every woman, her posts are really worth reading and carrying around in your heart and your head through the day. Lots of food for very good, deep, life-giving thought here.

5. Walk Slowly, Live Wildly - Ah, Sara Janssen. I first encountered her through my birth junkie friends on Facebook when the photo montage of her second child's birth went around and I've been following her blog ever since. A person of great faith, conviction and exuberance, her enthusiasm for living outside the box - even literally: they're nomadic! - is deeply inspiring to me. Currently situated on a Colorado mountainside while expecting their third baby, her blog makes me want to sell everything and live in an RV. And then drive to Colorado to play in the mountains.

6. The Organic Sister - Tara Wagner's blog is about as close to self-help as I get. A life coach, Tara writes about connecting with ourselves, our partners and our children in a truthful, authentic, whole-hearted way. Affirming, reflective and spirited, her words almost never fail to get me really, really introspective. Lots of soul-searching with this one. Plus, another nomad! She, her husband and their son have been travelling for over a year.

So those are six of the blogs I follow, all written by dreadheaded mommas. Why do I seem to gravitate to other dreadies? It's an interesting question, one I've asked of myself a number of times. I'm not quite sure I have the answer, but I have some ideas. I'll save them for an upcoming post. Happy blog-hopping!

Coming up for air

2011-11-09T22:18:00.000-05:00

I've second-guessed writing and posting this countless times. But I erred on the side of writing it: it feels like the thing to do.

I have a very good life. We have a very good life. A loving husband; two beautiful, clever, amazing children; a warm, safe home; close, supportive, nearby family; a strong church community; and dreams and the vision to achieve them. I am very happy.

Except that, lately, I am not.

Despite my best efforts, despite a surprisingly positive birth experience, despite breastfeeding, despite bed-sharing, despite babywearing, despite placenta encapsulation, despite all the positive things in my life and despite my concerted efforts to denydenydeny the fact that things are how they are...post-partum depression is very much our reality.

I've dealt with depression before. When I was 19 I struggled long and hard with this black monster seeking to pull me under. For a time, it did and I only surfaced for brief, sustaining gasps of air before continuing to flounder. It was months of struggle.

But at least then I could explain it.

High school had, secretly, been very rough for me; university, while glorious and exciting, was stressful with friends scattered across the province and beyond; and then my family effectively fell to pieces, and those pieces scattered very far, indeed. I could explain it then: "I am sad because...". But this? This seems entirely without reason. We have a great life. I have a great life.

There is so much for which to be thankful, and more importantly, I am thankful.

I know how blessed we are. I look at our children and am absolutely floored by how unbelievable it is that I get to be with them and watch them grow and learn. They are wonderful. So why am I not rejoicing in that 24 hours a day? Why am I short-tempered and impatient and exhausted and just...sad?

A week ago things came to a head. We had what was, essentially, one of the worst days I've ever had. And I've had some doozies. The next day I came out, so to speak. No more pretending. No more putting on the cheery, blissful-mommy face:

things are not ok, I am not ok.

I need to acknowledge that and accept the support of my family and friends. It's helping. It helps to know that I'm thought of, that I'm cared for, that I'm not the only mother who feels or has felt like this. It helps to know that I'm loved.

But it's not enough.

I - or rather, we, because this is going to involve our whole little family - need to make a pretty dramatic shift. I need to start taking care of myself. It would be a total lie to say that I don't think about myself. I do think about myself.

I'm not taking care of myself.

I worry about growing our children. We worry about giving them opportunities to learn and experience and thrive and rejoice. And I? I...don't. I'm not learning. I'm definitely not thriving. And I'm not rejoicing with the sort of frequency I would like.

It isn't that I want my life to be better: it's that things are good and I want myself to be better in it.

a better goal

2011-11-07T22:36:00.001-05:00

This morning I read this lovely post from Alicia on Milagro Girl. When I first read it I thought it was a valuable sentiment and gave myself a little mental pat on the back because, lately - finally! - I've been making a real effort to establish and voice my own boundaries. Later the girls and I went to the park and met up with friends of ours from church. The two big girls played, our two babies nursed and slept, and the mommies got a good long visit. It was grand.

I always feel like my parenting is really put to the test when other children are around. Sure, taking Peanut out on an errand to the store can be a challenge and certainly puts my parenting on display - particularly if it should happen that she should become a screeching, noodle-legged version of her normally-delightful self while we walk down Bank St. - but when other children are around, and when Peanut is playing with them, I really feel tested. It's a good kind of tested, though: I find myself thinking a little more 'big picture' in such a circumstance, considering not only what is happening in the moment but also about what lesson or example I'm setting for the other children around.

I want to be Nice Mommy, not Mean Mommy and, some day, it wouldn't be so bad to be Cool Mommy (I've already got Hippie, Dreadlocked Mommy locked up*). But, that said, I don't want to accidentally turn into Doormat Mommy. So today, as Peanut was playing with and near other children, I was thinking about how I was interacting with her and what message it was sending the other children there. Was I showing my daughter respect and in turn demonstrating to those other children that children deserve respect? Was I showing my daughter kindness and consideration and in turn allowing the other children there that adults ought to be kind and considerate?

Was I demonstrating healthy, respectful boundaries for my daughter and in turn demonstrating those boundaries for the other children there?

As I was watching her play, occasionally calling out to her when necessary to remind her of what the boundaries of kind, respectful and safe behaviour are, it struck me that Alicia's words relate to parenting:

And in it I learned what a boundary was. I’d always thought that it meant a rule, and in my mind rules are meant to be broken. But it’s not a rule, it’s a circle around yourself that brings peace to your heart and world. It’s the knowing what your spirit is capable of.

Traditionally, parenting has been presented as a series of rules. Lots of focus on what children can not do, what they must do. The goal, when it is rarely mentioned, is generally expressed as a desire for children to obey, to follow the rules.

I think that's a lousy goal.

My goal isn't for my children to obey me, but to do what is right. My goal isn't to raise rule-followers, it is to raise kind and gracious souls.

My goal isn't to teach them right and wrong but to teach them to discern that themselves.

So I help Peanut learn boundaries. Because it isn't that throwing sand is an inherently evil pastime, it's that the consequence - sand in an eye or mouth - is unkind and disrespectful to her playmate. And so: "Peanut, we don't throw sand...and here's why:..."

And hopefully, as she learns how to respect her playmates, as she learns the intricacies of friendship, she will also grow to understand where her own boundaries are. Hopefully she will demand respect, now and when she is grown. Hopefully she will grow to understand and know with surety that being a grace-filled and forgiving person does not mean she must simply suffer at the hands of those are not, whether it's from nasty words on the playground when she's 10 years old or nasty words from a partner when she's 30.

Hopefully she will learn to keep her heart and soul healthy at an earlier age than her mother, willing and able to say, "Here is the space that I need."

*totally unintentional pun, but once I realized what a pun it was I had to keep it. Parent humour, you know.

6 months old

2011-11-05T16:47:00.000-04:00

Bubby is two days into the second half of her first year. She is such a blessing! She is an unbelievably happy and joyful soul. Most days she is simply awash in smiles.

Look at those cheeks! At 17lb she's a strong and healthy little munchkin. And on nothing but Mommy's milk. We're so wonderfully made.

She's definitely getting ready to crawl. She s l o w l y and invisibly creeps around the floor. We're not sure how she does it, exactly (some heretofore undiscovered form of baby peristalsis?) but she's looking to move, that's certain. She pushes up into upward-facing dog with strong, sure arms. As soon as she gets her knees under here, she'll be off and away.

She is dearly loved. Everywhere we go, someone will comment on how happy she is and how social and interactive. I like to think that all the loving she receives throughout every day has played a role in that. She never goes long without kisses or hugs from someone. Who could resist that little dumpling? Most mornings I wake to Peanut leaning over me, gently stroking Bubby's hand as she sleeps and cooing, "My tister...my tister baby..."

allergen-free soft drinks

2011-11-04T20:33:00.000-04:00

There aren't any. Psych! But seriously: take a look at this list and then try to imagine eating, well, anything. Even produce can have corn-based waxes on them to preserve them and make them look nice. Unfortunately, they have the opposite effect on my baby.

But! I will not concede defeat that easily. No, sir! I will find something fun to drink other than water (obviously), tea and coffee. Enter the home-made soft drink.

Home-made corn-free soft drink recipe

1tbsp of cane sugar (I used a dark cane sugar) or more to taste.
2tbsp very hot/boiling water
1/2tsp lime juice
1/2tsp lemon juice
1/4tsp orange juice
soda water

Spoon sugar into bottom of a large, sturdy glass (a wide mouth mason jar works beautifully). Pour boiling water in and stir or slosh vigorously to dissolve sugar in the water, then add juices, adjusting to taste. Add soda water to fill glass.

It's not particularly sweet. In truth, it's pretty tart, so if you really want a sweet drink double the sugar, which may require a slight increase in the amount of water to dissolve the sugar. Also, it's not pretty: it looks like swamp water, which is why I opted not to include a picture (which is a lie: I drank it before I thought to snap a pic).

Happy corn-free soft drinking!

turning violently inside my chest

2011-11-03T23:18:00.000-04:00

Some time ago, I learned something terrible. A friend of mine, a dear woman who lives a quarter of a world away and who I have never met, lost her baby before he was born. Without explanation, he simply...stopped. I learned this terrible news on Saturday morning. There is nothing to do or say to relieve such pain. It's an unbearable weight, yet she and her family had no choice but to bear it.

Sunday morning I sat in church. Jon had taken Peanut down to her class and I sat holding Bubby in our pew. And I fell apart. I dissolved. Huge, racking sobs shook my body and simply clung to my sleeping baby, warm and vital and so very alive in my arms. I was heartbroken for my friend who would never hold her child this way, never know the swell of his chest against hers as he breathed, never hear him make a sound or see his eyes open.

But more than that, I was heartbreakingly thankful. God has been so gracious to us. We are so blessed. Time and again we have met enormous challenges, tragedies that could easily have utterly ruined us, fearfully bad situations that could easily have been catastrophic, and time and again God has been merciful and providential and protected us. And I don't know why.

I don't know why I get to watch my baby grow and laugh and blow raspberries at her sister and my friend does not. I don't know why not one possession of ours came out of that house with even a whiff of smoke, let alone burned while our neighbours lost absolutely everything. I don't know why, as sick as I was, Bubby and I were totally safe and we had an entirely normal, healthy birth. I don't know why this family doesn't wear the scars of the things we've faced. I don't know why we have persevered so entirely. I don't understand why God has preserved us.

He loves us. He loves all of us. And it makes me ache. I ache through to my very fingertips with the knowledge that I have only begun to comprehend the breadth and length and height and depth of the love of God. That Sunday morning my heart turned violently inside my chest, it was so swollen and overcome with love and the sheer impossibility of entirely grasping just what it means to be loved like this.

She has masses of love. Oceans of grace.

voices

2011-10-28T08:49:00.000-04:00

Sitting in my living room, at this moment I hear Peanut's voice laughing and screeching as she chases our dog, singing nonsense songs while she 'cooks' her pretend food in her play kitchen. I hear Bubby, lying on her belly and spinning in pre-crawling circles, cooing and babbling to herself. I hear the clatter of toys and the crunching sounds of our dog eating her breakfast.

Somewhere, under all that happy din, is my voice. It's somewhere buried in my head. It is speaking, or trying, with too many thoughts to even be coherent. It is trying to get out, but most days I simply cannot find it.

Such is the problem with writing while being an at-home parent. Finding the opportunity to construct a coherent thought let alone actually write it down is challenging at best. And it's frustrating, knowing that there are potential posts, articles, goodness knows what else, locked inside, simply waiting for the chance to break free and come to life.

I may need to start having weekly Bridgehead wifi dates with myself in order to get the words out. I adore my girls, but it's important to listen to - and speak with - my own voice, too.

what happened to community?

2011-10-23T21:09:00.000-04:00

Have we forgotten how to live in community? Have we forgotten that we are social animals?

Last night I got to hear Rodger Nishioka speak about why young people - particularly young adults - aren't going to church. It isn't a lack of faith or spirituality, but still they don't come. Why? What are we - the established, main-line churches - doing wrong?

In the course of his talk he told a story about one young couple he met while researching this topic in focus groups around the U.S. who actually were members of a Presbyterian church in Iowa. After attending one Sunday morning, they were astonished by the outpouring of care and support from the congregation after the young woman was diagnosed with breast cancer. They had no idea that such community involvement was common. As a result, they are fully integrated, grateful, involved members of that church community.

What struck me was, really, the sadness of it. Have we become so entirely nuclearized that we have forgotten to pass on to the next generation (not even really the next generation: the young couple Nishioka mentioned were only about 6 years younger than me) that this is how community functions? More fundamentally, have we neglected to tell people that we are social creatures who, by and large, crave and need community in order to be fully functional, joyful people?

On wet-nursing and unconditional love

2011-10-21T20:03:00.000-04:00

Earlier this week, I met a baby who, at five days old, had lost two pounds.

And I nursed him.

His mother had an unexpected caesarean section and her milk production was delayed, which isn't particularly uncommon following surgical birth. But her baby proceeded to lose two pounds. Though she nursed and they were making every effort, she and her husband watched their little boy shrink. So her midwife put out the call: this baby needs milk. And my own doula and friend sent me word: a baby needs milk. She also said, "mama would also be open to cross-nursing." A few phone calls to arrange a time, and I went. With my one tiny bottle of stashed milk and my own two breasts, I went to meet some total strangers.

I wondered what it would be like to nurse someone else's child. The first time I nursed my own child it felt a little strange, such a new and singular experience: would it feel odd when the child was not my own, when I'd only met the family moments earlier? I wondered if I would feel a sense of betrayal to my own little nursling, at home with her sister and father, to be sharing my breast with another child, to be giving another child the milk originally destined for her. I wondered if the mother, who had undergone a difficult birth and was now struggling to breastfeed, would feel resentment or rejection at having me, a total stranger, nurse her child. I am certain that I would have felt so.

There are no Emily Post instructions on the correct etiquette for visiting someone's home for the first time with the intention of breastfeeding their newborn. I went, met Father and Mother, introduced myself, congratulated them on their baby, gave them the one bottle of expressed milk I had, then asked, "Do you want me to nurse him?"
"Sure," Mother said, "that would be great." So we sat together, she and I. She handed me her tiny treasure and I bared a breast.

****

People talk about unconditional love. The Church talks about it a lot. Parents talk about it, too. There's even a particular strain of parenting theory named for it. When we talk about loving unconditionally we generally mean that our love is not contingent on the actions of the person who is loved. But it can mean something else, and should. It means that whoever you are, I will love you. My love for you is not contingent on my relationship with you. It simply doesn't matter.

One of my many acts of mothering love for my children is nursing them. Through that simple act they are comforted, reassured, nurtured and nourished. They know love. To nurse another's child is also an act of love, but differently so. In taking that little boy in my arms and nursing him, I told him he was loved. I told him that he was loved unconditionally not only by his parents - who love him for the mere fact of his existence - but by me as well, also for the mere fact of his existence. And that loving would extend as far as it needed to, even to feeding him from my own body.

Nursing him didn't feel strange. It was simple: here was a hungry child who needed milk and I provided it. I was struck by how entirely commonplace it felt in that moment. Afterward, as I reflected on my encounter with this family, I felt sure that this is, without question, what we are meant to do. Later, when I was home again with my own nursling, I looked at her as she glowed and grinned up at me and felt nearly proud of her. Unbeknownst to her, she had shared something of hers which was precious and dear. I don't know how the mother felt about watching me nurse her new and only child. It seemed too intrusive to ask. I imagine it was at least a little strange for her, to watch her son share an intimate moment with another woman, some other child's mother. Because nursing is wonderfully, beautifully intimate. But so is love. And it's meant to be shared. Like breastmilk.

****

There is something particularly delightful about nursing a newborn. Their lives are so consumed by consumption that newborns are very avid feeders, focussed and determined. This little boy, fists clenched against his cheeks, eyes closed in rapt attention to the task, mouth wide, proceeded to give a perfect example of precisely how a baby should nurse. Surely, he and his mother are destined for a happy and successful nursing relationship. Gulping and pausing, pausing and gulping, he drank until he was full and could not be cajoled into taking more. Entirely milk-drunk, he subsided into his mother's arms, smiling in his sleep. Sated.

"Thank you," she said.

"Thank you," I replied.

faux-chos

2011-10-14T22:34:00.003-04:00

Remember this? At the time I was wheat, dairy, soy and egg-free. Now we've added corn to see if we can't get Bubby's rash to finally clear up. Here's a head's up: in North America corn is. in. everything. It's madness.

Anyway, there are some obvious, common sources of corn that this totally eliminates. Until now, I had been sort of desperately clinging to the fact that while I couldn't eat bread (sigh) or cheese (whimper) or cake (sob) I could, at least, have corn chips and Coke. Yeah, yeah, I know, cola is death blah blah blah. I ran out of vices so I cut myself some slack. Today, though, I really wanted nachos and a Coke. You know, dairy-free, wheat-free, corn-free nachos and Coke. Made of what, exactly? Made of this:

And you know what? It's awesome. My inspiration was this recipe from my friend Alyson. Here is approximately what I did:

1/2 can black beans, rinsed
1 clove garlic
2 tsp onion powder
1/ 2tsp cumin (I freaking love cumin)
2 tsp chili powder
1/4 cup vegetable stock
2 tbsp rice flour

Throw everything in a food processor and blitz until smooth. Spread on an oiled, foil-covered cookie sheet to about the diameter of a dinner plate, or 1/4-1/2 inch thick. Top with Daiya Shreds ( I used cheddar flavour because it was all we had, but pepperjack or mozzarella would make more sense) and bake at about 340*F until the edges look dry and the shreds are all melted, maybe 20-30 minutes. Serve by topping with salsa, shredded lettuce, more salsa and cashew cream. Drink a Blue Sky Cola alongside to complete the feeling of guilty indulgence.

edited 10/15/11: I have just discovered that while Blue Sky is HFCS free, the caramel colour and citric acid in it are manufactured using...corn! And the Daiya Shreds? More citric acid from...corn! ARGH! Well, we'll keep trying. It was still delicious, though.

An autumn afternoon at the arboretum

2011-10-12T18:31:00.000-04:00

A friend recently posted a photo on Facebook of the green, vibrant campus of a Florida university. "When I see pictures of Florida," I commented, "I think, 'I live in Ottawa because...?'" Summer is decidedly over, here. Some days, though, remind me why we enjoy life here.

We took an outing yesterday afternoon. An honest-to-goodness, physically active and educational outing. Ottawa has an urban farm, the Central Experimental Farm, and it includes a sizeable arboretum. It's 26 hectares, which is about 64 acres making it around 1/13th the size of New York's Central Park, but it's large enough to be quiet and calm and get a good stretch of the legs.

Autumn in Ottawa being what it is, it was a gorgeous afternoon. The fall foliage was colourful but still mostly in the tree-tops, but the unseasonably warm weather made it a perfect day for running around outside.

We watched mallards on Dow's Lake.

We walked. We ran. We followed some dogs around. We climbed on large rocks.

We enjoyed the sunshine.
Bubby was there, too, of course.

Before we left, she needed a nurse.

I asked Peanut where we should sit. "Which tree should we sit under?" I asked her.
"Under the yellow tree." Hickory it was.

I love this city. And I love my girls.

sometimes it's all pretend

2011-10-06T15:14:00.000-04:00

I read a lot of so-called mommyblogs. I gravitate toward the ones that are positive, optimistic. Peaceful. I yearn to feel like that every day, to revel and celebrate every moment with my children, with my husband, with myself. To live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, as Thoreau so beautifully put it. So, in turn, I try to write posts that do precisely that with pictures that reflect just how lovely this life - our life - can be.

But.

Sometimes it's all pretend. Or at least the attitude is. Sometimes the optimism is missing. Sometimes the inspiration falls short. Sometimes, instead, I just crave a good long break. Like a week. Alone. Or several very big, bountiful glasses of wine. Or a good scream. Sometimes my day loses it's shine and all I seem to see is dusty surfaces, grimy tables, a crumb-covered floor in desperate need of a good sweep and mop and two children who need a lot out of me. Sometimes I just. feel. spent.

So sometimes I'm just pretending. And the pretending gets me to the end of another day, and while I feel like I'm clinging white-knuckled to my sanity, something unexpected happens. Peanut brings Bubby a toy, apropos of nothing. Bubby glows at her sister. She smiles at me. Peanut rushes up to me, throws her arms around me and murmurs, "Lovee you," and then goes back to playing. The sun shines through the window in a way and at an angle that marks that we have entered a new season, a season of scarves and sweaters and hot drinks and Peanut's first trips to football games with Daddy and the comfort of crawling into a warm bed on a cold night.

And then, without even realizing it has happened, it isn't pretend. It's real, and we've lived a warm, glowing day, one that shimmers in my memory, ever so briefly, not because it was particularly notable but just because it was good. Because I accepted it for what it was and what it brought.

What has your day brought you?

100 word birth stories

2011-10-04T10:18:00.001-04:00

The ever-thoughtful and thought-provoking Bluebirdmama recently put out a call for birth stories in 100 words or less. Since my own birth stories are decidedly un-short, I welcomed the challenge. Here are the girls' stories:

Glynis

Wake at 5am. OMG I’m peeing my bed! No control.
5:30am cramping. OMG and I’m constipated, too?!

Nope…disbelief.

Call the midwife. “Not even 36 weeks! Not good,” but I know: we’re fine.
Labouring around the house, shower, resting, working.

This is what we do.

Midwife arrives: time to go NOW.
Doula, midwife, husband, me in the room, laughing between contractions. So excited:

I’m going to meet my baby!!

1:40pm: Now pushing on my feet, on my knees, on the bed. Happening quickly. Everyone hollering, “Slow down!” Oops: burning and pop! Relief. Head, now body. She’s here.

Love.

Scarlet

7pm: hint of contractions. Slowly, things beginning. Powerful.
Body working, mind excited, sure: another early baby.
Cuddling Glynis. Belly henna. Laughing.

Then: not good. It’s all wrong.
Terrible stomach pain. Calling the midwife.
Kneeling on the floor. Praying. Pleading.

“This is not how I die.”

1am: call doula, call Mom, wake Glynis. No homebirth: rush to hospital.
Midwife waiting. Bloodwork. Monitors: baby is fine, body still working hard.

Severe pre-eclampsia and HELLP.

Break waters.
Acupressure. Swaying... s w a y i n g …

So sick. But strong.

I AM going to do this.

6:45am...7am...

Sleep. Bear down. Sleep. Then p u s h …

…through fear, tissue.

7:13am

Lift…

“You're real!"

today

2011-09-22T22:10:00.001-04:00

Today I have

* a big girl keen to make friends at the library
* a daughter so excited by books we stayed an extra half hour after Storytime to read more books
* a growing baby who sat by herself for two minutes before flopping to the side

* a Big Sister who delights in her baby
* a Little Sister who rolled over by herself for the first time

And I have

* friends who share my passions
* a strong vote of confidence from our minister, whom I respect and admire

A good day.

the things we do, part II

2011-09-21T21:12:00.002-04:00

You likely haven't noticed from the pictures I've posted, but Bubby has a pink face. Or more accurately, circles of pink around her eyes. And all over her scalp. And she's had some hives on there, too. It's not something a parent likes to see on her baby. After a little deliberation - including several days of thinking we were cursed with a sunlight allergy - I concluded it was likely a food sensitivity. So for the past 6 weeks I've been gradually eliminating foods from my diet. First wheat, then dairy, then eggs and now soy and, thankfully, we're now seeing a real improvement: it would seem soy is a major offender. Ever tried to eliminate all soy from your diet while living in North America? Yep, it's an eye-opener.

So I'm eating differently now. Some dishes are right out - like, say, a delicious tofu stir fry in a tamari-based sauce and virtually every prepared food out there - while others just need a little adapting. This evening, as I watched Peanut happily munching away on some oven-baked chicken fingers I realized that I really wanted some, too. But bread crumbs, wheat flour, butter, milk and egg wash are all out, so cleverness was called for.

Some crushed gluten-free cereal - corn flakes and puffed rice - a little buckwheat and arrowroot flours and some various seasonings and we were in business. But how to make it stick without eggs or milk? Honey-water! 2tbsp of warm water and at least 1tbsp of honey well mixed together, toss the chicken pieces in the solution and then into the crumb mixture. Bake on an oiled pan at 375*F, turning once.

They were delicious. Even if they hadn't been, though, this is what we do, isn't it? As I told my mother a few weeks ago, I don't care if my own health ends up suffering: I'll gladly sacrifice my own health on the altar of my child's well-being. So far my dietary restrictions haven't had a deleterious effect on my health, just occasionally on my mood and hopefully, with enough inventiveness, that won't be the case too often either.

the things we do

2011-09-20T19:31:00.000-04:00

What do you do when you need to carry your baby six blocks? You wrap her up.

And what do you when your toddler pulls up lame a block into the walk? Well, you wrap her up, too.

This was the best photo I could get of our little five block tandem-wearing adventure. Sadly, it doesn't do justice to the insanity of the situation. A 5'2" woman wearing more than one third her body weight, with three year old feet dangling around her knees and a four month old head bobbing around near her chin, carting a shoulder bag full of cloth diapers and a tote bag with a plastic potty is a truly ridiculous sight.

The things we do for our kids, eh?

the urban family

2011-09-13T20:22:00.000-04:00

We live downtown. I mean, right downtown. And we love it. Part of what we love about it is our proximity to all the little happenings in the city. Evenings notwithstanding, our city streets are lively and active and there are things to see and do on almost any given day or week.

This past weekend the Glebe held a little street event. So we decided to head down for a little urban family fun.

The best part of the event in the Glebe was not the activities planned for small children but a skateboarding competition. Peanut, you see, adores skateboarding. She sees it pretty routinely in a local park and thinks it is just awesome. So we checked it out.

She loved it. Also, there were balloons.

Bubby was less interested in the skateboarding and focussed more on licking the wrap I was wearing her in and just generally being adorable.

Good times.

a common era

2011-09-11T20:49:00.000-04:00

**I left this as a comment today on our church blog where members of the congregation reflect on that Sunday's worship service.**

At the end of August, a friend posted on Facebook asking for people's reflections on how the world has changed in the past ten years. As I thought about it over the next days, and after reading another link that he posted, I was struck by the contrasts that we've seen since then: moments of hatred and violence thrown into sharp relief by expressions of love and grace. Those instances of love and grace, those moments of universality and commonality are how I choose to define these days. That view doesn't exclude the hatred and violence nor ignore it, but I refuse to believe that these Years of Our Lord will be defined by evil.

During the minister's sermon he noted that academic institutions are moving toward less Eurocentric names for the two primary eras of history, using the term "Common Era" instead of Anno Domini. What occurred to me as he spoke about this was that using this new term for our current age does not deny or ignore the Good News.

This is a common era, one in which all belong to the universal brotherhood of a world of salvation. These are the days in which salvation is at hand for every person should they so choose and accept it. As Paul writes, there is now neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female. We are made one in Christ, the Christ who breaks all barriers, even the barriers we ourselves have built which separate us from God.

And now here we are in a post-9/11 world and while some choose to see only division, we have seen people come together. We have seen the love and grace of Jesus Christ extended from Muslim to Christian and back again.

This is a common era, and I thank God for it.

expectation

2011-09-03T23:13:00.002-04:00

I always thought that the use of the term "expecting" for pregnancy was odd. What are we "expecting"? Expecting a child to be born? Well, obviously. Expecting there to be a child? But the child is already in there: he or she just needs to come out. And just as the child is there, the woman carrying that child is already a mother, already loves like a mother, already worries like a mother, and the father does likewise. Shouldn't these "expecting" parents instead simply be "waiting"?

But there's another side to the word "expecting". It isn't a guarantee. Nothing is certain: nothing.

Midwifery clients in Ontario are generally given copies of the contents of their files after their post-partum care concludes. The top sheet of paper is the primary sheet of the chart with things like the mother's health history and dates relevant to the pregnancy. At the bottom of the sheet is a list of topics to be discussed at the monthly appointments. As the pregnancy progresses, one by one that list of topics is completed and checked off. When I was expecting Bubby, my midwife and I were talking during one of our appointments. I was struggling with hypertension and she was worried that I would be terribly upset if my health demanded that we abandon our planned home birth for a hospital birth. She wanted to talk about my expectations. As we talked, I told her,

"To be quite honest with you, I don't even entirely expect to get a baby at the end of this. I'm keenly aware that sometimes you just...don't."

And in that room, while Peanut coloured at a little table under a big, happy green leaf, with glorious sunshine beaming in the window, bathing the room, we talked about stillbirth. We talked about neonatal death. We talked about mothers we've known, both in person and online, who have lost babies not early in a pregnancy but late, so late that it is unfathomable, so late that a happy outcome seemed a sure thing. We talked about mothers who have held their baby after a normal birth, awash in the glow of everything going right, who days or even just hours later held that baby as that tiny life slipped from this world.

And we wept. We wept for those mothers and fathers who had something so very precious so fleetingly. We wept as we smiled while talking about the immeasurable value of a photograph of a father holding his child, precious and perfect and entirely still in his arms. The eternal gift of a moment, of just one moment, and the image of that moment frozen, cherished forever.

There is no line-item for stillbirth and death on that page in my chart. It isn't one of the mandatory topics of discussion. But we must talk about this. We cannot live blindly, ignoring the very truth and reality that mortality is universal: it does not only belong to the old. It walks hand-in-hand with birth. The great fragility of life is part of what throws life's beauty into such relief to be celebrated.We do a great disservice to families when we speak as though everything were certain. We needn't dwell on such terrible pain, but likewise we must acknowledge its possibility.

It's a pain I do not know and have not the gall to suppose that I can imagine. While I was expecting Peanut I felt great surety when I reached 32 weeks. "Now I am safe," I thought. "Now I can be certain that everything will be fine." But with Bubby I was not so naive. Better do I now know that nothing is certain. Nothing is safe. As I laboured with Peanut I was never concerned for her safety, so sure was I that everything would always be fine. But as I laboured with Bubby, aware that my own body was failing, I had occasion to wonder after her health. Was she safe? Was she well? What would happen? Birth is as safe as life gets...and life can be painfully uncertain.

I am struck today by the absolute appropriateness of the term "expecting". When one is pregnant one expects to have a child to hold and kiss and love and nurse and raise into being a strong and beautiful person. But we do not know. We make the best choices that we can, we best our odds for success and health and happiness...and the rest we give up to God.

Because we cannot know for certain. We have only the expectation of joy.

examination

2011-08-30T10:22:00.000-04:00

I have a handful of posts drafted, saved and unfinished that are waiting to be posted, but until I have time to do that, I wanted to share something new that I'm doing. I've recently become the Ottawa Breastfeeding Examiner. I write articles related to breastfeeding with an eye to local news. So if you are local and see or hear something you think should be given attention, let me know and I'll get on it!

perfect

2011-08-10T23:06:00.001-04:00

I am alone with Bubby in the living room. Jon, having read Peanut to sleep in the bedroom has fallen asleep himself. When I'm alone with Bubby I indulge in telling her all the silly, tender things I might normally only think. As I looked at her as I held her in my arms this evening, I was struck by her realness. Her perfectness. She's here.

And I lifted her up and kissed her scrumptious round cheeks and said,

"I grew you. Did you know? I grew you...and now here you are."

I never cease to be amazed by the absolute perfection of my children. I'm sure every mother feels this way.

I am both empowered and utterly, totally humbled by the mere fact of their existence.

reminders

2011-08-08T13:32:00.001-04:00

I struggle with remembering to do what I ought or to have the best frame of mind. I need constant reminding. I'm trying to think of ways to keep myself focussed and this is one idea I've implemented: short passages of scripture chalked on the wall. We've had 1 Corinthians 13 already, and now we've moved on to 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18.

owning a day

2011-08-08T10:45:00.001-04:00

I'm making an effort to own each day. All last week, Jon was been home on vacation and we spent the whole week together. There was a dinner at the pub up the street, a ride on the Ottawa River in a motor boat, visits with some grandparents, trips to the park, and lots of daytime walks followed by naps with Daddy. It wasn't perfect, of course: few things ever are. There was some frustration while we were picking out new glasses for me on Friday and there are almost daily moments of intense three-ness. But in the midst of any frustration or tantrums or meltdowns, there is goodness. There is love.

There is beautiful simplicity in a typical morning.

We don't need to seek out beauty in our lives: it's always there, even in very bad circumstances, and it is glorious and wonderful. We simply need to open our eyes to it and allow life to be what it is.

a day at the park

2011-08-04T18:54:00.001-04:00

Daddy's vacation means some alone-time with Mommy in the middle of a weekday afternoon.

"Where are we going, Mommy?"
Up...
...up...
...almost there...
...and she's off and running!

Small child, tall buildings.

The ride home

dreaming our dreams

2011-08-01T19:32:00.001-04:00

I am uncomfortable voicing dreams. I'm also uncomfortable voicing prayers. There is something so deeply personal, so intimate about sharing them. I don't know precisely why I feel this way, but I sincerely doubt that I am in the minority: we - at least we in North America - aren't exactly encouraged to bare our souls and share our deepest, tenderest feelings. And dreams and prayers really are tender. They are one of our most sensitive, most vulnerable places in our heart. I always feel that I risk mockery or embarrassment if I'm voicing my dreams. But dreaming is important and prayer is an integral part of my life. Maybe it's some quirk of my personality, maybe it's the way I was raised: growing up in the Presbyterian church, a practice where prayer is generally conducted silently, seated, heads bowed and eyes closed, expressing intimate thoughts and concerns wasn't generally done. Whatever the reason, I need to get over this.

Last week, as I was thinking about this season of change I seem to be in and about where it may take me, I came to an unfortunate and almost shameful realization: I was even uncomfortable voicing my dreams and ambitions and prayers to my own husband. How can we move forward together as a family, though, if we aren't sharing our dreams with one another? My reflection really came to a head after reading this post on Saturday. I was particularly struck by this section:

Just a few days ago while on a walk I realized something. We live in a home in the Pacific Northwest, tucked away in the trees, a block away from a bay where we canoe and kayak… and every morning, we take Cedar to the side of the house to pick raspberries for breakfast.“Honey!” I said…“It really happened for us. We are living that dream.” Of course there were a few jokes tossed around because Boho Boy cannot whisper a word without humor interlaced. Like its raspberries instead of blackberries and Washington instead of British Columbia…but it is so close, non? It gives us chills. The power of speaking our dreams out loud. The power of manifesting. The power of vision boards. The power of prayer. The power of meditation. All of it. Just gives me chills. And I am living proof that the dream may not turn out exactly how we envisioned (I am not talking raspberries here, but adoption rather than conception) but if we stay close to our desires. If we whisper them or shout them or write them down or release them…if we BELIEVE them…we find ourselves one day looking around and realizing we are in it.

So that afternoon as we took our annual Scottish pilgrimage (careful with the volume if you click that link) I took advantage of our drive - and the girls' quiet contentedness - to begin the conversation. It's definitely a conversation that needs to be ongoing. Goals change, dreams alter and our prayers and desire reflect where we are in our lives and what we are living. Some would argue that The Recruiter and I should have had long, deep, detailed conversations about all our dreams and goals before getting married, but ultimately, we just wanted to be married to each other, regardless of anything else. In the time since we were engaged and first married, my own ambitions have changed dramatically at least four times. My priorities have shifted as well, becoming more and more focussed on living a life of faith. Whatever I might have said back at the age of 23 is far from what I'm dreaming and praying about today.

It isn't enough to have one chat about dreams: it has to be a continuing dialogue in order for it to be reflective. Talking about our dreams hardly accomplishes them, but the immediate effect of just voicing those dreams, speaking our prayers, is truly tangible. I feel like our family is stronger today than possibly ever before - and we were doing pretty well, I like to think! It felt so wonderful to speak those visions to each other, to wonder out loud about what we might accomplish or what we might become.

So we're going to be dreaming together, openly. Whether we ultimately realize those dreams, whether our goals change entirely, what is important is the looking forward, working towards something. Speaking our dreams is our first step toward living more intentionally, more thoughtfully, with purpose.

puzzling it out

2011-07-27T11:33:00.000-04:00

I've got a lot going on in my head right now. I'm in an interesting season, I think, one full of re-evaluation. I'm puzzling out myself, my life, our life as a family, my faith, my place in the world, my place in the church...it's a lot, and it's heavy, and on any given day I usually have about a minute and a half to actually be still and be quiet and just think. I'm finding myself standing at the sink in the bathroom, lost in my thoughts, while I'm supposed to be getting ready for bed.

I want to see this as a season of new possibilities and a healthy re-imagining, but mostly I'm finding it intimidating. We're not routinely encouraged to wipe the slate clean and start from scratch. I think, though, that that may be what I need to do. I may just need to radically re-imagine myself. And it's freaking me out!

back up

2011-06-22T20:38:00.000-04:00

There is a moral to this post and it is this: back up your harddrive.

A week ago Sunday, The Recruiter tried to turn on the laptop but instead got error messages: "operating system not found"; "cable disconnected". Curious...and rather concerning. Just over a week went by before we were able to get my brother-in-law over to see if he could sort out the trouble. After some trial and error and the insertion of various discs, he deduced the problem: our harddrive is dead.

Our harddrive with every picture of Peanut on it. Our harddrive with every picture of Bubby on it. Our harddrive with hours of downloaded music on it. Inaccessible, possibly permanently.

We're currently operating without a harddrive using a boot disc my BIL left with us so at least we're able to access the internet until we hook ourselves up with a new and functional harddrive. We're trying to stay hopeful that a recovery service can retrieve the files on the drive, but I'm trying to be realistic. They may find nothing. After I accidentally destroyed our last laptop, and then again after the fire, The Recruiter and I talked about getting a back up system started but failed to do so. I am absolutely sick at the thought of what we may have lost as a result of our forgetfulness.

So there won't be any new photos on the blog until we have a harddrive again and can load images from the camera. You'll just have to trust that the girls remain adorable.

Now go back up all your files!

friday evening, flaked out

2011-06-11T07:36:00.000-04:00

A little dread-love and my very sleepy baby.

asparagus season

2011-06-09T10:42:00.001-04:00

It's the beginning of farmer's market season in Ottawa, so we took a little family walk to the Byward Market last Friday to get some locally grown veggies. We got rhubarb and made these muffins - delicious! - and three big bundles of asparagus. Some of the spears went into savoury onion and asparagus muffins, and the rest were eaten alongside some mahi mahi.

Summer Asparagus Salad

2 bundles fresh asparagus, washed and trimmed
1tsp dijon mustard
2tsp orange juice
1 clove garlic, pressed (or 1/2tsp garlic powder if you are incredibly lazy, as I was)
2tsp brown sugar or honey
EVOO
dash of salt
large bowl of ice water

1. Place mustard, orange juice, garlic and sugar or honey in a small bowl and whisk together. Slowly drizzle in EVOO, whisking constantly until the dressing has entirely emulsified and become thicker and slightly creamy. Taste. Add salt if necessary.
2. In a medium pot of boiling water, blanche asparagus for approximately 2 minutes. Immediately plunge asparagus into bowl of ice water.
3. With asparagus still cooling, plate rest of meal. Place cooled asparagus on plate and spoon dressing over top.

I didn't think to take a picture, so here's a picture of Bubby from yesterday afternoon:

Aparagus?? ASPARAGUS??!!

Her story

2011-05-28T15:32:00.000-04:00

I plan to have a more succinct version here shortly, but until then, here is the - very long! - story of Bubby's birth.

Monday's child

2011-05-19T09:23:00.000-04:00

Is fair of face.

Er, fair of face.

Happy birthday to my rapidly growing girl. Three years of joy and the unexpected. Three years of excitement and fun. And now you are a big sister, and a loving, caring, considerate one at that. You never cease to amaze us.

Happy birthday, Peanut!!

And here we are

2011-05-08T11:33:00.000-04:00

Born at 7:13 am May 3rd, after less than 3 hours of active labour (there's a pretty involved story: just wait for it). Our homebirth became a hospital birth for cause, hence the story, but all went very well. 17 hours shy of 37 weeks in the belly, and a healthy 6lb 4oz at birth.

Scarlet Elizabeth Ruth, heretofore known as...

Bubby.

carrying on

2011-04-29T14:06:00.002-04:00

Still here, still pregnant. Not sure for how much longer, but for now, we're ok.

Since I'm unlikely to be pregnant for a lot longer, here's another picture of the bump, as it looked last night.

I swear, I had just cleaned the mirror before this picture. I have no idea why it actually looks worse than before.

I actually look smaller because baby has dropped rather significantly. Can't get much lower until I'm actually in labour, though, so it'll be interesting to see if or how the shape changes as the next days pass.

I'm still eating fun food. Check my breakfast from this morning:

Plain organic yogurt, chopped nuts (I usually use walnuts because I prefer them, but there's an e.coli scare on walnuts in Canada at the moment, so here I used pecans), currants and a drizzle of Canadian maple syrup. If the bowl looks big, it's because it is big: that's an asian noodle bowl. I really like this for breakfast.

And we're still having fun. Peanut's been doing puzzles. Here she is, having proudly finished putting together her pig.

I'm going to keep gestating for a few more days, doing some deep self hypnosis to relax and keep the bp in check, and try to get everything else ready in between. Have a great weekend!

Tempting fate? Yeah, I think so.

2011-04-27T15:07:00.000-04:00

Dude. I have got to learn.

I spent hours and hours crawling around on the floor painting that bed. It looks great. I'm thrilled. All is well, right?

We-e-ell. I had an appointment with our midwife yesterday morning. I took out the new car seat for the baby. I got it pseudo-installed (not safe to be used, but safe in the sense that it won't hurtle around in the cabin of the car) despite the pouring rain. Peanut and I got to the midwifery office on time, nay, early. Our midwife and I had a great chat: we're ready, all we need to do now is wait and see when this baby will decide to be born. All is well.

Then we do the clinical stuff, checking my blood pressure, measuring fundal height and auscultation. Blood pressure is first and...yeesh. 140/94. Ho. ly. crap. My midwife looks at me: "How are you feeling?"

I feel fine. Seriously. I feel fine. A little foot and ankle swelling, but I'm 36 weeks pregnant so whatever, right? We wait a few minutes while I do some deep, slow breaths. We try again. I can't remember the number but it wasn't any better (actually, I think it was worse because now I'm flipping out about high bp).

Here's where it's really good to be as informed as I am. My midwife knows that I'm studying to be a doula, that I read research and educational blogs by different midwives and that I really care about prenatal health. So when she said what she said next, I had a sinking feeling in my chest, but I didn't actually freak out or fall apart:

"At this point I need to recommend you go to the hospital for blood work and if it comes back concerning, we need to talk about inducing."

Oy.

A far cry from the peaceful, Peanut-inclusive water homebirth that we had planned. But we weren't there yet: we just needed to be careful.

A non-stress test, much phoning of various family members to find someone to hang out with Peanut, a trip back to the apartment to get her settled and a little lunch and to get a hospital bag (I felt much better knowing that if things turned out crazy and we ended up birthing right then, we'd have everything we wanted and needed) as well as pick up The Recruiter, and then off to the hospital. And then the waiting. I think we waited for at least two hours just to have my blood drawn. It was insane. But the nurse was very nice and knew my midwife personally and didn't throw a fit when my bp was shockingly high again in triage.

And then more waiting, this time for the lab results to see if there was anything hinky going on with my liver (a sign of pre-eclampsia). And more waiting. And then I realized I was absolutely starving and sent The Recruiter to find some food. Which we devoured. And then waited some more. Finally we got to speak to a doctor and get my lab results. The labs were all clear - phew! - but she wanted another NST and to do an u/s on my leg because I have asymmetrical edema. Oy again.

After just over four and a half hours in the hospital we learned that...I have very high blood pressure at the moment. Which we knew. And that baby and I are otherwise totally fine. Which we were already pretty certain about. We also confirmed that a) the hospital isn't the most evil place on Earth and that b) we would really, really rather not birth there. We also learned that I'm having contractions which are surprisingly strong but I'm not noticing. Everyone said I shouldn't pay it any mind since I'm not noticing them, but I'm reminded that I slept through early labour with Peanut and only woke up when active labour began, so I'm not making any assumptions either way. And I've dropped: this kid is now sitting lower and way heavier.

But I'm still pregnant! So hooray for that. 36 weeks 2 days, which puts me at least two days further along than I got with Peanut. Hopefully I can make it to May.

our new bed: part II(a)*

2011-04-25T20:09:00.001-04:00

I promised, didn't I? I declared that I would have the bed painted before this baby was born. And lo and behold:

I'm not sure which is crazier: building a king sized bed when you're six and a half to seven months pregnant or waiting until you're over eight months pregnant, practically term and potentially going into labour at any minute to paint it. I'm really not certain. But it's done!** And I'm still pregnant and still not imminently birthing, so all is good.

*I called this Part II(a) because it obviously doesn't yet have the baskets for the storage cubbies and the mattress is still our old queen size.

**It's not exactly completely done. I had to prop the mattress up on the far side of the bed with only about six inches between the bed and the mattress so I couldn't paint that side.***

***And that side of the bed may sort of kind of a little bit still need all the trim applied. Maybe. Kinda sorta.

I did it

2011-04-24T23:18:00.000-04:00

Despite my lack of planning.

Despite my entirely disastrous-looking sewing room.

Despite my lack of time.

I got it finished.

And she loves it.

There was a lot of dancing in her dress this morning, twirling in her gathered skirt, holding it out to enjoy it. And The Recruiter and I were particularly glad to have her beautifully decked out without resorting to pink. Don't get me wrong: I like pink a lot, but why not embrace chartreuse and turquoise with beautiful rich brown?

Getting there

2011-04-22T15:24:00.000-04:00

It's Good Friday, so we've already been to church (where the readings were moving, the music made me cry - as per usual - and Peanut had a fit halfway through the first hymn) and had lunch and now The Recruiter and Peanut are hanging out together while I finish my lunch and start getting stuff done.

Like this. I really want to have a new Easter dress for Peanut for Sunday morning. I have a sizeable fabric stash, so even though the stores are all closed today, I have no issue putting together enough fabric for a 3T dress for her. Since before Christmas, when I first saw this tute on One Pretty Thing, I've wanted to make it for her. Do you remember this?

I posted that very picture waaaay back in the spring of 2008 and very little has become of that fabric since then. I made a few little applique's for a tunic dress for Peanut back at Christmas using the green fabric, as well as my little birds, and the brown with polka dots turned into the cover for a dirty diaper bag and a teeny newborn dress for a friend's little girl, but there are still metres left of both. So here we go: an Easter dress with nary a pink or purple anything in sight. Awesome!

In other news, yesterday I looked like this:

You can't tell, but I was actually feeling fairly well crippled in that picture. I woke up feeling particularly motivated and spent the entire day sorting through boxes of mostly crap and trashing stuff, boxing things for donation, doing laundry and tidying and vaccuuming the apartment. By 3:30 I realized that I had totally overdone it and my back was killing me, but I still had to make the place liveable, so I continued on. Ouch. Despite overtaxing myself, though, I'm feeling good and feeling fairly confident that I'm going to make it to term this time. Come on, May 1st!! Actually, May 2nd: we're having belly pictures taken on May 1st. Better yet, May 8th: my Blessingway is on the 7th. So here's hoping!

And about that dress, the one I need to start right now if it's going to be finished for Sunday morning? Have a look at my sewing room as it looks at this very minute:

I'd better get to work.

What a few days sickness brings

2011-04-11T16:15:00.003-04:00

A rather unpleasant - but not really serious - cold made its way through our home over the past week. First Peanut had it, leaving her nose raw and sore and a week later, she still has a bit of a cough. Then I got it. On Friday night, after Peanut was in bed, I looked at The Recruiter and said, "My throat feels funny. I think I might be getting sick." The next morning I woke up and I was positively miserable. Exhausted, congested, coughing and feeling entirely run down and wrung out. So The Recruiter hung out with Peanut all day while I stayed in bed. He brought me food, made an emergency bagel run for me, made me my iced tea just the way I like it (4 decaf Earl Grey tea bags to 3 qts water, 4 tbsp sugar and 2 tbsp lemon juice) and was generally awesome. I napped, I read some Ina May, and I knit while watching an inordinate amount of Buffy. Because that's what I do when I'm sick. Sue me. :)

Sunday wasn't much better. Initially, I actually felt worse, though things improved as the day went on. Another day in bed, another day of knitting. And this is what I have to show for it:

Yes, that's the same Katharine Hepburn cardi that I cast on waaaaay back in April of last year. I hadn't even finished the first piece - the back piece - before this weekend. Yeesh. But it's done now and it looks good! Then I did this:

At first I despaired: I have no idea where the size of needles I need for the ribbing is, and my crafting room is an utter disaster and I'm just too sick to find them! But I poked through one box for about 30 seconds and found them. Serendipity, I tell you. So I've cast on the front right section and I'm already into the armscye. Nice.

Every time I come back to this knit I remember why I'm enjoying it so much. I really look forward to wearing it - and I'm hoping that it will fit fairly soon post-partum, at least hanging open - but I'm quite enjoying the process, too. The pattern is interesting and challenging enough that I'm not bored, but also predictable enough that when I can concentrate on it, it sails along. And knitting with Louet Gems is just...ah! It's blissful. That is some great yarn.

And what does an almost 8 months pregnant woman with a bad cold look like, you might ask? She looks like this:

Not exactly my best, but tolerable. My dreads are looking pretty dready these days, which is nice, and as round as I am, I'm not actually wearing any maternity clothes in that picture at all. Size M t-shirt, size S sweatpants and a size XS cardi that hasn't zipped up in many, many weeks. I love stretchy clothes!

And lest my darling husband post some snark in the comments about neglecting to include Peanut in a post - since it's all about her, ya know, as any almost-three-year-old will tell you with surety - I offer you a picture of her "plane". It's an airplane. And it flies. Or so I was told many times as it zoomed around our apartment. Then she insisted that I take a picture of her plane. Now I share the plane with you.

34 weeks this week: it could be as few as three weeks before we meet this person and I see my toes again!

This should be part two, but...

2011-03-25T15:53:00.000-04:00

...I haven't exactly finished the finishing work on the bed. I've trimmed out two of the three sides of the base of the bed, but not the third side. And it's still totally unpainted. I declare and I promise that it will be completed - and I *hope* will have a king sized mattress on top! - before this baby is born. I have this vision of my whole family, including my two beautiful children, climbing into a lovely bed and cuddling up together after the birth. That vision also includes a neat and organized bedroom, warmly and eclectically decorated. I'd better get to work!

And since it's been awhile, here's how that other work in progress is coming along:

There's other stuff going on chez nous but it's mostly drama, and since I'm trying to focus on happy stuff...we'll just leave it. Ultimately, the family is all well, we're all happy, and all looking forward to meeting the new baby. Everything else can go jump in a lake.

Our new bed: part I

2011-03-06T20:38:00.001-05:00

Very early in the year - so, at most four weeks after we got back into our apartment following our little mold escapade - our bed died. I was in the living room, The Recruiter and Peanut were in the bedroom where she, Peanut was sitting on her toddler bed and he, The Recruiter, was putting away laundry, when I heard a very loud, very sharp "Bang!" Then silence. I called out "Is everything ok in there?" entirely expecting him to reply, "Oh yeah, fine, I just dropped a basket of clothes on the floor (we have parquet floor laid directly on concrete, so it does make very loud, sharp noises if ever we drop things). Instead, he paused and then called back in a perplexed voice, "No: the bed broke."

"The bed broke? Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

He came wandering out looking very surprised, and explained that he had been changing the sheets on the bed and rolled into the middle of the bed to reach the other side when putting on the fitted sheet when, "Bang!" and the middle of the bed simply collapsed.

After much examination (the hollow chipboard headboard had just worn out enough after only three years that the material holding the screws supporting the centre beam gave way) and deliberation, we opted to toss the bed (I'm sure that it didn't sit on outside for long and that someone scavenged it within minutes, a fact I find very comforting, thinking that someone may be benefiting from our decision not to make do with it) and put the mattress directly on the floor while we decided what solution would work best for us.

"After all," I said, "I'm not that pregnant, yet: I can still get up and down off the floor easily and this will insure that I stay really mobile!"

That was early January, at which point I was, certainly, not that pregnant, yet. But time passes and babies and the bellies they are inside get bigger and the mamas carrying them get less and less inclined to climb up and down off the floor, particularly multiple times a night for trips to the loo. So on The Recruiter's birthday - a day which he got off because his employer is fantastic - my mother gave me a ride to Home Depot and we bought sheets of mdf and lengths of 2x4 and trim and spent about an hour in the cutting area having everything cut to size for me. Boxes of screws and nails, a big bottle of wood glue and a $3 can of paint from the 'oops' cart and we headed home. And finally, at long last, I got it assembled yesterday night.

It isn't finished yet. Two of the benches still need trimming, and they'll all need puttying, further sanding and then painting before we can call this complete. But it's assembled and we slept on it last night.

It's higher than we expected, so I'm a little terrified that Peanut is going to fall and hurt herself. I suppose I'll just need to build a little stool or step for her to use to get in and out of the bed. And maybe lay down some small area rugs to cushion any falls. But we are all thrilled to be up off the floor.

The pics are all clickable and there are some others in the set and most have notes.

well lived

2011-02-19T11:36:00.000-05:00

In just over an hour, The Recruiter and I will be off to a worship service in celebration of the life and the promise of the resurrection of a friend of ours, a fellow congregant and choir member, and our elder. We were shocked to learn early Tuesday afternoon that he had passed on sometime the previous night, found that morning by his brother, laying peacefully in his bed.

It was a life very well lived, though, to our minds, too briefly. We'll weep this afternoon, knowing what we have lost, what our community has lost, but I pray that we will rejoice in the knowledge that he is blessed and he is risen. Whenever I lose a friend or loved one, I am always surprised that my faith does not render me immune to those feelings of loss. But that's the trickiness of humanity. Even Jesus wept.

This is the second post in a row where I'm linking to one of my husband's blog posts, but it's very well written and expresses this past week entirely. It's a worthy read.

brrr...

2011-02-15T10:41:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I woke up to light rain and 3C temperatures. Here's what my little Weatherbug app tells me today:

Did you see the worst part? -18C isn't fun, but it's doable. But this part:

Yeah. -27 with the windchill with humidity over 50%. Ugh. My father lived in Iqaluit for a number of years, and said that, as cold as it is up north, the weather is very dry, so it's a far less oppressive and unpleasant cold than the cold weather in Ottawa.

But we really need to go out. I can't hide from the cold forever and spring could be a long way off.

It's still morning, though. Maybe if I wait a few hours...it'll get warmer?

six

2011-02-13T17:35:00.001-05:00

Six years and one day ago, The Recruiter and I were married. It was a beautiful, gently snowy day, very similar to yesterday in our fabulous city. Since I was hosting a church youth skating party yesterday afternoon and evening, we celebrated our anniversary on Friday evening. I made a pavlova (I've been watching a rather astonishing amount of cooking shows lately, and Nigella Lawson made this and it was pretty undeniable) and we ordered in some Chinese food. This is the fortune I got in my cookie:

Not a bad sentiment for the beginning of our next year together, another year of happy and awesome, a year when our family will continue to grow.

Happy sixth anniversary, honey!

And don't feel too badly that we didn't get to spend much of our actual anniversary together: he and Peanut had a pretty fantastic afternoon together. And people ask us why we want to raise our children in downtown Ottawa - you don't just happen across experiences like this in the suburbs around here!

a little more living space

2011-02-08T19:55:00.001-05:00

You know how I said that it was really cold today and our apartment was a mess so I was going to spend the day tidying? Guess who made good on that promise!

Since our little mold thing happened, most of Peanut's toys and books have been living in stacks on the floor. Eventually we moved them into laundry baskets. She couldn't find anything, it took up a lot of room, the living room was a disaster all the time and it was totally unsightly. Well no more: we have achieved order. The pics are all clickable and have notes on flickr.

Toy storage. Peanut's trunk holds soft toys (we purged a bunch recently, but we'll probably do it again in a little while) and the red unit holds hard toys, puzzles, blocks and books. The red unit is actually a chest of drawers we found, sans drawers, on the sidewalk in our last neighbourhood just before we moved. Until the mold adventure, it was sitting in the living room with stuff stacked on top of it and the inside entirely unused. Waste. of. space. When the mold ruined one of our two bookcases, we kept the shelves that went in it and discovered that they fit - sort of - inside the chest of drawers. We popped two of them in and had shoved it full of books that were rendered homeless by the loss of the bookcase. I had always planned to get rid of one of the sets of runners to make two shelves instead of three so that it would be a good fit for toys. I was feeling particularly industrious today (I'm going to blame hormones and nesting instincts) so I got out my tools and got rid of one of the sets of runners. It was big fun with a rubber mallet - you've got to love old school, glue-free mortised joinery!

The Christmas play kitchen and a little table and chairs Peanut uses for drawing. Before this afternoon, the red shelves were where the kitchen is now, the kitchen was where the table is, the table was where the trunk is, and the trunk was where the red shelves are now. The new layout works so well that I think we'll definitely be keeping things like this for the foreseeable future, so I'll hang a magnetic board and a magazine rack over the table to hold magnetic letters and art supplies, respectively.

Peanut in her space. She's so much happier now that she actually has room to play and can find everything, and I am incredibly happy to be able to see the floor! I still think that we have too many toys, and there's actually a wicker basket with some toys in it that hasn't quite found a home yet, but overall, this is a huge improvement and another corner of our living space looks and feels far more finished.

Maybe tomorrow I'll tackle the bedroom. Maybe.

shroom

2011-02-08T12:46:00.004-05:00

It's sunny! And I'm dressed before noon! Of course, sunshine in this neck of the woods generally corresponds with pretty intense cold, and today is no exception. It's -25C with the windchill. Brr. And as you are about to see - but will pretend not to see - our apartment is a mess, so we'll make good use of this cold day, hang out inside and make things a little more liveable around here.

I've been talking about my recent knitting project for a while now, haven't I? As my dreads have finally started growing and getting longer and are no longer just shrinking shrinking shrinking (yes, dreads shrink before they grow. It makes sense if you think about it, but who thinks about that until they actually have them on their own head?) I was finding it harder and harder to fit them into my hat. And the hat that I have been wearing, Urchin, while adorable is not really intended to cover the ears or endure the deep freeze of an Ottawa winter. Enter Shroom.

I love it! I LOVE IT!! It contains the dreads perfectly with room to spare (since they're only going to get longer!), covers my ears entirely as well as the nape of my neck which was an unexpected benefit and, best of all, it's super soft and looks great.

Details:

Pattern: Shroom (and aRav link to my Shroom)
Yarn: Cascade Magnum in light green/celery
Needles: 5.5mm and 8mm, 40cm and 80cm circs respectively (magic looped it at the end)
Mods: I added an extra inch of ribbing. I thought I would add an extra repeat of the puff rib, but when I ran out of yarn I tried it on, discovered that it made it a little too big so I ripped back and did the number of repeats in the pattern. And it's perfect.
Changes I'd make if I did it again: I might omit that extra inch of ribbing. But as I noted above, it does cover my ears and neck really nicely, and it might not do so without that extra inch, so it's debatable. Ultimately, I'm really really happy with it.

And as promised, our work in progress. Feel free to ignore the mess in the background. Scratch that, you MUST ignore it: just don't see it, ok? I promise to clean up today, I do!

With a little bit of Peanut silliness in there for added fun.

a little bit of our living space

2011-02-07T18:48:00.000-05:00

In my last post, there were some little birds that I'd spent a surprisingly long time ~~sitting around~~ industriously sewing. Well here is what they've become:

They're hanging from the centre bracket of our curtain rod in the living room. Because oh yeah! We have curtains! It's only taken us seven months of living here to finally hang curtains. There were venetian blinds in the window and verticals on the sliding door to the balcony, but they were horrendously ugly and a total bother. After our little mold escapade, the venetians weren't reinstalled, so we just left them down and hung the curtain rod and curtains. It's made a massive and wonderful improvement to the whole room.

We also have a "new" "lamp". "New" in that I've had it for years, and "lamp" in that it isn't a lamp at all but the parasol from my sister's wedding hung in the corner of the room with a hanging light behind it. It's hard to beat a paper product from our local Chinatown and a $5 Ikea hanging fixture for an inexpensive and fun light.

And finally, I did a little work with chalk on our large living room wall. We still haven't figured out what we'll hang over the couch, and it's a 7 foot long expanse of wall that fairly cried out for something. Our Words to Remember at church this month are verses from 1 Corinthians 13, and while I find them a little repetitive when read at weddings (generally because so many of the weddings I've attended where they were read have not seemed particularly Christ-focussed, despite being held in a church) they really are wonderful. They are a perfect reminder of the very nature of love and, frankly, I needed the reminder today. I have a cold, I'm very pregnant and I have the accompanying impatience that come with both. And I'm home alone all day with a 2 year old. So a little visual reminder that my constant love for my child demands an equally constant manifestation seemed helpful. Plus: pretty!

Some day, there will be ample sunshine and I'll actually be willing to take a picture of myself, at which point you will actually get to see my latest knitting project and my ever-expanding belly. And if it ever transpires that our apartment is in any way presentable, I'll actually give you a tour.

catching up and a new start

2011-01-28T11:43:00.000-05:00

Another three-month delay in posting, my my! We had a little excitement in November and December, in that we discovered a rather extensive mold problem throughout our apartment. Ick! So we got to spend the first three weeks of Advent in two hotel rooms and out at my mother and her partner's place in a semi-rural village just outside the city. Skipping the long and somewhat depressing parts, we were back home about ten days before Christmas, just enough time to reassemble our living space from the utter mess it had become (dozens of contractors and a fairly significant demolition required the shifting around of most of our furniture) and clean up the fine layer of drywall dust that was covering everything. Despite the trials and tribulations of the season, though, we had a lovely Christmas.

And now it's a new year, the year we'll welcome someone new to our family! We aren't real resolution people, but I think after all the drama of our little mold adventure - and there was plenty of drama related to our landlord and certain amount of unpleasantness including some mild threats - both The Recruiter and I felt the need to do a little leaf-turning and sort of reconnect with our home. So on Epiphany we followed an old European tradition and performed a door-chalking home blessing. I can't tell you how what a blessing it is to me to see those marks of blessing over our door written in our own hand. It's very...soothing, and it's left me feeling very much as though we've reclaimed our home.

We moved in at the end of June, unpacked, and then lost our drive. By the beginning of September I was pregnant and feeling rather wretched, so out walls stayed bare, our artwork unhung, and the whole place just continues to feel rather temporary. So we're nesting. Well, I'm nesting.

I've spent longer than I care to admit stitching up these little birds to hang in our living room. The smaller, multi-coloured birds are made from random fabrics I had in my stash, and the larger red birds are made from a beautiful mohair sweater that ~~was ruined in the laundry~~ has been beautifully felted.

I'm 23 weeks along in this pregnancy and feeling pretty great. I'll post a picture ~~when I've made myself presentable~~ soon! And I knit something! It's awesome and deserves a picture in good light, which we are sadly lacking on this grey day, so it'll have to happen soon, but not today.

Do you remember?

2010-11-10T08:31:00.000-05:00

Remember when I used to actually post? And, you know, actually knit stuff? And do crafty, creative-type things? Yeah, I'm not sure I really remember what that was like, either.

Anyway, it's been an interesting autumn. We have a little brother or sister for Peanut on his or her way: we'll get to meet the new little one sometime in May. The first trimester has been incredibly rough. Serious, crippling nausea. Peanut and I have watched a lot of television, I'm sad to say. But things are getting better, and I'm starting to daydream about food, so I'm feeling hopeful. In all honesty, it was rather depressing. My nausea gets worse through the day, and peaks at night, so I would wake feeling pretty icky and know that, no matter what I did, it was definitely going to get worse. Hard to stay upbeat with that sort of daily reality, but I seem to have turned a corner and things are much better and I'm feeling like myself again.

But yarny goodness! I've been actually making, you know, STUFF out of yarn! Not a lot, but a little. It's gotten co-o-o-old here north of the 49, and Peanut didn't have a good winter hat for her post-growth-spurt self. So I made this:

The yarn is something I picked up five years ago to make a scarf, a scarf which never actually happened. The ball band is long gone and the LYS where I bought it no longer carries the yarn. I think it's acrylic, maybe an acrylic blend. It's fluffy and bulky and soft, though, so I'm happy with it. The black is some random acrylic that my mother recycled out of a poncho (yes, a poncho!) she knitted circa 1970 or something like that. So the black yarn predates Peanut by close to four decades, which is kind of awesome.

The deets, such as I have them:
Pattern (hat): Brrr Baby Beanie
Pattern (flower): Simple Crochet Flower
Hook: 5mm (H)
Size: toddler
Mods: I added an extra round of increases and a few extra rounds of length to ensure the hat would be big enough for as long as possible. I plan to line the hat with polar fleece as well, to get us through the particularly frigid days of January and February in Ottawa, so the bit of extra space in the hat should help it fit even with the lining.

I've also made a tiny amount of headway on this (you'll have to scroll down). I'll have to get a picture of it when the sun is higher today. I'm almost finished the back piece. If I continue at this rate, I might get it finished within a year of starting it. Maybe it'll be ready for my post-partum self. We can always hope!

Holy break in posting, Batman!

2010-08-05T10:23:00.000-04:00

Yikes, three months since my last post! Way to not post, eh? I can't say that a lot of exciting things have happened, because that's not quite true, but neither has absolutely nothing happened. It was more that what did happen was rather disheartening, and led to my not posting.

So we were supposed to move to McLeod St. Didn't happen. Ass-bastard of a landlord decided he didn't like me (I'm an uppity wummun, after all, full of opinions and made of trouble) and summarily kicked us out two days after we got the keys. We still had the place we were moving out of for another month, so we took the boxes we'd moved into the new place, moved them back in to the townhouse, and started looking again. We put on a major press looking for a new place, and we were extremely blessed to find our new apartment in only a few days. We're right back downtown, only two blocks from where we lived before the fire, an eight-minute walk from The Recruiter's office, and a five-minute walk from church. We're thrilled. Living in a highrise still feels rather novel - I've never lived with an elevator before, but we're quite enjoying it.

As a result of this little housing drama, though, we were fairly mid-move for the better part of two and a half months. Add to that that we are pretty solidly "home" people - well, I am - and this whole ordeal really threw me off. And that led to me not really having the time or energy to post: packing with a toddler, and climbing over the boxes takes a lot of energy!

Not a whole lot else has happened, I'm afraid. Peanut and I spent a week up at my old summer camp two weeks ago. I served as chaplain (it's a church camp) and Peanut served as resident two-year-old and general disrupter of all things. The staff loved her, she loved them, and she learned to eat everything! She started really going to town on all foods right after we moved into the new apartment, but up at camp she really figured out this whole food thing. She ate every meal - more or less - and discovered new foods that she loves. Pancakes are a big hit - huge, in fact - and now she'll oranges! It's awesome. :)

What with all the moving there hasn't been a lot of sewing, and even less knitting, but there's been a bit: more to come in that soon!

And because a post without a pic is lame-o:

2

2010-05-19T00:26:00.000-04:00

Today, Peanut is 2. The past two years have never ceased to surprise, amaze, delight, enlighten, entertain, educate, and bless me. And now our little Peanut, our Gift from God, is two. I cannot believe how quickly these two years have gone, how slowly they have passed, how much she has changed, and all the ways she is just as she was the day she was born.

So Happy Birthday, Peanut! You have made me a mother, and you have made me the mother I am. You are my tiny star and I thank God for you every day.

3.	(of plants) to come into flower
4.	to develop or come to a promising stage: youth had blossomed into maturity